Tomorrow (probably today) is the birthday of Jim Hughes, my old neighbor. He died about this this time last year in a horrid accident on 169. Sometimes, it is hard to grasp that people I knew are gone. Gone.
Tonight I made a call to old friends about the death of their father, Andy, who I can only remember as young and feisty and a force in the universe. How can he be dead at almost 90 years old?
All day, the word compassion comes to my mind.
Here I sit. Middle of the night. Kitty running around the house up and over tables and me. Wine glass full. Fireplace glowing. Jazz on the radio. No place to go in the morning.
I'm reading a book called How to Wake Up by Toni Bernhard.
It's a wonderful book.
Going to bed. Even Woodrow has exited the building.
It smells like fall in our house. How nice.