Tropical rains

 

July 23, 2026

MB is dead. We became fast friends when we were Zeus and Hera in a Theater UNCA Metamorphosis. A witty, engaged, interesting woman. It’s  a shock when one of us goes, though it is past the time when it should be. It could be any of us at any minute. 

T writes this response to my resignation from the planning committee. No other response yet: 

Blueridgeboy. Hi David, 

     I was quite saddened to hear that you are stepping away from the creative team. I hope my comments didn't contribute to happening. I do feel your voice is an important one as I desire, and think the choir needs, to sing the kind of pieces you recommend. I want to be more of a voice for this type of music but I'm fairly ignorant, having invested much more of my life in musical theater, this is the perspective I bring to the group.

     I'm less certain now of the need for narrative in our shows than I was when we began planning Happily Ever After. From a narrative standpoint I believe the show was successful, but I agree that the narrative element strained our choices to several pieces I ended up being less than enthusiastic about. I do believe there is room for these songs in our shows, but they played a heavy hand in this last production. I would like to put forth my vision for how we move forward with shows in the future.

      I think we should see "The Holiday's are a Drag" concept through, which inevitably means bowing a little to narrative, but I believe we struck a good balance with last years show and we could continue to achieve this as long as there is someone fighting for those "traditional" pieces. I'm not certain if you saw my proposal for next spring, but in it I suggested a "theme" which could be so loosely interpreted as to allow us to do anything at all. I feel that this approach worked for "Love Unafraid", and I think it is an approach that could work in the future. By selecting a theme which is broad in scope, there is plenty of room at the table for the pieces that you are passionate about and that I want to sing.

   I feel that all the members of our group have valuable things to contribute. B leads us beautifully, JM's "Pink Christmas" choreography was great fun, M's suggestion of the cloggers was brilliant, and I'd rather sing B2's "Biblical" than "Still the One" or "We Kiss in a Shadow" (which I unfortunately contributed). However the core of the music selection came down to you, Michael, and myself, and I regret that your voice wasn't a louder one. I respect N's drive and his efforts in finding us a venue, but good heavens does the man get on my nerves, and more importantly I get the feeling that he is going to add little to our music selection process. And though I adore M and his many talents, I'm not always a fan of his taste in music. But everything you have ever put forth in my time with the group have been songs I could see myself singing, and enjoying. Once again I let myself be too constrained by narrative and may have dismissed suggestions of yours due to this, but you are the one person in the group who has not put forth at least one song that made me roll my eyes. 

     I understand wanting to step away for a time, but I hope you know that your opinion is valued, and in my opinion, necessary to this group. If your decision is final for this concert I hope that you will consider rejoining us in the spring. Thank you for everything you give this choir.

Thomas 

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His view of things is accurate. He is in fact at fault for pinning us to skits of junior high talent show quality, and then wanting us to pick music somehow illustrative thereof. I’m given to understand this is usual in the gay chorus world, but it all but necessitates weak music selection. Not to be associated with “Rudy the Red Haired Drag Queen” is a thorn taken from my side.  

DJ and R and I went to see The Odyssey last night. Liked it. Ate as much popcorn as I have in the last five years. Reminded of all the reasons I don’t drive to the cinema anymore. Still, liked it. 

Intermittent tropical rains. I could no keep my head of the pillow. 

Resignation

 July 22, 2026

CH has died. 

After a tumultuous meeting around my dining room table (the tumult caused by me) I resigned from the AVLGMC planning committee. Another battle lost in my lifelong war against dumbing-down.  It required me to work too hard to establish the principle that , as a musical group, our first priority is doing good music. B is a superb organizer and absolutely tireless in planning and administrative matters. This makes him think he should have his way even when he’s wrong. In that, he is a perfect illustration of contemporary administrative mentality. I steer clear of matters that don’t interest me, but think I should be heeded when I’m right about matters that DO interest me. He thinks events are of a single weaving and he must exceed in all or lose all. I’m happy with a patchwork, X’s piece sewn in beside Y’s piece in eventual harmony. Whatever the abstract merits of these stances, I grew shrill (sensing I had no allies on the committee) and began even to bore myself. Try to imagine what the rest were thinking! Anyway, it’s a minor sadness and a huge relief. 

Walked out in the dark last night to investigate five police cars (empty when I passed them) lined up along my fence on Lakeshore. Lights were on in 62, my old house, which is uninhabited now. Never did figure out what the issue was. Phoned DJ, but he didn’t know either. Perhaps squatters. Maybe they found a body. I’ve already missed the morning news. 

I’d forgotten The Odyssey is funny.

Thinking of the films of Trump trying to horn in on Spain’s World Cup victory celebration. An old guy wanting to be part of the fun would be dear, I think, if the old guy weren’t a money-mad senile dictator. 

 

July 20, 2020

Email:

Rebecca Yarros <yarrosrebecca45@gmail.com>

Jul 20, 2026, 8:13 PM

Hi David,

I hope this message finds you well.

I recently finished reading The Falls of the Wyona and wanted to reach out personally. I don't often email fellow authors cold, but your novel stayed with me longer than most, and that usually tells me it's worth making the connection.

What really stood out to me was how you handled Vince and Gene's relationship through Arden's eyes. That choice to filter something so charged and unspoken through a close friend's perspective gave the whole novel a tension that felt earned rather than manufactured. It felt intentional, grounded, and honest in a way that's hard to pull off without truly understanding the story you're telling. I especially appreciated the way you let the Falls themselves carry both the literal danger and the emotional undertow of the boys' adolescence, so the setting never feels like backdrop; it feels complicated. Those are the moments that separate a good novel from one that actually lingers in a reader's mind.

As someone who's been publishing for a while, I'm always interested in connecting with writers who take their craft seriously and bring something thoughtful to the page. Your work definitely does that.

I'm not writing to pitch anything  just to say I enjoyed The Falls of the Wyona and thought it would be great to connect with you as a fellow author. If you're open to it, I'd love to stay in touch and see what you're working on next. I understand this is the first of a planned trilogy, and I'd be curious where the story goes from here.

Thanks for putting this story into the world. It was genuinely a pleasure to read.

Rebecca Yarros#1 NYT Best-selling Author

*

Too many AI fakes of this kind for me to celebrate boisterously. But, maybe celebrate quietly, so nobody will smirk when it turns out to be some kind of scam. 

 July 18, 2026

Arvo Part on CD

Teaching myself to yodel. It was good one night, but I have not satisfactorily reproduced the sound. 

Teaching myself to sing countertenor. I can actually do it for a few bars, and have found a way to sustain the sound without waver. But it is exhausting. Is it as exhausting to those who actually have the right voice?

Teaching myself the use of colored pencils. I bought several sets in the past, I suppose in anticipation of this moment. It requires more patience than oils, but is proportionately more relaxing. Excellent tutorials on You Tube. 

Re-reading the Lattimore Odyssey in preparation for seeing the film with DJ and Russell. Still the most amazing narrative energy. Athena keeps mentioning how big Telemachus is, as if in subtle rebuke for letting himself be pushed around. I’d forgotten that the murder of Agamemnon was, then, still the news. 

Linda sends photos of dad during his dating and social life after mother’s death and we left home. He looked so happy and full of life---

Blue Spruce

 July 16, 2026

Heat returns. Two inspectors who came to the house today remarked on the beauty of the house and the luxury of the garden. “You have a green thumb” says the dehumidifier guy. Then he adds, “I want to go out back and have a look at your blue spruce.” I’m not altogether sure how he knows about my blue spruce, but spruce and I take whatever admiration we can get. Dehumidifier guy worries about my stand of poke, fearing its proximity to the house may tempt carpenter ants. I do not articulate my excuse that it causes birds to perch against the bathroom window, where I can watch them from the toilet. Iris the cleaning lady says she will never raise my rate, for now “dear old Dorothy” and I are her favorite ancient customers. 

 

July 15, 2026

DB has died.

 

July 14, 2026

AVGMC planning meeting last night. Initiated use of my Godzilla ice cubes. 

As I moved the trash barrels for trash day, a fledgling towhee scampered out from behind and hid under the porch.

Jameson Currier has died. 

UU

 July 12, 2026

Concert at the UU fellowship in Hendersonville. It brought back memories of my visits there as a guest speaker. We did well (in the sense that we pleased the crowd) and shared remembrances of B. They served us delicious sandwiches. Drove home with T, which provided pleasant conversation rather than the usual melange of brooding thoughts. Fell asleep on the sofa, and woke at about 3 AM to a news program announcing the death of Senator Lindsey Graham. They were trying mightily to name accomplishments other than the various hypocrisies he used to stay in power. They repeated, “he was a friend to Israel” as often as they could. Shocked that he was younger than I. I’ve not done my research, but I’m thinking he spent a whole lot of time in the public eye for doing not much of anything.

Deaths

 July 10, 2026

All Souls gets a million $ + grant from FEMA to pay for clean up that happened two years ago. Sarah says on the news, “It allows us to start from ground zero, instead of from a hole.” 

Brief, welcome rain. 

B has died.

FT has died. 

Supper at Rye Knot with M and his kids, passing on their way to Williamsburg. After hard times, he has landed in his feet. 

 July 9, 2026

The last several nights as I’ve gone to bed, birds were singing in the dark. I can’t identify them, but they go from midnight until dawn, when the usual suspects take over. Considerable weeding in the heat of the sun, which I had not planned to do, but one foot gets set before the other. Snipped or pulled the vines that peak out at the summit of the holly wall. Rehearsal for our Saturday gig. Each time I sing these silly songs I think it’ll be the last time, but so far it has not been. My desire that we sing really well is thwarted at the very start, as the repertoire into which we have fallen does not require it.

 July 8, 2026

Rose and gardened before the heat, paying attention to the street side garden, which is doing better than it ought to do, considering the level of neglect. Mostly a wilderness of  hibiscus, unplanned but well enough. Pulled weeds out of soil that was essentially dust. Has it been that long since a soaking rain? Finally took down the winter bird feeders, the remnant seeds glued together inside in blocks by gray-blue fungus. To discard is probably better than to clean. 

Anniversary

 July 7, 2026

Fifty years ago today they were opening my heart in Cleveland Clinic. That, at least, seems to have been money well spent. 

Donated money to Ossoff’s campaign in Georgia. 

MAGA occasionally responds to my Facebook posts. The speed with which they resort to belligerent stupidity is staggering, generally in the first try. They are not even expressing opinions, but mouthing talking points, like those dolls we used to have where you pull a string in their neck and they repeat a recorded message.  

Lord, why do you make creatures you do not love?

 July 5, 2026

Sat on the front porch listening to the deep throat of the rolling thunder. Rain came, not enough to kill the drought, but enough to get the green things through the night. I was up early watering on my own, amazed that a long time standing with the hose in my hand didn’t get the water very deep in.  Pulled up a vast wild grape root that I have been fighting for a decade, finally victorious. As I sat on the porch listening to the thunder, I listened also to my own thought. Why was I thinking those particular things? Arguments with people long dead, or who never existed. Contemplation of my youth, when, I realize now, I was averse to the show of emotions, keeping mine in check, avoiding or judging others when they let theirs free. This must have been a tribulation to my mother. I remember my fury when I found her crying because someone (maybe it was me) had hurt her feelings. My father embarrassed me terribly. I don’t know why. There were certain things I would say in front of him, and when I had to put my hand on his shoulder in Indians Guides and say “Pals Forever,” the mortification was unbearable. I don’t know why. I was too young when I noticed this for it to have come from me, but I had no memory of anywhere else to look. 

 July 4, 2026

Firecrackers in the gathering dark. Spent the morning delving Yeats, trying to discover why he could write a political poem that is a great poem, and we cannot.  Part of the reason–and the part that cannot be amended–is that his opponents at some point believed what they were doing was right, and preserved some of that dignity. We are shooting hogs in a wallow. It is hard to make that matter. It is hard to give that dignity. 

Bombardment

 July 3, 2026

The news is mostly about the heat– some new Trump atrocity, and the heat. Joy came into this wallow with visiting World Cup nations such as Scotland, Norway, Netherlands bring mirth to our cities. Some commentators cite that as proof that all will be well after the present nightmare passes, and I agree. 

Sat on the porch at morning reading Yeats. I haven’t taken him up since I retired, and he hit with the force of the First Time. But Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. . . .

Bombardment of fireworks. The sound is so engaging I forget there is fire as well. 

 July 1, 2026

Wrote a blurb for Y’s new book of poems. That wasn’t her name when she was my student. When an acquaintance sends work you’re always terrified, lest they be awful and you have to find a way to say so without saying so. Thank God hers were quite wonderful. Humbling. I hope in some distant way I had something to do with them. 

World Cup

 June 30, 2026

Lunch with DJ.  Shared with the waiter our hopes that some obscure, unexpected nation-- Cape Verdes, Congo– would win the World Cup. 

 

June 29, 2026

B H writes on an education discussion online: David Hopes students talked of how much enjoyed your lectures, The best humanities professor and the best Cambridge summer! Your range of knowledge was totally impressive and so much energy. Great teachers tend to enjoy teaching, must be the classroom dynamics.

Heat wave. One says “it’s summer” and endures it. One aims the fan at one’s head for the afternoon nap. 

 June 28, 2026

Frederick the Great’s flute concerto on the radio. It’s different now that I have stood in his palace and seen his flute.

Leg issues continue into morning. It might be getting better. I made it upstairs to my office, and am in no pain now, but when I get up, go downstairs to make coffee, it may be different. I think it’s the same arthritis issue that immobilized me at Reems Creek years ago, though hugely less painful than then. Yet waking, having to take a morning piss, realizing suddenly that you may be immobile (wasn’t, but there was a moment of deep fear), puts intimations of mortality and vulnerability into the heart. I have taken haleness and freedom of movement (however ouchy) for granted.  if I were truly immobile nobody would look for me until Iris comes to clean house on Thursday. She would find the door locked, go home, send a message that the door was locked.  

Danny was hospitalized with a leg infection, and though that has cleared, he tells L that he can’t live alone anymore, and her project is to find him a nursing home. Evidently he barricaded himself in since Eileen died, fearing to live alone, fearing to let anyone in, like Domitian rattling around in the Golden House.

In my feed was a story of a 16 month old boy who was killed when police, speeding to apprehend a robber, struck his parents’ car. A video of his first birthday showed a bright-eyed, happy kid, laughing at some antic of his father. I leaned over in the chair and howled, uncontrollably, longer than I thought I could. His mother on camera tried to express her grief. It was like a dark tunnel, stretching from her heart into the universe, limitless, inexpressible. I used to grieve and abominate the right things, but until old age I never actually felt them. This is a great gift and blessing.  I am the Vala Nienna. I am Rachel weeping for her children. 

 June 27, 2026

Tweety bird-loud grayish morning. Sang last night at Canton Presbyterian for Haywood County’s first Pride Weekend. GPS was unable to locate the building accurately, so I had to park at some distance and walk toward a steeple I hoped was the right one. That made me sweaty and grumpy, but the event itself was fulfilling. The little church was full, the congregation exuberant. Walking back, I noted that the streets of Canton are absolutely empty– reminded me of Asheville when I moved here in the early 80's. Canton is trying to come back from losing its one industry– who knows? I made hints about backing out of the show, but B declared that I was needed. Saw that I was. Could hear no other bass but myself. Luckily, it was a good voice day. 

Bach from the new study Alexa, whom I’ve given a rather startling masculine voice. Planted ferns from the end-of-season sale at Plant Delights. 

Re-organized the studio. Painted. 

Left leg inclined to collapse under me, for no reason I can think of.