Get on with it, hang him, and build an honorable nation.
Enough
October 21st, 2005A journey is over; a companion is lost
October 20th, 2005I usually know exactly when I’ve reached a point in a book when the writer has me in captivity, and I’ve learned to be more patient before rejecting an author who imbeds that turning point deeper in a work. This phenomenon is out the window when a writer hooks you on the first sentence, as Paul Watkins did to me with his outstanding memoir of traveling in Norway. I can be nostalgic and even a bit melancholy at times, but I don’t think of myself as an overly emotional person. Nevertheless, when I got to the end of his book I wept. Paul Watkins is an extraordinary writer—and a very dangerous man. He makes me want to go climb a mountain.
Update on Bruce, Book Four
October 20th, 2005I think it might be a good idea to share—in its original format—my sweet wife’s most recent note about Bruce.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Dear friends and family,
It’s been nearly two months since I’ve given an update, but now Bruce is showing marked improvement. Today completes seven months in the hospital. At seven weeks, that seemed a long time, but I had no idea what we were facing.
In recent months, it’s been difficult to report because he’s teetered back and forth while battling infection. He would have good days followed by days of fever and nausea. It was hard think he was getting better when I’d see him get pints of hemoglobin, but he fought on.
About the time the infectious disease specialist was ready to throw up his hands in defeat, the surgeons declared that they didn’t want to set him back with another surgery, that they would stay the course. That was almost a month ago.
Since then, they decided to test out the pancreas by giving him juice. The next day, he was told to pick out what he wanted off the menu. This seemed outlandish to me, since he’d had nothing but ice chips for more than 6 months. His stomach and taste buds must have been in shock. He doesn’t actually digest what he consumes due to bypass tubing, but I would have thought a return to food would be more gradual. He is going easy on it since his basic nutrition is still provided by tube feeding. He still has frequent nausea, but the pancreas and blood sugar are not over-reacting to this new challenge.
He’s been off antibiotics for several days, and no fever so far. The pain is getting better, so he’s being weaned off the “patch,” and he’s asking for Dilaudid less often. His voice is now strong, and he is using a walker twice a day. His ability to concentrate is suddenly much improved.
I expect that he will go home soon, although having to travel for dialysis will be a whole new challenge. With the hospital bill alone over $8 million by last month, everyone’s eager for him to go home. Very few people, whatever their station in life, could handle the co-pay on such an amount.
Recently we were told that the survival rate for someone with pancreatitis this severe is about 1%—an eye-opening statistic if accurate. I tell you this so that you’ll know how vital your kindnesses to us have been. We will be eternally grateful for your understanding and support and for your thoughts and prayers on Bruce’s behalf.
With a grateful heart,
Dana
Dixie Cousins vs Ayman al-Zawahiri
October 19th, 2005Almost two weeks ago Joan alerted me to E-Ring and thought it might be shaping up as a 21st-century COMBAT! replacement. I finally got around to watching the last half of it tonight. It has a dynamite ensemble cast, but the minutes I saw were a far cry from the classic WWII squad series that starred Vic Morrow and Rick Jason back in the 60s. The best surprise was to see that Kelly Rutherford had surfaced again. If Joan had told me about KR being on the show, THAT would’ve gotten my immediate attention!
Me a warrior? I just play one on TV
October 18th, 2005One of the most interesting conversations I had at my recent high school reunion was with a classmate I knew as Terry. I once directed him in a one-act play co-written by my sister Joan. He later changed his name to Cliff, got a degree in aerospace engineering, and became an Air Force fighter pilot. He flew F-16 combat missions in the first Gulf War, even though he was probably too senior in rank.
I told him I couldn’t begin to imagine the level of information processing that would require. He replied, “You know, I’ve tried most of my adult life to find a way of explaining it to someone who has never done it, and the best thing I can come up with is that it’s like playing two video games at the same time while riding a roller coaster.”
“In addition to somebody trying to kill you,” I added.
“Yeah, that, too.”
Meanwhile, down at the corner pub
October 17th, 2005Someday it would be fun to draw—no—I SHALL create a comic strip version of Bridget, and I’ll begin now if you agree to buy it. Metal frame or wood? Next Day Air or standard ground?
If it’s Sunday, it must be Indy
October 16th, 2005Dana and I were heartened to see a vast improvement in Bruce when we spent most of the day with him, including a trip to one of the hospital courtyards, where he used his wheelchair as a “walker” to get some good exercise in the sunlight. His progress over the past week gives us reason to believe the topic of his going home may be under discussion before long. On the way back, Dana read aloud to me from “Reading Lolita in Tehran,” as did I while she was driving, selecting a chapter from “The Fellowship of Ghosts,” the evocative account of a journey through Norway’s nearly inaccessible mountains by novelist Paul Watkins. As a massive sunset peaked, we passed a caravan of mobile homes with FEMA emblems heading south. The cloud pattern filled half the sky like glowing lava splashed against a field of robin’s egg blue.
Legacy of a friend
October 15th, 2005Just got back from my tenth participation in the Jackson Run, our most beloved local footrace. I ran with Dr. Elmer Jackson, co-founder with his brother Mack, my friend who died earlier this year. The race has been held in May for at least 25 years, but was postponed in 2005 due to Mack’s illness. The weather was so gloriously suitable today that Elmer declared the event would be moved permanently to October. It was a great turnout of Jackson family and friends, even though Centre is having Homecoming activities all weekend. My pal Jim M was awarded the first “Mack Cup,” which he’ll get to keep for a year until a new recipient is named. Elmer had a tough time maintaining his composure as he read an essay Mack wrote for a Sunday-morning gathering at his studio cabin. It was moving for me because I was absent that day. I donned Mack’s trademark “red do-rag and shades” and felt his presence during my entire run. I continue to think about the finish line that—sooner or later—we shall all cross.
By Jove! Surely that can’t be Headley Lice
October 14th, 2005Yes, I’m afraid it is. The audacious captain of slimewater-swilling hearties will make an appearance at the Tippecanoe High School Class of 1970 35-year reunion and costume party. The prerequisite trip to The Keep’s storehouse and armoury reportedly took place tonight, and he sets sail for Ohio on the morrow with his favorite wench.
All ye lubbers and friends of decency, beware.
The old dude is still on a roll
October 13th, 2005Tonight we watched the first half of Altman’s Nashville at Dr. Vahlkamp’s “Films of the 70s” series taking place at the Boyle County Library. There’s so much absurdity there I couldn’t appreciate when I saw it the first and only time, almost 30 years ago—like how in 1975 I dressed just like Elliott Gould playing himself. And then later I heard Spacey say to Rose that it looks like Altman will direct Miller’s final play for the Old Vic in London.
Today’s thoughtform—YAY
October 12th, 2005Speaking of the augury of birds (were you not?), Dana and I saw a blue heron fly over our path (from left to right). It was the largest heron I’ve ever seen. It reminded me of our pelican omen of 1979, when we christened our business partnership, which has survived 26 years. Whether or not we’ve begun a new cycle of good fortune, it certainly feels as though the recent studio tribulations are firmly behind us.
Please restart your life
October 11th, 2005After crossing my fingers so hard I injured a hand, the state of my Macintosh troubleshooting took its most catastrophic turn, forcing us to buy a new computer we weren’t prepared to purchase.
Well, sometimes you just have to shift into survival mode and let the future take care of itself…
The world has gone mad today and good’s bad today
October 10th, 2005Dana and I drove to Indianapolis after the reunion so we could spend time with Bruce. Some anonymous medical genius had him so sedated he could barely keep his eyes open. They load him up with drugs and then stop in and ask him if he’s feeling depressed. Well, that makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? On our lunch break we walked along the canal, visited the Indiana History Center, and looked at some Bodmer lithographs and 1860 watercolors of Old Richmond. By the time I’d stopped in the Cole Porter room to see the Hirschfelds and play a couple tunes on the Wurlitzer, I felt somewhat better, although I took out my residual frustration on a nurse by insisting Bruce get some plain yogurt instead of the version with artificial sweetener, which gives him a headache (no problem, we have drugs for that, too). I’m certain everyone’s glad when the grouchy step-dad leaves.
Take my hand, take my whole life too
October 9th, 2005By last evening we were in Dayton for Dana’s class of 1960 high school reunion, which she always enjoys so much, even though they’re a bit strange for me. Come to think of it, she might say they’re a bit strange for her, too. The music was provided by a classmate who’d worked in Nashville with Barbara Mandrell. He played solo pedal steel with a funky percussion unit that ran off a floppy disk. I was having some trouble listening to his interpretation of Richard Carpenter songs, so I requested a Linda Ronstadt or Roy Orbison ballad. The closest thing he could come up with was Elvis, but Dana was too busy talking and we never did get to have our dance.
Dispersed from Hollywood to Holywood
October 8th, 2005While Dana and I enjoyed a splendid dinner with my “big sis” last night in Danville, it occurred to us how abruptly her “House of Joan” has spread across the world. According to Jeeves, the distance between Caitlan (Oxford, England) and Ian (Glendale, California) is 5389.0 miles (8673.0 km). However, if you’re traveling from one to the other and make a stop in Kentucky (anyone would, of course), it measures over 5800 miles, which is fairly close to Joan’s quick estimate of 6000.
So, there you have it. Who needs you, Jeeves, you pompous know-it-all?
Various & Sundry, part twenty-five
October 7th, 2005— Dana and I began our day having coffee with Kristi, my niece whose family is temporarily displaced by Hurricane Katrina. What a lovely person! I’ve met few people in my life who exhibit such thoughtful striving. I’ve never been more impressed with her, and I was incredibly impressed with her the very first day I met her in 1977. Take care, sweet heart.
— Being with Kristi makes me think of Caitlan, my neice who’s off on her adventure in England. That first week can be quite lonely. I was there. I don’t mean England, although I was there, too. I mean alone in Europe, facing a long separation from family and friends. I was the same age. It was difficult at first. It was also one of the most important personal challenges I’ve ever surmounted, perhaps the most important one of all. Caitlan is a terrific young lady—one of the most gifted people I know. She’ll get through this. She’ll be ok. If you’re the type of person who gets homesick, it never completely goes away, but when she discovers the intellectual center of her universe in Oxford, she’ll do just fine.
— David the Mac Guru urged me to just “sit tight” and await the arrival of a new startup drive for our G4, so that’s what I’m doing, but trying to keep clients happy in this crippled state is gnawing at my nerves. Get a grip—I’m not experiencing anything that countless millions haven’t already dealt with over the centuries—since that first clever human who chose to link mental equilibrium and financial well-being to an infernal machine.
— I was just thinking about my recent stay in the U.P. and the extraordinary “moments” I manage to bring back (in spite of my frayed memory bank). Like observing that remarkable “cinematographer’s moon,” as translucent clouds swept a midnight sky above the dancing treetops, or crossing the brisk Moscoe Channel in full open-water gear—wet suit, cap, goggles, fins, and my treasured diving gloves (generous Jerome will never know how much good use I’ve gotten out of them). I recall those minutes of tense exhilaration when, after all the effort, a big king takes the hook, and all mental energy is directed to the goal of successfully boating the fish, working with the net handler, knowing you may not get a second chance… my annual rediscovery of the pleasures associated with simple industry—preparing a meal, washing dishes, maintaining the boat, butchering and freezing the day’s catch, or salvaging a rusty salmon smoker… the sense of comfort and belonging that has now replaced the former disbelief, when I arrive and first absorb the low-key majesty of the Les Cheneaux… and that elusive point of peak relaxation which occasionally comes with fishing, recognizing that consciousness has been emptied of all thought when mind floods back into the vacuum…
Norton Center is an oasis
October 6th, 2005Experiencing Mark O’Connor last night was the kind of transporting event I needed. Any of the other individuals who appeared with him onstage—Bryan Sutton, Howard Alden, Jon Burr, Roberta Gambarini—could have easily carried the evening on their own. The musical originality and virtuosity was riveting. I love wind instruments, but it’s totally amazing what fingers can do when lips don’t have to keep up.
Forbearance = Deliverance
October 5th, 2005Perhaps this private torture chamber of uncertainty in which I currently dwell—what I hope soon to call my studio again—is meant to be a mere taste of of what Bruce has inhabited for so many months.
God doesn’t work in just mysterious ways. He surely invented the bizarre as well.
Have mercy…
Hide the revolver
October 4th, 2005Don’t even ask…
More computer problems
October 2nd, 2005Making a blog entry can be a dangerously handy thing in times of stress and desperation.
After examining my thoughts, I’m convinced that it would serve the greater good if no aspects of my current attitude toward the general nature of the universe were recorded in any way for posterity.
Various & Sundry, part twenty-four
October 1st, 2005— Month of September workout totals: Swim-7; Bike-4; Run-3; Lift-0; Yoga-0
— I was reliving the moment of confusion, pain, and regret when I learned of Mike’s illness, so I decided to learn more about rheumatoid arthritis. The books in Dana’s own natural healing library here at home were a big help, and she spent time doing some digging herself. RA is an autoimmune condition, and there are strong indications to suggest that it’s related to food allergies. The ability of foods to trigger an immune response is often associated with a weakening of mucous membranes in the intestine that allow undigested food to pass into the blood stream and collect around tissues. In the case of RA it would be the joints. His immune system is mistaking cells around the joints as the enemy and will eventually destroy them if the complex isn’t unraveled. I put together a packet of information so that he can get another perspective. I believe, in most cases, orthodox medical care and natural healing methods can work side by side. It should only help him feel better if he combines dietary and lifestyle refinements with his current therapy.
— Bruce has had a powerful week of positive developments after a long summer of erratic recovery. For the first time since March he was able to take food by mouth. Imagine that… well, I know you can’t… neither can I. He also made it down the hall to the Dialysis Center with a walker, on his own—another first. This man has grit (or as my Uncle Don would say, “the Means”).