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The Other Caretaker
That other caretaker over there is already working, burning a pile of something which sends a white plume up into the sunrise.
I took the brace off of Betty's gravestone yesterday. None of her people came to see her on All Souls Day so maybe there are no more people as far as Betty is concerned.
The white plume is now a miasma obscuring my forward vision.
Jimmy the pool guy came and closed the pool Sunday. We had a few laughs. The pool now looks like a trampoline. He asked me if I wanted him to disconnect the diving board. I said, "well, I was thinking about the kids..." He said, "kids, say no more." So the diving board is disconnected.
Now I can smell my fellow caretaker's burning work. Smells like the Wall Street Journal, burnt possum, walnut, chestnut, and hickory.
Last night I watched on DVD Camille Claudel. She was one of Rodin's lovers and possibly a superior artist in the sense that she was portrayed to be more purely tied to her work and not at all to the conventions of her time. Her reward was the DVD, the shattered heart, the madness, and the eventual incarceration. She spent the last thirty years of her life locked up in a mental institution.
Since I don't remember so well after the fact I would like to inform Dave that three of his Netflix suggestions are either in my P.O. Box today or will be there tomorrow. They are, or will be, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, High and Low, and The Lady Eve.
I got an email from my brother yesterday. It included a picture of his very tanned son, Micah, in a flak jacket with bayonet in pocket over heart, or solar plexus, in front of a Chinook helicopter with crude Dallas Cowboys helmet emblem, standing next to Bruce Willis, in Iraq. He looked really great my nephew did. It was so good to see him.
Miss Jeanne
I was shocked by it and then overwhelmed with the dull ache of undefined emotion. She wasn't even someone I knew but I have accessed the pain of her leaving, strangely combined with every sad thing I have ever collected. Tears are our reward for unspoken anquish, through which the living see sunrises. Please rest peacefully Miss Jeanne.