4:33 p.m.

There won't be many more pictures this year like the one above. The snow has started to melt; yesterday in town the van and I waded through water on the streets.

~ my best girl ~

Soon time to get out, where Sara will be so excited to go for a walk that she will nip at my heels, Blue Heeler style, as if I am a cow to be herded in the direction she wants me to go.

I woke up this morning feeling well rested, and looked over at Mom’s photo tacked up on the wall near the bed, and thought “I’d sure like to see you again.”

***

1. Grab the book closest to you.

2. Open page 123, go down to the fifth sentence.

3. Post the text of the next three sentences to me.
Here's mine:

"And the unbearable sweetness of completion, of fulfillment, for two beings so restless, so unsatisfied.

When Hugo's telegram arrives [from London] Henry looks stony. In the morning our sentimentality is shelled in."

4. Name the book and the author. Mine:

Incest: From a Journal of Love by Anaïs Nin

***

Now Playing: Joni Mitchell, Both Sides Now (2000)
(love jazz, love crooners? try this — it's my favourite CD right now)

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