August 27, 2025

The book finally turned out to be Once Below a Time. Finished a revision of An Age of Silver immediately after. 

Perfect, if autumnal, days-- shimmering light, lazuli skies. 

Realized with considerable sadness that I will never climb Ben Bulben. Knocknarea may still be a possibility if I go very, very slow. Dreams of travel (literal dreams, that is.) Dreams of the discovery of treasure. 

More public agitation than I remember in my life. Knotted nerves in the chest. Restless sleep.  Back when we were fulminating against Vietnam or racism or what have you, the conviction was that our cries were falling on rational, civil ears, or at least on the ears of those capable of embarrassment. Our leaders dreaded elections. Our leaders dreaded the final authority of the Courts. There is now no such conviction. The courts are bought and paid for, and there is no assurance of a fair election in time to come. Evil has absolute impunity, having added the sociopath’s indifference to public perception to its other defects. The government’s masked and insolent troops on American streets are indistinguishable from the Gestapo or the Savak. A situation is created in which violence is almost the only conceivable remaining response. I assume I’m too old and faulty to help very much, but who knows? 

Symphony Chorus revved up last night with rather less confusion than expected. Steve, the guy I sat beside, is a knowledgeable art collector. 

I hate when people try to show me photos from their phone.

No one had sent me a bill for the beach trip, and I’d asked DJ directly about it. His answer being vague, it crossed my mind that it was being given to me as a 75th birthday present. But, turns out I just missed the communique months ago. Sent the money, feeling foolish. I’m the one who still looks for a basket on the porch Easter morning, who throws a glance under the tree Christmas Eve, who gets mugged on the streets of Dublin for believing the line, “No, I really like old guys.” Serves me right.