Yeah, we’re related.
The eyes. Chuck had them too.
Sitting at the bar at the Slanted Door. 2010. Late afternoon snack.
The day began in line at Tartine. Then we drove over the Golden Gate in her convertible. Top down. Head back.
Marigold metal. Delphinium blue sky.
Don't let it end.
Aunt Pat. My dad's sister. Theo and Harry's daughter.
She’s celebrating this week.
I want you to know. How much I love her.
My mom was ill. Went away for six weeks.
When I was three.
My dad could not look after me. And work too.
Pat took me in.
She told me I was quiet. At first.
Sat on her couch. Leafed through magazines.
While my cousins' played.
Trying to add up. In my little head.
Why my mom and dad left.
I could be better.
My memory of that period is blank.
I knew none of this until I was in my thirties. My dad told me one night at dinner.
Coins clink. Pinball game lights up.
Why I liked being with her. She always had time for me.
Once, we spent a day watching classic films from the 70s. Started with Midnight Cowboy.
That kind of time. Peak happiness.
I have a photo from that period.
I could not look at it. For a long time.
These are my hands. I see worry.
A psychiatrist told me it would be hard to heal. That it might not happen.
Last sheet on the prescription pad.
And yet here I am. Dealing with it.
This is part of me.
And it's not everything.
I wish I could hug you. Hope anyone reading this wants to do that.
There's a jar of strawberry jam in my kitchen. With your name on it.
Damn, it's good.
It's been a few brilliant weeks in music.
Maggie Rogers. Shooting Star.
Beyonce's tribute to Madonna.
"You are a masterpiece genius.”
A reason to get up and dance.
July 29, 2022
July 26, 2022
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