At the park, I walked my dog through the rain this morning— not really proper rain— more like air that has decided to shrug water at you out of habit. It suited my mood well enough. As I walked, my thoughts kept returning to the same small universe they often do. They are not new thoughts. They orbit the same losses. They consider the same betrayals, the same questions that never resolve. They have been captured, these thoughts, never to escape, never to be forgotten, never to burn up in the atmosphere. It is simply the gravitational field of my life now. What might seem or feel like self-pity is more like muscle memory, which tells me I need more exercise. The holidays are here, and Christmas has always been central to my life, atheist that I am. It was stitched into Jenny’s life — the love of Christmas — at least as strongly as it was stitched into mine. We carried that love forward with the kids, year after year, without ever needing to talk about why it mattered; it just did. I...
It Hurts, It Hurts So Bad. . . 3:44 a.m. I walked in the door last night at just before 10 to find Jenny in a ball on the floor--between the giant ottoman and sectional--agonizing pain in her hip. I had ridden to acting with the student driver. But, let's back up. Jenny had chemo yesterday. Her friend Jennifer took her. It was uneventful and she received chemo. I, as always, prepared the house for her arrival to make sure she wanted for nothing and would be comfortable as she endures the aftermath of all that poison. Sometime before she came home, she texted, saying the doctor suggested she try Aleve for her hip pain. Aleve. She asked me to pick some up for her while Abby was at acting. During the text exchange I realized she would be alone after Abby and I left for acting. Leiney was elsewhere and had therapy at 5 and kickboxing later, and her sister Moni had bailed on chemo because she had so much to do (Wit...
Three days was the morning My focus three days old My head, it landed To the sounds of cricket bows 3 Days Gone I really couldn't have hoped for a better Christmas holiday, with both girls and I celebrating multiple times. We went to the Central Cinema twice--once for the Muppet Christmas Carol which, bluntly put, is sacrilege to the memory of all I hold holy around the bourgeois Dickens story. I own the Reginald Owen, Alistar Sims, George C. Scott, a couple of cartoon versions, but not the Mr. Magoo version (it must exist, right?). All have one Marley. None have Rizzo the Rat accompanying a Gonzo as Dickens to provide exposition. Call me a purist. I own a very old copy of the story itself--not quite a novel in length-that I bought when my mother was dying in hospital back in 2008. I have never gotten through the first stave, praise the lord of ADHD. Anyhow, Christmas has been an utter delight. We dutifully watched Charlie Brown's Christmas, played board games together--a firs...
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