Sunday, December 1, 2019
The Late Years Fifty-Eight
In its early time in my home, this orchid was so lively and beautiful. I need to help it live well again.
The Late Years Fifty-Seven December 1, 2019
Ever since I fell, almost two weeks ago,
life has been so different. I’m not quite
the same person. My left cheek is still
purple. I have one little sore on my right
hand, and one on my left. I sleep ten
hours at a time, wake so slowly. I look
at things as if to learn them thoroughly
and never forget their true nature. I
cover my legs with a warm, soft blanket
and wonder what will be next in my life.
My faithful truck has leaked all its
steering fluid so I can’t drive it. I’m not
in great pain except in my fingers, but
I need them for typing, even for thinking.
I sat with hundreds of other people last
June to hear Louise, my favorite author.
She has hundreds of fans, thousands. I
have my handful, but they’re all treasures.
I thought I’d be healed in a week, but
now it’s nearly two weeks. My faith was
dented, my confidence shaken. I didn’t
want to run, but my body did. I couldn’t
stop, only by falling. Yesterday people
kept helping me. The man at the collection
center did all my work. The young man at
the post office got my truck to move
forward. I had tried, but I couldn’t do it.
Then Tim found the leak, not oil, but
power steering column fluid. Now I can’t
drive it at all. I can call AAA to have it
towed, but who can be trusted to fix it?
What will help me regain my spirit? Resume
my real life? Be my real self? Tim was angry
when I wouldn’t listen to him. I said I needed
to talk to myself first. Will my plan work?