Oh no! Not this! I trust this is temporary.
Well. I just ordered this. For myself. A small, three-wheeled thing. I don’t think I’ll need it for long, but I’m tired of using Jerry’s old rickety one. It is a matter of great consternation to me that I needed to order this—I thought by now I’d be dancing in the street, or some such, but of course the body never does what you think it should. I have an appointment for a cortisone shot which may end the pain. It’s probably a damaged nerve. Who knows? But the fact is, my back seems just fine now, but my left leg, from the mid-hip to the knee, hurts with every step.
Back surgery is a crap shoot. I had a Harvard trained neurosurgeon who I am sure did a very good job. It’s no one’s fault. This is what age teaches: generally nothing is anyone’s “fault.” The complicated interconnections do what they do.
In other news, my new venture: launching The End-of-the-Line Club, with all its ancillary stuff. I’ve scheduled the launch for Friday, June 12, at 6:00 at Artemis, the new bookstore in the Warehouse district of Traverse City. I want to support them.
I’m looking forward to getting this project together. We (meaning Howard, my managing partner in all this) and I are developing a monthly online newsletter. And a new website. (This one isn’t going away!) There are so many people my age who are contemplating the mind-boggling transition to senior residential living. I know it because I talk with them. I want to use my book, a diary of my own move, to add to their thinking about all this. To see how it’s been for others. To see how it can be.
I wrote the book for myself. It truly is a diary. I was not thinking of “using” it for anything other than to clarify my feelings for myself. I hadn’t planned on publishing it. I certainly hadn’t planned on using it to launch all this. But it seems like a good thing. I think it can help people. Particularly because it isn’t a how-to book. It has no prejudice one way or the other about senior residential living. It’s simply a record of how I felt at the time. It seems to me that that’s what I’d want to read if I were thinking of making this move for myself or for my own mother or father.
I can’t wait to show you the newsletter, but it’s not ready yet; neither is the website.
Back to my life as a writer, which I guess this Wobbly is about. In spite of this winter’s surgery, the long haul of wearing the large plastic carapace, and the residual pain, I’ve gotten work done. Which makes me happy. The last few weeks, nada, but that’s because I’ve been working on the other projects. Which brings me to the question—what is “work”? Even my nephew Kevin, who won a Pulitzer for his opera “Silent Night” is constantly busy with the ancillary work of being a composer. You have to do this. It’s part of the deal. You can’t just write. Or compose. Unless you want to just stuff your work in a drawer.
I said all this in the last Wobbly, which means I must still be trying to work it out in my mind. What’s new is this walker that should arrive today. Three-wheeled? I hope it’s safe enough. But it is very small and light, will fit easily in the trunk.
Also my physical therapist said I should get a three-wheeled bike this summer. I might actually do that, assuming I’m much better. My regular bike is languishing away in the garage at the lake. I have grown kind of scared of it, especially now that I have more metal in my back. t hasn’t been ridden in three years. I miss riding! I could even get an electric three-wheeler that would help on the hills.
The answer to the Sphinx’s question: "What goes on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?"
Got it.
The P.S. . . .
Put this in your calendar: Friday, June 12th at 6:00
Launch party and reading for The End-of-the-Line Club, Artemis Books, 144 Hall Street in Traverse City, (231-299-0345) 6:00. With wine and stuff.