Once More to the Lake

Once More to the Lake by E.B. White was one of my father's favorite essays. I usually have a photo of a grandchild on my computer desktop, but yesterday I got such a longing to go to the lake that I put a photo of it on the desktop. East Grand Lake is on the border between Maine and New Brunswick. We bought a lot on it for $1000 35 years ago. At first we tented on it, with a portable toilet hidden in the bushes; later we went up only for the day. Some years ago we got a trailer and then five years ago our son built a cabin. It is a most magical, soul-soothing spot.

Back on line

I seem to have abandoned the blog which afforded me so much pleasure over the last fourteen months. Any time for writing that I could steal had to be devoted to the column. We are now at a stage of equilibrium, so perhaps I can get back to blogging. Bill had his lung cancer operation eleven days ago and came home four days ago. The operation was a success – I could tell because every time the surgeon and the resident surgeon talked to us, they were grinning. The surgeon said that the operation went better than he had expected and that Bill tolerated anesthesia better than they had anticipated. His initial recovery has been swifter than they expected. Tomorrow we hear the result of the lab report and what kind of chemotherapy he will have. There were some tense moments – the worst one after the operation itself, was when he went wonky, thinking he was in the building he had taught in, trying to get out of bed. Since he was hooked up to many tubes, including lung drains, this would have been catastrophic. However, our son and I dodged that bullet by staying with him 24 hours for three days and then hiring a night time sitter for two days. We had a private room and the hospital put in a cot for us. I had expected him to be much frailer when he got home so I had hired night time sitters for five nights (our other son and his family were here over the weekend), our friend and helper Joe for daytime, and Meals on Wheels, none of which we really need, but having contracted for, must keep on. A lovely problem to have. Another minor glitch was that everything tasted to him like “rotten wood,” but in the last few days his taste buds have rallied.