Reader, are you there? I haven’t been posting, because I’m so busy clicking and clacking everyone else’s wonderful blogs, and teaching writing, and laying down on the floor in a faint because of the workshop’s wondrous voices, and other stuff too. Did I tell you it’s been hot, ugh, hot? The older you get, the more you feel it.
Generalized statement. Once, when the earth was young, I was born in the Village of West Roxbury, Massachusetts, and I had a twin, normal weight, and we were born in the Boston Lying-In Hospital –part of Peter Bent Brigham (not the ice cream place) or something like that. I was 4 pounds so I stayed, and Liz, my twin, Elizabeth Deegan Bradley, went home at scheduled time. I was a 4 pounder named Esther Graham Bradley. We completed the phrase “4 children within 3 years.” My sister Mary Ellen Bradley (Meb) was above us and John Williams Bradley a little older –they were Irish twins.
Six months in our career beginning in Dirt City we had whooping-cough, so bad, that Children’s Hospital took us for free. My father was an economics major from Harvard, but was out of work. In September, before whooping-cough, the Hurricane of 1938 swash buckled and swash bent houses and boats, and the lights went out in West Roxbury.
Somehow we survived, and we grew up, fraternal twins. Long story short, Liz, (everyone else called her Elizabeth) died at 68, in Idaho, her family near her. I have written about this in my book You Carry the Heavy Stuff (a series of essays, poetry, range of depth, and range of writing voices) (Lulu.Com and Amazon.com and Author’s Garage (smile). Liz was born 12 minutes before me. Today, as I was brushing my teeth, I thought, what if 12 minutes could be viewed as a day a minute.
I decided I have at least 12 years to hustle and get my gritty, well I’ll be a yellow-bellied chuck wagon prose out on the page. I may last longer, but I do have aortic valve replacement, blah, blah, and blah, blah, blah – get the full story when I’m 92.
Friday, I went to Nordstrom’s with a good friend who uses Clarens Products on her skin.
She had 2 free facials, and gifted me with one. It was heavenly, an adventure, and we had lots of catch-up and laughter and old friends’ perceptions to toss at each other over a divine green as green could be, and red as red strawberries could be, and blackberries, and coated sugared pecans, and, and, and we started out as she went for the first facial at 11.30.
Reader, I think I made it home by 6.30 or 7.00 p.m. to my waiting Bill. It was glorious, and the next day my skin, my face, was as soft as a baby’s butt. I have good skin; don’t know why, and Pam, the skin care specialist, asked what kind of self-care I did, and what I used for my face, because it was great. Reader, I said, “I throw on water, rub it with a towel, and hit the road.” It’s worked so far. But September 29, Janet and I are going back to an adventure at Nordstroms – she’s picking me up at 6.3o a.m. at the end of my driveway – I’ll blog about it.
Sunday, my wondrous daughter-in-law Laura wasn’t feeling well, so Nico, Nicholas, Nick, my 6.5 son came up; Janet of the famed skin care story met us at the restaurant, and Bill and I rode with Nick to a Greens Restaurant on Colorado, near Vromans. Excellent and not overly pricey.
Then, the plot thickens, as my waist would in a parallel universe. I have never gone to Fosselman’s Ice Cream, open since 1919, http://www.fosselmans.com/ and I decided to try it. Nick had a map drawn by Laura, and Bill, myself and Nick headed towards Alhambra, via Los Robles, long, some winds, and took a right on Main, got a little lost, took a U-turn, and there is was on the right hand side. I must tell my friend and encourager, our friend and encourager, Steve Pulley, who originally told me about Fosselmans being the best ice cream ever. I grew up going to Bailey’s in Boston, downtown Boston, once a year, and Brighams on the side, and used to be so skinny I could eat all the ice cream sundaes I wanted.
I had 2 scoops of heavenly vanilla ice cream, lots of fudge sauce, delicate, strong, and marshmallow – something I called in my high school years, a “vanilla, fudge, marsh,” and because I had a good lunch, good slices of beef, nor normally eaten, I felt okay.
Today I awakened and cooked stir fry, Tofu and Veggies, as the days of ice cream and splendor are coming to an end. I then took my hefty gift certificate to Vromans in Pasadena, the best independent bookstore around, and bought 2 more writing books, and 3 memoirs I probably won’t see in the library.
Reader, tomorrow I will be 74, and for the most part I thrive. I thrive I think because of my Faith, Mr. Bill my husband, my pal, may laughing buddy and snuggler, my kids, his kids, our grandkids, my Faith Community (Baha’i Faith) and all those incredible people in my workshops and in my expanded blog life. How lucky can an old gal get?
So I just thought I’d share this. I am very happy at the moment, and indeed, grateful for all I have.