We just had the most dramatic thunderstorm blow through town. In celebration of being alone, all alone in my department (grumpy complaining clerks are at a conference today and tomorrow, even finding something about that to complain about), I went out to get a sandwich for lunch, and on the way home in my rear view mirror I could see the western sky was nearly as dark as night. As I got out of my car the wind was blowing so hard it was incredible. Just as I got inside the huge powerful drops of rain started to fall. Now it's quiet--not like that quiet you get in the Midwest when the air is green and charged and there are tornado warnings, just still and quiet here. I'm actually listening to NPR at my desk on my computer, something I NEVER do, but there's no one else in my department so I'm wallowing in solitude, savoring every minute of my work day.

I listened to Warren Zevon on the way to work today and of course it led me straight to Henry. I came up with the only regret I've had so far: sorry I didn't tell Henry that I was sorry Warren Zevon died. I know he really enjoyed the times he worked with him at Charlotte's Web, really enjoyed knowing him. Heck, if that's my greatest regret about my relationship with my brother that's not bad. Anyway, I had a yearning to hear Zevon, but of course it made me cry and cry. So I said "Henry, why did you leave me?" (after all, it's always about me, isn't it?). Then, before I really finished my sentence, I was comforted immensely by the knowledge that he didn't want to, he didn't mean to, and he would have done anything in his power not to have left. He DID do everything in his power not to. I just wish he were still here, that's all. I'm thinking a lot about him these days, probably because I'm going back to Wisc. and will see things like his boots, god bless his boots, how they make me cry. And so I cry a bit now, more than in recent times, but it's a sweeter sadness, a more familiar pain. Well heck, I just miss my brother and think he was a sweet person who added so much to my life. He took such good care of me, without really appreciating how much he did for me himself. I guess that's one of the sweetest things--that he couldn't really grasp just how much it meant to me to have him do all he did and say all he said, especially in the last several years. But he understood so much about me, and he accepted the things about me I needed to have someone accept, without explanation, but he was always interested in my explanation. How I appreciated that! I hate apologizing for mental illness, but it doesn't go away, it's always there, and I can't really apologize for my behavior, people just have to accept it that I'm doing the best I can. I felt that he did, and he noticed how much I was trying to be a better person, more than just about anyone else did. He seemed to have found a new sense of me.

Anyway, it was a rough trip to work, after all, a dead man was singing and a dead man dominated my thoughts. But I like Molly's input that we should leave the dead alone because they're either working or resting, and so should be left to do what they need to do. Let sleeping dogs lie and let dead people die.

And now I have a choice between deleting long overdue books from the system or weeding worthless fiction titles from the collection or reading book reviews. All three of these, curiously, appeal to me.

Last night was a reunion of people who went on the Planned Parenthood bus trip to Washington to the March for Women's Lives in April. It was pretty quiet but a nice group. Lin and I went and had to keep explaining why we didn't look familiar to anyone in the group--like, how we marched with people from California and then Kansas because we got separated from New York, then fell asleep and woke up after the march started. We looked at everyone's pictures and showed mine (I had the best port-a-potty pictures, hands down) and watched a video that students from the college had done for a class project. It was moving to see it all again. They had good footage of some of the speakers, which I found particularly exciting to see.

My group of Rockford friends is planning a reunion for next year, they're trying to figure out where to go. The woman who's got Harvard connections has a lead on a place that Harvard owns in Portland, Maine; someone else had a lead on a place in Oregon that has cabins that are treehouses--everyone's just thinking of different places. Me, I'm just alone for the ride. Looking forward to seeing them all again, especially a couple of them I really bonded with last time. For some reason I these two, who were sharing the condo with me, that my father was an alcoholic who had been pretty cruel to me my senior year in high school, and passed out every night in his chair. They were really nice, said no one knew. Yeah, right--that's the point, I said, no one was supposed to know. Covert abuse.

But now I have my life and my life is good. The black flies are fierce and plentiful. You'd think they'd be getting tired of being around but they're reaching their peak now, I hope. We've had them around for nearly a month, but they're just getting unbearable now. I can't stand being outside for more than a few minutes at a time. I watered my plants last night and it was a real chore, I was swatting and ducking like crazy by the time I was done. Don't know how the dogs stand it--they're covered with bites by the time they come in. Only Tess went swimming last night, Chances stayed home while Jackson and Tess took a stroll. I ended up staying at home because my house cooled off enough to stay there and sleep under the covers after all. It was a really windy night with a nice cool breeze, very pleasant. I'm struggling to read our current book, The Botany of Desire. It's about the influence on people that certain plants have had and the influence on these plants that people have had. I like the premise, I'm just sort of struggling to get into it. It's about apples, tulips, marijuana and potatoes. I'm only on apples so far. Johnny Appleseed and his work in the 1800's in Ohio. a bit of a yawn.