October 20, 2012

Drinks with B, who had been in DC all these years. Great to catch up, great to hear about a genuinely unique and self-made life. It’s flattering to be with him. He thinks my books are genius and my acting is superb, and he’s smooth enough to make me believe he really thinks that. He prefaces a statement with, “You will agree you’re a bit of an eccentric–“ I always nod when people say that, though I don’t agree, don’t even know what it is they’re talking about, for sure. Is anyone eccentric to himself? It would be exhausting to be forever laying out the logic of your deeds before your audience.

Ran out to take photos of the pendant multitudes of golden angels’ trumpets, fearing that they will be gone before there’s another chance.  Much digging and planting yesterday, as well as the digging up of big volunteer wild roses–monstrous stabbers– which were suddenly in the way.  Roses blooming. Furnace on when I woke.

As I got out of bed–the second time, after rising at 4 and feeding the cats–I happened to think of the time when I joined the Cub Scouts. We met at the Meade Avenue Church. Our leader was teaching the mass of us how to say the Cub Scout oath, raising his right hand into the sign and saying, “Repeat after me. I, Maynard Johnson–“ All the Cub Scouts raised their hands and said, “I, Maynard Johnson–“ Yes, it was funny. My mother thought it was hilarious. Whenever the subject of Cub Scouting came up she would raise her hand into the Scout sign and say, “I. Maynard Johnson.” But what I happened to think was that, of all the people of the earth, maybe only one now remembers, “I, Maynard Johnson.” Think of the billions of little family jokes and gleeful references that are gone. Maybe there is an angel who remembers them all.

One of those Saturdays when I think of all the things I have to do, and each task seems wonderful, and I wish the day were twice as long as it is.