odd moment

The other night someone banged on my door around 11 -- I'd almost gotten to sleep and had my white noise machine going, so I didn't quite know what was happening for a minute or two. When I got to the front door I saw a guy standing in in front of the house (at the top of the brick stairs) with his back to me, looking at his phone. He looked a little like Rand Paul -- a thinner, more citified Rand Paul. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. I shouted (through the door with the plexiglas window) "What's going on?" He turned and said he was looking for Lillian. I said there was no such person here. He said OK and went slowly down the brick stairs, peering at his phone the whole time.

Weird. When somebody knocks on the door of a darkened house at 11 pm, you expect it to be an emergency of some kind.

stolen quote

She survived whatever happened;
she forgave; she became.

W.H. Auden, The Model 

Saw this quote on That Kind of Woman and liked it so much that I had to have it. 

Memorial Day come and gone. Unbelievable that we are nearing the end of May. I had a good conversation with Hank at the Alemany farmers market, and I hiked and dined with Julie and Nola (et al.), on separate days. It really is a wonderful life, most of the time.

I am writing this as I polish off a glass of wine, after having wolfed down a BLAT -- tomatoes from the farmers market, bread fresh from Acme. It's the kind of happiness that counts. It almost makes me feel guilty -- I'm vulnerable to making that kind of connection between happiness and guilt. Why should I be the one who is happy, after all? It's not as if I've earned it. I know that it doesn't matter, in the end. whether I've deserved what I've gotten. And that it's much, much better to feel happy with whatever I've got going on, as long as I'm not actively harming anyone else. What does "actively" mean, you ask? I don't have an answer.