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
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
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
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
Sunday, September 18, 2011
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
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
Friday, September 2, 2011
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
I'm just me
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Some Gentle Prodding......
That is what I will call a reminder that I received about the fact that I had not written in this blog since mid-August. Coincidentally, I had been thinking about the "The Journal" over the weekend and the need to sit down and just write my thoughts. They begin to flow easily if one simply begins...
Reading some of the earlier August entries about our travels reconnected me to the Missions Sue and I had seen on our road trips. There are radically divergent views about the nature of the missions and the impact the Spanish efforts to convert the native populations had on that population. The dark view is that the Mission system was akin to a Gulag, or concentration camps for enslaved Indians, who were forcibly made to stay on the Mission property to slave away in the fields, the bakeries and in the construction gangs. The opposing view is the romantic "Old California" lifestyle as depicted in movies, books and television.....think "Zorro".
I don't know the reality, but I think it is somewhere between the two extremes. One mustn't forget that the drive to save souls was mandated by the Spanish Court. Forceable religious conversion was all too common in the world back then......in Spain, in Europe, in the spread of Islam...as was religious persecution. The Europeans saw the native population as savages and heathens....to be saved from the darkness of their ways.
Anyway, we traveled to Santa Barbara over the weekend to see an art show featuring impressionist paintings from the Armand Hammer Museum in Westwood, L.A. It was an excellent show. We walked the shops on State Street afterward. The city is a charming place and State Street is lined with unique shops and eateries. Earlier in the year we had searched out an Irish bar on the beach end of State looking for an Irish coffee. I wrote about that in the blog...if you remember.
On Sunday morning we arose early and went to the 7:30 mass at the Mission. The mass was celebrated with great formality in a beautifully restored interior. While walking the grounds after the mass we happened upon a plot of land newly planted in olive trees....all young. The stations of the cross had been set up on paths running through the grove. Spotted around the grounds were still-flowering golden poppies. I picked a few blooms and tucked them away in a book when we returned to the car.
All the missions have been restored to their present state. Many were virtually nothing more than eroded adobe walls just a few feet high. I believe the main drive to restore the missions began in the 1920's when
a great love affair with the beauty, climate and history of California began....and the romantic view of the Missions' place in California's past took root. Buried in the cemetary behind the Carmel Mission is a man who devoted almost his entire adult life to the restoration of that Mission. One can see his advance in age documented in the many photographs of the restoration efforts he led for decades. His grave is marked with a simple granite headstone no more than two feet high. I was touched deeply. His body ended up resting
just feet from the stone walls he had helped to restore. There were poppies growing nearby. I would like poppies on my grave.
I must find that book. Where is it
SRH
I promise to write more often for those who care.
Reading some of the earlier August entries about our travels reconnected me to the Missions Sue and I had seen on our road trips. There are radically divergent views about the nature of the missions and the impact the Spanish efforts to convert the native populations had on that population. The dark view is that the Mission system was akin to a Gulag, or concentration camps for enslaved Indians, who were forcibly made to stay on the Mission property to slave away in the fields, the bakeries and in the construction gangs. The opposing view is the romantic "Old California" lifestyle as depicted in movies, books and television.....think "Zorro".
I don't know the reality, but I think it is somewhere between the two extremes. One mustn't forget that the drive to save souls was mandated by the Spanish Court. Forceable religious conversion was all too common in the world back then......in Spain, in Europe, in the spread of Islam...as was religious persecution. The Europeans saw the native population as savages and heathens....to be saved from the darkness of their ways.
Anyway, we traveled to Santa Barbara over the weekend to see an art show featuring impressionist paintings from the Armand Hammer Museum in Westwood, L.A. It was an excellent show. We walked the shops on State Street afterward. The city is a charming place and State Street is lined with unique shops and eateries. Earlier in the year we had searched out an Irish bar on the beach end of State looking for an Irish coffee. I wrote about that in the blog...if you remember.
On Sunday morning we arose early and went to the 7:30 mass at the Mission. The mass was celebrated with great formality in a beautifully restored interior. While walking the grounds after the mass we happened upon a plot of land newly planted in olive trees....all young. The stations of the cross had been set up on paths running through the grove. Spotted around the grounds were still-flowering golden poppies. I picked a few blooms and tucked them away in a book when we returned to the car.
All the missions have been restored to their present state. Many were virtually nothing more than eroded adobe walls just a few feet high. I believe the main drive to restore the missions began in the 1920's when
a great love affair with the beauty, climate and history of California began....and the romantic view of the Missions' place in California's past took root. Buried in the cemetary behind the Carmel Mission is a man who devoted almost his entire adult life to the restoration of that Mission. One can see his advance in age documented in the many photographs of the restoration efforts he led for decades. His grave is marked with a simple granite headstone no more than two feet high. I was touched deeply. His body ended up resting
just feet from the stone walls he had helped to restore. There were poppies growing nearby. I would like poppies on my grave.
I must find that book. Where is it
SRH
I promise to write more often for those who care.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Another "Full Moon"...
Saturday night marked another Full Moon cycle since I started this blog. I think it is the fifth full moon that has risen in the eastern sky to mark the passage of time in this journey. I have found that the memories of the last six months are so scrambled that it takes a real effort to sort them out within a timeline. I often find myself using my fingers to mark the weeks since one procedure or another. I am sure of three dates...just as I am sure of my birthday: April 12th, April 14th and May 24th. The dates stand for, respectively, the angiogram procedure, the bypass surgery, and the cancer surgery. Everything else falls somewhere before, in-between, or afterward....logically enough. The other day, upon not remembering involvement in some project at work, I joked that the lapse in memory must be a result of the anesthesia. The retort was "How long are you going to run with that excuse?" I replied..."Oh, maybe another few years." General laughter rang out....but I really wasn't involved in the project and should have had no memory of it. Actually, I am still pretty sharp.
I sent Dr. Amersi an e-mail this morning. I told her that "fate can abruptly bring people and events into our lives. It brought you." I thanked her for her kind caring and the level of expertise she brought into our lives. She responded within three hours . That is the kind of person she is.
More..........Later
SRH
I sent Dr. Amersi an e-mail this morning. I told her that "fate can abruptly bring people and events into our lives. It brought you." I thanked her for her kind caring and the level of expertise she brought into our lives. She responded within three hours . That is the kind of person she is.
More..........Later
SRH
Saturday, August 13, 2011
"It Feels Good to Feel Good..."
I think readers may wonder how I am doing physically and emotionally. I am constantly asked "How do you feel?" or "Do you feel better than you did before surgery?" by family, friends and aquiaintances. Some people ask the question gingerly, fearing the question may be too personal or the answer may be less than positive.
I can see it in their face and posture, but I understand. My answer is straightforward. Some venture further with the subject, others are easily satisfied and switch to more pressing issues. There are a few who have gone through the same gauntlet as I.....and then a more personal and deeper discussion ensues. There is a mutual recognition of that bond that exists with the other. Of course, I have the distinction of having passed through two gauntlets so I have more possibilities to "bond" than most others...too bad it isn't like poker where I can raise the stakes in the game of conversation.
One early morning, just days ago, I was walking with Sue through the streets of Carmel.... up the hills, down the hills; block after block in that charming town. I turned to her and said thoughtfully...."It feels good to feel good!"
If one counts the "miles" walked and cycled in re-hab sessions and adds the actual miles I walk out of re-hab then it isn't unusual for me to have walked six or seven miles by the end of that day. I have also started lifting
weights to restore lost muscle tone. It is all invigorating, and I now recognize that I am feeling physically better than I did prior to heart surgery. The incision is healed completely, but I still feel tingles and pressures around the scar as the internal healing continues.
My heart surgery looms larger in my mind and day-to-day activities than the cancer surgery. In fact, the cancer surgery has receded so far into my everyday thinking that I was surprised when I thought of myself as a cancer survivor. It simply hadn't occured to me to think of myself in that way. When I asked Sue if she thought of me as a cancer survivor, a flash of emotion crossed her face and she answered "yes". So I guess I am a cancer survivor. Of course, if I had to undergo some regimen of treatment, as so many others do, I would have that as a stark reminder of the of the condition.
I am fortunate.
I saw a whole new crop of cardio-rehab rookies Friday morning. It was touching to see the expressions on some of their faces....wariness, confusion, hesitency...as they took in the room full of treadmills and exercise equipment. While I sat cooling down from an exercycle session, I observed one of the new recruits, a woman in her late fifties or early sixties, being introduced to the treadmill. There was a mask of utter fear on her face. As it was, the treadmill was set to something like a quarter mile per hour and it took all the concentration she could muster to keep up. She was not enjoying the experience. I'll see if I can ease her fears when I see her next.
I am always surprised to see a woman's heart surgery scar; the "brand" as I call the dark pink incision down the breastbone. It mars her body and perhaps her pysche. My brand is almost hidden by the chesthair that has grown back. Lucky me.
It Feels Good to Feel Good...
SRH
I can see it in their face and posture, but I understand. My answer is straightforward. Some venture further with the subject, others are easily satisfied and switch to more pressing issues. There are a few who have gone through the same gauntlet as I.....and then a more personal and deeper discussion ensues. There is a mutual recognition of that bond that exists with the other. Of course, I have the distinction of having passed through two gauntlets so I have more possibilities to "bond" than most others...too bad it isn't like poker where I can raise the stakes in the game of conversation.
One early morning, just days ago, I was walking with Sue through the streets of Carmel.... up the hills, down the hills; block after block in that charming town. I turned to her and said thoughtfully...."It feels good to feel good!"
If one counts the "miles" walked and cycled in re-hab sessions and adds the actual miles I walk out of re-hab then it isn't unusual for me to have walked six or seven miles by the end of that day. I have also started lifting
weights to restore lost muscle tone. It is all invigorating, and I now recognize that I am feeling physically better than I did prior to heart surgery. The incision is healed completely, but I still feel tingles and pressures around the scar as the internal healing continues.
My heart surgery looms larger in my mind and day-to-day activities than the cancer surgery. In fact, the cancer surgery has receded so far into my everyday thinking that I was surprised when I thought of myself as a cancer survivor. It simply hadn't occured to me to think of myself in that way. When I asked Sue if she thought of me as a cancer survivor, a flash of emotion crossed her face and she answered "yes". So I guess I am a cancer survivor. Of course, if I had to undergo some regimen of treatment, as so many others do, I would have that as a stark reminder of the of the condition.
I am fortunate.
I saw a whole new crop of cardio-rehab rookies Friday morning. It was touching to see the expressions on some of their faces....wariness, confusion, hesitency...as they took in the room full of treadmills and exercise equipment. While I sat cooling down from an exercycle session, I observed one of the new recruits, a woman in her late fifties or early sixties, being introduced to the treadmill. There was a mask of utter fear on her face. As it was, the treadmill was set to something like a quarter mile per hour and it took all the concentration she could muster to keep up. She was not enjoying the experience. I'll see if I can ease her fears when I see her next.
I am always surprised to see a woman's heart surgery scar; the "brand" as I call the dark pink incision down the breastbone. It mars her body and perhaps her pysche. My brand is almost hidden by the chesthair that has grown back. Lucky me.
It Feels Good to Feel Good...
SRH
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