Thursday, March 11th

A REAL MARCH DAY that began with snow falling and ends now with a sky full of spring clouds and a calm blue sea, the snow melted, and mud to take its place. I did manage to drive to Concord to see Judy, and, as always, I feel so much better for having done so. After a month without seeing her dear old face I feel such a tug, such an inner imperative that I simply have to go.

Two nights ago there was a ninety-minute portrait of Piaf on TV. What a marvelous time I had watching it, hearing all those sad songs again! Some of the comments by her former lovers and associates were illuminating. One used the French word monstre; really it should be un monstre sacré, I believe. There is no English equivalent that I know of, but I think it means someone larger than life, set apart by genius, whom genius has made impossibly difficult as well as impossibly marvelous. Another said that she needed lovers as one needs oxygen and this shook me, for I recognized it as true, even in a small way, of myself … if not lovers, the new person who brings the world to life again, who makes one see freshly again, the magic encounter. It is a long time since I have experienced one. And perhaps I never shall again.