Well, yeah. I've been gone, more or less. Checking in. Am I still in love with Paula? Sure. Desperately. Does Udge still delight me? Yep. He's commiting second-washbasin acts of rebellion, and adding prayer-vending machines to building designs, and posting in verse.
See, I've got this new used laptop, which accounts for the last little spate of posts. (I'm clever, see? new used? little spate? Clever boy.) But the wireless doesn't work. Not yet. So I'm connected very seldom.
I'm pretty well un-automobiled, now. I walk in the open air. Stand in the train for the short hop from downtown to the massage school, sit in the bus to work, to home. Sing -- I used to sing, as I walked. I'd forgotten that. But I find myself singing again. "Good night, Irene." "Going down to old Maui." Bits of poetry rise up. "Combing the hair of the waves blown back, When the wind blows the water white and black." I pace up and down, waiting for the bus. A sodden tangle of pink thread on dark pavement, a twist of rusty iron on a splintery bench, reach cold and electric hands around my heart.
Ancient anxieties and hopes arise, sepia colored and powerless now, but quaint and engaging. (I need to get back to meditating regularly, though, lest they take color and strength again and tyrannize over me again. Briefly noted. On we go.)
Again and again I find myself brimming over with love, for my family, my fellow-students, my fellow-bloggers. (Even if I am gone, I'm not, too. I'm reading TK's manuscript, and Natalie's book, and I just got Patry's book in the mail. Embarasse de riches (sp.?)). And I sneak looks from time to time, even if I don't comment.
I love you, all of you.