it's a luscious mix of words and tricks
that let us bet when we know we should fall

Seven didn't seem too early for some reason. Well, okay seven-thirty, since my alarm didn't go off, and I was awoken just by Rebecca. phone calls > Talking Heads > Fountains of Wayne > Ali showed up not much later, we left the place unlocked and drove to Einsteins, I realized I didn't have a jacket. Couldn't think of anything better than (cinnamon?) raisin with plain cream cheese (an unreal amount), and orange juice was almost twice as expensive. The cream of E&I in the car ("Invited" through "City") got me hyped; my turnaround on that disc has been so quick. I guess the live show does the trick, like they all say. I want to hear or create a funkafied dance remix of "You are Invited."

We were in the airport by around 8:30, not optimal maybe but not bad, found the automatic e-ticket machines (long overdue installation). A little unnerving how the whole check-in process takes place with a machine (including the standard security questions - push the screen here if your baggage has not been left unattended since you packed it), but it's much faster and more convenient. It even prints out a baggage tag. The line for security was enormous (although Rebecca says it was even longer last spring), but we passed the time discussing journals (Rebecca brags that hers has more visually exciting content than mine) and talking with a family of Marcus Pfister fans (Alyssa has a poster of the Rainbow Fish, but I never realized it was a book.) Then Rebecca began to tell my future. She has a different approach than Stef and Brigid - her rendition was straight and possible. And probably exactly accurate - I do small-time work for music mags and such, playing in bands on the side but never making it big, as Alyssa finishes grad school (Harvard - we live in Allston in a cute neighborhood with "punks and blacks") and begins to achieve major success in her field (publishing or something), she gets pregnant with Hermiony (!?) (Mia [maya] for short), we marry and move to the west coast (SF?), I start teaching music, but take time off when the twins are born, before moving to DC, where I get mugged and go through a minor emotional crisis which resolves itself when I take up teaching again. All of this lasted through two security checkpoints as we made our way through the endless string of concourses to F, and Rebecca and I parted ways before I enter the ministry. Before I reached the gate, I realized that 9F is of course my seat number, not my gate number, so with ten minutes to takeoff I ran (despite the admonitions of one of the various servicemen stationed around the airport) back two concourses, through yet another security checkpoint, to D2, and joined the comfortably long line for my flight. They searched my bag (I keep having this urge to write in present tense now, I've had to change every verb) and asked me to turn on my computer. "Oh, it comes on with music too! I just check every few times, to make sure it's not a bomb," he explained when I asked "they're all so technologically different!" as if he'd never seen a powerbook before. The flight was uneventful - I read four chapters of Pynchon and got bored with the crossword puzzle.

Dad and I started talking about books on the way home, which continued into the study - Barth, DeLillo, Alasdair Gray, Rushdie, Grass, Franzen (I counted three people reading "The Corrections" in the airport) and Wallace (about whom I know nothing - same goes for Neal and "Illuminatus," about which Rebecca and I were talking last night.) The latest additions to his CD collection include a lot of my favorite records of the year, or the decade; the most recent albums by David Byrne, Bob Dylan, The Shins, They Might Be Giants, Joe Jackson, Neutral Milk Hotel, The Magnetic Fields. So that's nice. When I got in, the goose was already cooked. George and Michelle ("Don't touch me, I'm sterile") were here. There was a wooden cross set up in the front yard that Betsy assures me is to be used as a trellis, not in a burning. And new tiles. I sat down at piano and read through the score that was on the stand, a set of Beethoven variations. Martha came in towards the end, showed me some unintentionally b&w shots of a party, and played right hand to my left in a rondo, while Michelle snapped photos. Should I go see "Apocalypse Now Redux" this afternoon? I'm thinking not. Just see my brother and read and mash potatoes. Through the window and the yellow leaves I can see uncles and nephews playing touch football in the backyard next door, some of them in red white and blue jerseys.

I want to thank you for the hearts and flowers