April 29, 2025

Distant thunder. 

A young messenger from my insurance company (or something like that) arrived this morning to ask a series of questions. That I was working in my garden when he arrived got me many points. He said he’d been employed before getting this job with a group specializing in “wounds.” I didn’t ask what kind of wounds and how obtained. Later it was a haircut. The barber explained to me how Greek and Hebrew were so different there were bound to be uncertainties in translations of the bible. I quite agreed, but couldn’t imagine what got him on that subject. Maybe my white and sage-suggesting hair. 

Yesterday’s hard gardening caused a flare-up of arthritis in my left thumb– never quite gone, but sometimes all but unnoticeable. Noticeable it has been the last few days, the ache climbing to my shoulder, and some hours with it intrusive and very distracting. I think I won’t sleep, but I do. Arthritis. It’s always something. 

 April 28, 2025

Massive (for a skink) skink becomes active on my sunny front porch. He’s silvery with a brown head, and very timid. 

As of today, stock market losses are $27,230. Down from nearly $70,000. 

Last night was another Mystic Transport on the Porch night. I began in the garden. I’d not sat in the garden at night because, frankly, I was afraid of bears. But the garden turns out to be well enough lit by ambient urban light that I could, against expectation, see anything as it entered. Cloudy, so it seemed I was in a little room with trees as its walls. Moved to the front porch, because the stupid street lamp at once compromises the mood and makes me feel safer. Feel asleep in the chair for who knows how long. Any number of bears may have sniffed me where I slumbered.

Weeding

 April 27, 2025

Early rising, playing hooky from church. Wrote some, finished Magdalene Running, a painting that took two months after I thought it was finished to find its true subject. Then, a night and a morning to complete. Then into the garden, achieving what I believe is the most extensive bout of weeding yet at this address: the iris bed and the eastern bed freed essentially, if not quite absolutely, of interlopers. Every years there is a new primary culprit: this year it is cleavers. Tore out the entwined vines along the pond, aided by recent rain softening the soil. I had not intended all that weeding, but once I got started there was no reason to stop until the designated spaces were freed. Got one pink dicentra planted. Arthritis in my thumbs makes all such actions problematic, but not impossible. 

 

April 26, 2025

Day divided in half. In the morning I watched the Papal funeral. I felt sightly unwell, and worked at the keyboard. I don’t really recall what was accomplished, Napped, felt better, went out for some strenuous gardening. Only one white dicentra got planted, as I had spent the time trying to dig in the impossible, pebble-filled east side of the property. Fussed with the pond, improved the flow of the waterfall. Day ends in perfect celestial blue. 

 April 25, 2025

Exhausting rehearsal last night. Most of the expenditure of energy is frenzy and misdirection, little remaining for music-making. Returned home, watched the movie Conclave, pertinent to today’s situation.

Today almost perfect. Night rain. Dream of visiting a beautiful city between mountains and the sea. Was invited to go swimming. There was no beach, but one jumped directly into surprisingly warm water. As I swam, a skate attached itself to and accompanied me. Excellent omen. Rose early and finished correcting Poets in Our Youth. Then rough gardening, which was a little planting but mostly strife with the bamboo thicket. Turns out that the big clippers I bought do shear through bamboo, if I make the right face. Sat on the porch listening to the birds, reading Whitman, drinking chilled vodka. I contemplated the fact that I was happy. 

Rain

 April 24, 2025

Rains came, a blessing for my plants and for the fires creeping across the mountains, eating up the trash left behind by Helene. Planted blue phlox, preparing to plant the annual seeds. 

Yellow trillium appears magically in my yard. Did I plant some long ago, and the vegetable cover is only just now light enough for it to emerge? Or a blessing from the gods for all my good works. 

Sudden artesian emergence of new dramatic writing. Everything is welcome. 

Too many rehearsals leading to too many performances in the next two months. Holy week was, in this sense, monstrous.  

*

From email this AM:

WS-M <@gmail.com>

Wed, Apr 23, 7:31 PM (12 hours ago)

David, friend, I hope you are well! You and I had the pleasure of meeting circa 2019 in Los Angeles at the time that I was featuring as Piers Gaveston in a snippet from Edward the King in the LA Fringe Festival. At the time, I requested your blessing to adapt your incredible work into screenplay format, and you generously gave it. Now, I find myself on the east coast and I think I found the perfect director. However, after the pandemic and two or three moves across state lines, I no longer have the original script. May I kindly ask for you send me another copy? Whether via email, or I can give you my physical address? I would love to continue promoting your amazing work.

P.S., I am in the process of helping to produce WorldPride 2025 Washington, D.C., where there will be a theatre micro-festival as one of our partner events – i.e., Gay for D.C. Theatre.

Big hugs,

WS-M

Birds nesting in my garden, or using it for a primary feeding ground, include blue jays, brown thrashers, gold finches, mockingbirds, towhees, Carolina wrens, robins mourning doves, red-bellied woodpeckers. I’d despaired of catbirds, until a pair appeared yesterday.  

Francis

 April 21, 2025

Pope Francis is dead. I was in Istanbul when he was elected. 

Somewhat surprised to see two of my poems in this edition of The APR. Had said “yes” to K, but, I thought, for something else. But, good news. 

Planted the last of the callas.