16 June 2002 - 8:18 p.m.

[Third entry today - posted a little poem and some nattering about writing over at the playground.]

I've spent the waning hours of the afternoon sitting on the deck reading Joanne Harris' Chocolat (haven't seen the movie yet, although it's inevitable given the BYM's thing for Juliette Binoche), and it was lovely. Without quoting (so as not to spoil it for others), I have to say that I was a bit spooked by the final paragraph - having reread the last act of Tennessee Williams' The Night of the Iguana last Sunday in the library, I wasn't expecting to be surprised by a sharp echo in a novel written forty years later, separated by ocean and climate and sensibility.

There are times when the thought of living here for the rest of my life gives me great comfort, and there are times when I wonder what it will take for me to consider a place "home."

At any rate, I unpacked the last three boxes from our move this afternoon (which is how I ended up on the deck reading Chocolat - it's actually already been on the bookshelf for months, but something compelled me to take a closer look while making room on the bookshelf) - our move here over two years ago, that is. And the ice cube trays I thought to be in the boxes were not, so I guess we will now get around to buying new ones after all.

Working out: I seem to be on a good class/bad class swing - Thursday I felt leaden, Friday I felt good, Saturday I got hit with a splitting headache thirty minutes in, today I felt closer to form.

Going out: a reception for an art show at Woodland House Saturday night. The art fair at Centennial Park, with the familiar smell of greasy and sugary snacks, skirting around two tykes attempting to play badminton.

Busting out laughing: the minister's sermon this morning was on baseball, with quotes from Yogi Berra. She still sounded stunned at having located an Orthodox Jewish congregation in Norfolk that offers a course on baseball and spirituality.