January 21, 2008

Whereas my trip from Akron was all weepy nostalgia, my sister’s turned into geriatric hell, and it’s not over yet. Father conceived the notion that the auction man already owned the stuff he was going to auction, and so opposed my sister’s attempts to pack some of the things she wanted. She was not deflected, and so they left the house already in a grudge match. He decided that he was going to drive to Atlanta, and when she protested, he became aggressive and boorish–very dangerous driving habits in a man nearly 90–and there was a fight, during which he ordered her to take her bags and get out of the van. I don’t know how it all turned out, but when she last called they were in a motel in Kentucky. I hope his new life starts today, or whenever he finally gets to it, on a lighter note. I hope my sister and he can forgive each other. I’m sorry she relocated the man-in-the-middle, the difficult stranger we all raised our defenses against in the house that is now closed to us. Moving is hard. I myself sit here in a house I don’t especially like just hating the idea of packing and getting out, which I bought because the idea of moving was more grating than the idea of hammering out a mortgage.

Malaprop’s has put me on a bill with three other poets. It’s disappointing, but it does relieve me of the whole responsibility of finding an audience.

Watched the film Once, and became fiercely homesick for Dublin. Made me want to be more generous to buskers next time.

I was standing at my front window reading Dramatist Magazine, and when I looked up, the moon had risen, full and pale into the pale blue sky, arranged against trees and mountain like a perfect painting.