Oddments

In search of story


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Disconnections: June 1.18

I still haven’t figured out how to remedy this problem inserting photos in my posts. I haven’t yet turned to the folks at WordPress because I don’t even know how to ask the questions. I am darkly frustrated by the not-knowing.

Usually when I am frustrated I turn to my beloved outlets of baking or gardening or drawing or playing the piano or — I must admit — housecleaning. Doing is the antidote to stewing. But now I have something called CPPD. It goes nicely with my HHT, don’t you think, dear reader? If I live long enough, I’ll be a whole bowl of alphabet soup.

Many old people have CPPD but without symptoms. I have symptoms. To quote myself, PHOO. CPPD is incurable, its damage irreversible.¬†Mine is deemed “erosive” because of the bone damage. How scary is that? Bone¬†erosion? Now I cannot use my hands as I used to. This is as deep a disconnection as I can imagine. My hands have connected me to freshly baked cookies and fresh herbs and Bach Inventions and sketchbooks and fitted sheets tight on the mattress.

Taken with the osteoarthritis and osteoporosis, the CPPD gives me the image of a swarm of microscopic ants with my skeleton the picnic lunch.

When technology beats me up, when I hear of yet another school shooting or another holiday from truth, I want to grab a shovel or a spatula and DO something. Will the ants leave me anything with which to DO?

 


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Musings on place: January 29.18

Life in a new place has an edge to it. Every day taunts you with your confusions. You never choose right the first time: that first drawer or cabinet door you open is inevitably the wrong one. Whatever you’re looking for is somewhere else.

You mutter at the builder, who put the pantry next to the refrigerator. It is his fault that you put the eggs in the pantry and the aluminum foil in the refrigerator.

You are grateful for the handy little storage closet, but you cannot seem to navigate it without a ricochet off that lower shelf.

Then one week that edge seems smoother, and you wonder if indeed that is so. Are you really opening the right drawer the first time? Are you no longer finding the paper towels in the freezer? Are you actually retrieving the hammer from the closet without dinging your head?

You allow yourself to take a deep breath and acknowledge that, yes, there is the slightest sense of routine seeping back into your life. Yes, there are still things in storage and much more to be done, but there does seem to be a smoothing of the edge. Ahhhh….

And then, incredulous, you see them: ants! In January! On your desk! Did they hitchhike in from the storage unit? Did they come from outside, enlivened by those warm days last week? Do you care? No! You just want a cannon to blast them out.

You hear them snickering, and you know the edge is still there.

 

p.s. The black and blue of this post has some ironic meaning, I’m sure, but I have no idea why the two colors happened. Probably the doings of the ants.