It is literally 2 am and my arms are hurting from having spent the majority of the day typing in order to meet a ministry responsibility. It was punctuated with an evening meeting for a different ministry and a dinner of a Big Mac at 10 pm. Not my normal day and not one that is good for my autoimmune disorder and the pain I suffer from my fibromyalgia.
I am not sure what to write about today. Although I know the political situation is direr by the day, and I have “resisted” earlier on Twitter with all my might, I am tired of talking, tweeting and blogging about it at the moment.
I did have a thoroughly delightful conversation with a young mother who answered the phone when I called to make a Life Line screening earlier in the day. Since my maternal grandmother and birth mother both died of stroke – and my birth mother was only 4 years older than I am now when she died of hers – it would be a good time to get a preventive screening my insurance won’t allow until after I show signs of trouble.
Anyway, she caught the literary reference in my e-mail address right away, something not many people do. It led to a long chat about all things literary, my need to subscribe to the “Paris Review” and to explore Nabokov better as a writer. We talked about the importance of rearing children from an early age to love reading by modeling it for them through reading aloud and buying them as many books as they wish to have.
She shared stories about her son, who is reading Gatsby in the second grade, while I told her how my son is still an avid reader as an adult; about the six cases of bookshelves still in my home that belong to him and have no place in the smaller house he and his wife share; how pristine he keeps the spines of his books and therefore won’t let anyone else read them lest they bend them in zealous enjoyment of the story.
Oh, and we did finally get around to all the health-related questions and the setting of my appointment.
I have so many books on my Kindle that I have downloaded and have yet to read, not to mention several new volumes of Kennedy history I have yet to crack open. Most are political or historical in nature, although there are a few spiritual tomes and thriller-dillers I have to explore.
My fascination with TCM continues unabated. Last night I watched “Humoresque” before falling asleep. John Garfield as a sensitive, talented violinist with a few of New York’s rougher edges and Joan Crawford as a socialite who falls in love with him, this movie seemed a bit hackneyed. But there was plenty of wonderful classical music played, although my favorite is classical guitar. There is just something so lush, exotic and romantic about those tones as compared to the sound of a violin. Classical guitar is sensual and soul searing to me.
Since my fingers are going numb and my arms will now not raise above my head, I think it is time to quit and go to bed. I don’t know what movie I will watch or if I can even stay awake for it.
But despite all the pain, I am happy to have a day that has not been completely about Trump and Twitter and outrage. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow, I am sure.