Wednesday, August 20, 2008


It's August and it rains like the world has given up.
Seattle. I worry about my sons, both no-longer-teens.
Who, what, when will they be? How?
We go on and on.
I try to remember to be compassionate.
To approach the universe from a loving perspective,
but sometimes that's just damn hard.
But the rewards, the rewards.
At night with the window open and in this wind
I can hear P.'s wind chimes, intoning the moment.
There is comfort in that. Presence.
Again, I give thanks.

You or I could end at any moment: a fiery crash,
or something far less dramatic. And who would sift through
all we leave behind? Who would care? Most everything is doomed
for the dump, the transfer station, the paper recycler.
Doomed for Goodwill. What objects that I have saved, coveted,
will go in a heartbeat for 99cents? Which will linger in the bottom
of a forgotton bin: postcard, earring, plate?


  1. Who the fuck knows. I'm starting to feel like those moments when we can feel the wind on our faces and hear the chimes at night are the whole purpose.

    We're going to suffer and die and lose everyone we
    love anyway. Might as well enjoy the wine while we're here.

    That might sound a little flippant, but it's heartfelt.

    And it is good to know that there are some kindred spirits out there. Even if we can't have a glass of wine together, we can raise our glasses to each other across the abyss.

    It seems like there is a little dust-up of unhappiness and pain drifting through right now. I hope you are well and happy.

    I take comfort in knowing you are the kind of person who does not let those small moments pass unreckoned.

    Peace be upon you.


  2. Not flippant at all: I raise my glass to you! (A MoutonCadet'06 Bordeaux. My favorite under-$10 bottle.)

  3. and yes. yes. all that and still... yes.

  4. Never cook and write -- dinner always gets burned!

    Love, C.

  5. Write first, then cook and drink.

    The rain was indeed dreary--and T., so dark. So true and so dark. I'm behind on my reading, so now the sky is blue and it's summer again and I hope fervently that you and your sons are well.

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  7. Joannie: I'm fine, and so are my sons!

    Just a little contemplation, is all.
    (And a glass of wine.)