December 1, 2000

"Sensing Good Fortune"

Today's fortune cookie message was mysterious: ''What makes an apple fall to the ground?'' Was it some kind of Zen koan? A KOAN, often in the form of a question, is designed to bring the seeker to a fuller understanding of ultimate truth.

So what makes an apple fall to the ground? My first thought, gravity, for without gravity, things wouldn't FALL, they'd just sort of float away. Maybe the deeper meaning of this is that things have causes, that life follows certain laws which can't be disobeyed. Or perhaps the meaning of the question is simpler. The apple falls when it is good and ready, because it is RIPE. In other words, don't hurry things because you must wait until the thing in question is ripe.

Or maybe both meanings are meant to be taken. At any rate, it was a bit of food for thought, to accompany the food for belly, which was delicious, by the way. I have quite a bit of the pork egg foo young and rice left over to enjoy tomorrow.

Yes, today has been mostly pleasant. Not only did Laura, Julia and I enjoy a good meal out, Glen and Mother came over to visit. He is out of the hospital for the weekend. He drove the short distance to our house. He wasn't confused at all. Except for a weariness, Glen seems much like his old self. The radiation has shrunk the brain cancer. Also, tests show the cancer has not gone into the rest of his body. Monday, a team of experts from Albuquerque, New Mexico will have a look at him and determine the feasibility of an operation. He may have a chance at a few more years of good life.

Laura encouraged him to go with the operation, sensing good fortune. I, too, feel it, on seeing how much improved he is.

 

December 7, 2000

"Almost Ordinary"

Can it be nearly a week since my last entry? Yes, it can, and is. Not only that, the time lapse seems even longer for so much has gone on.

Shall I start with Sunday, the third? We celebrated Cynthia's birthday then, even though it's officially on the fourth. Anton gave her red feather roses and an ice cream cake. We gave her some clown bookends, which were cuter than they sound in print. Glen, feeling much better after the radiation, drove himself and Mother over to our house. They were anticipating being examined by the Albuquerque doctors the next day and were feeling optimistic.

I didn't make the mistake I'd made at Thanksgiving, and got a fairly decent picture of the two of them together.

Later Sunday, Glen's daughter Crystal came from California to visit her father. I had a 'sneak preview' of her while I was at work Sunday night. When she proffered the credit card to pay for her beer and cigarettes, I noted the name on the card.

We didn't meet officially until Tuesday night. She'd brought her business partner, a shortish young Arab, with her. He had pleasant manners, and Julia and Arafat enjoyed talking in Arabian during much of our visit. In voice and mannerisms, as well as interests, Crystal reminds me quite a bit of her father. She plans to visit again soon.

That was Tuesday's excitement. Wednesday, after work, the three of us headed into Tucson. Both Julia and Laura had doctor's appointments for their respective coughs. Each got a prescription for antibiotics. But from there, the treatment differed. Laura will receive a nebulizer to help her with wheezing, while Julia received a chest X-ray and some codeine cough syrup. She is quite raspy and will need to see an ear, nose and throat specialist if her lungs don't improve.

Wednesday, today, has been almost ordinary. Almost, for on the way to work this morning, one of the singlewide mobile homes down the main street through our neighborhood was blazing into flames. No fire trunks were anywhere near, and an helpless crowd watched. I learned more of the story at work later, when the unfortunate woman who had lived there stopped in. They had been having electrical problems and had told their landlord about it many times, but he refused to do anything about it. She was careful to unplug everything each night, and tried to keep a close watch on it. But this morning, no sooner than she had left to go shopping, the fire began in the living room and spread. On the way home from work, we passed a pile of charred remains where the home had been.

Almost ordinary, too, for we heard news of Glen's progress, as well. They won't be needing a trip to Albuquerque, it seems. All the medical experts agree Glen would have a 95% chance of being a vegetable if the cancer were thoroughly removed from the brain. They will know better how much longer he has left by observing the rate of cancer progression now that he is finished with radiation. He may have as little as a month or as long as five months.

That's it. That's what it is. Meanwhile, Glen feels fortunate to have had the additional two years of life he has had since the lung operation back in 1998.

You have to be grateful for what you can get.

Not only this bit of almost expected sad news, tomorrow we aren't looking forward to an anniversary. It was exactly one year ago that Shayna met her end on a dirt road in that terrible car accident.

Maybe 'almost ordinary' has become ordinary for us?

 

December 8, 2000

"Countdown"

There's a number that is in everyone's minds . . .

12:33pm 1:33pm 2:33pm 3:33pm 4:33pm 5:33pm 6:33pm 7:33pm 8:33pm 9:33pm 10:33pm

Shayna left this earth at 5:33pm one year ago.

the pole that her car hit . . .

 

December 9, 2000

"I Am Not A Pastel Person"

Today we rented a couple of videos. I'd seen Gladiator back in May on the big screen and knew I'd love to see it again. Early in the afternoon, we saw the companion disc, which featured much of the background of the making of the film. The interviews with the actors, music composer and the history of blood sport were fascinating. Hans Zimmer, who wrote the fantastic score, just glowed as he described his inspirations and goals. I love to hear an artist speak of their work, for in some small way, oh, I should cut the false humility, more than a SMALL way, I identify with my own artistic pursuits.

Later in the day, we watched the movie on our small screen. Still, I remember the grandeur and power those scenes of battle had on the large screen and relived it. How my heart raced with thrill as Maximus, the general turned slave turned gladiator turned savior of Rome made his ascent. How my heart raced - oh I thrill to such grand things. It inspires me in a grand way.

After the Gladiator had defeated Commodus, and his comrades saluted him, his closest fighter friend said that he would see him in the afterlife, ''But not yet,'' he smiled, for the honor isn't in dying for a great cause, but in living. The tears flowed from me, almost as much as they'd done in the theater. Maximus fought such noble battles. I thought of my own battles.

I battle such tiny things, such tiny fears. I thought of it, as I wrestled with the lid of a juice bottle . . . such tiny things such as bottle lids. Bottle lids, and tiny fears that would keep me shy. Oh, I've written of it before, such as the boldness I only dare hint at in these pages, no caution here in the passion, delineating those ''colors broadly'' ''only a little''.

A week or so ago, Laura, after we saw the video of another good movie, Pleasantville, in which the staid black and white world became colorful when the people quit living by rigid scripts, said recently that she knew very few people who could be said to be 'colorful'. She counted herself and Shayna among them. Laura said that I have 'a colorful soul', suggesting that very few people ever get to see that color.

I couldn't argue against that. Shyness is a thing that's often made me feel drab and plain, pastel at most in color. But how I want to be otherwise. It might be a small thing to fight against, not noble at all, really, like Maximus' battles, but it's a thing that will lessen me if I give into it. I will make a conscious effort to speak up more, to say the things that are on my mind without fearing seeming foolish. I will do this one small thing, so that I can feel in some way a bit of the hero in myself.

Oh, and I must let myself be more free with words here, as well. Often, I will think I've said some outrageous thing, and later, in the rereading, it will seem to just barely hint at something. If I'm in a foul mood, I wish the garish ugly colors to express it in its full nastiness. I AM NOT A PASTEL PERSON, I should quit living like I am. This is not my true self. Somewhere, when I was growing up, I was taught that people should, if not in the utter starkness of a gray scale, only be pleasantly pastel. I learned shame at boldness, and I want to undo this. Let the colors appear, in all their intensity. In Pleasantville, as soon as the character made the decision to go against 'the script', they turned from grayscale into color. In real life, it's not so simple as that. Every day, we must make that decision anew, until it becomes a natural part of one's life.

And so, every day I will try this. I must remember where all this suppression comes from, the thing that young women in the 60's and 70's were fed, on how to be 'ladies'. Heaven forbid should we ever offend. And it was stressed to us quite plainly, 'heaven' did forbid. It's not so now, with the young women of the new millenium. They wear their tattooes and navel piercings proudly. They tell the truth without holding back. If we have any chance at all against forces that would love to humble women again, we can't ever muddy our colors. And it's not just against women, that that suppression would have its power. Young men today wear earrings, and dye their hair amazing colors. They love necklaces of all sorts. For you who are old enough to remember, remember, the rest will have to rely on old photographs,, the awful uniformity of men who dare not express one tiny bit of femininity.

It was this world in the fifties in which Laura came of age. Is it any wonder the depth of her anger at the underlying causes of that uniformity? They're subdued now, the like who squelch rebellion, but they could again attain power. If we think it couldn't happen again, then we do ourselves harm.

Meanwhile, a weary and wary world waits to see who will be next President of the United States. Some are more wary than others. One customer recently referred to one of the two contestants as 'the anti-christ'. Curious to learn which one he felt deserved that appellation, I asked him which one. ''Gore,'' he replied with unconcealed contempt. The Luddites and bible thumpers are out there. They're out there.

 

December 12, 2000

"Feel Sorry For Me, I'm Sick"

Feel sorry for me, I'm sick. Boy, am I ever. Last night at work I could hardly talk, and my chest hurt so bad.

I don't want to move. I don't want to talk. I just want to sleep.

Gratefully, a co-worker is doing today's stint for me. Maybe if I sleep all day, I can get a head of these bugs.

Meanwhile, Laura and Julia are still battling their coughs and hoping they won't catch my bug.

I shall go back to sleep now.

Stay well, everyone.

 

December 13, 2000

"Bush Bugs Me"

It's 10:15pm. I'm full of thrash and restlessness. I took 1/2 of a doze of those 'pseudoephedrine' dry you up pills. I rarely take them because of the night time sleeplessness they cause. I can only say if the ''pseudo'' ephedrine'' has this effect, may I never see the 'real' ephedrine.

Gads, five weeks after voting, we finally will have a president next year. But it feels like a bad victory. For instance, if my body were Gore, fighting the good fight against Bush, the bugs, and I've finally succumbed.

Ah-choo! Well, perhaps in four years, he won't have dismantled the country, giving it away to the rich and 'right wingers' ('WRONG wingers')

When Clinton took office eight years ago, I remember the inspiring speechs he gave, promising National Health Care and making it legal for gays to serve in the military. Well, those promises went bust. The best he could muster was a ''don't ask, don't tell'' policy, which is the same old closetry again, except with maybe less witch hunts. But enough of these sour grapes. There's nothing much I can do about the country's ills, especially on a sniffly, sneezy night when I'm suffering from my own ills. Maybe four years later, we will get a real winner.