August 27, 2024

Left off recording here, but for what pressing activities I don’t remember. Maybe nothing to say except tidbits about gardening, finishing a painting, revising Bears, all things vital to me but making boring copy. 

In painting I am learning to follow my accidents. This almost never works in writing. 

GMC meeting here last night. The drone of male voices makes me long for a woman’s, a woman’s perspective on the things we discuss with what I’m sure must be male shortsightedness and determination. B’s partner has been in the Northwest for a few days, and he said, with some tinge of disgust, “I didn’t realize how much space he takes up, how much noise he makes.” I imagine people saying that about me all the time. 

Day after perfect day. My garden longs for rain, but its voice is quiet. 

Day in the public arena, turbulent as all such days are likely to be. Arrived at the Cathedral in time for my 11 AM appointment with C– a time set by her–to find the office locked. Waited. Rang the bell. Nobody answered. Was walking away when someone else approached the door. I decided to see how she fared. She rang the bell. K answered. When she had stated her business and was admitted, I explained how I was there for my appointment with C.

“C is taking a personal day.”

“Well, we made this appointment so I could–”

“She’s had a very rough week.”

My next question was “There are no phones?” but I didn’t ask it. As it was clear my time had no value compared with whatever was going on behind that locked door, I wandered off.

To the wild end of Old Fairview Rd to the Democratic Party Headquarters. Chaos there, though the two old ladies holding down the fort were doing the best they could. Made a donation, carried off a Josh Stein for Governor sign (the Harris/Waltz signs are not ready), got information on how to be a Poll Observer, which I may in fact do. The lady helping me swore in Polish because she couldn’t get any of her computers to work. Twenty-five minutes spent in getting one email off. The lady in the other room had to listen to a guy go on about a class he designed to teach Black kids how to relate to the police without being shot. She kept trying to interject, “How can the Democratic Party help you?” or “What exactly do you want from us?” prompting him each time to start over from the beginning.  I exited just as her dial neared “explode.” 

The lesson for the Black kids was, by the way, basically “obey.” 

Anniversary

 August 23, 2024

On this night fifty-eight years ago I became a poet. I remember it as if it were now. A great door turning slowly on golden hinges. 

Missed my audition for the Symphony Chamber Singers. Maybe God telling me “Enough, already.” 

Harris and her campaign bring so much joy into the world (my world, anyway) that I fear someone is going to take a shot at her. Some lard-ass in a red cap. Some Trump acolyte having head his master’s voice in the watches of the night. Maybe a Robert Kennedy’s being dismally mixed up in all of this puts it in my mind. 

Painted Trillium

 August 22, 2024

Return to Cathedral choir last night. We did Brahms, Pachelbel, Buxtehude, etc, rejoicing my heart. I have to let go of repertoire like this for GMC, so will cherish it the more when I have it. I can’t imagine why my insistence that we do the best music we can falls on heedless ears. Perhaps they really do prefer  schlock. It does achieve immediate approbation from the audience. 

Planted painted trillium and saffron. Towhees interrogated from the branches.

Cold

 August 21, 2024

Visited Schwab. Every single holding is in the black. I credit Harris/Walz.

Miserable with cold last night. Of course I couldn’t get up and fetch a blanket or close the windows, but rolled around in bed trying to use the available sheet and pillows to cover the most vulnerable places. Cold night ended with a dream in which I was trying to find a parking place in a wintery landscape. My car had something wrong with it, and I pulled it into a garage. I left the car there, assuming I’d never see it again. I contemplated driving around in a horrible truck that I happened to have, until a guy from the garage hunted me down and revealed that repairs on my car would be cheap and fast. 

Painted today. It had been so long since I’d picked up a brush my water had evaporated. 

 

August 20, 2024

Mr B, my 7th grade math teacher, who was hateful but also weirdly attentive, left teaching, moved to Florida, became a drug addict, died of suicide. Mr Jacobs was apparently, if long remembrance can be trusted, a pedophile. Discovered a new webpage dedicated to gossip from my old high school, some of it as old as I. 

 

August 19, 2024

Bright moon last night, almost violent on the dark foliage of the garden. 

Throwing out many thing, including old (and expensive) portrait photos of myself. 

Apollo his bow

 

August 18, 2024

Felt actually pretty great this morning. A five day recovery: neither good nor bad.

 A car with Florida plates cut me off where Merrimon hits downtown. His lane went left, mine straight ahead, but he kept going straight so I had to brake to avoid a crash. I tapped my horn so he’d see that he was making a mistake. He stopped dead in front of me, put his hand out the window, gave me the finger, to teach me a lesson. I laid on the horn. I could see him thrashing about inside the car like he’d sat on a bare wire. He moved on a little, stopped again; I laid on the horn. Another finger out the window. He moving inside, again, like he was on fire. He moved on, repeated the operation. This happened three times in one block. He made a light I had to stop for, so I thought that was all done. But he had stopped, waiting, and swooped in behind me, tailgating. I realized I didn’t even have to brake to ruin his day, merely lift my foot off the accelerator. I did not. Switched lanes. He sped up, zoomed in front of me. In his haste to get in front and brake check me, he lost control of his car, which jumped the curb and ended up on the dead grass at the side. I went on. Here’s the interesting thing. It was road rage on his part, but not on mine. I was not the least bit enraged. I was having fun. It’s like when you know the right thing to do or say that sends the neighborhood brat into a tantrum. I was playing and his taking it all so fatally serious was part of the fun. I’ll test to see if I regret this later. 

Young A comes with his mother to church, then puts on his acolyte robes. He never arrives without his lacross stick, which I think is wonderful, a god bearing his attribute, Herakles his club, Apollo his bow.