April 15, 2012

Cold bright nights, cool bright days. Dawn is almost colorless this morning, a sort of beige smoothing into robin’s egg.

Party to say goodbye to Eileen Crowe last night, an excellent colleague, whose thread is woven into the tapestry, and whom we shall miss. I think everyone from the department was there, and mirthful at the edge of the golf course, ducks flying overhead to Beaver Lake, geriatric dogs pulling on a rubber loop with what they remember as playfulness. One of the dogs was so crippled with arthritis he could barely run, but run he did, with that dog smile plastered over his face, chasing after Peg’s grandson. One admired that. One hopes for that fortitude for oneself when the hour comes.

First rehearsal with orchestra of the Bach Easter Oratorio only minorly disastrous.

Slept the night without being awakened by an aching arm. Progress.

C’s prognosis is quite bad. The cancer is something rare and interesting, which I’m sure she finds a comfort. Our society doesn’t give us clear ways to react to very bad news which is not personally our own. Our sympathy is sincere, but badly put, individuality of expression in this case not being a virtue.