July 14, 2014

Bastille Day. Hard, bright moon. Woke not totally refreshed. The cats must have sensed this, and were extraordinarily receptive of their breakfast.

T and I sat at an outdoor table in Blacksburg, and man came by and called my name. He said, “I’d know that voice anywhere!” He was from All Souls, and knew me as Saint Nicholas.

Watched the finals of the World Cup. I arbitrarily decided to root for Germany, so I was pleased at the outcome, though also dismayed by the cameras’ focusing on the crushed and weeping Argentines. It took the joy out of the joy, though, of course, I was not the one actually victorious. The kid who scored the goal must still be walking air.

Will back in touch. I think I’m going to be the only homeowner in the world who will not realize a profit from the sale of his house. You start out being patient and generous, wanting to help a young family forward; you end by being exhausted and suspicious, wondering why nobody thought to help you in the same way, or anywhere near. I’ve always felt contempt for the rules; I suppose it’s only right for them to decline to work for me.

Inspired by T’s running book, started writing about my garden.