Mornings with the mourning dove

and other compensations

Photo by Kevin Cress on Unsplash

She sits resolutely on the nest, rarely moving. Every morning, when I open the door to get the newspaper, there she is, tucked into the corner of one of the pillars on my front porch. I see her round black eyes calmly regarding me. I watch for movement beneath her, to see if any babies have come. “Hi, birdy,” I say, in a high, soft voice. I say this every morning and am met with calm silence. But this morning, a little miracle occurred. I opened the door, she turned to look at me and made a kind of coo-coo-coo sound, and it was as if she were speaking directly to me. I cannot tell you how honored I felt. It was as though we had begun a relationship, as though the next text I get might be from her, saying Hey, girlfriend! I know I look like I’m cold, but OMG I am so happy out here.

So here’s some news. I have a cervical disc problem and a pinched nerve that is causing so much pain I sometimes cry, and believe me, I have a high pain threshold. (Natural childbirth twice, after all.) I had to cancel a lot of my book tour which ALMOST made me cry, but PT is beginning to help and we have rescheduled or will reschedule events for my new novel:

I’m struck by what happens when you get knocked off the game board for you don’t know how long. Little things, which have always meant a lot to me, mean more. The smell of soup, a Chopin etude, Barbara Crooker’s and James Crews’ poems, the slant of light through the living room windows, the messages from friends to get better, the way my big moose-dog, Austin, hovers nearby in case I need him for anything, which I sometimes do: the drugs I’m taking can make me woozy, and he steadies me. Plus he’s just so darn cute:

I’m not supposed to be using the computer but I do it anyway, just a little. I like to stay in touch. I like to work. And as I told my love, who is taking such good care of me, “I don’t WANT to be the patient. I want to be the NURSE!”

I’ll close with an anecdote I always liked:

E. B. White , when he was confined to bed toward the end of his life, liked to have things he’d written read to him. I confess I’m re-reading THE STORY OF ARTHUR TRULUV. Some, it’s research because when I recover I’m going to finish writing a novel about Nola. Some it’s because there are times I really like reading my own work. There. I said it. Not only that, here’s a cool ad my friend Phyllis crafted for my “Happy” books. They help, too.

I hope to see you at events in Milwaukee, WI, Isle of Palms, SC, and Wheaton, IL SOON! Now I’m going to sit on the sofa like a slug. At least there are movies I can watch. I can’t recommend enough THE QUIET GIRL, based on Claire Keegan’s FOSTER. I saw it in a movie theater (so fun! the big screen! the popcorn! the presence of others who also reached for their hankies!) before the pain set in, but I think you can see it on TV. More later, as I continue to improve.