April 7, 1985… I am having a good day! What a change of pace. I'm re-reading Jon's old letters. They bring back memories. Mom and Dad had a good day with the rest of the clan. She brought back a lovely lacey and beribboned egg to be used for a centerpiece. Sharon sent a tiny basket with pink flowers and a miniature rabbit for me. She is always lavishing me with demonstrations of love and affection. Scott and Brad appeared to enjoy the books.
April 11, 1985… Problems again, but not so I couldn't enjoy the day.
It was in the 60's. I wrote a poem about spring.
Spring
All that which
I cannot be
Is part of its
Vitality…
The hov'ring bee,
The blossom fair…
The youthful bird
Upon the air…
A burning sun
That buries snow
In shallow graves
From whence life grows;
Embracing both new seed
And breath
And shielding each
From thought of death.
Lauren Isaacson
April 11, 1985
April 21, 1985… I've been reading Sherry's old letters when I tire of writing. It's difficult to write about my first cancer experience; reliving it is not easy.
April 22, 1985… I reminisced high school days; I remember a period when I went through a swearing stage. Crazy. It doesn't exactly build one's character, but for the time, it got one's point across. This was only between close friends, of course. I never cared for public vulgarity in any fashion. It's crazy, too, how one word is considered "vulgar" and another, meaning the same thing, is not. Who decides these things, I wonder? The one that really cracked me up was that the proper British had to come up with a past tense of the word "shit."… in their speech, it is "shat."
May 6, 1985… I tried to write outside, but it was impossible. Gnats kept insisting on flying into my eyes. Mosquitoes were buzzing around my legs, although none seemed inclined to feast; perhaps they were still too young to know what to do with a human. When I used to be able to do things outside, it was no problem; indoors bugs don't bite, nothing seems an annoyance. Once inside and in the comfort of air-conditioning, I wrote a poem.
Seasons Of Life
One mirrors many seasons within his very life;
The lush bouquet of springtime, hoarding life, vitality.
From the verdant, yielding mind sparks, like tree sap,
Bubble through one's firm, yet supple limbs.
Unleashing youthful hopes and dreams for growth unhindered,
Unrestrained by roiling clouds and murky skies.