Saturday 6/7
I'd have been up with the sun if it wasn't raining again and cold, thin-blooded me in 60-degree sweatshirts. Peter and I escape most of the morning chaos and cleaning: to Diana's bakery for rolls (we parked on the street, didn't lock the doors, were short a dollar but Diana sent us off and bid Mom a happy day - PT pats me on the back as I have a stroke of small-town shock) and off erranding. People start showing up two hours early as per usual. It's been ages since I saw anyone! Those I hadn't seen in a while are invariably taller than I am when they used to be shorter, or vice-versa:

Taller
Das Sibs
Zach Colton
Every old St. Joe's schoolmate of L&P's (possible exception: K. Holeman)
Every new Cathedral schoolmate and all CAP personnel

Shorter
Cousin Mary (Fisher)
Great-Aunt Mary (Sorenson)
Gram
Mr. G

Party in full swing makes me feel about 12, or would if it weren't for high school girls asking me if it ever gets any better. (Short answer Yes with an And; Long answer No, with a But...) I wander and schmooze and answer the same question eighteen times and it's wonderful. Escape for a while into the quiet of my borrowed room with a folderful of earnest and sometimes not-bad fiction to pore over, thanks to "Peter's ex-girlfriend" - my favorite young-old person. Adults walk home for the evening, kids drive to mall for DDR and arcade; M&P and Frank and I play backgammon and talk over yet more coffee; I realize where my drug addiction and conversational bent come from. Best part of whole day comes in late evening, cleaning up until the wee hours with brother and Mike, talking about Bjork and anime and history and girls and Neil Gaiman. Three beers later, to bed god-knows-when. I don't think I'll make it to 8am mass somehow.