If I had more energy, I’d make a video clip of the stack of compositions that I removed from the boards, but this photo will do for my point, which is, a thorough clean up of ongoing displays should be a regular part of my process going forward.
It felt so good to TAKE THEM DOWN, especially the long stagnant, barely begun pieces.
I’ve also been collecting fabrics to give to my niece, who will be here to celebrate Danny on Sunday. So far? Several large bin’s worth. Also feels good.
Even though I could spend days and days bundling up give aways, it’s probably important that I shift back to prepping for Sunday.
The eulogy times in at ten minutes. A lot of the sites I visited recommended shorter, but fuck it. It won’t be boring and ten minutes isn’t THaT long.
What do you do when time behaves like a rascal, defiant and disobedient? What day is it? What month? How long has Danny been dead?
Time always slips around some, but in acute grief it stretches and compresses like an unruly adversary — another aspect of loss.
Today is the four-month anniversary of Danny’s death. Ken and I find ourselves flummoxed. We seesaw from wondering how it can be only four months to wondering how it’s already been a quarter of a year.
I didn’t think this was a significant anniversary, but the amount of weeping I’ve done today tells a different story.
Last night, I tossed and turned and dreamt about Mick Jagger. Nonsense, really. I was in the kitchen and something frustrated me and I pushed some objects violently aside. Mick Jagger said, “You’ll never be president.”
Why would I want to be president and why is Mick Jagger in my kitchen, judging me?
We saw him in the stands of the England/Argentina game, of course.
I don’t know enough about soccer to have an opinion, but boy are people mad on Threads. Many think that Argentina was afforded every advantage in ways both obvious and unfair. I don’t know. I just know that when the games end, there will be a space that needs filling.
Hand-wringing returned. Yesterday I kept imagining calling 911 that final night. I hear myself whispering that they shouldn’t use their siren and that they should approach the apartment quietly. And then I imagine announcing to a furious Danny that I couldn’t let him throw his life away.
You don’t have to chime in about culpability or whether such an intervention would’ve worked, even for the short term.
I know. I know. I think I know?
Last week, I met with a friend whose child has made more than five attempts on their life. This mother, my friend, shared that both times they institutionalized her daughter, it made things worse.
There’s so much suffering in the world.
The rabbits eat at a furious clip this summer. It’s hard to watch my ferns drying up in the heat and the hosta being devoured by those cute little fuckers. More death.
Our corrupt dipshit of a president plans to address the nation tonight. I’ll admit to being on edge, even though sane commentators say, Calm down. The federal government doesn’t control elections. He can say whatever he wants and it doesn’t mean he has the power to do what he says.
There are many things that I wish I believed.
Meanwhile, the upside of this diarrhea lettuce outbreak is that we have twice recently shopped for local produce.
I got some gorgeous onions that the bagger said you could bite right into they’re so sweet. And look at these beauties below!
For dinner, we’re gonna have an onion, goat cheese, burrata, ham, and asparagus tart.
As usual, after about ten days of wall-to-wall TV programming that I have no role in selecting and the tricky dance of determining a meal that my brother will actually eat (and failing half the time) plus my own inability to read while here, start to get to me.
Don’t get me wrong, it was cool to watch the final two Knicks’ games and the World Cup is kind of engaging, but?
A catastrophic fire at a large cold storage facility about six miles south of here continues. It looked like it had been put out after two days, but then the fire reignited.
Because it’s a cold storage facility, it is piped with ammonia and one of those pipes leaked. The contents of the facility are now also of concern. Most of it is meat.
The city’s handing out masks and air purifiers but also running out of them.
The dog panicked the first day — we think because of the chemical smell to the cloud (which we could see from the front deck). Now the air merely smells of fire.
June gloom. It’s a thing — often caused by “the marine layer.” For some reason the term amuses Ken and me and we walk window to window, announcing, “Oh look! It’s the marine layer.” At least we’re past stumbling over the California highway naming convention: “the 110,” “the 5.” We’re perhaps a little too satisfied by this.
The fog usually clears by noon. Today the smell of fire and ash spices the marine layer. Maybe that’s now also an LA thing?
Fortunately I can manage to quilt while here.
Don’t know what this is. It started as a central heart with a few smaller hearts to the bottom left — mostly blue with a yellow border. I added a moon and then orange around the heart. I’ve been filling in with some of the flimsy cloth I brought along with me — many are scraps cut from garments purchased in Longmont. That source occupies me some as I stitch.
It’s weird to spend so much time on a piece that is chaotic and unpleasing and that doesn’t really show any signs of future resolution.
But maybe that’s apt: chaotic, unpleasing, with no resolution in sight. Of course I’m not talking about quilting.
