— Dana and I began our day having coffee with Kristi, my niece whose family is temporarily displaced by Hurricane Katrina. What a lovely person! I’ve met few people in my life who exhibit such thoughtful striving. I’ve never been more impressed with her, and I was incredibly impressed with her the very first day I met her in 1977. Take care, sweet heart.
— Being with Kristi makes me think of Caitlan, my neice who’s off on her adventure in England. That first week can be quite lonely. I was there. I don’t mean England, although I was there, too. I mean alone in Europe, facing a long separation from family and friends. I was the same age. It was difficult at first. It was also one of the most important personal challenges I’ve ever surmounted, perhaps the most important one of all. Caitlan is a terrific young lady—one of the most gifted people I know. She’ll get through this. She’ll be ok. If you’re the type of person who gets homesick, it never completely goes away, but when she discovers the intellectual center of her universe in Oxford, she’ll do just fine.
— David the Mac Guru urged me to just “sit tight” and await the arrival of a new startup drive for our G4, so that’s what I’m doing, but trying to keep clients happy in this crippled state is gnawing at my nerves. Get a grip—I’m not experiencing anything that countless millions haven’t already dealt with over the centuries—since that first clever human who chose to link mental equilibrium and financial well-being to an infernal machine.
— I was just thinking about my recent stay in the U.P. and the extraordinary “moments” I manage to bring back (in spite of my frayed memory bank). Like observing that remarkable “cinematographer’s moon,” as translucent clouds swept a midnight sky above the dancing treetops, or crossing the brisk Moscoe Channel in full open-water gear—wet suit, cap, goggles, fins, and my treasured diving gloves (generous Jerome will never know how much good use I’ve gotten out of them). I recall those minutes of tense exhilaration when, after all the effort, a big king takes the hook, and all mental energy is directed to the goal of successfully boating the fish, working with the net handler, knowing you may not get a second chance… my annual rediscovery of the pleasures associated with simple industry—preparing a meal, washing dishes, maintaining the boat, butchering and freezing the day’s catch, or salvaging a rusty salmon smoker… the sense of comfort and belonging that has now replaced the former disbelief, when I arrive and first absorb the low-key majesty of the Les Cheneaux… and that elusive point of peak relaxation which occasionally comes with fishing, recognizing that consciousness has been emptied of all thought when mind floods back into the vacuum…