February 14, 1999 - February 20, 1999

Sunday, February 14 We started the day out right, lazing in bed and enjoying each other. I had planned a special treat for Don, since it was Valentine's day: a trip to The City, his first since December, if I'm not mistaken. We used the detachable showerhead in the bathroom, sometimes to humorous effect, had breakfast, and got ready to leave. Don "bludgeoned" some wood before we took off. On colder nights, we go through quite a bit of it. As we arrived in the city, Don said he had to use the bathroom. He wanted to try one of the French on-street toilets, but I passed the first one before I knew what it was. At Market and Embarcadero, I let him out, telling him to meet me at the front of the Hyatt when he was done. As I "circled" the block (there's no real way to "circle" and block in downtown San Francisco), it occurred to me that perhaps I was overestimating Don's reconnoitering ability. Would he know what I meant by "the front of the Hyatt"? Would he lose his way? By the time I had gotten around to the drive-up lobby entrance, I had worked myself into a fit of concern and self-blame. When Don didn't show up after about three minutes, I went inside to look for him. I asked the concierge, who called in Security. Security went to check the bathrooms on the first floor while I checked on the lobby level. No sign of Don. I went downstairs to another men's room, took the opportunity to use the urinal, and checked out the stalls. Still nothing. Truly concerned by now, I went back out to the lobby entrance. I saw my car, but there was a strange little man sitting in it, reading. I did a double-take. It was Don. I hurriedly told the parking attendant to tell Security to call off the search and got back in the car. "Oh, there you are," Don said. "I wondered where you'd gone." "I decided I wanted to use the bathroom, too," I said, not entirely lying. We headed next to the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, where we were going to see The Impressionists in Winter. As we drove by, I was amazed to see what a long line was stretching out the door. After we parked on Mission, we went to see how long the wait would be. "At least 45 minutes," said the door attendant. So we decided to have lunch at a nearby Max's and hope the line would diminish while we were eating. I also hoped the sun would come out; I wasn't certain Don was dressed warmly enough to stand in line for so long. The sun did come out after lunch, and Don posed for me on the pedestrian walkway that leads from the Moscone Center to Yerba Buena Gardens, just above the restored carosel. Don seemed in fine spirits, and though the line was just as long as before, the wait wasn't nearly as long as we had been told. Don did say he found standing more tiring than walking, but he declined sitting on a bench while I held our place. Once inside, I was enchanted by the exhibit. I had never heard of Alfred Sisley before, and this was my first look at his works. I was delighted. There were also two Pissaros I'd never seen before, one of them more pointilist than impressionist that I really liked. But the exhibit was a different experience for Don. About halfway through the gallery, he told me he was tired and would wait for me outside. It wasn't until I joined him about 20 minutes later that I found out what was really happening. "I couldn't take all the people," he said. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't think there'd be this many people." "It's not just that," he said. "My attention won't stay where I put it. I'd read the description on the wall, then try to look at the painting, to take it all in, and I just couldn't concentrate." This was something I hadn't anticipated. "We'll have to try something a little less taxing next time," I said. "Not so many people, not so many things pulling on your attention." He was very disappointed that he hadn't been able to enjoy the paintings the way he wanted to. We went to Sweet Inspirations in the Castro, where Don found the crowd much easier to deal with. The distractions there, he said, were much more welcome. We bought the additional groceries I needed for tonight's dinner and were on our way back to the car when I saw Olivier and Greg dining in a restaurant. Olivier has been very expressive about praying for Don, so I thought they might want to meet. It went well, Don getting a good flavor for Olivier's French enthusiasm and Greg's quiet manner. Back home in Bolinas, I prepared the cassorole and started it baking while Don worked in his room. I built a fire downstairs, thankful of the bludgeoned wood from earlier in the day. A bit later, Don came down and had a bowl of shredded wheat. I thought it curious that he was eating so close to when the cassorole would be done, but put it down to our getting home later than we'd planned. A short time later, he came down from upstairs again. "Thank you for the card," he said and gave me a kiss. I was pleased he had finally opened it. The night before, he had mentioned how much he liked origami and folded paper, and I was so proud of myself for having picked a card that had a folded paper rose on front. We kissed. "I think I'll go to bed now," he said. "Oh," I said. I had just taken the cassorole out of the oven. "Well, I'll have to wait for the cassorole to cool down before I can put it in the fridge." "It smells wonderful," he said. "Thanks," I said. "There should be plenty of leftovers for everyone. I'll come up when I'm done in the kitchen." We hugged and he went back upstairs. Looking into the fire, I reflected on my feelings. I was hurt that we wouldn't finish the day by eating the meal I had made, but I also knew the hurt was unintentional. There is a certain comfort in knowing the person you love cannot - literally cannot - intentionally hurt you. Like I had said to Don in our talk the night before, the effects of our actions are too difficult to predict. All God sees are intentions, and that's all he needs to know. Don did not intend to abandon the evening. It was simply too late and it had been a very busy day.	1. Bludgeoning Wood 2. Don in The City
Monday, February 15 phys therapy with Grace; no lunch with Chris, alas; over lunch, discussing "time for yourself" & pact with Maurice; a walk on the beach; a more steady gait; encountering Maha; pictures of defiance; study time; evening movie with David; parting blessings; mutual button-pushing pact	1. Defiance 2. Lou on the Beach
Tuesday, February 16
Wednesday, February 17 Don called me this evening just to say he loved me. "That's wonderful to hear," I said, grinning. "I've been trying to call you, too. I wanted to tell you to look at the western sky. There's a beautful arrangement of a crescent moon and Venus, and just above that, Jupiter." "Are they still there?" he asked. "No, I'm afraid they all set about an hour ago. But if it's clear tomorrow night, take a look. The moon should be between Venus and Jupiter then." I told him I had just written him a poem, based on some of the things we'd talked about last weekend. I said I would bring it up with me on Saturday. He said he'd love to read some of them. He's been encouraging me to gather my poems together and share them with friends. I told him I hoped to get my hands on a copy of Under Milk Wood and read that to him, too. He said he'd like that as well. We said good night, both looking forward to the weekend.
Thursday, February 18
Friday, February 19
Saturday, February 20