DEAR DIARY:

OCTOBER 9, 2001

Oh, diary,

I've been so sick. Fever, chest congestion, sore throat ... I'm breathing this morning for what seems the first time in decades. And it feels so good. I was worried. And I suppose it was a good kind of worry ... focussed inward on getting well.

I also watched hours of television, drifting in and out of sleep. But my focus couldn't absorb the craziness in the world. I kept wondering why we were letting the Northern Alliance pull us inevitably into hand-to-hand combat, with our foot soldiers being sucked into the raw, vicious landscape of Afghanistan. Old Mr. Fox of our childhood, talking Brer' Rabbit closer and closer to his gaping, hungry mouth.

Last night, the Cabaret and Broadway communities joined talents to raise money for the World Trade Center fund. By all accounts a raging success. Not long ago, I passed Carolyn Montgomery on 46th Street, and she told me she and her partner were still feeding the workers at the WTC every day. She didn't get to sing, or be funny, as only Carolyn can be. But a good cook she is, and that's what was needed.

Today I'm going to send another check to the Trade Center effort, feeling lax as I have been, self absorbed. And maybe I'll call a few people to encourage them to continue to do the same. Or maybe I'll call Carolyn and see if I can make a big pot of my famous mushroom, barley soup, excellent on cold days. Give her and her partner a little time off.

Or maybe ...

Colette

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