March 20, 2010

Most perfect Equinox. I rose in the dark and finished Voices. Though I had planned other things, when I saw how the day would be, my thoughts turned to the garden. At first I wrought nothing but destruction, destroying, I think, a lilac in yesterdays attack on the terrace bushes, and in trying to clear out vines in one corner, cutting my spade into the white, surprisingly thick roots of my first peonies. So I went and bought a white peony and a white tree peony, a japonica for the shade, bleeding heart, low woodland iris, golden alyssum for the blaze of sun, and planted them all.

The Lieutenant of Inishmore at HART this evening. It’s a farce with mayhem, gruesome and hilarious. They did McDonough proud: it would be hard to imagine the piece better acted, more efficiently directed, the satire more readable even to those innocent of the cause.

Picked up Gerald Clarke’s biography of Judy Garland in Houston. Fascinating, but I’m sorry I read it. She was selfish and destructive to a degree no talent excuses, and her life was no worse than what she had earned. So much for over the rainbow.