New York, August 14

What does “no till seeding” mean? Or “no till corn?” Is this a step beyond organic or vegan of which I am unaware.

I passed a field with those signs on my way back from a pilgrimage to Equissentials in Oneonta. There I dropped off a pair of riding britches for “recycling” (they put the deerskin seat on new britches), another pair for exchange (they were much smaller than the other pair I bought at the same time), and gave into my desire for a pair of the full-seat western jodhpurs. Those I bought off the rack. The others will be custom made.

The day is Kodachrome perfect and it makes me wish I actually had some. But then, where would I get it processed? It’s almost time for me to pull out my camera and use it. The afternoon light will soon pick up the warmth I prefer. I think I’m going to drop my car off at my mother’s house and walk for a while. It’s nice to see side walks and there are so many antique shops around. Unlike California, rents are cheap.

I find myself wondering how many of the people I’m walking past might be among those who show up at tonight’s first event of the reunion. It is scary, not knowing what people will look like. A little more frightening to realize I don’t remember their voices either. My father’s voice is vivid in my memory, and he’s been gone 31 years. I’ve seen some of these classmates more recently than that. The only one I can pull up from the data base belongs to Rodney Welch, who teaches and does research at the University of Wisconsin. I sat next to him in school for 13 years, so I should remember what it sounds like.

Yesterday, my friend Gloria called just as my nice and I were seated in a very noisy restaurant in New York. She identified herself, but it was drowned out by the din, so I had to ask for it again. I would never have recognized her by her voice, which sounded a bit like one of my aunts. She called because there is a very small possibility she might make it up from Puerto Rico for the party this weekend. My fingers are definitely crossed.