We wake and it is a new year, more than just a turn of calendar
page or tick of the clock – each new year bringing its own litany of changes we
can’t possibly predict or expect, and so, we hope for the best as we toss off
the blankets, make our coffee, and act as if all will be as it once was,
knowing it will all be different, only different in a way we may not be
prepared to accept – not number of resolutions can halt the new revolution that
makes time for us, or those that burn our world into turmoil We can only accept
it will occur and deal with it the best we can.
She hurt herself dismounting, a tragedy she caught on video, haunting images of pain that go beyond the physical discomfort. Whatever goes on in her life, this served as her refuge, a place she can return to where the outside world does not intrude, and on this day (after things went well for her last time) disaster struck, a moment when she nearly fell out of the saddle then on top of this ,her coming down too hard on an already injured leg, forcing her trainer to bring over something so she could sit on, to wait for the pain to subside long enough for her to hobble to her car for the depressing ride home. The silhouette of her seated and the pain so potent, I could almost feel what she felt though the deeper injury comes to that part of her that wonders what she did to have fate do this to her, and drawing back slightly -- will she be able to climb back into the saddle again. Is the injury that bad? Will she be brave enough to chance it again. Can she end...
Bright almost scalding light greets me this morning, although the temperature is significantly down from mid-80s yesterday. I’m not a big fan of bright sunlight. My mood tends to prefer cloudy, rainy days. But I’ll take what I can get. We’re in that post Easter time in anticipation of Memorial Day and the official start of the summer season. We’re planning a trip to Asbury Park again for the end of the week, and then an overnight up to Kingston for our semi-annual visit to Woodstock for some time between now and the end of May. Both places have become anachronisms, reflecting a reality that no longer exists – Asbury having lost nearly all of its blue collar credibility in its rush to embrace Gen Z, while Woodstock clings to what remains of a generation of love and peace. Since I have a foot in both working class and hippie culture, it makes sense that we would travel to these places, getting our glimpse of something rapidly fading. I’m also planning a day trip to Scranton...
When she closes her door, I close mine. I don't need a telegraph to get that she's upset. I'm too good at pushing buttons I don't know I'm pushing until way too late, and putting my finger in the dike after I'm already neck deep -- if not in quick sand this time, then just as scary, and so I stop, peer out the peep hole in my door to see if and when it is safe to open up again, if ever, not able to take back what's already posted, but halt the flow until she or someone else tells me its ok to wade out into the water again. 2024 journal menu email to Al Sullivan
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