He comes home today

10 days at camp. Damn, I've missed him.

Paul Simon, "Graceland"

 The Mississippi Delta was shining like a national guitar

I am following the river down the highway through the cradle of the civil war

I'm going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee
I'm going to Graceland
Poor boys and pilgrims with families
And we are going to Graceland
My traveling companion is nine years old
He is the child of my first marriage
But I've reason to believe we both will be received in Graceland

She comes back to tell me she's gone
As if I didn't know that
As if I didn't know my own bed
As if I'd never noticed the way she brushed her hair from her forehead
And she said, "Losing love is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you're blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow"

I'm going to Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee
I'm going to Graceland
Poor boys and pilgrims with families
And we are going to Graceland
And my traveling companions are ghosts and empty sockets
I'm looking at ghosts and empties
But I've reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland

There is a girl in New York City who calls herself the human trampoline
And sometimes when I'm falling, flying or tumbling in turmoil I say
"Whoa, so this is what she means"
She means we're bouncing in the Graceland
And I see losing love is like a window in your heart
Well, everybody sees you're blown apart
Everybody feels the wind blow
Ooh, ooh, ooh

In Graceland, in Graceland
I'm going to Graceland
For reasons, I cannot explain
There's some part of me wants to see Graceland
And I may be obliged to defend every love, every ending
Or maybe there's no obligations now
Maybe I've a reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland

Whoa, oh, oh
In Graceland, in Graceland, in Graceland
I'm going to Graceland

Camp Krem

Baz is in the middle with the backwards baseball cap. He loves goats. 

Paul Simon, "Rewrite"

I'm workin' on my rewrite, that's right
Gonna change the ending
Throw away the title
And toss it in the trash
Every minute after midnight
All the time I'm spending
Is just for workin' on my rewrite, that's right
Gonna turn it into cash

I been workin' at the car wash
I consider it my day job
'Cause it's really not a pay job
But that's where I am
Everybody says "The old guy
Workin' at the car wash?"
Hasn't got a brain cell left
Since Vietnam

But I say
Help me, help me
Help me, help me
Ohhh
Thank you
I'd no idea
That you were there

When I said help me, help me
Help me, help me
Ohhh
Thank you
For listening to my prayer

I'm workin' on my rewrite, that's right
Gonna change the ending
Gonna throw away my title
And toss it in the trash
Every minute after midnight
All the time I'm spending
Is just for workin' on my rewrite, that's right
Gonna turn it into cash

I'll eliminate the pages
Where the father has a breakdown
And he has to leave the family
But he really meant no harm
Gonna substitute a car chase
And a race across the rooftops
Where the father saves the children
And he holds them in his arms

I said
Help me, help me
Help me, help me
Ohh
Thank you
I'd no idea
That you were there

When I said
Help me, help me
Help me, help me
Ohhh
Thank you
For listening to my prayer

Workin' on my rewrite

Paul Simon at Davies

 

Acme Bar

I was there with friends. I realized I missed Michael. I realized that's okay. 

Reminds me of the Czech Republic

 

23 years

I met Adam at work 23 years ago today. Twenty-three years! We've been together 21 years, married for 17. When you're in a relationship, the numbers do matter. 

Nearly 1500 words today!

An excerpt: 

You fail to picture yourself in the moments of success, of happiness, but let’s try: you’re at the helm of the classroom, conducting a lesson that’s actually working. The kids are getting it; they’re into it, they’re laughing, they’re talking, they’re working together in the groups you reluctantly put them into because you always hated groupwork but they seem to like it. You’re doing it, you’re teaching without ever studying the art, you’re flying on that highwire that you love so much, the sweat running down your back, the what-ifs, the I-cans. You’re rock-hopping for sure but this is the good kind, the kind that leaves you gasping with accomplishment. 

You have these moments, more than just moments really, mornings, afternoons too sometimes. Entire days when you’re lucky, which sometimes you are. Why do we fail to pay attention to these times? How come they don’t rise to the level of our consciousness? Maybe it’s not a we thing; maybe it’s just you. You keep a running fucking database of perceived insults, of embarrassments. You can name them off without even thinking. But the victories? They’re hidden down deep where you couldn’t find them if you wanted to. It’s a fucked-up parfait of sorts, the layering intricate and stupid all at once. You don’t want to dip a spoon in there. You may find yourself happy. 

You wouldn’t want that.

Anniversaries

July 14: Jack's death (2022)

July 15: Meeting Adam (2002)

July 17: Jack and Maizie's birthday (2010)

I remember these dates. I take them seriously. they matter. 

Random statement to myself

He thinks he's such a goddamned Renaissance man. Makes me want to hurl out my eyeballs.

Yesterday's writing

My Americanness is not a cloak I can drape over my shoulders or toss off at will. It exists at the somatic level, in every part of what makes me up. It’s carried in my cells, reflected in my DNA. I may not be comprised of McDonald’s French fries, but in a way I’m not far from it. 

I was born in New York City, raised on America’s West Coast. Mine was among my classmates’ voices as we placed our hands above our hearts each morning: I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. Later those words will cause tears to gather under my lids and fall, unbidden, onto my cheeks. Later the atrocities that this Republic, for which it stands, will bring to fruition will spur me to finger my passport and think seriously about fleeing back overseas.