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ffloZappo's is sending me three more boxes of possible footwear. I'm sending them back the five boxes of footwear they sent me last week. Buying only the shoes you really like: this practice of Katie's seems smart. The one pair of sneaks and the four pairs of sandals: none I really like. Only one that was comfy and fit well, and that one just not sturdy enough for the purposes I had in mind.
Softball was last night. The penultimate game, against Coleman's. Coleman's aren't my favorite opponent. Happily, the "heat out" (like a rain out?) last week means we'll finish the year in a make-up game against the Hurricanes, whom I like a lot.
Olivera is in town. Saw her again last night, and will see her again this evening. It doesn't feel odd or surprising to have her in my physical presence, though it's been quite a while. I catch myself catching her haircut being something I haven't seen, or liking her "new" stripey shirt, but mostly it's just "There's O." The comfort there is in the old familiar presence, suddenly present again, is a thing I've known for some time; the way the phenomenon changes time itself is, on the other hand, somewhat new to me still. A surreality. A mindfuck. A bit of magic that puts me in the foothills of philosophy and physics, wondering about those mountains in front of me, maybe even taking a few hiking steps in those directions. But not, like, in a simple linear way.
Last night on the way back to right field for the 2nd inning, I detoured in the infield dirt between 1st and 2nd, trudging in curvy random-ish walk and joking with Beth and Jen that my windy cleatmark footsteps might throw off the other team's runners as they tried to make their way around the bases. If it worked, it didn't work real well. But later I did catch a fly ball in the outfield. I think that's the first time I've done that. You know, in a regulation game. If not ever.
Then there's the other stuff of daily life. Its pleasures, its concerns, its companionabilities. And work. And dog. And daydreaming.
Oh, the old tumors in the subject line--- I recently started noodling around to try to understand more about the tumors I had in my ankle as a teenager. They were indeed a rare sort of thing. Even rare among desmoids. I got to thinking about them again when the physical therapist raised the idea that some of my trouble with balancing on that leg may be exacerbated by having lost nerve endings in the foot (along with capillaries). In the process of taking my mind back to that time in finding out what's known about these tumors now, I've been bringing my grown-up perspective-havin' Lisa to a subject mostly covered before by the young me, asked (as she seemed to be, so much) to find her way in the dark.
Just having the freakin' internet would have made so much so much better for me. I don't usually think of what general life confusion this tool might spare kids, or ameliorate. Lots, I'm thinking.
Softball was last night. The penultimate game, against Coleman's. Coleman's aren't my favorite opponent. Happily, the "heat out" (like a rain out?) last week means we'll finish the year in a make-up game against the Hurricanes, whom I like a lot.
Olivera is in town. Saw her again last night, and will see her again this evening. It doesn't feel odd or surprising to have her in my physical presence, though it's been quite a while. I catch myself catching her haircut being something I haven't seen, or liking her "new" stripey shirt, but mostly it's just "There's O." The comfort there is in the old familiar presence, suddenly present again, is a thing I've known for some time; the way the phenomenon changes time itself is, on the other hand, somewhat new to me still. A surreality. A mindfuck. A bit of magic that puts me in the foothills of philosophy and physics, wondering about those mountains in front of me, maybe even taking a few hiking steps in those directions. But not, like, in a simple linear way.
Last night on the way back to right field for the 2nd inning, I detoured in the infield dirt between 1st and 2nd, trudging in curvy random-ish walk and joking with Beth and Jen that my windy cleatmark footsteps might throw off the other team's runners as they tried to make their way around the bases. If it worked, it didn't work real well. But later I did catch a fly ball in the outfield. I think that's the first time I've done that. You know, in a regulation game. If not ever.
Then there's the other stuff of daily life. Its pleasures, its concerns, its companionabilities. And work. And dog. And daydreaming.
Oh, the old tumors in the subject line--- I recently started noodling around to try to understand more about the tumors I had in my ankle as a teenager. They were indeed a rare sort of thing. Even rare among desmoids. I got to thinking about them again when the physical therapist raised the idea that some of my trouble with balancing on that leg may be exacerbated by having lost nerve endings in the foot (along with capillaries). In the process of taking my mind back to that time in finding out what's known about these tumors now, I've been bringing my grown-up perspective-havin' Lisa to a subject mostly covered before by the young me, asked (as she seemed to be, so much) to find her way in the dark.
Just having the freakin' internet would have made so much so much better for me. I don't usually think of what general life confusion this tool might spare kids, or ameliorate. Lots, I'm thinking.
