Four years have been swept away in the twinkling of an eye. This is odd, you know, since I seem to have been here all along, writing posts now and then, pontificating and musing and drolling and trolling. Nonetheless, one day a few weeks ago, I looked around on my website and found a vacuum between 2014 and now. Apparently I have been in hibernation. My web guy, who designed and takes care of my lovely site basically as a favor these days, his interests being elsewhere, was as mystified as I. He tried to pull it back. Did you know there’s a program that can find old versions of things posted? You can take back the past. Yes, but it’s a random capture, and not much was captured. He was able to mostly rebuild my home page and he’s put back in the books that have come out since then. Apparently the server he was using had failed to update its security and there was a hole in the dyke. Through it poured the return of my hair after chemo, Jerry’s two back surgeries, his hip replacement and the ensuing miseries, my studies of Black writers in preparation for interviewing Nikki Giovanni, and so on. I DO have these in Word files, but rebuilding the posts is more work than I’m willing to do. After all, what am I, famous or something? After my death, maybe some diligent and earnest graduate student can retrieve them from the Cloud, if he or she is desperate enough for a dissertation topic. 
This all makes me think. Everything makes me think. I am stuck at home while Jerry serves his three-months' sentence after "revision"(that means it failed the first time) hip replacement. So instead of hiking or getting anywhere-the-heck-out-of-here for a while, I am thinking. That is, I am thinking between/during grocery shopping and cooking and cleaning up and washing and folding and cleaning the litter box and helping Jerry bathe and dress, driving us to appointments, taking my father to appointments, and doing stretches to help my tendonitis (any wonder?). 
As the glorious northern summer rips by at warp speed, I am thinking of time and the perception of time. Where did the four years go? Were they an accumulation of dots along a continuum, of blog posts, or books? How narrow. Humans, in spite of our huge intelligence, have a truncated range of sensory perception compared to most creatures. Then we close even that in, to fit our preconceptions. It’s big out there. So, I am thinking about the width and breadth and depth of those four years, that still exist and no longer exist, depending on how you look at it. The older I get, the more complex things seem to be. 
Wally’s nugget for today: “Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.”
My Wobbly Bicycle, 152
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