I just finished watching the three part Ken Burns special about the life and loves of Hemingway. We learned quite a bit about the wives, but not that much about the dozens of cats with whom Hemingway was totally enamored.
In one photograph from the program, we see a cat atop Hemingway’s desk, obviously insistent on being the center of the notoriously cranky writer’s attention. I doubt very much if Hemingway would have been half as tolerant if Hadley, Pauline, Martha, or Mary had made so bold as to interrupt him while he was writing.
Although in the course of…
When I was young, my legs would sometimes ache. My mother would smile and say, “That’s just your growing pains. Your legs are stretching, growing strong.” And so it seemed to be.
These days I sometimes feel pain, it seems from head to toe. Kneeling and standing , stretching or bending, or even just lying in bed, my joints and bones make themselves known.
“Slow down”, some urge with solicitude. “You are getting too old.” But I prefer to see these pains as signs of growth and change.
I must move with more care these days, and a little bit…
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