icon caret-left icon caret-right instagram pinterest linkedin facebook twitter goodreads question-circle facebook circle twitter circle linkedin circle instagram circle goodreads circle pinterest circle


Sunday, Sunday III

The cat jumped onto Johnny's crotch, who flailed me awake before 5. I had to clean the kitchen table & stove before I could find a library book that's due tomorrow. I ate half a cheddar-apple omelet. After Pilates, Maggie & I set out in search of a kitten, but neither of the adoption events she'd found online existed, though everyone says it's almost kitten season. Someone yelled my name, & it was Kevin Varrone, up from Philly with Pattie & their kids to go to the Tompkins playground with Anselm & Karen & their kids (who call me Bubbie now, finally I'm a Jewish grandmother!). Maggie & I ran into John Godfrey, who was able to answer a question about which poets still live at 437: him, Richard, Larry, Greg, Lorna, Simon. I got almonds & dried pineapple at Dual Specialty. It was chilly but warm enough to stop & talk—the best thing about spring. I threw away newspaper clippings I had inexplicably saved, & 2 maps of Montreal. I found photos of my nieces when they were little. I read some books & a good poem ("Noen") in Norwegian by Rolf Jacobsen. Sometimes I forget how much I like my life. Six out of six people who've had the same spinal stenosis surgery as Johnny have told me it was a miracle, they felt better immediately & the recovery time is short. I'm down to about 2% panic & 98% eagerness for his pain to be gone.
Be the first to comment