It’s unquestionably summer outside; by 6:30 in the morning the sun is up enough for a periwinkle sky and the birds and neighbors are moving about. A light breeze keeps the long, hanging white sheers in the garden dancing, and they are dappled with sunlight, and rainbow reflections from the disco ball, turning slowly in the gateway to the pool.
I just have another week here to soak it up and in and then it’s off to St. Louis for a week (maybe Spring will have arrived) and New Orleans for a weekend. It’s Bill’s father’s 90th birthday this month, and there is a huge party in Audubon Park, and the whole world seems to be coming. The man is well-loved.
In a stroke of Airbnb Yes I found a beautiful little Craftsman cottage on the park for a group of us kids to rent; I’ve walked by it many times and it’s charming as could be. So much better than hotel rooms, and half the price.
The Pink House is now painted white, I’m told, looking ordinary. We all miss it. This will be the first time I’ll have seen it since it sold.
I’m in one of those spots mentally and practically with my giant project where it’s out of control. It’s like the point in a Spring Cleaning where you look around you, and the mess is so huge you can’t believe that you’ve gone forward. So many files, my God. Over 2,000 images, over 500 pages, over 300 contributors. Millions of clicks on Facebook, thousands of subscribers to the blog, tens of thousands on the YouTube. I think about this abstractly, sitting cross-legged on my bed, looking out at the garden.
No one wants to finish the work and play with the end product more than I. Bill Hartmann said to me, commiserating, “The only thing worse than having a book in production is not having a book in production.”
Hoping for some serious headway today!