Posts by Fleda

My Wobbly Bicycle, 165

Posted by on Feb 13, 2019 in Featured | 19 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 165

It was a beautiful day. I wanted to get my father out of his tiny assisted-living quarters. I took him for a drive up the Leelanau peninsula. This is a poem from my new manuscript:   Not Dying   He says he wakes and it feels momentarily like he’s finally dying, a giving way, a sinking or hovering, can’t say, but momentary: a window swung open you don’t realize until a breeze.   I take him for a ride along the tongue of land, west looking east, looking back at the city from a point. Jet trails. He points them out, strung like necklaces, one fresh, with its glint out...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 164

Posted by on Jan 31, 2019 in Archive | 7 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 164

I was playing around with Google Earth, zooming in on the street I lived on many years ago in Arkansas (so changed!)  Then I picked my current Traverse City address and watched the pointer take off into the sky like a little red rocket, Arkansas grow tiny and distant, and I land, breathless, among the spires of the Commons, where we live. It’s dizzying. You land and fly, the earth rotates at your whim.   I get on a plane in a lull between snowstorms, wait on the runway while the de-icer circles and circles for what seems like 45 minutes, then several hours later I land in Cancun. It...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 163

Posted by on Jan 8, 2019 in Archive | 15 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 163

Yesterday we undressed the tree, old ornament by old ornament. We pulled apart the fake tree, bought five or six years ago from Brookstone. It’s held up well and is as pretty as a not-tree can be. We stuffed its million needles with its million lights into its large box, with its layers of duct tape. We put the box on the hand-truck and I pulled it to the elevator and downstairs to the car, where I balanced it so that it would pivot into the back (with the seats down) without having to do much heavy lifting. Jerry would love to help, but can’t. I took it to our storage unit (no storage in...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 162

Posted by on Dec 24, 2018 in Archive | 16 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 162

I remember series-wired Christmas bulbs, waiting in my youthful despair as my father crawled around on his knees, testing one after the other to find the bad one so the string would come back on. I remember bubble lights (same story), and large round pink lights (my grandmother’s idea of being contemporary), and then strands of tiny lights. Our current tree came pre-wired with hundreds of tiny white lights. Actually, we have three trees in our condo: the big one, a tiny one made of sticks, and a medium size one, a cone that I put baby lights on. Everything is so sparkly. And so dark...

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My Wobbly Bicycle, 161

Posted by on Dec 12, 2018 in Archive | 13 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 161

A few flags are still at half-mast for George H. W. Bush. Some of us didn’t like him any better than we liked Ronald Reagan. Yet as I listened to the tributes to Bush when he died, I heard them—probably you did too— foregrounded by the depravity of our current president. Now we see with different eyes. A friend reminded me that George H. W. Bush signed the Americans with Disabilities Act. Which matters to me personally. Jerry has needed, at different times in the last few years, a wheelchair, a walker, and a cane. I’m alert for the curb, the high step, the steep incline, the lack of...

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