Every Second Thursday

 

July 8, 2021

Every second Thursday is a time set apart for adventure, as that’s when the cleaning lady comes and I don’t want to be home. Had a gift certificate from REI, so I headed down 26 amid the neverending construction. Visited Barnes & Noble, where I made the mistake of looking to see if I were there, even on the “local authors” table, and I was not. It was the wrong morning for that, I guess, for I had to find a hidden place to work through the unexpected vehemence of my reaction. What the hell has it all been about? I have entered the secret life of language day after day, have set what I saw down honestly and well, and if it has come to anything, it’s nothing measurable on a human scale. I am the Lewis and Clark of one particular wilderness, and to my letters back home there is no response. Of course there were prizes, but in my career I doubt that I have made $100 on straight royalties. The critical world has not whispered a syllable. At Jack’s party, J and L broke out in praise of Wyona, and I was amazed because I’d grown used the idea that not even my friends care about what I do. On what I want to call my Vision, the world is fundamentally silent. Is it not really any good and I am so self-deceived as not to see that? I think not, but how, finally, can one be sure? I am the Bird of Paradise calling in the forest, thinking my song is perfect, my plumage adequate, so why is there no response?  My own explanation is that the Lord takes from me and gives to those He loves. That is the explanation until it is otherwise.

This is true everyday. It doesn’t bother me every day. 

Maud lies down on my foot. She thinks that helps. She’s right. 

K cancelled our coffee, by which I was to know the fate of the revised Frankenstein Rubrics. I feel she cannot fail to like it better than the earlier version, but my strike-out record is so high now that conviction can’t be trusted. 

Woke from a nap to hear Ruth Bader Ginsbear tearing at the barrier I put around the basement window. I shouted her away (it was harder than before, and she stamped her front feet once and whuffed at me). Have not checked yet to see what inroads she made, but I heard claw on concrete, so she at least made it to the blocks. She and two cubs spent the rest of the time in the garden, where they are welcome, eating waterlilies, climbing trees, foraging here and there for this and that. They are always welcome in the garden. My mind took a photo of mama lying at ease in the shade and the babies reaching over to smack the wind chimes. I’d try to make a deal with her to bring us both peace, but nature doesn’t accept conditions.