A few years ago, I read most of Harold Bloom’s last book. In it he wrote of having reached the age of 90. I checked his dates and learned that he died well before the age of 90. Perhaps he assumed he would be 90 by the time the book was published. Perhaps he was counting his age as some in Israel do, counting the birthdate nine months prior to the date he appeared outside of his mother. He also said that if he didn’t fall again, he ought to make it to – and I can’t recall what his goal was. I decided to look for my copy of his book to find out, but I haven’t been able to find it. I’ve done so much reorganization of my books that except for a few subjects, mostly Biblical, everything else is chaos.
I thought especially of Bloom while doing some yard work a few minutes ago. Squirrel have dug up my yard in various places and since my gardener mows in such a way as to make the grass that one sees even, it is impossible to see the low spots where the squirrels have dug. I thought I was thinking clearly enough, but probably not and I stepped in one of those low spots and fell sharply on my tail bone. I wondered if I had done the dreaded thing and broken my hip, but it didn’t feel like I’d broken anything and I was able to get up, after which I decided to give up the idea of doing yard work and go back into the house.
Why didn’t I break something as Bloom and Susan did? My regular workouts with free weights are purported to build bone strength, and perhaps they do. Sitting here typing as I am, I feel a slight bit of discomfort in the tail-bone area, but nothing alarming.
I have been reading the Jessica Anderson series of novels by D. L. Keur. I’m currently reading novel number 6, Troubled Pursuit. In it, Sheriff Landon Reid, probably the eventual love interest of the protagonist Jessica, but Dawn L. Keur is being coy about getting them that far – novel number six and they aren’t there yet. She is very patient. At present, Landon is still recovering from a head injury. He had hitherto been quick-witted, but for a few months his thinking has been muddled. I suspect he would have fallen in my backyard as well – well, maybe not. Perhaps Jessica Anderson would have grabbed his arm before he went down. I wondered as I put my yard tools away and walked back into the house whether I should perhaps look for my own Jessica, other than the one presently lying on her side a few feet from me on the floor. We could take turns taking each other to doctors’ appointments. After thinking that scenario over for a few moments, I think I’d rather get a second dog – a male, because my present Jessica is purported to take a dim view of dogs of the same sex being part of her household.
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