I feel grateful today, for the efforts of all those who have practiced hard. Some of them easily identified (Mahatma Ghandi, Jimmy Page, Mary Lou Retton) but the millions and billions of others also. Those who practice. Thank you to them.

���� I got a letter from Ben yesterday. The envelope had some fine, scratchy, lurchy writing in turquoise ink, so I initially thought the letter was going to be from Jim.

���� And damn, do I have to write Jim a letter.

���� What's his address?

������ Jim,

������������ It's been too long. I don't
������ know what you're thinking about
������ these days, but I suggest we get
������ back to business.

������ Chris

���� After, of course, I get the letter to Becky out of my backpack and into the correos.

���� I haven't really written much about Becky here. When I started the diary, I intentionally refrained from mentioning her at all. The thing is, ordinary everyday language doesn't do it. At least not expositorily, which is how daily writing mostly works. I'm not restricted of course, like that; I could make lists, or invent a correspondence, or something, that might eventually represent her somehow... but that would be a project, and this writing place isn't about that particular project. I could also try to really stretch my usual freeform origami style to achieve something Becky-shaped, but we all know that freeform origami isn't really origami, and while that's okay for talking about regular things, it's just not adequate for special people.
���� Becky is the real origami -- single sheet, no cuts, pocketed folds, structurally sound; and I'm just not smart enough yet to build that for you.


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