May 8, 2019

Though the radio threatens rain, the first of day is sweet, Wedgewood blue, bird-loud. The moon last night was his perfect crescent. I’m sitting at the keyboard in the guest room where I can see when the gas people arrive, wanting to check something. The electrician were here yesterday to check on why the power to the pond pump died. They fixed it for a while, but it’s dead again this morning. They thought a techy breaker switch is the problem. It senses moisture, and how it could NOT sense moisture with the wire underground I don’t know. Anyway, they were as cute as they could be, big and red and goofy. I was sorry when they left. Almost unbelievably, the work from last summer was still under warranty.

First read-through of IAG. Most of the actors weren’t present for one reason or another. Some roles are not yet cast. One smiles. One says “thank you.” One believes that magic will save all in the end.

All Souls Bookfair last night. Finn and his Canta Violino pleased a small audience, made up largely of Finn’s fans. Practically no one I know came, though Charlie made a special trip to buy a book and left before the concert. My book sold the most, with four sales, I think, but I couldn’t help blaming the smallness of the crowd on myself. Maybe Tuesday night is to blame. Finn asked to delay the concert because many Brazilian were coming and they would be on “Brazilian time.” Can’t say I like Brazilian music much, and the concert didn’t shift me from that conviction, though I did appreciate their virtuosity. It was a happy event and people had a good time, and when I think about it, I do admit that I created a sweet evening, sold a few books, restored my connection with Malaprop’s, watched the crescent moon sail above Biltmore. It was as a patron of the arts that my main triumph came. I paid Finn $600 and got $27 from the donations basket. Actually, that is all right.

Planted gay feathers. Noticed that I haven’t paid attention to harmony of colors in my garden, and the effect is riotous, even more riotous than I would have liked.

The gas guy just called and said he was in South Carolina and was not going to make our appointment, and could I wait. “No,” I said, “I have to go to school to turn in grades.”
“Oh, you’re  the professor! I graduated UNCA 30 years ago. I remember you.”

Note from Connie saying “I’m reading your book.” After a while I realize she means Night, Sleep. That must mean there IS a book, somewhere.