Long walk yesterday to the back side of the cemetery at the west end of Peacful Valley, a journey I have made many times--It's enchanted, holy ground; there are hidden wonders (grotto with spring, natural waterfall) that but few know of. I go there in the guise of Hermes Psychopompous, wandering from gravestone to gravestone, reading the names and the dates. In days of yore I'd've been listening on my Walkman to Mozart or Vivaldi (fast-forwarding through the slow movements), or Albinoni (not fast-forwarding through the slow movements), and Doggie would've been with me.

I've been reading a lot lately. Funny how the more you read, the more you find time to read. Seldom do I read in the cemetery, as I always plan to do, but lately, Googling one thing and another, I have come upon treasures, complete online texts: Mark Twain's hatchet-job on Mary Baker Eddy and her silly-ass cult; and Princess Der Ling's memoirs of her two years' waiting on the last Dowager Empress of China. Some real stunners in the latter. Turns out her Imperial Majesty's favorite snack (oh so quaintly described by Princess Der Ling) is pork rinds. Lots of physical cruelty in the service of Old Buddha, slapping, beating with sticks--apparently this is the way to get maximum efficiency out of a household staff of maids and eunuchs.