13 March 2019

patience was never my strong point


We are a feather falling from the wing of a bird.
I don't know why it is given to us to be so mortal and to feel so much.
It is a cruel trick, and glorious.

Louise Erdrich

Also, ageing, growing old, watching the body fraying at the edges.
The lingering pain in your left wrist joint you ignored for the last six months suddenly explodes and another chapter of the endless story begins. Call it Road to Ruin. Or better still: Not Fair.
No cycling. No cycling!
Not now, with the first magnolia and almond trees in bloom. You want to howl like a teenager.
You start walking and come home after two hours exhausted and with blisters on your feet. Triumphant. Foolish. Your wrist is by now a swollen throbbing red lump. You tie an ice pack around it and ignore it because you will not grow old, ever.
At least not in spring. Not this spring.
You watch a Belgian thriller with another ice pack dripping around your wrist and while the detectives run through thick summer forests shouting in French, you whisper to yourself, two weeks, maybe three, green canopy, flowers, asparagus, strawberries, butterflies, birdsong.

X-ray tomorrow.


  1. Not in spring. Not this spring. Sending love.

    The Louise Erdrich quote adds to a series of beautiful coincidences (?) connected with birds that I am not ready to talk about yet, if ever. Thank you!

    I'm watching in the process of watching "Die Andere Heimat," which ties in with reading The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee, by David Treuer, and this:


  2. the arthritis in my thumb joints is still there but it doesn't zing me all night long anymore since we retired and I quit drawing or cutting stencils every day. it does still though after a session of model making. I read somewhere somewhen that a lot of elderly die in winter, usually after the holidays, just can't make it through another winter. can't hold out for spring. me, I'll probably go in high summer. just can't make it through another scorcher.

  3. I heard an interview today with an author named Adam Rutherford. The book he was talking about, which he had written, was called "Humanimal" and it's subject is mostly what differentiates humans from non-human animals. He noted that humans are aware of our mortality which is probably one difference. That some of the oldest art ever found contains mementos mori. I pondered this and wondered why on earth after all of these eons we have such difficulty imagining life without us. Or at least most of us do. My three- year old grandson asked me the other day why people want to keep living. He truly wasn't sure about this. And you know what? It was hard to answer. "We must like living," I told him. And I suppose mostly that's true.
    And you are living to the fullest and are a reminder to me to try and do the same. As you say, "It's a mistake not to." A two-hour walk is a vow of life. A test and a proof of physical self. Each step is part of a mantra which goes, "I am here, I am here, I am here."
    For me, at least.
    Yes. Spring. When that which appears to have died comes back with such startling beauty. And sweetness.
    Get that wrist x-rayed and then deal with what is what. (I sound so brave. I am not.)
    And enjoy every bit and bite you can. And I will too.

  4. This manages to be a hopeful post, even as I identify with the body fraying at the edges. We keep on. We keep on. Thank you, dear Sabine.

  5. I sat on a wall with a young one this afternoon. She gave me hope.

  6. Oh yikes. I hope the x-ray reveals something easily manageable. I'm glad you're seeing those hopeful signs of spring, at least!

  7. I love your stamina and strength. Spring, it draws us out no matter what our aging bodies say and then warms our bones in the very best ways. Hope the x-ray is fine.

  8. I think to be mortal and to be aware of our own mortality makes life bittersweet and I also think it's why humans strive so hard to leave something behind to mark their passage. I just finished up a quilt for my grandson this morning, something I hope he'll pass onto his own children long after I'm gone.

    A sore wrist sucks. What about a recumbent bike? Are they a thing in Germany?

  9. Beautifully written and conveyed. I really hate hearing about more restrictions in your life, though. My hope is it will be an easy fix. Not fair, indeed!

  10. I can identify with 'life fraying around the edges.' It gets a little more tattered every year as something else starts to ache or we find another activity we used to love that we can no longer do. I have to remind myself often to be grateful for what does still work. My eyes for instance. How awful it must be when they get completely frayed! Your courage and grit are an inspiration. I hope the wrist problem will be an easy fix and I wish you many more springtimes….