Posts by Fleda

My Wobbly Bicycle, 151

Posted by on May 16, 2018 in Featured | 6 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 151

It’s 16 steps from our dining room table to the kitchen. Jerry prefers a complex mixture of dry cereal, granola, nuts, dried cherries, banana, and milk. Both of us also like cut-up fresh strawberries and blueberries on our cereal. Both of us like orange juice. I eat cooked oatmeal with ground flaxseed and yogurt. Plus, there are our vitamins. It’s all up to me. In the first week of Jerry’s convalescence I clocked more daily steps on my Fitbit than before his surgery.   Necessity, however, is the mother of invention. Why have I never thought of a tray before? I can load it full...

Read More

My Wobbly Bicycle, 149

Posted by on Apr 25, 2018 in Archive | 5 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 149

Reading Jeanette Winterson’s Art Objects shifted something in me. I’ve been sitting here a long time beside Jerry’s hospital bed. Generally, hospital-sitting makes me numb, or, rather, attentive basically only to what needs to be done at the moment. One thing after the other. People come in, people leave. Things have been like this a long time, or rather, time after time. Which is why you haven’t seen posts much lately. There’s a particular energy that has been missing, or, rather, used as fuel toward bare existence. This is all fine, but there comes a time—and this is what...

Read More

My Wobbly Bicycle, 56

Posted by on Jan 8, 2014 in Archive | 22 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 56

Hair! What a kerfuffle humans make of hair, as I wrote last year when it was all falling out. A week ago I went for my first haircut since what, December 2012? I regretted having even one of the precious dears trimmed, after the daily effort I’ve expended urging them to grow. But when hair comes back, it’s like baby hair, all different lengths, which encourages wild disarray. Still, it’s all curly-wild and probably will be until there’s enough weight and clipped ends to settle it down. It’s as thick as ever, for which I’m eternally grateful. And then there’s the issue of color....

Read More

My Wobbly Bicycle, 55

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

My Wobbly Bicycle, 55

Christmas day, snow falling feathery, heaped. Deeply comforting. No sharp corners. It’s stunningly beautiful and one of the reasons we live here. If I could put my skis on or even go snowshoeing, that would be nice, but there’s this hip pain . . . . I did shovel a little, shame on me. Jerry’s recuperating from his back surgery, so we’re not going anywhere for a while. I love stopping. I love that in general, having an excuse to hibernate. I love that about poems, the way they stop. I love the lyric impulse.  When there’s stopping, things burst their seams. We have no family here....

Read More

My Wobbly Bicycle, 54

Posted by on Dec 18, 2013 in Archive | 34 comments

My Wobbly Bicycle, 54

Tonight I brought dinner to Jerry at the rehab place where he’s staying (Do you have any IDEA how badly some of our elders are fed in these places?). We watched an episode of HGTV (yes), and I cried when the man with five children whose wife had died sold his house so he could send the children to college. Trap # 1: the word depression. It only confirms itself. At the moment, okay, instead I’ll say the atmosphere around me is blue-black, and seems like a bass cello; no, I’d say an oboe, except that I’d see Sonia the duck in Peter and the Wolf.  So like me, smiling at the duck while...

Read More