WE NEVER GO MAD

3 of 100

 "It was only lately that she had become so absent minded and she struggled to cover up her forgetfulness. It was hard work being old. It was like being a baby, in reverse. Every day for an infant means some new little thing learned; every day for the old means some little thing lost. Names slip away, dates mean nothing, sequences become muddled, and faces blurred. Both infancy and age are tiring times."

— Elizabeth Taylor, Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont, 1971

This is certainly true of Janet. 

Is this too much of a bummer with which to start a post? You've all probably stopped reading by now. But it has the ring of truth. My memory is still pretty good, but I do have more trouble finishing my sentences and quickly recalling the names for things. Part of that is likely due to not having enough opportunity to interact with humans, or at least different humans. The cats don't care what I say as long as I don't call them late for supper. And the real motivator there is the sound of dry food hitting the bowl or the sweet sweet sound of an opening can.

Fox is in here with me in my very messy study. I think in another world, he would like to sit on my lap, but we are rarely in sync on that. Right now, I am perched at the end of my desk chair, so there is no lap to speak of. Meanwhile, he is china-shop-bulling around the room looking for a comfortable and inappropriate perch. David reported that both Fox and McCoy cuddled up with him on the couch when he would get up at night to watch tv. They want him to come back.

My current state is not really depressed, but somewhere on the grumpy and dissatisfied spectrum. Earlier today, I was even in a good and enthusiastic mood as my cousin and I successfully modified a pattern to fit her better. This cheered up the both of us and hopefully sets along a productive sewing path this year. It is much less frustrating to work with her. 

And, all in all, it was a productive week for me, punctuated by visits with Karen who was in town. My goal is to do three things a day (maybe I mentioned that in my last post), and I was sufficiently accomplished in this. Last night, I made some Moroccan Stew and Chipotle Brownies. Both came out well, but Janet was not a fan of the soup. Fortunately, I can share with Patrick so I won't have to get tired of it. 

Food-wise Janet and I are on different palate planets. 

And I finished reading my second book of the year. I have been so far away from the reading habit, I feared it could not be re-instituted. Mrs. Palfrey was not much of an upper, but a good read nonetheless.

My biggest accomplishment was finishing the Wednesday New York Times Crossword Puzzle with no help. I had just assumed that all of them were too hard for me, but maybe not. And I did make it to Saturday Morning Yoga.

"By the mid-sixties, America was experiencing the 'generation gap'. Parents whose kids returned from school or college with long hair and a rebellious attitude often went into shock. Children were disowned, 'grounded', locked up, beaten, shorn, lectured, or sent to psychiatrists, military school or mental institutions. In Britain I visited pubs where earringed boys with long hair stood drinking a Sunday pint next to their dads in cloth caps. Neither seemed the least bit concerned. Americans were so unsure of their often newly won status that they could not comprehend the next generation rejecting what they had worked so hard to achieve. The British seemed to feel that little was going to change, no matter how long their child's hair grew. My egalitarian American impulses were unnerved when comedians or pundits referred to some working-class parents' reluctance for their kids to be educated 'above their station', yet much of British society seemed happy and content compared to status-anxious America.

— Joe Boyd, White Bicycles: Making Music in the 1960s, Serpent's Tail, London, 2006

Among some of my friends, there is an ongoing thread about the "march of history" as we experienced it. And this does explain a bit why there was such a volcanic rift, or so it seemed to us, in the 1960s. Whatever greater insight on this topic that I once had has since fled (it has been a couple of weeks since I marked that passage to quote) but I found it worth including.

THE NEGATIVE VIRTUES

loneliness

is a luxury beyond the reach

of those who have no privacy left

and live in the hope

of its constant invasion

but to those

who have always been alone

it is a friend

poverty

gives us a sense of direction

when we don’t know which way to go

and when we walk 

on the edge of its cliff

we never go mad we can’t afford to

fear

like courage and charity

begins at home and expands in circles

rocking all the boats it touches

and bringing in its wake

the last of the negative virtues

maturity

which is not what we wanted

but comes anyway when we realize

that the things we feared

as children

can no longer hurt us

and that we fear them no less

— Richard Shelton, The Bus to Veracruz, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburg, PA, 1978

SO I WILL TO IT

 2 of 100

January 12 10:44 pm

The smell of baking banana bread is permeating the house. I am about as far as I can get from the kitchen, but it still smells great. And I don't even much like banana bread. There were, however, bananas to be used and other people seem to like banana bread a great deal. The recipe was interesting (and easy) as well, sort of a riff on chai. Janet is amazed at the baking going on. I figure I should just go for it. I don't over indulge with what I make as I readily give the goods away. I just like baking. 

Now, bread would be another story.

So this means I accomplished my three things today. That was another of my NY resolutions: do three things that need doing every day. The bar may sound as if it is set low, but we live in amorphous times where days can be spent rewatching all of Downton Abbey in a couch potato trance. I dropped off the vacuum cleaner to be serviced, got the oil changed in the Fit (although, troublingly the engine light is on), walked Janet around the block, cleaned the kitchen, AND BAKED. I am surprised I am not out of breath.

Janet and I have done a block walk probably six or seven times this year. I am truly amazed at how much progress just a bit of walking has accomplished. She is steadier and more sure-footed, she walks faster each time we go out. She doesn't even complain or balk at my getting her out, as long as it is relatively warm and dry outside. 

Here's the real win of the day, though. I did the New York Times Crossword puzzle all by myself with no hints from the outside world. I have never ever completed one. The big puzzle requires a subscription and I finally succumbed so that I could play other games. 

Janet just hollared at me that the baking banana bread smell was keeping her awake. She also vowed to eat a lot of it. We will see.

Earlier today there was a lot I wanted to muse on, but, as experience has told us, late night is not necessarily the best time for me to write. 

My friend Karen and I went to Ikea yesterday and if you were wondering about the supply chain breakdown, Ikea is proof that that is real. There were very few people in the store (good), but many of the shelves were empty and there was very little that was appealing. We actually had a mission to find specific things and were partly successful, but it was rather depressing. These are those times.

Just checked on the bread and it has a while to go. The bottom was not crumbly at all, so the top will likely be verrrrry toasty, which is fine by me. 

Tomorrow, one of my tasks will be to try to find a three-way bulb for my beside lamp that the damn cats, particularly Fox, like to knock over. And that random statement came from me needing to read instead of watching something before I go to bed. As I have mentioned, I can have a very hard time falling asleep which delays the waking day.

In the meantime, I think tooth care will help me into bed sooner, so I will to it.

AND SO IT HAS BEGUN AGAIN

1 of 100

January 8th already.

A month has passed since I wrote anything. I plan to do another hundred this year, but not trying to shoehorn them all into a little over three months. 100 in a year is likely enough to keep me motivated and not just post for posting's sake.

For the first time in more than a decade, I did not reach my annual reading goal. I generally try to read a book a week, but I barely made it past 3 books a month. I found myself reading most of a book, then trailing off in disinterest or "couldn't be bothered to renew." This year, I am committed to four a month. We will see how that goes. My friend Patty usually reads closer to 100 and only made it to 23 last year, (although that was still over 5,000 pages.) 

I am so out of whack, I scarcely know what to do to get me in whack. I find myself falling asleep, sober, around 11:00, scarcely able to keep open my eyes. Then, just before I fall into a deep sleep, I am awakened by a panic attack, usually about my projected life of destitution, and have trouble getting back to sleep. Then I sleep pretty darn late, about 10:00. By the time Janet is coffeed and oatmealed, and I have caffeinated and perused the papers, it is noon when I am not inspired to take on any large projects. 

That said, I have been good this week about trying to dig out of my physical morass. Patrick and I did two runs to the dumpster with rain-ruined furniture, and two trips to donate things. Of course, one has the regrets, but I know my time here gets shorter by the minute and Janet's passing will not be made any easier by the burden of having too much stuff to deal with. Even on my worst days, I try to set a small goal, so at least one step is taken.

Another resolution was to actually use my cookbooks or get rid of them. I have maybe moved along about 10 and there are still very many to go through. Last night I tried a new recipe that I need to finish today along with taking Janet for a walk (as soon as my hair dries a bit more), do last night's dishes, finish tonight's dish, and make a batch of cookies from one of the aforementioned cookbooks. I don't need any cookies as we are still working through the cookies I made for Christmas but didn't get around to handing or sending out. 

Janet is doing pretty well, although one of the Domineers, Jimmy died in December as I wrote in my last post. He was very nice, so he is missed even by me. Janet doesn't make it to dominoes very often because of our sleeping in issues. Are we just hibernating? Meanwhile, she came home from dominoes on Thursday to inform me that the host, whom she sits next to, had a terrible cold and did not inform anyone nor cancel the day's activities.  No bueno. So far she is fine, save for powerhousing through one of her Christmas boxes of See's Candy. (She received several, for which thanks.)

In order to make sure I read today, I took a mid-day bath, which is my usual wintertime place to read.  miss the literate and literature obsessed me. I found some choice quotes or thoughts to share.

"What we like is "relatable," whatever that means, while what we dislike or makes us comfortable is "depressing." What hope is there for our species if narcissism governs us even when we are reading?"

— Michael Hoffman, Introduction to Elizabeth Taylor's Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont

"She was alarmed at the threat of her own depression."

— Elizabeth Taylor Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont

I can heartily relate to that. I have been pretty depressed this week. The political turmoil in this country had (has) me despondent and actually afraid. I think war is on the near horizon, if not simply from internal combustion of the (at least) two Americas, then from the growing conflicts in Russia and other parts of the world. This all reached a fever pitch on the night before January 6th as the pundits and left wing hawkers spelled doom for the anniversary of the insurrection. I had to severely curtail my reading and watching of the news on the 6th as the weight of it was personally unbearable to me. I have lightened up just a bit since I have curbed my intake of media. 

"In spite of long practice, she found that resolution was more difficult these days. When she was young, she had an image of herself to present ..."

— Elizabeth Taylor Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont

Right? For those of us who been eased out of professional life before our intended time, and all of us sequestering to avoid Covid-19, who will we present if we ever get the opportunity again? As you might recall, this was causing me some agita afore I went back to New York. 

January 11th

Several days and another batch of cookie baking later, I still haven't posted this. The news is that two of Janet's domineer pals have tested positive for Covid. I've little idea how they are doing. I suppose it it to be expected in some ways. So far, and we are on day five from exposure, all is well. Janet is just bored. But I have been able to get her out walking every other day or so as the weather has been nice and she has been compliant. 

MANY INTRICATE PLANS

November 30th

I am having a hell of a time calming down and focussing enough to work on my yoga class in a mere three hours. The force of procrastination is strong within me, as are the spirits of the existentialists who cause me to wonder why be alive? why do anything? I am trying to motivate myself by remembering why I wanted to teach in the first place: to share my pleasure and the benefits of yoga, as well as to supplement my income when I get Social Security, if the United States Government exists in any form by the time I get there.

So, having recalled my purpose, I will give that lesson plan another shot. Thanks for your help.

December 9th

That first class was a bit shaky as they kept changing the room on me. I had planned to do things at the wall but we ended up in a room where that wasn't possible. I was fairly dispirited that day. I continued to wonder why I thought teaching yoga would be a good idea. Then I recalled that I had a studio and a good regular practice that provided me with the confidence and inspiration to teach. Without that, it is a bit harder.

As a point of fact, I should be writing my class for tonight now. I have begun to sketch out some ideas. Last class was fairly easy to write and even better to teach because only three people showed up which gave me plenty of time to give everyone adjustments and so forth. One woman was impressed enough with the one class she took to bring a friend and they have to drive 20-25 minutes. That is a bit ... daunting. But a shout-out to Sonia, Susan, and Karen whose encouragement I feel when I get stuck.

Today is sprinkley and very grey. Janet and the cats think it is very cold. I do have on a sweater and slippers, so there must be some merit to their argument. Adding to that sadness was this morning's news that one of the Domineers, Jimmy, passed away this morning. Although he could be a pain, given his volubility and penchant for rhyming everything, he was very good-natured and quite an enthusiastic yogi. 

Of course, I cannot tell how Janet feels about it. She is generally sanguine about these sorts of things. The difficulty comes in trying understand if she is wise and just pushing away emotions, for which an argument could be made that that is wisdom as well. I, however, see it as more of her obtuse, pushing away her emotions.

Nina is driving me crazy with her thinking she wants to be outside. I have made the grave error of letting the cats out the window next to my desk. Now they think the laptop is part of the thoroughfare to the outside. I know if I let her out, she will only want to come in again, as is their way.

I, as is not uncommon, am sad, not only about Jimmy, but the grey day. And my usual musings about how to process and grieve what you didn't (and did) do with your live as you head into the last (hopefully) quarter or so. I am working hard on identifying places to let go of things and to understand that I am unlikely to do the things I thought I would do when I hit permanent unemployment. (Retirement is for the intelligent planners and successful.)

I cleaned my oven yesterday and hated every second of it.

Nina pretending to be a good kitty.

ORDINARY TIME

A Thursday — no — a Friday someone said.

What year was it?

Just after the previous age ended, it began.

And although the scientists still studied the heavens

and the stars still blazed — and if the evening wasn’t cloudy —

what happened did not occur in public view.

Some said it simply didn’t happen, although others insisted they knew

    all about it

and made many intricate plans.

— Marie Howe, The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, Norton, New York, 2008

JUST GET UP AND DO IT AGAIN

November 23rd

Okay, this will be interesting. I am writing this, for the first time on my iPad keyboard that I just bought so that I wouldn’t have to haul around my MacBook Pro. I am writing from my eldest brother’s house in Oakland. He’s had Juna, his 15-month old granddaughter here. Now, he has his 95-year-old mother here, he has to put up a security gate for Janet just like he does for Juna. Janet is sleeping on the upper level where the bathroom is. There is something so “beginning and end cycle” about all of this. Poignant.

'Twas a long drive to get here. I considered not even coming as I finally had some energy to straighten up the house. I left it a mess for our beloved cat sitter, Ashley.  (This keyboard is going to take some getting used to, but I realized I won’t even post this until I get back as I don’t have my mailing lists on this device.)

On the way up here, on hideous I-5, we stopped in Buttonwillow for something like sustenance and gasoline. Food options being quite limited, we tried McDonald’s. Horrible. But I remembered that I was once driving this road with my brother David and we stopped at this very McDonald’s where I ran into an old friend from college, totally randomly, there in the middle of the San Joaquin Valley. Jose and I took Portuguese together. He tutored me in Portuguese, I tutored him in English. Poor bastard had to read Tristram Shandy for a class, not easy for those of us for whom English is our first language.  

November 30th

Back in LA since Saturday evening. Thanksgiving was really fun as I had great tablemates and the excellent food just made it better. Janet enjoyed meeting Juna and Kasia. We all had a big walk on Friday, although Janet was in a wheelchair and Juna was mostly in her stroller. We walked in a part of Alameda that I didn't know existed, so that was cool. 

Driving I-5 is really a challenge and very stressful. There is so much jockeying and lane changing, which was not made any better by the amount of traffic. I am sure I would have purposely caused an accident had we driven down on Sunday. I don't do heavy traffic well anymore. I now have to adjust my driving to not scheme to immediately get in front of slower cars and change lanes all the time while driving at 80mph.

The cats were all fine and glad to see us. They are making the transition to being winter kitties which means more lap sitting and not having to walk the streets calling them in after dark. By the time it starts getting dark, they are ready for dinner and then (mostly) settling down or lap sitting. This is good. 

On the other hand, I am experiencing the let down. I was sick pretty much the whole week after I got back and still feel the very tail end of the virus or whatever it was. Feeling physically bad as well as emotionally adrift was not all helped by the suicide of a friend of a dear friend pretty much as soon as I got back. Sadness and stress all around.

This person had considerable physical, emotional, and mental problems such that she just could not find a purchase onto well-being. Those of us who have some amount of self-awareness and self-discipline happily (or not) benefit from the doctors and other mental health workers we have been fortunate enough to find. It's an ongoing struggle, but we try to adhere to (most of) their recommendations to stay on some kind of vaguely even keel.

I admit to some very dark thoughts and places lately. As is well-documented in these pages, there is little in this part of my life, this geographical location, to comfort and sustain me. My connection to the state of New York and my many loved ones there makes the comparison to life here a sharp and often sad one. 

However, again I will try to find some comfort and sustenance here. I have a new section of yoga class I am teaching tomorrow. Saturday, I can go back to my Covid yoga class and maybe remember something about a practice. Janet is doing pretty well, having gone back to dominoes today for the first time in 5 weeks. The kitties are excellent if too multitudinous. 

Just get up and do it again.

NOT SO HAPPY

 “We become conservative if we’re still trying to preserve the mythologies of our youth.”

— Philip Rodriguez

“The worst thing is she’s not at all depraved by nature. Just ignorant. And vain. And right now that happens to be fashionable.

— Sigrid Undset, Jenny, 1911

I’ve been sick with a post-trip kind of virus. I have kind of rallied today, enough to think Janet and I should drive up to Oakland tomorrow to visit with the extended family. Of course, Janet doesn’t really want to go, but she never wants to be too far away from the kitty posse.  If I had had another couple of days of being functional, I would likely be up for it as I do want to see and be with the whole family. I just feel bad leaving the catsitter with the chaos that is my house right now.

I wasn’t able to anything last week. I never even got all the way unpacked.

What I would like to do is stay here and hide. I have a new yoga class to get ready for on Tuesday. I have a newfound reason to downsize and move stuff along. I am tired. 

I admit to some post-New York letdown but we knew that would probably be coming. The weeklong virus made it worse. 

Also, on the Saturday after I returned, a close friend of a very close friend decided she had had enough on this astral plane and took herself out. L's passing was devastating for K who thought she should have been able to help. I was touched, but less so by the tragedy. But I can't say that I don't muse upon it myself. 

Being back in this part of the world does not delight me, notwithstanding a few folks, but this is so not my home anymore. I may end up getting to live here after my mother passes, but I am not the whole "me" here. 

Once I get back from Oakland and get a little rest, I need to muster my attention and energy to making my situation more palatable, more pleasant for my mom and myself. I have been appreciably more patient with her since I returned, but there is more to accomplish in that arena.

IT WILL ONLY BE A JOURNEY

I’ve been home a little over two days now. Last night’s post was written on the ‘plane on the way out. Somehow, I didn’t find the time or the mental space to sit down and write for the entire time I was there. I was so busy eating, drinking, relaxing, and reveling in the sweet sweet company of my friends, I was barely even thinking about anything more than what was the next stop or the next meal or the next bottle of wine (and there were many).

Now, Sunday, Nov. 14.

That's three days now. I am feeling a bit better and adjusting to the time as well. It's already 9:35 and I am not longing for bed yet. I haven't finished unpacking or washing clothes, but making progress.  The weather has been so hot it has been a bit of a shock from me, being a 30 degree difference from NYC. This is good for outside clothes drying, however, even if I don't have a lot of outdoor drying racks. Our dryer is broken and I can't decide whether to get this ancient one fixed or to look for a new one ... (maybe I should get this one fixed while I look for a new one?)

The heat hit me hard, coupled with jet lag, and a slight sore throat, causing me to lay low, in an unproductive way. 

My Town Hall yoga class is back on for December, which is not so very far away, so I need to turn some attention to that. As I haven't been practicing, I need to get back to the rhythm and groove. Visiting New York is rather like an out-of-body experience as contrasted with my days here in California. It was a solid 19 days of visiting, eating, drinking, cooking, and traveling on subways and trains. I am not back to practical eating yet, but I have stopped alcohol consumption and slowed way down on the cheese and carbohydrate consumption. I need to get back to going to the bicycle at the gym.

According to David, Janet did not have any incontinence issues while I was gone, or not that he noticed. I haven't seen any evidence in the three days I have been back, so perhaps that was a preview of things to come and not a new constant state. She does not seem markedly changed, if anything slightly more peppy. The time change had her going to bed extra extra early, then getting up in two hours, about 10-o'clock to ask for a sleeping aid. I suggested she watch more tv as she had gone to bed too soon.

Nina was so happy to see me that she woke me up about 8 or 9 times the first night I was here. She is still waking me up, but not as frequently. I can't say that I mind terribly. David spoiled them while he was here with more food than I generally give them. They loved him and, although he thinks there are too many (as do I), he enjoyed them. We Sybergs have different levels of cat indulgence and David was careful to not move any cats sleeping whether they discomfited him or no. I have no such prejudice unless they are sleeping on my lap.

Janet is off to bed, so perhaps I should wend my way to the front and batten down the hatches to get to sleep myself. Janet did not go to any dominoes games and just sat at home with David. I called the Domineers on Friday to see what they were up to, only to find that Joseph was having trouble getting his breath, so all festivities were off. Having not heard anything else, I think he is probably okay. I will call again tomorrow to see if I can't get her back into that routine.

THE WHITE HOTEL

when winter comes

adjust your voice to it

when the clock dies hide it

from the children

do not resist the urge to travel

it will only be a journey

and there is no arrival

but drive through the desert quickly

it is inhabited by those

in search of death

beside a gabardine sea you will find

the white hotel where bougainvillea

drips from the roof like blood

dim lights will be on in the hallway

a long moss carpet

flowing past a wilderness of doors

stairs crowded with unpredictable

lovers and assassins

in the bar new arrivals

celebrate reunions by throwing

their glasses into the fireplace

others just drop them on the floor

when anything falls down

in this hotel it lies there forever

all night they will sing old songs

when the shoe tree blooms

in the desert

and the ice plant melts by the sea

all night the water will rest

quietly in its blue tomb

at dawn when palm trees

wave their arms as they do at the slightest

change in plans you will watch

the waves send up

fine contingents of water

each retreating without losing its courage

thousands of white truces

negotiated on the sand

and with your pulse beating for distance

your hair turning to salt

you will walk into the water

and say because of its great depth

the sea can forgive anything

but do not linger 

at the white hotel or soon you will learn

that memory is the only

kind of loss we ever know

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982

Louise and Erik's cat, Topper.

ON THE 'PLANE WAY BACK WHEN

October 23rd

Yes, I can still type, although not sure about whether I can write or not. 

I am finally on the damn ‘plane on my way to NYC and environs. I think I started my vacation when I ordered too much Thai food last night. It was too hot for both Janet and David and I did have some intense discussions with my GI tract but damn it was good.

I just found my car key in my bag, here at however many thousand feet. I got a text from Patrick (who drove me in my car) that he needed the key but then I got a message that said “Nevermind” so I will sit here for hours feeling like an asshole for not handing David the key. He did have plenty of time to keep calling me and he didn’t so I guess everything is okay. 

The weeks leading up to my departure have been intense for me. I found myself fluctuating between joy, terror, insecurity, fear, and almost unbearable anticipation. I couldn’t focus enough to write. And I brought this damn MacBook Pro with me so that I could write my blog and I damn well better. 

Other than my anxiety about the mystery of Patrick and David, and how they got home, I am feeling quite calm. Having double N95 masks is kind of uncomfortable and we are hours away from release on that count. Although I guess I can take it off to eat. I am quite hungry. Well, I see that Patrick left me a VM telling me that they were able to drive because the car was running when I got out. I could throw up. But all is sanguine at the moment.

I kind of want to watch the monitor and do some needlepoint, but I am far from my finished my re-reading of Tana French’s In the Woods which is the current bookgroup choice. 

Having the ear buds in is extra uncomfortable with a double mask, just saying.

But hey! I have a whole row to myself, which is nice. 

Janet’s continence is failing, particularly when she gets out of bed in the morning. Yesterday, she evidently dropped feces when she stood up, stepped in it, didn’t notice and walked around the house. We both cleaned it up, and I certainly didn’t say anything but I cannot imagine how that must feel. To know you are losing control and, at 94.75 years, that the end is hotly nearing. This morning there was urine from her bedside all the way to the bathroom. She does alright in the day time, but it is time for nighttime diapers. 

Too add to all the stress of leaving and not having gotten everything done, I didn’t check when David’s flight got in only to find it had been delayed five hours. So that was another monkey wrench. We were supposed to drive around some to give him a chance to orient. Go over procedures. DIdn’t have time for that or mental bandwidth as the day was spent being a bit sad about Janet and the undropped shoe of whether David would actually make it and what would we do if he didn’t.

The cats seemed to know that I was leaving. Fox was practically stuck to me. He rather tried to get into my suitcase, but, as usual, it was too full for another ten pounds. I always have things I have collected for people, which was my wont. Now that I don’t frequent thrift stores nearly as much, my piles of things are dwindling.

Back in 1978 or ’79, my (turned out to be) bff Martha brought me a beautiful hand-thrown mixing bowl from Vermont where she first went to college. Her oldest daughter just got married, so, although I don’t really want to part with it, downsizing is the current name of the game so I decided to bring it with me and re-gift it to A. Hopefully, I will have far less on the return trip, but there will always be this damn laptop. (I don’t really damn it, but it is heavy.

The mixed emotions about the trip were mostly about me. First of all, I haven’t done very much in the last two and a half years. I haven’t even read that much. So I feel as if I don’t have a nice store of anecdotes and bon mots to toss off. I have gained weight and aged, so that makes me a bit anxious. But mostly I am afraid of how much I will feel. Getting seen again. Getting stimulated again. Is is all heady. Having, like a lot of people, I know, in some seclusion, I am greatly under emotionally stimulated, visually stimulated. So that unknown was threatening and exciting. I am more sanguine now. 

I wasn’t going to drink on the plane as I don’t like to drink in daylight hours, and hell, until I went into slow motion internal meltdown mode, I wasn’t drinking at all. But hey, I am on vacation and will have hours to sober up again, I got some sauvignon blanc. Meanwhile, it lets me take off my mask for awhile. The plane is only about half full, too.

I think I have a good start here, so I am going to drink.

WHO HAS IT, AND WHO DOESN'T?

 "... that generosity might be the greatest pleasure there is."

— William Maxwell, So Long, See You Tomorrow

So, I got my Covid booster and spent the next 36 hours in bed. I mostly slept, and will again, soon, as I am still woozy. I was hit much harder than my mom who mostly hurt in her arm and shoulders (always). My brain was pretty much gone. I listened to the latest John Banville mystery, Snow, but was so in and out of consciousness that I had to keep rewinding when I woke up after a few hours. I probably missed some things. 

Oct. 4, but just barely

I wrote this to a friend: Sometimes I look around at what I have here, the books, the clothes, the crafts projects and I wonder who in the hell I think I am. Would I have less stuff if I knew better?

I think the isolation is getting to me. As I have mentioned before, I just don't have many friends very nearby. On a weekend like this one, I spend my time at home. I think I have been out of the house once since Wednesday, for a silent Trader Joe's run yesterday. I had a long conversation with Martha which was satisfying yet helped remind me of my exhausting isolation.

It probably didn't help that I finished reading Ishiguro's latest, Klara and the Sun, which I rather liked when I was reading it, but felt flat and depressing by the end. I don't know what would make me feel better reading wise. As soon as I finished Snow, I started listening to I Alone Can Fix It: Donald Trump's Catastrophic Final Year, which is by far not a feel-good book. But it did engross me for a good four hours while I worked on my sewing projects. 

Cats helping with sewing.1

Realistically, what do I think my life would be or should be given all the circumstances? I know it would be better if my yoga studio hadn't closed, that I practiced several days a week, maybe taught, and continued to build those relationships. I can't blame that on anyone, not even the Donald entirely. But maybe I wouldn't feel so bone-wearying trapped and exhausted on almost all levels. 

When I have read about folks liberating themselves from their belongings, it always seems to happen in an epiphanic moment of shedding, as if living minimally were receiving instantaneous transmogrification. Whee, it is gone and I am no longer even eating pre-packaged foods! My carbon footprint is negative! Going out on a limb here, but I will bet it is a process. You know, so many times there is a process going on and you don't even know it. It would be helpful to know (does that mean choosing something? oh shit, I am bad at those decisions, too ... lately it seems I am bad at all decisions except maybe bad ones ...)

This digression comes late ... or early ... and I should get to bed so that I don't sleep too late and begin the dragging-and-behind-the-8-ball cycle again. I just sleep so deeply in the morning, and my dreams are generally so entertaining and make more sense than life. Also, I most often dream about friends so there is less isolation and loneliness there.

Cats helping with sewing.2

SOME QUESTIONS YOU MIGHT ASK

Is the soul solid, like iron?

Or is it tender and breakable, like

the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?

Who has it, and who doesn’t?

I keep looking around me.

The face of the moose is as sad

as the face of Jesus.

The swan opens her white wings slowly.

In the fall, the black bear carries leaves into the darkness.

One question leads to another.

Does it have a shape? Like an iceberg?

Like the eye of a hummingbird?

Does it have one lung, like the snake and the scallop?

Why should I have it, and not the anteater

who loves her children?

Why should I have it, and not the camel?

Come to think of it, what about the maple trees?

What about the blue iris?

What about all the little stones, sitting alone in the moonlight?

What about roses, and lemons, and their shining leaves?

What about grass?

— Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems, Beacon Press, Boston, 1992