March 25th, 1978

A certain hesitancy has kept me from my journal for the past month. Caution prevents me from recording the texture of extreme transition. I usually document these events that I understand, I rarely write until I have developed a theme.

Home on a Saturday afternoon. Sunday is Easter and thoughts of holiday linger in the air. Imaginings. Rememberings. Re-running old Easter shows in my mind. It’s cold today. After a week of balmy spring weather, now we have a chilly, nearly damp, grey day. Windy is in New York. Chip is napping in her bedroom. I have built a fire that is glowing in the shadowy living room. The dogs have positioned themselves in front of the flickering– sleeping soundly.

Jets rumble through the sky. Constantly.

Peace prevails in my life.

Gray and quiet Easter weekend.

—-

I am convinced that if you should choose to live and work in an East Coast urban environment– like Washington, Philadelphia, New York,– that it is important to structure your life around vacationing.

I sit here and type and stare out a blank grey window onto a cold day and I know that surviving the elements here is predominant to our experiencing. Life on the East Coast. Bleak eternal winters and long suffocating monoxide summers. Yet I am feeding on such support here– from my work, and my friends, and a good portion of typical day-to-day experience. Which is to say, I am happy here.

Which is to say, that is my new theme, apparently.

Which is why I have waited a month to begin keeping a new journal. Can it be that my new theme is being happy?