I didn’t go to bed last night, not until morning—about 5:45 a.m. I won’t go into detail now because it’ s Sunday and the Sunday New York Times awaits. I’ve got all day.
they come so quickly and they go so slowly
July 7 is almost over. Another hot one.
My wonderful cleaning man came today.He does some laundry too, which is a blessing. I get up early and prepare for him. i strip the bed and take the cover off the duvet, put out the fresh cover and sheets and pillowcases for him to reassemble my bed. I can’t get the fitted bottom sheet on the mattress and I can’t get the clean cover on the duvet (or fold it). So he launders my bedding and makes the bed for me. I do the prep because I don’t want to take away his cleaning time. There are so many things I cannot do now.
My son John is watching me as I become more and more incompetent. When I can no longer do for myself, I must go into a home. Not yet, not yet. I have things I must do before I leave.
My files. It’s taking time but I‘m going through them, preparing my last shipment to the university (Manitoba) archives. It’s slow work, but a pleasure.
Now We Are Twelve. This is—will be—my last book. My friend and mentor, Richard, suggested it to me as he has done for a couple of others in the past. It will be a memoir of the first twelve years of my life. I’ve been working on it, have started a file and filling it with notes—each scrap of paper labelled 12—of memories as I come upon them. Or they lie in wait for me. I am discovering things I didn’t know I knew. Also slow, also a pleasure.
It’s after 2 a.m.
Tomorrow is another day.