I have made my visit to my heart doctor. Last time he told me to come back in two months. Today, he says cheerfully: “You’re doing well. Come back in six months.”
Six months! That’s like getting a gold bond on my life. Not payable for six months, or later. I am exhilarated. I must rely on a whole set of physicians. Today’s lively medical send-off stimulates me to write a haiku with a modest pattern at the end:
I owe them all so very much,
My life and fun and sense of ease
And welcome freedom from disease
And my … me-di-cin-nal generalist.
Exhausted by so much activity, I take my indispensable nap.
In the afternoon, I have a double pleasure. I pontificate about the election (to a reporter from Paris) and, besides, I do so in French. Pretty soon we lapse into English. I tell him that I think Obama will win and will do so by a big vote. I am perturbed by the hockey mom. She sounds so much like so many working young women that I fear defections.
It has been a long day. At 100, early to bed!