Jean

I heard the rumor a couple weeks ago.

I was sure the name was wrong. How could it be?

Today I talked with Jean and she confirmed that she has cancer in her lungs and kidneys and another place or two. I sat by her and we visited and I was close to tears.

Jean has been my assistant head deacon for several years. (It sounds crazy, but we had both men and women “deacons”). She would see what needed to be done and do it. If she had a problem it was in doing too much.

Jean is the same age as my daughters, and they went to high school together. Her father was the business manager at the school. Her mother had MS. Jean is an only child. Dad, now retired is a lonely somewhat bitter old man, mom is gone, and now Jean has cancer.

There is nothing more to say right now, but I am so sorry.

Best to you my friend. I hope the chemicals and the therapy all help.

who?

Self portrait into the mirror that is above my in the house work space, the light is from my work light.
I was not feeling quite that grim.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn at his crankiest could not top that look!

Sandy

Some years ago I was playing a table game with Miriam and Emily.

I leaned back in my chair, so it balanced on the two back legs (I know, mom said to do that) and I lost my balance and fell backwards.

The proper thing to do is to tuck your head in, fold your arms and fall. The worse thing would be a bump on the head. But I did not think. I stuck out my right arm to catch myself and tore my rotator cuff, a part of my anatomy that until that moment I did know I even owned.

It is one of those injuries that hurts like crazy for a while, but once it is healed a bit, only hurts when I do certain movements, like reach out to the side table and pick up a cup of tea.

So, I was at church one day soon after I fell and about the time it was starting to heal a bit and I mentioned it to Sandy, who is a physical therapist . “Ahh, you will need to have surgery on it, Dave.” I argued that I would not. She grinned and said in a voice of motherly authority: “Yea, you will have surgery.”

I am sure she forgot all about that comment, it has been several years, but it has been in my head every time I re-injure that shoulder, which is quite often.

I don’t like the idea of surgery. I had foot surgery a few years ago, and it was not awful, but I would skip that part if I can. I have two friends who have had knee re placement surgery in the last year. Once they have healed and done a ton of physical therapy, they are quite happy with the results. I should not be afraid of a knife, but I still would skip it if possible.

But when I reach for that cup of tea, I am reminded of Sandy’s words.

happy birthday

Today is the birthday of a special lady.

Brianna May is 14 today.

We have three granddaughters less than a year apart, Bri is the youngest.

We are so glad to have her as our granddaughter. She is growing up to be a wonderful lady, and I for one am very proud of her.


Happy birthday Bri.

the book

One of my brilliant daughters (I have four who could qualify) made up a very nice cook book a while back.

I don’t remember it being verbally described as such, but I think it was an effort to keep dad, now the cook at home, from burning the house down, getting obese from a diet of ice cream and cookies, or getting skinny from not eating decent food.

Any way this daughter made this very fine cookbook. It was full of things I would like and that were reasonably within my skill level. We are vegetarians, daughter and I, so she filled in suitable recipes laced heavy with food items she knew I liked.

But, it got put away. I looked high and I looked low and it (like the part for the grain mill) had disappeared. That was about a year ago. I was sure it would show up some day, and today was some day!

Miriam was looking through a stack of old magazines, and suddenly she said: “Here is a cook book one of our daughters put together.”

Ooh.

I thanked her for finding it and then I put it in among my books.

Now if I can just get that same daughter, who makes to die for “steaks” from the gluten found in wheat flour, to share her recipe! My mom used to make them, and Griffy my next to youngest grandson asked if he could have gluten steaks to go with his turkey for Thanksgiving.


Atta boy Griff!

winter

Did I tell you how much I hate winter?

Ok, it is no secret for sure, but not working has the advantage of not having to fight the weather each day. Construction in the winter does not really slow down much, but gets a lot more complex.

And that opening line is one I have used a lot.

So why don’t I move to Arizona or Spain?

Truth is that like a good american, I like to complain. I complain if it is cold, but cold is a new challenge. I complain if it is warm, but warm is very nice. On the other hand, my complaints are more like comments than real dislike ranging to hate.

I do think that spring is sweeter after a cold winter. Winter gives us a reason to prepare.

The plan is to spend today in my studio. Not doing work so much as organizing it, clearing out unused and unusable items, putting books in another area, and generally getting ready for winter’s cold days.

I figured I could run the heater in the studio for 3 hours a day for about $6 a month. That is acceptable for sure.

In the evening, I have been doing my art/craft work in the house on the kitchen table. It has worked out pretty well. I have to come in and fix dinner about 4 or 4:30 and it is dark by the time we finish, so going back to the studio seems a bit like abandoning my beloved.

But I have so enjoyed the hours I have spent in my various studios. I remember in graduate school, where I had an old dorm room for a private studio. I fondly remember going in that room, locking the door, turning on the music and being absorbed by the process of the work I was doing.

Being an artist can be about the art work produced, or it can be about the process. I think I enjoy them both, but maybe the process the most.

In fact, while in graduate school my professor asked me why i was a sculptor, why not a painter, and I told him I liked working with the materials and tools. He grinned and did not ask again.

Today is Alzheimer's support group day. Once a month I meet with a group of caregivers. It is good to go.

i remember

December 7 reminds me of world war two.

I was born the year that Guernica was bombed in Spain and Picasso produce his huge painting in response to that event.

http://arts.anu.edu.au/polsci/courses/pols1005/2007/Images/Picasso.Guernica2.jpg

Look at the anguish in the people and the animals at that attack.

I remember very little except the fear that some one would be looking in my window from one of those countries. Now we do not even use the words we used to describe them then.

I had two uncles who served in the military. The others were the wrong age. One was a machinist mate on a submarine, the other a medic in the army. I was not told much about either one’s service, though a few pictures survive of the medic uncle.

He was in the Philippines during the heaviest fighting, as I remember the story. As a medic he choose to be unarmed and carried out his life saving work. The pictures show him with some of his buddies near a wrecked airplane. They were smiling, but I am sure it terrible. He never talked about any of it.

Both my father and my step father were born the same year and were “too old” to be drafted. However by 1945, near the end of the war, every one who was remotely able was called up and my step father was drafted.

He went to boot camp and then to cooks and bakers school (Interestingly his family had been bakers and had run a family bakery), but the armistice was signed about the time he finished his training and he was discharged early.

I remember rationing. We did not have a car, and neither did my grandparents who lived in the same town. We walked or hitched rides. I remember mom putting Joyce and I to bed and she sat, in the dark, listening to the radio.

The whole country was superbly paranoid (for good reason, by the way), about attacks from all sides, and there were frequent and total black outs. That is my early memory of the war.

I remember the day it was over and the joy we all felt. Even for a 7 year old, it had been a very traumatic time.

All of this comes into my mind early in December, each year.

december 7

December 7, but a couple days late

My sister Joyce was born in early May.

I turned 4 in late May.

Our father was killed in late August.

Pearl Harbor was December 7.

All in 1941, The events are permanently tied into my head. So when 1941 is mentioned, I think of all 4 events at the same time.

Father (I always called my step-father Dad -- usually) was the important man in my life that I knew so little, and my sister did not know at all. He was 28, in the prime of his early life, and whish he was gone.

Once I was talking to my aunt (my father’s sister, who at 93 is still kicking, though not as hard as she used to). She laughed and said: “David, you did not even know your father and you are just like him..”

I’ll leave it that way.