Posts made in September, 2013

My Wobbly Bicycle, 42

Posted by on Sep 25, 2013 in Archive | 19 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 42

My last swim was at 7:15 p.m. last Thursday, Sept 19th, water temp. 68, air 70. It was such a beautiful evening that even though I’d taken a fairly long walk with my uncle that afternoon, I decided to swim. It was supposed to rain on Friday, and I had to pack up and leave, anyway. It’s easier to leave in bad weather. It did rain. But it’s no fun to go in and out to the car with coolers, blender, food processor, boxes of food, clothes, clothes on hangers, my 10 lb. weights, lawn chairs to repair over the winter, wicker rocking chair to take to the re-weaver, computer, printer—pretty...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 41

Posted by on Sep 18, 2013 in Archive | 3 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 41

My few glorious days alone at the lake are winding down. This is the time of year that I try to beat my record on “last swim of the season.” The problem is that I don’t stay at the lake quite as long as it would be possible to swim. Sunday the air was 53 degrees, the water 64 when I went in.  It was actually lovely, if gray, and after a couple of minutes it started sprinkling. By the time I headed back, it was raining pretty much, the drops hitting the water and bouncing so that from water level, it looked like bubble-needles bouncing off the surface. Very lively and random.  An...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 40

Posted by on Sep 11, 2013 in Archive | 15 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 40

Last December I wrote, “The moment I heard the word cancer, I could feel myself cross a threshold, on the side now of those who know they’ll die.”  I’m reporting to you, after nine months, including a lovely summer, that it IS a threshold. One can’t cross back over it. Recently I ran across a poem by Chicago poet Debra Bruce (who’s also had cancer) that gets at this. Others are “snug in their skins.” She can never again even pretend ennui. “Fear’s rare air” affords a panoramic view. It is as if she floats above the everyday obsessions. Yet at the same time, she...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 39

Posted by on Sep 4, 2013 in Archive | 6 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 39

Our cottage is on the east side of the lake, with a lot of big trees, so it takes the sun a long time to hit us. Yesterday, sun reflected pink off the clouds, the clouds reflected in the lake. All this reflected in my eyes, which got in a sense reflected by my brain into concepts, language. So I am playing with the word reflection. Reflection is from Late Latin reflexionem “a reflection,” literally “a bending back. The lake allows a bending back, even when it’s wavy. To look into it awhile is to look back at your thoughts. And reflex,  what happens without thinking...

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