I came to see G-ma. I've been calling her all week but her line was always busy. I think it's her computer. Someone has set it to dial-up automatically, to stay connected unless she clicks on the very small icon in the bottom right corner (which she won't obviously see), and to re-check throughout the day. She was online when I got there. I helped her buy a gift certificate from Amazon.com for Dave. At some crucial processing moment, she lost her connection and Amazon told us it didn't process the order. We ordered again and somehow ended up with two gift certificates. Oops. I sent them an email about it.

We decided to go out to dinner. I chose Tony Fillippi's on Kitsap Way. I didn't want to waste my time eating at another substandard chain like Shari's or Denny's. G-ma likes buffets but I don't dig on those, so Fillippi's was it. And it was good. I'd forgotten how good and now I'm really glad we went even though I ate too much (cheese-filled tortellini and lots of cream in my coconut Italian soda).

Over dinner we talked about our friend Marge who has some kind of lethal cancer. Her prognosis isn't good. I told her about Cris' friend Leslie who is in her early forties and battling breast cancer for the third time. It never left her. She has chosen to endure an excruciating bone marrow transplant, a decision with which Cris is uneasy. Instead, she would prefer that her friend live out the rest of her days free from the total debilitation of a treatment that can only maintain a 10 to 20 percent chance of survival. Me, I would fight. God I would fight. I'm terrified of dying. (Haven't you figured that out by now?) But Cris, she isn't. She had a dream she says, where, by some mistake, her brain launched that mechanism that protects us all when we die. She saw the bright light; was drawn to it; and when the dream was drawing near to an end, she fought it because the feeling was so incredibly like bliss and perfection that she never wanted to leave it. I want to experience that. But most of us, most of us never learn that, and the knowing of an almost fatal treatment is preferable to the unknown of death, of missing out on Future, or leaving love behind. My G-ma though, she said she understood Cris. She said that she is not afraid to die because she has lived 81 years, her children are grown and gone, her dog is dead. Then she related to me the first time she felt that sentiment: It was just after I had gone to Oberlin and she had just had our beloved dog, Lucky, put to sleep. She said she stood out there in the yard and thought (something like): Why am I here? A lump in my throat. I grabbed her hand because I recognized the loneliness of it and the sadness accompanying it was terrible in my stomach. I needed to feel her grab onto me and she did. I don't think it's a terrible thing to be ready to accept death. I wish it for myself, to have respite from the fear that comes with the knowledge that life is more fragile and death more random than we normally - I am not normal - allow ourselves to acknowledge.

I ate too much and had to lie down for awhile to let the swelling subside before leaving for the ferry. Getting dark earlier now, I will be riding home in darkness. This ferry is full of people journeying to nightlife in Seattle. It is noisy and crowded. People are dressed up. Look at me, the one in shorts on the bike, with nothing more going on than a short ride up a long hill followed by extended time in front of the monitor.