Okay, here’s yet another post involving aging, what’s mostly on my mind these days…
I’m not sure quite when the discussions with our son about the need for a first-floor bedroom began. We’d bought this 1756 farmhouse twenty-six years ago, overlooking the stairs that were easily as steep as a ladder, lost in a blur of ardent love for this old house.
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The Surgeon General has declared the state of loneliness a national health issue. I read about this in my various news sources, and while I do believe he is absolutely correct, I haven’t felt very much aware of its applicability to me. After all, I have a loyal husband of sixty years, a caring son and his wife, three special grandsons, a sister and a niece, many wonderful friends, a loving black lab, an ongoing and fulfilling teaching and writing career.
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I gave a reading of my poetry two nights ago, here at the Virginia Center for the Arts, and it was incredibly well-received; there couldn’t have been a better audience. I felt great, the poems I chose made a good arc, and the discussion afterwards was excellent.
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I’m at a writing residency, struggling with what to write next—blog post, another poem? Just now I walked over to the kitchen, where we go to pick up our box lunches. I usually come back to my studio to eat so as not to be distracted from what I’m working on by the desire to chat, as there are always fellows (that’s what we are called here) there, but today I sat down and ate my tofu salad with A and C, badly needing the break of human connection.
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Even my fifteen-year-old Saab is in better shape than I seem to be these days. It only needs a visit to the repair shop once a year, when lately I seem to be constantly in need of one.
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