Uhmm. No. Basil is not allowed. If you're not staying here for the summer, you're not allowed to put more things in pots for the mites to suck dry. And I cannot imagine you'll decide against another week on a Mexican beach. Or against a poolside summer in the newly landscaped backyard. Palm trees, she said. She called from the hot tub last night. She said: we're putting in synthetic grass. AstroTurf? Why? Because we live in a desert. You can't escape it. (You do too.)
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from the Annunciation notebook, April 23, 2003, 8:20 am:
Odd. Yesterday I remember looking for the Game-of-Bee scar & locating a small, almost invisible scar on my left hand at the base of my thumb. Most of the day I thought it was the Bee scar. But last night a scar on the back of my right hand began to itch. A hive, a single raised hive: the real Bee scar raised in protest. A memory I hold to because the scar remains as evidence, proof it happened. An accident, a babysitter's game. It didn't hurt me. But it marked me. So few things are memorable. It's snowing today. There are daffodils lining the garden & a few small red tulips. The tulips look cold.***
I don't remember writing that.
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Thus, the photographs. So I know which way is back.
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