October 13, 2022

Great day yesterday writing beside the river. Two plays and a fantasy in process. I feel like a writer again. The FR review was fine, considering that local reviewers never have much to say about a playscript, but only, understandably, about actors and production. Progress on Poulenc at choir rehearsal. 

Had coffee at Summit to avoid the cleaning lady and make good on previous labors. Got a whole scene written. Some people think it’s all right to talk on the phone the whole time as though the café were their private office. Later, my sister phoned and said that we’ll no longer give gifts to one another at Christmas, but kids and grandchildren will be doing an exchange among themselves. I agreed to this reasonable proposition, but when we disconnected, I found myself weeping copiously, helplessly. The concept “Christmas is over” hit my emotions before it hit my mind, and I wept before I’d answered the question, “What the hell is the matter with you?” Nor did it stop for a while. Words are powerful, and “Christmas is over” can make you sad a long time if you let it. I also noticed that you can be quite free with your emotions at a place like The Summit and nobody will notice you, nobody will look at you. The end of it all is that no matter what I agreed to, I can buy presents for anybody I damn well please. I am Weird Uncle. All places are alike to me. I’m not used to my emotions having such an independent life from my consideration. Maybe it’s age. 

Shopped at Reems Creek still tearing up a little. Wanted an exotic conifer; did not buy it.