February 13, 2009

It was Syracuse’s turn on Google Earth– my sprawling old house at the edge of Thornden Park, the streets I walked to my job on Westcott Street, the streets I walked to school, the Church of the Saviour on James Street downtown. This puts a whole new light on the concept of lost time. All last night I thought of those places and those times, evoked by the visible presence, so that for a while they were not lost at all. All things do look strange from above, though, and one must be very careful to recognize anything. It’s a wonder that the angels ever find us.

Small, invasive spikes of duty rip into my supposed day off. Disappointment over denial of my leave was an issue of justice at first, but I begin to realize it will be an issue of sheer survival, getting from day to day for another year without blowing up in somebody’s face.

Linda sends a photo of dad holding a duckling maybe a month before he died. That the duck should be alive now and he not. . . it’s a strange notion. He allowed us to have chickens and ducks that we got as babies at Easter, and then took to the zoo in burlap sacks when winter approached.

Lunch with Kermit. We laughed at everybody and everything.

Leland’s spaghetti supper fundraiser for Cantaria looked like a success. I sang badly, but it was called a “no-talent talent show,” so I was merely complying with the dictates of the moment. Donated $6000 of paintings to the silent auction. I drew in my breath, but I’d had them long enough. It was time for them to move on.