|Photograph: Jar with birds-of-paradise at Siem Reap, Cambodia, 2009|
My distant cousin William Wallace Tabbot, who found me when I posted something about one of my ancestors (Sally Jo Hance, perhaps?), "likes" everything. He is giving my first cousins a run for their facebook money. I am almost as fond of him as of my cousin who writes me letters and tells me what's going on down South without me.
Must say that I don't really mind... I mean, I like being silly. I like silly things. For example, I like chickens. I haven't had a post about chickens in a long time. Maybe I'll talk about chickens tomorrow. Or maybe I won't.
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While I was drinking tea this morning—meditative drink, tea is—I realized that the arc of my life as I approached my mid-thirties slowly turned away from everything valued by the world I grew up in. It’s as if I had to undo everything that I had done and was “supposed” to do in order to be what I am. Even though I began thinking of myself as a writer when I was still a child, I was distracted and absorbed by many things.