Walt Whitman

Barnes & Noble in IF is having a mega-clearance sale in preparation for their move across the street (translation: getting rid of as many books as possible so they don't have to drag them to the new store), and I got mildly carried away today. One volume I picked up was Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." I wasn't aware there were two versions of this book, but both are included in the volume I found. Tonight I read the very long poem "Song of Myself." Quite enjoyable. I posted a segement of it on my other blog. The thing that strikes me about many of the passages is that they engender in me the same feeling I get when I look at a sunset, or a flower, or notice the leaves changing. It's a breath-taking, all-encompassing sense of wonder that I never realized could be captured in words before tonight.

My grandma remains in the hospital, but I think she is improving. The doctors have been giving her "water-pills" to try and dry her lungs out, and it looks like they're starting to have an effect. She has indicated that if her kidneys shut down completely, she does not want to go on dialysis, and she refuses even to consider accepting a kidney transplant, especially not from me or Mom. "You might need that someday," is all she'll say.