dual personalities

Once again I was reminded that I am approaching 65 and that I don’t bounce back from things like medical procedures the way I used to. It took days to recover from having my port taken out! I spent most of Friday napping and the few errands that daughter #1 and I ran on Saturday wore me out. Just call me Oldie Hawn.

But we watched The Quiet Man (1952) on Saturday night (St. Patrick’s Day approaches) and I stayed awake through the whole wonderful thing.

The Quiet Man is another one of those movies we can recite practically in its entirety from memory (and with an Irish brogue) and to whose location we have made a pilgrimage. Monument Valley is next on the list of pilgrimages, but who knows when that will actually happen, what with the goal posts of COVID restrictions being constantly moved.

The wee babes did not come over as usual on Sunday night because their other grandmother has returned from Florida and her presence in town takes precedence over all. I do not begrudge her this, but it was still disappointing. The OM was all set to barbecue! C’est la vie. (See John Wayne’s face above.)

In order to get out of the resultant Slough of Despond, I did not watch a movie from my lenten list, but instead watched Uncle Buck (1989), a go-to anti-depressant for me.

I felt better (and thinner).

Now it is the beginning of a busy work week. Zoom meetings galore. Onward and upward.

*But having sailed some time ago
into the quiet cardigan harbor of my life
out of earshot of the siren songs
that lure men onto reefs of foolishness
not to mention the bridges of bravado,
it’s enough to let the soap bubble
of that Hank Mobley thought drift
slowly across the living room and burst
with no warning, much to the amazement of the cat.

Billy Collins