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June 30th, 2002

on laziness and late night dog walks

I guess I can be forgiven this, given that I just finished a three-day, 2200-mile drive, but when I finally got back home after eleven days away, I really didn't want to do anything. Not mow the lawn, not cooking a meal, not cleaning up the messy house... all I did was watch TV tonight, really.

Oh, and walk Ajay. His first walk with just me and him. He seemed a bit confused, but otherwise, well, I'm sure to him a walk is a walk. I saw my first lightning bugs of the season; two of them up in a tree in a dark part of the neighborhood. And on the sidewalk near my house I saw a man running, as in running for exercise, in bare feet. Talk about hard core.

I stayed up much too late tonight. With no routine and no one else in the house, one of my first challenges will be to stick to a wake-sleep cycle that is stable and functional.

on Sandy

Here are two poems about Sandy, my best friend, one of the really very greatest people I have ever met in my entire life, who was stolen by cancer two years ago, today.

The first is by e e cummings, and appeared on her funeral card. Sandy never struck me as a particularly outwardly spiritual person, but she did have deep beliefs, and I think this may reflect them. I don't know who chose this to be a part of her funeral service.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

I don't know the origin of this second one. I was drawn to it because Spalding Gray used the first line of it in a performance that Kate and I saw here several months ago, and it went through me like a shot. I found the entire thing in a book of poems while browsing at a local bookstore. It sums up pretty well the way I feel when I remember Sandy.

It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.
A fearful thing to love, hope, dream, to be, and! to lose.
A thing for fools, this, and a holy thing, a holy thing to love.

    For your life has lived in me
    Your laugh once lifted me
    Your word was gift to me
    To remember this brings painful joy.

'Tis a human thing, love;
A holy thing,
To love what death has touched.

Sandra Vavrinek Seehusen, 1963-2000. Eternal rest grant her, and perpetual light let shine on her. I love you, Sandy.

home repair

Hmm, I just fixed the sink in the second bathroom. Somehow. It was draining excruciatingly slowly, and I was fiddling with it to see what was required to either plunge it or get the drain plug out so I could pour some nasty chemical down it, and something about my manipulating the drain plug suddenly made it drain much more rapidly. I did a lot more pumping of the plug, open-close-open-close, and now it's just like new.

I wish I had a better mental image of what was going on down there. But I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Kathy (the roommate come fall) should be pleased since that will be her bathroom.

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