March 23, 2012


I don’t know my father’s favorite song.

I don’t know my mother’s favorite song.

I don’t know my sister’s favorite song.

I don’t know my nephews’ favorite songs.

I don’t know MY favorite song.

Is this any way to live?

Wagner on the radio, harmonious with the deep, half-rainy, half-misty night.

Went to MF to see Lucia’s new play. Blast of sinus sent me home at intermission. I didn’t know a single person in the audience, which was depressing, somehow.

Gave Marco $ so he could buy welding equipment for his business. My own father was so grudging, I vowed I would never be, nor am I, with those who allow me, for an hour or so, to play the part.

Excellent pale Portuguese wine. I know I should not put ice in it, but a single cube makes it sparkle like a winter morning. Nobody need know.

Tiny pink anemones. Sacred hyacinth. Actual hyacinth, the deepest blue in the world. One hellebore like translucent brown paper.

Frantic, frantic with duties, grasping for every spare moment.

Shopped for furniture, liking nothing except for those pieces almost exactly like the ones I gave away. Bought nothing. Relief.