A Christmas Present.......

It has been almost two months since my last posting. In that time I have intended to print the Journal using my copier and place the pages in a three-ring binder. I even bought the binder and printed several of the messages to see how they would look. I never found the time, or made the time to accomplish the task.

Unknown to me, Scott and Sue set about to have the Journal published as a hardbound book using some publishing software they downloaded from a service specializing in self-publication. On Christmas morning, after opening presents, Scott asked me to go to the back room and take a look at the computer screen. I was sure there was some internet purchase on backorder. Instead, I sat down to an image on the screen with the words "Simple Gifts" hovering over it. Scott opened a "page" and I immediately saw the title of one of my blogs and realized that what I was being shown was a "copy" of the published Journal. A surge of emotion brought tears to my eyes and I wept openly. I couldn't help it. I cried intermittently throughout the morning because of the memories.

The books were on backorder and finally came on New Year's Eve day. They were real books...I had actually been published (LOL). Anyway, the books were beautiful and tastefully done. I think the "most special" feature is the dedication written by Scott Hamrock in which he explains the significance of the cover image. That image is a ghostly and abstract photo of my heartbeat as it appeared on one of the heart monitors hours after my surgery.....a "new" heart beating strongly and out of danger.

Here is what he wrote:

I honestly think that there is no better image to put on the cover. It speaks to the message of the journal, Dad's journey, the truths he has uncovered...it even echoes his love of music and evokes
images of the mountain ranges he found himself in on his little sabbatical. The fact that it is an
abstract treatment of his new heartbeat is intrinsic to the many meanings it conveys: it is ethereal, mysterious...and fleeting. Finite. But with it he has returned to a truer version of himself. And that is the simplest gift of all.

Yes...the simplest gift of all.

Stephen

A Mother's Son

I was surprised to see that my last message was posted November 1st. I was out of town for a week on a solo trip to the Sierras and ....ooops....that was before Halloween, and therefore not an excuse. Anyway, I have been very busy, so please understand the lapse in attention to the blog. I have probably lost a good number of regular readers because of the apparent abandonment of the blog and the to-be-expected fall-off in interest because of the lack of high drama due to my recovery from the heart and cancer scares.

But the reason for my resumption of the blogging (is that a word?) is personal....it continues to be a means to the end of healing and to the expression of my thoughts about things and events and people and situations.

I booked tickets earlier in the week for the performance of Gustav Mahler's Ninth Symphony....a complex work that is vexing and sublime. Gustav never heard the composition, not because he was deaf, like Beethoven at the latter's debut of his Ninth, but because he died before it could be performed. Prior to booking the tickets I went to YouTube to listen to exerpts of the different movements of the symphony. That way I would know what I was getting for my money.

Anyone who spends anytime cruising the YouTube site knows that there are sometimes hundreds of related videos on a topic. One of the quirks in the presentation of those video choices is that a completely unrelated video will pop up in the scroll column, leading one to wonder what the heck is "that" doing there. While looking at the choices on Mahler I saw a frame with the bloodied head of Moammar Qadaffi while he was still alive. This is how one is led astray and ends up spending hours on YouTube viewing God-knows-what. I went to that video....a cell phone video recorded by one of the anti-Qadaffi rebels in the crowd and saw the last minutes of a brutal dictator's life.

The cheering and jeering crowd of rebels were on Moammar like a pack of terriers on a rat. It was a jarring and a brutal display of utter contempt for a man who had brought a pall of darkness over a country and its people. Dazed and incredulous that he was being treated with blows and jeers instead of some kind of deference to him as the all-powerful leader he thought he still was, Qadaffi kept reaching up to the wound on his head and looking at the blood that covered his hand. Perhaps he was begging for mercy. There was no mercy given. Mockery, slaps, kicks, punches, insults, a pistol to his head, hair grasped to turn his bloody face to a camera....again, a rat at the mercy of a pack of terriers. He was dead shortly after that video was made. It ended with the old fool being dragged off to his fate. There was a glimmer of sympathy in my heart for the man as a victim of such brutality. That was short-lived as I thought of the terror he had used to keep a people and their hopes subdued or denied.

But the reason I write of this is the other videos of the Libyan reality that I viewed that night.

A young man, probably in his early twenties, wearing a striped t-shirt, jeans and sport shoes....husky like a football player...dressed like so many young men around the world....a short tuft of carefully trimmed red beard on his chin...lay on his back, arms upturned as if in surrender, his face looking up at the desert sky.
He was probably handsome, I want to believe that, but the bullet that ripped away his nose and passed through his head made that difficult to determine. He lay dead, executed on the side of a road along with five or six other young men. They were not soldiers. I presume they were rebels or possibly some young men rounded up on the suspicion they were anti-Qadaffi rebels.

The image of that young man haunts me still. I think of my own sons...young men...and know the anguish I would feel if that young man in that desert was one of them. Tears come to my eyes for that young man and for my sons....

.....and tears come to my eyes for a mother far away. A mother who has lost a son.

SRH  

Another Milestone Passed

My last session in Cardio-Rehab was this last Monday. I gave my farewells to the Re-Hab crew with eyes a little misty from the emotional realization that some milestone had been reached and that I must go forward with the exercise program on my own.

I left a note of thanks with a box of See's Candy to be shared by the crew. By the look on their faces I could see they were happy. Maybe I should have given something  more "heart-healthy" -- like a box of unsalted nuts. But I think a little sin doesn't hurt..

I will continue to exercise every day; I have found a conditioning room in a re-hab business within a mile of the house. I have vowed to never let my body get to the condition it was in prior to my surgeries.

I must go now......I will not abandon the blog. I know my entries have diminished in number, but I will post more often.

Full Moon Tonight

I stepped out tonite to enjoy the cool evening air. Dancing with the Stars was dragging a bit, though I do like Julianne Hough A LOT. She is so cute. She had a guest spot on the show.

Anyway, I noted that a full moon was in the sky and that the leaves of the Liquid Amber trees were reflecting the silvery light almost as if mirrors had been hung among the branches. I believe this is the seventh full moon of the Journal.....and it marks the sixth month since I stepped into the gauntlet. However, I am not quite sure when I emerged from that gauntlet....perhaps two months ago? One gradually realizes that the body is capable of performing some activity that was difficult just several weeks ago, and maybe impossible two months ago. I still have a compromised set of chest muscles as well as a puffy stomach from the abdominal surgery. However, I think I am physically stronger than before the surgeries..

The Moon has waxed and waned as it always has. It is magical, I think. The illumination casts shadows in the night.

Don't take any of that beauty and mystery for granted,

SRH

Candles

Have you ever sat in darkness, watching a candle flame sputtering as it drinks the last drops of wax in a dying effort to remain alive? Flickering shadows dance about as if anxious to overcome the waning light. A sadness rises within me when I see the last flare of light yield to the dark. There is an ending ....of light and warmth, and of comfort, and of security. Something is over...maybe the evening party, the birthday, the quiet evening, or a time of meditation. A candle flame mesmerizes the watcher. The mind wanders and wonders in thought, oblivious to all distraction. There is a loneliness in the watching and the flame is a companion fending off that loneliness.

There is so much in life that is like a candle flame....burning brightly and then waning and a final sputtering out.
It could be the end of childhood and the loss of innocence; or the ending of a love affair; or the passing of a parent or a friend; and, of course, the end of a life. You will know what I mean if you have had the experience of watching a person die, as I did with my father. One can literally see life flicker out as if it were a candle flame.

A business acquaintance made a point of seeing me about four weeks ago. We hadn't seen each other since my surgeries and recovery...well over six months. After the handshake and hello's and some banter, I noted he had lost weight. Pulling me aside he confided that he had lost weight, but had not been trying to, and that he was not feeling well and was to see his doctor the next week. This last friday I was informed that he had died the previous week in the hospital....some two to three weeks after I had spoken with him. I knew he was ill after that meeting...he as much as said so, however indirectly. His flame was sputtering as I stood there and talked about life with Lee. I sensed it and walked away knowing it.

These are some thoughts....I am not in a dark place. I think of the life I have had, the people I have loved, the people I have hurt and the one's I have made happy...sometimes they are the same. My flame burns brightly and I look forward to an illuminated life.

But none of us knows how much wax remains to fuel the wick.

SRH

Slippery Slopes...

Several readers have reminded me that I have made no entry to the blog for several weeks. I am flattered that there are still people reading the thing, of course, and I feel an obligation to keep it up, but I am afraid my energy and my creativity is being increasingly absorbed by the realities and demands of my "old" life, to which I have returned full time. Additionally, I have been keeping a highly personal journal of my thoughts about and my observations of life, love, tragedy, beauty, nature and the human condition. This is therapeutic.
There are books, many books, about the healing power of keeping a written journal of one's life . I have found this to be true, and I write whenever and wherever I can.

The personal journal is invigorating. It is a form of release. And time spent keeping it is minimal.
What I find alarming is the all-consuming demand of my energy and of my thoughts at work. I titled this blog message "Slippery Slopes", because I feel the pull of gravity created by that demand on my personal resources. This is not where I want to be in my life at this time. What we do is not always what we are.
I have been fortunate to have been given an extension of the gift of life...to have been brought back from the abyss. I realize this more than ever. I want to think there is some higher purpose to my survival. Maybe an "angel" will reveal that purpose. But I think the real work is cut out for me.

I do appreciate those who continue to check the blog-site for my latest message.

Ishmael

Old E-Mails

While searching for an old e-mail to verify some issue of memory, I happened upon a group of messages dating back to mid-April. They were from various friends, acquaintances and family members expressing alarm, sorrow and concern about my heart surgery. Reading them again, some eighteen weeks later, touched me deeply. It was the first time I entirely sensed the impact of that event on the lives of so many people. I don't think of myself as some iconic symbol, but I am, in no particular order...... first born, first son, oldest brother, husband, father, uncle, nephew, in-law, boss, neighbor, customer, friend, godfather ...and so on. I can't think of anything else right now...........


I'm just me