Saturday, January 12, 2019

On Thursday morning I walk through the dark house and see the stars outside.  Stars, so bright.  In the gallery of the Cherry Center the heater is cranking away.  Sounds like a damaged agitator of a washing machine. Half way through meditation session, I just turn off the heater, better to be cold then in the middle of the thumping sounds.

Driving home I see yellowing acacia trees, and pink flowers on the cherry trees.

I wait all morning for the rat man to come.  He doesn’t show.  At noon I drive to the Mexican restaurant in the local strip mall.  It is only when I leave my car I see that I have taken two parking places.  My car is centered on the white line.  I leave it while I pick up my take out lunch. The parking lot is almost full.

Now in the evening, the house is dark except for my reading lamp.  The house is cold.  The heater goes on and off and the house warms up and then is cold again.  The house is quiet.  Sometimes I hear a car outside, the slam of a door.  Winter again.

The New York Times has an article about serial memoirists.  A new term for a bunch of non fiction books that I read.  Kathryn Harrison has just published her 8^th memoir called ON SUNSET. Time to find it in the library.