“Absence diminishes small loves and increases great ones, as the wind blows out the candle and fans the bonfire.” ~ François de La Rochefoucauld

Telegram from Dorothy Parker, 1945

“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book . . . or you take a trip . . . and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.” ~ Anaïs Nin

I have been without access to a computer since July August 1 (I never know what the month or date are at any given moment). The absence has been stultifying. I have so missed this page, these words, this medium, those comments.

The computer is once again set up, plugged in, tuned in, turned on (pardons, Timothy Leary). The great reconfiguration of what was to be the office back into Eamonn’s bedroom is almost complete. The arduous move of the single biggest piece of furniture in the house has been accomplished.

Tomorrow, a real post, complete with pictures, a poem, a song, and lots and lots of thoughts.