It’s winter! In a fallish kind of way. I’ve been blogging professionally, which leaves a little less time for this one. Check it out: lime.com. I write for the Motion and Balance sections.
At dusk yesterday I was walking home and saw a dead pigeon in a box surrounded by bright red rose petals. It felt like a total noir Kodak moment. The vividly gray and black bird, lying on its belly, head turned to the side, wings slightly spread. And the rose petals were fresh, vividly crimson and velvety around the bird. The box deliberately open. I think it was a memorial more than a performance piece, a respectful good-bye and garbage man signifier (it was on the curb in front of the Waverly Place movie theatre.
Then a few blocks later I saw a familiar woman’s face and when she turned away as if she had been stung by my gaze, I realized it was Maggie Gyllenhall. Arm-in-arm with a girl friend, big white shopping bag on her other arm. I looked away quickly (I’m too cool to stare) and turned sideways so she could pass on the skinny street. Weird how what would be ordinary, is awkward, slightly painful, with celebrities. Like a look is violating their space. You can practically see the red ropes draped across their eyes. As it should be I guess, because look at all the attention.
Anyway. People have been asking lately about my health. I’m fine. Have more scans in January, but just went last month for a poke-prod. It’s weird, though, since last week was the year anniversary of my diagnosis. This time last year I was having surgery. It was actually the day before Thanksgiving, I think. I was up at my mom’s after, wounded, waiting for the official, final diagnosis and treatment plan.
Joan Didion said she wanted to write her book within a year of John’s death so that there would be only that one year of distance between her and the tragedy. So that she could say to herself, “this time last year…” And it would all be fresh.
Mine still feels fresh especially now that I’ll start lapping the time. This is my first “This time last year” marker and it’s weird how it all seems now. I feel so tender toward that sick, scared, stunned self. I feel like slipping back and telling her it really is going to be okay. Will I want to say that to myself a year from now? Or will I want to have issued a warning? Am I okay, really, is the question I want answered. Am I doing this right? Is there anything reawakening the cells? Or am I in safe, neutral territory? There is no way to know and that is the scariest thing still. But I’m moving through the days okay. I’m trying to work on the book even though the blog is a time hog. I made a duvet and curtains and am keeping the dishes clean.
Going to a friend’s for Thanksgiving dinner. T has to work. He’s been staying here due to the bed bugs eating up his bed. Ew!
With that, enjoy your turkey. Really. Oh, wait. I read something today that you should list all you’re grateful for, A-Z. Ready?
A. Apples with almond butter.
B. Bed, Breathing, Boats.
C. Cats. And the Clitoris. And Chocolate.
D. DUMBO
E. Elevators that work.
F. Friends I’ve known Forever.
G. Gilmore Girls
H. Having Hair even though I Hate How Huge it is.
I. Ice. My rediscovery (thanks to T) or ice in drinks, previously tamped by natural health nuts.
J. Jason, Justin, John, Jon, Jaanette, Julia, Jeremy, Josh, Jocelyn, Jessica, Jereann, Jesus, Jews.
K. Kites. And kissing.
L. The word Lovely. And Love.
M. Massages. Especially the very cheap ones up the street.
N. Nancie
O. Orgasms, Ocean
P. Pink
Q. Queen LaNina
R. Realizing things.
S. Saunas and swimming
T. Ted
U. The Unconscious that unravels and expands in my dreams
V. Velvet
W. Good Wishes coming true
X. X-Rays with good news
Y. Yum. You.
Z. Dr. Z.
