Yesterday morning, after the vet left with the dog’s corpse, Lassana washed the floors while I went down to market for our food. The thought came to me that I  understood the custom in several cultures of disposing of a dead body as quickly as possible rather than organizing the ritual of grief around it.

I spoke about her death of course with a few people I know. Bought food -from local producers, as much as possible.  It’s tomato surplus time, therefore, time for cooking them down into tomato sauce.

One of the women with whom I spoke told me she was on her seventh re-write of a story. She’s a visual artist and a pianist; this is her first long-haul attempt at writing. “Each artistic practice is so different,” she said. “At first, I thought writing was the easiest – but that was on my first draft. Then, I started to see how each character introduced new pathways to explore. Which ones to pursue, which ones to cut short…Plus, I realize writing is a lot like music in that you need daily practice. Without it, you lose the suppleness in the fingers.” She laughed. “Writing is very muscular, isn’t it?”

So it is.

Today: writing-wise, more following the leads provided by the characters – not a linear process, to put it mildly. Preparing Lassana’s entry to the home and schooling unit he’ll attend during weekdays, starting tomorrow. Reading, meeting friends, and whatever else life provides in terms of surprises, whether welcome or not.