October 9, 2026

Damaris Peters is dead. 

Spent the morning digging and planting under a dull silver sky. Into the ground went daylilies, yellow trillium, great white trillium, grape hyacinth, jack-in-the-pulpit. Then I made a huge vegetable stew without washing my hands. Live dangerously! 

Turkeys visited twice, or maybe it was two different bands.

Threats of hurricane up from the Gulf. I don’t know about others, but I’m enraged by the news, not having gotten Helene fully under my belt. One flickering light, one interruption of reception will be intolerable. Just giving it fair warning. 

Returned to High 5 by the river after its second restoration in two years. Flood and fire. A happy red dog presented himself to be petted. Surrounded by young mothers and their toddlers. All the children have last names for fist names– Kennedy, Cooper, etc--

Avlgmc rehearsal last night amusing, discouraging, the music bad and calling for nothing more than an indifferent interpretation, yet everybody churning merrily along. The composer of some and arranger of many sits beside me, so I may not cry out. It’s not that he isn’t good, but it’s a stopgap, so we can do numbers off the radio which nobody has had the bad taste yet to arrange for choirs. It’s OK. It’s all right. I can advocate for greatness only so long before I spoil everybody’s fun. 

Writing and painting alternate in their own time, and I am generally incapable of affecting the alternation very much.