I can't sleep…
Tuesdays are for….time lapses.
You may be thinking that due to the dearth of blog posts recently, that Wednesday’s, Thursday’s, Friday’s, Saturday’s, Sunday’s and Monday’s are for Time Lapses as well — and, you wouldn’t be far off the mark.
I know that you’ve all been anxiously waiting to learn about the time-lapse process. Here’s the secret sauce.
Continue reading “Tuesday is for…”
3:15 am.
I flip through the morning papers. Jesus, why do I subject myself to this?
Politics (sigh), Middle East, Ukraine, Senator on the take, Earth camped out on a hot tin roof.
Alexandra Fuller in Fi: “How quickly we’ve messed this all up: everything melting, flooding, on fire.”
1536 consecutive (almost) days on this daybreak morning walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.
And what a day it is.
While everything burns, I walk, here, on Fantasy Island.
Stars, stars and more stars painted on a cloudless sky.
6 mph breeze from the north. Leaves rustle overhead. Birds beginning to wake.
65° F.
This is mid-July people.
And, setting aside the weight gain which I will NOT let throw shade on a beautiful morning, not a single body part hurts. Not one.
There’s no doubt, absolutely ZERO chance (mostly because of my diet and conditioning discipline) that I will not live forever.
Continue reading “Walking. To Eternity.”
Are we facing toward the light? How about now?
Notes:
It’s all so sickeningly, dizzyingly, tightly circular, at the very edges of existence, I mean. And those universal edges—birth, death—they’re hard to take in completely, when they’re happening. It’s all going too fast, blood rushing to the head. Even the middling, middle bits—stable-enough marriage, healthy kids, good income—like the middle of a roundabout, you can think it’s all going quite manageably no matter how wildly the edges are quivering. I did; I thought I had it all under control… Three perfect children. Above all, even if I’d screwed up every other thing, I’d still have three perfect children. And now I see, that too had been an illusion.
Selected as one of the Best Books of 2024 (so far) by NY Times Book Review. Review by David Sheff: “A Mother’s Devastating Memoir of Losing Her Adult Son. In “Fi,” Alexandra Fuller describes the sudden death of her 21-year-old.”
Then I’d promised Fi his favorites—oxtail stew with grits and greens—as soon as I had an operating kitchen, my pots and pans unpacked. Also, baked apples, Epsom salt baths, peppermint oil foot rubs, hot water bottles, green tea, honey, lemon, ginger, and garlic in everything: I treat my children as if they’re faddish Edwardian lepidopterists when they’re tired, poorly, under strain. “I can’t wait to feed you properly,” I’d said. I’d told him how much I’d missed feeding him: all that gathering of ingredients, all those hours in fragrant steam, the piles of food, plates wiped clean. It grounds me to feed my children; they eat and I take root.
Selected as one of the Best Books of 2024 (so far) by NY Times Book Review. Review by David Sheff: “A Mother’s Devastating Memoir of Losing Her Adult Son. In “Fi,” Alexandra Fuller describes the sudden death of her 21-year-old.”