September 13, 2015

Closed the windows. Wore a jacket.

September 12, 2015

Yesterday beatified by three visitations, each a young man coming to my office, beaming away, asking for this or that, but mostly bringing the sun. The youngest was three, Evan’s little August, who toddled in and wanted to see fire, so we got images of fire on You Tube and we watched together. His empire is full ; it just needs to be translated. One asked for academic advice, another for a critique of his poems, another if I would advise the campus quiddich club. The one who asked for academic advice looked around the office and said, “I expect I’ll be spending more time here.” It was the closest to seduction I’ve felt in a long time. One wouldn’t say I live an isolated life, but there is not that much of it one-on-one. I smiled through the afternoon. Walked to Edna’s for a glass of wine. Spectacular dreams arisen from moments ago. Invited to a party at the edge of a great lake.
 
The NEH professorship comes up with $700 for Washington Place.

The re-blooming white iris has rebloomed. When I saw it last night I waded to it through the garden, and I kissed it. It was cool and smooth, like being in love with a sea creature.

Grackles in my back yard. I would say at one point there were a hundred of them. I do not recall seeing a grackle there at any other time. Migrating, maybe, or some insect emerging before fall and the grackles gathered for the feast. When they flew it was like sheets of black satin in the wind. 

September 11, 2015

An anniversary.

Phlebitis was creeping upon me. No cause was discernible, so I assumed recent weight loss released toxins from the cells. Took the pills, and felt, at rehearsal, the heat and pain fading away almost miraculously. The lost hours of exhaustion recently must have been due to that. Sensational session on the elliptical at the Y, running and memorizing lines at ones.

Read four plays last night trying to decide what to send to GPTC. Each was good. Happy about that. It didn’t help me to decide, though.

Ramayana in Humanities.

Bear attack against my seed pail. I ran out to see what it was. I startled the bear so it ran into the back yard, but the back yard is surrounded by a fence, and so it stopped, turned , glared at me with the seed bag limp in its mouth.  Not wanting to come between a frightened bear and its escape route, I retreated indoors.

September 10, 2015

Tea with Russell and Maria after choir. We talked of fondant more than anyone would expect. Drank tremendous quantities of water to combat muscle spasms just before bed, requiring me to wake and eliminate tremendous quantities of water through the night. This kept the sleep light and filled with vivid dreams. The last was of me doing a particularly wonderful one-man show on stage, and just at the most triumphant moment having the tech go out, and having to leave the stage ignominiously, deflated, in the dark.
   
Coffee yesterday with C. We talked about his new play and about his applying for the creative writing position at UNCA. Also inevitably chatted about the local theater scene, our perspectives and disappointments. We are amazed by the vanity or falseness of the same people, saddened or gladdened harmoniously by the changes in them. He has a talent for immediate and sincere friendship that I admire. I crashed into a profound pot hole parking at the café, but, this time, the car seems no worse for it.
   
Faint throb of the night voices. Still and hour before dawn.

September 9, 2015

Couperin on Pandora.

School, and then rehearsal. A few pearls of water on the windshield when I left the Woodfin Y. Loud calling of a single bird in deep night.

Dream last night of catching a plane from Dublin, except the plane was delayed and we were kept amused by an epic film that you’d have to walk to different venues to see the next part of, all through a dark and rainy Dublin. Homesick.

September 8, 2015

Second best Labor Day ever, after the one I spent in slant summer light in the garden at Koinonia. Gardened pretty energetically, studied my lines, sent out some manuscripts, studied cookbooks, sat in the twilight watching the green shadows move across my garden. Terrible weeks have not had their terribleness redressed, but merely worn out for a while. It is enough.

Saved from investing in the revival of The Worst Musical Ever by there being a $25,000 base limit to investments. Too rich for my blood.

Day cloudy bright, warmer than it looks like it should be. Good Humanities discussion on the Bhagavad Gita.

September 7, 2015

Labor Day. I don’t remember having Labor Day off since I came to Carolina, so I utter mighty blessings. Planted ferns, dug a little at new plots of garden. Studied my lines at High Five. Admired the men jogging. Overcame inertia and am feeling around for a way to get the Lincoln trilogy on stage. Bruce facebooks me an offer to invest in a revival of Carrie: the Musical. I look at the fan turning on the table, at the cat sleeping on the floor, and can scarcely contain my wonderment. I don’t even know what metaphor to use. It’s like asking the bluebird to invest in starling houses. It’s like asking a redwood to invest in chain saws. Besides, one Googles the show and sees it wins almost everybody’s prize as the worst musical ever. I think I’ll probably do it.