Thursday. Spent most of the day with
Katie Fowler. We've never talked much and I was missing how bright she is.
Ian joined us and we ended up
talking about sex, which was
odd, but I let them guide the conversation and it went well. I let them swear; usually I at least say "
watch your mouth" but to hell with it, who am I to be the
language police. They tested me cautiously, then went completely
foul, then dropped it.
Got to talk to Zach again. He says he's training his baby sister (Olivia, he calls her "Livvy") to like all his favorite foods, so when she gets big enough, her dinner requests will be the same as his. He sneaks her mac and cheese when mom turns her back. He listens to opera while he does his homework, and loves it. He was in an awful Hawaiian shirt and traffic-cone orange shorts and wrestled Patrick H. to the ground, both of them hollering and laughing.
An hour walking in the park. Getting hot, not too much more of this before summer won't let up. A stranger asked me to join a game of baseball; I smiled and shook my head no; he waved and ran off.
Three good messages come to me.
1. A page I copied from Amy Hempel's Tumble Home, for edebroux, but haven't mailed it yet. It's important.
2. I read twenty pages of John Welter's Night of the Avenging Blowfish and have to stop because it's so good I want it to last longer. I've had it for a year and haven't read it because of the lame title, because I am stupid. John Welter is someone who knows what it is to have a wave of chemicals flood you, swamp you, push out the things you need to get through a day without falling into pieces. He knows what it's like to lose your grip. He has beautiful words.
3. NPR is always a risk and today is a good one. A man is talking calmly and quietly. I let him talk to me about communion and community and the three basic pieces of advice offered by all religions. He talks about learning to listen to "the wisest and most compassionate people who have ever lived," and to ourselves. He says that atheism is often just childishness if it can be reduced to an inability to find wonder and delight. He talks about a place we can all reach inside ourselves where we are at home, calm, right. Here is a meditation he suggests:
Lord, I'm yours. I don't have the foggiest ideas of what your mysteries are. Please guide me. I submit myself.
Five minutes of his voice and I still don't know his name but I am crying and scrabbling for a pen in traffic and I know I will be buying his book (please have a book, I can't stop thinking, and he does). It's a Meaningful Life is the book. The man's name is Bo Lozoff. I think I will forgive him that. I might even like it.
I paint my nails green. I have some pie. I watch Blind Date and am glad I don't have to have dinner with anyone terrible. I think good thoughts and go to bed.