The Lost Manuscript: part two :^)

        

My writing teacher, who is also my current editor, has advised me many times not to post any part of my second novel on my blog. "It will influence you when it's not good to be influenced," she says.

I'm not sure about that. Perhaps because 500 double spaced unedited pages have already been written. And perhaps because for me my blog is a safe haven where people I respect can say whatever and I appreciate that.

So.

Here is another excerpt from the found manuscript of the book that's taking its own sweet time. This is the first person story of Casey Mango, a middle aged, intelligent, confused, at least slightly attractive woman with an equal capacity to soar and sink, sometimes simultaneously:

Joyce was an imposing woman: six feet tall with soft chocolate skin and body language that said, ‘proceed at your own risk.’ The only person of color in the office, she was extremely bright and clearly guarded. Her laugh was rare but deep and infectious and I got a kick from the challenge of wearing down her wall of resistance.

“Come on, Joyce! Be my friend!” I’d tease her. 

We met in late August at Brant Rock in Marshfield at a casual restaurant on the beach. My marriage was rocky. It was dusk when we began our shared appetizer of cheese fondue and jet black when we finished our shared chocolate cake. 

“How about we walk on the beach?” Joyce asked me. I remember how the moon bounced off the incoming waves, one string of light after another, silver ribbons. We walked to the shoreline and sat beside each other in the sand, the tide stopping just inches in front of us. At that moment and not until that moment, I knew this was a date.

We saw each other two times the following week and the next time after that, at Joyce’s apartment, sitting on her bed, she tossed her fists in the air.

“I can’t control myself any longer,” she said. I knew what she meant.

 That first time Joyce and I made love I experienced the first real orgasm of my life. I’d had no idea. It was a rush and ecstasy that carried me out of my body and straight into the cosmos. Shortly afterwards I understood that my passion was apparently triggered by women and knew I was in love with Joyce, who was also in love with me. I stayed with my husband for another six months, carrying on a deeply satisfying and often guilt ridden affair with Joyce, until one evening, buckling under the weight of boredom, I asked him for a separation and he reluctantly moved out the next day. 

Joyce and I would continue to shake the planets for the next two years, sometimes two, sometimes three times a day, everyday, until it became clear that I had not removed my husband’s clothes from the bedroom closet and I could not bring myself to ask him for a divorce. Joyce hung in with me through my short lived affair with a young blond California surfer guy; she patiently moved in with Grace and me for several months, and then, just after Jimmy Carter lost the election, she left me for a woman she had met at work.  I never saw it coming and I was in full disbelief for weeks and months and then years. I’d never doubted Joyce, not for a second. 

That’s what happens, I think, when you grow up believing you can bend your will. 

Your comments and feedback are welcomed and appreciated. But don't tell my writing teacher. 

:^)

love

kj

The Lost Manuscript...

I cannot believe that I somehow lost the working manuscript of my second book, including the first hundred pages of the most recent second revision. It just disappeared from my laptop. I had a paper copy of some of those 100 pages but not enough to easily reconstruct, rewrite really, all over again.

It was very unlike me not to have a backup. I know I wasn't careless about saving the manuscript with these recent edits. I looked in every file and every program for it. I wondered if it was meant for me to give up and move on. 

This will be a more difficult book to publish than it is to write. It is often too close to home, and it could/may/will be hurtful to some people I love. I told myself I would not decide what to do until I finished the book. 

Then: two nights ago, while playing Words with Friends on my iPhone, the manuscript popped up. I swear this is true. It just appeared. I immediately sent myself an email copy and guess what? When I opened it, the copy I received was an older version. I can't explain any of it. I will only say that from my iphone I managed to copy-paste pages 60-100 and they were the most important. The next day, on my iPhone, the updated copy was no longer there. 

Anyway, here is a chapter, where sometimes pathetic Casey Mango and her partner Bee vacation in Italy. 

Chapter

Bee and I and the tour gang are traveling to Pompeii.

Considering that the city was partially destroyed and buried under up to twenty feet feet of ash and pumice when Mount Vesuvius erupted in AD 79 what we see is remarkably intact: it is the bones of a mud crusted bombed out city with roads and marked lots and some standing buildings. Pompeii was lost for nearly seventeen hundred years before its accidental rediscovery in 1749 and since then, excavation has provided extraordinary details into the life of an ancient city.  

Because the Roman legal system that govenerned Pompeii unified the administration of justice throughout the provinces, the empire was largely free of large-scale power disputes. This alllowed art and architecture to flourish along with commerce and economic prosperity. This is not to say, however, that women and slaves benefitted; not even. From our first step into Pompeii, now one of the most popular tourist attractions of Italy with approximately 2,500,000 visitors every year, the ‘power over’ male aristocracy is apparent. Bee and I are fascinated and then appalled by the cave like entrance to the sex rooms frequented by the city’s wealthy men. Upon entering we see mud calcified walls creating separate spaces for makeshift straw mattresses and with explicit diagrams of various sexual positions etched on many of the interior walls. 

“The merchants and governors visited the sex rooms often, then gorged themselves with food and drink, and then, on their way home to their wives and families, they would stop to relieve their indulgences at one of several vomitoriums.” Our tour guide describes this quite matter of factly. “Then,” she says, “the slaves would clean and maintain the vomitoriums every day. Being a slave was very difficult: their average life expectancy was barely twenty one years.” 

Bee and I are disgusted. When we look at a the petrified body of a young male, now encased in a glass enclosure, his arms in the air in his last moments to protect himself from volcanic lava, we are speechless. We are looking at a young man who had a literal shit life. Covered by nine feet of ash, as his body decomposed, he and others apparently left a perfectly formed hollow in the ash. Historians injected the hollow with plaster, thereby recreating the position of his body, including his terrified facial expression.

“Jesus Christ, Bee, can you imagine being so misused that he would have probably died before he was even an adult?”

Bee looks very serious. “We are so lucky, Casey. Sometimes we don’t know how lucky we are.”

Pompeii is now a calcified city. Although the roads are crusted mud it’s clear they were impressively organized, leading to separate areas of banks, merchants, and elaborate homes for the privileged ruling class. There are few physical structures, of course, but it is not hard to have a sense of how the city operated.

At the time of the eruption, this was a wealthy Roman trading town, famous for its fish sauce and grand villas.  Although there was a day’s warning and many residents had time to flee, many did not. The eruption came fast and furious, lasting nineteen hours. Pliny the Younger, circa A.D. 97 to 109, documented the terror: 

"You could hear women lamenting, children crying, men shouting. There were some so afraid that they prayed for death. Many raised their hands to the gods, and even more believed that there were no gods any longer and that this was one unending night for the world."

Mt. Vesuvius erupted with superheated ash that also rained a fiery death on several Roman cities nearby. But none was hit harder than Pompeii, which was buried in a thick layer of broiling ash in a matter of seconds. The ash killed over a thousand people instantly and buried the town nine feet deep.

Wealthy Pompeians had poured their savings into their houses.  The sophisication defied belief: rooms heated by hot air running through cavity walls and spaces under the floors,  hydraulic pumps providing running water.  From a great reservoir, water flowed invisibly through underground pipelines into drainage systems and into aqueducts supported by arches. 

Now, beneath the layers of the muddy ash  a snapshot of everyday life emerges, complete with bank receipts, graffiti, "for rent" signs, public mosaics depicting extremely graphic sex, and penis decorations on street corners.  Outside one shapely building on a main street in Pompeii, Bee and I see this piece of graffiti: "Hic bene futui," or "Here you'll get a good fuck.”

I motion to Bee to look at our tour mates, Roberta and Ellen, who have also just come across this translation. They are almost doubled over. Ellen winks at me and I know we will have a good laugh at Maria and Eddie’s kitchen later that night. 

If you've made it this far, thank you very much.

Love kj

WTF?

Crazy times, crazy world. I will never understand how this human planet can so advance scientifically and technologically and not learn or grow an inch when it comes to resolving conflicts and respecting differences. 

Here at my blog I am having a bit of an identity crisis. I am a counselor and a writer and a teacher. All of that is what I want my blog to be. But I am a daughter and a mother and a partner and a friend too, and surely there's room here too for my personal large and small triumphs and troubles. 

Surely I want to tell more stories and write more poems. 

The last few months have been a whirlwind of surgery and high finance and worries and (thank god) simple joys. My blog and my writing has taken a back seat:

What can I tell you?

Of course the world is turned upside down:

Wars and worries wear thin

Even though the seams.

But the sweater of my years is knitted tight,

Weathered wool that softens and warms 

The prickliest skin.

I’ve worn this sweater at every turn,

Even through the nighttime shakes;

Until then, never did the chill

Overtake me.

But lately until then is too often still now

Although I am better. 

And this I know:

with better comes hope

And hope is the earned warmth

Of days to come.

With love

& together strong,

kj

Intense

 I don't know where to start. Probably the breakdown. 

1. Jess was sick and I was driving to her house to help out. At 7:30 am with no warning, on the Massachusetts Turnpike, with a speed limit of 65 mph my car died. By died I mean the steering wheel locked, the brakes locked, I had no flashers or tail lights. Thank god the traffic was just starting to down because of a backup into Boston. 

I could have been slammed from behind. Easily. Some guy appeared at my window and with a screwdriver in hand, he opened a small shift box that unlocked my steering wheel and allowed him to push me to the break down lane, where I waited for 45 minutes for the Turnpike Authority to send a tow truck. I waited while cars sped by me on two sides. 

I could have been slammed. Easily.

I'll condense the rest: I had to pull myself up to and down from the high tow truck cab six times. I am recovering from knee surgery and still using a cane, still in physical therapy, still stiff and still sore. It was a bitch. My car was taken to a Toyota dealership not near my home and they told me my battery died because a cable line to the battery had corroded. They told me it should have been caught during my regular servicing. I still have to deal with that.

I could have been killed. That's what I think.

I picked my car up late afternoon, paid and turned the starter. Dead. 

I'll condense the rest again. Rental car. Two more days. Defective NEW battery. Replacement. Driving cautiously.

2. I spent two heartwarming days this week with my daughter Jess, baby Reese, Mike and the boys. Lovely though still limping. Damn that. This recovery is two steps forward, one step back. I have another month of physical therapy and I hope hope I walk better and further every day. I hope no more tow trucks. I hope Jessica's return to work this week, after 12 weeks of maternity leave, goes well. 

3. This is a view from the couch of our modest lovely new house in Provincetown by the sea; currently a vacation home but one day...maybe a move there. We have sold the condo in town that we needed to sell in order to buy this house without losing our financial shirts, and we finally sold in the nick of time. We close this Friday. Friday night JB and I will have dinner at the Mews, heartily toast and appreciate, and then we will hang pictures in our new place. 

3. I have a good friend--her name is Lori--many of your know her and adore her many talents. She knitted this for Baby Reese. I wanted to cry when I opened this gift. I have great friends. 

4. Ah Mohegan Sun Casino. I am a slot machine addict. I don't know why that is. If I break even I think I won. JB patiently came with me to unwind for a day. Why unwind? Did I mention my knee rehab has been challenging and limiting and my sleep is most nights disrupted and we're not sure we're going to be able to help our dog Chase be healthy and happy and I'm so shocked by the violence and uncivility in the world?

5. There's more. But there is also good. My family. My daughter and her husband. My darling grands. The sea. Fall in New England. Good friends. A yard that's been neglected all summer but is still fertile and loyal. 

6. BTW: I found this on Facebook. A rubber hand filled with Halloween goodies. JB and I are going to make these for our little guys. Steal the idea: isn't it cool?

7. The new house: nothing fancy, right? And yet JB and I are giddy about it. This week the brick steps are being repaired and restored, the shutters and flower boxes are being painted Ben's gorgeous Nova Scotia Blue, and the overgrown rose bushes and giant neglected shrubs will be cut back and pruned. Every small repair is a dopamine rush.

8. I so rarely talk about Logan. Mr. Ryan and no-longer-baby-Drew and now sister Reese get a lot of my attention and words. Logan quietly observes. He is now two and is stringing three or four words together--sentences. Logan is a happy boy. I love him. 

9. As I write this, the United States government is readying to shut down. Disgusting, this congress. I am thinking about what I want to do, can do, should do, might do, to make the world more to my liking. I believe many many of us need to find one another and support one another as a modern day underground railroad. Surely peace becomes us.* 

* from social justice singer Holly Near

10. My friend Anne has died. I am so very sad. She handled her illness and life incredibly. I will write about Anne and my loss, but not now. 

I still hope I blog more regularly. I want to. I also hope you are each well. Happy new season.

love

kj

Where (How) I Live: Western Massachusetts

morning coffee

the park next door

downtown

the farms

Stella: rescued, loved, missed

when there were just two.. 

health costs: the most expensive dog we will ever love 

Please don't misunderstand. My life is not as lovely as the people and animals and space around me. I complain as much as I appreciate. 

But....

Where (how) I live is beautiful and peaceful and full. One day I will not live here anymore. Then I hope I will look back on this farmland and college town with abundance. And if I'm smart enough by then, I will know that my ability to be happy comes not from these gifts that surround me, but from within me.

I am every age I've ever been and every place I've ever been.

love

kj

Pondering Time

 I am clearly in transition. 

Nine weeks after knee surgery with several months of rehabilitation ahead, twelve weeks after leaving my structured (and loved) job of five years, ten weeks after the birth of an unexpected girl granddaughter named reese, six months after incredulously and miraculously buying a real house in provincetown, five months after putting our condo on the market thinking it would sell in a week, and two weeks after finally getting a offer, therefore plugging a scary financial hole...

After all this, I seem to be settling down: the knee pain is less, I'm moving better and more, I'm not so tired, and I'll be damned: I'm not working! I have some time. 

Here is a quick tour of my summer to now:

I took this tonight driving home at night. This is my town center. To me it might as well be the 1950's. There's an easy pace to living here: a college vibe but this is farmland.

On the other hand, this is the new house in provincetown. A HOUSE! For years we have been in a condominium situation with difficult neighbors, so to have our own place one block from the bay is very incredible. But look at this crazy driveway; even one car cannot fit straight into it.

I could not be at the beach all summer. But one day in late august, I opened the hatchback of my toyota rav, while JB sat in the sand, and i took this in. Right in front of me...

There is a place on the back road in Sandwich on Cape Cod called the Jam Kitchen, a part of a nature center.  There are 20 burners that make dozens of different kinds of jam that then sell in the gift store. We bought raspberry.   It was great. 

And what am i doing these days? I'm not sure, but I seem to be thinking about how to do this gently. 

I hope many of my friends and visitors will be back on the blogs. I've been a bit absent and I hope I post more often. 

Because facebook be damned; I love it here. :^)

love

kj

My Favorite Poem I've Ever Written

I am surprised but I just about if not actually cry every time I read this. I am pretty proud of this poem. 

love

kj

Astonishment:

If I were dying tonight,

Lying in my bed with plastic tubes and half-filled bottles

on the small table nearby 

and bedpans and oxygen there to diminish any shame, 

Perhaps forcing my breaths

with the strength of a desperate parent

who implausibly and frantically lifts two tons 

of mangled steel off a broken daughter—

If I were dying tonight and I wished to tell you

What will astonish you,

I would tell you this:

Be sure to notice white flowers in the moonlight, 

Because the softened glow is like no other.

Appreciate the lingering scent of garlic on your fingers, 

Because healing is possible from that alone.

Tell the truth when it matters least

Because then you will be sure there is another honest person in the world.

Always spend the extra money for dimmers

Because light that builds in intensity and then gently fades is 

 good for your spirit.

Over and over, ask yourself, “What is the lesson here?”

Because then you will forever be a student and never a victim

Never believe for a moment that the world is going to hell

Because you only need to love outside yourself to know better. 

If I were dying tonight, I would tell you all this

Because astonishment is brethren to curiosity,

Which leads to observation,

And dedication,

And finally appreciation.

If I were dying tonight, perhaps there would only be minutes,

Perhaps only seconds, 

To tell you that I will leave with all the love

I have ever felt, and ever given.

I will take it all with me, tucked under my angel wing—

The accumulation of grace from every breath I have ever taken.

Here’s what’s astonishing:  I will also leave all that love behind, 

It will be imbedded in my daughter’s stunning light and my partner’s quiet 

courage,

It will guide my friends and coworkers when the layoff comes. 

My brother will remember how I tried to do my share

And Joey will find someone else like me to help him tame his fears.

Even the woman at the grocery store that day I let her go ahead of me—

will remember how we were both comforted from that simple act.

If I were dying tonight, I would also tell you

That within, under, because of, and from the little moments 

Comes all the wonder and astonishment you could ever hope for.

The little moments that aren’t so little.

I would tell you to let those moments astonish you.

I would tell you this because it is all you need to know.

Vacation Time

I am finally back in Provincetown. With JB and Chase. In our new sweet house. I'm walking with canes. But walking better. And the ocean is everywhere.

JB and I are here for one week and a day or two. We got an offer on our condo and my surgery is behind us, so we are trying to get back to  relaxing--not always easy. Boy the world is a mess. Syria and Egypt and Miley Cyrus on stage in her underwear, and racially, even worse. 

This is not a typical  time in Provincetown. We have moved from a quiet location one block from all the action to the quiet East End on a busy street. That, and I cannot walk far. I should say that the folks at physical therapy say I need more patience because I am doing really well for 7 weeks after major surgery, but I don't like being impaired walking. And I'm uncomfortable with some degree of pain most of the time. Maybe so for another month or two. 

Tonight lounged on the couch we passed JB's IPad back and forth, resulting in this drawing. This is an app called Making Paper 53.  I learned about it from Silke's blog. It has paint colors and different sizes and functions of pens and pencils and paint brushes. And an eraser. All easy peasy to use and fun to create drawings and doodads. And then to store them.

Plans for tomorrow:   breakfast

                                  read two chapters of my book aloud to JB (could be difficult)

                                  work in the little yard weeding and pruning

                                  go to the provincetown pool and lounge and bob

For me, it's been a quiet summer on the blogs. I have an unsettled feeling that Facebook has made the blogs less essential, and I hope that is not true because I love blogging. 

Best wishes with love

kj

Moist

Some time ago I stopped writing poetry. I am not happy about that so this is about that.
love 
kj

Where is that well of words;

gurgled streams moving

through the right and best place,

a channel for my brand

of perplexity and observation?

Those words used to flow

 sputter and drip too;

they'd drench me with the chance

to rightly see--

A waterfall it was, 

no effort just gravity; 

just my keyboard,

and feeling fingers.

I stopped writing water words:

now I think but don't record

and I don't know why. 

But I still turn to the the waves and trees.

and I still try.

I know this much: what yearns

Is just the whether

of a waiting sky.

Thoughts About Family

I noticed something a while back.

When I talk about my family, I mean JB and Jess and her family.

When Jess talks about her family, she means Mike and the kids. 

I could be sensitive and sometimes I am. Jess is number one to me (forgive me JB, please understand) and I am number six to her. That is the normal arc of the circle. I know that when I am needed, whenever there is big news, I will be sought and I will be there in a flash. I have not achieved true elder status yet but I do think my daughter is proud of who I am. 

But look at her and look at Mike and now their four children. This is a happy family. This is all I could ever want and hope for for my beloved Jess. Too often I struggle with questions like do I spend enough time with them? Do I help enough? Should we move closer? Too often I find no answers, but when I look at this picture, taken two days ago on Logan's second birthday, I know the best use of Jess' day-to-day and my day-to-day is that we rejoice in our collective well being, whether the physical distance between us is near or far.  Because we will always find one another at the big moments and in the little treasures. I am sure of that. 

I love this girl and her family to the moon and back. I would step in front of a moving train for any of them. Jess knows that and that has nothing to do with anything except abiding love. And I know, even at number six, I am equally loved in return.

I am so lucky proud. 

love

kj

A Dog Named Chase

He is the size of a deer. He has a seizure disorder, a broken ankle that was never fixed, he's missing half his teeth. His medication costs more than our monthly electric bill and has to be given every twelve hours, meaning either JB or I are up early each morning and have to plan ahead for his evening dose. He howls like a wolf several times a night, waking us from a sound night's sleep and he turns his head when we try to give him treats, even chicken. Until this week, he has refused to do his business while on a leash, requiring major planning whenever he is anywhere but in our fenced in backyard.

JB and I did not sign up for all this when I had a dream about a dog named Chase and then there he was on Petfinder, Chase, a six year old retired greyhound who was lucky to be rescued rather than put down. I do not like having a dog who must be on a leash when not in a fenced area because, we're told, he will hit 58 miles a hour in four strides and has no knowledge of traffic and no nose to find his way back home.

The howling has been almost the worse, but Chase's aloofness is the hardest of all. We have been trying to woo him with soft words, body rubs, cookies, comfort. Sometimes he will make eye contact but most often he barely moves. Sometimes he sleeps twenty three hours a day, at least four of those hours the effect of his seizure medication. He will not come when we call him, does not play, rarely wags his tail. Sometimes he just stands there, ignoring us. 

BUT.

Dear Chase,

We are noticing differences. We can see that you are trying. We are so happy that we've finally found cookies that excite you, that you come for them when we call you. We are so happy you like being scratched under your neck, and don't think we don't know that you are looking at us more; that you come in the den and stay with us each morning while we have our coffee. 

This week you traveled with us much more easily. Thank god your bathroom habits have become more flexible. We know you like routine and it's unfortunate you ended up with a family who gallivants more than stays settled. But we'll try to be your routine; us and your dog bed. 

You cannot continue to howl at night. A dog behaviorist has made suggestions and you do seem to be doing better. We can handle one howl a night until you figure out you don't need to howl at all. We know you lived in a crate 23 hours a day when you raced, and probably many other dogs howled too. We know you have not had a close relationship with a person or a family and that living in a house with people is totally foreign to you. We know that you have had to learn to live and cope in ways that we cannot even imagine. 

Yes we have wondered if we are the right placement for you. Yes the greyhound adoption agency would take you back without question. But no you are not at risk of being sent back. We want this to work.

And this week, for the first time, it seems like you want it to work too. We're glad.

Love from

us your family

For Deborah xo

This is Reese. She is one month old. I am highlighting her for my friend Deborah, who has a little grand girl of her own and whose family has been unfairly targeted by fecking cancer. I hope she makes you smile, Deb. 

Reese is the fourth child of my beloved and only child, Jessica. From age seven, Jess grew up in a two Mom household and I would have bet all my riches she would never have four children. Reese has three brothers, Mr. Ryan 6, No Longer Baby Drew 4, and Logan almost 2. 

We expected a fourth boy. It has actually be a shock that Reese is a girl. Which is interesting.

How petty to admit it's partially about the clothes. Boys' clothes are really boring; I'd be surprised to hear much disagreement about that. Already I've bought Reese a fall knit dress even as I lay on the couch nursing my new knee. 

But it's more than just the clothes. I've worried about my daughter when I am too old to take care of her. I've looked at her boys and I've guessed it will be Drew who will care for her most and best when she is old and needs care. I look at the situation with my brother and myself and I thank god there is me to tend to our Mother. Forgive me because I know there are exceptions, but we girls get it better: we understand nurturing and care giving and we seem to accept what is needed and expected. 

So I am glad my Jess will have a daughter.

But not just that either. I expect I will do different things with Reese. Maybe not. I imagine simply by nature of being a girl that she may be calmer than the boys. Maybe more interested in spending time coloring and cooking and going through my jewelry box and not as much physical rough housing. I KNOW I may be wrong here; I really do. But still, it feels different. 

Reese's two youngest brothers kiss her every morning and evening, want to hold her, speak softly to her. Do they react differently because she is a girl? Will they wrestle with her in the same way? And will they tend to protect her in ways different from their bonds with one another? 

Don't get me wrong. I love these boys. Adore them. Every year JB and order their pajamas for the year. 

It is the most fun thing. Mr. Ryan via his Mother sent us a photo yesterday. He was excited to try on his new pajamas. 

Last year just about this time I bought Mr. Ryan a big boy camera for my birthday. It was quite an event: I took him to a camera store and a very nice man taught him some basic instruction. I told him this is something he and I will do together for years; gallivanting and taking pictures. At the time Jess politely said to me, "You can't be serious that you bought a real camera for a five year old?"

Well yes I did. Last weekend Jessica told me, "Wait until you see the photos Ryan took at the beach--pretty amazing." I am not surprised. This will be one of I hope several assets he will carry into life which will help him feel competent and curious. That's what assets do: they build up your self esteem.

I am so glad.

 

Love

kj

Where I'm Not

I am not here.

Hanging these fab party lights was the last thing JB and I did before we left the new house in Provincetown and before I had surgery secretly praying that I would wake up the same me. 

This is the longest I've gone without the urge or push to blog. It must be because I've been home recuperating and I am without my normal tools of camera and pen. Instead I've been sleeping and bending and slowly reading the daily paper.

This is about to change. This week I will see the surgeon who will tell me I can drive again and I will forego a cane for my own stiff knee and physical therapy where there is an exercise bike and weights.  Tomorrow I will write again. I have sixty pages to pull in shape for submission to a certain agent I want to pick up my novel. I want a $ 5000 advance and I am envisioning that happening. :^)

Ah but this deck in Provincetown. I cannot believe this will too be part of my life. 

I stopped work just before this surgery and for the first time in my adult life I will have no schedule I must keep. I have a consulting gig I can do at my own pace from home; I have a novel to finish; I have a garden that welcomes me anytime. I have a family and small children who live two hours away. I have worries and chores. But I also have a clean clear canvas. I don't know what I will do. I can easily find myself staying close to home, staying inside all day even, and I know that will not be good for me. I'm a social sort. I like contributing and I like attention.

I'm glad to be posting this tonight. It's a good sign for me. I'm just about off the heavy meds. Last night I made soup. Tonight I emptied the dishwasher. I've taken a shower. Normal life. 

Normal life. This is my current worthy grateful goal and I'll be fine if it turns out to be anything but normal. 

love love

kj

My Life On Drugs

I am on my third week of oxycodone for pain control and I have some observations:

1. It works

2. Best to avoid provocations of all kinds, to or from my direction

3. I am ready to reclassify two friends for inattention to my present circumstance. I may or may not give them the option of explanation

4. What's wrong with being a little confused?

5. Most people would know I mean biscuit when I say that bread thing.

6. Oh is that why I'm so sensitive?

7. Yes I will wait on that list of grievances until I'm off the meds--but it's still a good list.

8. So now I know not to cut down the dose so abruptly.

9. I may on occasion repeat myself.

10. It works.

Hello there, I've been sick for the past few days to bodily complications (the nurse called it 'the bashful bowel) but today I'm on the mend again and have graduated from using a walker to using a cane. To use similar medical terms, my knee is a bashful bender. 

I promise I won't write post after post about my surgery and rehabilitation. I wish these oxycodones wanted to write poetry but no; so far they prefer reruns of Judge Judy and Words with Friends at 4 am. I have been discouraged for a few days but I'm back on track and practicing walking on uneven ground. Which by the way I should have plenty of experience with already :^)

love 

kj

Thursday Thirteen etc.

 JB, who is weary enough taking care of me and handling all the chores around her, is standing at the bedroom door at 3 am. She is holding a half dozen metal hangers and is not happy.

"I can't sleep. I'm going upstairs."

'Okay," I say.

I toss in bed for ten minutes, fretting that she is exhausted with a work day ahead of her.

Then I remember we don't have an upstairs. 

An actual hallucination: the oxycodone has gotten to me.

I've begun to wean off the stuff. It's made me sick and I'm unreliable. There is already an increase in pain but not too bad. I'm rounding week two and still better than expected.

_______________________________________________________________________________

I haven't done Thursday Thirteen in a long while. So why not tonight:

Where I was in the hospital

Where I wish I were

Wishes for a friend's hot heavy move this weekend

Thanks to Liz who stayed for three days and tracked down the drugs

When I think of my father

Instant smiles = zinnias plus salt and pepper shakers

Where I gave it up and asked to move on

 When love just is (JB and my Mother)

When the kitchen got remodeled

When three boys and one girl was just two boys

When I forget

Where I love

And where is Emily?!!

love

kj