Moonlight After Rain, John Atkinson Grimshaw
Mom may need a liver transplant. We’re waiting for the result of her biopsy, but things appear bleak right now.
Posts will be intermittent for a while. Your good wishes are a comfort. Thank you.
Summer Quince, William Morris
The surgery went well. Coming out of my anaesthetic haze I saw my doctor by the bedside; he looked happy, said something to me about results in two weeks, and then there will be a second surgery. I muttered something to him and fell back into the fog.
On my way in to work this morning I discovered Junior has excellent brakes. I could see heavy traffic ahead of me, and the lane next to me was free of cars except for one. I changed lanes unfortunately during the same moment the light went yellow, and the driver in front of me, partly over the line, came to an abrupt halt. I hit Junior’s brakes and we came to a stop a quarter inch away from that driver’s right bumper, with Junior’s rear partly impeding the lane we’d just left. No horns, no problem, everyone understood as Junior’s brakes had given all a wake-up call. My heart gradually stopped trying to kick its way from behind my ribcage. Truly I do not need anymore bad stuff coming my way. Trouble often comes in threes–I hope that was number 3.
My heartfelt thanks to you, my friends, for the well wishes and virtual hugs. Thursday is my long day when I usually work until 7 but I’m leaving at early today.
Mommie’s keeping it together until her hospital day, but she’s not been able to keep her food down my sister told me. I’m going to drive out to Moreno Valley again on Sunday. She goes in on the 28th and likely will remain in hospital until after her surgery. An exploratory is set for that day, and surgery will follow as soon as she can be scheduled. Meanwhile we’re hoping for the best of outcomes, and I thank you for your good wishes on her behalf.
Good Neighbors, John William Waterhouse
Thank you all for the kind words and hugs sent my way, and for Mommie too. I must check in at the hospital 9:45 a.m. Wednesday morning. I’ll take a book of course ’cause I don’t know the exact time of my surgery but I’ll probably have to sit there for at least an hour–starving slightly ’cause no breakfast.
Drove out to my sister’s Sunday and found Mommie working her way through a snowstorm of bills and papers. That woman keeps every piece of paper that comes her way. I sat on the edge of her bed and tackled the piles of bills old and new, receipts, evidences of benefit, insurance, health care stuff, credit card bills, marketing information on her three websites, catalogs, junk mail, etcetera, separating and organzing.
She’s keeping her spirits up, but she insisted on straightening out her papers. I wasn’t happy at having to talk about the will–and she’d written detailed instructions for how she wanted her funeral to be and what she wanted to wear. More information than I wanted to know, but I simply said, “Okay, Mommie.”
If she went into the hospital feeling like she’d left stuff undone, she’d fret and worry. We gathered all the important things that needed to go with the will, and I organized her bills and shredded everything that needed shredding, with the help of 3-year old Naaliya, who was fascinated by the shredder. “Is tat all, Auntie?” she asked when it had eaten the last old receipt. Remember the time when everything around you was fascinating?
Mom’s doctor has told her she must stop her internet businesses. No stress, he said, of any kind. So she’s going to close the sites, which is too bad ’cause she loves working on her web businesses. She won’t let us tell our brothers about her illness. They’d both fall apart, she says, and they have their own problems to deal with. She says she’ll tell them herself after all is done. Even though we expect Mommie will weather through, we know our brothers, the Two, won’t handle it well.
As I said in response to a friend’s e-mail, the only upside about Mommie’s condition is the liver is able to regenerate. I hope hers remembers that.
Tuesday Mommie was diagnosed with cancer. A tumor the size of a fist has grown secretly on her liver, hidden behind her ribcage, and sent nodes into her stomach. She is philosophical about it. She says she’s not going without a fight, but she knows she’s going to die some day, and she made it clear to me that she does not want to be forced to linger on life support if, ultimately, nothing can be done for her.
Next week Tuesday she goes in for surgery. Her blood pressure is too low, her biochemistry too fragile for the rigor of anaesthesia right now. Her doctor is waiting for her condition to stabilize. Today I’m driving out to sit with her a while. My surgery is scheduled for this week Wednesday and I don’t know if I’ll be able to drive out to Moreno Valley next weekend.
I cannot think of losing Mommie.
Dante and Virgil in Hell, William Bouguereau
13,304. When I’m lost in the story forest…must follow Marcus Sakey’s star chart. I’ve posted these next to Mac so he won’t forget his job duties. d 
Young Priestess, Willliam Bouguereau
13,304. That’s about all I’ve been doing–writing and the zombie run back and forth to the day job. Making progress with Trail of Shadows, about a page a day. I’ve got my monthly meeting with Janet Saturday, and then, next week, things may grind to a halt for a while. I’m having surgery next Wednesday–trying not to think about that too much.
Happy writing, d:
Work, Ford Madox Brown
12,510. A glorious summer day! Six a.m., sun’s up and shining with a vengeance, striking through the bathroom window, turning the plants neon-green. The weekend was hot and hot, well into the evening. By darkfall it turned cool and balmy, and I stepped outside to feel the breeze. Despite the soothing cool, the air still held a slap of humidity; the day’s sweaty palm not yet lifted.
Saturday I started a new fantasy short story, clumsily titled Nyrabet and the Swordswoman. That’ll do for now, and I’ve got just over 800 words on it so far. Sunday was meant for writing too, but dust-laden household mundanities whined and screeched for my attention. Most of Sunday morning I spent reassembling my bed. In trying to make room for a couple new pieces, I inched it the wrong way and disjointed it. I’d bought it unfinished at Ikea years ago, stained the pine olive-gold, and put it together myself. It worked just fine all these years until I decided to move it, forgetting that it was held together with pegs and cross-screws. So I spent all of last week sleeping on the floor, and the cats wondered what the hell had happened to the bed. Sunday morning I took it completely apart and reassembled it, and the cats are happy now. Me too. After the bed, I had to tend to the dust and jumble before moss and tendrils made an appearance, and Sunday passed in a scramble of housework and cooking this week’s lunches–seasoned salmon and more chicken breasts. Made a pitcher of sweet lemonade with my last 3 lemons and a big pitcher of iced coffee–that was delicious! Um, I had a glass of the iced coffee, not the whole pitcher–but I could have!
Getting up to the budding heat this morning was difficult, and I didn’t think I’d get any work done on Trail of Shadows, but I schlepped to the Mac, turned it on, made coffee, and sat down. Sometimes the words rush through my mind a hurly-burly crowd casting shadows and waving serifs. Then they hit the wall of resistance Pressfield speaks of in The War of Art and crash to the ground in a heap. I must pick them up one by one, shake them free of sticky webbing, and set them on the page with as little lopsidedness as possible. Nothing too crooked this morning, and to think, I was going to tell the Mac to talk to the hand.
A Bridge in Bruges, Lucien Levy Dhurmer
12,132. Read T.S. Eliot’s poem, “Preludes”; its melancholy winter images reminds me of the endless redundancies of daily life in the urban world.
This weekend is all about writing. I’m going to work on the short story, “A Haunting of Roses”, the farm wife story, which is in notes and has been for a long time, and “Trail of Shadows.” I’m up early so I can get stuff done. I’ve prepared the chicken breasts with olive oil, fresh sliced garlic, seasoned salt, ground peppercorns, and thyme cut from my pot garden. It’s marinating in the fridge. I’ve got to juice the carrots, and I must put my poor broken bed back together. I really should reassemble it this weekend. It’s bothersome to sleep on the mattress flat on the floor between the frame with the headboard in pieces against the wall.
This morning is cool and silver, but I imagine it’ll be hot and humid later. Southern California humidity doesn’t bother me; it’s nothing compared to Louisiana.
Time to get to work.
Echo and Narcissus, John William Waterhouse
11,702. It’s dangerous to walk into a car dealership. I went on an errand to the local Toyota dealership and came home with a new car. I hope Red forgives me. When we left to run that errand Sunday morning, he had no idea he’d not be coming home with me later. Neither did I. Poor baby. He must feel so betrayed.
The new addition to Casa Young is a 2007 Toyota Yaris. He’s dark red metallic aka Barcelona Red, came with a nice array of bells and whistles, and his name’s Junior.
When nobody was looking, I gave Red a good-bye kiss. Fourteen years, 180,000 miles of good and loyal service. It was the least I could do.
Thank you, Paul, for that thoughtful e-mail.
On the way to the Dance, Kay Nielsen
11,646. A bitch getting up at 5:30 this morning so I could write. I weaseled the time, stealing minutes until it was nearly six and a little voice, the ever-ready doubt demon sleazing his way in, whispered, “You don’t have to get up yet; it’s Friday; sleep in; do the words tonight.” Fat chance. Not after the Sepulveda to 405 crawl. First thing I’m gonna do when I get home is dive into the gin pail, and when I resurface, I’m gonna collapse in bed and watch one of my frequently re-played movies (I really need to add some new viewing to the dvd collection.) and stare until the sleep fairy hammers my eyes closed. So, knowing myself so very well, I got up, hefted the Mac into bed, and managed to do a new heretofore unthought of scene. It’s not finished; it’s rough, bare bones stuff, but it’s a good thing. If I’da snoozed, I’da missed it.
On occasion, the mundane gives way to surprise. Yesterday the Farmer’s Market returned, after a long absence, having been pushed out of their old location by construction, and a flower seller had red lilies! I hardly ever see red lilies. These were large, six-petaled rose-colored beauties, black-freckled on the inside. I bought the last bunch to grace my desk and make me smile through my long Thursday afternoon when I work until seven.
And, at lunch time yesterday, in recently created Century Park, we were treated to a concert by none other than Stevie Wonder. CAA has offices in the new building and I guess this was just one of those nice things. The park, a middling swatch of thick grass and young trees, was full with as many people as could find a spot to stand. Blustery, cold-edged winds swooped among the stone and glass canyons, but the sun beamed happily, and Stevie Wonder gave us a sweet, free performance, finishing the set with his popular “Superstition.” Nice lunch hour.
