Embraced

Thursday, January 17, 2008


I've been battling a migraine for a week or so now, and yesterday it erupted, full bloom. Which is not, of course, blog worthy (or anything worthy), except for this: I was expected to give a talk last night, a reading from my book FLOW: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF PHILADELPHIA'S SCHUYLKILL RIVER. All day long, I couldn't put two words together. My head felt oceanic, tidal, swirled.

By the time I arrived at the Acorn Club I was literally seeing double, and there was a reception to be attended to, the talk, a dinner. I was listing, literally, and decidedly underdressed in a room wall-to-wall with elegant people.

No, not just elegant people: Philadelphians. Husbands, wives, friends who love my city the way I love my city, who are rich with stories, who are decent, well-read, kind. What can you say about a city that is on the verge of a renaissance, the way my city is, that has a mayor who seems poised to transform us, that is populated by the sort of good souls who accept you for the way you have arrived (ugg boots, wind-blown hair, a scarf bought from a street vendor in Venice), who offer to drive you home, who open and close the door behind you? What can you say about an evening during which you were rescued, again and again?

Some of you read this blog from places all around the world. Come to Philadelphia some time, I say. Come and meet my city.

2 comments:

grete said...

Beth, dear Beth -

As the words “what if” are among the writer’s favorites, I will use this “if” to say:
IF indeed I had been living in Philadelphia and IF I was your friend, I know exactly what I would have done right now - phoned you, talked to you, saying, Beth, dear Beth - are you taking care of health properly? Wednesday you wrote about rising at three, Thursday about a migrene. As a veteran insomniac, I have learned to cherish my sleep, to thank for every precious minute, to regard them the golden gifts to mankind. I could write hymns to the art of sleeping, I could write sonnets, haikus, psalms. Sleep, o sleep, my beloved......

You write so lovely about the night. You are a true wordsmith. But, again, nights are also time to dream....... Dreaming being so close to writing.......

And as a one who has had the occasional migrene - ah - such devastation - I know how brave you were, standing there in front of that audience. The show must go on, I know, but again, being kind to oneself is to love with a true heart.

Last autumn I had this weird headache that would come and go (mostly come....) for weeks and weeks. I thought something was seriously wrong, and went to the doctor. Though referring me to a scan, he also suggested I go to a chiropractor, as my neck was rather stiff. Well, What can I say? This chiropractor was just a miracle man. He did his tricks, and I have not had pain a single day after that! No headaches, a good nights sleep - what more can a woman ask for.......

Why blog? (Thursday 10th). Yes, why indeed? Because conversation is art, because without communication we would all be .....separate? And as we all know, no man is an island..... I for one, thank you for giving up time sending all these beautiful words into the world. And if dinner is a little late, well. But, please, do not steal away from your sleep. For that is indeed stealing......

All my wished for a healthy body and soul.....

Grete

Beth Kephart said...

Grete,

What a remarkable soul you are, and I continue to wonder at the charged particles in the stratosphere that brought us together.

The migraine seems to have passed, though yesterday, too, was a strain.

You just work through, we just do, knowing how terribly fortunate our lives really are.

Love to you

b

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