Evening Thunder

 

May 7, 2023

Read articles in NYRB about the extinction of humankind. The disappointments of my own life are strangely comforted by that concept. I’m think of the paradise that would assert itself if we were gone. I want to say, “but who would appreciate it?,” forgetting that the animals too have souls and like what is beautiful to them. 

Thinking about Thursday night. I have sung in choruses since the 7th grade and no one has ever once bellowed at a director for directing badly in the middle of a rehearsal. Ought it to have been done? Ought I simply to have walked away? Ought I to do that now? Am I expected to leave the chorus? That would be no sorrow at this point. Am I meant to go on as if nothing had happened? That’s my plan now. That is almost always my plan . . .  

Afternoon. Torrential rain began as I sat on the porch with a cold drink, even as I was thinking “I have to water these plants.” 

Evening: Lightning. Thunder. Maud is not running to me for comfort.

 

May 6, 2023

Movies with DJ. Almost forgot how to do it. He reports that one of our homeless people destroyed the garth. Hard to know what to do. 

Watched about an hour of the Coronation. 

Back to painting after a month. 

Went the Marquee in the River District to rent display space. Didn’t do it. Went to Togar’s to buy another carpet. Didn’t do it. Bought a limeade and sat in the shade of a smokestack drinking it. 

 

May 5, 2023

Lost my voice at rehearsal last night. Sheer exhaustion, I think. I had enough left to shout at our director, who had doubled down on a tactic she acknowledged to be rude and disrespectful, but which had determined to keep up until we gave her the effect she thinks she wants, which has not happened after five years of her doing the same thing. I told her to stop it, that it was ineffectual and infuriating. She said that she would, but who knows the actual outcome of the incident? I gain the reputation of a grumpy crank (in case I didn’t have that before)? All things are suddenly well with the chorus? Rob pursued me afterwards to hug me and say “Thank you. That needed to be said.” Hope to God it did. My punishment was a restless night full of horrible dreams, which involved–literally– exploring versions of hell. Brad Pitt seemed to be my companion in the journey, which lightened it surprisingly little. 

My sister sends the death notice of Esther, my father’s last sibling:

Esther H. (Hopes) Warne, age 95, of Brownsville, Pa., passed away Friday, August 28, 2015 after a brief illness.

She was born on Wednesday, July 7, 1920 in West Brownsville, Pa., daughter of Oliver Hopes and Daisy Mae (Houpt) Hopes.

She was preceded in death by her parents; by her loving husband, Boyd Warne; and all of her siblings. She is survived only by her nieces and nephews.

At her request, there will be no viewing and a private graveside service will be officiated by the Reverend Edward Truitt of Brownsville Wesleyan Methodist Church, Pa. She will be interred at T a y l o r C e m e t e r y Centerville, Pa., next to her parents. She will be deeply missed. No remembrance gifts or condolences are being accepted.

Arrangements are under the direction of NOVAK FUNERAL HOME, 515 Front Street, Brownsville, PA 15417.

Kent

 

May 4, 2023

The terrible anniversary. 

Woke this morning to Maud’s little morning shout, the one that announced she was awake and ready to start her day. It was ghostly but comforting. 

The mower mowed wrong, the cleaning lady left ridges of dust, and her sweater on the chair in the living room. I stared at the sweater for a while before comprehending what it was: so feminine, soft blue and embroidered with little flowers. 

Desdamona

 

May 3, 2023

Biggest garden day ever. The shade garden on the west side is practically clear and practically planted. Coral bells, dicentra, a fragrant white rose called Desdamona, yarrow and milkweed in the sun. The wind blew a giant bamboo over on my cedar, and was interfering with its crown. Sawed if off, then had 40' of green bamboo to deal with. 

Sudden remembrance of Colors in the Dark, the first play I saw at Hiram, whose inventiveness and– I think– strangeness made me want to participate. L impersonated a swan. K gave the line “Ich bin ein Canadienisher Frau,” which everybody thought was funny. It was probably clunky and forgettable, but I have not forgotten it, and to me it was magic. 1968. 

 

May 2, 2023

A day pretty much wasted, but I suppose that’s OK once in a while. Touched neither spade nor hoe, neither pen nor keyboard.

Received a check from the Treasury, with no explanation, but I assumed I overpaid my taxes. Took it to WF to cash it, and tried to ask a question about the FDIC, but the woman said they were not allowed to talk about the FDIC. Very curious. My student Will was having his first day as a teller, and gave me a big flannel-y hug. 

 

May 1, 2023

CRF is dead, my student and my wife in Our Town. What does a person that young die of? 

Truly a stupendous day, I think, looking back on it. Rose early and wrote by the river, wrote well, pulling my winter jacket tight around me. Gardened hard and long, digging and clearing, planting the rest of the evening primrose.