The Forms Forgiveness Takes, a Poorly-Painted Chair the Color of Twilight

I meant to write about the movie I saw with L-Bo, how it walked such a tightrope between gratuitous sorrow, schmaltz and every danger of employing children, the old and the notion of what means and loses its means and so on.
What a tightrope walk! I said to L-Bo within moments, "I will have to own this" and I will. To retired magic and magicians, to women who dance on one leg, to the ways we find to forgive and get forgiven, I blow a stream of rainbowy bubbles.
I miss my big friend who has moved away. He is in a swirly memory blizzard from a gallery hop in January or February when the streets were wild with snow and he walked in the quiet of snow-globes, all that good quiet he contained and that he inspired and it was what winter in Ohio must be.
My garden grows prettily and the seedlings even are peeking out. I have a wooden chair that is sloppily-blue-lavender and I am sitting in it now, writing to all of you--whoever you might be--and listening to a song about chiropractors. I have eaten a bunch of mini rainbow marshmallows because it is the food of such a day.