esther's journal

SUNDAY, Sept. 24: I talked to Marnie, today, about being my “ghost writer,” pun intended. First thing she said was “Let’s not talk about that.” But I pressed on and got her to say that she would think about it. I just don’t think she wants to think about it. I understand that. I think she’ll come through.

On a more mundane note, the new head of school published a ruling on women and Capri pants. He’s outlawed them, which got us pretty up in arms, at least privately. First of all, or most of all, doesn’t he have better things to do with his time? Please. I wish I knew the date of my last day, I’d be sure to wear a pair. Perhaps the story in the local paper would read: “WS teacher dies in Capri pants.” Honestly.

I went to church this morning. First time in a long time. I didn’t run back the day after I was diagnosed. I felt that would be a bit too, too transparent. So, I waited a bit. I also waited until the new Episcopal minister arrived. I’d heard a lot about him. He’s a cancer survivor who’d spent years working with tribes in Africa. His homily was good, even inspiring. He said, “To live in the moment is to understand true spirituality.” I’m not sure exactly what it means, but it sounds like a thought worth pursuing. So, I might.

I called my daughter, tonight. She lives in Los Angeles. We don’t talk a lot. Have I mentioned that? She doesn’t know about “it.” I left a message. She didn’t call back. I’ll try, again, tomorrow.

I took a late walk, tonight, after dark, across campus. The moon lit the lake; a strong breeze made the leaves talk. I sat near the boathouse for an hour or so, just feeling life around me. It made me feel good, not sad. I think that’s a good thing.