July 2, 2008

  • I saw the Canadian.  We strolled through the woods, holding Starbucks instead of cocktails.  He showed me where their dog swam.  I followed him in the brilliant sun in a new kind of dance, not sure how close to stand.  We moved carefully, along the river’s edge, picking our way through the reeds and his story. 

    Remember the Black sax player and how his bride had breast cancer?  I ran into them at the hospital yesterday.  She was in a wheelchair.  I walked with them down to the basement for her MRI, and we made plans for me to join them on the 4th.  I’ll sit with her while he plays.  We have a big, four-day blues festival every 4th of July, and I’m pleased he was chosen to play that night.

    When I was leaving the hospital parking lot I saw three people holding hands across the street.  In the middle was the mother, flanked by her two boys in their early 60s.  When I was telling the oldest just now (she and the middle one are driving to the beach house), my voice broke as I lamented, ”You just don’t see that.”  She says they are taking me for a walk when they get home.

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