May 7, 2015

Yesterday one of those days of such mental agitation the next day is largely dedicated to not repeating it.

Sat in the yard in the afternoon. It is a sacred space. A bluejay came twice to a space in the maple beside me to feed on something he had found, something with a shell that he had to work at for a while.  I hoped I was so still he didn’t know I was there.

Went to a pottery shop and bought something I really didn’t want because the person who had made it was manning the store.

Enlarged the back garden slightly. 

Today has been far better. Painted. Talked at the studio with Jolene, whose life has become– I would call it a catastrophe; she calls it an adventure. After thirty years her husband’s eye wandered. She went away for a couple of weeks, and when she returned there was a new woman in her house. She is essentially homeless. But she has bought a trailer, intending to head south and find a new home, while overseeing the sale of the Phil Mechanic. One laments one’s solitude, until one sees the betrayal that can come from alliance.

Pitiful thin rain.

A titmouse carefully explored the corners of my porch, looking for a likely nesting site. She was quick and decisive. She did not find it there.

I sat in the café and wrote poetry, which has saved, for the moment, everything.

May 6, 2015

Contemplating my lack of success in getting people to meet me for coffee. Stephen turns me down in Dublin, inventing a death in the family as an excuse; Jeremy in Omaha replies to the invitation with silence; Lucio in Rome replies to the invitation with silence. I look in the mirror wondering, what?

Last exams, grades turned in, even for those who–as happens imponderably every year–don’t bother to take the final. What are people thinking? Students choose to do one thing rather than another, to fix some personal problem by ignoring class, which is fine, but then they expect there to be no consequences. I think this generation has not been shown actual consequences; everything is forgiven, everything but personal inclination is optional. Yes, each soul is sovereign, but each soul must consider what happens to that sovereignty when it rubs against other souls. The isolated soul is sovereign.

The great blooming is upon us.

May 5, 2015

Watched a pair of catbirds building their nest in my hollies. The lawnmower had torn up a plastic bag, which I had been too idle to pick up. Glad I didn’t , for the birds chose the right pieces and dragged them into the trees, God having provided a material of amazing durability and malleability.

Second day of fast.

Second day of realizing I need a new keyboard.

Glorious morning at the studio yesterday. Painted in oils Today is 1) waiting for the plumber, and 2) exams. The plumber lady called yesterday to see if they could reschedule because they had an “emergency.” I said no. If they’d had an emergency, they should have been taking care of it right then. Stayed up until 1 listening to old Rock songs on You Tube.

Purple lupines, almost erotic. 

Struck with terrible longing for the swimmer in the Racket Club pool this morning. Very solemn and Nordic.

May 4, 2015

The lamentable anniversary.

Guilio Caccini on Pandora

DJ and I went to see the latest Avengers movie after church. The critics rather undersold it; I enjoyed it. Regretted the loss of so many hours of blazing light, but it looks like today will be a repeat, so all is well. I’d ask God to be a superhero, but seeing how niggardly he is with ordinary life, that would likely be futile. I would be the Covering Cherub.

Sizzling with energy, wondering where to put it first.

Purple water iris and purple Dutch iris in bloom. They may be the same thing. I want the blue tree I saw abloom at Esalen.

Almost unbelievably good coffee from Starbucks this AM. Drink coffee hungry: it’s ambrosia. 

May 3, 2015

Blazing Sunday morning following a blazing Saturday. Saturday morning I went at 7 to the studio. Had my half hour of rage in having to put it back together after L moved everything about, but calmed then, and painted, painted, mostly in pastels, and was happy as a child with his toys. Took one to be framed. The delicacy of the finished pastel still bothers me, though there are French pastels that have lasted many years. Then to First Pres. for the final concert with ACS, at which I was at about 60%, but at which the chorus as a whole triumphed with its audience. In the evening went to the new Magnetic Theater, which is in every detectable way superior to the old one. It LOOKS like a theater, and shares space with galleries where one might wander about looking at paintings during intermission. No din from the adjacent bar. It rather reminds me, in lay-out, of the Project Theater in Dublin. Better sightlines, better– I don’t know what–feel. It’s a place where one could put one’s energies. The fare was rather a bell curve, two of the plays lamentable, two fun and witty and bright; one, by Greg Nanni, whom I distantly know, brilliant. I’d see the program again for another audition of that play. The acting was spare and classy and adept. The level of acting everywhere in Asheville is increasingly smooth and accomplished. Used to be you’d have to cringe past bad acting to see a play; now you almost never see a misstep in stage. The directing, too, was blameless, so far as I could tell. Victory first time out for MT.

Reading the scripture of Philip and the eunuch in mass this morning. What an odd story. Hope the homily gives exposition. Afternoon free, God be praised.

May 2, 2015

 Actual performance better than the rehearsals, as it almost always is. I still did feebly. A pair of doves scrabbles in the yard for sticks to build their nest.

May 1, 2015

Beltane: shifting light and dark, but every minute too cold. Like high summer in the Ice Age, all the flowers blooming, me in my winter jacket.
   
I have feeling of unspecified richness, as though the day had been the Day of Days. I will not investigate too far. Feeling physically better than I have in a while.
   
On a morning drive to and from the Racket Club, I noted how many people actually sped up near on-ramps to prevent me, or someone else, from entering the highway. I counted four. One was very blatant. I watched in the side view mirror as she pressed the gas so I wouldn’t be able to get on 19-23, with three lanes completely open to her left. I pressed my gas and got on anyway. She flashed her lights and shook her fist as she passed. As this was happening eastbound, in the westbound lanes a cop sped up and hugged the right to make a semi hit the brakes as it was trying to enter the Smoky Park Bridge.
   
Horrific rehearsal at First Presbyterian last night. I sang badly on top of it, surrounded by people singing badly and with no way to catch my note out of the chaos. Steely concentration tonight, I swear. Cantaria’s collaboration sounded like a good idea, but it has turned out to be, for me, labor and stress without compensation of any kind. It shouldn’t take two and a half hours to get through five songs. But did have the best Caesar in the world at King James afterward, and was given a drink. So, fine.