Today makes me realize how good I feel when my mother feels well. For most of the past several years she has not been well, and she makes no attempt to disguise the facts. For that reason conversations with her have been major downers, and that's putting it mildly.

Yesterday was different. All the wit and humor were there, and we could have talked all day. To be honest it caught me off guard. Recent conversations trailed off into exhaustion for her. I expected more of the same from recent years, but yesterdaay we joked about how only her hand got tired from holding the phone so long.

What I thought would be the big event of the phone call, then, ended up being kind of a dud. A footnote. I carved out some money to pay off her enormous medical bills. I thought that would make her happy, and I think it did.

I felt weird talking like a moneyman, saying things like "I can make that bill disappear." I didn't say it with any flourish or energy. It was barely even audible.

I had t follow it with "If you want me to..." From previous conversations it made some sense to imagine she might refuse or be contrary about it.

I could have done this sooner. I did not fully realize that until last week. But that's no bother now, and it makes virtually no difference. None, in fact.

So today I had all this positive energy. Not because of that money matter but because of everything else. We talked about piano music for so long. I sometimes forget how much piano music means to her, and how much she was a part of my years learning the repertoire. Some of those things that sound cliché on Mother's Day cards end up being true for me. She is a foundation.

....

The last time I was at this pub I typed into this keyboard something that I eventually sent up to this place on the Internet. I stopped writing because of the hookers. They sorta cornered me but I got out, noting their bemused smirks. Chagrined. If I had taken a half second longer to squeeze past they would have said I must be gay. I could see that comment coming in the fat one's eyes, and I am certain it came after I left.

And to think I actually felt interesting that day. The sobering reality is that I am only interesting to hookers and drunks.

....

Watching the Yankees game at a quiet, sparsely populated puB. Correction: I am watching the Rays game. Tampa Bay has a damn good team this year, I've been saying so since spring training. And tonight they are proving their mettle by schooling the Yankees on pitching and smallball style of play. The Rays have swept both Boston and Seattle, and I think they can sweep the A-Rod-less/Posada-less/starting pitcher-less Yankees as well.

....

I was going to go to a lower east side poetry event tonight but the time got away from me. Before I knew it I was still sitting at my desk while the readings began.

Straight poetry readings are a mixed bag anyway. I like the variety show format, where anything goes. Poet followed by classical violinist followed by armpit musician followed by Abraham Lincoln imitator followed by master juggler. *Master* juggler. Jaster muggler.