T E A R D R O P IX: change of plans

Hello Everyone,

I thought I'd stop writing these but they're a pleasure, so with your permission I'll continue.

This is my landlord's mother Leah, pronounced Lee. She has a computer in her downstairs office that helps her read by magnifying whatever she puts in the light underneath. 

She wrote these four numbers in four different handwritings on four different post-its. We had a great time meeting. We took a tour of her full-of-books house and she would make funny faces to express exasperation at this and that.

Later, the niece of a friend organized a dog show (Lola got second place and trick star). Halfway through, the organizer's 8-year-old cousin climbed to the top of this tree as an act of protest. After some negotiating into the branches his mom successfully talked him down.

We cleaned out our apartment. I arranged everything that we didn't want next to the street.

By that afternoon, nearly everything was gone. All that remained was two pieces of pink plastic cutlery, three cups without lids, and a book about the South Beach Diet. We shared a strange feeling of satisfaction. This little strange stage at the front steps! What couldn't we put out for our neighbors to pick up?

Dear beautiful Lola looking into the light always wants to be outside, to get into it.

Later on, I found this other strange small stage.


The bucket seems extra heavy and special here on the 7th floor landing. 

I continued climbing and, in nearly the same light but much higher up, I found a further sitting spot. There's something about these little human burrows that I always like. Without fail, they're temperate and secluded and comfortable enough. Usually there are remnants from whoever last sat there (cigarette butts, most often) to inspect. They point out something worth looking at, even if it's just the framed view of a boring roof that you have to imagine someone else saw when they sat in the same place.

When I got down, an un-registered tour group was entering the library, phones out in awe. If you just take away the phone, the hands-clasped-over-craning-head posture seems both devotional and victorious.

Lola makes it easier for me to meet people.

Here are a couple objects hanging in the air, kind of shining:

And while I've been doing all this, the trailer has been wrapped up in East Haven.

I checked on it last Friday and it was okay---dry and it smelled the same. But I worry about what will happen now that I'm not living with it. When people leave, buildings melt. I think habitation is worth more than a roof in the long run.

More soon

Harper