The Schism Approaching

I'm in Avignon with my mother and, at this very moment, sitting on my bed with my computer in my lap, arguing with her about circumcision. My 8-months-ago self would have fought this into the ground with me, but as some will remember from my last post on this subject, I am now pretty convinced that no one should cut off a part of their penis.

But this isn't what I want to talk about. Nor is it my mothers panic attacks, negativity, and contagious fear of adventure of even embarking on the next leg of our trip to Foix. Instead I want to tell you that A) I'm fatter than ever and ate too much salmon this afternoon, and B) mom and I visited the famed Palais de Papes and managed quite a good time. Afterwards we explored the beautiful adjacent gardens but the wind was so frisky and my mom so tiny that she was literally blowing away; we were forced to seek shelter in the indoors where I was assailed by the salmon.

And, finally, the literary news: My grand mother and great hero, Alberta, 102 years old and married seven times, world traveler, accomplished artist, and breaker of many rich and famous hearts, is on morphine in her Hawaiian old folks' home and on her way out. Her adventures are compiled in volumes and volumes of illustrated journals and notebooks- which I, as her equally horny and adventurous prodigy, have decided to digest and turn into her well deserved biography. I can frame it with my current French happenings as well as her humorous but defiant plunge into super-old age.

Lastly, I miss the man I love and dread the ever nearing schism between us when I am forced to retreat to the island chain half a globe away. ..In fact, seeing the worry in words causes a heart ache; so that closes this post.