looking for what I can see

Living my life as an 80 year-old, I’m changing a few things. I don’t have the strength and endurance I had. I FEEL it when my dog walk turns on an incline. It’s slight, but I can tell instantly that I’m walking uphill.

More prominently, my preferences in reading material has shifted toward the less challenging. Yes, I like the beautifully written prose. And my brain is tired too. It’s like walking up a hill

High school freshman English class has my daughter reading House on Mango street. I have been avoiding that one for a while. It could be the perfect read for my weak mind.

The stories are like snapshots. Like a a box of photos from her childhood.

Some stories–some books—have a long wave of a story. An arc.

Cisneros’ book is like a life that is biopsied. She went into the long story of her childhood and took samples to examine.

It reminds me of Gertrude Stein’s Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas in that way. Snippets. Like glimpsed between the fence slats to the backyards I walk past. The words. The sentences.

What is it I’m seeing? I can’t quite see it but I kinda do see all of it.

I see why they have the kids read it. It’s very bite sized for teenagers.

And just enough for my worn out head.

I can’t see the whole picture right now. But maybe I kinda do see all of it.

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