Little Boy Blue
It’s my pleasure and good fortune to work every day of the year — to set down a few words, to draw, or to otherwise tend to the bookish details of my elderly childhood. But the word work should fool no one; I use it only to distinguish from the rest of the play that constitutes my daily life. For I’m as silly and eager about grocery shopping and floor mopping as I am about giving my half-baked thoughts to the world. And I do it all in sickness and in health, never quite sure that one is not the other, or both. At the same time, it should be clear from these pages that I don’t wait for inspiration. It waits for me, stopping, pointing, laughing, and then runs on ahead. Sometimes I almost catch her — but of course that’s just part of her game. And yet I’ve held her in dreams.
December 25, 2019