After I read Olive Kitteridge several years ago I went ahead and, over the course of a few years, read everything else Elizabeth Strout had written or subsequently wrote. None of the other books are as good as Olive Kitteridge.
The author has just written a sequel to Olive Kitteridge called Olive, Again. Like its predecessor, Olive, Again is a series of stories in which Olive is either a central or peripheral character. And also like the original, the book is beautiful and moving and does what any good novel should do: help the reader think. In this case think, as Olive does, about the past--past decisions, behaviors and mistakes--and how this past propels us towards where we wind up.
When I was in the hospital in August I found it off-putting to have the nurses tell me that everything I was doing was "excellent" and "perfect" and "fantastic" because I knew that some of the things I did for which I received this praise were not excellent, perfect or fantastic. And, in fact, they were at best minor accomplishments. I'd lean to my left so a nurse could pluck something from under my body and the move was "perfect." I managed to stand up next to an 18 year old in order to put a few drops of urine into a plastic cup and I heard: "excellent!" I managed to eat something on the second day after surgery and that accomplishment was greeted with the assessment:"fantastic."
Well while I am happy with much of what I have done in my life, I know that there have been decisions that have not always been fantastic. And in this book the reader witnesses not only what happens to Olive, but to many neighbors and friends, who are in pain because of goofy, inconsiderate, and foolish behaviors. Yet we all have a shot to right ourselves and at least attempt to purge the pain fueled by our past.
Some problems with the novel: This book is in large part an update on what happened to characters who appeared in the first book. That seems fair, but there are also at least two references to characters from other novels that Strout has written. Even for someone who has read all her books, it is not easy recalling enough of the details of these prior books to appreciate fully the stories about these characters. This was most noticeable with the story called "Exiles" about the Burgess family. The only reason I caught the reference was because the name "Burgess" rang a bell as it is in the title, The Burgess Boys. In the last story, "Friend", the central character Isabelle is from the novel Isabelle and Amy, I barely remembered that book.
In the original, there were a few stories where Olive is a peripheral character. That is true in the sequel but there are more of these. There are, however, enough about Olive to understand how she evolves and how she realizes that this evolution is important.
At one point Olive tells young Cindy Coombs, who is sick with cancer, that the spouses of widows and widowers become saints. When Cindy recalls a bad memory and fears her children and spouse will remember a particular negative Christmas incident after she's gone, Olive tells her: "Cindy Coombs, there's not one goddamn person in the world who doesn't have a bad memory or two to take them through life."
Tis true and the message in these stories is that while there is a whole lot of emotional pain in our universe, and we have to acknowledge our complicity in creating such pain, we should not allow ourselves to be disabled by bad decisions, we have to look at them, and take steps--maybe baby steps to move on in a healthy way.
Why do we read? We read because of books like this one. Reading can be escape reading, but it also can present characters, like Olive, who can be a catalyst for our own introspection. Olive regrets how she treated Henry. She knows now what a good man he was. Fergus and Ethel come to realize how inane was their behavior within their marriage. Jack acknowledges that he treated his daughter poorly.
We all need to take a look at ourselves. Even a stubborn Yankee like Olive Kitteridge can come around and acknowledge our responsibility to the people in our lives, and ourselves. And assess how much of what we have done is really "excellent" or "terrific" or "perfect." Then try to purge the bad tendencies and enjoy this wonderful shot we have at life.
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Wednesday, December 4, 2019
Kurt, Sluggo, and me
Spring break 1971.
Kurt Legler, Pete "Sluggo" Moore, and I did the obligatory senior trip driving from Albany New York to Daytona Beach Florida. We stayed in a place that as I recall was called the Seahorse. The objective was to do what college students did in Florida during spring break. We left around midnight on a cold Albany night and arrived early evening in Daytona. I remember stopping at a package store when we got into town and being amused by the owner's drawl and shorts in March.
My recollection of the week is fuzzy. Some clear moments, but they fuse together with others. We ran into, surprisingly, some fellow Albany students who we did not know were going to be down there. Daytona, then and I suppose now, had one hotel after another right on the beach and the place was jammed with college students. Just jammed. There was one forgettable night when students at an adjacent hotel had a party where a vat of what tasted like grape punch was available for the gulping. It was loaded with toxins. I recall bumping into a few fellow Albany students at the party and we stayed up all night to watch the sun come up. Earlier in the week I spotted another Albany woman whom I'd seen around campus. When we returned to the university we became a happy couple towards the end of my senior year.
The drive back was not as much fun. The car had some engine trouble early on. We got into a spirited, but not uncivil, debate with the owner of the service station about the Civil War (and this was only 100 plus years after it was over) during which he told me to hold onto any Confederate money I came across because the south would rise again. Despite the chuckling, I am not sure he was kidding.
We hit murderous traffic on the Belt Parkway and then Southern State as we were finishing the journey. Eventually, Kurt dropped Sluggo off, and then me, and then headed to his home in Rochester. I last saw Kurt at a reunion in 2012 or so. He seemed great but a few years later I received the news that he had died at 65. This morning I read a group e-mail informing all that Pete passed as well earlier this year. He was only 68.
Both Kurt and Pete had been very successful in their businesses and family lives. Kurt had started as an insurance agent for a major company, and then established a lucrative insurance business of his own. Pete I had not seen since graduation, but I read today that he had had an excellent career in Pensacola owning his own automobile dealership as well as being a generous contributor to charities and his community.
Let's hope things don't happen in threes.
Seize the day.
Kurt Legler, Pete "Sluggo" Moore, and I did the obligatory senior trip driving from Albany New York to Daytona Beach Florida. We stayed in a place that as I recall was called the Seahorse. The objective was to do what college students did in Florida during spring break. We left around midnight on a cold Albany night and arrived early evening in Daytona. I remember stopping at a package store when we got into town and being amused by the owner's drawl and shorts in March.
My recollection of the week is fuzzy. Some clear moments, but they fuse together with others. We ran into, surprisingly, some fellow Albany students who we did not know were going to be down there. Daytona, then and I suppose now, had one hotel after another right on the beach and the place was jammed with college students. Just jammed. There was one forgettable night when students at an adjacent hotel had a party where a vat of what tasted like grape punch was available for the gulping. It was loaded with toxins. I recall bumping into a few fellow Albany students at the party and we stayed up all night to watch the sun come up. Earlier in the week I spotted another Albany woman whom I'd seen around campus. When we returned to the university we became a happy couple towards the end of my senior year.
The drive back was not as much fun. The car had some engine trouble early on. We got into a spirited, but not uncivil, debate with the owner of the service station about the Civil War (and this was only 100 plus years after it was over) during which he told me to hold onto any Confederate money I came across because the south would rise again. Despite the chuckling, I am not sure he was kidding.
We hit murderous traffic on the Belt Parkway and then Southern State as we were finishing the journey. Eventually, Kurt dropped Sluggo off, and then me, and then headed to his home in Rochester. I last saw Kurt at a reunion in 2012 or so. He seemed great but a few years later I received the news that he had died at 65. This morning I read a group e-mail informing all that Pete passed as well earlier this year. He was only 68.
Both Kurt and Pete had been very successful in their businesses and family lives. Kurt had started as an insurance agent for a major company, and then established a lucrative insurance business of his own. Pete I had not seen since graduation, but I read today that he had had an excellent career in Pensacola owning his own automobile dealership as well as being a generous contributor to charities and his community.
Let's hope things don't happen in threes.
Seize the day.
Monday, December 2, 2019
Nevermore
All are shouting hosannahs because the Baltimore Ravens have won impressively the last several weeks. You read it here first. There is no way the Ravens will win the superbowl, nor do I believe will they even get to the game despite all the gushing.
No pro team wins a superbowl with a college offense. The Ravens offense is a read option offense that works well with a running quarterback--IN COLLEGE. It is true that the Ravens have an exceptionally athletic quarterback, but he is only an average passer. A good defensive team will stop him like the 49ers essentially stopped him last weekend.
The Patriots, my team, are unlikely candidates for a superbowl victory either, since they have no offense to speak of and Tom Brady, to date at least, is spending too much time squawking at his receivers and not enough time looking inside. It would not surprise me if the Patriots win only two of their remaining four games. But should the Patriots play the Ravens in a playoff game. Quoth the Raven.
You will see teams, and the Patriots would be one of them, just making sure that every time Jackson runs with the ball he gets walloped. All it will take is one good zetz that slows him down and their offense is shot. Once defenses do not need to worry about Jackson as a runner there will be no balm in Gilead.
I don't know if the Bills will beat the Ravens next week, but after Cleveland, Buffalo, and Pittsburgh (three of the four teams that play the Ravens during the remaining regular season) get done, Jackson will not be a jolly runner anymore. He'll take a couple of shots and will be gun shy. I saw yesterday that after a zetz he does not run on a subsequent play.
It may not be the Patriots, but it will not be the Ravens either.
Ravens fans: Quoth Zaremba, by way of Poe
No pro team wins a superbowl with a college offense. The Ravens offense is a read option offense that works well with a running quarterback--IN COLLEGE. It is true that the Ravens have an exceptionally athletic quarterback, but he is only an average passer. A good defensive team will stop him like the 49ers essentially stopped him last weekend.
The Patriots, my team, are unlikely candidates for a superbowl victory either, since they have no offense to speak of and Tom Brady, to date at least, is spending too much time squawking at his receivers and not enough time looking inside. It would not surprise me if the Patriots win only two of their remaining four games. But should the Patriots play the Ravens in a playoff game. Quoth the Raven.
You will see teams, and the Patriots would be one of them, just making sure that every time Jackson runs with the ball he gets walloped. All it will take is one good zetz that slows him down and their offense is shot. Once defenses do not need to worry about Jackson as a runner there will be no balm in Gilead.
I don't know if the Bills will beat the Ravens next week, but after Cleveland, Buffalo, and Pittsburgh (three of the four teams that play the Ravens during the remaining regular season) get done, Jackson will not be a jolly runner anymore. He'll take a couple of shots and will be gun shy. I saw yesterday that after a zetz he does not run on a subsequent play.
It may not be the Patriots, but it will not be the Ravens either.
Ravens fans: Quoth Zaremba, by way of Poe
Other friends have flown before.
Quaff oh quaff,
but there'll be no kind nepenthe in the post season.
In January it will be
but there'll be no kind nepenthe in the post season.
In January it will be
Nevermore.
A Good American Family
Last week I finished David Maraniss's latest book, A Good American Family. It is about his father, mother and family who were damaged by McCarthyism.
I'm very glad that I read the book but not sure I can recommend it. It is, or was for me, tough sledding at times and there was a good deal of detail that seemed peripheral to the essence of the book. It was informative to read about the Spanish Civil War and important for the book to include it but the detail seemed excessive. There were other parts which I felt were also a slog to get through.
However, the point of the book is very important and I am not sure one can write about the McCarthy era more powerfully. Maraniss's father and mother and their children were terribly affected by accusations challenging their loyalty to America. Dad lost his job a number of times. The family was forced to move frequently.
The elder Maraniss and his mother did indeed attend meetings of Communists and were supporters for a spell. It was myopic, as they subsequently agreed. Communism as the author points out is an ideology that does not see the world as it is. Yet those in the Maranisses' circle were good people who were not unAmerican in any way. They believed strongly in democracy, despised fascism, and worked hard to rid the world of dictatorships. They raised their kids to honor American values and be good citizens.
The irony is that the people who questioned Maraniss and made political hay out of disparaging and persecuting his family were Un American hiding behind a cloak of Americanism. One of the members was as Un American as one can be unless believing in race superiority is an American value. This House representative was involved, at least peripherally, in the Leo Frank lynching. Others too who spewed rhetoric suggesting that Maraniss had undermined American values, undermined American values on a daily basis. One suggested that it was startling that there were Communists even those from "good American families." Well, the author describes his mom, dad, and their siblings warts and all, and yet--it is clear that they were fundamentally good people who may have temporarily supported an illogical political philosophy. They were a good American family. And the people who persecuted them were, despite their duds, corrosive to our society.
Like all schoolkids of the 50s and 60s, I knew about McCarthyism, but the presentation here of the author's family--a people who were concerned for the rights of others and were willing to work to preserve freedoms--juxtaposed with the persecutors drew the picture more clearly than I had previously seen it.
I keep a list of the books I have read. I do it both to give myself credit for not being a slug and watching forty football games a week but also so that subsequently I can remember what I read. In the document I have a second section which includes books I especially liked. Despite the detail I mention early in this review, I included A Good American Family. Subtly powerful. An odd juxtaposition, but that is how I have reacted to the book.
I'm very glad that I read the book but not sure I can recommend it. It is, or was for me, tough sledding at times and there was a good deal of detail that seemed peripheral to the essence of the book. It was informative to read about the Spanish Civil War and important for the book to include it but the detail seemed excessive. There were other parts which I felt were also a slog to get through.
However, the point of the book is very important and I am not sure one can write about the McCarthy era more powerfully. Maraniss's father and mother and their children were terribly affected by accusations challenging their loyalty to America. Dad lost his job a number of times. The family was forced to move frequently.
The elder Maraniss and his mother did indeed attend meetings of Communists and were supporters for a spell. It was myopic, as they subsequently agreed. Communism as the author points out is an ideology that does not see the world as it is. Yet those in the Maranisses' circle were good people who were not unAmerican in any way. They believed strongly in democracy, despised fascism, and worked hard to rid the world of dictatorships. They raised their kids to honor American values and be good citizens.
The irony is that the people who questioned Maraniss and made political hay out of disparaging and persecuting his family were Un American hiding behind a cloak of Americanism. One of the members was as Un American as one can be unless believing in race superiority is an American value. This House representative was involved, at least peripherally, in the Leo Frank lynching. Others too who spewed rhetoric suggesting that Maraniss had undermined American values, undermined American values on a daily basis. One suggested that it was startling that there were Communists even those from "good American families." Well, the author describes his mom, dad, and their siblings warts and all, and yet--it is clear that they were fundamentally good people who may have temporarily supported an illogical political philosophy. They were a good American family. And the people who persecuted them were, despite their duds, corrosive to our society.
Like all schoolkids of the 50s and 60s, I knew about McCarthyism, but the presentation here of the author's family--a people who were concerned for the rights of others and were willing to work to preserve freedoms--juxtaposed with the persecutors drew the picture more clearly than I had previously seen it.
I keep a list of the books I have read. I do it both to give myself credit for not being a slug and watching forty football games a week but also so that subsequently I can remember what I read. In the document I have a second section which includes books I especially liked. Despite the detail I mention early in this review, I included A Good American Family. Subtly powerful. An odd juxtaposition, but that is how I have reacted to the book.
Sunday, November 3, 2019
Nightmare
I had a nightmare last night. This is very much an aberration for me. I almost never have such dreams and, while it is self congratulatory, I attribute this to the fact that I tend not to manufacture and then submerge shit into my subconscious. I tend, I believe--again I know this is self congratulatory--not to do stuff that I can't live with unless I ram it into my subconscious such that it pops up in the middle of the night. So, typically, I do not have unpleasant things surfacing and sleep pretty much straight through. Even when I wake to stumble to the bathroom, I come back and am asleep in no time when I return.
But last night I had a nightmare. It was with Donna and me, and this morning the particulars are not clear. She was not even here to discuss the dream let alone do anything that could, even irrationally, be the source. Even though it was about Donna, it wasn't about Donna.
I tried to think about what could have provoked the bad movie. I bought a whole bunch of candy for Halloween and the kids did not come by in the droves I anticipated. Couldn't let the left over candy go to waste so I have had more than my share of chocolate over the past few days. Could be the chocolate.
I have been very good typically about my diet since the docs opened me up in August. Not a piece of red meat since July 24th when I was told I was blocked up. I did, however, have bacon with my eggs at a diner yesterday morning. Could be the bacon. Probably not the Almighty punishing me for eating trayfe. But maybe. Bacon on shabbat no less.
I've been exercising regularly and taking my meds. Cant be an excess of energy or a missed pill.
The last book I read was not one to cause nightmares and I am into a benign memoir right now which is not Psycho stuff.
I am in the throes of a battle with Blue Cross Blue Shield but if I had a nightmare every time some bureaucrat said they were "sorry for the inconvenience" when they themselves were the negligent source of the inconvenience, I would not have slept much since Junior High.
So, not sure what brought it on. And pretty sure that it was indeed an aberration and my next nightmare will come in 2029. Still, it has set me to thinking.
People regularly ask me how I am doing? Since I feel almost completely healed now, I am sometimes surprised by the inquiry--as in, "why are they asking me, oh right". I bought some suits in, not kidding, May or maybe early June. Long story, but there was some back and forth with getting the alterations right, and I did not pick them up before the operation. And I havent been back since. I did e-mail two months ago and explain to the salesperson what had happened, and also that I lost about ten pounds so the suits will have to be realtered. He was fine about it. When I called on Friday to say I am ready to pick up the suits, he asked me how I was doing. And for a minute I did not know what he was talking about. When I relayed my saga with Blue Cross and Blue Shield to friends over dinner last night, they immediately told me not to get my ire up--and it took a second to get why they were concerned. Same thing with my brother.
I did not like having the nightmare. And do not like that I do not know why I had the nightmare besides having a bunch of mini Kit-Kats and Mounds bars, and a couple of pieces of bacon yesterday.
But last night I had a nightmare. It was with Donna and me, and this morning the particulars are not clear. She was not even here to discuss the dream let alone do anything that could, even irrationally, be the source. Even though it was about Donna, it wasn't about Donna.
I tried to think about what could have provoked the bad movie. I bought a whole bunch of candy for Halloween and the kids did not come by in the droves I anticipated. Couldn't let the left over candy go to waste so I have had more than my share of chocolate over the past few days. Could be the chocolate.
I have been very good typically about my diet since the docs opened me up in August. Not a piece of red meat since July 24th when I was told I was blocked up. I did, however, have bacon with my eggs at a diner yesterday morning. Could be the bacon. Probably not the Almighty punishing me for eating trayfe. But maybe. Bacon on shabbat no less.
I've been exercising regularly and taking my meds. Cant be an excess of energy or a missed pill.
The last book I read was not one to cause nightmares and I am into a benign memoir right now which is not Psycho stuff.
I am in the throes of a battle with Blue Cross Blue Shield but if I had a nightmare every time some bureaucrat said they were "sorry for the inconvenience" when they themselves were the negligent source of the inconvenience, I would not have slept much since Junior High.
So, not sure what brought it on. And pretty sure that it was indeed an aberration and my next nightmare will come in 2029. Still, it has set me to thinking.
People regularly ask me how I am doing? Since I feel almost completely healed now, I am sometimes surprised by the inquiry--as in, "why are they asking me, oh right". I bought some suits in, not kidding, May or maybe early June. Long story, but there was some back and forth with getting the alterations right, and I did not pick them up before the operation. And I havent been back since. I did e-mail two months ago and explain to the salesperson what had happened, and also that I lost about ten pounds so the suits will have to be realtered. He was fine about it. When I called on Friday to say I am ready to pick up the suits, he asked me how I was doing. And for a minute I did not know what he was talking about. When I relayed my saga with Blue Cross and Blue Shield to friends over dinner last night, they immediately told me not to get my ire up--and it took a second to get why they were concerned. Same thing with my brother.
I did not like having the nightmare. And do not like that I do not know why I had the nightmare besides having a bunch of mini Kit-Kats and Mounds bars, and a couple of pieces of bacon yesterday.
Sunday, October 20, 2019
Homecoming, Septuagenarians, and Sport
This past weekend was Albany's homecoming. Alums were congregated in various places on campus with the alleged centerpiece a football game, and a university museum exhibit about the connections between Art and Sport.
At a school like my alma mater the enthusiasm for football is not what it is at many universities. There was, however, cheering at the game, and one particular fan with a bell seated in front of us was so noisy that I wondered what it might be like to wring a neck as the fan incessantly rang the bell. There indeed was cause for some excitement in the fourth quarter as both teams attempted to manage the clock. Rhode Island needed to rush to score and Albany attempted to exhaust the time to save the victory. Albany ran out the clock and won the game 35-28.
Several of us, all fledgling septuagenarians, traveled to the state's capital to attend the game. We get together once or twice a year to reconnect. This time a recurring theme was that each of us was either already, or would be shortly, 70- old in a way that was beyond our ability to conceptualize when we were undergraduates.
We had a meal together on Friday night and were served by a recent university graduate from our school. "What did you study?", we asked. "Physics" she said. "Using it right?" she quipped as she took away our dishes. One of the bunch of us, asked if she had a sister who might be forty years older. This caused another wise guy to comment that that would still make the sib too young for us.
At the Alumni House on Saturday morning we met a fellow sixteen years our senior. The function brought alums together from various fraternities that existed at the time. One of the first things the man said to us was that he was on the team that first beat a rival fraternity in football in the mid 50s. Later a group of others came by, again our senior but by only a half dozen years, and again mentioned sporting events as highlights of their time. I met two former editors of the sport pages of the school paper who spoke about how their extracurricular activity in sports journalism launched their careers.
We sat at a table prior to the game in something akin to a tailgating setting. Tailgating light. We stared at a picture of other septuagenarians who are contemporaries, and could not recognize a particular guy whom we all knew well. There were toasts to those who have passed, and questions about those we have not seen in a spell, and those who somehow had managed to avoid the wide angle lens of social media.
We walked around the campus and spotted a family waiting for their son to emerge from his dormitory. Coincidentally his room was near a section where we had been in the 60s. Out came the fellow and we said that he should take a look at us, because we were him 50 years later. He did not want to get his head around that as he stared at the gray and balding cluster. We asked another undergraduate to take our picture. She willingly did so, and then walked away--and we could see that she had on a tee shirt that read "Class of 2023." Yikes.
For some reason they had scheduled the game as a 330 start. In Albany even in October it can be cold and gets colder when the sun goes down. It was a beautiful and unseasonably warm day while the sun was out, but once the sun went down it was close to frigid. Only three of our group stayed to the end of the game even though it was close.
The Art and Sport exhibit was interesting, housed in a section of the campus now called the University Art Museum. But the real museum was the entire campus that day, from the madhouse in the bookstore selling football and lacrosse jerseys, to the concurrent open house with high school seniors parading about, to we septuagenarians meandering and shmoozing during, before, and after the game.
And then of course there was the most significant exhibit for us. As we said our goodbyes after dinner on Saturday the tacit message for us all was this: Like the football teams in the fourth quarter--we need to wisely manage the remaining time on the clock.
At a school like my alma mater the enthusiasm for football is not what it is at many universities. There was, however, cheering at the game, and one particular fan with a bell seated in front of us was so noisy that I wondered what it might be like to wring a neck as the fan incessantly rang the bell. There indeed was cause for some excitement in the fourth quarter as both teams attempted to manage the clock. Rhode Island needed to rush to score and Albany attempted to exhaust the time to save the victory. Albany ran out the clock and won the game 35-28.
Several of us, all fledgling septuagenarians, traveled to the state's capital to attend the game. We get together once or twice a year to reconnect. This time a recurring theme was that each of us was either already, or would be shortly, 70- old in a way that was beyond our ability to conceptualize when we were undergraduates.
We had a meal together on Friday night and were served by a recent university graduate from our school. "What did you study?", we asked. "Physics" she said. "Using it right?" she quipped as she took away our dishes. One of the bunch of us, asked if she had a sister who might be forty years older. This caused another wise guy to comment that that would still make the sib too young for us.
At the Alumni House on Saturday morning we met a fellow sixteen years our senior. The function brought alums together from various fraternities that existed at the time. One of the first things the man said to us was that he was on the team that first beat a rival fraternity in football in the mid 50s. Later a group of others came by, again our senior but by only a half dozen years, and again mentioned sporting events as highlights of their time. I met two former editors of the sport pages of the school paper who spoke about how their extracurricular activity in sports journalism launched their careers.
We sat at a table prior to the game in something akin to a tailgating setting. Tailgating light. We stared at a picture of other septuagenarians who are contemporaries, and could not recognize a particular guy whom we all knew well. There were toasts to those who have passed, and questions about those we have not seen in a spell, and those who somehow had managed to avoid the wide angle lens of social media.
We walked around the campus and spotted a family waiting for their son to emerge from his dormitory. Coincidentally his room was near a section where we had been in the 60s. Out came the fellow and we said that he should take a look at us, because we were him 50 years later. He did not want to get his head around that as he stared at the gray and balding cluster. We asked another undergraduate to take our picture. She willingly did so, and then walked away--and we could see that she had on a tee shirt that read "Class of 2023." Yikes.
For some reason they had scheduled the game as a 330 start. In Albany even in October it can be cold and gets colder when the sun goes down. It was a beautiful and unseasonably warm day while the sun was out, but once the sun went down it was close to frigid. Only three of our group stayed to the end of the game even though it was close.
The Art and Sport exhibit was interesting, housed in a section of the campus now called the University Art Museum. But the real museum was the entire campus that day, from the madhouse in the bookstore selling football and lacrosse jerseys, to the concurrent open house with high school seniors parading about, to we septuagenarians meandering and shmoozing during, before, and after the game.
And then of course there was the most significant exhibit for us. As we said our goodbyes after dinner on Saturday the tacit message for us all was this: Like the football teams in the fourth quarter--we need to wisely manage the remaining time on the clock.
Monday, September 30, 2019
8 weeks
It is eight weeks today since I had a triple bypass that nobody I know thought I could possibly need--including my docs.
So, what is new.
Happy new year to all those who consider themselves members of the tribe. l'shana tova.
So, what is new.
- When I came out of surgery I could not burp without feeling pain. Not an exaggeration. A sneeze was a disaster. I learned how to stop a sneeze before it started--a useful trick for burglars I imagine. I sneezed today and the pain was minimal. Such is progress.
- When I was released from the hospital I was told to walk daily. Even while I was in the hospital I was told to walk. When I came home I walked up the block and back and felt like I had run a marathon. Sucking wind, lying in bed as if I had just finished a 10K and sprinted the last mile. I am walking now 5 miles a day--most often not continuously. But there are days when I have gone 5 miles without much stopping. I am tired when I get back, but not nearly as tired as I had been when all I did was walk up the block the week after surgery
- I have lost 10 pounds. Without a belt I am in trouble. I bought some jeans before the surgery that were relaxed fit. Really need to tighten that there belt if I am to wear those.
- A friend told me that after the surgery I would feel tremendous energy. That has not happened. The periods of feeling strong have increased compared to the initial period, but I do not feel like popping up in the morning or feel that, compared to pre surgery, I am a bundle of energy.
- It still hurts in the morning and at night where they cracked open my chest. Somedays worse than others. This is healing pain as opposed to problematic pain, but it is still there.
- There was a proscription against lifting anything greater than 10 pounds for ten weeks. I understand it. The other day I picked up a jug of laundry detergent and while it did not hurt as much as it did the first time I did this once out of surgery, it still hurts. Just on Saturday I bought a six pack of liter waters. I picked it up suddenly and felt it.
- A few weeks back I had my first alcoholic beverage. A couple of sips and I was flying like a frat boy after knocking back a sixpack with a couple of shots. I think part of that is that my body weight is less. If anyone wants to take me out I have become a cheap date.
- I am allowed to drive and fly. If I fly I cant pack a suitcase because of the 10 pound proscription. When I drive I have to put a cushion between the seat belt that comes across my chest and the incision.
- I am a professor by trade, and I could not stand in front of a class for 100 minutes. Sometimes when I speak for a stretch right now I get tired. I think that may just take some working up to it. I return to work on November 1.
- I have had lots of time to read. Some good, some not so good. I am startled still by books that are given rave reviews and famous people have written glowing blurbs about them, that I think are just okay. Finished, One Mississippi, over the weekend. Not terrible, but it is called "hilarious" by several authors. I am an easy audience. This book was not hilarious, and--often--was sophomoric. Some of my favorite authors have disappointed with their latest offerings.
- Am I getting stir-crazy? A little.
- They said 10-16 weeks for total recovery. Tough to believe the pain in the chest will be gone in two weeks.
- The scar is fading, and my hair is coming back, slowly. Two weeks after the surgery I took a photo of myself and I looked like a teenager sans hair (a teen who had been attacked by a tomahawk, but a teen).
Happy new year to all those who consider themselves members of the tribe. l'shana tova.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
