I wakened to the white and cold of a damp snow.
For the first time this year I loaded and lit the wood stove: a warm, crackling comfort.
Mishka the cat regarded it warily.
This was a day of catching-up: unpacking, laundry, grocery shopping... (I have an onion soup in mind; it is definitely soup weather.)
I find myself feeling unfinished in regards to my deceased friend and teacher.
The memorial was very focused on his relationship to family---very appropriate---with a few others speaking of him as a teacher. What was missing, for me, was a recognition that he radically changed people's lives---I was not the only one.
I may be able to remedy that for myself by writing him a letter. (Oh, the collections of letters to our dead...)
Meanwhile, this visit to the East Bay is nergling in my mind as an invitation to think about expanding my life once more. (I know that this redirection has been a focused intent of my friend and hostess.)
Extending into which direction? song and story? therapeutic and teaching work through imagery? something else entirely?
It is not yet clear: it is simply beginning to itch.
I will now take the mental itch upstairs to bed; perhaps a dream...
Tomorrow: early morning minyan.
Then home to create the onion soup that suits the weather.