Chocolate my hamartia

I should be pinging off the walls.

My godson and his family sent me a large gift bag full of every kind of chocolate imaginable. I managed to put a big dent in it last night for dinner. That's right, dinner. I think you would have given me a run for the money on some of it.

Somewhere I read most older people do not regret what they did, they regret what they did not do. Except for the Norman Rockwell thing, I believe you have no regrets. From what you told me and what I have heard from others, you had a life that was not only full, but rich as well. Oh, by your standards, I am sure you had some, but they were not obvious to everyone.

You managed to cram at least three lifetimes into one. Your body placed some limitations and obstacles in your way, but you adapted. The last couple of weeks you still were living your life to the fullest. Still learning, still giving, still excited. Yet you knew your run was almost over. I have so much admiration for you.

Your brother sent me the neatest note yesterday. I told him about when we were looking for hockey league players and the Tetrahedrons.

Speaking of which, you, YOU, are first in the EPL. I cannot believe you could pick a team that will carry you through the rest of the year, and probably on top. Haha. Not doing bad elsewhere either, considering. What oh what am I going to do next year?

Kirsop is not doing well. He has an infection and 17 percent lung function. I know you guys were going to take a tour of the venues in England, but please be patient. His girls need their dad as long as possible. He will join you eventually, then you can have some marvelous footy talks. And save a spot for me along the way.

Am I canonizing you? Perhaps; it is hard not to. In the same way, it is hard not to vilify some. But in either case, what good is done? We all have hamartia. It is displayed more prominently and is more easily identified in some, that's all.

I've deleted the mailman. So there!

Later.

Tune in for ....

Today's tune stuck in my head is "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da." Wonder if that is a not-so-subtle message? You and I will have to have words about that. Life does go on, but I will carry you right along with me. Sometimes you might not have much to say. That is OK, too. Quit whining, it is a free ride!

The doc who saved my life is growing a man beard. He tells me he likes it whether his wife does or not because he does not have to shave. He indicated the gray was the reason his wife did not like it. To me, the gray is sexy.

Doc says I'm doing good. He wants me to exercise, of course. He asked about my mental health and asked if all the meds were working. A good visit.

I am so lucky to be doing as well as I am. Many of my PH friends have IV meds. They have lots of pain and side effects. And for some of them, even the IV meds are no longer working. That means they face a very real possibility of a tx.

I am still able to do pretty much whatever I want. I do get extra tired if I go to two or three stores in one day. Or try to do too much housework. I become short of breath if I lift more than 10 pounds and try to carry it. That means more trips from the car with groceries.

I no longer can comfortably climb stairs. And cleaning products, especially aerosols, leave me gasping for air. When my friend vacuums, I usually leave because even a fancy vac with a hepa filter does not keep my lungs from being irritated. I am sure the cats add to the problem. But they are not on the table for discussion.

All that said, I am one lucky person. I still must have a role to fulfill before I leave. Save me a place, we have a lot to catch up on.

Did not see hide nor hair of the mailman.

Later.

Me and my pals

I tried to make headway on the clutter issue yesterday. Connie was here to clean and did her best to prod me into action. In the effort to declutter tables in the living room, I discovered my closets are also in a shambles.

Connie carried out several boxes I had been saving for who knows how long and for who knows what reason. Now, the closets are no less a wreck, but a less crowded wreck at least. I wish I had the initiative to tackle one closet from top to bottom. Then I would have a place to stash the visible clutter. Haha

We did not speak much about my health, but when we did, your natural curiosity and concern showed. You once told me to turn up my o2, that my sats were too low. You wanted to know my echo numbers as much as I did.

You educated me about CF and tx issues. You told me your specific problems. I know you lived your life for as long as you possibly could as if you had no chronic disease. That in itself is admirable and something for everyone to aspire to.

I think sharing your thoughts with me as your body failed also took great courage. What an honor and gift to give me.

Most of the friends I have had over the years have been men. Each of you has touched my life in separate ways and carried me through a stretch on life's journey. Lucky, lucky me.

John lead me into adulthood with savoir faire and a sense of adventure. Birt was there when I needed a boost to the ego and someone to help me out of a fine mess. Rick had a fervor for issues that was catching. And you. You were there for me when I needed lessons in grace, compassion, and humor. The Big Four -- three of you are gone now.

Other men in my life come and go. They, too, pull me along. Thanks Bruce, Jim, Sean, Pete, and many more.

Today is a doctor day. I will have to pretty up my body and make my way to the medical center. I know it may sound crazy, but it is a pleasure to see my doctor. He is easy on the eyes, but more important, his staff is friendly and efficient. You wait next to no time to see the doctor. The staff treats you as if you are a friend or relative, they know you by name. And the doctor is right on top of the latest trends in pulmonary hypertension. How lucky I am.

The Little Dribblers are in first place. Of course, I think I am the only one playing. And all I am doing is making sure the players are in playing positions for the day. I really hate that, dude. Sorry.

Won't be home when the mailman comes today.

Later.

Minimalistly happy

Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

-- Raymond Carver

I am a minimalist. I've known the concept most of my life, though I have never given it a name.

The books, envelopes and other objects of daily living seem to multiply while I sleep. One day I awaken feeling smothered by the stacks and googaws. Stripping the area of all but the most used necessities seems to release my mind of clutter as well.

When my life becomes too cluttered with ambitions and commitments, a mental scouring is called for, and once that is accomplished, I am ready to go again. I was born with a save the world complex, or as you used to say, I am a fixer. Sometimes the fixer needs fixing.

Did mommas know when they named their sons Leon, that they would offer musical gifts to the masses? Leon Redbone. Leon Russell. Each Leon has a place in my heart. Each evokes memories associated with special times in my life. Redbone pulls dual duty.

The month since you died has flown by. I have spent many of the days taking a memory of you out of my cache and examining it minutely. Some of them make me smile, some fill me with confidence, others cause me to cry. At times I get a warm feeling that radiates from my heart -- it is impossible to describe.

Peace to you Paul.

The mailman ignores me now.

Later.

Mind games

The life of a shut-in leeched your soul as your body slowly surrendered. Before, you had made your own rules as you lived each moment with gusto. The isolation of your new reality helped build a prison that further dissipated your essence.

The intricacies of the human mind that kept you curious and enthused about life carried over to your new world. You trusted those you met in cyberspace as you would those you had physical contact with before your exile. Your instincts and past experiences may have pointed to caution, but you bared your heart and basic goodness for anyone who seemed willing to help you free yourself. You were Don Quixote looking for his Dulcinea.

Then you took a major hit. Death threats and angry emails haunted your days and nights. You were branded a heretic, all because of the very nature that makes you you and draws people in. Life was not good but you found the strength or determination to keep going.

That attack on your soul left you vulnerable.

I believe your final disappointment came because you were certain others held the same high standards as you. You castigated yourself because of another's faults, I know that. You took their burdens and failures and made them your own. So you did not see they were as much at fault as you -- maybe more so.

When the relationship hit epic fail, it removed a key piece in your foundation. This left the structure so fragile it crumbled in on itself. No amount of encouragement or love could keep you fighting any longer. You had used up your last reserves. Your body started its free fall.

I think I would have liked you at any point in your life, but I am thankful to have known you when I did. I love you, dude. You will always be the best.

Sunday the mailman does nothing.

Later.

Yesterday

Yesterday your mom pulled back the curtain a bit, and I got a glimpse of the little boy. I would love to have known you then. You were such a joy to her as only little boys are to their mommas. Such orderly thoughts for one so young.

I reciprocated by telling her about the links and songs that often greeted me on IM. Somehow, I think she got cheated on the show-and-tell. Fleetingly, I told her what you had told me about practicing sky hooks. Rockin' the light fixtures, eh?

I told her about the Boston Red Sox hat. She in turn blew me away. I am so happy the hat ended up where it did. I hope the wearer enjoys it for a long, long time and remembers us both when he puts it on. When I think about where it is, I grin.

So, you watched the Bruins Winter Classic yesterday. What a wonderful time the three of you must have had. And the Bruins won, too -- perfect.

Mother Nature has conspired to keep me indoors. Actually, I am using the cold and snow as an excuse not to leave my cocoon of safety. I have not wanted to go out for almost two weeks now. I could probably stay in for the rest of the winter if it weren't for food and medicine.

Making yourself presentable enough to be seen in public takes effort. I have lost the motivation for even the briefest excursion; however, today is the day. A crisis looms that I cannot overlook -- no bread. Good heavens. What will I have for dinner if I can't have a sandwich? Ha.

You never used LOL. You went on a tirade one night about !!!??, etc. I knew something was funny to you by ha. Ha was mildly funny. Haha caught you by surprise. Haha! meant a knee-slapper. You used ! sparingly, too. I knew I surprised and pleased you when I got, Right!

Ah, the little things. As long as my brain functions, you will have a niche there.

I fired the mailman.

Later.

This & cat

Pogo, my older cat, has claimed the top of the printer as his napping place. He thinks I neglect him. Not true! .... Well, maybe. Pogo manages to squeeze his Wilt Chamberlain body into the space, but the tiny area makes bathing nearly impossible. Finally, after a quick tongue stroke on tail, he gives up and heads for "bedder" places.

Pogo owns several annoying habits. If I am anywhere near the kitchen, he magically appears and, at the top of his ample voice, lets me know he is starving. Mind you, he is starving about eight times a day.

Pogo also jumps into the refrigerator every time the door is opened. Sometimes he jumps right back out, sometimes I have to physically drag him out. A full lower shelf has taken care of that problem.

Pogo has some quirky moments, too. He loves my friend, Connie. When she comes to clean, he heads straight to her purse. Before you know it, his head has disappeared into its depths. After a few seconds, he is rolling in ecstacy like a colt in a meadow of fresh clover. He reacts to her scent as he does to catnip.

Pogo also has a relationship with wet towels. A damp towel on the floor is an invitation to roll and roll and then clean himself from head to tail.

My other boy is Satchmo. If Pogo is Wilt Chamberlain, then Momo is a chunky Spud Webb. He seldom talks and waddles when he walks. He never seems in a hurry and pokes me with his paw if he is feeling neglected.

Momo does have his moments. Like spending a good minute preparing the cat box to poop and then another two or three minutes afterward making sure he has it covered. Does his fastidiousness indicate a fussy neat freak like Felix Unger?

Because Momo is solid black, he has a body heat problem. To find relief, he lies on his back spreadeagle. At night from atop the cat tree, you sometimes can hear him snore.

At times I get a bit annoyed with the boys, but nothing beats a cat or two on a cold winter's night or an afternoon on the couch with a blanket and a good game on TV -- one of life's little pleasures.

So, here's to the new year.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back,
The sun shine warm upon your face,
And the rain fall soft upon your fields.

Make the most of today, for yesterday is no longer here and tomorrow never comes.

I will never forget you, my friend. You always will be in my heart.

The mailman took a holiday.

Later.