This was the big week: son Brian and I were all set to fly to NY Tuesday and spend two nights and three days there. Brian loves photography and food–he was excited. But then my GI tract went rogue.
Like Prufrock, I measure out my life with spoons. This morning I wondered if I had enough spoons to walk Sir Gibbie two miles and have any spoons left for the rest of the weekend. I also wondered if I could still walk two miles, something I haven’t done in weeks, since before my liver enzymes blew up at the end of May. Could I, one who for the past two weeks has mainly imitated a patient etherized upon a table, walk two miles through my yellow fog of fatigue? Continue reading “Two miles, even with jaundice and highest PSA ever”
Once again, I flew up to LaGuardia on Wednesday this past week. I won’t complain about the travails of travel this week. Well maybe just a little. Continue reading “This week in NYC: Slavic poetry and a diner”
This is the second time I’ve spontaneously written a poem when I’ve woken up in the middle of the night. I wrote it on my cell phone. And then tried to go back to sleep, unsuccessfully. I just noticed that my repeated word in this poem, “another,” I also used in the title of a post I wrote a week ago. Not sure what’s up with that. In other news, I walked 2.67 miles this morning with Liz and Gibbie.
Today we enjoy our last full day at Holden Beach. For as long as I’ve known them, my in-laws have been going to Holden Beach in North Carolina every couple of years. It’s a practice begun when Liz was a child. I and our family first went in 1987. After that we lived in Colorado and rarely if ever went. In recent years we’ve gone quite regularly. Now I wouldn’t miss it. It’s a practice that grows on you like an incoming tide. Objections like sandcastles are overwhelmed and disappear. Continue reading “The Beach”