I was in the basement sorting things into bags to give away, and found
a box in the corner full of old paper letters, the ones on top from my friend
who died of AIDS some years ago. The first of December was a day of hope
for me, but remembered sadness for others. Stacks of letters under his
from other friends from the past. Letters made of paper, but if I open them
I'll find voices there inside.
december7
december 7
A last big hug, and K boards the plane for her weekend with E. Slightly
watery eyes for both of us. We always miss each other. If I look out
the windows, I can see Central Parking off in the distance. Well,
one foot in front of the other, like so many things in life.
Finally get to the car and put in a cd. It takes me awhile to incorporate new
music, maybe longer than other people. A phrase I should have known was
from the Go-Betweens I thought was Laurie Anderson, and missed a reference
till I heard it sung last week, and it then it clicked. I was at a small table on
the Robert Forster side of the stage, and sat up suddenly when I heard it,
that yearning that's so often my companion overtaking me again. This thing
that lives so firmly, sweetly and safely out of time - but that somehow always
succeeds against the odds, slowly falling into place.
Back at the airport tomorrow. But for now, out of the garage and through the
Sumner Tunnel, music drenching me with feeling the way it always does.
And it's you, you, you, you, you, you.
december 8
december 8
I have a friend who's as generous with his friends as he is with his life,
and who opens new worlds for me. I like to read about other lives, even
when I don't know them, to hear the interesting things people do and
the interesting thoughts that they have.
I don't really know what their voices sound like, just the sounds that I
hear in their words. One of these imagined voices always sounds a
certain way to me. She uses words when she speaks from her heart,
but somehow they turn into music.
Back to Logan, but this time at night. You can tell that it's winter now.
A blanket of snow lying over the ground, and stars rising clear in the dark.
december 13
december 13
There's a stretch of Rte 2 near Concord where they still haven't put barriers
in the middle of the road, so when traffic is thick and moving slowly, you can
see the face of the person across from you in oncoming traffic - just a few
feet away, but worlds apart.
People often look irritated or preoccupied while they're waiting, but this
person today looks kind of patient and resigned, the way I try to train
myself to feel in these situations, I suppose. As we get a bit closer,
I can tell he's listening to the same music I am - his is pretty
loud.
Not the same as having the windows down and talking, or being
together in the same car, but maybe not worlds apart after all either.
december 19
december 19
In the Morgan De Toi shop in London last year, someplace near Covent
Garden, I think, while buying some gifts - small zippered pouches - I found
a ballpoint pen and kept it in my purse all year, using it to write when I
wasn't at home and didn't have my Palm, but yesterday I lost it and was surprised by how much it
saddened me. So many of my thoughts and feelings were carried by that
pen all year.
Loss. I had to put my older cat to sleep today. She had been sick and
wasn't very comfortable. I held her in my arms and looked into her eyes,
so she would know someone who loved her was with her when she died.
december 20
december 20
a kind of timeless closeness
that doesn't fit in usual molds
not so easy to understand
even when you're inside it
december 21
december 21
My friend L asked me what the appeal of an online journal was, which
made me think a bit.
I guess taking thoughts from inside yourself and placing them outside
where others can see. That bravery I admire - facing the world with just
your skin. The risk of being misunderstood, and even looking silly, but the
chance to intertwine with someone else, in a space that exists nowhere
else just the same, in a way that exists nowhere else just the same.
I'm distracted by Madeline playing in the caf�, transported for now to a
musical space.
december 25
december 25
Midday quiet moment after all the activity of the morning.
Sitting by a sunny window, enjoying the slowing down time,
watching the partial eclipse of the sun.
december 30
december 30
I like those moments when lyrics or bits of poetry appear from memory,
brought to mind by something that just happens to be heard or seen.
Dinner in Boston during the nice week between Christmas and
New Year's
Day. The pressures of Christmas are gone, but the city is beautiful, dark by
4:30, lights and decorations still up everywhere, and people in kind of a happy
mood. Dinner topics wandering all over, the way they do, touching on this,
touching on that, someone bringing up the unlikely topic of early English writing.
Lost in my own thoughts for a moment with lines from a very old poem, the words
of someone far from home, thoughts that haven't changed in five hundred years - Christ if my love were in my arms and I in my bed again.
Boston is beautiful, but the usual new year weather problems. A huge
snowstorm moving up the coast, reaching here just now, starting to cover us
with a blanket of snow.
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