i am with my family, some that i see often (grandma) and others that i do not see as often. i love them and there is such a legacy here, something that trips me out no matter when and where i feel it. there is of course my full-body empathy with my parents always seen around unexpected corners. there is the wit, quirky and warm and non-exclusive. there is my hair and my voice like polly's and my humor and scarf-i-ness like patty's. there is the cake (cakes) which we all share. the sorrow as well.

today we went to monticello. we all sort of wanted to take a nap but we dragged ourselves to monticello, and i was hit in the face with the History of it all, the incredible age and architecture and exploratory power of his mind (he designed everything, down to a clock with day-markers, a 6'3" alcove bed, wine dumbwaiters, underquarters...), but also, the dark side that no one talked about very much...the tour guide said "well, no slave owner was a GOOD slave-owner..." but there was one black man on our tour, and the whole time he stared at the walls like demons lived there, clenching and unclenching his fists. resigned and angry. it is more than important, necessary, to remember that this is also our history.