September 10, 2023

Left the beach in intermittent and then, at last, torrential rain. Not a drop fell on us at Folly. Last night was odd. I didn’t know how I felt about being home. I didn’t know how I felt about this week at the shore. Slept on it, and now it seems not to matter. I was glad to be back in my own space. The last few days at the beach my system boiled with histamines. I seemed to myself to be scratching endlessly. Did others notice? Being car-less prevented me from addressing this until we were on the road again, and I found Claritin at a roadside market.  

Tony mowed the lawn in the last moments before the downpour. I try to avoid talking with him–only because he’s SO talkative I run out of responses– but I owed him too much money to hide this time. 

I sit at my desk having no idea what I should do. Dreamed of painting vast, beautiful canvases that I could talk about with critics later, so maybe I’ll paint. No vast canvases, though, so long as I’m painting in the attic. 

Could I live at the beach? It’s probably better as a vacation site. I was born beside the woods and feel at home there. The sea will always be a bit of an adventure.

When I went to get carts for the move out of the condo, I discovered that tiny sparrows had been roosting in them, safe through the night.

A bear I think was Ruth Bader Ginsbear was killed by a car on Beaverdam. Losing a friend.