30 November 2000

Dear Sally,

It’s Thursday. When I was in high school I began to think of Thursdays as a kind of holiday, and this has stayed with me through the years. It’s all too complicated to dissect, though I know I will—must—at some point.

Ewan is napping. My computer says it’s 10:39 am. I’ve vacuumed the floors, done two loads of wash, and investigated the school of human resources at UW website, in advance of applying for a job as student advisor. Thought about spending part of the day sending my work out, but the thought of that makes me tired. It is a tireless activity, sending work out, and I am tired.

Thanksgiving was alright, but did seem lonely without my dad. And what seems most lonely is that this is an afterthought—now it is lonely. One or two moments of noticing, then forgetting. Noticing that it is a constant ache, constantly put aside.

I’m sorry to hear that your father is not well. I think you are the best, going to visit and help out. I wish I had visited my parents more often when my father was alive.

My friend Jasmine visited from Seattle over the holiday weekend. We met on campus for lunch at the student union and a walk through the art museum. We’ve been friends since grade school. Even though we’re friends, we’re worlds apart. Our friendship is endearing, enduring, sentimental, annoying and bothersome all at once.

Today Ewan goes in for a booster shot. Appointment at 4:30, we’ll get Robert from school and go to Madison. Grocery shopping, eat at McDonald’s, run up to the xerox machine in preparation for my class tomorrow.

I called an old friend today, from when I worked at the zoo. I haven’t seen him in many years. Next week is his week off, but I’ll have all that grading to do, reading student papers and grading. He and his wife will come to visit some weekend soon. Special for the kids to have a zookeeper friend. When Robert was young, Herb took us behind the scenes a couple of times. He takes care of the otters and the bears, and we went into the tunnels behind the outer pens with him, saw the day to day operations, what the animals eat, where they sleep, what they look and sound like close up.

I like the humor in the story of your eye that you sent. Also a sense of comfort with self and environment (despite all odds), and, as a result of that, intimacy and self-revelation.

Hope you are well. Please write when you have time.
Morgan