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2014-05-11 - 8:50 a.m.

glossa hosei puros

the poster at the railway platform advertised hospice and palliative care. "my wife's team was magnificent," said the image of an old man. rain beaded on his cheeks and rolled down his face like tears.

* * *

when i read aloud to my boss, he rests his hand in my hair. it feels like a songbird, warm and impossibly light. meanwhile, nora goes out to her healthy bones class and comes back with bags of prescriptions and groceries. i really cannot overstate how much i like this woman, all sharp angles and sarcasm and loyalty.

in the florida room, mignonne and her respite worker do some sort of fitness activity involving high kicks and hula hoops. the respite girl tries to shimmy her hoop up from the floor, but she is hindered by the volume of fabric in her patchwork trousers. nora says she looks like she's dressed for a grateful dead show, but i say no, she's so young that she's nostalgic for the 90s, not the 60s or 70s.

"the dead toured until 95," nora corrects me.
"either way, she was three years old then."
"you were just a baby, too."
"i was old enough to babysit her."
"touche." she walks away.

i am quitting my job. maybe i will keep in touch with these people in their bright, spare house, and maybe i won't.

if you close the book and set it down and walk away, can you forestall the inevitable? stories end in so many ways.

* * *

reading: the collected stories of deborah eisenberg.
listening to: hurray for the riff-raff - blue ridge mountain.
working on: preparing for another meeting.
in the garden: bottlebrush, blackberries, Deutzia and iris are all in bloom. i am consciously neglecting the poison ivy - the nasty woman who is buying our house can deal with it on her own.

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