Tuesday, July 25, 2000

12:47 a.m. My youngest sister took the photo, opposite. She lives way, way far away and out in the country and she likes to take pictures of abandoned houses, among many other things. The houses in her photographs are ghostlike and mute and they are very very patient as they stand stoic for their portraits.

They seem to be pleading to tell their stories.

We have an abandoned childhood. We've been comparing notes in email exchanges, bringing out old mental snapshots and constantly asking: Do you remember this? Or this? Or them? The old house of my memories has a broken pane or two ... and there's a gaping cellar door there, as well.

But it's sunny all the time in California -- that's the point. Your past? Beside the point. Your shadows? No point in dwelling.

In fact, there's many a story I've written about going down into that very basement, that cellar with the heavy aching doors. That's where the stories are stored, along with the cool and the damp and the mold.

They'll keep a little longer.

For now, I have an awful lot of just plain stuff to do in the broad daylight. Volunteer stuff that's time-consuming. Startup stuff that's just getting started, startup stuff that's well underway; all stuff I can't really talk about here. I am busy, but you wouldn't know it to look at me.

Meanwhile, I just ended day 20 of my new, successful diet in something of a heap. I couldn't stand it one second more and so I broke down and chopped up some stuff and actually cooked. Then I felt obligated and now I know I went too far. I can't help but notice that every day has a few setbacks custom installed to trip me up. No surprise there.

The secret is in how you react to setbacks. Do you say, "Well, I deserved this ..." or do you say, "What's the use in trying?" These are the wrong responses. Picture a big-necked guy standing in your kitchen wearing a padded football helmet. He can't hear a word you're saying. You can hit him upside the head and he won't even look up. He's your role model. Learn from him.

Now, get back in there and keep on trying to break through.

Which is what I'm going to do tomorrow. One evening of extra rice will be meaningless if I continue my winning dietary plan. I refuse to throw away a certain pair of jeans and I will fit in them again one of these fine sunny California days. The last time I remember wearing them was June, 1988, but there they hang in the closet, all soft and worn and ... geeze they look tiny.

Why is everything from the past so small? Why does the future loom so large?