The Beauty

Suicide is, after all, the opposite of a poem.
—Anne Sexton, Paris Reveiw

The beauty of routine is lately I am waking at 3:40 AM, ahead of the alarm. My New England neighbors are up early too, driving off in the dark. The health club next door opens at 5 but I won't go that early. In the late afternoon I am delirious with exhaustion. By 8PM I am barely able to keep my eyes open

I always plan my dinner while I am swimming. Last night it was boiled wide egg noodles (my ultimate comfort food because I think of Grandma). I threw 4 gigantic peeled and sliced carrots into the boiling pasta water. We ate our bowls of carrot and pasta with fresh tomatoes that a neighbor down the road gave us.

I just read Anne Lamott's new book: Small Victories and I loved it so much I had to stop a few times to jot down notes. Now I feel sad that I'm done. Maybe I'll start it over again. YES, it was that good. Thank you Anne Lamott, my inspiration.

We are bracing for another storm. I better get the pears today from Robin's tree! I have a stack of cardboard boxes and buckets.

My bathtub is full of apples. Maybe I can make apple schlumpf for a neighbor in need.

I am thinking about the narcissism and subsequent denial in my family and how it destroyed so many lives. A suburban house of cards!

The Wrentham nuns have sheep and send off the wool to have blankets made and sold in their gift shop. Their chocolates are a booming and automated business. They have to wear hair nets booties and smocks over their clothes just like the cheese makers.

I saw Mike yesterday in the lobby, after his hand surgery. He's all bandaged up, his arm is covered with gigantic yellow foam that has holes in it like Swiss cheese.

My fingers are damaged so I have to become more ambidextrous and resume my right handedness.

The man in the pool said his 5 year old son loves the water too but he can't come swimming because he has a hole, a tube in his chest from cancer treatments.

It's Friday.