May 13, 2014

Monday spent overwhelmingly in fever naps. My capacity for sleep amazes even me, for after sleeping all day, I slept all night, and arise a little–sleepy. I think this round with the Nuisance is won. No matter how ill I get, I must do for myself. Yes, that frightens me a little. Did get the car washed, which means the remnants of the last house–mostly sweet gum balls crushed on the floorboards and pine needles jammed in the door jams– are gone. No mirth at finishing Lexington Tract. History has ironed all enthusiasm out of that. Mowers came and mowed over lots of what we talked about not mowing over. Ready for some good adventure.

May 12, 2014

Indisposition wound its gradual way into me. Yesterday at church I was very uncomfortable, and outright had to leave during the Communion music. The proximate cause was the great fistful of doughy bread I was given at Communion, but it had been a long time coming already, and I made it to the rest room in time to vomit energetically. I wondered if I could be heard out front. I am a vocal vomiter. Got home and slept the sleep of exhaustion, not totally restored by Cantaria rehearsal, and in bed again before 10. Woke with what is clearly, now, phlebitis. I believe I caught it in time, but however rapid the recovery, this will be a day given over to lounging, hot soaking, sleeping, which is not what I had prepared for.

Finished the writing of the book on the morning of May 11. Will finish the first go-over revision today. I need a new title: Lexington Tract, Emerald Moonlight Prussian Blue lead the candidates right now. Publish This Fast, Motherfucker is my secret favorite.

Phone calls from everybody wanting me to give them money. I look at Caller ID and don’t answer, for the most part. If I were going to return good to the place which did me the most good, ever bountifully and surprisingly generous, it would be Syracuse, though I tell myself they have the big spending basketball fans and don’t need my bachelor's mite.

May 11, 2014

Cardinal calling in the last dark. The morning already a clutch of little annoyances. Taking a deep breath, sipping cold mint tea, starting again.

Excellent, excellent mornings at the studio. It’s hard to talk about painting. I like it because it’s so unlike writing, which is easy to talk about. Folks came to my studio and called my work Dali-esque. I smiled. I didn’t remark on how ignorant that was. Tried to bring a big painting home, but the support had become the home of large scary spiders. I wanted the spiders to vacate, and I shook the frame and wiped it with a broom. I’d forgotten how delicate spiders are, even big scary ones.

Sang at Millie Morrow’s ordination. About half the throng were lesbians and their wives. That makes a difference in what is said and done, and how the usual things are done. Superb sermon about vocation. Reminded me of the fairly long time in my youth when I assumed I was going to be a preacher. I would have been a good one if preaching were the whole of it. Or if there had been a Call.

The garden I made at the studio blooms stunningly.

May 10, 2014

The transformer in front of 62 exploded last night. The cats and I heard it. I looked through the house for an intruder. When the trucks came, after midnight,  I wandered out to chat with the workers jacked up on the – jack, I guess– that lifts them up to the wires. I was sorry I interrupted them. They seemed happy, talking between themselves in the misty sweet night. I wanted to say something helpful or encouraging but nothing occurred.

Dan sent me a message of himself singing and playing music. Too small to see, but that’s what I guess.

Will likely finish the rewrite of Night, Sleep before the day is over.

Saw a huge shovel-headed skink at Phil Mechanic. Wanted to bring him home, but thought perhaps he would be happier where he was. I have to take thought for a mower now. Magnificent specimen.

May 9, 2014

Days settling into the summer routine I find delicious. Much painting, much writing, afternoon punctuated by cocktails and a brief sleep, opening on an evening which is almost another day. My gardening is almost done for the summer, except for weeding and maintenance, and except for 62, which is a jungle. The Japanese ariseama looks to be taking over everything, which is fine, it being attractive and maintenance free. Two such volunteers came over with the peonies. I took them out of the peonies and gave them their own spaces to imperialize. I live in the stories I am writing and painting, and have not that much to say.  DJ and I saw the latest Spiderman, which I liked the best of the lot.

May 8, 2014

Dinner and chat with DG– a bachelor event while his wife is in New Orleans. He showed me his eclectic art collection. We ate at the Deerfield dining hall, which is lovely but which I find a little horrifying for all that it implies. Deerfield in the whole is calm and lovely, but also a little horrifying. It’s good to learn new things about new people.

Todd Williams ousted Ron Moore from the DA’s seat, a surprise to me, as I assumed Moore had some kind of ownership. I know people who admire Moore as a gentleman, but such a gentleman worked the law to destroy lives apparently for the mere joy of it. Being rid of him is not quite enough. I don’t give money to too many political campaigns, but Williams’ was one.

Woke late. The sky was already yellow.

May 7, 2014

Glad waking into a cool indigo night-before-morning.

Reading Crazy Horse magazine because of its beautiful cover. The poetry is awful; the fiction is excellent.

Almost too content for the moment to have anything to say.