How Morning Filled the Living Room Today

Look how the sunlight lines up in long diagonals across the carpet and forms bright squares on the wall and washes over the faded upholstery of the armchair in the corner and illuminates a basket of magazines. The house is quiet, and the world seems poised and waiting. It’s my move, entirely up to me to shape this day into something, butI’ll sit here until the coffee kicks in, then tend to my list, or ignore it completely.

I hate when people write about how they don’t feel like writing, and I’m afraid I have been guilty of that lately. There’s more dignity in simply lapsing into silence, but if that goes on too long, it’s the death of a blog. On the other hand, being boring is its own kind of crime, and obligatory typing is not writing, so this post is just a pulse check, I suppose.

Last week I went to a memorial service for my ol' buddy Ted Martinez. It was a humble and informal event, just a gathering of family and friends in a school gymnasium, with music and food and little kids running around, and he would have loved it. Ted had been off in the desert so long I was getting used to him being gone, but his absence feels more real and poignant now. I sure was lucky to have a friend like Ted.

People keep talking to me about faith. I like what my old friend Josephine said in a recent email: "Though other noises have at times drowned out the singing, perhaps the angels have never ceased their song."

Meanwhile, the day says come outside.