Sunday, March 30, 2014 

The Duckster called me yesterday. (That would be my dear friend Donald.) He wanted to know what I could tell him about blood type O negative. Very unusual in a black man. I am O positive (I am sure about the O part. Not sure about the positive part.) Anyhow this led us into a discussion about foods we can and cannot eat. Back to the book, “Eat Right for Your Type.” Tough to imagine anyone saying that the Duckster and I should eat beef and liver and kidneys. But there it is. To assuage my conscience and put me on the right track, I made pumpkin soup. Quite good. Added fresh rosemary and thyme and had it with my stracotto (Italian pot roast) and organic peas. Am going to join the Rodale organic coop (the Agriculture Supported Communities [ASC] program). Can’t wait. Should be less expensive than going to market for whatever I can find. The produce I will get from ASC will be picked just the morning I get it. Am so excited. I will be putting the VitaMix into gear again; however, so many of the fruits and veggies I ate last summer are verboten for my blood type. Whatever will I do with some of the fabulous fruits and vegetables from the farm? Oh well, I am sure I will manage.

I need to find out what my mother’s blood type is. Want to help her along, too. She is currently hearing the telephone, a new feat. And it is a feat, indeed. She usually cannot hear much of anything. There is a matter of her not listening—she being so accustomed to not hearing. But now, she shouts for someone to get the phone, tried to answer it herself, but does not know what buttons to push. The phone rang today while I was editing a long manuscript. Had to renumber hundreds of references in one chapter—a very tricky proposition. This entails printing out, highlighting, searching, re-reading, checking the refs themselves, and renumbering the refs by hand on a manuscript page. (This all presupposes that I am working without an automatic renumbering system as preferred for publication.)

While I was doing this painstaking work, the phone rang (it seemed unendingly) mom shouted out to get the phone, the dogs “rang” the bells at the back door to go out, and I lost it. “Stop it! I am in the midst of complicated work and need to concentrate!” I did let the dogs out, but I did not answer the phone. And I am certain mom did not hear me. She was wrapped up in the angst of the moment—a lost telephone call.

Finished the editing, gave mom some pumpkin soup and a little bit of dark chocolate. She’s in bed now, but is going through her routine of bathroom visits. Mom does not go to the bathroom all day long, but in the early evening, when she finally rests in bed, she gets up around 3, 4, or 5 times—in a row. You no sooner remove your gloves and wash your hands, than she is up again. Why can’t I get used to this? Will someone, someday feel the same about me? (Will she ever stop this nonsense? Why doesn’t she finish the first time?)

Living a long life has very little to recommend it. You lose your freedoms little by little—working, driving, gardening, cooking for yourself, cleaning your home, cleaning yourself, feeding yourself, walking, remembering—until there is nothing left of you. It’s a death a day. You remain a shell of the person you used to be. A body, albeit with a soul, seeking nourishment from someone, somewhere, a little kindness, help, a tissue (big thing for mom—she cannot be without them). What happens to those of us with no children? I would hardly foist myself on my nieces who have their own lives and their own children. No, I shall have to live as strong and as healthy a life as possible, work to the end, and keel over and die one day. “Have you heard: Aunt Sandy dropped dead the other day—just like that! She was listening to Beethoven quartets when it happened. She didn’t want a funeral. Cremation only. Wants her ashes to be scattered in the Schuylkill and the Delaware Rivers. She designated a neighbor to do this for her. Thank God, I wouldn’t have time to go up there and do it myself.”

Dear Reader, don’t be upset. I will probably be of a completely different mind tomorrow. Nonetheless today, I am wearing a gorgeous kelly green turtleneck from Aunt Nao. Mom likes it too; although, she is having trouble remembering who Nao is. So it goes on and on and on.

Hey, I am hankering to hear Marilyn Michaels do her musical impressions. Like me, she was one of Dr. Alexander Klahr’s students. Off to YouTube!