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2018-08-13 - 6:02 p.m.
una hirundo non facit ver
i could not bring myself to write about our maine vacation, because my family hurt my heart. were they always so smug and selfish, grasping at the heels of lake winnipesaukee? the answer is both yes and no. lean on a defect, and it becomes a greater flaw. later, we went down the jersey shore, stayed in a cheap motel, ate junk and played skee ball in a busted arcade. in the very early morning, we walked on the quiet beach to look for hermit crabs and fossil shark teeth. at night, the carnival pier was pure trash magic, and this hurt my heart in a different way. now we are in wellington, taking the baby to dinner at the bangalore polo club. roll with the punches. take them as they come.
* * *
reading: fire in the blood, by irene némirovsky.
listening to: swingboat yawning, rollerskate skinny.
working on: keeping a sketchbook. i am out of practice, uncertain and rusty.
in the garden: we are paying a neighbor's child to water the plants while we are away.
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