Revery

 December 18, 2023

Vaughan-Williams wafting up from the device in the kitchen.

Baking disaster. Probably over-adapted one of those antique recipes that actually calls for oleo. Should have seen it coming, as something went wrong at every stage of the process. 

Places north and east of us sustained a terrible storm last night. Maybe the mountains protect us. But one of my dreams was of buying a house whose roof leaked. The other was getting back an item– a huge black watering can, I think– which TD had stolen from me. 

Amazed by the time my mind spends reviewing memories, most of them disturbing or disappointing, about wrongs I failed to right or actions of mine that time showed to be. . . or hinted might have been-- hurtful. Perhaps this is Purgatory, though whatever wisdom is meant to come out of repentance is diluted by the fact that, for the most part, given the information I had, I could not have done otherwise. Someone was in need, and I gave all, informed later, to the distant cackle of a mischievous universe, that it was not what was needed at all. 

        These things turning in my head, are they punishment or information? If information, how can they be used now that everyone else involved is gone?

Painted a quirky still-life. 

Studying Italian again. 

I think of nights when my family went out and I begged and begged to be left home, and when I was allowed, I stared at the Christmas lights in extended revery. I made them into roads and distant cities, intending somehow to walk there. Secret in my heart is the fact that I do the same these nights in a different century. Blessings for that, in any case.