Carols

 

December 20, 2024

Woke this morning writing a short story in my head. I believe I’d begun it in my dreams. In it a man who owned a café was fussing with something in his parking lot, and worried about a ketchup stain on his sign, which he believed the police had put there.

Dean S’s father has died. What a couple of months it’s been for her!

Tried to drive DJ in his new van, which instantly died in a flurry of flashing lights. I though I’d hexed it, but the problem turns out to have been a dead battery (dead in a matter of minutes from the last time it was used). Battery was revived by the van salesman, and we drove around the Parkway (closed, of course) to charge it back. 

Sweetboi returned the next day to sit in the maple outside my kitchen. He wasn’t hungry and didn’t eat the quarter of chicken I put out. Missed him for two days now. Maybe he just wanted to say goodbye before flying south. 

Realized that B is just making GMC like all the other gay choruses, several of which he has been a member. We were a pocket of uniqueness, even strangeness, which I cherished. Not worth fighting about.  

Later: Sweetboi back, ripping up a pork neck in my garden. Me, happy. 

Fasciitis so severe walking is difficult, I emitting a little gasp at each step. Nevertheless, drove to Biltmore to see the inside of the cathedral for the first time since the hurricane. We had hot chocolate and sang carols. The building is in much better shape than one feared. It’s odd seeing it empty. It looks small, like a very classy rural train station waiting room. Or an anteroom to a Byzantine palace.