OF THAT TIME

Of that time, there is still much we do not know.
— Tom Bissell, The Select Mainstream: Contemplating the Mirages of Werner Herzog


I felt good enough today to take a 30 minute walk, which I read in a NY Times article I should do five times a week. As I presently live in a pretty place, that seems as if it shouldn't be too much of a hardship if I can just get in the habit. And so I did the walk. And now my knee hurts again, but we shall see how it is in the morning.

My three trees in summer.

I cannot get John's mom, Mary, out of my mind. Just a few weeks ago, she was giving him hell about going up to Schroon Lake. Now she is in hospice care, sleeping through the morphine, on oxygen. I never went to visit her as often as she asked. I suppose it should not be as dizzying as it is, but there you are. Here today, gone tomorrow as we hear.

What a fighter and survivor was Mary. Sure, she was a first-class noodge of the old school, but hell she came from Slovakia, lost a child and a first husband before WWII. Mary got through it. And she has three solid children to show for it. And many grandchildren and even some great-children. Feisty, opinionated, and I even saw some of her party skills at John's and Mel's wedding five years ago.

So, no matter her faults, I can swear that she has raised at least one first class child. John has been a companion for my life and I have no doubt that he will continue to be. We've been through some shit. But, as real friends do, we got through it and moved on. So how could I but love, respect, and lament one who has given ME such a gift? Godspeed, Mary. No doubt flights of angels lead you to your rest. And you deserve it.

These lilies are all over the place.

Meanwhile, the deluge is finally here. The cats barely know what to do with so much noisy rain, thunder, and lighting.  On another hand, Cooder has showed up some, so it is cooler.

Not at all how I feel at the moment, but as I am writing this Billie Holliday song has been playing: Laughing at Life.

I may not be laughing at life, but at the very least, I have a rueful smile (and some of you know that crooked mouth smile quite well). I seem to be afflicted with no end of mosquito bites and some more fucking poison ivy.  No idea where that came from. So I am itchy, okay.

Let it be.
Let it be.
Let it be.
Let it be.
There will be an answer,
let it be.


Let it rain.