October 8, 2011

Tired end of a lovely Saturday. I finally made it to the studio and did some painting, and left a box full of small paintings I was sick of out on the street for anyone who wanted them. I was sort of sick of everything I had done, but the impulse was to go back in and revise, rather than to abandon, as it sometimes is. Came back here and gardened, transplanting a volunteer sycamore to where it might be allowed to thrive, planting wind flowers and daffodils. Some time back I bought a bag with about a billion daffodil bulbs, and now the task of getting them all into the ground lies before me. My frog still swirls about in his water garden.

KS took DJ and me property hunting yesterday. There was one perfect house, but it rests in an urban environment almost exactly like what I have now. I actually know the owners, slightly, and there is a photo on the wall of them getting married in All Souls. There was an almost perfect lot of 3 acres or so off Reems Creek. I still think about that one. There was an awful place set within the immense Claxton farm which, nevertheless, had vultures feeding on the ground nearby, and I would almost consider it just for that. There was a bungalow that had burned and was, therefore, cheap. The shower curtain had melted off its pole. Varnish had blistered off the bedroom doors. The family had left all its sad possessions behind, including a couple of singed bibles which had got as far as the porch before also being abandoned. Karen quizzed me on what I was looking for and why I was looking for it, and, frankly, I didn’t know. I told her my dream of planting my own forest, but she didn’t think I was being serious, and afterwards I wondered if I was. I want SOMETHING. Maybe if I knew what, I could have had it already.

Maybe I just need to get out. I’ve been home for three months, and perhaps that is enough. Did buy my ticket for New York for Jonathan and my premiere. Investigated other hotels, but ended up staying at the Paramount again. I so long for tradition.

Stared at the moon through my binoculars until my arms were tired. It is every bit as remarkable as one expects, which makes it, somehow, more remarkable still. How many things do not disappoint?