When proffered without prompting and outside of any intimate, confessional context, the statement, "I'm not judging you," is kind of like, "Don't think of an elephant." If I were worried about your judging me, the statement would be reassuring---or so I would hope---but if I'm not, it plants itself in my mind and, once settled in, begins unfurling into all my thoughts. "You're not judging me? But...I didn't think you were. Why would you say that you...aren't? Unless? Are you? Judging me? Dammit!" It's nonsensical, but there it is, in my head, just the same. Nudging at me hours later. I hate that....

Day 19: First concert you ever went to
I must have been 4 or 5 years old when my parents took Rose Red and me to the outdoor theatre in Houston's Hermann Park. The concerts there were free, which was all they could afford, and we'd set up a blanket on the hillside and listen. I saw, or heard, Swan Lake first, but since that's a ballet, it doesn't really count. Next, though, came Peter and the Wolf.

I can recall more clearly how I felt about Swan Lake's music than Peter and the Wolf's, but on our way back to the car after hearing Peter and the Wolf, I remember telling my dad that the music wasn't over, that it was still playing. No, he said, it's over (and time for us to go home). I insisted: I can hear it! It's still playing. And he explained to me that what I was hearing wasn't the music, but my memory of it. I was remembering the music in my mind and playing it again to myself. That conversation, and the awe I felt, is one of my favorite memories. And probably a large part of why I love Peter and the Wolf so much.