sam cooke is deceptively cheerful as the door slams shut. “dancin to the music.. on the radioo-ooo” the record player swings in tune for another 60 seconds after josephine leaves for her father’s day celebrations.

father’s day… and you think of all the fathers that are in your life. and all the ones that aren’t. 4 years already…

when illness equals comfort, it appears i’ve got some crutches. cereal. soy milk. chocolate. & a lottery ticket. or maybe they’re just the easiest fixes. treasures from a more-difficult-than-usual trip to the mini-market half a block away. my one escape from this cozy house on an overcast car-free vancouver sunday. usually a day to run in the streets with 50,000 do-gooder neighbors. eat tacos, get your palm read on commercial, buy some handmade jewelry on main…

scratch scratch.“no gold this time”, Goldrush tells me. dear lord i feel inept.

and this is merely a sprain. stretched tendons and ligaments in my foot following an otherwise avoidable downhill bike crash late friday evening. one hand on the brakes, one shoulder to the sidewalk. one foot mashed in a mess of pedals and steel bars. this could be much worse. and you think of all the people for whom it is…

“should i call you an ambulance?” i’ll be fine, you call to the open window of the police car. doesn’t he know an ambulance costs like 400 bucks? no thanks – you’ll pull your sneaker back over your swelling foot and ride for another hour into the night, over the bridge, down to the water, back up the hill, and straight into 2 days of immobility, at least.

yours is, in fact, a surprisingly welcome break. a trip to e.r. with your brother, a chance to see your nephew play lacrosse. returned phonecalls. chapters read. some downtime with people you’ve been rushing past. they bring a yellow rose – suitably stating: friendship, joy, get well. …as if your presence isn’t naked statement enough.

may it take two days, may it take two weeks, would it take two months. your future stride appreciates the present pace. slow down. lose the lottery. and enjoy a healthy dose of r.i.c.e.


One thought on “footloose

  1. Love your writing gala milne.I also love pushing you around in a wheelchair, and being in on the fun of being offered a tow home from another guy in a wheelchair. Life is good with you in it.

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