May 11, 2014

Cardinal calling in the last dark. The morning already a clutch of little annoyances. Taking a deep breath, sipping cold mint tea, starting again.

Excellent, excellent mornings at the studio. It’s hard to talk about painting. I like it because it’s so unlike writing, which is easy to talk about. Folks came to my studio and called my work Dali-esque. I smiled. I didn’t remark on how ignorant that was. Tried to bring a big painting home, but the support had become the home of large scary spiders. I wanted the spiders to vacate, and I shook the frame and wiped it with a broom. I’d forgotten how delicate spiders are, even big scary ones.

Sang at Millie Morrow’s ordination. About half the throng were lesbians and their wives. That makes a difference in what is said and done, and how the usual things are done. Superb sermon about vocation. Reminded me of the fairly long time in my youth when I assumed I was going to be a preacher. I would have been a good one if preaching were the whole of it. Or if there had been a Call.

The garden I made at the studio blooms stunningly.