February 12, 2013

Waking dream: I inherited a famous backpack that required me (allowed me, I suppose) to run long distances over great rolling hills, spying out the ways. I forget what the quest was, but it was something vital and mystical. Woke with an unusual–for these latter days–sense of well-being.

I called Steve the Plumber to unclog a drain, and now I have wide deep trench through the garden from DJ’s house, battering through the terrace wall to– who knows where? I cannot even look at the uprooted plantings. I do not exactly suspect fraud–the explanations are plausible and in line with my dreadful luck with plumbing-- but the refrain dwells in my mind, “I called you to unclog a drain.”

Watched The Yellow Cadillac on DVD. Fine movie. I remember seeing previews of it in a movie my parents took me to long ago, and longing with great longing to see it then, though of course we never did. Especially my father had very strict ideas about what I should see and what I should not. The rules were never explicit, but they seemed to include anything too upper-class, and, with some vehemence, musicals. It would be difficult to imagine two men with more different responses to the world than my father and I. Even the middle ground upon which I had to meet him as a child narrowed my future in ways still being revealed.