day) and cut some daffodils in the yard and took 'em to neighbor
lady Bea---the woman whose driveway we----er, that is, "I" share;
Bea's daughter died this past weekend. I didn't know her, and
barely know Bea, having moved in at the end of August, not long
enough (with our busy fall) before the onset of winter to have a
lot of interaction with the neighbors. Plus she's 92 and she and
her little dog, Tiny (14), in the words of the ol' song, don't get
around much any mo'.
So I put the flowers in a vase from Juli and knocked on her door
yesterday afternoon. Stayed and talked for more'n two hours.
And even though the oldest of her three daughters (about whose
lives I suddenly know rather a very lot) just died a few days
ago, we talked about me and my life just as much. And that was
good for both of us, I think, in a rather oddly intimate way.
Sometimes folks open right up.
Maybe I'll tell you more about Bea later.
It put me in mind, though, of the fact that I've been visiting
various domesticities since my own became solitary again recently,
for the first time in seven years and four cities and four
apartments and a house. I've visited quite a few lately, borrowing
(especially as a housegust) that relaxed version of company from
quite a few generous souls. This morning I realized that's what
Paul Erd\"os was doing all the time those last several years---being
a sort of wayfaring family free agent. Interesting to ponder!