May 9, 2008

A bit of rain brings the double peonies into bloom, and as near as my little yard can produce of a blanket of poppies. The peony by the garage is exquisite, single, pale pink with a golden center. Paul gives me a cutting of his grandmother’s Christmas cactus, a very old variety, he says. More midnight iris. The yard roses bud and the terrace roses burst into pink bloom.

DJ and I meet Micah and his girlfriend at the Usual. The girlfriend tells us about her recent stay in Malawi. I am fascinated. Micah and I start chatting about French Existentialists, and she is angry, telling us to stop "talking shop." I wondered how that was different from her discourse on Malawi, either more or less "talking shop." They arrived at the Senior Gala after I left, and they said the talk was of me. The girlfriend said, "You Are Loved!" as if, after seeing me, it were hardly to be believed. I’d not been feeling good about myself in recent days, and that news was excellent, but it might have been more excellent if I had known it, or even suspected it, without having to be told. It’s an old story. One hungers for the things everyone else seems to imagine one has in abundance.