creating meagres

Things have calmed down a bit here at Our Lady of Perpetual Whining Hospital (post title and sentence stolen directly from Woody Allen's article in the current New Yorker). Allen was inspired by information that "as many as six thousand doctors yearly leave remnants inside their patients during operations...." and as far as we know,  Ron's doctor isn't missing any gloves or sewing needles. But seriously folks, although the health problem isn't over yet, we've sort of settled into a care routine that doesn't cause me to have 3 AM meltdowns (at least not for the last two nights) or for him to feel he should have done the surgery on himself, himself! He's even eating now and after buying stuff at farmers markets, I have to use it. It's so fresh and pretty.

I realize that in the last three weeks, I have been waiting for the next catastrophe to strike -- sure that it would and it usually did. But it seems now, on the first day of my birthday month, that maybe things will begin to improve. I'm tentatively taking chunks of time for myself. Editing, knitting, writing (cafe writing hasn't happened yet). And it occurs to me, as I contemplate the various connections to each of these things, I haven't ever bothered with professional business cards. I design them on my computer using templates, colored paper and scissors and generally feel awfully smug about it. But I'm not a designer and to quote Allen again: cheap is cheap. So this is the overwrought fx photo I chose to use. I like it. Now I'll wait to see what the designers say.

Still dealing with the feelings around deaths, eerie nights in hospital ERs, ghosts from the past (nice ghosts, some of them), and beginning to feel firmer ground under my feet. Actually went out last night to friend Natalie Goldberg's reading with Mirabai Starr (part of the SOMOS Summer Writers Series). It was good therapy. Drove home at 10 or so into a chilly night (it always gets cold here at night), car windows down, cold wind blowing my hair around ~ I think it actually blew out some of the cobwebs in my mind. Because of all that's happened since the Chokecherries anthology came out, I haven't taken steps to promote it and everyone else in the organization is in a tizzy or too busy. As editor it's tacitly assumed that I'll do it. I'll have to rally soon ~ this is a special edition with a limited print run. Meanwhile, I'll post a photo here and hope that you'd like to have a copy. Contact (somos@somostaos.org) ~ mention this blog and receive a discount.

saluti per tutti!

There were birthday parties at Christmas (his and Ron's), good food and wine (always wine), dogs, cats, mingling of families in San Francisco and Taos, art (lots of that), books, change, disagreements,  a bit of modest travel, literary/art events, new restaurants, quiet dinners. We mourn the passing of our long time friend Charlie who breathed his last breath today. I am glad I got to see him yesterday, spend a few moments alone with him and say goodbye. His spirit had already moved on (I sensed that) but his body was not ready until today. I don't think I'm crazy, I have seen it before. In any case, it's what I experienced -- my perception. I remember the chocolate cakes I baked, the socks we designed and I knitted for an ahtist and how he loved them so much he hung them up in his studio and didn't want to wear them out by wearing them! Silly.

But other artists have had the same reaction to hand knitted socks (they were all men). I wonder if they're still in his studio somewhere. Or did he finally wear them until they fell apart. I forgot to ask.

I pour a glass or two of what Coppola Winery calls "wine for everyday life" (read: inexpensive) but good, and worthy of a toast to the departed. Ron can't toast with me yet, but there's been a bit of an improvement today and I think we can cut back on the pain killers at last. Saw a picture of another old dear friend tonight and now I'm all haunted and reveling in memories and recalling the past. This has been coming for a few days and I've been resisting. Because the way is being gradually cleared, I'm getting used to it, actually. I can weather this. I can. And another dear friend will be coming to stay with us at summer's end, followed by our 18 year old granddaughter Megan. Are things beginning to look up? I'm not waiting anymore, there's motion beneath my feet in spite of my implacability. And rain earlier today. Lovely, wet, steady rain. Clearing the way for blue.

The great Tao has no expectations for me,
no demands, no battles or wars to fight,
and no history to live up to.
      (Wayne Dyer translation of the Tao)

orange you?

In need of self-pampering, I took myself out for a pedicure. Plus, I wanted to use the new orange you jealous? polish. The Vietnamese couple who own the business were busy. She had a third child a few weeks ago and is back on the job looking quite tired and worn out. When I arrived and asked if she had time, she said no, but did I want him to do it? I said yes (with a slight bit of hesitation). Her husband, as friendly as possible for a man who doesn't speak or doesn't want to speak English, proceeded with the spa pedicure. Conclusion: on close inspection he did a lousy job that cost too much. I could have done it better myself. But since I didn't want to, I'll just shut up and accept the consequences of my laziness. No one will be inspecting my toenails soon and no one will notice the sloppy job. Funny, isn't it, how the mind turns to banal, inconsequential things when it begins to hit overload (well, mine does). And so it goes, as did the drama of yesterday's unedited sunset.

I stopped fighting my inner
demons. We're on the same side now
          (unknown source)

conjuring optimism

and keeping things vague
It astonishes me that so much that is sad and disturbing has happened in the two weeks or so since I've been back from my trip. Makes me long for a Hobbit house to disappear into -- or Badger's well-stocked home. Fantasy can save, but it seems the door is closed.

There have been surprises, too, not all sad, but disturbing in some instances and I haven't sorted them out yet. Ron will be fine, but it will be a longer recovery than anticipated. I have not gone to book parties that coincidentally happened for two good friends this week. And I didn't go to the launch of the Remarkable Women of Taos book last night. I'm even mentioned in it, but just couldn't face anything celebratory after hearing that the friend who had a stroke and seemed to be improving has had complications and is not expected to live. It's a waiting game now. I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and wrote and wrote until late into the night. Poem drafts, free writes -- because I have to find a way to deal with all of this without sustaining too much damage. The other alternative to writing is knitting and I'm randomly picking up the projects I started in the hospital a few days ago. This Handmaiden Casbah, hand-dyed cashmere blend, will make a generous and soft scarf. Makes me think of beach walking in March. Go know. Where will I be in March? What beach will I traverse?

And this sock in Crazy Zauberball (sp) sock yarn. I knitted it as I sat by Ron's bed (I'm not good at waiting) and the nurses gathered around and all said they wanted a pair -- and then another patient was wheeled in and they had to attend to their duties and no one was thinking about socks anymore. There is something to be said about small town hospitals (both negative and positive) and it's hard work to be a nurse in the Observation unit. But they all managed to be cheerful and friendly. If it weren't for the humble sock I would have gone crazy myself.

Too anxious to read, I started six different books on my iPad but couldn't concentrate on the words -- which does tend to interfere with reading. Remembered sitting by my dear friend's bed for weeks knitting socks as she was dying (I ended up with eight pairs!). I was available for her if she needed me, but not intrusive. At least that's what she said, and added: I like it. I hope when my time comes, there will be a quiet knitter in the room, a dog at her feet.

Writing last night was deeply satisfying and maybe something worthy will come out of it eventually and make it into the book, maybe not -- it doesn't matter at this point. What matters is getting it out. Allowing the unreliable narration of memory to flow.

Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that's not unusual
It's just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
              (Joan Baez, Diamonds and Rust)

metaphor soup

I'm getting my metaphors all mixed up. On facebook I wrote about how I'm navigating turbulent seas and was just going to write that I'm stumbling along the path, not sure how much debris is on it. One thing I do know is that huge change is in the air. Astrologers say it's real and will affect everyone on the planet. I don't know about that, but I'm certainly on shifting sands (there, I did it again! forgot I was at sea!). Aliens? Maybe, but probably not quite like Gort who appeared in 1951 - a time when we thought the greatest dangers were atomic bombs and Communists.

I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that unexpected people and things are turning up in my life and setting me all adrift (in those seas again). Old enemies, old loves. Stories I'd thought I'd forgotten, others I didn't know until now. Tears spring up -- from where? I didn't know I still felt that way.... All of this converges as I deal with Ron's medical problems and surgeries. He'll be fine eventually, but it's rough now. It's been two weeks and I still haven't been able to get down to work editing that manuscript that is taking on more importance (and size) with each passing day of avoidance or simply no time.

Hospital environments are their own planet and after a few days (or long chilly nights) the world outside dissipates. It surprises me when I step outside. Will it rain? Did it rain? When did the colt start exploring on his own? Weaned already? He's only three weeks old and not concerned with existential issues.

We find perfect existence
through imperfect existence

taking a detour

It's one of those discombobulated days. Running here and there for groceries, prescriptions, reading (always interrupted), writing (ditto), eating too many chocolate biscotti. Connecting with an old friend on facebook who looks much happier since her elderly husband passed on. Trying to write an essay on photography I get bogged down, use other people's words, delete them. About that bird: a Lorikeet or Lorie or Lorini or Loriinae. Somehow I feel a connection with all these colorful Lori's -- although I feel much less than colorful these days. In the case of the bird, they are tropical, the one on my head is actually quite conservative in color -- these birds look tie-dyed -- black stripes on red breasts, yellow polka dots on green thighs. When I tried to take a picture, they landed on my camera. They were quite amazing and can be seen at the Maritime Center Aviary in Norwalk , CT. In winter they are shipped to southern Florida. They sure couldn't survive a New England winter! Nor could I anymore which is why I moved to the Southwest. Didn't know that winters can be very harsh in northern New Mexico at 7500 feet -- but there is more sun and it's dry, and that's what counts. Spare me from S.A.D. syndrome. Oh yeah, and then there are the ducks. My daughter is a rubber ducky collector. She saw these in  Cape Cod shop window.

I'm going to blow the whistle now and show part of the collection in her home! She will probably kill me for this, but.....

One of my favorite books is Moby Duck by Donovan Hohn. Not fiction, but the true story of a freighter filled with tons of rubber ducks that fell overboard in the North Atlantic during a storm, years ago. The ducks turned up in the most unlikely places many years later and Hohn followed the trail. He's a fine writer, and it's pretty frightening to read about the trash and trash "islands" in the oceans of our fragile planet. Check it out.

Countdown to surgery is less than 48 hours and I'll be in nursey mode for several more days.  Doesn't fit my personality (I'm kinda selfish), but when something has to be done it has to be done - and I'm trying to do it with compassion and a good attitude. I do want to make him as comfortable as possible and I know he appreciates it.

In the hot kitchen
A feather drags its shadow
Over steaming rice.
        Richard Wright

Daily accumulating

I'm still working on learning how to write blogs on my iPad. Its not like I have nothing else to do. I'm caring for Ron who is still in discomfort and preparing for surgery on Monday, trying to keep the house clean, and avoiding the manuscript I have to finish by end of next week. So I knitted. Finished a project that has been languishing and causing irrational guilt for about two years! Experimenting with the camera too. I haven't quite figured out how to control the position or size of photos on the iPad. 

And I can't help thinking about the night we went to the hospital and how surreal it felt. That wee hour of the morning we drove to the ER through a steady rain, and an empty town with wet streets shiny and reflecting lights on in closed shops and gas stations. I saw no other cars and the town was vibratingly and reflectively beautiful and eerie. For 20 minutes or so I forgot why and where I was driving at 2:30 in the morning. The images in the park, the sock I finished at midnight last night, all I can manage. 

I place fewer and fewer demands upon others,

And especially myself. I am free to commune

With nature, work, play, read, or just do nothing. 

                (Wayne Dyer translation Tao Te Ching)