I’ve been listening to lots of Dinah Washington lately.
Especially the old Gershwin song, Blue Skies. Just last week, while ambling over to some enchiladas for lunch, I was singing the bit about
“Never saw the sun shinin’ so bright,
Never saw things goin’ so right”
Obviously, I was riding for a fall, at least that’s what I thought looking back on my carefree, humming along days when we discovered on Wednesday that R Man has a tumor in his lung.
Since we bought our house 13 years ago, R Man has had to endure cancer, pancreatitis, open heart surgery, and George Bush. I think I can be excused for thinking “Isn’t it somebody else’s turn?” Apparently not. We’re scheduled for a biopsy on Tuesday to see what’s up in lungland.
I know from past experience when I’m confronted with bad news, I immediately panic, flailing around mentally the better to imagine all sorts of terrible things; once that passes (fortunately, pretty quickly. It’s just lucky that I don’t have the attention span for long term consternation,) I drop into a sort of myopic numbness. One step at a time, just focusing on what I have to get through right now.
I also start cleaning. By the time R Man recovered from his heart surgery, our house gleamed, the envy of Martha Stewart. At one point, I vacuumed the window screens. And not just our little home. While trapped in various waiting rooms, I will straighten magazines, throw away trash and, if stuck there long enough, rearrange the furniture to my liking. I have, more than once, considered asking for a hammer so that I could re-hang the art. Receptionists all over San Francisco look at me warily when we show up now.
Do I think everything is going to be OK? Oddly, I do, sincerely. The good thing about getting through bad times is that you’re sort of toughened up for new ones. We’ll see. Anyway, I gotta go, I think I need to scour the bathtub.