I would write more in this weblog about the day-to-day, but I really can’t. I just can’t get it. When you write down a memory, something leeches out, the light and life (for some reason I’m thinking of Tinkerbell dying). And so you have to infuse something back in. And whatever this mysterious infusion is, I can’t get it right now. I cannot convey how _______ it was to walk down Georgia Ave. yesterday in the sun, all the random chaos of that street bubbling but not affecting us, people yelling, sauntering, stooping on doorsteps, past liquor stores and antique stores and take-out chicken places and cop cars stopped along the side of the road. I was walking with Emily, a frail, artsy college freshman from Maine who works at my organization as a work-study job. We talked about what she wants to do when she grows up, how she used to ride horses, and how it is in Maine. The sun was shining a perfect 65 degrees, no wind, our walk was 15 minutes long, and we had plenty of time.

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