In real time

In two excellent series, The Pitt and Adolescence, the stories play out in real time.  An hour-long episode represents an actual hour.  No omitting the ordinary moments usually are left on the cutting room floor.  No music bridging or anticipating action or setting the mood. 

Both very realistic and totally engaging from start to finish.  Noah Wylie, lead actor in The Pitt, described the sounds of the doctors yelling commands to each other (unintelligible to us laypeople) as taking the place of music.  Without needing to understand the technical language of trauma surgery, the realism of it is captivating. It is indeed like staccato sounds in music, alternating with quiet reflection by the doctors and nurses as they tend to people after a mass shooting. While tending to those who are dying and those who can be saved, the conversations among doctors and nurses takes the viewer into the heart and head and muscle of one hour. 

I heard on NPR a story called Slow Television, a concept started in Norway.  There is little perceptible action and no plot, yet people are drawn to it and find it relaxing.  It might be a mama cat giving birth to a litter of six kittens or a chef preparing a meal or a family talking at night on a patio.  It sounds a bit like watching paint drying.  

At first, I thought--how strange!

But then I realized I've been doing exactly that for months.  I watch videos on book binding that are more interesting to me than carefully crafted plots on pages of published books.  

Some do not have words at all; others have voice-overs explaining what they are doing; others have quiet music. Each video captures the slow and meticulous movements of a needle attached to thread going in and out and under and around, connecting section to another.  If there is a plot, it's simply the push and pull of threads. 

While I'm watching to learn the skills involved in making a book, and while these videos might only interest those who want to perfect a skill, I'm sure there are videos like this on every subject under the sun.  

I've almost entirely given up television.  When I went to a movie in a theater recently, I noticed that the volume (for the five or six of us in the audience) was distractingly intense.  Not only that--but all the previews of "coming attractions" (now called trailers) were all incredibly loud, not one of which I'd have wanted to see.

Everything seems urgent, overblown, and magnified--just as television news does.  

So if you are looking for an antidote to all that, find yourself some slow TV.  One of the plusses of technology is that it's out there, countless little islands of quiet that soothe the weariness of soul. 

Our country girl

 On Sunday, I visited the Pritchetts.  The house is beautiful (I'm waiting to take pictures until all the unpacking is done) and the barn is as large as the house, if not larger.  The former owners had used the loft as a workout gym.  The lower portion includes a large open space, an office for Will, and a guess room. This outdoorsy family could not have picked a better place!

The house is set back from the road on their ten acres. Elena is on cloud nine and can't wait to invite all her friends over.  Veronica is hoping that her friends, all of whom live in mansions compared to their farm house, may be less than impressed.  

Elena, however, is not worried about anything.

Nathan spent the afternoon assembling a dresser for his sister, and the dogs wandered freely in the yard. 

On Wednesday night, the horses had gotten out of their temporary corral. When Will woke up at 5 am on Thursday, he captured Elena (in pajamas)  riding up bareback on one horse, leading the other.  

This is our quintessential country girl, in her element, bringing in the horses to a house she wouldn't trade for anybody's mansion. 

Sleep Alternatives

As a good sleeper, I'm not plagued with insomnia as some of you may be.  I can get a hearty night's sleep and still a nap around noon.  

I do, however, wake up in the middle of the night almost every night for a couple of hours, during which I have discovered some really fun things to do:

1. I watch dachshund reels on Facebook. They are hilarious. Not only have I never had one (though I'm pretty sure I have a half-one now) but they were never the most appealing of breeds to me before.  Short legged like Luci with long sleek or long-haired bodies and soulful eyes, they are extremely attached to their owners (like you-know-who) and their faces, once you get to know them, are very expressive.  

2. While up, might as well get a snack. Here comes Luci's pitter pattering paws to see what I might share--which I do. She communicates telepathically by sitting tall and staring at me, her unblinking eyes suggesting a few options: salmon treat, sharp cheese, or meat if you have some, please.

3. I love to organize my origami papers, folded signatures, and book cloth I've made for covers.  It's immensely pleasurable to survey my riches in art supplies!  

4. I watch reels of babies laughing, particularly at sweet dogs twice their size.  Watching dogs with their big old paws draped over babies.  Watching human daddies converse with their babies.  Laughter in the night, or any time actually, is guaranteed to increase your endorphins!

5. Playing The New York Times word games.  Just got Queen Bee for the hundredth time--with a little help from the buddies after Genius. In this last lap of the game, I have learned a lot of new words so this lap turns out to be al little like a crossword puzzle.

6. Watching a You Tube video about how to dye papers with Easter Egg dye, onion skins, avocado skins and pits, and coffee and tea.  As Natasha the teacher said, "There are just so many ways to have fun!"

7. Feeling furry Luci going under the covers hoping I'll turn off the light and go back to sleep already. Is anything more pleasurable and sweet than the feel of fur on your legs for the rest of the night? Or waking up later with a tiny little set of eyes staring at you from the other side of the pillow? 

Wednesday

Today just waiting for insurance to approve the procedure and I'm all set to go.  As expected, the pain came back after the trial balloon, but I'm pretty sure it will respond to the permanent device and all will be well.

Here we have Marcus, Deanna, Jackson, Day and Tom in Richmond during spring break--and the whole clan of them will be here end of May to surprise our graduate (Nathan).

Just a little progress report....

Bandages and device removed Monday morning, now waiting for a call to schedule the permanent SCS.

This little interior tens unit of sorts just might be the answer I've been looking for.  I went to bed watching Tsunami and woke up moaning at 11--arghhh! It's back.  

I know what to take and how much.  I play Wordle and Connections on the NYT site.  After half an hour, the pain ends and I can go back to bed--or write on the blog--or make a list of things I can do on Tuesday--or fold the clothes. (Luci suggests playing with her stuffed animals.) 

I choose to make a tiny collage and organize some papers for the next book I want to make: the buttonhole stitch book.

It's not as bad as it was before the trial because now I know there's a solution on the horizon.  If the surgery happens this week, the four-week recovery will be over in time for the Learys surprise visit end of May!  Then, after Nathan's graduation, I can fly to Georgia to visit Carlene.  I'd hoped to go for Mother's Day but have to postpone until this device is installed and tweaked as needed.

Until recently, people who got this device had cords attached.  It was easy for the cords to snag on a doorknob or something and cause real mischief--bleeding and pain and ER visits.  Now it's all bluetooth, so the remote control can be set to do its thing, then forgotten about until it needs to do something different.  

In my case, it's A1 for the feet, A2 for the sciatic nerves.  Intensity can go up or down as needed. 

For almost 3 years, I've tried every therapy out there--from massage to myofascial therapy, from PT to chiropractic....you name it.  All of them help for a few hours, but it obviously requires leaving home for an hour or two. 

If I ask Luci, "You wanna go for a walk?" or "You want to go in the car?" she responds by going to her toy basket, choosing one of her squeaky animals, and running around the house squeaking it until the leash is on. That's dog for "yes yes yes happy happy happy!"

When my doc asked me yesterday, "Are you sure you want this?".....

I could imagine running around her office squeaking with that kind of happiness. 

Saturday Before Easter

 Temporary infirmities are inevitable.  As I have learned the landscape of my own, I've realized what a difficult world this would be to navigate for one who's permanently disabled in just about any way.

Today I drove to CVS, got the cane out, got the dog out, and wrapped my pocket book around my neck.  I grabbed a buggy (cart to most of you) and walked around the store looking for (A) some graduation cards, (B) a scented candle, and (C) a gallon of my favorite bottled tea.

Turns out, CVS had a terribly limited choice of cards and the tea was too low to reach.  The few scented candles they had didn't appeal to me.

I passed over anything (a) heavy, (b) too high, (c) too low--but I found a few things I needed.  With cane and canine and cart, I made it to check out, walking robotically.  

There were no humans at check-out, only two self-service kiosks.  Frustrated,  I decided never mind.  Gone are the days when a human might be nearby to help pack your bags or even take them to the car. 

About that time, Pam called and asked me to meet her at a nearby E-zee's to share a burger.  I was halfway there, so away we went.  

While Luci has never been trained to be an official service dog, I have trained her on the fly--starting during my recovery from knee surgery.  She does whatever I ask her to.  She doesn't pull in the opposite direction or rush me.  Patiently she waits and then steadies me more than the wooden cane.

She watches every step I take.  Not once has she veered or yanked or jumped; she's totally focused as if she'd been trained for the job.

I'm convinced that this silent vibrating device is audible to her canine ears as she studies my legs and feet with intense attention.  This week, I've taught her to jump up on the sofa so I can get her leash on for a walk.  

As I was walking her around the block tonight, a leash in one hand, a cane borrowed from Jan in the other, I was thinking about what it feels like to be (a) old, (b) disabled, or (c) reliant on other people. I'm not accustomed to asking a stranger for help, and even reluctant to ask a friend.

Yesterday,  I drove carefully to the Valero station and got out of the car before noticing the step (I'd never noticed before) between me and the front door. Ugh oh!

About that time, a young man walked up and I asked, "Can I please hold your hand?"

People are invariably willing to help.  While they are helping, they also relate stories of their own.  The young (50-something) man told me that he understood, that his wife had recently had back surgery.  

This morning, I spoke to a man who walks his little white dog in the neighborhood.  He's never been particularly chatty.  He was raking his yard and I commented on how good his lawn looked, then Luci decided to grace his newly raked yard with poop!

While I always carry a bag for these occasions, I hadn't bothered today.  I can't bend down.  I apologized to the man for not doing the neighborly thing and he said, "No problem.  You bend down and you'll find yourself in the ER."

Which is true.  The downside of this week of "test driving" a spinal cord stimulator is that a fall or a twist could be devastating.  The leads are bound up in a bundle along with the device the size of a man's hand, and all of that is wrapped in bandaging.  Everything staying exactly where it's supposed to be takes constant vigilance.  

Two more days of this and the apparatus will be removed and we'll set a date to replace it with a permanent one, placed inside like a pace-maker.  I'm so ready! 

 During my recovery, I'm not doing much that's blog-worthy.  My legs and feet are vibrating.  Sometimes I feel that I'm about to take off, just lying on the bed!  I control the intensity of the vibrations with a remote control, and the wires attached to the spine do what I command them to do.

So far, my feet feel better, way better--maybe 80-90%, especially in the early hours of the day.  

But I'm not allowed to bend or reach or lift--so there's not a whole lot I can do until the temporary device is removed on Monday and the decision is made about when to install the permanent stimulator.

But just down the road, a lot is happening.  Will's family moved into their new Southside Home (with ten acres of land for horseback riding)!  It's closer to me, closer to St. Mary's Hall for Elena, and a beautiful house according to photos.  (I hope to go there and see it on Monday!)

Spinal Cord Stimulator

Today Will and I were at the hospital all afternoon, me getting a trial spinal cord stimulator.  It's like having a tins unit inside my body, vibrating from hip to feet.  I'm very hopeful.  

The anesthesiologist was my age or older, a character.  

My pain management doctor did the procedure--I like her very much!

In one week, it will be un-installed and we'll decide whether the level of effectiveness warrants a permanent one.  The temporary one is a block attached to my back with leads going into my spine.  The permanent one is all inside, sort of like a pace maker.  

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

I've been perusing a book Jan had planned to donate to a neighborhood library box.  With these clues, can you guess what book this might be?

1.  It is over 400 pages long.

2. Published in 1982, every page has been typed--on an actual typewriter. 

3. Here is one foot-note in the book: From the church bulletin, 1925: "None of our members, of course, should hold picnics, go to picture shows and ball games, and attend bathing parties on Sunday.  Our religion will be weak and ineffective and our influence will be exceedingly hurtful as long as we do those things." 

4. Another: From the church bulletin, 1925: "The pastor preaches this Sunday morning on Backsliding and Sunday night on The Need for a Revival.  You should hear these messages.  They will be delivered in plain English and he will doubtless call your number." 

5. All contributors to this book are women (though they are called ladies).  Not one of them uses her own first name (except sometimes in parentheses); she is Mrs. Leon Wallace, Mrs. Frank Simmons, Mrs. Mike Slaton.

Did you guess?

Entitled Yesterday, Today, and Forever 1882-1982, this book is a centennial cookbook assembled by the members of the First Baptist Church of Mineral Wells, Texas. 

In it, I'm finding recipes identical to the ones I grew up on and that were published in regional cookbooks all over the South.  Almost all vegetable dishes are cooked with Campbell's soupa and crushed crackers.  Maybe they have a bit of onion or celery, but all cooked in one dish and called casseroles. 

Most "salads" are congealed--with many variations on the theme: Jello; crushed fruit; Dream-Whip, or canned milk; chopped nuts; marshmallows.  I love these--but they are more dessert than salad. 

The largest section of these First Baptist (and all Baptist) cookbooks?  Can you guess?

Sweets!  Cakes, fruit cobblers, brownies, cookies, and pies. 

I can imagine why.  Early Baptists were not allowed to dance or play cards.  Ball games and picture shows were forbidden.  So what pleasures were left?  

Southern mamas were creative with all the possible pleasures inherent in  sugar.    

"Nevertheless...

 she persisted...."

Two years and three months ago, as a new member of the Book Club, I got it into my head that you aren't a legitimate bookbinder unless you can do the coptic stitch.  I watched the same video over and over, after creating my signatures, signature covers, and book cover, and I could. not. get. it.

I slowed the speed down so that a kindergartener should be able to follow.

I watched the seasoned members show off their beautifully bound books.  

And I decided, after a couple of months of frustration, that this stitch would forever be an enigma to me. 

Why waste monthly membership if I was going to be the only one in this worldwide club of members to fail close to the starting line? I asked myself.  

So I did what quitters do.  I quit.

A few months ago, the voice in my head wouldn't shut up.  I was--an am, increasingly--fascinated by folding and stitching and gluing beautiful papers together to make a book.  And I hadn't scratched the surface in the archive of tutorials.  So with resolve, and not even looking at that damned coptic stitch, I rejoined, intent on doing easier structures.

But the voice in my head taunted me and I began to watch coptic stitch videos on You Tube--but only after successfully completing some almost-equally difficult stitched books

I stumbled across a teacher who explained it in a way that made more sense to me.  All I needed was to grasp the logic of it, I thought, and I'd be on my way.

I took out the original pages I'd made two years and three months ago.  The holes were ragged from multiple needle pokes.  But tonight, I refused to stop until I got it all together.  Even though it was doomed to be imperfect, it began to hold together and feel like a real book!

A crooked wonky little book.  A treasure.  I'm happy. 

Stoneflowers

We probably all have a story or two that we've never forgotten.   

Mine is called "Stoneflowers" and it came to me freshman year of college from my creative writing professor,  the late John Igo.  Decades after I shared my version with countless students, I called John Igo to check the accuracy of the tale.  My version bore little resemblance to his!  By then, I'd searched online and found no mention of it. I even searched for my creative writing class notes--and nada! (Some of my college students liked the story so much they created a poetry anthology and named it Stoneflowers,  dedicated to me) 

I still prefer my version: 

A man sets out for the village for a wedding or festival or some sort.  On the way he spots the most beautiful flower he's ever seen.  He wants to pick it to put in a vase in his cottage, but he's already late, so he hurries on.  He'll pick it on the way home.

On the way home, he looks desperately for the flower, and all he sees are stones.  He reckons that the flower has turned into a stone.

What I remember is the professor's interpretation of the story: if we see something we want, and if we delay acting on our desire, it won't be there later.  A stone flower, he said, is a symbol of ephemerality.  When we love something, or someone, or some place, we should act on it because nothing lasts forever.

I've encountered stone flowers on road trips.  If someone else is driving and I don't want to ask the driver to stop so I can take a picture, I resolve to take it later, when I'm driving.  I can't count the number of roads not taken again to capture a photo.  And even if I had, the light would be different.  But most importantly, the scene (or row of trees, or children playing, or clothes dancing on a line) is ephemeral. 

I've encountered them on walks--I see a beautiful leaf on the ground; I'll pick it up on my way back.  

Thomas Wolfe's novel, You Can't Go Home Again, tells the story of a writer who writes about his hometown; when he goes "home," the people are so outraged that he's no longer welcome there.

At the time of first meeting these two stories, I was newly married, living in San Antonio, far from my home state.  The stories dovetailed with my awareness  that this was my new life and that I'd only go "home" to visit.  

Someone once said, "We don't just read books, books read us."  This is true of poems, essays, fiction, even quotations that speak to us one way when we're twelve, another when we're 30, another as we continue to age.  Our perspectives are shaped by lines of writing.  The world gets bigger as we engage with imaginative writing.  And maybe--as I did with Stoneflowers--we reshape a story to describe what we're already experiencing but have not yet put into words.