This cheered me considerably. I've remembered this commercial all my life, and although D believed me when I told him "Wednesday is Prince Spaghetti Day," he didn't know, really, what I meant. I remember it longer, from when I was a bit younger than Anthony himself. I so wanted to run through those streets. At that age, I thought he was in Italy, since the word "boston" meant nothing to me. Now, well, the North End looks much the same, including Haymarket - now that the elevated freeway built since has since been demolished. And I love that I know another place well enough to appreciate that. I wish I had another language, but at least I have more than one city.
My body is alive to all sensation, not much of it warm and fuzzy, as I work and pull it out of it's false complacency. I'd gotten the pain down to a low grumble that I could ignore, but it dragged on me, and now I'm tugging back, exposing it for the monster it is. And beating it with a poker. This feels like the first really promising event in a long process of just-hanging-ins.
Lemme 'splain. The physical therapy there has a traction device, wide belts on a computerized table that pull my up, up, and my down, down, in a gentle but insistent manor. Not pleasant, but by the next day, I'm able to move better. And I have some new and interesting exercises to do every day. Do 'em right, and it hurts down to the basement. Not in the best of moods then.
Last night was particularly clear, and about nine as we stood out on the balcony, D pointed out Jupiter. I didn't even have my glasses on, and when he brought me binoculars, I could see a bigger blob - frustrating. Part of me wanted to just give up, go back in, but I chose to be patient, attend. So, he got out the small telescope he's had since childhood, that we have brought along with us through all the moves (at my insistence.) After several surfaces (the AC fan, a bar stool) and difficulty aiming, he got it in view. I looked, and felt I couldn't see anything much. He looked again and said he could see three satellites. I tried again, and thought, no, that couldn't be.
"Are the three small lights... two to the left, one to the right, is that them?"
"That's them." He was beaming at me. My irritation fell away.
Sure enough. I've never been able to see much of anything through microscope nor telescope, and D says he's never managed to see Jupiter's moons before either. I finally was able to share his old love of astronomy, which delighted us both.
Moby was mostly interested in the grass and looking out at terrestrial activity, but happy enough to hang out with his odd friends.