February 28, 2024
Tremendous wind. Despite the wind and gray, the back of the garden gleams pink with incipient sweet bay.
Woke energized, accomplished the things suggested by the influx of energy. Do not feel the energy now. Hoping against hope that the weather is even worse in Biltmore and rehearsal will be cancelled. O, flood, beloved French Broad, just enough!
February 27, 2024
Took the ball and ran with a proposal for a theater money-maker for the Cathedral. After a good deal of research and labor, was told it was “not a good example of Stewardship.” And that was that. Made me consider why people who worry to morbidity about hurting some people’s feelings don’t seem to worry about mine. Normally I don’t care (and that might be the explanation). Sometimes I do.
When I was a kid I irritated people by taking any opportunity to be left alone. I begged to stay home from family gatherings, to avoid trips to PA to my grandmother’s stifling house, to skip birthday parties. I knew it looked like haughtiness or antic-sociability; it wasn’t, but rather delight in creative solitude, that I might fill with my own limitless imaginings. The rest of the equation in those particular instances was that I was not particularly welcome. It was a sacrifice I was to expected to make without reciprocation. I would not have been a poet without those spaces of time. I would not have been the person I am without those spaces of time. The irony is that neither being a poet nor being the person I am has turned out as anticipated. The swathes of creative solitude are still a delight, though at this point they blend undetectably into isolation. I acquired no real allies, which is to say, anybody that would prefer me and support me even in the face of adversity. I do not believe the reverse is true. I’ve worked hard for causes which were not mine because I believed they were precious to someone, and to be a friend or an ally is sometimes better than to be right. I’ve stood by even casual friends if I thought they needed me, or that their cause was just. It is conceivable that nobody thinks I need them, or that my cause is just. I shrug and move on, feeling that an appeal to loyalty or affection would end up an embarrassment not only to me but to those who–legitimately– feel no such way. I acknowledge the degree to which I made this situation for myself. I had no such intention.
February 24, 2024
Finished The Garden of the Bears five minutes ago. I think it is a beautiful book. But then, I thought each one was a beautiful book. Now the struggle begins.
Sleet trying to make itself into actual storm.
February 23, 2024
Rain and sun alternate, rain getting the final victory. Finally replaced all the Anatolian carpets I had to take up because of Maud. Much tugging of ungainly loads up and down the stairs. There are too many now, or I didn’t re-discover the maximal distribution.
Writing, painting. Strange energy in me. . . maybe I’m finally taking enough aspirin.
February 22, 2024
A flock of bluebirds rested in my garden this morning.
Sat beside the river because it was almost warm enough. One mallard. Several geese. Ate a sandwich, throwing bits of it to a song sparrow.
Various chores, most of which involved spending a lot of money.
Credit Card Company called about a bogus charge. The lady on the line was not only Indian, but couldn’t be bothered to speak into the mic, so I had to ask her to repeat everything, and we finished our business only by my fishing the occasional word out of the mud and deducing what she must have meant.
Tried to fix the sound on the TV. Bought speakers. Expensive speakers from a big guy with a red walrus moustache. Did I install them correctly? It’s both better and worse, so true to my history.
