Pengrieve,

friend,
i think we've hit on the emotional truth of things, i mean besides the obvious serenity of vegetables delivered in boxes or the apparent separate garage sale tally? after a long season of what might be termed anger? or certainly righteous indignation and then a nebulous inbtw period of 7 or so years where there were stagnant waters and volcanos to conquer i've entered into a phase of grief. its entirely possible i'm doing this out of order. as LL suggested, that mechanical ability of mine, lacking, thinking i could tie knots after stringing beads, when in fact one must tie knots as they go or undo it all and start over. its a phase we think of addressing this particular thing. but i should like to know what the next thing might be. so i don't turn into a wooden lamenting statue, though they have always appealed to me. and though it is always me and no one else, still these others have a part to play, to what may come next. and maybe that's why lent was so particularly fruitful and active... but anyway,

its warm here and breezy. a cool in the shade kind of day. i'm on thorne watch and balancing her on my knee as i type. she is making groovy sounds with a pen in time to the sonorous sounds of rachmoninovs liturgy. the bit of cheese on her face is distracting but over all we're making due. i've had some earl grey and we played outside, of which thorne was rather bored with, but as i explained to her, i didn't bring my hiking shoes and i'd already yoga'd. she still banged at the fence, poor tenement child, begging to play in the expanse of whereever she isn't. aren't we all?

so i'm days from 34 with whatever that means. typing it feels old, thinking it feels young. tomorrow kerry is taking me a luxuriating spa experience. if muriel were here i'd ask her about the grief. it does nothing for productivity. but as it is scrubs and mudbaths?await me. and perhaps some weariness will be undone. and i can come back and take initiative with pluck and aplumb and conquer the world. i'm lucky to be in the position to do so. as i'm not permanently laboring in the fields or a spinster with a drunkard for a father living in a shack by a dreary languid river taking care of mydeadmothers 5 other starving children. you know, what have you. spinster though i may be. if only as i get older i can play up the eccentric artist role. i'll have to think of what my outfits might look like. let alone the adventures to have. i wonder if there is something else out there for me? or is it like scully said in xfiles7. always destined to make these choices? which is why she ended up giving up a brilliant career as a doctor to follow around mulder on his endless search until she no longer couldnt.... well anyway nature calls. pausing as i am on the edge of depthful pondering. i will say no more.