So Here ...

It would surprise him to know that not only do I remember every word he has ever spoken in my presence, I also recall the inflections and resonance of his voice, the whisper of breath between his words, the rise of his chest against his shirt. All of it. And every so often those memories shock me out of sleep, or whatever else I'm doing, into deep alertness.

It is too early for Friends Meeting when I wake up this morning, so I am catching up on email. I see that Jim Dwyer, the New York Times reporter, has written about a play that features four ex-convicts whose lives were transformed by Quaker prison ministry and the Alternatives to Violence Project that evolved from that ministry. Jim's article is being circulated among the Quaker email lists I subscribe to.

I have followed Jim's work off and on for a long time. There are many reasons to read whatever he is writing: the Pulitzer committees have thought so a couple of times. It's worth digging out the New York Newsday columns that won him that award in 1995. They are so beautiful. He was also a very good friend when I was publishing a community newspaper. I'm a big fan.

In effort to catch up with Jim and his work, I scroll through his recent articles. I see he wrote about the Yeats exhibit at the National Library of Ireland. One item on display is a notebook Jim calls the "metaphysical marriage bed" of Yeats and Maud Gonne. I'm switching between Jim's article and this page. I think I'll let you read it. I'm dumbfounded.

I'm going to clean up around here and go find Kumiko.

When I have climbed the giant rock to their home, I knock and Kumiko invites me into her kitchen. I see sushi rice that is shiny and sticky in a big bowl on the counter. She has arranged ingredients with the plan to teach me to the best way to roll tuna, an inside-out roll, and an over-stuffed roll. From Kumiko, I learn about mixing powdered wasabi, finding the freshest sushi fish, and the best way to serve sushi if you're having guests.

She and Hoshi are so lovely. And their home, because she is a photographer and he a graphic designer, is full of many beautiful images they have collected and created. As I leave she gives me her card so we can keep in touch - on it is a photograph she took of a local beach.

At home I frame her card and put it next to the jar of beach glass. I really must add a speckled rock.