The Best Thing

I go to my gym to greet the dog. Leah is a Sheperd/Golden mix. She sleeps mostly but, when awake, has such quiet eyes. Today, she wasn't in her bed. Jenny, one of the owners, said, "She's in my car. She'd love to say hello to you." The dog had to untangle her ancient limbs and then she immediately pressed her chest into mine, head on my shoulder. It was the best thing. Better than words.

Big Feet

This week, I have misplaced even the smallest of graces. I've lost my angels. Earthen and leaden, I make valleys with my feet.

Meatballs

My reading habit has gotten out of hand. I am eating books. Parts of books even. A binge quality to it. There are things, feelings, I want to avoid. So I serve up a large plate of words, skinny as spaghetti with meatball adjectives.

Richard Pryor

"He was funny but a lot of people are funny. The difference with Pryor was that he was real and vulnerable and raw and accessible." (Susie Essman)

Divine

"We are like a lot of wild spiders crying together, but without tears..." (Robert Lowell borrowed this from his young daughter, Hannah.)

Bus Blues

Worked five hours. Five hours on the bus. At one point on the way home, I found I was leaning back in my seat with my mouth open. I felt like freight. Like a suitcase. I walked in the front door and was offered dinner. I could hardly talk. Doing a suitcase impression is not so great for the personality. Minutes later, really, I found myself laughing about something and then making Bill and Deb laugh. Of course, they had been wonderfully empathetic before that happened.

The Fire

Charles Bukowski once wrote that the gods push him into the fire so he can "yelp a few good lines."