Pressed

Panini, by kattebelletje on Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons

It’s been a while. I didn’t do my customary post on Young A’s birthday. He’s seven now, although I think he’s still shedding some of the skin of six, like the molting snake we saw in the Reptile House at the Bronx Zoo last week.

The boys were off school all last week, and Young A’s birthday turned into a marathon, multiple celebrations that involved meatballs, Lego, the circus, sushi, bowling, and finally, tomorrow, at long last, culminating in his school celebration, which is done in the Montessori style, with revolutions around the Sun and singing and a photo from each year of his life. There are so many photos now.

This morning I was up early to make it to a mammogram I had scheduled for very early. I’m starting to assemble a rough Timetable of Medical Hours. Anything from about 8 p.m. through midnight is the time for a medical emergency. From midnight through about 5 a.m. is the province of childbirth. Starting around 5 a.m. is the time you report for surgery (such as gamma knife). The diagnostic testing hours begin around 7:30 a.m. (although that feels a bit early) and run until about 11 or noon, at which point you take a lunch break, imperative if you fasted for the test. The afternoon is a time of dental cleanings, and that takes you (with a break for dinner) back to the hours of the ER. Obviously, any of this can happen at any hour. I’m just trying to have a little fun.

Going for a mammogram is hardly a blip on my radar, but I find myself nonetheless kind of blue today. A fellow melanoma blogger in Australia, the author of the hugely popular Dear Melanoma, is out of treatment options, and is moving on to palliative care. She was diagnosed at age 22, and is now only 25. I’m so sad and angry. Anyone getting less of a chance at life than I have had sends me there. Her advocacy work on behalf of melanoma patients — particularly in a country where there is such a high incidence of the disease — is worthy of praise. How I wish there were some hope for her, some eleventh hour reprieve.

I’ve been trying to make headway on various projects,  but sometimes things pop up to the surface unexpectedly. There’s a song I’ve been listening to a lot lately and I just decided to try and learn to play it on the piano (and sing). My years of classical piano study did not include even a moment of training in this area, so I’m winging it, asking J questions… and trying not to cry. Something about sitting at the piano and playing and singing at the same time is making me cry every single time. Now, I do love a good cry. Just not when I’m trying to make music. I happened to notice the chord sequence of the song includes D-E-A-D repeatedly. Odd. (J says it’s a pretty common sequence in popular music.)

It’s another warm spring day here, and J and a new musical partner are working on stuff in the living room. I’m going to post this and move on to any number of other things (like the writing that this writing is postponing). The blue-ness can stick around, but only if it doesn’t get in my way.

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2 thoughts on “Pressed

  1. The blueness will not get in your way. It is a warm day. Maybe, a stroll outside will help. Music is so therapeutic as well as can make one melancholic. I feel for your fellow blogger from Australia. I send my love to her.

    Liked by 1 person

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