warm and grateful

It’s been a nice week. Summer has finally arrived. My skeleton is unkinking, and the pool temperature has climbed over 60F, where it has been stuck for weeks.

I have been managing the water with my mind (which you might think is ineffective in practical matters of convection but can in fact be employed to improve the process) my solar cover, and my pool pump, encouraging water warmth and movement with every tool I possess.

Carusos sign

Bri is in town for her first leave since she joined the Navy. We went to Caruso’s, and we sat outside, and we could feel the moment stretching backward and forward in our timelines; that place, those fish, those trees, this family.

It was peaceful, and comfortable, and we felt lucky, and there was wine, and a moon, and pomegranate blossoms, and the trees were full of chittering birds, as they always have been.

cypresses at carusos

Miss Fish, a dedicated ornithologist, has been enjoying the summer weather as well, spending many hours bird-watching from the top of the arbor over the outdoor shower.

The first time she did it, I got the ladder and “rescued” her. She was disgusted, and went right back up there.

Fishstick up a tree

I’m having a good time working; it’s still very time-intensive but the giant package is going well- I’ve started the Edit cycles now, with both book and Library pages going through a rotating crew. I’ve got a lot of extremely talented collaborators, and it’s my sworn goal not to wear any (more) of them out.

Amazingly, we continue to have new insights into even the most basic moves. Both Karen Beningfield (who is patiently and brilliantly illustrating Volume II) and I are spending unexpected time on getting down the new thoughts, the simpler paths, the “aha” moments that are coming fast and furious. This is both exhilarating and exasperating; each new thought is delaying, but magnificent. It’s especially good to have the thoughts before it’s too late; paper books are so final.

I encourage myself, releasing page peeks, videos, video snips, all of them imperfect, moments in time, so that people can see what I’m up to as I tie all of the strings into a sphere. It’s a living world; my breath is inside it.

I blew it up, but it blew my mind.

I’m very touched by Ferry right now; I wouldn’t have taken him as a role model if he weren’t fearless, brilliant, thoughtful and a hard worker, I mean that all goes without saying. That’s who I want to be. Those are the people I want to be next to.

This past year, watching him adjust in real time to the loss of his smooth, rippling voice (and the failure of his marriage and the changes in his band) I’m impressed anew with his grit and his drive, and vow again, as I do every day, to use what I am and what I have. Not what I was, or what I could have been. What I am. What I have.