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6:54 p.m. - Thursday, Sept. 01, 2011
Smoke on the Balcony
I want to reach my hand into the sky and run my fingertips against the cloud curtain . . .feel the texture of it. It looks like it feels nice.

I sit in the living room writing a welcome letter to the parents of my 3 and 4-year-olds and listen to him in our makeshift diningroomturnedoffice - directing and analyzing and staffing and problem-solving . . .and I fall in love. I'm glad he took this job, although it will only carry him through the beginning of November. He loves it. And I love him loving it.

I'm very quiet these days. Cooking, cleaning, placing, setting, writing, feeling, living, breathing . . .not much talking. But that's OK with me. I am even. Temperate. Being.

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