I exist in an isolated cabin connected to the outside world by a telephone with overwhelming background noise and a television with crystal clear reception.

 

11-5-90

 

          As I sat watching a horror movie on 94, the station began to fade and crackle.  Switching channels to find something clear, the only thing was an instructional course on nature scene painting... on PBS of course.  Every other channel was fuzzy and garbled, but PBS was as strong as ever.  Stronger.

          So for nine weeks, I've painted nature scenes.  I don't know if I can paint any more.  I'm running out of supplies.

 

12-3-90

 

          Eventually, even channel 2 went off the air.  For about a week there had been nothing on the television.  Finally, a station did come in.  It was the Art Channel.  Usually displaying a work every fifteen minutes, it has been stuck on the same picture for three months now.  Yet I still look at it.  It is all I have.

 

12-6-90

 

          Today, I tried another channel.  It came in loud and clear except for a one inch square in the upper-right hand corner. CNN. They said that soon other stations would be up and running at least temporarily.  It was good to see mobile images again.

 

1-10-91

 

          Five years ago, I had an interesting conversation with a sales lady.  I had no money.  She hung up.  For eleven years before and five years after, I've waited for a call.  Now, with trembling hands holding the receiver.  Dial tone blaring at me to either hang up or dial a number.  In reply, I do that which I had never dared do before.  I dial.  What number?  I don't know. Does it matter?  Half ring.  One and a half rings.  Two and a half rings.  Three and a half rings.  So on.  I wait.