New Hope Journal
Personal Essays and Public Opinions since 1979
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I’m sleeping on Camen’s couch tonight…
and last night… and tomorrow night. And through the new year.
I’m visiting my daughter in New York
and it’s the day after Christmas
and I have come to New York to visit her for the holidays
and she is sleeping in the bedroom with her boyfriend,
a very nice Indian man who drinks too much.
And her chat, the fat cat, Samantha, is playing with her catnip mouse on the floor
and I have switched from reading George Sand
to Bertrand Russell’s History of Western Philosophy
because Camen and I keep trying to find just the right book to bond on
and she bought Russell’s textbook at Gotham Bookmart’s new location the other day
(after checking of course with me)
and we decided while walking through the snow in Central Park today,
(the Sunday after Christmas)
that we would find another copy for me
and we would read the book together as a bit of a private book club
and write to each other by email our comments on the text as we proceeded.
New York to North Carolina.
It was a perfect plan for us this afternoon.
Sort of like deciding that what ever happened to us,
we would meet back up in heaven in say 2078 or somewhere thereabouts.
The cat has parked herself under my leg as I write
and I must shift around now and take up Russell’s introduction again
because I’m falling asleep on the Shiraz and must get quickly back to reading.
2078 is only 74 years away and I want to be ready for the meeting, Camen.
I’ll be there..