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Last night, book club: the discussion of Woman: An Intimate Geography, an exploration of the body and sense of self within this biological world. I underlined my own copy, a training in slowing down as I read, an earnest attempt at cultivating a stronger memory. I looked up the mythological and other cultural references I ought to be more aware of, but have gaps, jotting down who Cassandra is, what a keel is (ah, that boat reference), and on. And I underlined as a lover of words might: the phrases that appealed or the facts that might resurface in poetry.

Next up: Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama, selected by Chris. Timely.

And after dinner and discussion, as bedtime fast approached, we sat around the table in the dim light of full evening, the moon bulbous, the pumpkin soup settling and bread's leavings crumbled on the table. I have felt so unmoored these past seven weeks, have wanted desperately to root into the program, and while that is certainly happening, a sense of self has been acutely need. And good girl friends. It's so important to have women who will listen and whose warmth emanates, who truly care about one another, whose use of the word "relationship" expands, undulates, swallows us whole. I felt the warmth last night, the "sisterhood" in our discussion, but later, as the night wore on, that comradeship and sacredness that is friendship.