I saw my new doctor this week. Only in his thirties, very good hugger, honest and fun. It is a good match where he insists on first names only and could answer all my questions as well as respond to my many observations on aging. He sincerely hopes he can fill Teresa’s shoes to some extent. I like him and look forward to the next time. When I asked him if I needed to sit naked except for a tissue draped over my shoulders, his response was, “When someone needs to look at the private area, a woman doctor will come in with a female assistant.” I replied, “Good, that saves us both some embarrassment.” I asked if he was going to tell me not to enjoy the alcoholic beverages so much, his reply was, “You are 81 years old! I see no problem with continuing with whatever you have been doing.”
Yes, new doctor is a very good match!
So I went out to celebrate and ordered a Manhattan at a different bar and got some writing done while staying for a pizza as well.
I liked the bartender and it appears the feeling is mutual. He is just enough crusty with an intuition of when to just serve and walk away. His girlfriend is the bartender at another favorite place. Who wouldn’t want to sit a spell in this place?
This is a new basil drink served in a rocks glass minus the rocks. Both bartenders know not to bring me drinks with stems unless it is wine. Then dinner of a quickly consumed crabcake followed by this special of crispy eggplant rolls in marinara.
You’d think I was a food editor with this blog, but no, just an update of my socializing this week….enjoying my own company and those helping me do it. And a very good thing is that the second place has a lovely young girl waitress who is an artist. So her and her bartending mother will come over soon to go through art supplies I am never going to use again. So many papers for book arts going unused! I like her quirky mixed media drawings and am happy to pass supplies on to her.
Also this week, I decided to drop out of both my poetry groups. they have become too large and offer little in good critique. Mostly it becomes a discussion of where to go hear and read poetry, where to market, where to pay for advice, etc. So, at my age and having limited patience, I am staying home, doing more writing and occasional private protest art to hang in my garage to photograph and post. I am trying to fill the vast void of old fashioned artist protest art seen on FB.
And almost everywhere I look is a scene or person begging to have a story made up, written down, and put on pages.
Today is laundry day, so time to take things from the dryer to put away. The yard is watered and a friend is bringing me his PBS series of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. I remember going to the theater to see the movie a few years back and being totally captivated by the burnt umber hue of the entire film.
Well, that’s it for now. I will leave you with the latest simple poem that made me ask the question about using the “F” word.
The Watch Reads 2:09 S. Webster
I am going to write
something.
It’s the middle of the
afternoon.
My mind is coming up
blank.
I need a full, complete
sentence.
But all I have is one
word.
Over and over and over
again.
So I say it out loud, then
louder.
Until the watch reads
2:14.
And then there is this:
And this: A Chinese pain spray a friend gave me that is supposed to really work. I will save it for the occasional charley horse.
Aren’t you glad to see me sign off!!
Til later….