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February 26, 2010

My sister calls from the hospital in Virginia to give me a report. She has snuck away for a few minutes for a cigarette. Mom had a rough night but her cognitive functions are good and her eyes are bright. This detail seems important to my sister. The morphine appears to be helping with the pain, and the nurses have installed a PICC to help get her sufficiently hydrated to withstand the surgery. The surgery itself has been moved up, from the late afternoon to 10:56 a.m. The preciseness of this time strikes me as odd, as I listen, staring out my office window.

late winter
watching snow swirl
aimlessly

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July 4, 2009

Remembering fireworks from our travels. With E. and S. at Mt. Rushmore, where they seemed to erupt from the tops of the presidents’ heads. Later in Denver, watching them reflected in the office building across the street. The sky threatening rain–feeling too tired to go and find them. And all of us in Wenatchee, when we watched them by the Columbia River. That long thin park sandwiched between the downtown and the broad water. Walking in the dark along the path and things seeming hushed and solemn. So dark it was hard to make out where people were sitting but for their murmured conversations, and the fireworks delayed for some reason—our anticipation building and building. The children were much younger then.

night bloomers
scared by the loud ones
their hair still blonde

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June 7, 2009

Sitting on the back steps, drinking coffee and watching closely where the morning sunlight lands. Yesterday I bought some Asiatic lilies, and I need to decide where to plant them. My backyard stays so shady that it’s hard to find six hours of sun in one place. The circular garden that contains a small bust of Kwan Yin is the place I’d prefer to plant them.

rising sun
warms Kwan Yin’s
smooth brow