Thursday night, we went outside and the sky was BLUE--at 8:45. A blue sky. Jupiter twinkled and twinkled at me. I don't recall ever seeing a star twinkle. Or a blue sky at almost-dark. Twinkling. I thought it was just a song. Jupiter. Winking. And the sky is brilliant blue just now and it's going to frost tonight. Mid-April. Dogwood winter.
Though I often think of writing, and sometimes hear writing in my head, I haven't really written anything. I will, I suppose. I will. And perhaps entire books will come huffing forth from the great billows of my head. Hopefully they will not sound anything like this.
I have, since last year this time, been concentrating on my body, been obsessed with its multitude of aches and pains. Its unreliability. Its great gifts. The flocks of birds in its arms the great body of water that holds it. That floats it.
In the last year, I have been diagnosed with a devastating digestive disorder. I have lost an enormous amount of weight. And now I am learning how to be what I once was. Leaner. Stronger. Fitter.
This has become an almost full-time pursuit. Becoming active, really active. It is a lifestyle change of enormous import. I don't know if I would have done it all if I worked full-time, still. I am trying to figure out how to work, full-time, at home. At the gym. Out and about in the world.
I bought flour today. I am going to make French bread one day this week. I have this huge Kitchen Aid mixer moldering away. I will put it to good use. Bread--I can eat bread. Just not too much of it. The butter of it. And I will cook Sunday dinner tomorrow, again. I can eat Sunday dinner if I make it. And I will. Meatloaf. Mashed cauliflower and potatoes.
The smoothies. SMOOTHIES. I am having one every day and my stomach has not rebelled. I am tolerating them well. I look forward to them. They are fresh fresh. They will, I believe, save me. I can't have Brussels sprouts. Or cabbage. Or green beans. Or salad. But I can have a great many things smushed up, pureed, and smoothies make that possible. Smoothies.
I went to the Sports Medicine doctor about my knees. The X-rays are sobering. He assured me that there is nothing wrong with the muscles or ligaments. He said, "It's all your joints. Let me give you steroid shots." So I let him give me the scary shots and the next morning the stiffness/soreness behind my left knee was completely gone. Then I had an awful reaction to the steroids. I felt sunburned and feverish and stupid for over twenty-four hours. Freezing. This morning I felt fine, recovered. Then, my left knee went wonky again. It is what it is. I will do what I can and everything I can for as long as I can.
I feel a sense of nagging regret, that I've wasted all this time not moving. Wasted fifteen years in sloth. Happy years, to be sure. But I could have been active. I could have been running. And jumping. And running. Alas and alack.
It's funny really. Exercising, getting to the gym and into the water is easy. Staying in the water a long time is easy. Moving all day is difficult and that's what it takes to be really active. My mother was really active. She moved all day and even when she wasn't moving she was sewing or actively reading. Canning. Whipping up three hot meals every day. Terri, a good friend of mine, is like my mother--moving and doing. But I feel a kind of guilt, even if I am moving. Because I'm not working and bringing home money. I don't have to work, but not working feels wrong somehow. So I will concentrate on making this home more homey. And more. Not that it isn't already. Homey.
And the writing. And the precious, precious darlings at the rest home. And church. My church family. And my family. They are dying, my extended family. One by one. This is what happens. Either you die or you watch others die and a lot of those others are the ones you love.
Now, least I get moribund, I will sign off. It's been a very good day. I've been up since four. I will try to make it until nine.
There isn't much in the