back at the boredoms of the day job after a productive 3-day-wknd: mm and i took a grantwriting class which was of endless benefit, we planted a plum tree in our front yard, we sifted through a voluminous mountain of old bills and scraps, we worked on our book, saw a couple outstanding movies, i ran 6 mi on Sat, we planned a yosemite backpacking trip for july, went to powell's (where i purchased the debut novel of someone i went to writer's camp with way back) and we endured a constantly shifting spate of weather conditions.
i've been dealing w/ a sort of rabid nostalgia lately, triggered in part by finding an old friend. Maybe quite common to the approach of middle-age (36 in june, ugh) but also partially related to the brain tumor - the past, especially waaayy back is coated w/ a sort of precious beauty, fragile and perfect. It's also gone. That's probably part of it. The death of innocence. Refracted spider-web patterns. An extinct old bird chirp recorded on analog now presented in surround sound. Whatever that might mean. Next you'll find me nattering to pigeons in the park...
