DIARY: Seagull

Long day. Still not feeling 100 percent. Not even close. But... Timothy Roven and Keel came over to Janice's house today to meet Myles and Janice. Keel could not believe the toys. Who can?! I said you either get a daddy or you get a lot of toys.

Then off toe The Seagull from the Royal Court. It get a rave from the Times so Robin wanted to go. I had gotten a half price voucher when he was out of town. And I couldn't think of anything I wanted to see less. Despite the stellar cast. But it's part of our (my) resolution to do things and get out of bed, so we got full price great seats on line. And it was good. okay. But nothing more wonderful than the usual run of the mill wonderful we've seen in London. So I kinda enjoyed it but...Oh well. A way to spend the afternoon, I suppose.

Going into the theater I saw Roger Berlind who was pleasant enough. At intermission, however, I saw Bob Bartner. I said hello and he couldn't have run away faster. Yikes! I sent him an email the other day. I didn't expect him to say anything. But i also didn't expect the run away bits. I texted Michael Jenkins right away. Another yikes.

Then off to Ruth. Who is up and at it. We walked with the walker all the way to the communal room. However, she's her old mean self again. She was bitching about the food. "I don't know what this is. They say it's chicken. it ain't chicken! And what's with this soup. They said it was mushroom barley. It's cream of chicken soup!" And she'll be out soon.

I think I'll do the Auden poem next for the song cycle.

W. H. Auden


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.