Sublime

“So you live in Miami, then?” Mrs. Freeman shook her gray curls. Her gray dentures had a translucent quality. Her pale blue eyes were clear.

I believed the afterlife was, as an atheist might tell a child curious about heaven, the memories of other people. How my mother would have hated that! To cede control to other people’s brains, when her own brain was what she trusted. Still, she loved being thought about.

zoetic.

with my own mother and my grandmother and my childhood best friend, Euna, who drowned in the lake by her cousin’s house. There are no ghosts, but up here”—she gestured toward her head—“it’s a haunted house.”

How it felt to me: that is getting closer to the truth about a note­ book. I sometimes delude myself about why I keep a notebook, imagine that some thrifty virtue derives from preserving everything observed. See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going throu

“This, I believe, is because people like to know what they are getting ahead of time. Thus McDonald’s, Wal-Mart, F. W. Woolworth (of blessed memory): store-brands maintained and visible across the entire country. Wherever you go, you will get something that is, with small regional variations, the same. “In the field of funeral homes, however, thing

A period during which I believed that I could keep people fully present, keep them with me, by preserving their mementos, their “things,” their totems.