Surgery Countdown

What's really on my mind this morning, and has been all night, to the point that even half of a xanax, normally my sure-fire sleep assist, didn't work until I doubled it, is my upcoming surgery. The last time I had surgery I was in my young strong 20s, and the incision, being at the throat, did not impede my movements or ability to live normally, even before the staple removal.  But this is different. I'm a tired late-40-er and this surgery carries a long recovery time, with the early days, I'm told,  being particularly challenging in the mobility department.  In short, I am afraid, to paraphrase Prufrock, not about the procedure itself (I'll be anesthetized--ooh, another Prufrockian connection) or the competence of the surgeon (he's been doing this for over-20 years), or even the pain (OK, a little about the post-operative pain), but mostly about the aftermath during which I'm told I will require a lot of help doing things such as, er, getting out of bed?  Walking?  I find this terrifying.  

But why? Before facing this, I never considered myself such an independent person. As I see now, however, this is because I clearly avoided the facts: I've been single since 1990.  My job is mostly autonomous, and as a single mother by choice, these past 15 years of parenting have also been ones solely in my purview.  Which is not to say that I haven't had lots of help and support from family, friends, colleagues, excellent teachers, after care directors and counselors, a wonderful pediatrician, and so on, but simply that the decisions and day-to-day management of things have been mine. When I travel, I travel alone, or with my child.  When I bought the house, I bought it alone, as well as the various cars over the years.  All of the little day-to-day decisions, and all of the big a-few-in-a-lifetime ones also fall to me, and now that I think about not being able to execute these, to maintain my same routines, to DO everything that I normally do, I feel scared.  

Losing my independence, the thought of having to ask for, as a friend who herself had this surgery some years ago said, a glass of water because getting up to get one for myself will be too daunting, leaves me shaken.  And I have until only June 2nd to somehow accept it.

Pies, Part 2

I was wrong about the pie delivery date--it's today, so having just received the loan of a Black & Decker electric hand mixer (thanks, D), will now shower, dress, buy some whipping cream and get to topping these pies.  I hope the kids like them, and that this will have been a good thing to do for Project Graduation.  

Pie-a-Thon

Last night we call the Pie-a-thon since two friends joined me to bake 8 pies for an event at my son's school. Well, 6 for the event. One I gave to my friend, Renee, who helped make the pies, and the other will go to a deserving teacher when I make the drop-off of the others (and after having picked up a veggie tray, also for this event, from the Boys).  All that's left to do now is borrow an electric hand mixer, whip the cream and top the pies.  Then, done.

44 Irish Short Stories, edited by Devin A. Garrity

On the short story theme for a moment, I do want to mention this collection that I picked up last Monday at BN at City Place in WPB. I was killing time waiting for my son up there, and spotted this 1955 reprint that contains some real gems at only $10.98, although I'm sure on alibris or someplace, this could be had for less. In any case, it contains some stories I'd never heard of by authors I'd never read. If you like Joyce (especially Dubliners), you should really enjoy some of these. Here are a few of my favorite titles to get you started, in case you want to sit down at the store and try a few out before committing, as I did: Mary Lavin's "The Story of the Widow's Son" (which I was rather ashamed to see, having looked it up on the web is very famous and has according to some posts been a staple of college lit courses--but was new to me); David Hogan's "The Leaping Trout," and Arnold Hill's "Miss Gillespie and the Micks." Oh, and also, "She Went by Gently," by Paul Vincent Carroll and "The Islandman" by Desmond Clarke. These are just lovely.

Nathan Englander's story in May 17, 2010 New Yorker

Has anyone else read and loved "Free Fruit for Young Widows," Nathan Englander's new story in this week's issue of the The New Yorker? When I first got the magazine a couple of days ago and read the story, I was absolutely taken with it, but was surprised by how much it stuck with me, and how much I kept thinking about it, so I re-read it last night (early morning insomnia) and still really love it.

If you're not familiar with Englander, but you love well-crafted but also beautifully told short stories, then do get a hold of what I believe is his first short story collection entitled, For the Relief of Unbearable Urges. It's a real treasure, and one whose stories I return to and re-read from time to time, in the same way that I've done with Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies over the years. In the meantime, though, read "Free Fruit for Young Widows."

I don't want to ruin the story for anyone even by hinting at one thing about it; I want you to read it like I did, if you can. Just open the magazine and begin.

Welcome

Great bottles of wine, successful recipes, and memorable articles and books I plan to share here--as well as anecdotes from day to day living, particularly those uniquely south Florida ones that those of us who live here know elicit anything from laughter to teeth-gnashing. I can't say how this will differ from other blogs, and I certainly can't promise that it will be better than anyone else's, but can say only that it will be mine, reflecting my perspectives, predilections, and tastes.   Please do respond to any posts that resonate, or irritate, on This Delray Life.