The Fourth

Sometimes—okay, all the damn time—I need to listen to my body. Yesterday I’d planned to do a big (for me) walk in the early morning. I still need a chaperone, a just-in-case spotter so I texted Jen at 5AM (of late, we’ve been going out at 5:15) to give her a heads up on my readiness. At 5:10 I texted again—nope, I’m not quite up and at ‘em, how about 6:30 instead. At 6:30 it was raining but supposed to quit by 8:00. Finally, I got my ass out of bed, donned my duds and we were off for walkies by 8:30.

I barely made it down to the seawall, said nope, not happening today, turned me and my rollator around and slothed my way home. I didn’t even do the elliptical later AND I took not one but TWO naps. I guess I needed a day off—I hadn’t taken one in a week AND I’d had quite the active week at that. On three out of six of my exercise days, I clocked over a mile and a half—a first. YEA me!

Ten, busy at the grill

I’m now wondering, how much of my exhaustion was due to those four in two years mega neurosurgeries (from which I'm still recovering), proton radiation and chemo and how much can be laid at the doorstep of age—I'm not, after all, a kitten anymore. How much is due to the time of year, the anniversary of The Amazing Bob’s second, final death? Could my double nap Monday have roots in all three?

Yup, probably. It seems like there are few things in life that have a single, clear cut origin.

Nice thing about this whole late-loss-of-hearing (I was 46 when my auditory system hit the road to nowhere), yesterday was the big Neck-wide Independence Day party. Our normally quiet neighborhood was, to all but me, loud as fuck. On top of rando fireworks being set off, the health center up the street hosted a big, well-attended decorate-your-bike party. I can’t hear them anymore but, apparently, kids are still rambunctious and noisy as all hell. Also, annoyingly drunk adults. Huh.

TAB used to spend July 3rd and 4rth in his study blaring Louis Armstrong while reading and/or writing poetry. The 4rth of July, with all its triggering booms, bangs, kids and drunks was always exquisitely hard for him. Viet Nam memories. Is it just chance that he exited stage left on this much despised holiday or was this his ultimate poetic statement/performance. If I believed in the basic after-life fairy tale, I’d visit a medium, ring my good man up and ask him. He went out with a bang and explosion of color.

Jen took me out for my early (6:30AM) walk this morning along the rubbish strewn seawall. It, honestly, wasn’t as crapped up as in previous years (I imagine the large police, after dark, presence may have had something to do with that). I don’t understand litterbugs. Were these polluters raised by overindulgent, tiny brained parents who neglected to teach them respect for the environment and those of us with whom they share it? I imagine so. They should all fall into a Death Star garbage compactor. Okay, I can name a whole slew of asswipes who also deserve this fate, starting with Coca-Cola Company, PepsiCo and Nestlé who are ranked as the world's top plastic polluters for the 5th consecutive year.

I  want to be bioluminescent like a crystal jelly or a firefly squid. I think that’d make up for having lost TAB AND my hearing, wouldn’t it? No, probably not.