Wednesday, May 13, 1998

Journal entry, 5/13 back in Santa Rosa


5/13/1998 I’m back again in Santa Rosa after a sojourn at Neil’s place since Easter. My God how the time has flown. It all began with me sobbing over the phone at Easter, we were talking about taxes and I came undone. I was supposed to go to Wendy’s Easter party, and to possibly meet up with Neil beforehand. We were still on pretty shaky ground ourselves, which didn’t help matters any. And I was feeling so very fragile.

Neil said to bring my taxes down with me and so I did. Tom Harrell was living with Neil and finishing up his fourth your internship at Highland Hospital, so we didn’t have a lot of privacy. Tom’s hours are varied between three shifts. Poor guy. And so I worked on my 97 taxes, and actually accomplished my goal by April 15. Then I begin working on my back taxes and finishing up on my Higham family school book, when Neil had to go to Monterey for a gig. 

Meanwhile I went to Sinead’s and then home again feeling like this trip up north was all wrong, and I didn’t know why. He was looking so forward to it. Tuesday he called me early from Monterey. I called him that afternoon at home but he had been hospitalized for a duodenal ulcer that hemorrhaged. So I turned right around again and drove right back down to Neil’s I didn’t even spend one night at home.

Saturday, May 9, 1998

Full Moon Over Lake Merritt


Saturday's full moon over Lake Merritt. I found in the mud, a horse jawbone, encrusted with barnacles and tube worm casings. Blackened as if it had been burned. I took it home and bleached and cleaned it. I always wanted a horse jaw, or skull. So, I didn't get the whole thing. Still, I am pleased for the horse is the totemic animal of my dreams, of creativity. The horse, the archer, first full moon in May, magic is afoot.

We walked around the lake, a long line of goslings came tumbling down the hill to the safety of water. The super flock had grown up, teenagers now. We counted 36 goslings. A few domineering mothers had kidnapped, goose-napped all the others babies. As someone said, you can't get much cuter than that. As they waddled up the embankment to splash about and drink from a mud puddle, and to nibble on the grass, they were a superfamily: brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles and relatives by proximity. What could top that?


May 1998
Lake Merritt, Oakland



Sunday, May 3, 1998

Home alone on a Saturday night


Yesterday I was miffed at Neil for not showing up for dinner at six, he had gone to see Vito. Well, an evening transpired, he had his guitar with him, and the women of the sangam were there. He eventually called near 8 PM. I went out for a walk around the lake and he still hadn't returned, so I did some errands, arriving home after 10 PM.

I was talking with my cousin when he finally came in, and I was bugged because I was in the hurry up and wait mode all that time, and I had already fix dinner by the time he had called. Sinead calm me down as I tend to take off when my mind gets going. But I was the one home alone on a Saturday night while he was out playing.

Mauve is a color


We're in the emergency room at Highland Hospital. Neil's bleeding again. Frank blood. Stretchers coming in right and left with the crazies seeking shelter for the night.

A woman, whose contractions are coming in three minute intervals, tells me the pain is bad it is unbearable. She doesn't know the English for midwife, and I don't know the Spanish. We chitchat. Some women have been here for over five hours. I'm beginning to feel faint. Some are screaming, others are moaning hopelessly.

Neil wrote his will while waiting. We ran his lines for Malvolio. I am an executrix of his will along with Allison. He bequeaths his Ovation guitar to me. I don't want it.

Some of the paramedics are as crazy as the crazies. One explains to the other that mauve is a color, like lavender, only different, as a crazy accuses another of being gay.

Neil says, be warned that someone could pull a gun. He is called into a waiting room. The crazy says all the homosexuals run the mental institutions. You know like Cuckoo's Nest. They wheel in a big jovial Indian man dressed in mauve, with swollen crippled feet, his toes have all curled underneath with ingrown nails. He will never walk again.

Neil comes back to say it'll be a while, six people in front of him it's been crazy back there as well. He looks particularly handsome tonight though he's been bleeding on the inside. He reads to me from the yoga journal about love, the heart, and relationships Aha! he exclaims, always looking for exterior signs, that's about us. Lately he's been questioning why we're still together, I think. Mauve is a color, only different, I tell him.