The day started with good political news.  I called my mom to tell her.  And then I moved on to the shower, and then therapy session with Dr. Heather over the iPhone.  And then I biked down into Georgetown and up the hill to my brother's house, to go through his mail, to follow his instructions for the things he needs to be Fed-Exed to his house in the Hamptons.  Just as I get ready to ride my bike over to get it all sent off, this pile of mail and medicines, Mom's helper sends me a text.  She found Mom down on Ellen Street, around the corner from the apartment, out for a walk, as she was on her way over to visit and bring lunch.  I speak with her over the phone.  After the Fed-Ex store and success I bike back to my brother's house.  His lawn in back has gotten quite high.  It takes an hour to mow, with the push mower.  I get through to mom and she sounds okay, having a glass of wine in front of her.  There's a satisfaction in getting the lawn mowed.

I make a quick run to the butcher's, giving the proprietor a friendly wave, which he immediately returns (he's sipping a beer in the window talking on the phone), and get back up the hill and the quiet boulevard, wearily pulling my bicycle up, heavy, knobby mountain bike tires, the chain seizing and grinding.

I have some chicken salad, collapse on the couch, my face warm and sticky with pollen.  Too much exposure.  Too tired to cook a burger.

And I feel it the next day, the pollen.