February 5, 2022

Bright, cold, the titmice greedily at the new suet. 

Three social occasions yesterday, breaking all records during the Pandemic. Met K for lunch, when we talked about the fate of theater and the arts and the Magnetic in particular. She thanked me for being more useful to the theater than most of its Board. Her energy is to me all but unendurable. I had that at one time. I’m not sure it profited me much.

Visit to D, who gave me a sweet oil study of Beaver Dam in thanks for my gift of pastels. She filled me in on her life– most of the information unknown to me before– in the space of half an hour. One certain difference between men and women is that women can talk at rates a man can barely comprehend. She remembered kindnesses from me which I myself did not remember. I suppose that’s the way it should go. 

Met A at Zillicoah Brewery, which can practically be walked to from here in time of need. I wonder if he could feel the waves of fatherly love beating against his brow? A is forthright, ebullient, and confiding, and I think we caught up on his comparatively turbulent life. He’s gathering materials to write a one-man-show about his uncle, Phillip Cyr, who was a Peace Corps teacher in Nepal, later murdered there by treacherous guides. He led me back when I went astray trying to find my car in the dark.