I had a dream the other night when everything was still, I thought I saw Susanna a-coming down the hill, The buckwheat cake was in her mouth, The tear was in her eye

I think aside from a forthcoming yoga session, today will be a lazy day. It is the sabbath, after all and, considering I've been an active fellow, I probably need a recharging. Was hoping for a rainy day so that I wouldn't have to hear all the loud machinery neighbor Steve likes to operate in nice weather. As I write this, he's got something revving outside my window, a power washer, I think. Last weekend he outdid himself by running a hedge trimmer, then a lawn mower, and a skill saw. That nap I had planned on taking did not happen. Steve spends more time hanging out in his driveway than most people spend in their living rooms. Look, he's just being himself, but sometimes I just want slap that ape until he's an unconscious mound.

Anyway

I'm listening to Gesualdo's sixth book of madrigals and am trying to ignore the cacophony outside. Last night, the neighbors above Steve had a bunch of people over and they congregated in the kitchen which is directly across from my bedroom. They weren't terribly loud, but because of the close proximity, it was like they were in the room next to me. They were at it until about four in the morning. And, probably because they were drinking, they got louder as the night progressed. I got through it, but man, sometimes it's nice to have some quiet.

I found some yesterday. Early in the day, I decided to venture out to the park near my house and do some reading and writing. When I got to the park, there about twenty people dressed in vintage 19th century clothing  picnicking. I briefly wondered if I had slipped back in time. Ah, the city has its wonders!

I didn't last long at the park. I had a chill and decided it would be worthwhile to go home and put on a sweatshirt. That accomplished, I decided to walk the bike path into Arlington and hang out at Spy Pond for a while.

When I reached the backside of Alewife station, I noticed another path had opened up. Feeling adventurous, I took it. At its entrance, a sign read "Alewife Brook Reservation".  Turns out, the city received four and half million from the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009 to pimp the place out. It showed.

Interlocking bridges and walkways run through the marshes and ponds, which are stocked with wild life. I saw a ton of fish, a rabbit, and possibly a beaver. I walked through most of it, which wasn't that large a portion, and relished the sights and sounds. And smells! Oh, Spring, thou art fragrant! Brought back memories of youth and all sorts of other feelings, many of which run deep.

The whole experience was a meditation. Wonderful! From there, I got back on the bike path and stopped to watch a soccer game. I didn't intend to stay too long, but these kids, who looked to be twelve or thirteen,  were evenly matched and played hard. Lots of close calls, but no goals. I watched for about an hour. You can find a good game anywhere. Brought back fond memories of my own involvement with the sport.

Heading back to Somerville, I heard the faint sounds of Klezmer music in the direction I was heading. I smiled widely. When I reached Davis Square, the band was in full swing in the courtyard in front of JP Licks. They brought the ruckus; I managed to record some of it. Sometimes you can't beat living in the city. At one moment I'm spending time in a tranquil reservation and walking along serene bike paths and the next I'm amongst revelers digging some lively music. 

By the time I got home, my feet and heels were burning with blisters. I headed over to Spira's place after a much needed shower. We watched Errol Morris's documentary, Tabloid. Spira fell asleep through some of it, but I think she enjoyed what she saw. And, of course, Missy D was lavished with attention.

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 It's frustrating feeling that whatever momentum I obtain in life fizzles out too soon. I'm speaking of positive momentum here - the unsavory stuff does not fizzle out but is ubiquitous. I can't help but harbor the sobering thought that my life is being managed according to some preordained script that might allow for some wiggle room, but if I veer too far, I am brought to heel.  Maybe that's true, maybe not.

Saddened to hear about the passing of an acquaintance of mine. Over the years, various friends of mine lived with him at his house in Wilton, NH. We had some good times there. Ah, you can't go home again. I'm not sure of the specific nature of his passing, but I have an idea. Did he slip through the cracks? I don't know.

No, you can't go home again. There is perception and there is reality and maybe something that rests in between. Sometimes it seems I still have a substantial social circle, but when I examine it, the results indicate otherwise. Social media like Facebook is good at projecting the illusion of such things, but the truth is often different. It's alright, life happens. We get older and our worlds narrow into smaller, tighter spheres. It's the nature of things.

Well, on that cheery note, will end this and try to write some lyrics, my fucking Achilles heel. I'll read, too, maybe watch The Act of Killing, a film I'm very curious about. And yoga and so on. The day is young, I go forth.

Ciao!