UNDER THE JANUARY WIRE

 8 of 100

31 de janvier

I am running behind on my posts.

I stopped taking oxycodone as I am pretty sure it was adding to my despair. Things are bad enough without chemical encouragement to complete darkness and despair.

Not a lot going on, neither in life nor my thinking. I am well enough to not feel comfortable lolling around in bed. My pain is pretty low and I am able to go long periods of time without any meds. Going to bed is harder as it is not always easy to get comfortable. The cats and covers complicate matters. It can take awhile to fall asleep. 

Janet is doing relatively well. She never wants to get out of bed in the morning (no news there for any of us). She flip flops on going to play dominoes but generally settles on going. That is, until we are nearly there and then she wants to know why I am making her go.

I am getting around well, although I tire more easily. I managed to get to AAA to get my temporary disabled placard, do three loads of laundry, return library books, practice Duolingo French, get in a nap, and start reading Marcella Hazan’s Amarcord: Marcella Remembers. It’s an easy and pleasant read, taking no toll on the brain. 

Janet just went through a coughing spell. I had to make her a hot lemon and honey "tisane" which usually calms the phlegm. She keeps apologizing for living so long. I tell her that this is not necessary.

When I was informed that one of her children thinks she should go into a death accelerator (also known as an inexpensive nursing home), I suddenly changed my attitude about her. Which is probably a good thing. Trying to be nicer and more patient, although that doesn't always happen. I have some short fuses.

I need to take some pain meds and get to sleep. My friend Wendy is making an across-town pilgrimage to see me in my hour of pain and need. I am oddly ambivalent about healing so rapidly, as I did not get in my hours of narrative series watching, writing, or reading accomplished and now I must to the many other chores of my life. 

MIGHTY PAINFUL

 7 of 100

Jan 22

At least the neighbors are playing George Clinton and Parliament loud. I gave Luz a bunch of music on a flash drive last summer and this could well be some of what I put on it. But then again it could be Spotify.

I just got back from a shopping expedition, captained by my cousin Christina. There were drugs to pick up at Target and some grocery necessities to get at Trader Joe's. And then Christina had the great idea of getting hot dogs at Der Weinerschnitzel. I cannot recall the last time I ate at one, but this was a case of the right junk food at the right time. Very satisfying. Now for pain meds, ice pack, and maybe napping.

jeudi le vingt-six de janvier

Yes, I have been assiduously doing my DuoLingo French. My pronunciation is finally beginning to improve but is far off from acceptable. I found an app that would let me practice the alphabet but I have yet to get much use of it.

On Sunday, probably shortly after I began this, I was in bed piled with blankets and cats.

26 janvier

In the meantime, I will have to get back to that story. Debee came back on Monday to help out with me and Janet. I am reasonably mobile and can pretty easily take care of myself, but I do get tired. Some days, like today, I am in more pain and don't want to do much save sleep, read, and study French. Debee loves my mom more than I do and is quite patient with her. 

On Tuesday, we were trying to get Janet in the process of dressing and out to lunch when she started vomiting. The vomiting went on for the better part of an hour. Thank all goddesses that Debee was here. Being a mom and having been married to a pediatric oncologist, she is damn near a nurse herself.  At one point, Janet was on the point of choking on her vomit as she had gone to lie down. Debee was there, Johnny-on-the-spot, rubbing her back and cooing at her. 

We decided Janet needed to go to the ER. She will be 96 in a few days and you can't mess around with waiting at that age. Debee (mostly) and Patrick were able to get her into the car while I managed to dress myself. The ER was rockin' and full tilt crazy, even at noon on a Tuesday. They wouldn't even let her sit in the waiting room because of her nausea so we sat in the warm Cailfornia sun for at least an hour. Janet was very miserable. I am always uncomfortable with my healing knee but we bore it. 

They got her into a room with relative efficiency. Then began the waiting. I hate being in the hospital so this was a kind of agony. The ER rooms are not set up for the comfort of the accompanying adult. By about 7 they admitted her thinking it was a recurrence of the c. diff she had back in May. Debee and I went into a small cleaning and disinfecting frenzy should it be c. diff.  We drank a bit too much and watched Everything Everywhere All At Once. I was in a good deal of pain, due to having to sit up for so long in very uncomfortable conditions. Yesterday, we continued with the cleaning. 

Janet is getting sprung today. Debee went to get her as I have not been able to really manage the pain today. Nina and Vera are here on the bed with me, adding their support but it may be time for another oxy and some more ice. 

When Debee got to the hospital, Janet was, reportedly, very upset about a Christian having come it to proselytize to her. (I could take a moment of schadenfreude here as Janet was quite a bit of a proselytizer in her bliss ninny days.) We told them no religion. They must have been pretty insistent for her to be as upset as Debee had ever seen her. It is a Presbyterian hospital but it is the best hospital in the community, not that it is saying much.

29 janvier

I don't really have much heart for writing. If I don't keep at it and post, I feel as if I am failing myself.

Janet has been home for a few days and seems none the worse for the wear. I am trying to limit her coffee and chocolate intake; for the moment she seems to have evened out, not even coughing as much. She is not happy about these restrictions but I hope that she will get used to them.

The oxycodone exacerbates my depression, I think, so I am going off of it and trying to manage on Tylenol and ice. Whatever pain relief I get from it is not worth the nightly despair I feel. And I feel that anyway, even without an added downer. 

There has been talk among myself and my brothers about putting Janet in a nursing home. Although I do threaten her with that from time to time, I think it would vastly hasten her end. Plus, what becomes of me with no roof and little income? But it mostly makes me very sad, having been crying on and off for a few hours, that this is the solution to my our issues with her. One of my dear friends tells me to buck it, that it will be over, and indeed, it will but the interim is mighty painful. 

THE DARKNESS WE EXPECT

 6 of 100

15 January

" This is the work of the novel: to notice, knit, remember, record. The novel confers wholeness and unity to a story of division. The novel — it cannot help itself — reconciles."

— Parul Sehgal, Blood Lines, The New Yorker Magazine, January 2 & 9, 2023

I am not having a particularly easy day this morning, although the pain medications are finally starting to kick in and there may well be a nap in my immediate future.

21 January

'Tis time to find myself astride that writing horse again. So many of you have kindly inquired as to the state of my surgery and my general well-being. Let me say at the outset that I am humbled, amazed, and blown-away by your many kindnesses in regards to this. My brother Michael was a nurse-prince while he was here. He saw me through the surgery and getting home, supporting and commenting on my progress. Debee showed up as he was leaving and took great care of me and Janet. She's getting a couple of days off to attend to other things and will be back on Monday. In the meantime, my cousin Christina came over to get Janet out of bed and fed breakfast. I can get around for short stints of cat and Janet feeding, but it is hardest in the morning. 

I had a couple of very bad days of pain, but am doing really well. One of the physical therapists says that she has, in nineteen years, never seen a patient progress more rapidly. I try to limit my pain medication somewhat. I think the oxycodone feeds into my depression and I have been very down. 

I was underneath too many cats and blankets earlier today and straightened my leg in such a way as to have me screaming in pain. Not sure what I did, straighten it too rapidly?. After a few minutes the pain subsided to normal levels. My knee feels a little extra sore right now, but I am due for a pain meds. I see the surgeon on Monday.

The hospital was great. I had the foresight to take my Bluetooth speaker so I lolled in music and pain meds on my overnight. I was able to get into the house without much pain or problem. I only used the walker for a day and am now walking carefully about with nothing or a cane. 

I have been out three or four times, a trip to Trader Joe's, doctor visit, accompanying Debee to take Janet to lunch, and out to dinner last night. I was pretty tired when I got back last night. Today, I have staid in my 'jammies, practicing Duolingo French, finishing my book group book (Someone by Alice McDermott). During my twilight sleep or just cat napping, I listened to Jann Wenner's memoir, Like A Rolling Stone. The audiobook reader was stellar but Wenner is a shallow, egotistical ass. The biography of Wenner that came out a couple of years ago was much more insightful and relevant. (Here's an excerpt.)

And then having Jeff Beck and David Crosby exit in the same week. Hard to process the loss of one of them would be a challenge, but the both of them floors you. Not that that isn't to be expected, but Beck, at least, seemed to live a pretty healthy life. 

The kitties are circling, wanting me to settle down in one bed or place or another. I did take some meds, so I will likely be sleepy soon.

FIRST SNOW

The snow

began here

this morning and all day

continued, its white

rhetoric everywhere

calling us back to why, how,

whence such beauty and what

the meaning; such 

an oracular fever! flowing

past windows, an energy it seemed

would never ebb, never settle

less than lovely! and only now,

deep into the night,

it has finally ended.

The silence 

is immense,

and the heavens still hold

a million candles; nowhere

the familiar things:

stars, the moon,

the darkness we expect

and nightly turn from. Trees

glitter like castles

of ribbons, the broad fields

smolder with light, a 

passing creekbed lies

heaped upon the shining hills;

and though the questions

that have assailed us all day

remain—not a single

answer has been found—

walking out now

into the silence and the light

under the trees,

and through the fields

feels like one.

— Diane Oliver, New and Selected Poems, Beacon Press, Boston, 1992

AWAITING THE

 5 of 100

January 8th

Counting down to surgery now. I thank those of you who have reached out to support me, both in the Janet struggles and having surgery. I gave my knee some pets this morning after I pet the cats. Janet has gone back to bed. I am giving myself a bit of time to gather my thoughts, strength, and focus as I plunge into more housekeeping.

Yesterday was a pretty fine day. Our #3113 yoga class met, and, pleasantly, at a slightly later time. My knee hurt badly enough to remind me of the primary reason for doing this: yoga practice. I had not practiced in quite a long time and really felt awkward and stiff. I am a little sore today. I hope the reminder that it is ESSENTIAL to keep practicing stays with me. (Y’all can remind me if you want.) 

I was able to make good progress on the housecleaning project. There is more to do (and I will get to it shortly). This is usually the time I choke on completing the task. Inability or unwillingness to complete things is something I need to analyze more closely. That is one long list.

On my way to dinner in Laurel Canyon, I had a terrific conversation with my old pal Mona. Mona’s dear, departed husband was one of my closest friends in junior high and high school. When I made the break from LA, I moved in with them in Berkeley where many cards where played, much dope was smoked, and much laughter ensued. M and I reconnected strongly about a year ago when I sent her a birthday text only to find she was headed for some surgery herself. We have kept up semi-regular contact since. M was most understanding about the difficulties for caring for a dying parent nearly single-handedly. (I get some critical help from nearby friends and cousins.) The intimate chat made the drive through LA traffic and Hollywood go back rapidly. Grateful for that chat.

And then, a lovely raclette dinner with R and L. A lot of Curtis Mayfield played. We never run out of things to talk about, comparing notes on elder care (R’s mother is in her 90s), politics, series to binge, books, and then some card playing. I was annihilated. L gave me some lovely books in French to set off the year. She wisely chose some kid’s graphic novels to kick start me. I wonder if heavy pain meds will rendre la lecture du français moins difficile.

Janet was in bed when I got home. She had neglected to take her meds although I had given them to her hours earlier. I made her get out of bed to take them. The pre-op shower protocol meant that I had to take a shower and wait two hours to wipe down with disinfectant wipes. M had mentioned microwaving the wipes so they aren't so cold and that did help. I took a nap for two hours and after the disinfection, I had a hard time sleeping, hence a late start today.

Although Nina has returned to bed for some more cuddling, I need more coffee and breakfast, too.

Almost January 10th

Thank you all for all of your support, which has me feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I am headed to bed shortly. I had a kind of freeze, if not meltdown yesterday. I spent several hours, that could have been used more fruitfully in housekeeping
, doing Duolingo French.

The new air mattress and frame seem quite nice. Michael seems comfortable. The cats are enjoying the bed as well. There is nary a cat with me at the moment. They are occupied with chasing one another in and out of Michael's room.

DUSTING

Beautiful, visitors used to say

absentmindedly, glimpsing the figurine

(courtesan, bronze) ensconced in the fine

bay window. And it was, in a way

that irises swaying outside

would never be, multitudes driven

unresisting from season to season,

year after year. When the old man died,

his favorite weathered the neglect

indifferently. The pose she held

had take a lifetime to perfect,

would take a life, at last, to comprehend.

Dust fell, and her hand was filled,

awaiting the touch of a human hand.

— Daniel Hall, Hermit with Landscape, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1990

ARE DOLPHINS EVER TIRED?

 4 of 100

6 January

Tonight's full moon finds me rather drained. The cause of this exhaustion is currently unknown. Could it be a relapse of 1/6/21 malaise and shock. The Congressional clusterfuck of the week is a spectacle both rife with schadenfreude and terror. Seeing McCarthy's smug and jubilant face after the 15 ballot was purely disgusting. Well, perhaps he will be enough of a fuck-up to get some moderate Republicans to back Jeffries. To paraphrase a friend, a woman can dream, can't she?

I'll admit to some apprehension about the surgery which I think underlies everything. Avoiding to feeding into that fear is not easy. With the exception of an inguinal hernia surgery, I haven't had anything since I had my tonsils taken out when I was about five. I am not concerned that Dr. McShane won't do a good job, but I am terrified about losing more mobility. The primary motivation for doing this now is my "relative youth and good health," good health insurance, and I want to be able to practice yoga which is a dicey proposition at the moment. My pals in the Saturday class and I make fun of my left leg and say that it is there just for show. (The sciatica doesn't help.)

And then there is the daily despair of taking care of Janet. I need more help just to keep my sanity. If I had someone to come in in the mornings, get her dressed, fed, exercised, and ready for the Senior Center, I would probably feel better. Allegedly, there are senior services available but by the time I have gotten her up and out the door, my focus and will are very low. Inertia and despair are tough things to fight.

Janet has begun her before-bed hacking, so I have put on the water for honey and lemon. We were out to dinner with the usual Friday night crowd, which was delicious and entertaining. When we got home, I went straight into the bathtub so that I could begin my two-hour waiting period before disinfecting myself. 

It is so fucking terribly horrible to watch your parent decline. Janet needs physical therapy every day, even just getting her to practice getting in and out of chairs and picking up her feet. She is just collapsing in on herself due to inattention to herself and inability to focus. She fights and resists me in ways that she does not do with others. And the two of us are left to our unhappy duet far too much.

In other events (?), I checked out a big stack of delicious looking library books I hope to have the clarity and focus to power through while I recuperate. I managed to get my mother's bedding and her flotilla of nightgowns (?) washed. Patrick was kind enough to offer his dryer and I did find a place about five minutes from my house with enough dryers to get the job done quickly. In the undying spirit of doing non-essential things, I pulled quite a few weeds. The ground is so wet, pulling them out is relatively easy, although there is a surfeit of them. I gave some plants some breathing room.

I swear I had more profound thoughts earlier today, but getting them down usually eludes me and this is no exception. 

Tomorrow is my last yoga practice before the new knee. I am feeling stressed about getting a room ready for my brother who is the first caregiver, but I think it is important. Plus, I get a lot of encouragement from those folks, even if they do tease my about my leg. In the evening, I am going out to dinner in Laurel Canyon.

One of my New Years' Resolutions was to be in closer touch with my friends. I need to mitigate the isolation of caregiving and living in what feels to me a largely foreign land. So, I am inviting all of you to text or call me, too. 

Hot lemon and honey consumed. Coughing stopped.

A WELL-KNOWN ELIZABETHAN DOUBLE ENTENDRE

If we are dying, let’s do it slowly, together.

Are dolphins ever tired?

The way we have been leaping

about the steamship Intercourse and heaving

as if it ran on our hot breaths;

the way we have been yelling

as if our lungs were bellows for the furnace

of that gentle, violent vessel;

the way we gasp and clutch each other

like drowning sailors, then die to find

another life, ourselves transformed

and kissing easily as fish or playing

like dolphins over waves,

or tossing like the waves themselves

above the sea-bed after

having beaten around our respective and

respectable bushes

on dry land for so long —

I am turned around, not sure

if we are found or foundering.

There is a storm above the ways

and one below, but for all our

sweet struggle, the churning all around,

our sporting in the wake,

the ship appears to be more or less

on course. We sight a new world daily.

— Pamela Alexander, Navigable Waterways, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1985

TOWARD SOME KIND OF RETURN

3 of 100

Nina is very fixedly watching the rain. She appears to be hypnotized or possibly despairing. There is also the possibility that she is just a cat. Later. She has given up standing and resorted to napping, but still facing the window. The ground is sopping as are many of the cardboard boxes of Vernon Kilns dishware and ceramics left to me by Anita and Carole (half-niece, half-sister). Fortunately, they won't rot but will be a mess to clean up.

The wind is picking up. The now naked fig tree bounces to the gusts, as do the unruly arms of the orange bougainvillea which desperately needs a trim. Sebastian, my poor yard man, called me so many times this week to see if I wanted any work done that I finally relented. I spent more than I wanted to, but I felt I had to help out a fella. He's not really a gardener and has killed so many plants that now I have to walk around and point out specific things to do and not do. 

The garden will be very happy. The artichoke plant that I cannot kill is huge already. I must have harvested a dozen artichokes last year. The fennel is fluffed like a stately, exotic bird. The fennel is there mostly for the butterflies. The spindlelyness of the fig, the pomegranate, and the pepper tree look so black and naked against the lushness of the overgrown grass and the bougainvillea. I still have many tangelos to harvest. Going out to pick a Meyer lemon when you need one is also groovy. This is the first year it has produced so much fruit. 

Oh well. I would rather sit here in my cozy jammies surveying the yard, sipping coffee, listening to music, however, the Janet show needs to get on the daily road. Today will be my last yoga/Pilates session with Sonia until my knee gets sorted out. Tomorrow is supposed to be sunny before the next storm hits, so I should be able to get more done outside. 

There are all these protocols I need to follow before surgery. MRSA is such a threat that I am supposed to take a shower every day, wait two hours, and then very carefully clean myself with special wipes, as well as using some strong antibacterial stuff in my nose. I hope I don't die of boredom (or pain) in the hospital. 

I haven't been for an overnight in the hospital since I got that black widow bite in New York City (where there are no black widows). That was memorable due to our nurse, Clover. The woman in the bed next to me moaned and screamed in pain, begging for pain relief. In a Jamaican drawl that was somehow still clipped she said, "That's morphine, honey. Don't get no better than that." The entire scene was very Paddy Chayefsky. Maybe I will try to find The Hospital and stream it while I am there.

January 6

But just barely.

Janet is still hacking. I gave her some hot lemon and honey which works better than all the Robitussin and Mucinex together. She is finally calming down.

It was a challenging day, for all my efforts to make it otherwise. Janet foiled any plans to get her out of the house to dominoes in time for me to get to my Pilates on time, so, much to her disappointment, she staid home. She takes up more and more of my time and there is no streamlining that I can find.

I see now why I have resorted to drinking and overeating for the years I have been here. It's as if I every day I am starting from below the ground and have to work my way emotionally and psychologically to even hit an even ground. Things were better when I had a strong yoga practice, going to class 4-6 times a week. Janet was going too, so she was in better fettle. She is losing muscle mass and strength. 

I need to sleep.

SNOW

We are left, finally, to decide why

the world goes, and we with it,

toward some strange kind of return.

This morning, before morning, I dreamed

of snow falling thickly through trees.

When I awakened, snow was falling

I put on the shoes of separation

took the road of wandering, and walked out

to find a red heifer unblemished.

I spoke my name to the mountain

and waited to hear a word returned.

Nothing but the wind moved.

In less than an hour my tracks

were covered over, and still the snow

fell thick through the cedars

like dust, dust that at last would rise.

— William Virgil Davis, One Way to Reconstruct the Scene, Yale University Press, 1980

NOT ONE WITHOUT WATER

2 of 100

2 janvier 2023

Although I would prefer to sit and continue to gather my thoughts, plan my New Years' resolutions, or finish my not-very great book, Vertigo by Louise de Salvo, I am outside trying to make some sense of the mess on the patio so that I can move my freshly re-packed and sorted boxes into that space. Michael comes next Monday to take of care of Janet while I am getting knee replacement surgery, and then me for a day or so when I come home. (In re: de Salvo, while it is not a bad book, and I have read a couple of her non-fiction works about Virginia Woolf, she is not enough of a prose stylist to make this memoir really touching or memorable.)

For LA in January, it is quite cold and grey. The cats prefer to be indoors where it is warmer. Either that or there is something wrong with all of them. The patio is cold and damp and very dirty given that it is exposed to all the usual desert dirt as well as the constant exhaust and particulate matter from the 605 freeway that is maybe 1/3 of a mile away. It is a hellscape here for my relatives and friends who have allergies what will the dander and fur of six felines. Anyone want a slightly used cat? All guaranteed with a no questions return policy.

There are some significant frustrations and sorrows in my life, caused in part by some purportedly near and dear to me. Lashing out often feels like the option that will give me relief if not solution. Rather, I am trying to wade through some of it and seek another perspective that might allow a less confrontational outburst. 

4 janvier 2023

The rain puts a certain je ne sais quoi on trying to get 2023 in gear. I have a lot of work to do before my knee replacement surgery on Tuesday. It being wet, it makes washing clothes and hanging them out to dry a problem. I haven't had a working dryer in 18 months. I did, recently, have it looked at to see if it could be repaired but the answer was a resounding no. I think my father bought this dryer from a neighbor in the late 1960s. He also installed it himself (bien sur) so the installment is illegal and I will need to pay a technician to install properly once I can find one. That shouldn't be too hard, but it is just one more thing to try to get together.

I used to think I was lazy. Now I think I am just trying to cope with the burden of taking care of Janet. I had a couple of pre-op appointments today. No matter how I tried, I could not get Janet out of the house on time. If I don't police her, she can not be depended on to do anything in a timely manner. I know she isn't really doing it on purpose as she can't stay focussed and her short term memory is crap. And no matter that she thinks she is ready, she invariably needs to go to the bathroom or some other distraction before I can get her to the car.

My patience and understanding has improved greatly. I know she is no longer purposely trying to mess with me, although she sometimes slows down on purpose. Funny, she can follow the news pretty well, and often enough has a Jeopardy! answer herself, but she can't follow a narrative series. She still wants to and does play dominoes; that greatly enhances her cognitive skills at home. The other night, a friend from her past called her. She asks about this person more frequently than anyone else I can think of. She was on the 'phone with her for a long time (for her) and was buoyed by the chat. The next morning, she could only put a bit of the conversation together.

As discussed before, I despair that I have ended up here. So it is no wonder that I want to read or sleep or get involved in some multi-season narrative. As also noted before, I feel I have been lost for 8 years. I was lost when I got here and in bad straits, but somehow this became the convenient place and person for me to be. No wonder I grieve for the might-have been and the me that existed before. 

FIRST THINGS FIRST

Woken, I lay in the arms of my own warmth and listened

To a storm enjoying its storminess in the winter dark

Till my ear, as it can when half asleep or half sober,

Set to work to unscramble that interjectory uproar,

Construing its airy vowels and watery consonants

Into a love speech indicative of a proper name.

Scarcely the tongue I should have chosen, yet, as well

As harshness and clumsiness would allow, it spoke your praise

Kenning you with a godchild of the Moon and the West Wind,

With power to tame both real and imaginary monsters,

Likening your poise of being to an upland county,

Here green on purpose, there pure blue for luck.

Loud though it was, alone as it certainly found me,

It reconstructed a day of peculiar silence

When a sneeze could be heard a mile off, and had me walking

On a headland of lava beside you, the occasion as ageless

As the stare of any rose, your presence exactly

So once, so valuable, so very new.

This, moreover, at an hour when only too often

A smirking devil annoys me in beautiful English,

Predicting a world where every sacred location

Is a sand-buried site all cultured Texans “do,”

Misinformed and thoroughly fleeced by their guides,

And gentle hearts are extinct like Hegelian bishops.

Grateful, I slept till a morning that would not say

How much it believed of what I said the storm had said

But quietly drew my attention to what had been done —

So many cubic metres the more in my cistern

Against a leonine summer—putting first things first:

Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.

— W. H. Auden, The New Yorker, March 9, 1957

HOW WOULD WE GET ANOTHER?

 1 of (hopefully) 100

Better Year to you all as we begin again or continue or stagnate as suits your person and situation. Hearing "happy" and "merry" are judgmental commands as far as I can tell. I always feel pressured to be other than I am.

I did not complete my writing goal of last year and barely completed my reading challenge. I am more myself, more centered, when I write. I just could not get that all down this year. Please bear with me as I try to find my groove and my voice. I am so overwhelmed that, thoughts coming so rapidly, organizing and focus or even choosing what to say first is daunting.

This is why a bit of the year in review is easier.

I had a great year of live music. I averaged almost one live show a. month which is a big leap over previous years, notwithstanding Covid. Highlights were Hot Tuna, Dave Alvin and Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Calexico, Billy Strings, and I finally saw Amanda Anne Platt and the Honeycutters, by the skin of my teeth.

The delightful book finds were Claire Keegan's Small Things Like These, Diane di Prima's Recollections of My Life as A Woman, Helen R. Hull's Islanders, and Ann Petry's The Street..

I recently went to NYC and barely went to a museum so no art news there.

So this will get me started? I did have a remarkable, meaningful New Years' Day "come-to-life-Jesus" with my dear friend, FMB. I think we both lost a layer of skin and some tears. As usual, he was brilliant, insightful, and hilarious. Tracking where our conversations begin and end is impossible usually, but this one included some painful, revealing stories about our lives, childhoods, and the ridiculousness of history. Among my favorite comments he made was this "We're stuck in the world we have. I don't how we would get another."

Indeed.