So: Much has happened since last I wrote, BUT--suffice it to say that I went to LA for a week over spring break with the Slavs, sang for the Pumpkin Man (that is, recorded part of a soundtrack for a movie), performed for Eugene Levy, Steven Spielberg, and Larry David, went to San Diego, fell asleep on the beach, drove home with Graham, stopped at the Grand Canyon, managed to drive a standard for 200 miles, down-shifted in Gallup, land of neon hotel signs galore and incredible, baked a honey cake, got my 12-year-old nephew to eat tofu, drove my own car (an automatic), balked at gas prices, went to Tinieblas (I love the old prayer and the pain in my kneecaps, the same smell in there every year, the slow chanting of the men, the shadow of the cross in the moonlight), ate torta de huevo and other Easter delights, played Zilch for the first time in months, actually won.
I went to NYC for a day, walked around, bought a purple dress, had a pot of tea. Allison was there for her break. We got tired and ate Indian food. I went to a three-hour sitar concert the next day, was mesmerized.
I have three weeks of classes and six more papers to write. Maybe only five. Spring is making me wait. It rains and rains and does not top 50 degrees. Daffodils are reticent, blooming only in front of south-facing walls. I gave up my Balkan bracelet to a flowering tree. I realized I could feel the sun's warmth again and was glad.
I am doing taxes, making paper fish, memorizing lines, writing poetry, smelling flowers.
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