Wednesday, January 31, 2007


I listen.

I can hear what you are saying, although it may seem that I am lost in thought.

Perhaps I don't hear your words, but I am looking at your hands. Your hands tell me what your words do not.

Or the room we are in, this cafe -- the music, the sound of the street. Why do they always have to put the music on? Because I like the sound of the street.

And your words, and your mouth.

I could be looking at your mouth, every imperfection. And then I would imagine you and how you felt this morning, when you saw those same imperfections in the mirror.

And how you smelled, not now, but this morning, as you really are.

Then I am still looking at you.

No, I don't listen well.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Indoor Soccer, Lentil Soup, Daily Mass

I watched my daughter play indoor soccer earlier this evening. When we got home, it was past nine, so I missed the beginning of "Boston Legal," but I got over that.

I had cooked the lentil soup this morning, before leaving the house to go to Mass at noon. But I didn't cook it all the way done. Old lentils take longer to cook, I think.

So, when we came home from indoor soccer, and we missed the first part of "Boston Legal," I found out that the lentil soup wasn't ready to eat. In fact, it's still cooking -- frustrating the way things don't work out.

I went to daily Mass at St. Mary's Cathedral in downtown Austin. I forgot how much I liked it. I go to Sunday Mass several times a year, but it's usually crowded with people I don't know, and it takes at least an hour, which is too long for me.

Weekday Mass takes less than 45 minutes, and there are only a few people there.

At the cathedral, I enjoyed very much looking at the stained glass, and I imagined myself in the Middle Ages.

I am becoming more humble. Less often do I think that I know better than most other people. I am also relating to women in a better way. All women are my sisters, I realized.

I finished my book on the Crusades, called "God's War," by Christopher Tyerman, a medieval historian at Oxford University. All 921 pages -- it was wonderful. I sent Professor Tyerman an email of admiration and praise, and hope that he acknowledge my message.

But now what will I read? Do you know that sad feeling when you finish a good book and the future looks a little empty? I have that feeling now. And the lentils are still cooking.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

None of your business

I recommend Aurielle's blog for intimacy. Go to

Aurielle actually does not reveal everything. Privacy is essential. For good writing you need to tell something about yourself -- but not everything. Like this very interesting dream I had last night about my father -- that's all I want to say about it.

Also, that I feel a little throaty and fluish this morning. Do you really want to know more?

Better to say something less personal. Like "It's winter in Texas."

The Winter in Texas is not very long, but it is damn cold when it comes. It is just plain cold everywhere -- not looking at the thermometer, but at the sky -- cold -- damp, penetrating cold.

I'm going to pick up a bucket of Vitamin C and stay home for the rest of the day.

Monday, January 22, 2007

The Raft

I'm on the raft now. I left the island. Friday, when I launched, I was scared and sick to my stomach. The winter weather was oppressive. But I had to get going -- that day. It was 8:30 in the morning, and the building was about to come crashing down on me, and the tide was running the right way -- It was launch day. I knew it was coming. Still, I was afraid.

I have been three days adrift now. Saturday was rough. Sunday afternoon the sun came out and the sky cleared. It was still cold. But I wasn't scared anymore. I had enough food with me, and I was a lot calmer.

Today, Monday, I even feel good to be floating along -- regaining a sense of inner ballast. The vessel is sound. The charted course is set. And I'm on my way.

Friday, January 05, 2007

still not blogging

Not blogging now, but you might enjoy the archives.