Good Blood, Bad Blood

“A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.” Carl Sagan

Saturday dissolved in a murky soup of bad weather. A November storm drenched the valley. Rain fell, lightning flashed, and thunder boomed. Me and my cat, Spanky, stayed indoors. It was the sensible thing to do. We ate, we napped, and I read some Ann Patchett. A lot, in fact, of her novel, The Magician’s Assistant. We lay curled together on the couch for hours, charmed by its love, loss, and magic.

The inactivity, however, binds me up. My joints seem to calcify. Blame it on my cancer, Multiple Myeloma, or my age (77). Whatever. After a day of lying about, my body stiffens. Shoulders, knees, and hips scream for the lubricant of motion. So, when the storm chose to rest on Sunday, I set the book aside. It’s a good book. Highly recommended! But I would save its denouement for later. I left the house and headed for the Indian Creek Trail.

I ambled through the neighborhood. Leaves lay everywhere. They stuck to the pavement, impervious to the breeze. Kaleidoscopic displays decorated the sidewalks. At the trailhead, I descended the forest path in a state of wonder.*

Five months earlier I’d walked this same route to downtown Hood River. I wondered then, “Had my health rebounded following the extraordinary CAR-T procedure of last December?” That hike validated an optimism that persists to this day.

Autumn’s colorful leaves spotted the forest floor. The path was spongy. But, the earth had been thirsty. There were no puddles to dodge. A multitude of trees dripped excess moisture. Their bark glistened. An overcast sky brooded. Wisps of fog drifted through the woods. Squirrels darted away at my approach. Small birds flitted in the tangle of undergrowth. I bathed in the silence and solitude.

Sunday’s adventure refreshed me. The wars in Europe and the Middle East could not penetrate the forested sanctuary of the ICT. Even my cancer seems non-threatening in this environment. You can read all about that in The Drill. Most importantly, I remain drug free. My heart beats vigorously and well. I had energy on my hike, even on the steep incline home. Furthermore, my creaky body untethered itself from Saturday’s inactivity. 

As for Patchett’s book? I took it up that evening. My cat joined me again on the couch. We nested. We shared the warmth of our bodies. The author resolved her complicated tale with sleight of hand prose. It ended in a sensible way … like magic. Outside, November rains returned.

*State of Wonder is the title of another of Patchett’s novels. Also highly recommended!