have not been here for a while, because something horrible is happening in my right hand. It might be arthritis caused by psoriasis. It might be my horrible mother’s horrible brand of arthritis that swole her knuckles up to baseballs it might be my own
I am so sorry about your hands. But I am so glad to know that you are alive and writing in spite of. And so brilliant as always my dear, dearest girl of the sea. From time to time I am unable to type (well) and have found Word to work pretty well, though a paid companion/secretary would be preferable.
Not being able to hold a pen or type or stir a pot of soup or hold a bow or a book or an egg to peel is horrible. The million trillion things we do with our hands every day happen as if by magic until we can't and then we realize what magic it is. The pragmatic, everyday miracles, as I say.
And isn't it something that finally, at our age, we can say "No," quite firmly. I tell my husband to tell people at gatherings in which I am invited but don't go that I am socially anxious. That's probably more than they need to know.
Anyway, blah, blah and thank you for your writing and thank you for the strawberries.
Oh Rebecca I’m so sorry about your hand/wrist, I know firsthand (no pun intended) about that kind of pain.
Please don’t ever stop writing, you will always be a writer and poet in my heart and mind. You write so deeply about the pain, joy and all the in betweens. Much love.
I am so sorry about your hands. But I am so glad to know that you are alive and writing in spite of. And so brilliant as always my dear, dearest girl of the sea. From time to time I am unable to type (well) and have found Word to work pretty well, though a paid companion/secretary would be preferable.
I’m sorry about your hands -- and I’m happy to read your brilliant writing.
Not being able to hold a pen or type or stir a pot of soup or hold a bow or a book or an egg to peel is horrible. The million trillion things we do with our hands every day happen as if by magic until we can't and then we realize what magic it is. The pragmatic, everyday miracles, as I say.
And isn't it something that finally, at our age, we can say "No," quite firmly. I tell my husband to tell people at gatherings in which I am invited but don't go that I am socially anxious. That's probably more than they need to know.
Anyway, blah, blah and thank you for your writing and thank you for the strawberries.
Also, I use way too many commas.
What joy to find your new post. I wish uou joy and ease an spaghetti.
Hugs!
Oh Rebecca I’m so sorry about your hand/wrist, I know firsthand (no pun intended) about that kind of pain.
Please don’t ever stop writing, you will always be a writer and poet in my heart and mind. You write so deeply about the pain, joy and all the in betweens. Much love.
Xoxo
Barbara