June 28, 2026
Frederick the Great’s flute concerto on the radio. It’s different now that I have stood in his palace and seen his flute.
Leg issues continue into morning. It might be getting better. I made it upstairs to my office, and am in no pain now, but when I get up, go downstairs to make coffee, it may be different. I think it’s the same arthritis issue that immobilized me at Reems Creek years ago, though hugely less painful than then. Yet waking, having to take a morning piss, realizing suddenly that you may be immobile (wasn’t, but there was a moment of deep fear), puts intimations of mortality and vulnerability into the heart. I have taken haleness and freedom of movement (however ouchy) for granted. if I were truly immobile nobody would look for me until Iris comes to clean house on Thursday. She would find the door locked, go home, send a message that the door was locked.
Danny was hospitalized with a leg infection, and though that has cleared, he tells L that he can’t live alone anymore, and her project is to find him a nursing home. Evidently he barricaded himself in since Eileen died, fearing to live alone, fearing to let anyone in, like Domitian rattling around in the Golden House.
In my feed was a story of a 16 month old boy who was killed when police, speeding to apprehend a robber, struck his parents’ car. A video of his first birthday showed a bright-eyed, happy kid, laughing at some antic of his father. I leaned over in the chair and howled, uncontrollably, longer than I thought I could. His mother on camera tried to express her grief. It was like a dark tunnel, stretching from her heart into the universe, limitless, inexpressible. I used to grieve and abominate the right things, but until old age I never actually felt them. This is a great gift and blessing. I am the Vala Nienna. I am Rachel weeping for her children.
