Journal of a Sabbatical

April 8, 2000

49

Today's Reading: Early Spring in Massachusetts: from the Journals of Henry David Thoreau edited by H. G. O. Blake, The Journals of Captain Cook, O Solo Homo edited by Holly Hughes and David Roman.

Today's Starting Pitcher:
Brian Rose

Walked with Joan-east and Priscilla this afternoon. Gorgeous, warm, sunny day. Joan-east wore shorts. It's that warm. I was regretting having worn jeans. I was downright hot! Harold was sitting out on the back deck listening to one of his books on tape. A rabbit hopped across the lawn. What is it with these huge plastic eggs on lawns? How do they keep them from blowing over in this wind? What's inside them? Are some horrible aliens going to burst out of them on Easter? We pass house after house displaying them. Then one house with its Christmas lights still up. Grackles and purple finches all over the place. Grackles are calling somebody named "chuck" apparently. Maybe he's holed up in the eggs?

Nancy took me to hear James Moody at Brown tonight for my birthday (49, yikes!). It was a Charlie Parker tribute and fundraiser for the Providence Public Library, featuring, besides James Moody, the Brown University Jazz Band, and the Joyce DiCamillo Trio. The program opened with a lecture by Eric in the Evening, umm, I mean Eric Jackson who hosts Eric in the Evening on WGBH, about what to listen for in Charlie Parker's music - why it was so revolutionary, exactly what changed, and so on. James Moody joined him on stage for reminiscences about Bird and discussion. Moody was hilarious. Jackson talked really fast because he was trying to cram in like a semester course in bebop in less than an hour. He was so excited that it made the audience excited. An excellent evening.

Nancy gave me two books: The Journals of Captain Cook (self-explanatory) and O Solo Homo, a collection of monologues by gay performance artists. I read a little of both after the concert along with, of course, today's installment of Thoreau's journal. I conked out shortly thereafter until I was awakened deep in the wee hours by a wind to rattle the windows. It feels like the whole house is rattling around. The branches of the tree right outside the window seem perilously close.