Jun 18, 2008
P, he said before I could explain, is peace.
And Forte means to play loudly. This one took a moment until he brightened and he said, funny! Like laughing really LOUD! And then he did.
Now I promise, I promise I will quit talking about him for an entire whole week.
When he was running outside, his Mom who is not his mom sat next to my chair and told me about his yesterday, how his father who never called, called and how the little boy played all four of his songs for him then and how afterward he didn't want his grandparents he wanted them and couldn't know couldn't find why they didn't come and never sat on his bed with him and why and why and why.
Through the window I saw him playing in the tree branches and felt this pain again.
When everyone was gone I went out in the sun, sat on my knees in the garden for half of an hour weeding and thinking, words standing still in my head: I had so much anger in my heart - the question of how it reconciles with a smile that's six years old.
Later I fed the hummingbirds. And then I played Joplin, and then I played a duet.
On the community crisis end of things
I don't like them much because they never wave.
The National Guard people things are sleeping at the high school down the road. It is so cool to see the black heavy trucks passing and the camo-clad saviours, everyone reckons.
Walls and sands.
What happened is the water grew. Really really. When John the Eldest was here for PaterFamilias Day I took him down to look and we saw the River from the road (on the road, over the road) from the tracks (reaching the tracks) and from the cemetery on the hill (safe place and untouchable). I have the pictures from then but then changes every day. I am OK with the rising. I am not OK. But I am close, somehow, to this.
Also when John was here he took his car and I took not my car and we raced each other down a highway I had been missing for a while, why, because we are crazy showoffs because we intend to die insanely funly not drown in the drowsy flood water. Or mostly because there is a long hard turn in the road about seven miles down and if you take it at an exact and certain breakneck speed, it feels just like floating.
Jun 15, 2008
Jun 14, 2008
Jun 13, 2008
I sometimes dream in golden and about finding and lions. Lions are important to me. I don't remember why.
I'm listening to the rain on the roof and thinking of walking, thinking of laundry and Hanon and breakfast and the North. There is so awful much to think of on a Friday. I think I want to be a brown horse and have all the fields, I think I want to see you approaching down the path my feet are on, I think I could feel gentle and glad.
Jun 12, 2008
My mother told me once, you were always sensitive, and quiet so quiet.
For some reason I was told recently by a dearest friend who will remain namel(auren)ess that lately I have seemed depressed and that the things I think are terribly low, and why do I always look at the past, and that she does not like it when I am not happy. It made feel responsible when she said that. It is true that my books are all heavy with my brain now and sometimes my heart hurts. And I may have mentioned this before but I am almost getting somewhere. I had an idea to have a place to keep the pretty things, like a dusted front parlor for all company that wants to stay, practically a world away from the room in the back that is dim and full of music, where Christina is hard at work tapping away the mess in her mind.
Jun 11, 2008
I poked around in the garden for an hour when I came back from walking. Somewhere between the strawberry and lettuce beds, I met a little friend. He had a British accent and a slightly uppity air but I liked him right away. He had been paused in the search for his misplaced top hat by my mumbled talking to myself and when I paused he looked up and said kindly, Do be careful, my dear, the gardens have ears. He made a move to go before adding, and I say, it's hardly a cakewalk being a toad either, you know, and he hopped on.