Late November. I think of my novel and how late November occurred more than once. I liked the idea of snow always being in the offing. And it snowed a lot in that book.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. My mother is in the nursing home, and will be there till the end of January, they say. She has an infection in the bone where the decubitis ulcer is located (on her sacrum). She is devastated, thinking she will have to stay there forever. We tell her that's not so, that she will go home. She's too vibrant not to.
So, that is hard. She will be there for Christmas and New Years. Such a damn long time.
Theresa is making the Thanksgiving feast, but has little room in her apt this year, so me and Evie will get delivered food from her when Melissa is on her way home. Can't wait.
Me and Ev are now just hanging out on the bed, me writing, her drawing one of her Ladies in Hats. Bordeaux Red.
There's a clock on 86th Street that plays bells now and then. I can't make out the tune, though.
Going into my second week off chemo. I feel a lot better. It starts up again monday, the 2nd. This will be right about the time I'll start losing my hair. Sort of the face of cancer, isn't it? Nothing much I can do about that.
I have a precious online friend (for some 15+years), who is a knitter, and she's making me a couple of hats. Can't wait to see them.
Bought myself a couple of bandannas already. It'll be a whole new thing covering the head like that.
Evie probably thinks I am writing something profound here, as she adds color to the page. She'll say "Well, it was sorta profound" after hearing it, knowing she's pushing it. Ha ha.
Wishing you all the happiest Thanksgiving.