absence.

I haven't posted in over a week, which is, I think, the longest I've gone without doing so since I started this blog. Instead I've been lately writing a good deal more in my journal, which is a bit odd; of the two personal writing outlets, the journal is usually where I find it necessary to write apologies, promising to be a better contributor in the future.

Anyway, some of you had written to me wondering if everything was ok because there wasn't any activity here, particularly after I'd promised to regale you with tales of The Donald's Slovenian arm candy and how the head of Revlon made eyes at me. Unfortunately, I'll have to save most of that for another post, or maybe in person, but the point is that I am sorry for being gone so long.

Here's why: my beloved "second mother" has fallen ill again. On the Saturday before last, I brought produce from the farmer's market to her Lower East Side brownstone, where she'd returned to rest and recover from major surgery. I found her, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, holding court at the long creaky dining room table, frequent home to steaming pots of Sunday fare, and stage for countless nights of counsel and laughter over the years. I told her about my new job prospects (she told me what she thought I should do) and my siblings. I touched her hands, rested my head on her shoulder, savored the cadence of her laugh as it echoed in the old house. I couldn't help myself. I was feeling affectionate, and she was looking so well, as though she'd never had surgery at all. A day later, she was re-admitted to the hospital where they told her family she would not make it through Tuesday night.

It's been a full week and she is still here, fighting. All the while I have been thinking about how very fragile we are, how easily our lives can change at the drop of a hat.