Bert's out my window now. A young woman with groovy thick pony-tailed hair and a backpack and water bottle was just petting Zach, and then she and Bert shook hands, and she pointed to what looked like a house around the corner. They continued to chat a while. He's pretty affable, that Bert, and good neighbor material. "Good good neighbor material"?
My friend's grandmother is very ill, and she loves her grandmother very much. It's hard to see her going through this thing. Calls up that human experience of loss for me, too. Which I think is part of why it's hard to see her in this painful situation. I have an idea of what it's like. It sucks. Interestingly, she noted, in her numb "ghost"-like state, that there's something comforting in how there's nothing anyone can do about it. I'm touching this idea a lot, about the comfort in helplessness. I think I get it. I think I like it.
Of course people don't have to be dying this week for our helplessness about what goes on with them to be acute in its twinges. More to the point, however, I have a ---well I don't want to call it a duty or a responsibility--- I have a sacred call, if you will, to remember my boundaries in these situations, though that is really hard. And maybe because I'm not helpless there, but just not very good at it. (But better at it than I used to be.)
Okay. Shower time. The last 40 pages will be before bed, after pup's settled in her room for the night.
Big week coming up. Chorus performance week (extra rehearsals). Book fair guest(s). An after-dark softball game (the best kind).