Remember: how Bathsheba and Peter came to your house to give you a jump start because you killed your battery by leaving the lights on again and Peter came even though he was dreadfully sick and he brought a new air filter for your truck because when you first met him it somehow came up that you sometimes have trouble with your truck stalling in the rain but that was weeks ago and he pops it in easy as friendship and Bathsheba brings you such treasures: a beautiful brown jacket which you have long coveted, a Lost in Space dome lunchbox, dozens of tea candles, a book to repair for her marvelous sister V. (otherwise known as an excuse for us both to see one another) and you think, how can this be? How can they leave?

Remember: going to the lake in the rain yesterday morning and how you laughed the whole walk through because it felt so good and how you thought about god and thought god is not an idea, and then you looked over and you thought, god is Basho running through the high grass in the rain after a very long drought.

(Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs no one knows the names of.
Give your life to be one of them. --Rumi)

Remember: how, during our great drinking binge of Thursday night, Bathsheba sat on the floor with headphones on bopping around trying to find the spot on the tape that she's kept for 20 years of her singing solo in church choir and then of Peter singing solo. Remember she played "Tom Traubert's Blues," too.

The dry parts of the lake are starting to get marshy. I must go back today to check the progress.

I have to run errands, pay bills, clean house, call Blythe, consider the week ahead and the week after that too. Me mum is coming. I'm going to Boston. Brittania is coming. Classes will never stop needing to be planned. Good. Fill up these empty spaces. Fill 'em up fast.