Great winds rocking the little Aladdin caravan all night long. I left the fiberglass awning up to fend for itself, unwilling to go fiddle with it in the dark and cold wind of aftermidnight. Caught in the gale, it filled the cabin with a groaning and creaking that wasn't unpleasant, and wasn't the reason I didn't sleep. That I can blame on a sugar binge yesterday midafternoon and then icecream dessert too late in the evening. Shameful. But blissful as any narcotic. (Careful, though, careful ... )

Slept late in the morning, then fed the crew, fetched in the mail (package - a browned and marked-up used paperback on "the lives & literature of the Beat generation"). Back in Sylvia's warm officebed I consumed my own oatmeal&blueberries and mug of coffee, swallowed my magic thyroid pill, and spread around me the day's books and notebooks. (Interruption: a quick online foray to order refills for my Energel pens ... )

Conventional modes of composition had forced the writer to ignore much of what he really thought. Lifting the censorship of the conscious self, Kerouac opened the door to the unconscious, by all accounts the mind's richest storehouse.

That's the storehouse I want to access. It's the core reason for all the isolations of my days. And now that I'm recovering finally from a decades-long decline and enfeeblement, now that I am (ironically) revitalized in this my 60th year, I may again participate in the common realities of the consensus world, take them in and set them down transformed. Time to allow some life in. Refill, refill.

To prove me wrong -or, better, to give me a little gift - the worldgods have bestowed upon us these eight or ten days a taste of spring, gray and drizzly, sometimes downpour, sometimes a fresh burst of sunbright chilled in breezes. I am loving this. I hope it goes on and on.

The Friday-night overnight so looked-forward-to was a miserable failure, though no fault of the children's. The point of it for me was the grand breakfast I'd planned for Saturday morning, much anticipated by hungryboyDeaven. His sister was ill and did not come along and so it was only he who dropped off so nicely before 10pm on the trailercot at the north end. I, old-ladyish, anxious stayed awake until 3 at least, ruminating. So the awakening at 6:45 was rude indeed, his sister's knocks at the trailerdoor: send him home now. Now. NOW. I was surly and ungracious about it, having had no warning about his family's planned sunrise departure to shop in the city a two-hour drive to the north. Rude, I thought, thoughtless and inconsiderate to permit him his first sleepover the night before such plans. And so after they left I burned through the pages scribbling a short story about a childish grumpy old woman's experiences with a red-headed neighbor child.

It virtually wrote itself.

But anyway we had a good dinner together.

***

Sprinkles now on the trailer tin. Two cats and a dog napping alongside me today as I work. catGreta hunted all the gray damp morning, patiently staking out entrances to ground-squirrel nests in the vacant lot next door. Now she's here for her afternoon lie-down.

Abundance of wonderful nightdreams this week - fullmoontime - my own, husband's, friendKathleen and her husband, and all very similar in their positivity, even in setting. My own had me waking up reluctantly, so vivid and thrilling it was, and I was filled with happiness all that day because of it, and every time now whenever I call it to mind.