Hello sweetheart. Just a quick note tonight, I'm quite tired after a very delightful drive to Great Barrington and back. I had the car for the day, and decided to go see the Glenn Gould documentary. But first I cleared it with D because he & I actually had an argument over it a couple of weeks ago. "He's mine," D had declared. I certainly didn't want to tread on that. So both of us missed it when it played at TSL. I looked at what was playing around and went through a process of elimination. The Hildegard von Bingen film will be at TSL - so don't go to Rhinebeck for that. Ditto re: the new Woody Allen - surely that will show up here. And the new Clint Eastwood - it stars Matt Damon - won't that come to the multiplex? So... Glenn Gould at 1 p.m. at the G.B. Triplex. So I said to D this morning, I'm inclined to go to that but don't want it to be viewed as passive-aggressive on my part. D said it's fine, he'll netflix it. So I went.

I loved the drive and cranked a choral Vivaldi extravaganza (Gloria) and the Bach Magnificat that was on the same disc. Opened the moon roof and turned on the heater at my feet. Bellowed along with the exquisite voices. Thought of you and remembered that I saw you once with your young son - that thought's been coming at me the last several days but finally overnight towards dawn an image came to me more squarely, securely. You were on the center path with him one day, a weekend day. I passed by, heading towards the parking area (where we crossed paths wasn't so far from it). Your little boy was cute, looks like you. Was he riding a little scooter, or a bicycle, or something? I seem to remember a busy little boy, and a bike helmet. I could be completely making this up though. I mean, not on purpose, to be a purposely unreliable narrator - but more that - well, how accurate is my memory and a mental image that forms these days from some concentrated (if yet, still, involuntary) effort and what actually transpired?

Oh, but I digress. Glenn Gould isn't "mine," but Bach is, has been since my girlhood. Perhaps it's why I like to sing and write long lines of song that ask questions and lead to - where exactly? I knew nothing of Gould's personal life, and was quite surprised to learn about the close relation he had with Lukas Foss's wife, Cornelia, who left Lukas (the composer/conductor), for a time, for Gould, her two children in tow, who - now in square middle-age, in interspersed interviews in the film - recall how they loved both their father and the very fatherly (or avuncular) Gould, whom Cornelia left after a few years, returning (in some fashion) to Foss, because Gould was becoming increasingly erratic, paranoid, and controlling. Cornelia's interviewed in the film too - she's an artist, a painter, but not an artiste, she clearly has a good sensible practical maybe even stern head on her shoulders - and remarks that Gould's personality simply changed, some other personality came out.

Afterward I went to a cheese shop on the main street and bought an overpriced ($12.95) French camembert, along with a few loaves of bread - olive levain, raisin walnut, two sunflower millets - that were in the "day old" reduced-price bin. I returned to the parking lot and tore the end off the raisin walnut and sampled the camembert. Oh my dear, how delicious. I had started the motor but simply shut it off so that I could concentrate on the beautiful ripe cheese and the chewy loaf with the sweet raisin bits. I tore at both with my fingers - delicately, delicately! - I had no implements but I wasn't a savage about it!

And then I drove back along Route 71 I think it is, back to Route 22, and back through Spencertown where there seemed to be some slightly solidified precipitation - a bit of sleet, I guess, not quite snow flurries. I returned home and cleaned up the kitchen, and dinner will be leftover chicken paprikash, and ---

how to end this? I have no idea. I hope you've been having a wonderful weekend and a delightful time on this Halloween. Kisses, and not just the Hershey ones. XOXO