In all of this sudden natural disaster of my health, I have many small glimpses of wonderfulness.
From time to time I look at Emile, or Lucy (photos, she's still living in the paradise of her cousins' attention) I see such beauty that it's as if the sky has split apart.
And I see just how deeply I love my husband, and my sister, and all of the many other people who are sharing their love and caring with me right now, reaching out and wielding human kindness in a way that I didn't know was possible.
And I have a new bike helmet. Which means that I am biking.
I biked five miles from therapy today, along the cesspool that is Allen's Avenue, and I was nevertheless pleased.
Hot, but pleased.
Some of my life's finest memories involve my bicycle. Biking to the library as a kid, by myself, to escape the insanity of home, along beautiful streets and through beautiful parks. Biking along the Charles River, one hour each way, to get to work, and biking along the French coastline to get to a a farm in Normandy where I would spend the next six months ostensibly cleaning out blackberry brambles, Sleeping Beauty style, but really just reading 40s crime pulp fiction, eating Nutella, and painting landscapes.
Bicycles are freedom, for me.
Of course, I suppose this is the good thing about having let my driver's license expire by TWO AND A HALF YEARS.
Driver's test August 8th. Must remember not to bump bumpers while parallel parking.
Wish me luck.
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