Thursday, August 6, 2026

     For the last five years I am dealing with incontinent supplies. My life changes after my first of six surgeries, 5 years ago. The doctors and nurses say they can’t help. If they could cure it they would try, but maintenance, you are on your own. No billing code for incontinence support. I am permanently damaged.

     The large awkward cardboard boxes from Amazon arrive several times a month. And they are expensive. Nope, Medicare doesn’t pay. Hundreds of dollars every month.  Day and night I am aware of my bladder. My goal is to just accept this is my life now. I am alive and the cancer is inactive for now. 

     The fog evaporates by noon and the sun warms the deck.  Still, some breezes in the trees. One more sunflower blooming, a short plant with a small flower. But the tomatoes don’t know when to slow down as they fill the yard with gold and red small fruit. I can only eat so many tomatoes a day. The roommate cooks chocolate chip cookies. In the afternoon.

     The golfer and his grandson are here for a short visit. This morning, we are having breakfast at Denny’s, yea, my favorite place. And the young poet unexpectedly shows up in the evening. We don’t watch much tv. I am reading UNSTABLE, A LIFE IN WRITING by Michael Cunningham. A combination memoir and stories of what makes good writing.

 

Wednesday, August 5, 2026

     I am struck with this urge to buy something, anything.  I start moving through images on Amazon.  Maybe a stadium blanket. Not that I don’t have many throws already but I could use one that is shorter and fits me in my recliner during these cold mornings.  I check out dozens and finally just leave the site.  Instead I email a friend.  Really I just want a conversation with a friend.

     Later in the day between watching grim national news and waiting for the house cleaners to arrive, I am back on the computer looking at stadium blankets. And I buy one quickly before I change my mind. Anything to release that grip of desire.

     A friend comes by in the morning and we sit in the living room to talk together. Nothing special, warm friendly words and smiles. Later another friend drops off a sweet desert for us, and also chocolate donuts. The sun comes out by noon and the doors are opened again. The house is cleaned, I nap and life goes on. I wonder if I will ever recover enough to have a life outside the house.

     I finished reading THE SECRET SHARERS and start on Michael Cunningham’s new book UNSAYABLE, A LIFE IN WRITING. This book is better than I expected. In the evening, I watch half an episode of netflix new medical comedy BEST MEDICINE, similar to Doc Martin. Undecided on further viewing. We watch one more episode of THE CAPTURE, a tense mystery story. It is strange and maybe pathetic how important tv shows are to me now.

 

Tuesday, August 4, 2026

     After lunch I curl up on the couch under my blue comforter.  Images of the wind gusting through the yard fill the windows. I fall half asleep, in the strange world of being partially awake but not moving or thinking. Timeless until the front door opens and my roommate returns and I become fully awake again.

     So what is the dreadful August car week exactly. Mostly thousands of guys looking at cars, driving cars, talking about cars, showing off cars, desiring better more interesting cars, all while racing up and down the streets. It is not a sporting event or a cultural concert or a festival. It is about looking and talking about cars with other guys and spending money in local businesses. Maybe better than fighting wars or terrorizing our immigrant communities. The appeal is a mystery to me.

     I mention to my roommate that we are out of Ad Astra bread, the best bread in the world. Maybe she will have time to pick up a sourdough seeded loaf. Please, I say. And she does.  I am so lucky. I am limping in the afternoon. I suspect I was too aggressive with my chair exercises. Getting old is a challenge. We are now eating home grown artichokes and tomatoes.

     I am engrossed in the novel, THE SECRET SHARERS by Qui Xiaolong. More books are waiting. In the evening, I watch one episode of THE LAST SHIP while my roommate is on zoom meetings.  Then we watch more of THE CAPTURE, A British mystery story, complex and scary. We forget to take out the recycle bin for pick up. This morning my roommate is on it. Yep garbage day once again. Foggy cold morning.