It was a beautiful day here, probably the last before my ass is cold til May. So I plucked the boys outa school and took them to the country out through Albion to Lake Ontario, apple picking and walking around the closed beach-front shops. The colors are a little over-ripe, but still good. They loved the picking part, especially Ears, who kept picking and picking and saying “I like quiet work, I like the quiet here, I like this because it’s quiet” until I had about 80 pounds of crispins, grannies, and idareds to find recipes for. Then maple ice cream before heading home. Through it all, I was inexplicably anxious – not so as you could tell, just under the ribcage like a mouse running around in a cabinet inside of a tidy-looking house, making little scratching noises. I wish I could tell the bouts of pointless anxiety from the bouts of intuition.

I think talking to my grandmother this morning [in hospital w pneumonia again], listening to her speak in short words with a suck on an oxygen machine between each one as she tried to get out “thank breath for breath the breath books breath I breath love breath you . . .”, and the ominous sounding horoscope got hooks into me that I just couldn’t wiggle entirely free from.