I shot baskets for 40 some minutes this AM before my regular exercise routine. My legs are still (7 hours later) feeling all of those jump shots. At one point I made 8 foul shots in a row. About which I felt inordinately proud. Of course, I subsequently missed a lot more. It was fun. Even. Though. My. Gams. Feel. Like. Lead. I must say I love the sound of a round orange ball whispering through a net. It's especially sweet when the spin on that swish is such that the ball makes its bounce back to you at the foul line. Oh, yeah. The old guy was enjoying himself this morning.
After exercise I grocery shopped, came home and put things away, carried/walked/fed our ailing dog Cassie, ate a small lunch, went to the bank and then settled into the recliner and watched Godard's Film Socialism. I love Godard's work and am gearing up to soon watch his Histoire(s) du Cinema.
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All of my various writing projects are at frustrating stages right now. I'm realizing that while I'm trying to do Appearances it might not be possible to write poetry and that's making me feel funny. Also that several interview projects are stalled is giving me pause. Sigh.
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This has been a strange winter thus far in NE Ohio. Last year winter was relentless. We've had a few big snows this season, but none that have stuck around very long. So far, at least. 10 or so weeks to go. We'll see how it plays out. I could do with a milder winter for a change. The big rain yesterday created some leakage issues in our basement. I could do without that. Living in an 112 year old structure has its issues. I get anxious about what might go wrong next.
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In addition to my legs being tired, my eyes are tired. Since I retired a month or so ago I've been reading at least a couple of hundred pages a day. All kinds of things. One of the books I'm deeply into now is The Journals of Spalding Gray (Knopf, 2011). I'm really moved by the psychological nakedness in these journals. Gray was a person of great courage and a tremendous sexual appetite who was possessed by huge anxieties.
Haunted by his mother's suicide, he eventually killed himself. Not to say that there's a simple equation there. Far from it.
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I know I've been neglecting this space, but it's never far from my mind. I am determined to do better by you, my babies.
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this morning's walk and i was replaying in my head clips of spalding gray's magnificent film of his monologue SWIMMING TO CAMBODIA directed by jonathan demme. i must've watched that film about 100 times. one of my favorites. i was at a loss to learn of his suicide. tho there is much anxiety in gray's work, and awkwardness too, one can never know the torment that lies beneath the surfaces. i never knew the man, but for his work, but i miss him all the same.
ReplyDeleteTom, I think of you all the time there, being retired. It makes me happy to know you are doing it and obviously doing it right. I'm so glad you don't have to go into those sad spaces anymore. It gives me authentic joy.
ReplyDeletelove,
Rebecca
Thanks for your good wishes, Rebecca. I think it is quite a stretch though to say that I'm doing everything right. Far from it.
ReplyDelete