I am out alone at Radisson taking my constitutional. I was thinking about writing a "piece" about Radisson, about walking here (compared to Kimbrook and GPF) and about living here. But I'm not sure I have the time or energy to write a piece with everything I have to do and why bother when I basically have no audience. Actually, I do it for myself, to explore and rexplore ideas and values etc. What's really important.
Speaking of what's important and of making chcoices, I almost didn't walk. But I need to walk daily to ameliorate my fibromylagia pain and I decided that taking a break would probably be a good thing. If I could just relax a little, I'd probably be better for it.
However, it is thundering and the sky is nigh unto black. They rpedicted rain and it looks and sounds like rain. I brought Eeyore, but didn't carry her, but I still have three items that could be damaged by Rain, Pasada Bee (the Psion), Ollie (The pocket Olympus), and the cell phone, as yet unnamed. I have ONE ziplock bag.
But I keep walking, because I want to have my walk. I hope I don't regret it.
When I am walking down toward the lake, two "racing" style Enlish blikes sweep around the corner by the lake in formation, looking graceful and birdlike, swooping, nearly flying,a nd I imagine young boys, well, young men, in biking shorts, La Tour de France etc. But what actually approaches me is a couple, rather elserly, my age or older. Both grey, a little overweight, out on their constitutional, but having fun.
Now two more bikes sweep by, taking jumps, flying through the air. They are boys, teens. Courageous to a fault, perhaps foolhardy.
I walk to the top of a rise and look down to where the trail disappears around a bend. It is here I turn back, I need to stay on schedule. But my mind races ahead in a long swoop around the bend where I myself have ridden a bike many times. I hardly ever do any more. I feel a sense of loss. There days, I am too busy to take the extra time biking requires (paking up and hauling the bike, locking it up etc) and too tired most of the time to make the extra effort and too sore and stiff to ride far even if I do.
"What a drag it is getting old." I don't want to DIE to avoid getting old, but would rather stay young and vigorous.
I have not stopped, in the interest of time, to take a single picture.
I walk past the gardens, which are mostly vergrown as usual, and admire the sunflowers poking through the weeds, and the occaional plot full of echinecea and other flowers. I consider stopping for a photo, but I keep walking. There is still too much to be done to play.
I had covered my feet with bandaids as I've been doing every day, because these sandals, Merrills, hurt my feet. But the bandaids are being worn loose and are flopping around. I love the Merrill snowmocs, but the sandals are not nearly as comfy.
Doll's eyes are in fruit, white and doll's eyesish! Queen Ann's Lace. I smile at an owl's feather floating on the tether of a spider web. I listen to a din of cicada, crickets, katydids. I lift my shirt to wipe my face from the sweat. The sky continues dark and the thunder continues rumbling, but so far, no rain. Joe Pyeweed in flower and going by, Goldenrod starting already. I pass a bunch of sensitive ferns already turning pale. Notice the leaves starting to fall here and there.
A dragon fly swoops arund me, cruching up my deerflies. YAY!
The pond is utterly still, like the proverbial mirror. Occasionally, here and there, one insect or one fish dimples the surface.
I pass a lady watering her plants and a flock of young blue-winged teals dabbling at the water's edge. They have grown to a size where it's hard to distinguish the babies from the mother, but I think I spot her. The young ones, though nearly full grown, are still peeping. Or something close to peeping.
I like walking in Radisson in the summer, when I'm too rushed to go further. It's close, there are fewer bugs than in the woods, also much less poison ivy. The "lakes" and ponds are truly beautiful, there's some wildlife, woods, streams, beautiful vistas. It's free, no entry fee.
Other times of year, I particularly prefer real woods, and I do like some variety all the time, but this is so close.
Why do I like it better than Kimbrook? Trails, and it's pretttier. Much prettier. No cars trying to run me down. Why do I like it better than walking on Moran Road at GPF? Same reasons basically. GPF does have the adavtage oveer Kimbrook of having sidewalks, so you don.t feel like you''re about to get run over, though I know someone who was hit and killed on a side walk, up ON it. by a taxi driver. But GPFs, while the houses are nicer than those in Kimbrook, is just as boring after a few tours around. Not enough parks, lakes, variety, wildlife, woods, streams, ponds etc. This place sports lots of habitats.
I stopped briefly back there and forgot to turn my watch back on. But I turned back around 23 minutes so assuming a similar pace coming back, I should have walked 45 minutes. My watch says 42 at this point and that will have to be enough.
I'm really glad I took the time to fill two nice glass water bottles with nice filtered water.
It still isn't raining and the thunder seems to have approached and slipped away again. The sky is still pretty dark, though.
I saw bright yellow sumac leaves, in a number of places, and brought yellow and mauve choke cherry leaves.
5:42 Now I am home, and it seems as one of my birch trees is bent over more than it was before. It's very windy, gusty. Suddenly somewhat coler and fresher.
The Psion refuses to keep the font size I choose and keeps reverting back to it's default. You're supposed to be able to chnage the default, but it changed itself back.
I had a lot of disturbing dreams last night. Aiee.
"Forty devils counldn't catch a rat in here"
"I'm sweating more than a whore in the front pew."
Tuesday, 7:22 Pm, 8-9-05 peaving Loretto after visiting Mom, also visted her on Sunday. She may be out of it but is lucid enough to point out to me which other patients ar enot quite all there. We took a walk. I have to call Barbara and --about Mom's money in the bank here.
I've been so busy that I've had nothing to eat since breakfast. I'm not losing weight, though.
It's 7:30 PM and no substances but water have passed my lips since breakfast. Hello?
Thursday Agust 11, 2005, 9;42 AM. No, I don'tthink so, I think it is Friday the 12. I think the Psion must be set wrong. I am walking up Genesee Street toward Padma Lal's office. I couldn't find a parking place and had to drive a long ways to find one so now I have to walk a long ways back. It's startingto rain and my raincoat is in the car. I have a belly ache which is not surprising considering the crap I ate last night. And I am TIRED. No walk for two days. I'm getting a walk now and will have to walk back to my car later, but these won't make up for today's walk let alone the two I missed.
My neck hurts two and I have a sort of headache in the back of my head. I have not been doing my neck exercises regularly since I left Detroit. iI do some of them some of the time. Yesterday I even missed my sit-ups, which I'd been doinf farily regularly, but I did them today.
Luckily I cans till walk and up ahead, I see the building I need to go to so I probably won't be late and it looks like I won't get soaked on the way IN anyway.
The rain clouds seem to be moving east and a large patch of dark blue sky is approaching, more like a fall sly than a summer one. Behind that, thinner clouds and behind that, summer blue.
At the top of the Institute for uman performance are nine stacks that look like penises.
9:55 AM standing at the doctor's office signing in and the phone rings. I assumer its R or TR but instead, it is Jacob, telling me that he is home and I can stop by and pick up Dead.
Another delay, but a rather necessary one. I nee dmy computer in Detroit! Dang, I should have asked him to install and set up the software for the wireless to get on line. That was such an ordeal last time. AK I wonder if I should try to call him.
I just reset the time on the Psion (PasadaB). It was 12 hoursoff, so that it said it was Thursday the 11 at 10 PM instead of Friday the 12th at 10 AM.
I look at the Three numbers I have for Jacob on the cell phone and I am thinking NONE of them are his current number, so I can't call him to ask him to put on the software for the wireless router thing. Im tired and can't think what that thing is called. It upsets me when the girls call me Grandma when I can't remember something. Which I can't right now. I find it terrifying to think of losing my mind and memory. It's worse when I don't sleep well, and the worse I sleep, the worse it gets.
A woman sits beside me wearing shiny (plastic?) tan platform heels, a tan suit (a sort of rich dark tan) and a pretty blouse. She is slender, with long dark wavy hair, pulled back in a barrette. She loks like a model, but I think she's a rep for a drug company of soemthing. The has a bag and a zipper keeper of some kind (like an appointment book?) An engagement ring and a really large watch with a tan band, an ankle bracelet and a huge ring on her right hand. LONG nails. Her earring match te ring on her right hand. She looks like an interesting character. On my right (tan lady is on my left) are two older women, maybe in their seventies. white haired, both reading magazines and talking to each other nonstop. The one closest to me has brand new reebocks and the other's feet are tucked under the chair. Acrss the room, a woman plays with a small boy building a set of ramps that they can roll a ball through.
The receptionist tells tan lady that they will "Take both." She waits, though. They have some other business.
When I got here, the room was crowded, but one after another, many of the other people get called in as people already sinde emerge and leave. A man in a black suit comes in. He has black shoes and socks, a blue oxford shirt, and a yellow tie with blue diamonds. Glasses, balding, closecropped hair, He is fussing with a PDA.
Another man emerges from the inner sanctums and I think I must be about next, but of course if he was seeing a different doctor, then I'm not next.
I HATE being fat. I don't want to be fat.
The woman next to be, the older woman with the white reebox, is named Helen. I know that because she just got called in. She came in quite a bit AFTER me. my appointment was for 10. It is 10:20.
Two new people come in, a man and a woman, both wearing black shirts and tan pants, both have strawberry blond hair. The woman's hair is redder. The seem to be here to work on some airfreshening system.
The woman across the room is reading a story to the little boy about a little girl who is trying to learn to ride a horse. More people come in, an old man with a cane, a middle aged man who may be with him with deep smile lines, another woman in a tan dress with a name tag that seems to know tan lady. The two black shirt people are ushered inside.
The name of the book isThe Good Luck Pony.
I listen to the story. It has a "moral" of sorts. Stick-to-itiveness is better than "charms". (Good lick charms).
Tan Lady two is actually here as a patient. She is a rep, but also a patent, and today, she's a patient. Both of the two men who came in together, the man with the cane and his companion, have charming smiles.
I am very tired today.
The black shirt couple walk out and leave. I wish they'd get the show on the road.
When I say that, I think of Geek Love. What a terribly sad and depressing and upsetting (and interesting) book.
Anther couple comes out. It MUST be my turn soon.
Black shirt man comes back in, followed by a largely overweight man. A woman in a white suit keeps peeking in from the hall, thenfinally comes in. Meanwhile, theman with the cane who came in more than a half hour after me gets called in. I realze they are probably seeing different doctors, but now it is more than a half hour past my appointment time and I've been here 40 minutes. Sigh.
I get up and look at the list to make sure they haven't crossed off my name accidentally. They have not. No one is ahead of me for Lal. And I know Lal is here.
The balck-shirted man leaves and a little while later, the black-shirted woman comes in, peers into the window, and leaves.. The white suited woman leaves, comes back in, peers tinto the winodw, and leaves. The door open, and Peter gets called in. He is the man in the black suit with the PDA who came in much later than me. I'm tired and starting to get annoyed. In additon to seeing Jacob, I also have to get tose pictures mounted and delivered to the state Fair and of course meet Rob, Tom, and Rita at Mom's/Erin's. i was HOPING to have time to get all these things accomplihsed.
I am swept by a HUGE hot flash thatleaves me in a sweat. I wonder if it's from last night's chocolate, an allergic hot flash.
The black-shirt woman with the red hair comes in, peers in the window, makes a questioning gesture to no one in particular, and leaves. I'm getting annoyed. Did Is ay that. So much to do to sit here doing nothing for so ong.
I'd like to write a poem or a story or a "piece" or a letter to Keith or someone else. Do something useful. I'd like to use the bathroom or go down to Smita Kittur's office to get my card copied, which is another thing I have to do. But I don't now when I'll be called and there is no one in the window to ask.
10:49 Finally the receptionish reappears, I ask her how long it will be, she says, she'll check and comes back to tell me is will be at least 15 minutes. I tell her I am leaving briefly, use the restroom, get a drink, go to Smita Kittur's office and have my card copied, and come back. The large man asks me who my doctor is. I say, "Lal" and he says, me too. He asks when my appointment is and I say ten. His is at ten thirty. It is ten fifty 1 now. He says, I'd better go put more moeny in the meter."
I get called in and weighed. I weigh 262. 6 months ago I weighed 257, so I have gained 5 more pounds according to their recods. The nurse makes uhn noises as if that's not a big deal, 5 pound in 6 months, but I'd have rather been 5 pounds DOWN.
I am thinking about tan lady #1. She interest me because she looks a little like ME, not me now, but like I looked at my absolute thinnest, in 1967 in SanFrancisco. This woman, however is older than I was then. But she doesn.t look that different than I looked in 1974 AFTER Sara was born. But she's probably older than that, maybe in her early thirties, and by then I was starting to get fat. I started to get fat after Erin was born.
I never could walk well in heels, found them awkwaard and uncomfortable.
I was thinking about having her as a character in a story. I like the way she looks. BUT I couldn.t write about being a meds rep. I know nothing about it and have too much going on in my life to research it. I consider her being a dealer in body parts, a rep who handles wille body parts for people who needs them. But that's a fantasy, I'm not sure suck a person EXISTS. I don't know how willed body parts get to people who need them, but I doubt there's rep for them. Then I picture her as a truck driver. She drives in her bare feet and keeps her heels on the floor to slip into. Her Dad was a truck driver, and she learned the business from him and took over when he had a stroke. She sits on a cushion. The truckers all think she's hot and drool after her, but she's engaged to--to theom, a doctor? A lawyer (no)? A college philosophy professor?
11:37 Now I am up at Quest diagnostics. Padma Lal was very annoyed because I had not remembered to get my blood test. I was supposed to do it 7-10 days earlier. I've been so frantically busy. She wanted to have the blood test results in and before we talked. I may have to take meds, like Rob. But she said I looked be
So I go into the stairwell to walk up to Quest and when I get up to the next floor, the door is locked. There is a sign that says the doors are all locked except at the top and bottom floors.and I start getting nervous. Luckily one floor up is the top floor and it turns out that Quest is up there anyway. The blood tester lady is GOOD and doesn't hurt me. Yay. It'11:44, I'm not sure if I can make it to Jacob's in time, though he is only a short ways away. But--I HAVE TO WALK TO MY CAR and the DRIVE up there and it wll be cutting it VERY CLOSE.
Did I say that Dr. Lal thinks I may have had Thyroiditis, a "cold" of the thyroid, which may have made me sick. (My thyroid area hurts a little today). But if my levels aren't improved, I will have to take meds for hypothyroidism. (Did I say that right?) Not rnough thryroid. Like Rob, not too much, like Mom.
She looke at me and said I was still having trouble with disorganization, wasn't I? (I forgot my calendar, I forgot my blood test, what was your fist clue. I said yes, she wanted to know when I would DO soemthing out it. Call that OTHer doctor.
I get to Jacob's at 11:56 and he is Gone.
12:15 Now I am at Framing waiting for some service, no one is at the desk and they've called. Need to get the two state fair pix dry-mounted.
Sunday August 14, 2005, 5:27 PM Now I am standing in line at Tim Horton's for a cup of coffee at the ontario Service Center between woodstock and London Ontario. I've been exhausted all day, nodding out, slapping myself nearly continuously to try to stay awake. Coffee makes me sick, but driving off the road would not be terribly healthy either. I've been passing out sleepy all day, but I'm afraid I'll drink coffee and be crabby and insomniac tnight an lie awake all night staring at the ceiling--seems like I can't win.
The line at the Buffalo Thruway toll booths was more than a mile long and slow
Simplicity and complexity: The theme of the month at BtterPhoto.com is simplicty.
6:54 I am stopped in a HUGE long line of traffic in Sarnia to get through customs, I wonder of I should exit and reeneter. The line seems to be at a total standstill aand people behind me are bailing. But I'm in the left lane, the exit's on the right, and Now, while I was considering, the right lane's been blocked by traffic.. My lane is not moving at ll and tons of people are getting (only to get back on ahead of us I'm sure.
As I was driving along I was looking, among other things, for pictures that would make a good submission for simplicty. I saw hundreds of great complexity shots (which I could not take, of course, since I was driving, but very few simplicity shots.) It seems to me that EVERYTHING is complex and the more you think about it, the more complex it is. Even an egg, which looks sort of simple, is very complex. They probably mean soemthing that looks simple rather than soemthing that actually IS simple. Though someone entered a simple life picture from Greenfield village near Detroit (Dearborn?). (I want to go there something while it.s open.)
Things that aren't really simple, but appear simple: an egg, a piece of fruit, a flower, a seed, a pine cone, a single leaf (amazing structure inside--and the ability to make oxygen!). Things I saw that might work for simplity but are simple: a black cloud with rays of sun pouring out, all golden, a far I saw LOTS of beautiful farms), a tree, a single siilo, a crow, a vulture. Things I saw that looked more like complexity to me: rows of high tension wire towers, electrical substations, inductrial complexes, large boats (functiona0, a nonfunctional rusted sail boat, rows of trucks parked in a line behind the service area, silage complexes.
We sat a long time without moving, the moved up quite a ways, from one exit to another (front street). We are still a long ways back. I've been here 15 minutes so far.
Other Things that might make good simplicity pix: still life: fruit, flowers. close-ups of body parts, baby face (close), baby butt, an egg in a pan, a ring on a finger, a couple from behind sitting and watch a sunset or looking at a view, a canoe, a rowboat (kayak, etc), a footbridge with someone looking pensively out, the face of an old person (especiallly in black and white), a baby animal (Puppy, kitten, bunny, etc),
7:16 We are now in sight of the bridge.
I gotta pee. I may have to stop before I get to Detroit!
There is soemthing to be siad for both simplicity and complexity. The world and are minds are complex. Simple things can be soothing and healing. A mantra, a single candle flame upon which tomeditate. (another photo idea) I tend to make things more and more complex and complcated,w hereas sometimes I might profit by striving for simplicity
I thought I'd get there around 8 but now I won't. My line of course is slow, and we are still WAY out.
When I wrote about myself at the age of 19, I wrote "I love simplicty and complexity.) I guess I meant I love life. Life is a many-layored many-splendored thing and its heartaches and low poaints are complex too. Death and dying are complcaited, too.
One of the ideas that earlier came to mind as a spossible submission under the theme of simplcity was a picture of my father in his coffin. His life was narrowed and simplified, at least to the casual eye, by death. All the vast complexities of his wild mind and all the physical compleixties of his life simplified to a body in a wooden box. But I wasn't sure the judges would et it or apprecialte it and was afraid peopel would consider it morbid. I've essentially rejected the idea, though not absolutely.
I see why the other line is moving faster, it is THEIR line that is splitting and ours that is not.. We are in site of the first set of booths.
The first set of booths are toll booths. People stopping at the bathroom zoom up and then cut in line.
7:33 I am through the first line and now I am stopped on th ebridge nly halfway up the first side in the customs line. A large noat that Keith would like is crossing under the bridge.
I am approaching the apex of the brdge--to TWO COUNTRIES. I may pause for a moment right on the border. I do pause briefly at the exactl border and then move forward into the uSA and Michigan. We are inching along bumper to bumper, which makes it hard to write. I remember Keith and I being in a line like this, only maye worse, probably worse, on July 4 weeend on out motorcycles. I saw a motorcycle being loaded ona tow trailer and being hauled away.
It's getting really hot in the car. Phew. I can see the light house. That might make a good simplicty shot, of I were MUCH closer.
I will deinitely have to stop somewhere and use a restroom.
7:43 I've been in line now 45 minutes altogether, counting the toll booth line. And I'm not there yet, not hardly.
More simplcity ideas: snow scenes,fog scenes, sand scenes, water scenes. One of my simple pix of water and shore maybe witha single bird of three. or a sailboat. Or a cuppa java with a donut or muffin. Or a beerand a handful of pretzels or peanuts. Or a glass of wine (and?) A barn or house in a field. I wanted also to reproduce that Tanya picture I like so much, the kid in the field. An old man or old woman in a field, or a young pretty woman or a young farmer or a tractor would all be good too
7:56 We are finally in sight of the toll booths, I mean the customs booths. By"we", Imean me and all these people I've beenw ith for OVER and HOUR now.. I'm alone INSIDE the car.
Just as I get in position in one line, they open another line and 20 people BEHIND ME rush in. Then my line does nothing for a while and more people behind me rush in to the lines arund me. This is par for the course though.
I'm sitting next to a touring morotcycle now, with couple on it. Maybe in their forties. Sightly greying. They have a loud radio and a loud muffler--it's a harley, not a redwing. Or Honda, rather (goldwing? redwings are boots, I guess).
8:27 a TON of people get off at the rest area near Sarnia, so I don.t. Another ton gets off at the next rest area, and I do too, because I can't wait any longer, But I HAVE to wait, there's a line.
I want to go and gett going, I'm anxious to get "HOME." I hope it will FEEL like HOME and that I won't ruin it with coffee chocolate crabbiness. I wish I wasn.t so sensitive to stimulants.
I wanted to do a mirror portrait of Keith and I in profile facing each other, with a tunnel of mirrors, lit for above.
I've got the name Mundungus stuck in my hea, from Harry Potter. Jacob is reading Harry Potter.
Monday, August 15, 2005 8:54 AM I took Graham to Parcell's for summer select choir and Andy's Dad will pick them up. I had no trouble finding it.
Now I am out walking around the block once, a 17-minute walk, usually. I missed 5 days of walking. I ate alot of bad food. I am very anxious to get back on a regular healthy schedule of healthy eating, walking, and exercising. I already did my sit-ups and I want a get a start on my walking. I would like to walk a little extra every day for the two weeks I am here to sort of make up for not walking for five days. If I call this walk 15 minutes and each of the missed walks 45, and I walk one extra round a day for the two weeks I am here, it will still NOT make up for the 5 days I missed. 5 x 3(15 minute sets) = 15 15 minute sets and I won't even be here two full weeks, which would have been 14 sets, or one short. It would also be nice to sleep a little extra every day to make up for lost sleep, but I know how likely that's going to be. They say you can't catch up on lost sleep, but I'm not sure I believe that. Maybe you can never catch up entirely, but I do think you can catch up some. As far as walking, goal one is to walk the perscribed time every day, goal two is to do a little extra, time and situation allowing.
The actual GOAL of all of this is to get back to feeling better. My fibro hasn't been too bad, but I've been totally exhausted. Feeling weak and puny and depressed out of sheer triedness.
I am happy to be back here. It is relatively quiet and peaceful and the houses are architecturally varied and interesting, the street is largely shaded by big elms and other trees, the gardens and landscapting is pleasant. The cicada are humming. It smells good. And it is sort of starting to feel like home.
It took me 19 minutes to walk the loop. I guess I'm outof shape.
Janine was complaining that I have too many blogs. But I am thinking of creating MORE of them as a safe storage for some of my work. A sort of back up. Also of seeing if I still have my freedrive acount and backing stuff up there. Then I need some sort of an inventory of INDEX of wat I have and where it's located. Which will be extra work but better than losing stuff.
Two books, some thoughts
Today I finished reading The Year of Pleasures, by Elizabeth Berg, about a woman whose husband died and she moved from Boston to a small town in Illinois and quit her job as a writer to consider having her own store. I can't imagine quitting my job as a writerif I had it, but that's another issue. The point is, I really enjoyed the book. I loved it. It was personal and involved relationships. It was a sort of chick book, though I'm not sure it officially qualifies as Chick Lit.
The other book I recntly finished was How to Write a Damn Good Novel. The author stated that the only book worth reading was the dramtic novel.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005, 9:24 AM Email Rob greetings.
I am out on my monring walk around the block. Yesterday, Keith and I did take a 45 minute walk so I did get my extra 15 minutes to help make up for the five days I missed.
I was sort of imagining myself writing a brilliant and scathing comparison between those two books, indicating how wonderful and worthy Elizabeth Berg's A Year of Pleasures was and how wrong what's his name was to say that the ONLY book worth reading was the "Dramatic Novel." In his unhumble opinion.
But the truth is, I am not certain that The Year of Pleasures is NOT a "Dramtic Novel." In spite of having an MFA in creative writing and years and reading and writing experiences, I am not that good at this. Why am I driven to want to do something I'm not that good at? I always got good grades in Math and Sciebce and rather mediocre grades in writing. I like math and science, and especially nature, but I feel driven to write. Is it really possible for me to learn to do it well enough, whatever that means? (What does it mean? Does it mean to complete and sell my work? I think that's what I want but I feel as if time is running out.)
Dickens A Christmas Carol is a Dramatic novel. However, it is easy to see how that works. But what I am wondering is, would what's his name who wrote How to Write a Damn Good Novel (which was, by the way, and interesting and probably useful book, even if I don't 100% agree with him) consider The Year of Pleasures to be a Dramatic novel? Does it fit any or all of the rules or pints that make up HIS idea of a dramti novel?
Is hould get that book out and compare them, for edification and learning purposes.
I think The Year of Pleasures has realistic and well-developed characters. The amount of character development is relative, as he says it should be, to the degree of importance of the character to the main story-line. What's his name says that the characters should be essentially an exageration of the traits being explored. If they are bad, they ought to be very bad and if they are greedy, they should be very greedy, and if they are kind,t hey should be very kind and so on. And I think, in fact, in this book, there IS some of this going on. The relationship between John and Betta is portrayed as being nearly perfect, and I have a hard time believing in a perfect relationship. Her isolation is described as nearly complete in the beginning, and while I do believe that happens, it does seem a little exagerated for the purpose of the story--not in a BAD way, of course.
I LIKED to story. I enjoyed it very much. I would like to write stuff LIKE that. In order to do that, I want to know !WHAT that is, and HOW she did it. I don't want tow rite HER verion, but my own, of course, I just wnat to learn from it.
I remember Leigh Newcomb warning me, when I was enamored with Anais Nin, that it would be unwise to try to copy her because she would be hard to copy. He said that while she was a pretty good writer, her work was on the edge. A mistake in either direction could throw me into a morass from which it would be difficult to extract myself. (I don't think Leigh liked Anais Nin. She's a bit of a Chick Lit writer too, in the braoder sense, not in the specific sense.) [I need another term for that, because Chick Lit has become too specific now--what I am meaning are books that appeal primarily to women, or at least, more to women than to men. Chick Lit has come to mean a specific genre of work, similar to Romance. But not quite. I forget the exact parameters.]
I came back home, walked almost 20 minutes. I was in the middle of a thought, so I sat in a white plastic chair to complete that thought. I haven't really completed this THREAD yet, but I feel I need to do certain things. AK, too many things. So, I guess I'd better go in and get started. Wahn! Out here, it is pleasant, in the shade. (Hot in the sun.) The cicadas, katydids and crickets are all singing and whining (Primarily, the cicadas). The air is alive with sound. The birdbath is full and relatively clean and reflecting the trees and sky. There are phlox and bluebells in flower and the air smells fresh and sweet. There are also the roars of air conditioners and the grinding sounds of garbage trucks.
But I'd like to just sit here and write. I feel as if I never get to do that any more. I rarely get to JUST RELAX and I rarely get to SIT AND WRITE. There is always bullshit to contend with.
The airconditoner next door just clicked off and there was an increase in the pleasurable silence below the noise that allowed me to pick up sounds of various birds singing, twittering and making various calls including one that is rather nasal.
It is even more pleasant out here now, but I'd better "Drag up," as Keith always says. I never heard that before I met Keith. In spite of all we have in common--which is a lot--we also have lots of differences and nonoverlapping idiosyncracies.
We had an pleasant evening together last night.
I wonder if that's what we seek in our increasing dotage, pleasantness. That's sort of scary. I like to be pleasant together, don't get me wrong, but I also wnat adventures and growth. Somehow I fear that pleasantness may be an indicator for stagnation. I wonder if it is possible to have a break, like a vacation, from the stress and struggle without disintegrating entirely. Could we then take on just ONE challenge at a time instead of twelve? Sigh.
I do feel rather overwhelmed.
I put on a dress this morning when Andy's father was coming to get Graham. I didn't want him to think I was always a total slob.
I took it off again as soon as they drove away.
The air feels and smells wonderful today, like silk. Good silk, not bad. Like nectar. Like nothing I can think of but itself, soft and fragrant and just exactly the right temperature. How often can I say that? A day to sit out, if only I COULD! wahn. OK, OK, I'm going in now!
12:09 PM I am sitting in the auditorium -- 12:11 NO, I am sitting in the LOBBY of the auditorium, after a LOT of confusion. The boys were told to meet me in the "Lobby" at 12, but none of us could find a "lobby" and we kept missing ach other. I went to the auditorium where the auditions were bing held, they weren't there, went zooming around looking for them, meanwhile, they were doing the same. Phew--we finally found each other. I wanted to listen to the auditon, but they kicked the parents out. Some of them are standing by the door peeking in. I stile a bench from one area of the auditorium lobby and hauled it over by the window so I could sit here and write. I COULD go out and take pictures in the gardens, which are quite nice, but the boys wanted me to wait just outside the door, so I am, and I am not peering in like the other parents. If it's a closed audition, it's closed.
Back to the subject of The Year of Pleasures and How to write a Damn Good Novel (Did I mention I don't like the title of that book?) One of the characteristics named by what's his name (author of Damn Good) was that there has to be a change in the character. This is an old and well-known saw. Although, it is also allowed by some writers on the subject that there can be no chnage in the character and the reader is left knowing that the problem for this character is insurmountable. But that was NOT one of the options offered in Damn Good, and the purpose of this discussion is to use Damn Good to consider The Year of Pleasures and decide whether or not it fits HIS criteria for a "Damn Good Novel" so that I can then decide whether I want to attempt a novel using his "formula: for success.
I do agree with the two points so far:
• the characters should be well-developed and interesting and perhaps slightly exagerated in the characteristics that matter most (or in somerelevant characteristics
• Some chnage should occur in the character (or, as discussed at VC, a permanent failure at change couldbe indicated--because this IS a change--the change in this case is the loss of the hope for success at whatever endeavor is attempted or desired.
NOTE: If you have not read these books and think you may want to read them, you may want to choose to read no further, as in order to analyze this book, I need to reveal some of what happens at the end.
So, in The Year of Pleasures, is there a change in the characters? Yes, there is. In the beginning of the story, Betta has lost her husbnd, is lost in grief, and has no idea what will happen with her life. Sge is attempting to fulfill a last request, but doesn't feel confident of her ability to do that. She has no friends, is totally isolated and alone. She's in limbo and in grief. At the end of the novel, Betta has gathered many friends around herself, has a place to live and a plan in place and that plan seems to be unfolding very well. She is still grieving, but even while grieving, she is beginning to find happiness and fulfillment.
12:31 PM I heard someone telling a parent that the tryouts should be over by 1:30. AK. Then Graham came out to say disgustedly that this may take longer than they thought. They may be the only boys, but Graham says there are "a thousand" fourth and fifth graders trying out. One little girl comes out--very little--and I ask her if she tried out. She says yes. I said, how'd you do. She said, "I don't know, they haven't posted the results yet." I asked if she felt as if she did well and she sid yes and ran off. Grinning. I went and peeked in the door--just for 2 seconds. Saw a girl wholooked bigger than Graham trying out. Then, a boy. Another boy, this one courageous enough to ge up alone! Graham didn't want to do that. I go back, Graham and Andy are up. They only play part of the song and now here they come.
1:17 PM The boys wanted to go to Wendy's and even though they went last night, I took them again, because I was pleased that they were VERY courageous to get up on stage and try out.
I was really hungry and even though I had lamb at home to eat, I ended up getting a mandarine chicken salad (no drink). It tasted good.
1:58 PM When I come home, I have some hemp bread toasted with Bran. I want to start a new book that is jst like the one I finished (The Year of Pleasures) or like The Secret Life of Bees but I don't know what that might be. Instead, I pick up a new issue of The Writer.s Chronicle that came in today's mail. I read an article by Kim Aubrey about writing like Alice Munro. It is really an article about how Alice Munroe writes, disguised as a how to. The assumption is that we might want to imitate her, but some of the techniques she uses are so indiosyncratic that it is difficult for me to belive that the average beginning writer would want to copy her. Maybe try ONE or at the most TWO of her techniques, but certainly not all of the, not all at once anyway, not until they were mastered anywy, unless the person was a genious. (Maybe my own "genious"
I think it is good to jump right into the action, to start with something exciting and emotionally wrought, and then move forward, hanging the necessary visits to the past onto the forward motion.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005, 10:59 AM I am out on my morning short constitutuional. I ought to do more of these, because Graham has his piano lesson tonight, which will cut into our available time for walking etc.
I have not been keeping my exercise log. Yesterday I walked 20 and 48 somethin, the day before 45 and 19. This is my first walk of the day, it's a little late. I would have rather have had this eb the second walk. The sidewalks are uneven here, with leges sticking up and I just tripped on one, a fairly common occurance since I am not always watching where I put my feet, unfortunately.
Because I'm typing instead of watching. I don't feel guilty about this because I'm walking around the same block I walk every morning and looking about regularly between words. I hear the cicadas whining and the roar of lawnmowers and the birds cheeping and chattering and the dogs carking and the cars going by and cnversation--a woman on a cell phone, and the panting of a big golden retriever slobbering on my arm in a friendly fashion. I see themowed lawns and the unwoed lawns and the bright petunias, pink and pruple, and the cabbage betterflies. The sky is a spotless deep blue, an autumn blue. It must be less humid and in fact, I do not feel at all sweaty or slimy. It's warm but not humid so far. A pleasant and "perfect" day. Another, two in a row, but I sat inside most of the day yesterdaY.
And so far today.
I ahve not had time to finish analyzing The Year of Pleasures with the criteria laid out in How to write a Dan Good Novel. here's what I think at this point, having not finished the task: that it would be instructive to use his guidelines for laying out your work, especially at first, but to vary it according to your own tastes and needs and the needs of the work.
I have decided that the flashbacks in the year of pleasues were REQIRED and thus acceptable by Damn Good Novel. They were required in the context of that novel because the best place to star was with action and tension.
11:33 AM I am home, I walked 20 minutes and stopped for meat and cereal at Village market.
The Damn Good Guy (whatever his name is) likes a story told in a straight-forward way with a minimum of distractions. Alice Munro writes an many voices and in many layers. Which brings us back to the question: what makes a good poem/story/novel/CNF piece? Another question might be, who are you trying to please? Yourself? The average reader? The best reader? The critics? The college professors?
Why do I write? I think it stems from a basic needs to be SEEN. A sort of proof that I exist. A desire to be noticed and appreciated. A desire to be loved, and accepted. I want to be "OK."
The appreciated part is a hard one. That means someone has to actually LIKE what I write. And say so, so that that need is met.
There are a lot of other things going on. I want to explore and understand--for myself. This requires no external response. I want to share my perception, and I want to DIALOGUE on it and refine it. This requires an external response.
I also want to tell the truth, expose lies, Communicate opinions, change minds. I want to convince, in some cases, the nonbelievers into belief--whatever belief I am expousing--saving the environment, peace etc. However, I also want to explore my own beliefs and refine them, so feedback is helpful. I want my writing to eb honorable.
There are also counter-currents to every statement I make. I want to shout and holler, I want to say whatever I wnat to say, even if it's wrong or inappropriate, I want to vent. I have stubborn antisocial tendencies running under the loving honorable ones.
11:53 I walked home with the groceries, put them away, sat outside riefly, and then dove over to The War Memorial on Lakeshore to get Andy and Graham. I am here a little early and sitting in the shade under a rosebush.
I am considering taking pictures in the garden, but first I wanted to say one more thing: I want to change the world--for the better. I want to write a book so good and so important and so well-loved that in some way, large or small, it makes a positive change in attitudes, in the environment, in how we treat the elderly or children or minorities, in peace.
That's a big order an it may never happen. But underneath it all, that's what I really want. I want to tell stories, my stories. I want someone to care. I want them to think, yes, I understand.
Books changed my life, altered my opinions, changed the way I did things,t he way I perceived the world. I'd like to affect people that way, in a good way.
I think TV does that more than books these days. TV and video games and movies. Which is sad. I guess I'm behind the times.
Still, my goals remain unchanged.
These rosebushes are crawling in my hair pretending to be insects and worms.
Two cute little kids are climbing on the lions and talking in cute little voices.
Maybe I'll walk around a little and take some pix.
I haven:t entered any pix in better photo.com in a number of days.
12:08 Kids have been pouring out and pouring out, but no sign of Graham and Andy yet.
12:37 The good news is that Graham and Andy got accepted and will be singing a duet toegtehr in the summer select choir. That's great news. I hope they help them practice it and perhaps add a littl choreogrpahy. I'd like to see them do an outstanding job. But Graham doesn't want me pushing him, he wants to play video gmaes,not work out choreographic moves for his song. So I'm backing off and praying that something will intervene in a positive way. It's hard to know when your a mother when to push forward and when to back off and how much.
I am walking around the block a second time. If I walk around the bock 3 times at 20 minutes each,t hat's an hour right there, and would teoretically be todays walk and 15 minutes of one of the missed days. The thing that concerns me about that is that if I really hurry, I could do it in 15minutes and thus I feel as if I probably should walk around 4 times. But maybe it's OK if I stick with where I am NOW. 3 20 minute walks are an hour and if that's as fast as I can reasonably walk, maybe that's OK for now.
Anyway, this is my secnd one. I'd like to do ne mroe BEFORE Keith comes home, because that way, we can either walka round the block tohgether as a chance to talk and realx together, or if we're too busy, I can think I've done enough and it's OK.
I had this fantasy of starting anew novel based ont he precepts of How to Write a Damn Good Novel and it being a blockbuster and getting me going. But of course, if it were that simple, everyone would be writng block busters. I had a fantasy of taking Frog Haven and Reworking it with some of the precepts to make it better. But, I'm not sure what would make it better, I already have so many things I want to do to frog Haven as it is.
Meanwhile, of course, all my work is lost on the old dead Hard drive of the Grateful Dead.
There is a person walking apralellel to me on the other side of the street talking out lou to hilself in a scary crazy kind of way, repeating like soap opera and insane. I was just thinking about attempting to write a stroy from my mother's consciouslness. How she repeats everything and sounds a little crazy but other times is lucid. How sometimes she knows what's going on to some extent and other times she's totally out of touch.
But she hasn't really got the energy and wherewithal to keep a joural, as I was imagining she might.
The "crazy guy" is young and dressed in shorts and white t-shirt. I have seen and ehard him before. The he is gone. I do not see where he goes.
When I get back to the house, I have only walked 19 minutes, so I walk a litt farther, just in case I only get thre walks. Now I have walked a total of 40 minutes, which would almost be enough for just today if I never walk again toay. But I'd like to walk once or twice more.
Thursday, August 18, 2005, 8:02 AM Grham is off to Sumer Select Choir and I am searchin frantically around the house for a BOOK. I want a novel. Not poetry, not nonfiction, a novel. I want soemthing in the vein of The Secret life of bees or The year of pleasures, but I can't find anything. All my books are in boxes in the badement, it's very disturbing and upsetting. But I can't unpack boxes beccause I have more urgent things to attend to.
I need to take care of the title on my mother's car or at least see what's involved. I need to finish SCR and BRZ!! And I have a list 9 miles long of other stuff I need to do--get dead up. Load all the missing programs into Dead. Maybe find a place where I could take the hard drive to get checked to see if any data recovery could be performed and how muchit would cost.
9:03 AM Well, I wrote a LOT more, but when I went to save it, the battery was too low, and when I replaced the battery, everything was lost and the clock went back to ZERO etc. I wish Keith would look at the Psion(S!) like I asked him to. I know he is busy, but it is very frustrating to me to lose stuff and have to do it over have it be just GONE.. There is a prblem with the back-up battery. I don't know if it is DEAD or if the connection is bad, I need him to check it with his battery checker device.
If the battery is NOT dead, then I need him to work on the connector. But he never has time, even though he is working 2 less less hours per day and ought to have ten more hours a week. Of course he has lots of his own stuff to work on, his motorcycles and his cameras etc. He says he doesn't want to work in the garage when I am here and then goes out and works in the garage. He says he is going to start the park chops IMMEDIATELY when we get home and then starts farting around with something else. He SAYS he wants me to move here, but then makes no effort to do anything to help things along.
OK, that.s not fair. He did come to NY and help move the couch and so on to Erin's to go out in the trash. But I need him to set up my desk, I need to move blue and the rest of my office here. I need to get out of that house and I can't do it without help. Owning that house, or half of it, ut being the ONLY PERSON who is paying the mortgage on it, is draining my limited resources and meanwhile, I ahve no source of income and no security and nthing lined up--no way to support myself no job etc. My social security, when I get it, is a pittaance (I'm not getting it yet), and my retirement would fit in a thimble with room to spare. I need to get OUT of that house NOW butIcan't do anything about it HERE.
I suppose I could set up that desk MYSELF.
GRRR!
I know he's busy, but it is costing me thousands of dollars to continue paying that mortage and I am not getting a penny from Bruce or any help of any kind from anyone.
GRRR!
I want to divest MYSELF! No DIVEST myself of that house. AK!
In all fairness, I can't exactly fault Keith for not putting the desk up during the last two weeks, when we were on the outs! But there was always before that and there is after that.
I need to write the lawyer. I need to make dr. appointments. I need to do the recertification. I need to talk to bruce about te recertification. His mortgage application. I am terrfied of recertification ad the problems with my being unemployed.
I did find something to read. Finally. I had explained that I was looking ofr a novel, not poetry or nonfiction. What I found was not a novel. It is a book by Alice Walker whose novels I really liked called Moving forward with a broken heart or soemthing like that. It's about a relationship so full of love that everyone thought it would "last forver" andhow it didn't. I read the first two sections of the first story--it's semi-autobiographical stories. So far, I do NOT like it as well I Iliked her novels.
I am out on the first loop of my constituional.
Yesterday, I did walk 4 loops, so that means I more than made up for ONE of the five missed days plus yesterday.
I am HOME and I walked 21 minutes. I'm feeling cranky and upset for some reason (the soy yesterday?) and at the edge of tears. I guess it is just as well Keith is NOT here.
12:14 I am sitting outside the 6th grade practice room at Parcells and through the door, I can hear Graham and Andy singing, Would you like to swing on a star. And someone playing the piano. I am sitting here crying. I'm crying because of lots of mixed emotions. I was working at home on BlodrootZ and Silk Creek Review, STILL, and it's slow work, very slow, and I just want to be done with it. DONE with it. I keep having to do things over. It's very frsutrating. I THINK I may have finished Mick Mather's page on SCR, finally. I was working on the forum for BRZ when I noticed the coputer time said 11:54--I leaped up and went flailing out the door after jamming my sandals on wrong and dashing around looking for the Psion. I wasn't sure where Sunningdale was.
When I got here, I couldn't find a parking place, and when I got in the building, I couldn't find Andy and Graham. Kids were pouring out, no sign of them. I looked in the auditorium and around (I was having a nervous feeling worrying). I went up the the 6th grade room and could hear them practicing their song through the the door. I was very relieved to know I had found them and they were safe and also happy they'd gotten in after all my encouragement (pushing?) and thatthey were in there happily practicing for their duet.
So I started crying, a mix of relief and happiness.
After they fnihsed (and I thought they sounded good!), I took them to Wendy's again, as a belated congrats for their success in getting accepted and now I am taking them for icecream. Sorry Keith. I just wnat to celebrate their success so far in hopes of encouraging them.
I want to remember to give Keith some money. Sigh.
I reset the clock and the date on PasadaB (This Psion). It annoys me that I have to do this every time I change the batteries and I wish Keith would check the battery for me. Graham goes to the bathroom twice. Once at Richard and one at a Restarant on Kerchival. Andy and I wait outside Freezing point.
I get the boys some icecream and they get themselves some candy and then I get myself a cone and we sit outside int he shade and eat. The boys each got a parachute guy (which I didn't know about) and now they are playing with those.
I aske them if they are ready to head back and they don't answer. This is par for the course. I have to ask them everything 5 times.
When I ask them again, Andy says he's done and throws away half his ice cream. I was thinking they could just bring it. OH WELL. I'm sort of anxious to go back because my car is illegally parked and because I have a lot to do.
AND now I am back out walking on the secnd loop of my constitutional. It's 2:08 so it is unlikely that Iwill geta third walk in before Keith comes home. Graham and Andy are playing in Graham's room and apparently Colin may be coming over too. I don't want to be gone too long leaving them alone in the house together, but I also do not want to miss my walking. Sarah Taitt is coming over tonight around 8 and I am waiting to see what me may be planning with her--eating or not, home or away. It will affect the remainder of the day and how much time i have avaialble to walk and to do the other things I need to do.
I'm on the long leg of the block. A nicely dressed older woman (late sixties?) is out working in her yard, digging dandelions etc.
To complete my lunch, I need to eat some prunes and drink some bran water, what a pain.
I NEED to get on-line and look into the title business with the DMV. I want to Email Gail and tell her Graham will be singing the song she sent the words to in a duet. I want to tell everyone--I'm not sure I have done that yet.
It's hot, humid and hazy. Not as hot as It was earlier, but pretty warm erging on being uncomfortable.
I tthink at the beginning of NEXT WEEK, I am going to give Graham a three-day notice to clean up his room, the warning being, if it does not meet his Dad's approval, we'll be cleaning it for him.
I had this idea for both BloodrootZ and Silk Creek Review, but all these things take time. I don't have enough help and I'm not getting paid. The idea is to include folders or portfolios of the artists work in the my pictures section of the the sites, Kate, Mick etc.
This isde of the block is pretty long too, the only reaso, or main reason that it's a little shorrter is because our house is not all the way to the end and I already walked part of it.
I wish I had enless amounts of time to pursue all my projects , that I could keep going with energy and excitement until I was satisfied with each and the I'd start feeling great the next day with a brnad new day. But it doesb't work that way, apparently.
Someone stole my parking place.
I was gone for more than two hours dealing with Graham and Andy.
Friday, August 19, 2005, 8:30 AM Today is the big day, The concert is tonight. It:s also the anniversary, for us, of the big blackout, which happened the night of the concert, was it two or three years ago, must have been two, because three years ago, we hadn't even met yet. We met August 21, 2002. That was the year I graduated with an MFA from Vermont College and the year I went to Slovenia.
10:04 AM I am out walking. I am not just walking, I am ALSO walking to the store. But I am not JUST walking to the store, because I am walking around the block the long way. To get started on my exercise. I probably have to do it all this monring and early afternoon before Keith gets home with his Mother around 3:15. But in the meantime, I also haveto go to the school and get Graham and Andy and deliver Andy, etc. I have to fit a lot of walking in if I'm going to get my full complement plus a small share of what I missed those 5 days when I didn't walk. But I also have to prepare for company tonight, for dinner with ML etc, for the programs (get the cameras ready, make sure the batteries are charged etc) etc etc.
W!hat I have done so far: got Graham up and going, went over to Parcell's to pick up the tickets for the program tonight (had to chnage them for the earlier performance), started a load of laundry with the tableclothes and napkins, made myself an omelet with mushrooms, cabbage, fake cheese and chicken sausage, planned the meal and made a shopping list. I hae not been on-line. (Oh, Ialso did my sit-ups etc, but none of my other exercises.)
I did not contact the DMV or send a hard copy of my Email to my lawyer. Or do any work on BRZ or SCR of check my email.
It feels as if ti will soon start raining and since I'm walking to the store, I hope it holds off until I get home.
10:47 AM I shopped and walked home and put the groceries away and put the tablecloths and napkins in the dryer and started a dark load. I'veen rrunning back and forth and am all sweatified. Phew.
There was NO heavy cream at the Village Market, so I am trying to whip half and half--but it is NOT working, which means I need to drive down the Farmer Jack's for heavy cream, and I need to do it NOW because the dessert has to sit in the fridge 4-6 hours, but I put my shorts in the washer. I only have two pairs of shorts and they are both dirty. So now I have to go find something to wear to the store.
Sigh. I can see I will get NOTHING accomplished today. I can't stop there on the way to or from getting Graham, I need the stuff NOW. WAHN!
I'd flattened the container and tossed it out so I get it out of the trash, blow it up, and put the half and half back in it. For what, I don't know. Pudding?
Continental, cling plus.
While I was attempting to whip the half and half I was cutting strawberries. So I finish thouse, then think I"ll try the half and half again. The blender works fine with heavy cream, but maybe the beaters will work. They don't so I've just watsed more time.
I toss on a salvatuon army skirt (one I was getting rid of) and clogs (the ones Heidi got me for graduation) and head out the oddor, if I don't hurry, I won't have time to make the dessert. I look HIDEOUS.
The air conditioner seems to have died There seem to be a glitch in the switch but I finally get it going. It's HOT and humid. It hurt my feet to walk in the clogs. And slows me down as well.
So, I get three heavy creams, 2 of one brand and one of another, just in case, and drive home as fast as I can. Keith says it's about the same distance from his house to Farmer Jack's as it is from my house to Wegman's, but it seems a LOT longer to me, and there is more traffic, more lights, more intersections, more fools, and a lot more people turning left.
I get home, dash in, can't get the beaters into the mixer. Finally get them in, open a cream, and it is SPOILED! So is the next one I open. Luckily, the last one is OK, not spoiled but it still won't whip up well. It whips up kind of soupy and I assembled a thin messy dessert that look terrible. It needs more cream. I guess I can try yet again when I go to pick up the boys at choir. At least it has something to start soaking the wafers. But it is collapsing because the cream is too thin. And it's not coveredbecause I needed TWO. Two creams, that is. I feel frusrated. I choke down a small piece of leftover steak and go down to deal with the laundry.
1:04 PM I am out on my second constitutional. It is very hot. The cicadas are going bonkers. I am so tired from running around, up and down, collected and gtahering laundry, folding and distruibuting luadry etc, that I feel as if I need to take a rest before I take my walk, but i don't have time. As it is, I may not get all three walks in. Or, all four walks, counting the etxra one to help make up for the five days of walks I missed. My guess is that we will not have a chnace to walk once I leave to get Graham (now have to pick him up at 2;30) and once ML arrives. The rest of the day will be consumed with family fun, the concert, Sam and Joan, ferrying people back and forth, dinner, maybe a celebratory ice cream. There will not be time for walking.
I tried to call keith to tell him that G4raham's glasses were ready and that I may not be back from getting Graham when he arrives with ML and that all the heavy cream was spoiled so the dessert may suck excuse my language, but he didn't pick up his cell phone so he may never get the message. Sometimes, there's a delay and sometimes that delay is onerously long.
The sky keeps chhanging from wholly overcast to partly blue, and the day changes from opressively hot and humid to breezy. It's breezy now and that makes a huge difference. I am trying to hurry along the sidewalk in my hideous outfit, but I'm already tired from all my running around all day--no sitting to speak of excpet while driving.
I am hurring along in my hideous outfit when I hear a little child voice, "Hi Mrs Taitt" I turn ad it is Joseph. He is watering the garden. I tell him come see us soemtime. He says he thought Graham was in NEW YORK and I say he will be in two weeks, but he's homenow and he'll be home next week.
I hurry on. I am wearing a too-tight red tank top, a long blue cotton skirt with matching blue lace, brand new. Soemthing my mother bought me. It still had all the tags on it. I was going to get rid of it because it has no pockets and I hate wlothes without pockets, but I may keep it.. If worn with the right blouse, it would look OK. It does NOT look OK with this tight red tank top, though.
I traded the easy-slip-on clogs for sandals, theya re muc more cimfy. The clogs are high heeled and uncomfortable. I cannot understand how people can walk in them.
A young girl on a bike comes up behind me and says excuse me three or four times before I hear her. The sidewalk is narrow here and there is no where to go so I palster myself against the wall and she squeezes by. It:s gottin hot again. Phew. The a breeze again. I'm getting all swetified from the exercise.
The sidewalk stretches out before me, straight, flat, and seemingly endless--I've passed the narrow part. It is partly shaded by a tree in front of each house, but the sun is on the wrong side and slips under the branches of the trees.
When I get back, I will have walked at least 38 minutes, probably. With all the running around I've been doing, it may not be the end of the world if i don't get any6 more walkingtoday. But I would like to et one mroe loop in. But I'm tried and hot and short on time.
I feel as if I just need to sit and rest a little. Phew!
It too me twenty minutes and that was walking as fast as I reasoanly could. I have to sit down Everything hurts. I have to. It's 1:25. IIn less that an hour, I have to leave to get Graham. AK
I sit down to rest, then hop right back up. I mix sparkling ornageade with apricot juice and chug it down. I'm very thirsty.
Then I make some mousse and cover the choclate wafer log. It looks MUCH better. But I looked earlier in two stores for a choclate curls maker an could not find one.
I have to leave in half an hour and the kitchen is a disaster and the laundry needs attention. How do other people live in the world. I don't GET IT!
I am thinking about what I want to make for supper--casually planned as a simple steak grilled and salad--and then I discover that the tomato has spoiled and is in a heap of mush so I heave it out--no tomato for the salad! And I haven't cut up the radishes yet.
5:40 I am sitting in the auditorium in my black blouse, black sun skirt, and black clogs. 5 seats away is ML. We are saving seats for Keith, Sa and Joan. Keith parked and walked over to get Sam and Joan and they'll probably walk back. If they don't want to walk they'll have to drive one of their cars.
We are in the forwardmost row that the public can sit in, the forwardmost rows ahead of us are reserved for the choir. I've tested my camera by taking two pictures of ML. It seems to be working. Earlier, the kids behind us were talking excitedly about Abdy and Graham trying out and "making it." They sounded genuinely pleased and happy for them. Theyw ere telling their parents who Graham and Andy were and what they looked like. They descrobed gRaham as the boy with all the freckles that was in kid's club.
I swivel around, looking for Keith. He is dressed in white pants and a blue and white striped shirt and has his hair in a pony. I don't see him. AA little girl and her father sits beside ML. The little girl is shy and doesn't want to sit too close to ML. I want to tell her ML won't bite, but I keep quiet. Instead, I lsiten to the family behind me, the man trying to teach his son the difference between what's appropriate aone at home and what's appropriatein public. The girl realizng she's nolonger in 5th grade, but is now a six-grader. Like Graham, she still looks like a child.
I'm hot getting all sweatified. All these bodies.
10:07 AM Saturday, August 20, 2005 AK It is raining and we are driving through the rain toward Gail and Marina in Jackson MI. Eveyone is slightly cranky. The alarm rang at 6:45 and we were supposed to leave ay 9:30 but we did not leave until after ten. Or about ten. A half hour late. I can't believe it takes up that long to get ready. AK!
It:s grey and the cloud, the uniform misty grey of it, seems to extend right down to the ground. The roads are wet and the mist thrown up by car tires mergest with the low hanging clouds and rain. It seems to reflect our moods at the moment.
Last night went well. For us, anyway. Andy was sick, throwing up and diarrhea. But he did sing. Graham sang out clearly and sufficiently loudly for all to hear, he really carried it. I took pictures with both cameras. Then Sam and Joan and ML cameover for dessert, Keith drove ML home, I picked up Graham, and we all visited with Sam and Joan for a while.
Everyone was pleased with Graham's performance and congratulatory and now it's over. A week's worth of hard work and a fair amount of work beofre that. They were having another week of choir next week--they are, and there are some spots left, but Graham does not want to go again. He wants to "play with his friends," and I can't say as I blame him.
It's raining harder and harder.
I keep reaching out to touch keith and he keeps reaching out to touch me. 3 weeks ago tomorrow, we had that huge fight. Three YEARS ago tomorrow, we met at Tahquamenon. I remind him of this, he says he.d forgotten, that it had slipped by him. He suggests we should go to a waterfall tomorrow. He says he'd like to go to Tahquamenon on our anniversay some year (but not this year). I say I was thinking we'd do that after I get moved but at the rate I'm getting moved that might never happen.
Then I get all upset because I realize I haven't even started on the recertification stuff. I NEED to do that and the title to the car. I RAN all day yesterday (and for what?) Meanwhile Keith is yelling at Graham for clinking a spoon on a dish. Earlier he yelled at him for making electronic noises with hims Gameboy. If Keith is yelling at Graham for such insigificant irritations, he must be on edge.
A truck running through a large puddle splashes such a gush of water on our windsheild that we can see absolutely nothing and it is right where there is construction and we are channeling through a narrow curved portion of road. It is quite frightening. We emerge safely, thank goodness. And then drive into the sun.
And back into the rain.
Sigh.
I had a zillion thing I wanted write about, both personal and a less so.
***
Blog Entry, No Polar Coordinates
Automobile Herding Behavior in Parking lots
I was reminded yesterday of the herding behavior of automobiles. When I went to tade in our 8:00tickets for 6:00 tickets because GRaham was only singing at 6:00, the parking lt was nearly empty. All the cars that were there were clustered neat the door. I parked diagonally in the far opposite corner of the parking lot. I was only in the school maybe ten minutes. When I came out, there were seven other cars clustered around my car, absolutely surrounding me. The rest of the parking lot was nearly completely completely empty.
Keith says, when I tell him this, if you go to the China Buffet when the parking lot is empty and go across the street and watch, soon, another car will come and park near you, and then another and another. The parking lot will fill right up.
That may be true. I do know that when I go to Wegman's, which has an enormous parking lot, I always park by mayself way out and most of the time, when I come out, cars are parked near me. And when I go t Barnes and Nobles, I park alone on the far strip along the road. When I get there, the whole strip is usually empty, and when I come back out, it is full.
I find the herding behavior of cars both humorous and annoying. I like my car to be alone to faciliate easy location, but my car is such a social animal it simply cannot stand being alone.
***
Keith and Graham have another little set-to.
A song came on the radio which Keith thought was a song he'd been talking about yesterday or the day before. It was one of the songs GRaham's learning to play on the piano, he thinks, called the birch tree song. Keith thought it was part of a Russian symphone--THIS song, he now says, that just came on the radio. He gave some introductory remarks (Keith), but I don't think Graham was listening. Keith was talking to me, not GRaham. Then he says to Graham, "Is this the one, Dee?" Graham, totally puzzled and lost, says, "What," Keith says, facing forward, because he's driving, and quietly, with the radio on and the blower on and the highway noises, "Is this the birch Tree song?" and Graham says, half crying, half whining, "I don't know, I don't now what the Bridge Street Song is." Keith says, raising his voice, "I'm sorry I asked, sit back and put your seat belt on." and we drive on.
He's wearing a thick shirt and long pants and turns the air on, and I have a tank top and shorts on and say nothing. He says he's "suffocating." The encapsulated happy family dives on. The rain seems to have stopped.
I reach out and touch him again. I want us to be a happy family, I wantus to love each other and be kind.
I'd like to touch Graham too. I am sad that everyone is so irritable. I can't really reach Graham. I turn around and look at him. He seems to be falling asleep. I pat his leg. He doesn't move. He may or may not really be sleeping. He sometimes pretends for various reasons.
The road narrows from 6 lanes to 4. 6 lanes are better because there is less congestion.
There is construction on the other side. Big hold ups for the trip home.
***
It rains again, and stops again. Here the pavement is almost dry. I drive by a lake. I don't know where we are. Oh, Jackson, 1/2 mile.
Keith likes to talk. When he's with Gail or with Sam and Joan, he talks like mad. But he doesn't talk much to me.
He hasn't said a word to me the whole trip. Maybe he's giving me time to write.
I could work on my Damn Good Novel, whichever one that is.
Graham is definitely asleep, I think. He's fallen over. We had a rough few days.
Sunday, August 21, 2005 8:06 PM Today is the three year anniversary of when Keith and I met at Tahquamenon. We went to Lower Huron and Oak Forest (Willow) Metroparks. We rode our motorcycles. It may have cost me $125 or more because the screen on PasadaB (the old black one) broke. I can only read the screen on the left, the right has a crack diagonally acoss the top and liquid crystal is leaking between the layers. The upper right corn all the way to the bottom on a diagonal is blank.
We're at Farmer Jack's. We stopped for berries half an hour ago and we're still here. I have sat on the bench up front to wait for Keith. I need to avoid going to th
Monday, August 22, 2005, 4:00 PM. Keith Graham and I are riding on the freewya, 94 east, toward Roseville to pick up Graham's glasses and get the fitted. Graham was supposed to be home at 3:00 PM and he forgot. He and Jay Grenda had gone to the Village. There gRaham used his money to buy a bear for himself and one for Jay. Keith went searching for them and found them and took Graham and his bike leaving Jay to find his way home alone (Hope that works out OK!). By the time we got ready to go, 94 was already crowded with rush hour traffic.
The touch screen no longer works on PasadaB's broken screen. I can't see the whole screen, only part of it. bummer.
I did nothing about sending back PasadaA or Pasada B today. I spent the morning farting around truying to get someone to pick up my two rejected pictures from the state fair. Erin went, and called on the cell phone to tell me that only one of the photos.
It turns out that the one called Keith in the Corning Bubble is going to probably be displayed, Erin says it's already up. I sure hope there's no mistake.
4:27 PM We got the glasses and Graham was excited about how much better, clearer, sharper and farther he could see. He wanted to play the "Bulletin Board Game" on the way home, by which we assumed he meant the alphabet games. But he got mad about halfway through because we were beating him--he thought he'd be able to see more with his glasses and would get the letters faster. BUT we were still faster, even thouugh my eyes hurt today. Then when Keith got a Z off a Chevy Blazer, Grham said it didn't count because it wasn't o a bulletin board and he and Keith had a set-to about the rules and the fact that NONE of the letters came off bulletin boards, which are made of cork and have tacks in them.
I'M feeling sleepy. I have not been getting anything done. In spite of trying.
Monday, August 23, wait a minute, this must be Tuesday the 23rd, 2005, 1:35 PM I am out walking around the block. I'd better download this file because I'm afraid this cupter is about to bite the dust. Earlier I took Graham to Brownell to register him for middle school and it was a ten minute walk each way and I was on my feet walking around and standing for 45 minutes. I think that probably counts as the eqivalent of a 15 minute-walk or so. Maybe 20? So if I walk once around the block, that would be 40 minutes, but it only counts for 15 or so since it's not continuous, which means I'll have the equivenlent of 30 minutes of walking or so and need at least one more walk around the block to be equivaent to my daily minimum, but on the other hand, if I do not walk again, I will know that i did actually 40 minutes and that should enough if necessary. I should try to walk at least once more though.
The sky is amazingly stormy looking, roiling dark grey and white and light grey puffy clouds, moving fast with dark blue openings and thin veils, reminds me of the mountains where I used to spend so much time and makes me sort of homesick.
I was just thinking this morning, "who am I"? what is it that defines who we are? It's a sort scary question, one that Tom and I discussed many times without an answer. I feel as if I am losing parts of who I am. I have not been able to do any serious writing for a while. I have not even been able to do any playful writing , other than this journaling. I have not been camping hardly at all this year. ONCE, I think, at the Pinery. I have not been mountain climbing, and lately, I have not been even doing any photogrpahy. I've just been dorking around with letters to laywers and writing to Bruce and delaing with my Mom and her house and her medical issues and Graham's glasses (though all I did was ride along) and Graham's registration etc etc. Everything I've been doing are things that needed tobe done, BUT I somehow feel as if who I am is getting lost in the details of everyday life.
I still feel like "me". It is "my" eyes I see though. But I feel cast adrift, in limbo, lost sometimes, lost from myself as if I hae become delaminated and parts of myself are drifting away into the void.
This makes me think of my mother. Is she still helef, or only a shadow of herelf. There is some part of her that is still there, a thread, be she's sort of unreveling. The pieces of who she is seem to float int he void around her, sometime reconnecting, sometimes drifting away out of reach. What makes a person a person? She's obviously still a person, as am I. But are we diminished? Or we whole, or less than whole? Are we whole, but smaller wholes?
If I never write again because I am lost in minutia of nonfunctional computers and daily miniordeals, am I less than who I was?
I feel like me, but I feel diminished. I want to reclaim the parts of me that are drifting away before the become lost forever.
I wonder if Keith feels that way. I wonder if the loss of Susan and his life with her has left him so bereft and shrunken that he fells unwhole. I wonder if trying to shape himself at his age to anew life with me makes him feel somewhat adraft and diminsihed. I wonder if he resnets me for this.
I love him. I want to be with him. I think I am still unsure how much of who I am I am willing to give up for our togetherness, though. He seems willing to camp and hike and walk and take pictures and theoretically make a space for my writing, though in practice, it is not happening. But if these things are NEW to him, what is he GIVING UP in order to walk with me? And how important are those things to him? Will he come to resent me?
Will I come to resent him? I hope not. I don't want to. But if because he works and Ido "NOT:, I always do all the childcare and registrations and transporting and stuff, then my work will be diminished. And so, in turn will I.
I would like to have a relationship that rather than diminishingus, increases us. I wonder how thatcan be done. I imagine pouring vast love into Keith and into our relationship. I imagine being like a stepping up power station, when link our hands, raising the mutual energy that infuses us into something higher and better and stronger and deeper. I imagine this love lgowing around us and filling us with power.
It is easy for meto imagine that on n ethereal plane, but what would it look like in real life?
a lot of touching
a lot of hugs
a lot of smiles
good se
holding hands
playing together
working lovingly together
TALKING with each other. (Talking and communicating is one of the areas where we need help).
I think each of us always needs to be willing to make the first move and take the first step. If one of us is unable to, the other must. This is another area where we sometimes fall short. What,however, if both of us are incapcitated and neither can make the first move toward healing? This is where we need help, somehow.
I sense a shift int he direction of this conversation from how I can keep myself from being diminished to how I and we can keep ourselves, us, our relationship from being dimihsed. For if WE are whole, hale and hearty, and can speak the real truth of our hearts, I think we can find solutions for
our relatip with each other
our individual needs.
and that will keep us whole hale and hearty. It can either be an upward healing spiral or a downward disintegrating spiral, and our choices will determine which. How can we make the RIGHT choice?
I pay for help here, as I don't have any answers.
Sandwiches
I made myself a wonderful sandwich for lunch. I put Becel margarine from Canada on toasted hemp bread with bran, fresh-slived garden tomatoes from Sam and Joan, and sliced white turkey. Mmmm. Yummy. I really enjoyed them. I cut them into pieces and ate them reading Alice Walker's The Way forward is with a broken heart. They were dlicious and so was the book. And the drink I made t go with it, which was a mixture of ornageade, apricot juice and aouta quarter shot of praline liqueur. Ah, delightful.
I've made myself a number of good sandwiches lately, and when I emntioned it to my friend Heidi, she siad, I thought you didn't like sandwiches. Hmmm, I did sort of say that. Well, I atually said it, during a time when I was going out to eat lunch a lot with my friends. The issue was this: Prior to that, I'd always brought my lunch, and I hated to pay good money for a sandwich I could have just made myself. If I was going out to eat, I wanted "real food," not smething I could make at home myself. I developed a prejudice against sandwiches at that point that lasted for years. Pretty soon, I didn't even eat them at home. I only wnated "real food," which came to mean, something cooked. Something more complex than slapping a few things between bread.
But now, I am baack to sandwiches and salads, especially in the summer. They are quick and easy and relativlely inexpensive and cool in the summer. They can also be delicious, if welll made. Yum yum.
I don't know why I have to think so long and hard about something as simple as sandwiches, when it's already obvious to everyone else. I guess that's just part of whho I am. I have to relearn certain things over and over.
I wan to download this Psion because I ama fraid it is getting near the edge of collapse with a broken screen and it keeps turning itself off, but I cannot find the disc to load onto Dead and I don't think Della has the program either. Grr, what awatse of time.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005, 4:42 PM I am out on my first leg of my walk, way late. If I don't really hurry, keith will beat me home. I am hard pressed to say what I did all day today, but it wasn't be outside in the bright beautiful sun and pleasant weather and it wasn't take lots of great pictures or work on poems or novels. The day sort of dwindled away with petty junk and garbanzos again. It seems to easy for that to happen. And I got up fairly early, too. I did finally call my health insurance again, and they supposedly faxed a list of cholesterol lowering drugs to Dr. Fazio so he can perscribe me a med that my insurance will cover. Of course, I was on hold forever, it seems. I had to talk to the nurse at Fazio's and then call the insurance company and punch in all kinds of cdes using the key pad over and over and speak my number in and my date of birth etc. Then wait and do it all agin.
I also submitted a photo today, the one of Keith looking out the barn door that I fooled around with on photoshop. I'm not that happy with it, but I entered it anyway, and the finalists were out this morning so I commented on some of those and the winner cmae out this afternoon so I commented on some of those. And I commented on the pictures of the people who had commented on two of my pix. NOT all of my pix. And I answered all today's and yesterday's emails, but not all my emails by any means, and only on gail, I never even checked the others.
I made myself two emals and one for Graham. I showered and dressed and made the bed and scrubbed some more on the bathtub, though you can't tell, and cleared the supper table and OH, I read in The Way forward is with a broken heart by Alice Walker. I didn't like it at first, but I like it more and more as I read it. I'm really enjoying it. It is multilayered and the different parts inform each other. It is painful and real and sort of universal (for women anyway.)
I've walked around the block and am back on Moran and I just relaized I was supposeed to stop and get rice milk but i did not and don't have time if I want to e home before Keith gets there or when Keith gets there, though I may not anyway.
This Psion is about to bt the dust.
I need to dwnload it or I may lose the opportunity.
It is 4:56. Keith may already be home.
I'm still half a block away.
When I get home, I have walked 18 minutes. It is 4:59. Keith is not home. I get my cellphone out of the car, it's been there, forgotten for several days. I go inside and Keith drives in. The cell phone says it hahs no service, no messgaes.
Thursday, August 25?, 2005, 2:00 PM I am out on the first of my walks around the block. Or, the first walk, anyway. I'm not timing myself. The average walk for me is about 20 minutes and that's close enough for this accounting. I am walking backwards, as I usally do, that is, taking the longest part first, stopping at the store, the village Market, and the taking the shorter part when I have my arms full.
Jay is at the house playing with Graham. I'm overly full--I ate toomuch for breakfast. And my fibro is a little baddish. The sky is white, not an entirely uniform white, but mostly white, a little grey texture. It feels slightly oppressive enev though it's not hot. There's a little breeze. The cicadas a humming in waves, it's at the low end of the cycle now, but growing.
I'm feeling discouraged. Once more, the thing that I am trying to accomplish is being frustrated. I wanted to mail the form for the aquisition of a new title so we could sell Mom's car and partly pay Keith back for all the money and time he put into it. It won't touch his investment, but hey. Something is better than nothing.
I would have sworn on a stack of bibles 90 miles high that I had that power of attorny form. I printed and filled out the NYS DMV forms and scanned and printed a copy of my drivers license and passport, but my power of attorney form was nowhere to be seen. I thought is was in my black leather fanny-pack pruse in the pocket with my passport, but it was not there. I looked twice, and there is simply not that much stuff there. I always had it with me, back in the days when I was regularly taking Mom to doctors and lawyers. I handed it over numerous times to be copied, but I thought they always gave it back. Then, I thought, I usually carrie my calendar with me, but not necessarily my purse. Maybe it's in the celndar. So I went down and rifled though that. No such luck. Not there either.
Now it has occurred to me that it might be int hat clipboard in the car, for a while, I was carrying that everywhere. Or, it could be in the pocket of whatever bag I may have been carrying the last day I took her somehwere. Now, Like the title itself, I'm not holding out much hope of being able to find it.
I still could find the title itself, though I've already loked everywhere I could think of looking and it could be anywhere, at EITHER house. It could be in some box or bag I packed to bring to Detroit and never unpacked when I got here or some imprtnat papers pile at home. Or just lost.
Friday, Agust 27?, 2005, 10:45 AM I am out on my first walk around the block. The sky is utterly clear, but not as deepa blue as it has been,meaning it's maybe alittle more humid. It doesn't feel too bad
The cicadas are whirring and grinding and humming. The old man at the corner is out watering his grass and trying to keep the birds from eating the seed he just put down.
I am very tired. I was quite sick yesterday, a very bad bout of fibromyalgia. I had insomnia last night and I feel extremely tired today. I got up at seven AM, but a little while ago, I laid down again. I didn't sleep, though I wished I could have, I just laid there too tired to do anything.
I had already made myself a nice breakfast, an omelette with zucchini and broccoli and turkey pepperoni and fake cheese with hemp bread toast. I had showered and dressed and gathered the laundry and sepated it and started two loads. I'd been making trip lists and running up and down stairs. Multiple sets of stairs.
I'd been annoyed at Keith about the downstairs bathroom and considered writing a piece about it, but I haveN.t had time. By the time I haetime, I'll be 212 years old and dead and have forgotten all about it, which is probbaly as it should be.
I scuffle through some leaves on the sidewalk. Leaves alwats start falling early, but there seems to be more of them this year than other years. Perhaps because it has been such a hot dry summer.
I walk by Mackenzie's house, but for once, Makenzie isn't out to greet me. It seems as if she and her owner are always on the front steps talking on the phone or working on some project, but not this morning. Makenzie (sp?) is a female golden retriever, very friendly, and she always greets me nicely hen she's out. I rarely if ever have mentioned her ecause I am usually in the middle of soem other thought. Halfway through a sentence in the middle of a paragraph of an ongoing rush of words.
Which reminds me, somehow, of Alice Walker's book, The Way Forward is with a broken heart.
I am reading it and read some of it this morning at breakfast. I like it a lot, I like the way she weaves sorrow and joy, pain and pelasure so closely together. Vignettes of real life, sow ell-done.
I arrive at the Market, may not have the abilty to write when I emerge, because I will be carrying bags of groceries. 10:56 AM
4:30 PM I am out walking again, my second walk around the block. Keith came home sick with fevers and chills, which makes me wonder if what I had yesterday was actually the flu and not just fibromyalgia. Or if Keith has the flu now and I'm going to get it later. Andy as sick last week adn was haning around our house all week so it wouln't be unusual for us to have caught whatever bug he had. Keith is bundled up in two fleeces and a quit and still cold.
He asked me to lie down with him when he came home, which I did, and I blabbed and twitched and felt like I was bothering him, but then I started getting sleepy. I think I might have just fallen asleep or was about to when the phone ran and it was Heidi. She was all excited because the woman who had bought chickens with her just got HER first egg, and also, Heidi was getting a new cat, another Maine Coon Cat like Thurston (who recently died).
Heidi played me the recording her neighbor left on her voice mail, she was crowing and clucking and obviously excited to have her first egg. Heidi's gotten three now.
I hope if we are having the flu, I already had it (yesterday) and that I won't be getting it (tomorrow!)
The sky is still a cloudless blue, still faintly hazy, and it is warm veryging on hot, but not too bad. The cicads are buzzing. Dogs are barking distantly. Makenzie the golden retriever is not out again. Two girls ride by on bikes.
If this were a novel, I would only be including those details that contribute to the story. But that's not all that obvious. Not as obvious as it might seem. Because some details set the scene. Sprinklers lazily make plumes of spray and rainbows up and down the street, people riding by on bikes, children's voices, cicadas buzzing are all seasonal markers that set place and mood. The kid of events that would happen in a place where a well-dressed elderly woman rides by on a bike in pink shorts and visor are likely to be different than a few blocks from here where unemployed black men stare dismally out of gange fogged brains with large pupils.
I walk past the outdoor stands of fruits and flowers at the Village Market. Watermelons, potatoes, tomatoes. Past a bright fucsia frog with nean chartreuse tadpoles painted on it. I see these smae things every day and now I turn and I see the sidewalk stretching out utterly straight, as far as the eye can see and I wnder what happened to me. That I am here instead of in the muntains in Colorado. Or isntead of on the Maine coast. Or in the woods soemwhere.
I guess I traded one happiness for another.
A woman approaches wearing a backpack. Daypack, schoolbag,with a red coat tied on. She's weaing long-sleeves and a turtle neck and I'm hot in a tannktop and shorts. She says hello, but she doesn't look at me. Her eyes are glazed. No one else is on the sidewalk on this side of the street as far as I can see. An old man walks in the street.
The cicadas buzz and hum. The sky goes on being relentlessly blue. Keith is probably still curled up in the bed sick. I have this feeling of suspeded animation. Of waiting. There is so much to do. So little time, and yet, a feeling of timelessness and space,empty space.
It took me 21 minutes to walk the block. I am getting slower and slower. But at least I did it.
Keith is still in bed. Still asleep.
9:12 PM I am out on my third walk, alone. Keith is still sick and to firther co0plcate things, so am I. I just threw up, u
Saturday, August whater, 27 2005, I am out on my second constitutional block encirclement. The first one I took with keith. He is still feeling unwell and almost dumped his bike this monring. Scary!
Last night I was sitting at the computer and suddenly had what felt like a severe chest pain, scary scary, I wondered if I was having a heart attack or soemthing. I did not feel nauseous, but suddenly I knew I was going to sick and I got up, walked into the bathroom, and puked repeatedly.
Then I felt OK again, pretty much, though a little uneasy and confused, just confused about what had happened as I almost never puke. It was weird. I brushed my teeth, but still felt uncomfortable.
Today I feel slightly odd, but it is hard to tell any difference between possibly being a little sick or my normal fibromyalgia, tiredness, aches and pains etc.
Tomorrow we are sriving to NY, supposedly, though Keith at this point is still sick and says his judgement is impaired and he feels unwell. So perhaps we may postpone the trip.
I am going to work on Della, hopefully delting stuff. Ont he trip, I mean. I want to save my photo files in aprticular onto CDs and onto the external hard drive. The delete them off Della because Della is getting full and it's a problem for doings erious work.
A large shiny black SUV just drove by with a young female drive all made up and a dog with his head out the winodw. Tow other very shiny cars, perfectly shiny and utterly clean and essentially breand new also drove by. All the cars here are new. And very expensive. Except ours.
Every time I walk down this strees, I walk past some pink impatiens planted around a tree and one in a pot beside them as if the job was permanetly unfinihsed. A pink pot. I always liked it. It gave me a good feeling, like a mistake woven into a rug, or an unfinished symphony. Hope for the future. Today, the pot is knocked over and I pick it up and set it back where it was. Suddenly, I have a good feeling, as if everything is right with the world again. The bark of the trees stands out in relief and feel more awake and aware and happy.
I stop at the villageMarket for bread, sausage, zucchinis, mushrooms, etc, and find everything but the bread. Which means we have to go get bread at Farmer Jack's in order to make lunches for our trip tomorrow.
6:36 PM Now I am out walking to the post office. I have just completed the first rough draft for the recertification of the B'ville/Kimbrook house. I am walking it to the post office to be rid of it for now. At least I starte the process. I am expecting further problems with it. I would lile to not have to deal with this. I would like to see the house. I would like to move to Detroit. But everyone is dragging their feet. Including me and Keith. Anything to avoid delaing with the reality of the situation, anything.
So another year goes by and another recertification is in progress, Ad Bruce said that it would be done--the divorce and everything, in tiem for my birthday in May. AK.
He meant in 2005. I wonder if it will be done in time for my birthday in 2006.
Or 2007.
2007 is when my annuity thatwas supposed to be for my whole life supposedly runs out.
The sun is out. It was out earlier when I walked, too, but in between the two walks, it rained ferociously, as it also did this morning.
Keith has gone to the store to get bread for sandwiches. He is not feeling well. I am walking to the post office, but my hips are starting to hurt and I wish I didn't have to walk all the way there and back. Of course, it was a chocie I made to kill two birds with one stone, get my exercise and delvier the recertification to the post office so it would be one thing I wouldn't have to worry about. It occurred to me that I need tax info to fill it out and all the tax info is moved to Detroit, but I'll be in NY for a week.
Wehn I get back, there will be very little time to work on it and get it mailed ontime. So I'm glad to be done with this portion of it, anyway.
I drop the letter in it's business return envelope into the big blue collection box. The last mail has already been collected and the next one's not until Monday at 1:00, but it is in themailbox. I probaly should have taken it to the postoffice where it would go out sooner, since I did all that work on it but my hips hurt and I didn.t want to walk the extra distance AND it proably doesn.t matter anyway. It has to be received by 9/9 and this is what, 8/27 so it still should get there in plenty of time, though I am sure I ahhveN.t heard the end of it yet.
I reach a point where my feet hurt and my ankles hurt and my hips hurt and I don't want to walk or write or do anything but sit and we aren't ready for our trip tomorrow and we need to ahve dinner and wash dishes etc. But I just want to sit.
I am walkin through the alleys. They are wide and open and sunny and spacious and quite unlike alleys in other cities. The reason they are wide is because there is parking behind the businesses but because it is after hours, there are few cars parked there, so the alleys look 3 times as wide as they do during the day. The combination of wet pavements, puddles, bright sunshine and spaciouslness makes it look like cape cod or soemother seaside place.
When I finally turn onto Moran, it is all in shadow and trees, leaves on the ground and seems like I have gone from the seaside to the forest. The elaves are staining the pavement of the sidewalk making it look like more leaves, making it look like art.
I look ahead to see where I still have to go. This is a very long block and every step hurts. I jsut want to be home and sit down. I have been waling 25 minutes and I already walked 40 today. That may not seem like a lot, but it is apparently more than Ican take today.
Even though I am in pain, I am tempted to attempt to RUN home just so I'll be there sooner.
Thursday, September 1, 2005, a gorgeous gorgeous day. But I've been inside all day. Boy did we ever mess up by going to the fair yesterday instead of today, in some ways, anyway. On the other hand, we did not want to go two days ina row, and one advantage of yesterday was there were not very many people there.
No lines.
Today, Keith is working in the yard. I've been working inside sorting piles of crap and making calendar pages and making doctor appointments. I made us a nice seafood stirfry for lunch. It had shrimp, scallops and some fish, I forget what, it was good. Mushrooms, broccoli, zucchini, lemon and white wine, garlic and onion.
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I can only do that here. I can't do it in Detroit.
What a perfect day, breezy, warm but not hot, sunny with fluffy white clouds, not too huid, a perfect day.. There aren.t too many of those, what a shame to waste it on chores.
We're going to go see my mother tiday. When I get back from my walk, we will leave. When we get back, Keith will make dinner. He's going to make spaghetti and sala. He made dinner last night, too, but that was because my feet hurt so much from walkinga round the fair.
Too much walking and standing for me. Part of the problem is that I am too heavy, and all that weight pressing down on my feet makes my feet hurt. Standing is worse than walking.
Standing and walking for hours is unbearably painful. Well, not unbearable, since I bore it, but, very very very painful. I don't like being in that much pain.
I was afraid I would not be able to walk today, but in fact, I feel reasonably good. I have some pain, but it is reasonably mild. Tolerable, anyway.
And I feel happy.
I also feel guilty because poor Keith has been out in the yard working like crazy and I just yellled at him. Here is is, working and working, and I appreciate the fact that he is working, but I'm not sure of the real value of all of it.
Here are my concerns:
If we are going to sell the house to Bruce, or to Mike and Mike, then why should we spend all this time working on the yard? They can do that. Let them do it. Besides, we might make a chnage they wouldn't like. My thought is, we should do FIRST THINGS FIRST!
If the GOAL is to get me moved, first thinsg should be packing and cleaning. Doing repairs that are essential. Working in the yard does not further the goal of moving me to Detroit.
THEN, I also was annoyed because he cut dwn three spindly little trees I told him to leave for LAST and I meant that SERIOUSLY! If you're going to spend ANY TINE AT ALL working in the yard, which I'm not sure we should be doing, then there is an order the yardwork should be done. Most important stuff first, least important stuff last. That was the LEAST important.
I guess it doesn't matter than much. Don't Sweat The Small Stuff and all that. I guess what annoys me is, he asked me to come out and show him what I wanted him to do, which I did, and then, he did not DO what I asked--so why ask?
Why ask if you aren't going to LISTEN?
I was thinking, rather perversely, that since I asked him to cut down those three little trees LAST, and he did them BEFORE the other stuff, or some of it, that I should make him do all the other stuff I asked him to do first before he quits.
To me, that's logical. If you eat the dessert firstst, then you have to eat the spinach and liver last.
You don't get to eat the dessert and then leave the spinach and liver.
I like spinach and liver myself, so substitute soemthing you hate there. You get the point though.
After all the work he was doing, I feel guity being annoyed at him.
It's actually sort of funny, in an annoying sort of way.
I sort of KNEW he'd do that. He pointed the little trees out and asked about them, and I knew he was eager to cut them down. And I said not to until everything else was done. And I knew--I was pretty sure, he fully intended to ignore me. (So why did he ask?)
MEN!
I do appreciate all the work he's doing.
At the same time, it makes me feel that he isn't really interested in having me move to Detroit. He doesn.t care if I stay here endlessly and never come there. Or he doesn't care if it drags out, or he'd want to do soemthing that would help.
Also, he doesn't care if every cent of my money is drained away paying mortgae on a house I onlly live in a little bit.
I'm living there (here) less and less, but I'm still payiing for it. I'm paying the mortgage. Every month, I pay the mortgage. We're paying heat and electric and phone and all kinds of extra expenses we wouldn't have to pay if we got rid of thehouse. But as long as we're working in the yard etc instead of packing and sorting etc, then we will continue to have to support two households.
I decided to go back early from my walk and spend the last few minutes of it working in the yard. If you cannot beat them, join them.
I must say, I like this house on the hill close to nature and farms etc better than the house in Detroit in the middle of the city. Maybe I should just let him work in the yard.
Of course, we can't get married til we settle the house.
5:44 PM We are speeding along River Road on our way to visit my mother. Keith is driving and Graham is in the backseat playing gameboy. I was sitting here with my hands folded on my lap ready to talk to Keith as in simply have a conversation, but since he is apparently uninterested in talking, I guess I will write. I don't think I have my camera with me. That is, no camera other than than Oly. Oly is the OLD Olympus digital camera and Ollie is the newer one. Oly is less capable and has fewer megapixels, so the qulaity is less.
I am sneezing like crazy. This is allergy season for me, ragweed hayfever and asthma, but so far, until now, it hasn't been too bad.
The insides of my ears itch and my throat itches--I have to be very careful what I eat. Keith reaches out in silence and puts his hand on my shoulder and the sneezing stops. I squeeze his hand. I think he would be good at Reiki. (Or he could be a powerful wizard. But of course he doesn't do those things. He is very very smart, but he doesn't remember things in the same way I do, or doesn't remember the things I do. I don.tknow or remember the things he does, either. Our areas of intelligences are different. But overlooking.)
He says, "I wonder if that manure smell is from the state fair." I laugh. Dunno.
Yesterday, when we were at the fair talking to a DEC intern who whent to school at ESF, she told us about the black fish and the bluefish, and one of them was mean and had big teeth--I already forgot which. AAnd Keith said what if you put them in batter together and fried them up, you'd have battered black and blue fish. Ha ha. Guess You'd have to be there. I thought it was funny. I want to try to write down the funny things he says and use them in one of my stories.
I have to start over with my stories, all the ones that were lost on dead. I also have to remember to back things up from now on.
I touch Keith and he rubs his arm on mine, affectionately. I love his long beautiful arms, so lean and tan. I love the way he's so affectionate.
He gets mad when he's driving though, and that scares me. Right now he is relaly furious for some reason and opens the window and gives someone the finger twice.
He's driving like someone's life depends on his getting them to the hospital and we're not even in a hurry. Not that I know of. Graham and I are hurtling around in the car. He hasn't had anything to drink and I have no idea why he is so angry.
It's scary. One of those "red flag things". But I can't hold it against him when I get so angry about things sometimes, too.
We're not even meeting anyone there today.
He's cooking dinner tonight, spaghetti.
After we get home from Loretto.
He's not mad at me, cheerful and affectionate. Soemtimes, when he's angry, I worry he's agry at me.
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