Tonight the Well is Dry.

Tonight writing is daunting.  Dashed off a letter to a friend. Think I spent my creative energy in that process.  Wrote another letter earlier in the day.  Pretty clear I owed an apology and so I made it. Third, I also wrote eight Orders from hearings I had held.  So, to sit and be creative tonight seems like a busman’s holiday.  

So what can I say in 10 minutes, the library closes in eleven.  First, people really do care what happens to other people.  You will now which ones when they approach you quietly and say something personal and supportive. Second, being postive always beats the alternatives.  It is easy to be bitter when life hands you a handful of poo.  However, if you act like a bitter martyr nobody will help you get it off your hands. Third, don’t send e-mails when you are agitated.  Never ends well.

Those are all the thoughts I have for tonight.  Now to go watch trashy Australian TV.

Reading Assignment

Reading Assignment

Tonight I gave myself a reading assignment.  I took all the pre operative materials given to me by the folks at U of M’s preadmission area to the library and I read them.  I had listened to the before care instructions with great detail. What I remembered tracked with what I read.  

I had not read the post operative instructions.  Those sucked.  Not that I really found anything I had not experienced in prior surgeries, it just reminded me that what is coming sucks.  The easiest way to make this palatable is an equation. Surgery = life without cancer; not surgery = well we will not go there now, will we?

I have read it all.  I will read it again.  I need to go walk to get my circles closed on my Apple Watch.

Tomatoes

When you grow up in a farm town there are sensory things that burn into your mind.  Me, I remember so clearly the smell of South Jersey dust as trucks hauled produce up and down our Salem County back roads.  Big old stake trucks kicked up tons of dust hanging it in the air.  Living in a glorified swamp there the dust had a musty scent that never went away.

Peppers too had a very distinct smell.  Crisp and green those peppers smelled completely different from what they call green bell peppers today. When you drove by a field of peppers you could imagine them being sautéed with onions and tomatoes in bacon grease in a big old cast iron frying pan. A little bit later sliced boiled potatoes would be added to crisp up making a side dish that was most of the meal.

But the scent I remember most is the smell of tomatoes.  Rich, red and ripe and waiting for hand picking those big monsters had the strongest and tartest smell.  Living near a vegetable packing house I knew the smell of every kind of tomato there was.  I knew the smell of green tomatoes, ripe tomatoes, overripe tomatoes and the vinegary sweet smell of tomatoes that had been squished in crates or discarded in a rot pile.

As I walked to the library tonight I passed a tomato plant.  I grabbed a quick photo and then I leaned in to see if I could get a better angle capturing both the green tomatoes and a couple of the red ones on the plant.  

As I got close I got all those tomato smells.  Some fruits had fallen to the ground and were decaying. Bam, I was hit with the smell of the produce yards.  The ripe tomatoes were really ripe and each smelled like a tomato that was just crying out to be put on a BLT with home baked bread, thick bacon and fresh garden lettuce.  Kraft Mayo too.  And the green tomatoes on that plant had that new, almost waxy smell, with the hint of a sharp scent.  One whiff and I was back out behind my garage watching the trucks roll in and out on a hot summer day.

Bucolic Enlightenment

An escapist genre of films and books exist that beckons us all to embrace slow living.  Some examples include A Year in Provence and Under the Tuscan Sun. Invariably in these movies there is an American or a Brit who runs into the veritable mental mud that is the life in the unchanging rural regions of France or Italy.  A Good Year with Russell Crowe stands are the archetypal film of this genre.  When one goes back to the life of good bread, good cheeses and good wine, how can life be anything but wonderful?  Too simplistic, but the films are filled with pretty people and pretty scenery.

But every now and then you get to have a meal, you find a way to grab a few hours and share a moment with people you care about.  When done right you find yourself there in the wonderful scene where the agitated and pushy Brit or American understands it all, bucolic enlightenment.  

Last night I had dinner with a handful of friends at one of their houses.  These were good friends, long time friends and the time we spent together was very much akin to the inevitable dining scene in those movies.  It comes at about the hour forty minute mark of each of these films and involves a meal where people are eating hearty food, there is ambient light from candles or torches and the music is like an additional dinner guest.  Last night was spot on for the concept of taking time to be with people you value and listening, and talking and enjoying the evening.

I am about to hit a wall with my upcoming surgery that is going to slow me immensely. Hopefully when I come out the other side I will be much more able to appreciate a slowing pace of life.  We will see.

Anger and Agitation are not Beneficial

I think the key to getting these things posted is keeping them short.  Last night I got on a roll and it is about 10 paragraphs long and it is only about 2/3rds done.  Maybe that particular post will get done before my surgery.  Maybe it won’t.  Not like any of the stuff I write is memorable, but at least I am doing something other than mopeing.

Today is a mopeing day. Previewing the work at day’s beginning things looked easy.  Doing the work all sorts of little, but not really little, issues arose.  Tried to get some help from my superior, but my thought is that she is irritated with me because I won’t tell her the exact date I am retiring.  As it stands I have several other health issues I need to attend to.  I am not going to leave my job where I have good insurance before I address those.

Truth be told I am not trying to mess with anyone.  Truth also be told I have given the State of Michigan my honest efforts for 18 years and 49 weeks.  If I have to take care of me as I am on my way out, we I am going to do what is permitted by the policies in place and the rules governing my behavior as an employee.  Sure, she wants to begin the process to get a new Hearing Officer, but I really do have to look out for me.

I started clearing out my office today when I got so irritated at the situation that I was not thinking correctly.  Recycling calendars from 18 years ago stopped me from sending the e-mail that said, “Sorry my cancer is causing you an inconvenience. Guess what?  It is taking a mental toll on me.”  

Then I opened the envelope and found the kite John Lee made when he was five.  Construction paper and weird colors it was a beautiful thing.  And there was Loren’s drawing of something.  I am sure he told me what it was at the time but now it is kind of abstract.

Seeing the handiwork of my sons when they were so little just melted my heart.  It released what churning irritation was in my heart. My boys are strange beasts, this was foreordained by genetics.  Still, to see what they made, the creative sparks that were already flowing back in their preschool days, it kept me sane at least for a moment.

Onward we Journey.

Sunday Afternoon

09/15/19

16 days until my surgery will happen.  Scalpels and DaVinci surgery machines are becoming more and more of a reality to me now.  Up until now I have been able to keep the fears at bay, but cracks are beginning to appear in my wall of “So What?”  Yes, there is a sour acid taste in my stomach as I try and plot out the timeline; Now->Surgery->Recovery->Extended Stay VISA application->Finnancial plannng->Colonoscopy->Other medical follow up-> retirement. So much fear, so much doubt. Should I keep working.  Should I sell the house now.  What should I be doing, or rather what is the right thing I should be doing?

In trying to not piss off my boss I have been working very hard to catch up on all my outstanding work.  I have one old case to finish.  The reasons my cases get old is because they are messy. In the case I am working on that I just can’t seem to finish the person has mental health issues, a Court appointed Guardian and lots of drunk driving convictions.  As is always the case there is always someone who is willing to say he has an excellent chance of staying abstinent. Mental health treatment and the oversight of his life by his guardian have not kept this person from drinking and driving.  Still, saying what I have to say with tact is hard.  No is always hard, but it is even harder when you have to say no politely and circumspectly.

Today is a misty day.  Didn’t sleep well last night.  My sons were out late with their friends playing some kind of nerd games.  Knowing that tons of drunks would be on the road following a loss for the home football team I worried.  Sue me, I am a parent. Unable to sleep I watched a movie.  This usually is the perfect sleep aid.  Cheesy as it was that movie kept my attention.  Must have been Cheech Marin playing a priest. Really, the iPad didn’t hit me in the face once telling me to go to sleep.  And I found myself emptying the dishwasher and reloading it at 12:15 am.  As a result I am at loose ends physically and emotionally.  A good night of sleep is something to be valued.

Travel books sit on the table near me in the library. One is for Chile and the other Costa Rica.  Right now Costa Rica is in vogue.  Personally, I know a number of people who have made the trek to Costa Rica.  Me however, I have had no interest in Costa Rica.  

Now Patagonia that is something else altogether.  Patagonia there at thesouthernmost tip of South America, shared by Argentina and Chile, has always had an allure for me.  Divided by the Andes, Argentina and Chile occupy this region. On the Argentine side are found dry steppes, grasslands and deserts.  Across the mountains Chile has glacial fjords and temperate rainforest. Sounds like a wonderful place to explore. Doubt I will ever get there but it looks so inviting.

Much change lies ahead.

.

Good People

Since my wife showed me the tweaks one can do with the portrait option on the iPhone I have been having great fun.  Here are shots of the people from the branch office where I work.  Also there is a shot of the other Hearing Officers and myself.

Goodbye Norm.

09/12/19

Goodbye Norm.

Spent the first part of my evening at a visitation for an old comrade from the legal trenches.  Norm was someone with whom I had battled with in private practice. Later, he was someone I had practice before me when I began hearing cases.  In recent years he had lost his wife and his house.  He was scarred from sorrow and also from fire. But still he kept on doing what he had always done, he took the fee and made the appearance.  Norm always made a noise like an attorney. When you don’t have the facts, argue the law.  When you don’t have the law argue the equities.  When you have neither just make a noise like a lawyer; earn your paycheck. Norm did just that.

Norm wasn’t from one of the big firms, but he was a fighter.  He had played hockey in his younger years.  He took what he learned there and applied it to life. He knew what banging against the boards meant, it meant you never stopped fighting because the puck might pop free and suddenly it is a whole different game.  He knew what the phrase, ‘ to hit ‘em where they don’t have pads’, meant.  If he sensed a hearing in front of me wasn’t going well, he upped the verbal amperage.  First, he would try a brute force strategy by threatening to take me up on appeal.  However, he would just as easily shift into the, “He’s old, he’s not been in trouble for 10 years.  Where is the risk,” argument. Salt or sugar, he would apply either or both if he thought it would get him the W.

Twelve years ago when I first had a bout with cancer he kept in touch all during my recovery.  He would call.  He would send me these big plain yellow office envelopes filled with some of the raunchiest mimeograph humor ever collected.  These jokes by today’s standard would probably get you disbarred if you read them out loud to an audience of even one person.  Still, the mere fact that he would do this to try and cheer me up seemed to convey a bit of care and concern that really raised my spirits.  Maybe, he was playing me for advantage going forward, but it was appreciated.

Norm was either 70 or 71.  For me that is seven, maybe eight years away.  Too young to go.  Too sad a farewell. No matter what anybody else saw from or in you, this was my little window into your life.  Goodbye Norm.

Photo Funnies

There is a storm coming this way. No it isn’t a metaphor. According to the radar map there is a snot slapping bunch of intense clouds quickly moving this way. Instead of going to the library I have decided to sit in my backyard until the leading edge of the “weather” gets here. Here is a picture of what is coming.

Today was just another workday until my wife showed me something on my telephone. She had been playing around with the portrait setting on her iPhone and discovered that the portraits could be taken in a number of different ways. She showed off her handiwork while we were having a lo-cal lunch.

Immediately I began to play around with the feature. I took a selfie with the setting. Well, I took several selfies with the setting. Then I started bugging people I saw when I got back to work to allow me to take their pictures. To my eyes the photos were amazing. I was really liking the kind of shots I could create with the setting and a little editing.

First I took some shots of coworkers. This first one is of one of my good friends, and a person I think is incredibly dedicated to her job.

This next one is of another very good friend. She has a great sense of humor and can make me laugh most of the time. I think you can see the life in her shot.

Next I took a picture of an attorney that was appearing in front of me. I ask you is this not the image of gravitas?

The subsequent shot was of a fellow Hearing Officer. I think he looks ever bit the part of someone making wise and informed decisions

Finally there is me. This is what I look like 19 days before my surgery. I am not sure what I will look like after the cutting is done. However, what I do know is that my walking regimen is coming to an end for the foreseeable future. Oh how I have aged. Someone the other day made a reference to how if I combed my hair just right it looked like my hair was still pretty much brown. Old and in the way, that is what I heard ‘em say..

What is Lost in the Great Blender’s Whirl

09-09-19

Everybody worked late today.  So dinner will be late.  Ours will be a simple dinner.  Two more or less homemade pizzas with the various add ones divided up so that nobody’s favorites get touched by someone else’s “must not be on pizza” items. For me I cannot stand green peppers.  Used to love ‘em.  But after the gall bladder departed for warm parts, by that I mean a medical incinerator, I just can’t eat them any more. Others find mushrooms anathema.  We do not ever put pineapple on pizza.

The making of the pizzas made me think about what we in America had in common and what we didn’t when I was growing up. Spreading the sauce out made me think about how we used to define ourselves and how we define ourselves now.

Making the pizza took me back to the treat it was to be getting a pizza from Penns Grove when I was a kid.  What was the place called, Tony’s?  I think so, but I am not sure.  All I remember was you had to dial AX9 and four other digits and you placed your order.  Sometime after the call one of my family members would drive to the pizzeria and back and viola, there on the table was a pizza pie.  Thin crust, tomato sauce and cheese, it was a family feast.  

I grew up with many Italian kids.  I learned words in Italian that I should never have learned.  I ate things with lots of tomato sauce and fresh farm produce. Italian Ice was a treat at the shore,  yeah...the Jersey Shore.

When you grow up somewhere you just assume the things you experience are the same things that everybody experiences.  I don’t know if pizza was a staple across America in the early 1960s, before Domino’s and Little Ceasar’s had spread their tasteless cardboard tentacles across this great land. But I know we had pizza where I lived and Italian subs.

As I would come to find out from a couple of doctors from the land of Birch Bayh, Indiana had pork tenderloin sandwiches.  Cleveland, as I discovered on weekend trip to the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame and one great art museum, had a special beef sandwich.  The Upper Pennisula had pasties.  Detroit had Vernors, Strohs and Coney dogs. Chicago had its own great style of hot dog.

We all kids had different television.  Detroit had the Ghoul.  Philly had Gene London, Wee Willie Webber and Sally Starr.  We had local radio that played different music.  In Philly we had Wibbage and WFIL.  In Detroit there was CKLW.  I could run through some of the clear channel stations but if you are my age you already know them.

But all that has changed.  The government’s big cave in to big media have taken regional variations in music away to a far greater extent than people want to admit. The same is true in the news business. There are few if any regional view points really. The handling of food has migrated regional foods onto the menu of chain restaurants around the country, if only on a rotating basis. At the worst you can find you local delicacy at some little store tucked away but advertised like crazy on the web.

We used to bring different voices and different experiences to the table.  But with homogenized media and the instant access to everything that the internet has provided us, we have been transformed into us and them, right and left, privileged and poor.  There is no middle group any more.  Regional voices weren’t always good, think segregation, but they brought different perspectives.  

We are much more alike than we have ever been.  But, we are much more deprived of the oxygen of local experience. I really don’t think that is a good thing.  I don’t know I am probably wrong.

Old Friends

I may be old, but I am not dead.  Today is a football Saturday in East Lansing.  The game is at night.  People are just starting to tailgate.  A lie it would be if I said I did not notice the coeds with bare midriffs, tight tube tops and perky breasts.  (Had to suss out what word to use their to be the least lecherous and offensive -tatas, hooters, boobs, etc.). The males out at these beer and weed fueled fests are of course living that Bruce Springsteen lyric, “The boys try and look so hard”.  Alums with their seat cushions, aviator shades and Spartan logo’d hats are passing by me in droves.

Right now I am sitting in the Union.  I am in what used to be the Union Grill.  It has undergone a number of changes since my days here.  For a time they had real restaurants.  Given the three months of dead time in the summer, the Wendy’s and the other chains folded up tents and left. Now there are three nondescript bowl, Mexican and chicken places.  The quality looks to be about the same as when this place was the Union Grill.  The more things change, the more they stay the same.

A friend of mine, an old roommate from college and after, has been trying to catch up with me for several weeks. We have kind of, sort of set this as a place to connect.  My friend, and he is a good friend, is worried about me. You tell someone you have cancer and they get concerned.  Gotta say that makes two of us.  Together we make up two thirds of the raunchiest acts to ever participate in the Mayo Hall talent show.  The details will be spared for your dear reader.  At least for now.

This is the man who introduced me to the Lutheran faith, really.  On Sunday mornings he would pound on my door and drag me to services.  Our pores would be oozing oily with the smell of Jack Daniels and Jim Beam.  Our stomachs would be churning with the acids from too many Lay’s potato chips, too much alcohol and too little real food.  We might have reeked of weed too.  But like I said he would pound on my door and we off to church there to work our way through the liturgy set out in the old red Lutheran hymnal.

We sat in the back of the church, near the door.  You never know when you may have to fly out into the sunlight to hurl the bit of that hard shell Taco Bell taco that just will not digest. He was the man who gave me the lesson in chain reaction vomiting.  One morning following a  night we spent consuming several rounds of shots of JD at the Green Door Lounge we drove over to Don’s Windmill, the one that used to be near Frandor in Lansing Township.  Looking at the menu I got the bright idea of getting one of Don’s unique specialities, chili waffles.

For some reason the idea of beefy, meaty chili on a crunchy waffle just sounded good to be.  It came to the table, it was meaty and the waffle was crisp.  Both of my table mates, including this man looked on in disgust.  Well we drove back to our student rental hovel on the east side of Lansing, North Clemens Street..  It only took the time of the drive for the remnants of the shots to begin a battle with the now soggy waffle bits, the beans and the greasy meat.

Eventually I made the decision that I would let the queasiness run its course and I bolted for the bathroom.  I made the long call on the big phone.  I knelt at the porcelain altar.  I spewed in Technicolor. No sooner had my stomach emptied then my table mates who had been listening to me had to run to the other half bath and the garbage can out the back door.  It was contagious by sound.

[hours later]

We caught up.  We went to the dormitory for dinner.  We watched the MSU Marching Band play the fight song several times.  We walked through the tailgating next to the stadium.  It was good to see my friend.  It was good to have someone voice such clear care and concern.  We met over 40. Years ago in a public speaking class.  We have had our ups and downs.  But the friendship remains.  This is a good thing.

At Compline

Compline , also known as Complin or Night Prayer, is the final church service (or office) of the day in the Christian tradition of canonical hours. The English word compline is derived from the Latin completorium, as Compline is the completion of the working day.

Tonight as I write this I am listening to Stile Antico’s Music for Compline.  Somehow I knew that Compline was one of the canonical hours, just like I knew that Matins was also one of the hours. Vespers too.  Maybe I picked it up when I went to the Jesuit university.

While I knew Compline was a church hour, or office, I just didn’t know which one.  Often I use Compline for meditations at the start of my work day.  Rolling out my rubber mat I sit for six to ten minutes and try and clear my mind.  The music obliterates the world around me’s noises, the coughs, the doors opening, etc.

When I arrived at my writing spot this evening there were two women sitting nearby engaged in an overly loud discussion regarding tomatoes and the diabetic diet.  One woman seemed to simply be tolerating the random conversational spurs travelled by the other.  The loud speaking woman was sitting in a green chair facing the window with a magazine of some kind.  As she flipped the rag’s pages it seemed whatever bolded text sitting atop of paragraph became her next talking point.

I had to leave.

I ended up in what is for all intents and purposes a study carrel.  Here I sit staring at three faux blond wood sides panels and a cream colored work surface.  Without hesitation I knew I needed to release my soul from the boundaries of this narrow workspace’s constraints.  What better use of ancient music than to free the soul from my exile?  I am listening to In Pace In Idipsum.  The rough translation of the whole phrase, not just this snippet  is “In peace and into the same I shall rest and sleep” Yeah that sounds good doesn’t it?

Today was a day of time not well spent.  I got up.  I walked to work.  I listened to people profess they had profoundly changed.  I mulled over again and again what I could believe and what I could not believe.  More disbelief today than belief. At lunch I tried to come up with a list of must does before my surgery.  Trouble was my wheels just spun.

Some nights it just makes sense to hang it up early.  There is something to be said for moving into the silent peace early. Tomorrow will be my day for list making.  Tomorrow will be my day for the correction of errors.  Tomorrow will be a day for looking forward. In peace and I shall rest and sleep.

https://youtu.be/UbQF7Cziff4

Love for a Fall Night

On the end of its stay, August raises a heavy damp warm hand up.  With a singular motion the sweaty beast named after Augustus Octavius Caesar, flips the switch of the seasons.  As certain as turning off a light when you are leaving a room the change is near immediate.

At least that is the way it usually seems in Michigan.  Quite late into the eighth month, the
 old air conditioner is working hard to stay on top of the heat and most especially the humidity.  Still, by September 4th there is no need for night air conditioning.  The air has dried and the temperature will be in the 50s by midnight.  The temperature will be in the law 50s by 4 am. Yes the switch flips and everything is different.

September is here and on the side deck the walnut wars are well underway.  Like everyone else in East Lansing this house is surrounded by squirrels.  Near the deck stands a stately walnut tree.  Starting at the end of August and running until later, after fall has officially has arrived, the squirrels chuck the walnuts down from the tree. Down the hard green ovals fly. Down they plummet flung by the tree rats as hard as they can.

Down, down onto the deck they smash with an ungodly clamor. There used to be lattice on top of this deck, but the squirrels shattered the thin interlaced pieces of wood.  Almost every flat surface has the shredded green flesh of walnuts surrounding the remnants of broken black shells.  Bang.  Another direct shot at the porch.

Mind you there is no grousing here, except maybe about the lattice.  When the switch flips the whole tenor of the place changes.  The luxuriant green of summer will give way to multi colored hues of deciduous leaves about to fall.  The pumpkins and apples will be up for sale in no time.Saturday mornings will be filled with the sounds of leaf blowers and not lawn mowers.  Giant piles of leaves will live the curb for the annual pick up by the city.  Sweaters will come out of storage.  Does anyone still use moth balls?  In days past it was an unmistakable smell came late September.  Not so much these days.

September is a month when things go into neutral and real life begins to slow.  Not talking about Santa, turkeys or the earlier goblins yet.  Harvest time is coming first.  Real life, the trees, the squirrels, the animals  on the fringe of human encroachment, these prepare for the tough slog that is winter. Apple orchards and farm markets are packed with the bounty summer has offered up. Soon the hammock will need to be taken apart and put away.  Soon a new cord of wood will need to be delivered.

But right now, sitting at a table in light at 7:50 pm is a comfortable and relaxing thing to do. I am not going to create a list...get a cord of wood ordered...set up the chimney cleaner...get the furnace tuned.  Nope tonight I am just going to be in this moment of perfect balance.

Labor Day is Over

September 3, 2019

Yesterday was Labor Day. I tried to write something but I couldn’t come up with anything original.  Mostly I was just filled with memories of my family’s big get together.  Made a choice not to poke around their for a time, have done a good number of stories relating what it meant to be one of the Asher Clan.

 Today my wife has headed up to Traverse City.  She is heading to the funeral service for a damn good person, the daughter of a dear friend. So young to be leaving this world.  So much life lived, but with so much left undone.  I grieve for her parents.  I grieve for all that knew her.

Somebody on Facebook asked me my plans after I posted that I, at minimum, have 31 ½ days to work.  The plans are simple to state but not simple to execute.  The plan is to work up until 09/27/19.  09/30/19 go to Ann Arbor for the night.  10/01/19 have part of my left kidney removed.  10/02/19 to 11/26/19 recuperate.  11/27/19 and ½ of 11/28/19 work.  Thanksgiving.  Work until 12/20/19.  Burn vacation until 01/31/19. Retire.  02/02/19 head to Portugal.  Stay in Portugal until 06/01/19.  Decide what to do from there.

What happens after four months in Europe I don’t know.  All I know is that I want to chase some dreams. All I know is that I want some different experiences.  Life is too short.

Ocean City Labor Day

How I wish I was In Ocean City. Labor Day would be hot and steamy. The boardwalk would be crowded with people jostling each other as they tried to walk whatever distance they chose, be it from 12th street to 4th Street or from 7th Street to 10th St. The smells of Johnson’s popcorn, Mack and Manco’s pizza and the creosote of the boardwalk would mingle all together as they strolled.

And there I would be behind a shiny aluminum counter. Wearing a T-shirt that said Zap, I would be dispensing Coca-Cola or soft serve ice cream, or hot J & J pretzels or frozen novelty treats. All day up until about 430 the business would be steady. Large twin twist chocolate ice cream cones would be dispensed covered with nuts and sprinkles to begging seven-year-olds.

Come 430 the summer would be over. Summer rental on those cottages had then expired. Cars would be packed everything from pots and pans to bathing suits and the pillowcases. Dads in sweaty short sleeve brown shirts would be piloting a big assed Chevrolet back up to Upper Darby and points west. As the evening wore on the foot traffic would thin out on the boards. Kurly Kustard would close early because Ocean City would be a ghost town by 9 pm.

With very few people stopping by, I could get about cleaning up and closing up the store. Between emptying out the salt tray beneath the pretzel baking machine, tearing down the soft serve units and sanitizing them, I would look out on the Atlantic. The mighty Atlantic so impressive even when it was calm.

I so loved the salt air. I so loved lying in the sun reading cheap paperback copies of classic literature. I so loved the girls in their skimpy bathing suits. I so loved the humidity that would turn a feather pillow into a rock over the course of three months. Kind of liked the beer in Somers Point late at night, too.

The summer of youth is fast fleeting. I would advise the young to do what I would do if I were young again. Drink some beer, read some Shakespeare,get to know a romantic partner, maybe smoke some weed, and watch the sun go down over the ocean. Feel the warmth of the day and then feel it fade away as night comes on.

News From an Unanticipated Front

Several people over the past few days have asked how I am doing.  Odd as it seems to say, I am doing okay.  

The bottom line is I have renal cancer discovered about four weeks ago.  The next line on life’s ledger sheet is, if the doctor at the big cancer hospital is correct, thatI have a 97% chance of cure without anything but surgery.  The cancer is said to be Stage 1. With that being the case, while I am worried I am only a little worried.  More on this below.

Of all my concerns the biggest bugging me is a fear that during the surgery the doctor will screw up. Surgeries don’t always go as planned and you can get really messed up in unanticipated ways.  The odds are in my favor, but trouble is a always a possibility. Still, I will keep a positive attitude. I would be lying if I said my heart doesn’t flutter when I think ‘what if?’.

 

So, to sum up.  I am not thinking about the cancer much right now.  My concerns are primarily focused on my wife and my family, and a little bit about  people screwing up in the hospital.  Right now, I can put those concerns in the back of my head. Well, I can put them in the back of my head until September 20 or so, when I meet with the pre-op team.  

From September 15  to October 1 it will be like walking on broken glass. Nothing is guaranteed but  I am okay for now. Anticipated time in the hospital is about 2 nights.  Anticipated moaning around the house is a month.