She's in the hospital who yesterday taught us the language of Camus, Dostoevski and Plath. She has no voice today. Paralysis is complete on one side and who can remember the thoughts she thought as she left the road . . . I'm heading back today (not to the hospital) but to the bar where we were, laughing but serious, when she said that Plath would be alive today if women had learned their strength sooner . . . I'll drink a favorite draft of ours and maybe find someone to talk with about something, but not about hospitals . . . maybe about Cathy . . .
August 15, 2019
August 14, 2019
January 30, 2019
It is not the same thing, and I only intend an analogy in that it reminds me of yesteryear that I speak about it . . . I remember a winter hitch-hiking from TX to CA, via the southern route (that is south of the old route 66 . . . which I may later remember another story about hitch-hiking along because it is something that I occasionally did in my later teens) when the temp was way down and I thought that my ping-pongs were freezing, but then just outside Truth or Confidences, going west, an older man in an old pickup stopped and offered me a ride . . . I was so grateful, and still am grateful. He had his granddaughter with him and told me where they were trying to get to before the weather could completely stop them. I don't remember his destination, almost certainly somewhere in central or western New Mexico . . . I was tired and just accepted the justice of the night. He woke me up about an hour into our shared trip . . . his pickup had a slow radiator leak, but instead of weather freezing the leak, the engine kept the water heated enough that it slowly dribbled onto the highway into little ice bubbles (that is only my imagination, I never actually went back to verify). But the bottom decision was irrefutable, we were stopped in the middle of the NM landscape (sparse, beautiful and barely habitable in may spots, from my viewpoint on the highway (including our unchosen spot to stop in emergency mode). It was so cold (neither of us had a thermometer), but it was so cold that the grandfather worried about his granddaughter, and he started digging a hole in the landscape and asked me to help him dig, so that we could bury her under enough dirt to keep her warm to survive the night. It worked, she lived through the night, as we did. But a couple of hours from daylight a light suddenly showed itself in the middle of the night toward the south. I think I saw it first, but I had no real idea what it was . . . a "farmhouse", I think he said . . . (forget the quibbles about who farms in such regions and for such reasons) I never found out what they truly did for a living. We dug up his daughter and trekked toward the light. It was a house with the most responsive people you could imagine, they immediately took in who we obviously were (we may have also told them, but my Spanish is not always so good) . . . we were served platefuls of breakfast beans and corn tortillas (still one of my favorite ways to break the fast). And so we survived. I am not so sure that some folks in our middle north U.S. will be so fortunate. I am worried about them.
January 17, 2019
January 13, 2019
January 12, 2019
An empty winerack is not necessarily a true catastrophy in itself, it may be poor planning and probably it is notice to restock with a range of taste well beyond the past.
An emptying clothes closet may reflect a simple hubris of today's breathless acknowledgement of learning how to step out.
So let it be.
But a wine inventory requires more thought . . .
January 11, 2019
I was some 75 years old last June but don't feel wiser than a year and a minute ago. Time seems not to slow nor step aside. I have not felt as threatened as I might . . . I still have a job and a monthly SS check slowly building an annuity of sorts . . . but even if I find food for all of my tomorrows, what becomes of all those others? I see them as I walk about, some with soddy blankets, and some without, and what of those aging bikes with contested owners.
January 10, 2019
I've moved from pillows sewn into sleep bags to twin-bed pillows stacked toward the ceiling before obtaining the actual majesty of space in queen size pillows,
but now, living into my 70's, I approach royalty in an alternate, but very possible dimension with a roomy King-bed, though still with Queen pillows.
Should I strike forth for a pillow that reaches beyond this common world into newer horizons of exploding worlds of imagination that may fit the size of my obvious modesty toward life and the contentment of time?I think the answer may well be: Yes, go fot it! But, thank some powers that may be I am a man of mostly modest ambitions that already meet my expectations of tomorrow . . .
January 09, 2019
My footprints are faint and maybe fading, but they cover much of the Atlantic world . . . beginning somewhere in Viking England with a rebirth on the Eastern Shore in Maryland and ending somewhat south and west until . . .
oddly, from somewhere in Texas and New Mexicothey also cover the Pacific coast (another universe):
From San Francisco to the Apple Orchards of the Okanogan Valley . . .
Obvious places to begin and end . . .
east to west,
across an invented, mostly conquered divide . . .
January 08, 2019
Evidently a PSA total of 14.9 ng/Ml is elevated.
I am not totally ignorant of elevated numbers.
But I do understand some numbers (1,2,3) better than other numbers (∞) . . .
14.9 ng/mL takes some education . . .
I know that prostate cancer is cancer that occurs in the prostate . . . (I read it on the Mayo Clinic website).
I do not doubt what it says on the Mayo Clinic website about Prostate cancer.
Early detection is positive - if it is still confined to the prostate gland, there is a better chance of successful treatment.
And that is a big hurrah!