February 14, 2001
"After The Fall II"
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Just now the startling news,
when what could you do but
watch,
and for this,
so great pain,
and nothing to do
except give sympathy?
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Laura had a great fall today. We were having a pleasant outing, first visiting Serena, and on the way to Comp Usa to buy disks (finally!). Laura was glancing down at the strap of her sandal. It would need to be snugged up, for she might trip and fall over it. As she made this observation, she did not see the curb of the upcoming sidewalk. The front edge of her foot hit the curb hard, and she propelled downward with great rapidity. Her left hand broke the fall enough to keep her head from being bashed.
Like that, it happened, so fast. All I could do was watch in horror as I saw her tall, large body descend to the ground. I grabbed her eye glasses and her hat, and she got up after a half minutes or so, and we made our way to a nearby bench. Her wrist hurt terribly, but we weren't about to not get the things we'd planned. I found a box of disks, and Laura got a second copy of the ''Scars of Velious'' Everquest upgrade.
That done, we went to the Border's next door. I hunted briefly through the jazz section for the
''Never Before, Never Again'' album with Joe Venuti and Tony Romero. I'd heard two songs off it one late night listening to the 'real' jazz station (as opposed to the 'watered down', bland and toothless 'jazz' station). I was absolutely spell bound by their rendition of ''Autumn Leaves''.
Not able to find it, I asked the information desk if they had it. It wasn't in stock, but they could order it. It would arrive in two weeks. I went with that option, as I really yearn to hear ''Autumn Leaves'' again.
I didn't waste time looking at the other music racks, as Laura was hurting so bad. We went to Boston Market for lunch. By this time, food before us, Laura was really getting sore, and couldn't use her left arm to feed herself without great pain. We scrapped the movie plans we'd had, and I drove us home. Laura endures pain quite well. She rarely complains or whimpers. When she grimaces or cries out, you know it's bad. This injury has brought tears to her eyes, even.
This afternoon, she's taken one of Julia's powerful painkillers (the ocyconton), and has her arm in a sling. If it gets worse, she may need to have it X-rayed.
February 15, 2001
"A Little Better"
It did get worse before it got some better. Last night, she couldn't move her arm at all. I wrapped her up in the blanket when we went to bed, as she couldn't lift the blanket. She got some sleep before getting up very early. She often does that, sleep for a few hours, get up and come to bed later.
When she returned to bed this morning, she said her arm doesn't hurt quite as badly, and she's able to move it a tiny bit more than she could yesterday.
That's promising. But I'm still wondering if we should have it X-rayed.
February 18, 2001 - A
"Lots Of Activity"
I made this doodle earlier today. Okay, to be exactly correct, it was yesterday, as it is now 3:27am of the 18th. But it still feels like the 17th. As I was playing with it in 'Picture Publisher', there seemed entirely too much white, so I inverted it, making it white on black. Is it worth its 22K of webspace? Maybe not, but there's far worse out there in the name of art, so I'll not apologize too much for it. It amuses me, and that's sufficient for the present.
As I was digitalizing it, the sounds of the nearby Indian rodeo could be heard. They were announcing things over their (very) loudspeaker. Later, drums punctuated the air. The O'Odham Tash three day festival happens every February, and it draws quite a crowd, for it's the largest Native American festival in the nation. There is a nearby carnival as well, which also attracts a good number of participants.
These people also pour into 'my' convenience store. Eight porta potties have been set up for them to use. During the day, three cash registers are being used, instead of the usual two. Even at eleven o'clock at night, it's a bustling place. On the way to work tonight (um, YESTERDAY), the bright linear lights of the carnival rides were accented nicely against the darkness of the night sky. Is there something about the energy of the above drawing that reflects this nearby activity? Or am I just imagining it?
Whatever, as I've said, it, and the one directly above, amuse me.
February 18, 2001 - B
"Let The Dreamer"
A late night, okay, early morning, foray into some art pages of ''Outsider'' art got me to thinking about what is ART. An image enticed me, with its seeming innocence, and then I learned its creator was schizophrenic and a pedophile with violent (!) tendencies. Another of this artist's images at first seemed all lightness and brightness, until I noticed several small disturbing elements. Can this person's creations be considered art?
Other of these ''outsiders'' drew angels they'd 'seen', or other hallucinigenic 'visions' they'd had. Deluded, crazy, even, by rational standards, they were still trying to reach for their idea of perfection. Their images were intriguing at least. These 'outsiders', outside the 'normal' bounds of humanity, still are being creative.
I went to bed, thinking about the meaning of art. Later, I awoke with a feeling I should grab a pen:
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Let The Dreamer
Art, the impassioned thing
with vibrant colors
and/or stark contrast;
Art, the pure thing
that seeks after divinity;
Art, the wild thing
that seduces lovers in the night;
Art, what clashing symbols
would still make you art?
How is it, what is it,
Why is it?
We need it,
and all its mysteries,
we need it.
I stretch myself as wide
as my imagination can go.
This is art.
I need stretched,
for I have shrunken too small
in rooms of the mind,
I have shrunken too small.
Give me wideness and air,
teach me to see again,
breathe again,
know divine elements,
train my voice,
this voice,
that it not be shriveled and small.
Raspy, it is,
with scarce use.
There are wider doors,
wider visions,
and I must find them.
All that I am is begging
me to lead me there.
You, brain that is in charge,
let the dreamer take control.
JAL, 2 - 18 - 01
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February 20, 2001
"Miracles And Such . . ."
In this space, this quiet space which does not shout or cry, or leave marks all over the table, in this space (what a race), I leave my bit-based mark. All soft, the collections of switches, so easy to re-arrange them again into nothingness . . .
What will we have here ages from now, when the browning books' pages are still browning, but kept oh so safe in tall buildings? What of these bits? Will they be transpired, or transferred, disk to disk, and perserved? How can we know what will become of these fragile collections?
And again, the smell of old books is so enchanting. Imagine how many people have TOUCHED those books, fingering each page. How silently your eyes graze over your computer monitor, and never a touch on these words. How I would love you to touch some paper, yellowing over time, to get to know me. But that will be a privilege rarer and rarer as trees get rarer and rarer. Writing on what once used to be alive, woody stalks, pressed flat into the miracle of paper - how biological is that touch! But this, the soundless, smell-less perservation of bits . . . . still how light is the illuminscence which holds these patternings. A paper book can not hold light. There are mysteries enough in that.
With or without the paper, I want to touch you in some way that YOU can feel. If not so soft edged, flat edged, thin edged viscereal, then sharp minded, soft minded, hard minded, through the eye of your mind, then there is a way, soundless then, not even the swish flip of those ancient papers, then whisper whisper into YOUR space by all so 'soundless' . . . which is not soundless on this end, my fingers hitting these keys, noisy that. Still, for all that, there are miracles, achieved by a long strand of people (thanks Berners-Lee et al . . . ), that brings this print to you.
By any means, tom tom drums beating out the rhythms of life in the night, joyous howling and spinning in the dance, carving our message into hard rock with even sharper tool, WE WILL get the message across. Glory be to the bicameral mind!
February 22, 2001 - A
"It Just Has To"
In this quiet space, I set my thoughts down and I look at them. Each needs sorted, classified, and understood. Yesterday, not half a day away, in the big city with the big mountains (that I love so much), Laura, her Mother and I went to see the doctor. Oh that she might have something in her bag of cures that will make Laura feel better. It's the breathing, you know, the wheezing. She learned better how to use her nebulizer. She's supposed to take a draw on the 'gray tube' (aerobid) after it, just like she does on the puffer version of Albuterol. You know it's bad when you're hoping it's pneumonia she has. Because the other possibility, well the other possibility is the congestive heart failure, lungs filling up with blood, oh really nasty . . . imagine choking on your own blood. Well that is too frightening to think about and we don't want to think about that.
So I push it out of my mind. She will get better, she must. She simply must, because I will not think about what would happen if . . .
. . . and my world gets too small to think about. No, we won't think about that. We have this NOW, and she has a new antibiotic, the xithomax the weekend on-call doctor having prescribed not being specific to lungs and bronchials . . .
. . . and she has a special puffer to help her this week. Her lungs did their wheezing thing for the doctor, so she could hear them. So we take each moment as it comes. Oh, yes, and did I mention her ARM still hurts. She can't open it all the way. Hurts like the devil, it hurts. Laura got the arm and her lungs X-rayed yesterday. We have to wait to hear the results.
One day at a time is all we can do, one day at a time. This particular day I have off from work.
Laura and I will spend time together, probably adventuring in Everquest, and that's always good for distraction. Because sometimes, you know, you need distracting.
I hear Laura coughing. I'll return to bed soon, I will. Wakefulness at 12:41am is common to me now with the weird shifts and all.
Well, I'll be patient. I'll pray. Oh, I say I don't, that I'm too 'rational' for that stuff, but I pray anyway. Maybe something out there hears us. Maybe it just makes ME feel better. Still, I'll wait through the darkness, holding hope by the hand, and it WILL get lighter, it just has to.
February 22, 2001 - B
"A Gaze Much Longer"
At the Doctors office, in the waiting room, with its row of windows on one side, blue gray carpet, blue gray chairs mostly filled with people, an interesting exchange took place. Laura and I came out into the waiting room after our doctor visit to wait for Laura's mother. We took seats in the corner. Thirsty I was, Laura cautioning me not to drink from the faucet, for sick people don't always keep their lips away from the spout. I sat down to my thirsty wait. Ordinarily the other people are a general pinkish gray mass of humanity I don't much observe. Well, I observe them, but nothing memorable sticks with me. The usual mix of middle aged, old aged, mommas with kids, etc. But as I sat there, odd sounds punctuated the air - ''Ah, unghh, unghh, ahhhhh!'' I looked to see where the sounds were coming from. From a teenaged boy about thirteen or fifteen, slender, black haired. Oh, I know what he is, he's autistic! I wouldn't have likely known that before I met Al Schroeder, and his two autistic sons, through his journal. Knowing what he was, I wasn't frightened or uncomfortable. In the past, I would have been, scared of the unknown and what I didn't understand.
Maybe the kid sensed I wasn't scared of him. After Laura's Mother returned from her doctor visit, as we were leaving, the boy caught me with his eyes, and looked deep into my eyes. It was a gaze much longer than other people do. It was like he was trying to tell me something. Mostly he looked frightened of a world HE didn't understand. I got the sense there was a whole lot of stuff trapped in him. It was a moment I'll not forget.
What worlds are in that boy, he can not share? But I could tell they were there, and maybe THAT'S what he was at least able to communicate.
