9.23.99

Icky outside. And dark. It's nearly noon and I've got the lamp on, a little blob of yellow suspended behind me. I'm cold. When Dave was here he complained of the cold too. I was glad for the company: It's not just me. I'm procrastinating; not wanting to make these cold thin fingers move, not wanting to make this grooved mind jump. I won't leave the house today, but maybe tonight. I spent two-days worth of time at the office yesterday, which means I don't need to make the drive in again. I can work from home...if I'm not cold and lonely and longing for the book the bed the food in the drawer. Tonight I'm going to a demonstration of Japanese tea ceremony at the Seattle Art Museum. I don't know if this is one of those events where I get to taste, or if I will merely observe. I will renounce the museum if I don't get my own bowl of match'a. Today is the first day of Chusok. I thought I would send cards to my Korean friends, including Mrs. Chung, but I didn't. Time withheld itself. I am certain of the golds and greens of rice harvest. The scythed rice stalks piled high in reminiscence of thatching roofs. Sharing the road with chilis and rice drying in the low sun on black plastic stretched across the pavement. Persimmons blooming orange on scraggy leafless trees: They are a Tim Burton Christmas in a country of Buddhist and Christian Confucians, festively surreal. The air is crisp and clear toward winter, but lingering comfortably warm. It would be the time for travel. The time to crowd into market buildings and walk the leafy sidewalks in search of tea, stopping by food stalls for bean-filled cakes. Chusok is the best week in Korea.

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