thoughts in the rain
Rain, beautiful hard fresh rain on the parched plants and earth. It’s a holiday Monday, very quiet in the big city. Not a siren so far today.
Worries today, things daunting or hurtful, problems. C’est la vie.
I finished a terrific book in translation, Swimming in Paris, by France’s Colombe Schneck, not about the Olympics but a memoir in three parts about various aspects of her life – extremely honest and well-written. Now I’m reading my former student Charles Hayter’s excellent book Cancer Confidential, about his life as a radiation oncologist, which sounds dull and mystifying but is anything but – he takes us behind the scenes in clinics and hospitals to show the fallible, difficult human beings at work there, and it’s fascinating. But it does lead me to remember various cancers encountered in my life, particularly my father’s, and to be grateful that at the moment, at least, it’s not rearing its vile head around me now.
Though I do have a doctor’s appointment in a few weeks to inspect a mole.
Not much is happening, except that it seems I’m as busy as ever, and the days vanish. A glorious swim in Toronto Lynn’s beautiful pool. 
A rosé visit here with friend and accomplished colleague Rona Maynard, a book exchange with Charles, a visit with other neighbours, and son Sam over yesterday to cook us dinner. There’s an Icelandic movie called Touch close by I’d like to see and can’t get myself there. Much much editing and emailing, however.
When there’s an ache in my gut, as there is sometimes, the garden is there to receive and relieve me. 
And to give up its gifts. My first eggplant! 
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