February 19, 2025

Cold, but sunny.

It was a full day and I continued to stay focused on what I was grateful for.

The Montague Bookmill is a great place to go and write.  I actually get stuff completed there even when its crowded.  I don't know why, there is just something about the atmosphere of the old mill, the water rushing near you, down a sloping waterfall,  trees all around and the wood of the mill itself.  You're surrounded by books, the smell of good food, the smell of the wood and friendly conversations from all kinds of people.   

Today Skyler and I went down there for the afternoon and got some stuff done.  I also realized I have some interesting history there.   I composed the first letter I wrote to my daughter there with my friend, Jay.  It was so intense, and frightening.   Today I talked about writing about writing my First Mother play and the effects the act of doing so had on my own journey.  Maybe this is the beginning of my getting the play out into the world.  I hope so.

I'm so glad we are not having a big Nor'eastern tomorrow.  I don't think I can take anymore snow for a while.  My friend finished my driveway today and dug my car out.  But I still don't have the ability to register it.  Any luck, I will tomorrow.

It's really hard not addressing the world issues these days,  I realize I may have to do it in my poetry, or find a group to go be active with.  It doesn't help to over focus on it or stroll through it, but I need to take some action.  

I also want  to write a couple more simple stories. 

I took Skyler up to the rookery today.  He hadn't seen it yet.  It was so different to bring someone up there when it looks like the tundra.   A couple goats were out.  No birds to be seen at all.  It was maybe 20 degrees and the road was barely passable.  The sun was reflecting off the snow and there were mauve reflections on the water which did not come out in the photos.  It is so hard to think of it as a place where 23 herons actively pursued life.  But it was beautiful in its own right, too.

I had a really long conversation with my old friend, Micky, tonight.  We haven't talked in years.  We were very close as teenagers.  I got drunk for the first time on bad whiskey with Micky.  I think we drank the whiskey and met our friends at the town beach.  We snuck out of her house and through the backwoods, down a big hillside, across one road and down another path to the pond.  I have no memory of getting back up to her house, but we did, because we had to call Paul to get him to come and help us get rid of all the evidence before her father saw it.  Paul came in the Simca and we stashed the bottles in the backseat.   At some point we dumped the whiskey out the window while the car was moving.   The inside of the Simca smelled like bad whiskey for a long time afterwards.   Ahhh, teenagers.  I don't think I got drunk again until after college.  No, I was never a big drinker, I knew too well where that road lead.  

I am grateful for a warm bed, connection with those I love, my water therapy group, and as I've said a million times before, color.