To be honest, the news took a few breaks this week. I had a brilliant reason, Saturday. On Saturday, my sweet friends took me morel hunting!(!!!)
Here are some hearty, heart-palpitating examples of the beautiful day:
locust trees = death, p.s.:
we think deer live here!
nature happened at this, or elves:
also, who seriously lives here?
but really, the most impressive (and most impossible to hug all the way around) were the sycamore trees:
I was reminded of the sycamores, yesterday. Apparently, in Palos Heights, there was a rare sighting of bald eagles nesting. Eaglets and everything, and in public view – it hasn’t happened for more than a century. An informative bit in the news article noted that the eaglets won’t develop their distinctive white heads for another few years. Sycamores age into that distinctive white as well, I exclaimed to myself. And just like that, adventure and excitement flushed me to my ears, reading the Wednesday paper at seven in the a.m.
I’m still not there yet. I still can’t get to the Sports, or finish the Business. By now, it’s not even a matter of disinterest. My main concern is mastering time, first. How did Lolo process all these different sections? And, what did he do with all this knowledge?
I have my suspicions. Will have to share them at length, next week. This week, what the paper has done for me is make me more pensive, and a little more sad than usual. Some of it is content. For instance, reading about the struggling Postal Service makes me gloomy. Can I live in a world without the option of hand written letters? I’ve been wondering. Also, more obvious and serious matters. Deaths. Struggles. Waste, and wasteful violence. And then, thinking about my grandfather so often and every day has made for an interesting weight on the heart.
Yesterday, a patient came into the office with her whole family. Filipino. Mom. Dad. She also brought her Lolo, who was 92 years old. I was instantly — oh, what was I? I don’t know. I saw him and my heart just ached and ached. I offered water, tea, fortune cookies. The lolo kept smiling at me. He then brought out his newspaper, and spread it between his billowy hands. Unconsciously I was conscious of them, as they waited. “Banyo?” the mother asked, and I jumped. Before they left, the lolo paused and really looked at me. He nodded his head. When the door closed, I found that the corners of my eyes were saggy.
To be honest, I don’t understand this project, this week. I keep reading and reading the newspaper, and then the next day arrives with more news. The range of emotions and experiences experienced, and at the dining table, is so strange to go through on a daily basis. Often I feel like I don’t have the heart for it, but I’m coming into the habit of rather wanting to know. Is this what being an adult feels like? Oh.