June 16th, 2004
Yesterday was a day when mortality seemed to shift a little closer. Clive phoned to say that Charles had had a stroke in Newhaven. Only last week Charles was sitting on table 42, grinning and reminding me that the world is bigger and more full of people that I care about than I had thought of late. Laura played in the first wd-50 game of Bocce at Washington Square Park and revealed to us all before work that there had been a dead body on a nearby bench throughout their game; eventually the designated services for dead body removal did arrive. She photographed the Bocce court and the bagged up dead body with her new cell phone. We laughed and felt awful in the way that one does about dead bodies. I thought it mindful of Charles to have had his stroke in Newhaven rather than London, the US being the best place to suffer any medical crisis if you have the advantage of some form of insurance. Clive wanted me to get on a train to Newhaven because he thinks I’m very sane in a medical crisis. When I got past the flattery, which admittedly took a few hours, I began to wonder why Clive hadn’t got on a plane to Newhaven. Later I concluded, somewhat obviously, that Clive’s reluctance to get on a plane was not the point. Someone should be there, apart from the friend Lucy – currently living in Newhaven - who was not good in a medical crisis, and he had asked me to be there.
Today is Bloomsday. I always try to read a little of Ulysses on this day, preferably out loud and in relative privacy rather than at some official festivity that smacks of a new religion. This anniversary, the centenary of the date of Leopold Bloom’s wanderings about Dublin, is being feted in Dublin with both hysteria and skepticism. Observing this peculiar combination - a new economic and social glee currently rampant in Dublin coupled with our old love of begrudgery - would, I suspect, have greatly amused Joyce.
I think perhaps I should get on the train to Newhaven, with a copy of Ulysses, find Charles and read him some of that book. He has an excellent, if somewhat obscure, sense of humour.
bloomsday guilt
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Yesterday was a day when mortality seemed to shift a little closer. Clive phoned to say that Charles had had a stroke in Newhaven. Only last week Charles was sitting on table 42, grinning and reminding me that the world is bigger and more full of people that I care about than I had thought of late. Laura played in the first wd-50 game of Bocce at Washington Square Park and revealed to us all before work that there had been a dead body on a nearby bench throughout their game; eventually the designated services for dead body removal did arrive. She photographed the Bocce court and the bagged up dead body with her new cell phone. We laughed and felt awful in the way that one does about dead bodies. I thought it mindful of Charles to have had his stroke in Newhaven rather than London, the US being the best place to suffer any medical crisis if you have the advantage of some form of insurance. Clive wanted me to get on a train to Newhaven because he thinks I’m very sane in a medical crisis. When I got past the flattery, which admittedly took a few hours, I began to wonder why Clive hadn’t got on a plane to Newhaven. Later I concluded, somewhat obviously, that Clive’s reluctance to get on a plane was not the point. Someone should be there, apart from the friend Lucy – currently living in Newhaven - who was not good in a medical crisis, and he had asked me to be there.
Today is Bloomsday. I always try to read a little of Ulysses on this day, preferably out loud and in relative privacy rather than at some official festivity that smacks of a new religion. This anniversary, the centenary of the date of Leopold Bloom’s wanderings about Dublin, is being feted in Dublin with both hysteria and skepticism. Observing this peculiar combination - a new economic and social glee currently rampant in Dublin coupled with our old love of begrudgery - would, I suspect, have greatly amused Joyce.
I think perhaps I should get on the train to Newhaven, with a copy of Ulysses, find Charles and read him some of that book. He has an excellent, if somewhat obscure, sense of humour.
- rachael 6-16-2004 7:45 pm
bloomsday guilt
- dave 6-18-2004 4:01 am [add a comment]