Is Cancer Better?

As a last ditch effort to treat the ongoing skin rash (2 years) that has been plaguing my hands and now my body, my doctor has prescribed this...

Bars and Measures

Last night I attended the symphony - the program was Handel's "Water Music", followed by a Bruch violin concerto accompanied by a young mistress of the fiddle, and post intermission, the Symphony No. 2 by Elgar. The Handel was a delightful way to start. Lilting and light, it wafted through the Meyerson Hall inspring thoughts of drifting down the Thames in Edwardian barges amongst royalty. A short piece, it was said to have been requested by George I to be played three times during his day's seafaring.

Bruch's violin concerto, an exceptionally emotional piece, was performed the our guest, Leila Josefawiscz (sp? - trying to do it from memory). What an interesting bit of physiognomy she was - small, wonderfully shaped head complete with pert nose, a moue of a mouth and sandy blond shaggy hair; however, continuing to her body, things changed radically. Athletic and rugged, she stood and played with legs splayed, body jerking with the effort of extracting the whines from her instrument, but a very masculine morphology. And then to her hands, delicate, fluttering and gracile, they danced the bow across the strings at times with vivd ferocity, at others with lithesome tenderness. Not only did her expressions mimic the varied emotional scale of the composition, but her morphology was a physical representation of the range in tone of the music. Very interesting.

Unfortunately, the second half was a wild and busy piece of which I could not catch a string to tow me through its swirling melodies. The crowd fidgeted as the piece crescendo-ed and receded, awaiting the finale to this long and demanding aural spectacle. At last the final squeak was drawn from the bows and we were relieved.

Always in Threes...

Isn't that what geriatrics say about events? You know, those events that are usually so stunning you are left, ears bleeding, lying in the aisle of your life and no one to help you to the emergency clinic??

I just had a "three". Shame, devastation, re-evaluation of all that has come before and all that may come after. Reeling with mental mortification and spiritual flagellation, I am spent. And, nothing but good ol' reliable, steady and measurable time will heal these wounds. I want to prove myself now. To be re-affirmed of my commitment to a better me... but patience must prevail. That commodity of which I am so distractingly short.

I hate waiting.