Sunday, April 27, 2014 

Quite a Saturday night we spent. Went to the Reading Symphony. Ruth came over to tend to mom while we were gone. When she first walked in, I wondered how she would do. Ruth is a feisty farm girl (and I mean that wholeheartedly) in her 80s, “who’s seen it all!” I wondered if she could pick up mom if she fell or if she herself would need help. No need to worry. Ruth had been around the block a few times and took over, while Rob and I dressed. Mom had had an explosive event just a few minutes before. In fact, she was just getting out of the shower when Ruth arrived. I forbade any further food until we got home. Didn’t want Ruth to deal with what’s going on internally. I know the cleanup routine and didn’t want to put her through it, too.

We arrived at the symphony in time to hear the end of the opening remarks and just as the conductor was walking out. Interesting night. Far better than I had expected. I am not a fan of the Russians (with the exception of Prokofiev). Opened with Glinka Overture to Russlan and Ludmilla (which I do fancy). Then the Prokofiev piano concerto no. 3 in C major. The Youth Orchestra (how I applaud their effort) did a creditable job on the Rossini overture to L’Italiana in Algeri. The pièce de résistance was the Tchaikovsky, As Rob noted, if he had been German, it would have ended with the Allegro molto vivace instead of the Adagio lamentoso. Even I—pianist and musicologist—applauded at the close of the Allegro. Couldn’t help myself. It was brilliant and fun! The percussion section was having a blast (or so I hope).

But even with thoughts of the symphony, I awoke thinking of Margie’s death. I awoke each morning as I do thinking about death. Tchaikovsky died of cholera—possibly self-induced—only two weeks after the premier of this symphony. Would I awake to find Lucy and Valentino OK? Would mom be fine? Is Rob fine? I live and sleep on the edge. I know how finite this life is. Margie’s death was one of the most immediate reminders. (That’s one of the reasons I bought the BlueStar stove—one of my favorite toys! And it’s one of the reasons why I had the basement organized within an inch of its life—although a basement can never be fully organized. Not while there are two or more people in a household.) I think also of Susan and Gary, who were taken by the same ruthless brain tumor. I think of my brother, who now owns a Maserati and sports the Italian flag as a tattoo. (Of course, he never told me. Cousins call with the latest information.) I think these are his BlueStar stove. We all have our toys. We know our time here is limited. So why not? I continue to study Japanese, using the Pimsleur Method. I love being able to study while I am driving. The night before last, I even dreamt about moshi yokereba (if you would like). In the dream, I was desperate to know what it meant. Can’t say my dream was in Japanese, but the language does invade in small ways from time to time.

Pups are still outside and Rob just got up. I can hear mom breathing softly in the next room. All is well this morning.

Later—

Loads of gardening later (beautiful day), received some work from a client abroad. Trying to meet a deadline. Mom is calling continuously. Valentino is barking because the boy across the street—who, by the way, was as drunk as a skunk the other day and addressed me as “dude”—is out on his darned skateboard.

Why is he barking?
It’s nothing, mom. Go watch television? Valentino, get in here!
Where’s Rob?
Outside mowing the lawn.
Can I sit with you?
No mom, I‘m working. I have a deadline to meet.
Oh. I thought…
No mom. It’s OK. Go watch TV.
Why is the dog barking?
Valentino! It’s nothing, mom. He’s OK. Ignore him. Get in here, Val!
I’m going back to work now, mom.

Back to work. Valentino is in my office. The boy is outside with his skateboard and with any luck, he will avoid the cars or they will attempt to avoid him. I surely hope he isn’t drunk on a Sunday afternoon, or ever again! Mom is watching television. Rob is still mowing the lawn. I am going back to work!