Weeks ago, I volunteered for a task at work: acting as liaison between the library system and a hunger project at the unnamed university. The very moment I agreed to do it, the old pointless stage fright kicked in. I’d send out an email to a hundred people I’ve known for 20 years and try not to hork up lunch. I called a meeting and wore clogs in case I needed a quick place to yak. When a group of my co-workers refused to work and play well with others, I went full-metal queasy YOU BITCHES ARE NOT MY FRIENDS. As of today, the project is launched and the donation process has begun. The angry phone calls are so last week. Peace has come in our time. I’m so relieved I could toss my waffles.

I used to wonder why biographies of great thinkers and artists almost always start with an adult period of inspired productivity followed by one of wandering in the wilderness and another of mature work that isn’t flashy and feels dull compared with all that fiery, youthful noise, but I understand it now. I think about the same things, but I think a whole lot less about myself. Yesterday, I sashayed out of the house without makeup and even moisturizer because I forgot about me, which is fine because as art critics go I am a stone bitch and embarrassed to be seen with me.

The town we live in is so small that one’s presence or absence may be easily observed. Last spring, I marched over to the senior/youth center to volunteer at the food pantry. Sometimes lots of people turned out; sometimes there were three adults and three toddlers to do the shelving. When the weather cooled off recently I had some trouble being on my feet and missed a Wednesday night, which did not go unnoticed. Ah well. If I were stable, you and I would never have met in that bar in Singapore.

I’ve been knitting cat blankets since April. These are just about ready to send out, hopefully early next week. I’m knitting Pete a little wool scarf with the exciting footnote that I am allergic to wool. Part of the hunger project is giving families assigned to our departments winter warmth. I am thinking about making a rather dull but reasonably warm baby blanket, though thinking about it makes me want to hork.