Turtle Valley (2007)
“MOM OPENED AND CLOSED her hand as she read what she had written, then shook the hand to loosen the accumulated ache of decades of writing. I knew this ache, the electric jolts to my fingers, the fright of waking in the night to find my hand dead, then tingling as I shook the feeling back into it. In bed each night I wore what Ezra, searching for the right word, once called my “evening gloves,” my night splints. As a small joke between us, I now called them my “industrial-strength evening gloves...,” clumsy plastic things that discouraged touch between Ezra and me in the precious morning hour before Jeremy woke. I suffered from the ubiquitous carpal tunnel syndrome, a symptom of the writing life. That’s not how my mother saw her condition, though; she blamed that lightning strike for the shocks that buzzed up her arm and made her fingers tingle or go numb.
“You want anything, Mom?” I asked her. “It’s coffee time.”
“Just a cup of tea.”
I plugged in the new kettle that sat next to my mother’s.MoreLess
“You want anything, Mom?” I asked her. “It’s coffee time.”
“Just a cup of tea.”
I plugged in the new kettle that sat next to my mother’s.MoreLess
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