November 1, 2025

When I first looked out my front door Halloween morning, all was as it had been the night before. An hour later, when I went to greet the de-humidifier man, one pumpkin was hurled onto the lawn and another eaten completely out, cap bitten off, pulp gone from rind to rind. Security cameras revealed a bear come onto the porch, reconnoiter standing on his back legs, then dig into the pumpkins. All that vegetable slaughter within two feet of my front door, in broad daylight. 

Though I sat on the porch with the light on, not one trick-or-treater. 

Last night I again came under attack. I heard bears wrestling with the trash can, ramming into the fence between the gardens, growling, scratching at the space under my bedroom window. I ran into the kitchen and turned on the outside lights to frighten them away. I beat on windows and hollered. Twice later I woke, sure they were at it again. Morning revealed that this all was my imagination. The trash was untipped, the surviving pumpkins unmolested, no sign of great animals marauding in the night. Very curious. Had I heard something I misidentified? Had I heard nothing at all?

Dress rehearsal at First Baptist. I was in bad voice until my throat cleared half way through. Snuck my purchased-by-mistake carton full of potato chips into the First Baptist kitchen. 

 

October 30, 2025

AS rehearsal last night, at which I did poorly. Bitter rain. A’s birthday gathering afterward at the Barrel House, which must be astonished to see the likes of us. 

As of yesterday a giant white calla was blooming on the west side of the house, a white iris re-blooming against the driveway. The roses hold.

DJ not needing surgery, beginning the long road back to his former condition. I write “long road” out of ignorance, acknowledging that there is mercy in the world and it could be a very short road. Dreamed last night of trying to visit him in the hospital but being crowded out by swarms of teenage girls, who were enthusiastic fans of his.  I gathered he had a life as a rock star of which I had known nothing. 

 October 28, 2025

DJ left fasting and thirsty in his hospital bed for a day because the doctor did not bother to appear and decide for or against surgery. Surgery finally, today. deemed unnecessary, physical therapy begins. 

Part of the morning spent getting the car readied for the next few months. Waiting room enlivened by a two year old with endless energy. No button was left unpushed, not chair left unscooted loudly across the floor. His grandma was heroic. 

Hurricane with winds the speed of a tornado’s hits Jamaica. Indra in fury. Where will anybody hide? Pictures of dogs on the abandoned streets of Kingston, waiting. 

Sat at the computer screen this morning sobbing, over– God remembers what. But I felt better afterward, clearly needing a release even as unfocused as that. 

 

October 26, 2025

Odd weight on me in recent days, some dissatisfaction that I have tried and failed to connect with some real circumstance. Nothing dire, just a little background noise of unease.  

Car blazed through my driveway at 1 AM. Security cameras didn’t record it. Maybe it was a ghost. 

Dean S has started to use “She” as God’s pronoun. I startle every time, but can find no objective objection. It’s all emotion. But my reaction does shed light on the reaction of others to new things. They are more honest than I, following their emotions to faithful end, not letting them get muddled by second thoughts.

DJ in the hospital with a broken sacrum.

I have set aside most of my power in deference to others. 

 October 24, 2025

Days of radiant blue skies, edged at evening with white and gray almost stationary clouds. Rehearsals, where I fought off phlegm that is apparently going to be the bane of every winter. S had us say long pure vowels for a long time last night, after having noted how little time we have. She is one who imagines that a wry obsession is a crusade, and there’s no hope of reasoning her out of it. But, you hear the minutes ticking away. . . 

Good writing at the riverbank yesterday morning, then a stroll through the reviving River Arts District, renewing old acquaintance. Most of the work there is quite bad. I think the good artists had to retreat from corporate properties, and can be found, if one looks, somewhere else. 

All bulbs presently in my possession are in the ground.