Journal of a Sabbatical

i can't think of a title

February 21, 1998

Previous Entry Journal Index	x	x	n	I couldn't keep up with Joan-east and Rita on our walk up West Meadow Hill today. I felt like a tired, crippled, old person - they're both older than I am but I'm the one who felt like I belonged in the retirement home. I don't know quite what the problem is. I was certainly worn out from Tuesday's expedition to view the million dollar house, but I should have recuperated enough by today. I haven't worked consistently to get back into walking since I changed from the Daypro to Lodine last month. I hadn't expected the arthritis pain to come back so fiercely when I stopped the Daypro - I skipped about a week's worth of medication before I started on the new one because I wanted to see if I really needed it. I guess I do. Then there was the ice and ten thousand other excuses not to take long power walks. So now I'm out of shape - such a shameful admission to be out of shape for walking - but you should see how far and fast we normally walk - I'm not talking about an afternoon stroll here ... Anyway, I did complete the hill today, just not as fast as they did. When I finally caught up with them, Joan-east was recounting an incident from her strength training class at the Y earlier this week. A thirtyish woman overheard Joan-east and Claire talking about somebody or other's birthday and asked how old they were - 54 and 64 respectively. The woman exclaimed: "Oh, how wonderful that you can still do this at your age!" as if they were ancient relics or something. I laughed at the story but winced inside - here I am pushing 47 and for some reason I am moving as slowly as cold molasses. Ever since I fell off the expletive deleted ladder at the shelter in July, forcing myself to have the knee looked at, I've taken one step forward and two steps back as far as getting back in shape is concerned. Grrr. Anyway, after the walk, we had lunch and espresso as usual and then I headed home to shower and change before picking up Nancy for tonight's double bill 100th Monkey and Erica Wheeler at Stone Soup. 100th Monkey features bodhran g*d Mance Grady, reason enough to drive to Providence. I'd never heard Erica Wheeler before tonight, but she's worth the trip too. The music got me past my tiredness (well so did dinner at House of Lort). We both enjoyed the show tremendously. Back at Nancy's place we had an impromptu reading in memory of Halldor Laxness, randomly picking favorite passages from Independent People. My favorite: Dawn was very near, the breeze fresh with morning, the lake clear as a mirror. There, on an islet, a pair of swans were nesting, and crested duck and goldeneyes swam there in little companies, but the mallards and harlequins preferred the deeper pools of the river and built on its banks; sometimes the crofter could not help stopping for a moment to appraise the royal plumage of the drakes. A few redshanks would fly over from the east when they sighted him, bearing him their elaborate morning greeting. There were also some terns nesting by the lake; in their eyes life is a worm. Here and there on the grassy stretches round the lake bean-geese could be seen moving two and two, their long necks showing against the sky. Birds are happier than men, it is their wings that make all the difference; "gray goose mother, lend me thy wings." The only plaintive cry was the loon's, a dismal song-bird. Bjartur of Summerhouses gripped the handle of the scythe and started mowing. - Halldor Laxness, Independent People
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