Rabbit (day 149): Am sorry, Peter, forever running away from Mister McGregor, but the rabbit with rosemary at Roberto's restaurant was delicious. Have finally realized why I thought everyone was lying when they said rabbit tastes like chicken. It is because I was in Newfoundland eating hares, whose black flesh is exceedingly un-chickenlike. Roberto's rabbit in rosemary was so chicken-like that I thought maybe I was being lied to again, but I realized that verged on paranoia so nipped the thought in the bud.
Today did the thing I've been dreaming of all winter and spring - rode the bike to Parc Lafontaine and lay on the grass and looked up at the opalescent sky in the heat and hubbub and shish-shish of the fountain. Am planning to take Audrey Niffenegger's new novel down there and lie under a tree and continue reading about the twins who have been left a London apartment by their dead aunt who continues a ghostly existence in an old desk drawer. Felt a wisp of a desire to write again today, after what feels like many months of not writing (but is probably mere weeks). That wisp - how delicious it felt. I think I might have to write a certain story that has been incubating for about three years... a short story - but mustn't rush it. What did I do today, day 150 in my year of daily doing some new thing? Well, I did about eight new things, but I have to confess, none of them were as interesting as the old things: the first real hot summer day with a scent of lilacs floating on the air. The wings of the gulls high in that opal sky, all lit with the fire of the sun. The fragrance of that one old-fashioned rosebush that smells just like roses did when I was eight years old. But you know what the loveliest thing was? Twice, I saw long, sweet, romantic kisses between couples who had brought their new babies out for the first summer stroll.