occasions in one day if possible. But of course August is the month when people pour in to Maine.
The weather has changed to a gritty wind, lowering skyâand I hope it may rain tonight. But I feel low and depressedâand only the animals are any comfort.
Sunday, August 24
It did rain and all feels fresh todayâwith a lovely European sky, big clouds with sun breaking through themâit occurs to me that this is not an effect we often see in Maine. There is often fog or a closed pewter-gray sky, or a clear blue one, but rarely the cumulous clouds, light-shot, which make me think of Suffolk and of Belgium where the sky is rarely still and clouds come and go all the time.
Eda LeShan speaks to the point in her book when she talks about the necessity to break habits that encrust themselves sometimes over the spring waters of a life. I think I must not allow myself to be imprisoned by my compulsive need to answer so many peopleâbut the problem is old friends who are, many of them, far away, and keeping in touch with them is important. It is again my old problem of the immense number of beloved people who have entered my life for sixty years or so. I want to respond always, but the frenzied push-push-push has to go now. How does one break such an ingrained habit with so much guilt and pressure held in it?
Some years ago I went to Larry LeShan for four sessions as a patient to get his wise help about this. He tried to persuade me that I did not have to answer everyone, that the letters were answers to my books. It did helpâbut I fear I was not wholly convinced. My mind accepts the reality, my heart was warmed by his kindness, but somehow the spirit was not quite ready to give this compulsion up!
Monday, August 25
A brilliant autumnal day with autumnâs dark blue ocean and again some architectural clouds edged gold moving across the blue. The wind whistles around the house and I think of chrysanthemum plants and just called Edythe to see if she would have lunch with me and go and find someâalthough the traffic is bound to be bad.
I am immersed in Edaâs book, full of anecdotes and the wonders and alarms of a first coming to terms with what old age will bringâfor she was sixty-three when she wrote it, and it was like the touch of autumn I feel in the air today. Maybe thatâs when one can write best of autumn. Now I do not want to write about old age because I am there, I suppose. Yet I know that the challenge through a thicket of physical problems is to believe in ascension still and manage to throw the crutches away, so to speak, and the more helpless in some ways, the more of a triumph to keep carting away non-essential things and climbing towards death in naked joy.
Having uttered that I must admit that when I was ill I could not think about clothes at all, and now, yesterday, ordered a stunning purple suede jacket! But maybe the ascension canât do with crutches but does do with looking as well as possible.
The Nickleby reviews are splendid! Iâm so glad for Pat Keen and the whole cast. The Times review ended:
For its entire duration, it enraptures the audience in a romantic, but throbbingly real world, moving us with an eloquent moral tale of the possibilities of redemption and regeneration.
Tuesday, August 26
Such autumn in the airâit is exhilarating! Another âfirstâ since my healingâI watered the terrace beds. I had dreaded it, dreaded being out of breath after moving the sprayer around, running upstairs to turn water off and on, etc., but I did it with ease. Before that I had done some more pruning and clipping. The garden is mine again. All spring and summer I did not even notice what was going on. I couldnât bear to have abandoned it. Karen worked hard and I wish she could see that at last the annuals are floweringâand the purple, pink and white phlox flooding the terrace beds with color.
Thursday, August 28
On Tuesday Edythe and I
The weather has changed to a gritty wind, lowering skyâand I hope it may rain tonight. But I feel low and depressedâand only the animals are any comfort.
Sunday, August 24
It did rain and all feels fresh todayâwith a lovely European sky, big clouds with sun breaking through themâit occurs to me that this is not an effect we often see in Maine. There is often fog or a closed pewter-gray sky, or a clear blue one, but rarely the cumulous clouds, light-shot, which make me think of Suffolk and of Belgium where the sky is rarely still and clouds come and go all the time.
Eda LeShan speaks to the point in her book when she talks about the necessity to break habits that encrust themselves sometimes over the spring waters of a life. I think I must not allow myself to be imprisoned by my compulsive need to answer so many peopleâbut the problem is old friends who are, many of them, far away, and keeping in touch with them is important. It is again my old problem of the immense number of beloved people who have entered my life for sixty years or so. I want to respond always, but the frenzied push-push-push has to go now. How does one break such an ingrained habit with so much guilt and pressure held in it?
Some years ago I went to Larry LeShan for four sessions as a patient to get his wise help about this. He tried to persuade me that I did not have to answer everyone, that the letters were answers to my books. It did helpâbut I fear I was not wholly convinced. My mind accepts the reality, my heart was warmed by his kindness, but somehow the spirit was not quite ready to give this compulsion up!
Monday, August 25
A brilliant autumnal day with autumnâs dark blue ocean and again some architectural clouds edged gold moving across the blue. The wind whistles around the house and I think of chrysanthemum plants and just called Edythe to see if she would have lunch with me and go and find someâalthough the traffic is bound to be bad.
I am immersed in Edaâs book, full of anecdotes and the wonders and alarms of a first coming to terms with what old age will bringâfor she was sixty-three when she wrote it, and it was like the touch of autumn I feel in the air today. Maybe thatâs when one can write best of autumn. Now I do not want to write about old age because I am there, I suppose. Yet I know that the challenge through a thicket of physical problems is to believe in ascension still and manage to throw the crutches away, so to speak, and the more helpless in some ways, the more of a triumph to keep carting away non-essential things and climbing towards death in naked joy.
Having uttered that I must admit that when I was ill I could not think about clothes at all, and now, yesterday, ordered a stunning purple suede jacket! But maybe the ascension canât do with crutches but does do with looking as well as possible.
The Nickleby reviews are splendid! Iâm so glad for Pat Keen and the whole cast. The Times review ended:
For its entire duration, it enraptures the audience in a romantic, but throbbingly real world, moving us with an eloquent moral tale of the possibilities of redemption and regeneration.
Tuesday, August 26
Such autumn in the airâit is exhilarating! Another âfirstâ since my healingâI watered the terrace beds. I had dreaded it, dreaded being out of breath after moving the sprayer around, running upstairs to turn water off and on, etc., but I did it with ease. Before that I had done some more pruning and clipping. The garden is mine again. All spring and summer I did not even notice what was going on. I couldnât bear to have abandoned it. Karen worked hard and I wish she could see that at last the annuals are floweringâand the purple, pink and white phlox flooding the terrace beds with color.
Thursday, August 28
On Tuesday Edythe and I
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