Rosemary climbed the stairs to the furniture section faster than I could, and when I arrived at the top she was sitting on an L-shaped sofa that was the color of amber, lighter than her own dark brown eyes which smiled at me as she bounced gently on the soft cushions. She patted the seat beside her in invitation.
The Kindness of Strangers: II (In Two Parts)
The new chemo drug seemed to be hard at work, doing its job. It was the side effects that were hard to manage. Rosemary had been, reluctantly, on around-the-clock oxycodone for several days. The pain in her shoulder had been with her for six months, increasing with the passing time. The MRI had showed it was from her cancer. [Click on title to read entire post]
The Kindness of Strangers: I (in Two Parts)
On my way home from the Farmer’s Market with flower and tomato plants in my wire cart, and more plants in bags hanging off each of my shoulders, I met a woman who lives on our floor. We stopped to chat. “Those should grow well on your balcony.” [Click on title for full post]
I can hear the protests in front of Borough Hall. I want to be there with them...
Memorial Weekend: Opening the Covid Door
“Come!” our friends urged, “We have fish in the freezer and we can heat up the pool. The deck is lovely this time of year. You can sleep in the guest room or in the den, wherever you would feel more comfortable.” It sounded so enticing. We hadn’t been anywhere in three months except to the hospital...
Missing My Mission
“What are you doing here?” my rheumatologist stopped short as she came out into the hallway and spotted me. It was early March and I was there for my regular check up. “My patients with RA have all cancelled and you not only have RA, you have this lung disease as well. This virus will not be kind to you. You should not be out.” [Click on title to read the whole post]
[Click on title to read full post] The east-facing windows of our new Brooklyn Heights apartment, on the 32nd floor look out across the expanse of Brooklyn and Queens, building after building. On the horizon, I can see the air traffic control tower at JFK airport, twelve miles away as the crow flies, more visible in some lights than in others. The horizon stretches north and south behind the tower in a long, flat line, broken here and there by a building that rises higher than the land. The expanse of Long Island lies in the distance behind.