Michael dropped Bee off on his way to his dentist in Mexico yesterday morning. She brought great bags of things with her for the cancer center….she’s still winnowing out clothes she doesn’t wear. Her feet are a little smaller than mine, and she’s changed her lifestyle so she now wears a size ten. Darn.
Art, we talked art. She’s doing bland, abstract backgrounds with hyper-realistic inserts. This is going to end up with some truly knock you out stuff.
After they left, phone calls rerouted the poetry group to Kennett’s ending Marion’s leadership. I disintegrated into misery and depression. I ran errands with my leaking eyes driving up to pick up Marion B’s poems to take them to Kennett’s house for editing.
“Do you want me to come up?” I asked calling up to the top floor.
“Not necessary,” she replied down the stair well. The poetry notebooks were by the front door.
I stopped by the Discovery shop to drop off Bee’s things and the rubbing of my eyes made them worse. In a blur I drove to Kennett’s, and still thinking about Marion, Terry, Janie, and Lee, I drove home determined to sidetrack my thinking for a few hours.
I read all afternoon stretched out in my chair, I ate stretched out in my favorite chair, and upstairs, I took the book and stretched out unthinkingly on the bed while reading and watching the last years’ season finale’s of both NCIS’s. This morning, the thinking is stilled for a while.