Owner compliments me on my jacket. “Great color.” I am being sucked in.
On the chalkboard in the entrance written “Tell us your name so we can cheer you in the marathon.” Bill is listed. He’s the aerobics instructor at the Y.
Yoga last night. Actually a lot of stuff yesterday. Dog groomed. Kid’s violin lesson. Take three deep breathes.
Didn’t make it to the Quakers on Sunday, to go back even further in time. (Further, farther–??) I am set on asking for a committee to see about my joining, spurred by T. death and the consequent efforts the living had to go through to determine what he “would have(?)” wanted. I think that I can make that clear to people. A Quaker ceremony. Though, come to think of it, I was conflicted by even the death of James, and how that got people’s attention, in contrast to all sorts of other people that die. But, by then, the dead are dead, and all that other stuff, the talking, the crying, the commemorating is just the jostling of the living, probably in tune with their own perceived self-interest. (Appropriate insertion of snippet a la Bloom Ulysses about (whose?) funeral.) To wit, my sense of feeling theatrical in crying and singing at Thomas’ funeral. It is somehow crying and singing for more than him, or my memory of him, or my guilt or discomfort or uncertainty about him, but crying and singing for myself, for all of us, and our mortalness, our fragility, our existence.
Whoa. Okay. Back to earth Dave. But there is something that I am trying to say in there; would probably have to be a poem or a scene in a play or story, not such abstractions.
Anyway, Quakers. Cremation is okay. I do love the idea, brought to my attention by Monica, of building a coffin, as a piece of furniture, use it as a bookshelf. But I have no where to be buried.
Also have had the idea of spreading some of T.’s ashes at Lakewood Cemetery by the Wellstone monument. There is a tie now to that place, because of the ceremony on the chapel. And I like the spot. And I think that there is a harmony with T. and the W.’s lifes.
So, Stella went in yesterday for a trim, and I picked her up at noon. No crate, just put her in the car. Came home and supervised frying potatoes and leftovers. Then to yoga. After yoga, because D. had her book club, I drove to Kerri’s to pickup the children after their piano lesson. It was good to be back. It’s been about a year. When I came in, Kerri was gently but persistently cajoling Liam to work on reading notes. I have hopes that Liam will get back into it, but am much concerned with Madeline–she’s the one that can really benefit.
Then Stella, who sleeps in her crate, was going crazy in her crate, which was in my bedroom, and this was a drag.