The celebration of it was actually meeting Ping, the manager of Market Basket sushi bars and the fellow who has so kindly made Krissy the Inari pouches that she bought so many times before I could go out.
But there I was, tottering over to his stand to thank him. And, while I was standing there, I began to wonder what else I can eat that he makes. Avocado rolls? No sea weed. He understood that and showed me a package of tofu paper that works just as well. So my first fore beyond Inari was a package of six avocado rolls.
And yesterday I asked whether he has any cooked fish. Yes, crab, but they are spiced. Why not try shrimp? Three avocado and three shrimp with avocado. You can see them here because I managed to take a photo before I ate them all! Today I'll order all shrimp and avocado and then K. & C. will sit with me while I edit some material for them and eat. (Yesterday they watched part of the Red Sox-Yankee game along with the guys who had parked themselves in this convenient corner of tables to stare into the nice flat screen.
The first night they took me to meet Ping, and I stood waiting for them to shop, I finally realized that I've been really sick. Really sick! It seems odd that I could have written this undoubtedly nauseating blog about this ulcerative colitis smack down without truly acknowledging how sick I've been. But, perhaps, when you're going through the worst, it's hard to face that.
After Marketbasket and my meal, we actually went to Mary O'Malley Park where I walked, not far, but farther than I'd imagined. When I got home I went to sleep immediately, but later I found myself on my yoga mat, doing what used to be my daily routine of back exercises and stretching for the first time in two months. I'd been imagining myself doing that for a week, but was surprised to find myself out of bed, on the floor. I've turned a corner.
Before the Sushi, we tried out Starbucks where I spent hours writing and editing material on my laptop for the last year. Though I hadn't been there in two months, the barristers asked if I wanted the usual - a tall, non-fat, extra hot latte. Yes, I did, very badly, but I had apple juice. I'm not quite ready for Starbucks yet, and certainly not ready to start writing or editing again. Soon, I hope.
It will be a milestone when I spend eight hours out of bed during the day. But lying there and reading has been curiously interesting. I finally found Allen Shawn's book that S. sent me more than a year ago. I read half of it before it disappeared. This time I started again and went right through it. Sometime I'll blog about my mild phobias, enough to plague me, but nothing, nothing, nothing like the prison that his have created. The odd thing, as he often mentions, is that he functions so well in many areas of his life, including teaching, composing and performing (as long as he doesn't have to fly, etc.) that he forgets that he's phobic.
And there are my underlinings in "Steppenwolf," so predictable, characteristic of who I was in the early 60s.