DB is in France by now, walking around Paris with the young engineer who is with him. DB is a great tour guide, so I'm sure A is enjoying himself, if he's not blunked out by a migraine. I had a great E-Mail from Lyra this a.m., in response to my worrying about DB flying out of Kennedy. I hope she posts it.

Changes I love November skies, as pewtery-grey as they are. Yesterday's walk was in a stiff breeze, with the sun just poking through the clouds, bits of soft blue sky trying to compete with the leaden one. This walk of mine takes me along the lake and up a road that has always been populated, but still has wild growth on the lake side. This wild tangle breaks the wind coming across the bay, and gives you the feeling that the lakeside is barren of people. Yesterday, I came upon a raw gaping spot where there was, just last week, my favorite tangle. Someone is building across the road and has cleared this spot to have a lake view. I felt such a wrench I almost could not go on. Another house? Another bare spot where wild grapes entwined themselves up small weed trees? Wildflowers torn out of the ground? Oh, I know, people have to live somewhere. BUT most of the houses being built along the lake are SUMMER HOUSES, built by people with more money than brains. They have homes somewhere in one of the three big cities that are within two hours of this once-pristine lake. They come here, drive up the cost of owning a home for the young people who grew up here, and live in their houses for maybe ten weeks a year, and then, often, only on the "good" weekends. And our beautiful lake, with its wild areas, becomes just another Miami Beach. Oh, OK, I'm exaggerating a bit. However, you can hardly find places along the road where you have an unbroken glimpse of the lake. And the main street in our village, in high summer, is harder to cross than one in Chicago. WE have no street lights to help. All of which made me think about changes, trying to put it all into perspective. I've had a few in my lifetime, gut-wrenching, mind-shaking ones. But it is never easy. You can rationalize why you have to leave the beautiful farm you poured your heart and sweat into; you can tell yourself you will always be glad you took the m-i-l into your house; even be pleased that you were tapped for the new job; but the change itself brings disequilibrium, and something is always lost. Forever. "Life goes on", say the philosophers, but it is never the same. And in one's heart one always wonders "What if?"

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