No gentle going.
I so want to write about the ten white hairs I just tweezed from around my ears, and about my knowledge that there are even more where those came from, not to mention all the ones on parts of my head I can't see. Honestly, tonight, for the first time, this seemingly immediate proliferation of white hair freaks me out just a little: it is my body's surest sign (and in this I know I am blest) that time isn't ever going to go backward, and that realization brings a lot of other, older ones back up in its train. But this is as it is, even if it does seem to be happening a little earlier than I'd imagined.
I'm doing a lot of meditating on life's funny constitution out of simultaneous presentness and anticipation. But doing these thoughts justice is going to take more brainpower than I have left at the end of this day.
Lunch? Gorgeous and gracious. My hosts got a piece of breakfast pie out of the deal, and I, meanwhile, still have three-quarters of an ovoid pie on my kitchen counter. "Gott in himmel," my friend said as I sliced into this one this evening. "Look at that."
I find myself no longer satisfied with being clumsy because I'm trying to move too quickly. I'm trying to slow down even more, to give myself time to change direction as necessary, to accommodate people who flail in my vicinity. (When I started writing this paragraph, I was thinking of literal, physical movement. See how figures of speech get started?)