During the thirty some odd (some very odd, indeed) years of my first "career", rehab meant working on drug, alcohol and other addiction issues. Drug rehab. For the last few years, it has meant physical rehab, dealing the effects of accidents, strokes, traumatic brain injuries. Today it means repairing the damage done by a heart attack and working to prevent another one.
My heart attack happened on Friday March 5. It will probably stand out like 9/11, the day John Kennedy was shot and my kids' birthdays, my sister's and parents' deaths. I sometimes don't remember the specific dates, but I do remember the particulars, where I was, what I was doing, what all was going on in my life at the time. (Actually, my father not so much. He was killed in a car wreck in Florida and there was no time to have it sink into context, although I do remember the sequellae, the memorial service, the sinking of the ashes in the Gulf of Mexico, Mom back at her house.)
Today, I attended my third day of exercise at Heart Path, the cardiac and pulmonary rehab program run by Mission Hospitals. I have also attended the orientation session and two educations classes covering stress, diet and weight training.
Just as having an "event" -- an accident, an ultimatum from a loved one or employer, an arrest-- is what gets people to examine their lives in drug rehab, so, too did having an event get me to take a better look at what I was doing or not doing to keep myself alive.
When I was told that, indeed, I had experienced a heart attack, that the excruciating pain I had experienced early the morning of the 5th was not merely anxiety but was the real thing-- having been confirmed by a blood test that looks for an increase in a certain enzyme released when the heart is damaged-- and the cardiologist recommended a catheterization to look for blockages in the heart, and a stent or stents inserted if they found any, my response was that I wasn't ready to die, I had things to do and my book hadn't been published yet, so let's go ahead and do it.
The short of the thing is to eat differently, exercise more, and reduce stress. What I intend to do is to chronicle my recovery. (Without putting myself in the position of feeling like, Oh, No, I haven't done the blog today!!) For today, I've eaten well so far (1/2 cup "heart healthy" cereal [more about that later] with skim milk and half a banana, glass of grapefruit juice diluted with equal part water; a stalk of celery with hummus for a snack), and exercised at rehab (20 minute on a treadmill and 15 minutes on a stationary bike) and will take a walk with George this afternoon and plan to eat well the rest of the day. I have committed to listening to more music. (Greg Brown is playing in the background.) I started to think about what it would be like to return to work Monday and stopped myself. Today, Bob! Just live today. Monday will take care of itself.
In subsequent posts I may talk about the spiritual implications of all this.
This is, of course, part of my recovery. To take a good look at all this. See if I've learned anything, as my father would say. (Well, Dad, I've learned for real how transient this whole thing is. I don't know if I want to go out at eighty-seven being smashed by a truck, but I do know that if I live to eighty-seven, I want to be healthy when I get there.)
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Wednesday afternoon
Just returned from a modest walk up Sunset Drive. It is an ultra-clear day, in the high 50's. Perfect afternoon for it. My legs and lower back remind me I have not been keeping up the habit. Then while fixing my afternoon coffee, my back froze up as is does. A little stretching and it was fine although I can feel it complaining as I sit here at my desk.
So. A solitary Thanksgiving coming up. Kids are all over the place- Jossie at her home in Spain, Adam, Heather and Wyatt at home in Worthington, OH and Cammie and Billy holidaying in Beaufort, NC. Beth is with friends in Centerville, OH. I have to work tomorrow so I have stayed put. Bought a fresh turkey breast from Greenlife to roast along with the fixin's-- potatoes to mash, dressing mix, cranberry sauce, stuff for green bean casserole. And asparagus. The latter may have to wait its turn.
Last night as I was heating some taco shells I realized the bottom burner on the oven wasn't working. Aaagghh. Could I get it fixed in time for turkey roasting Thursday morning? The first thing I did was spray the oven with over-night oven cleaner because it was disgusting-- the oven, not the cleaner. I am hardly a compulsive housekeeper but even I didn't want the apartment manager or whoever might fix it (if anybody) to see it like that. This morning at eight o'clock I called the rental agent because I couldn't find the manager's number. I think I woke him up although he admitted to having a cold. He said he would call Mike and see that someone was out here today. I cleaned out the gunk (it still needs more work) and before I left for work Mike was here. So, fresh turkey breast tomorrow, after the movie or movies. I had figured I could see two movies-- Men Who Stare at Goats and Pirate Radio back to back tomorrow afternoon. But that probably puts me back home after seven at night. We'll see.
Deadly Dancing is with the editor. Hoping for only minor corrections. He repeated his idea of starting his own (or maybe a collective-- "our" own) imprint. Something like Pisgah Press. Including mine, there are three books extant or in process he thinks would be good to start up with. The advantages of doing this over the more "traditional" is not having to find an agent or a publisher. The downside is, no advance money, none of the even modest resources of an established small press. Still have to do all the marketing. I told him I was interested. I am. And ambivalent.
Oh, there's more to catch up with, but I'm going to lie down with Steven King's new book, one I would never have picked up on my own, but Beth bought it and gave it to me to read while she is out of town. It's like popcorn, not very filling but hard to put down. I have not read a King novel (I do read his stories that appear in the New Yorker) since the Shining. That was a good yarn, as I remember, better than the movie. This one is over 1000 pages. Since I read at the pace of a forth grader, maybe, it's going to take longer than her trip for me to finish it. Way longer. Maybe by the first of the year.
Now, to a recumbent position. May catch up with you tomorrow.
So. A solitary Thanksgiving coming up. Kids are all over the place- Jossie at her home in Spain, Adam, Heather and Wyatt at home in Worthington, OH and Cammie and Billy holidaying in Beaufort, NC. Beth is with friends in Centerville, OH. I have to work tomorrow so I have stayed put. Bought a fresh turkey breast from Greenlife to roast along with the fixin's-- potatoes to mash, dressing mix, cranberry sauce, stuff for green bean casserole. And asparagus. The latter may have to wait its turn.
Last night as I was heating some taco shells I realized the bottom burner on the oven wasn't working. Aaagghh. Could I get it fixed in time for turkey roasting Thursday morning? The first thing I did was spray the oven with over-night oven cleaner because it was disgusting-- the oven, not the cleaner. I am hardly a compulsive housekeeper but even I didn't want the apartment manager or whoever might fix it (if anybody) to see it like that. This morning at eight o'clock I called the rental agent because I couldn't find the manager's number. I think I woke him up although he admitted to having a cold. He said he would call Mike and see that someone was out here today. I cleaned out the gunk (it still needs more work) and before I left for work Mike was here. So, fresh turkey breast tomorrow, after the movie or movies. I had figured I could see two movies-- Men Who Stare at Goats and Pirate Radio back to back tomorrow afternoon. But that probably puts me back home after seven at night. We'll see.
Deadly Dancing is with the editor. Hoping for only minor corrections. He repeated his idea of starting his own (or maybe a collective-- "our" own) imprint. Something like Pisgah Press. Including mine, there are three books extant or in process he thinks would be good to start up with. The advantages of doing this over the more "traditional" is not having to find an agent or a publisher. The downside is, no advance money, none of the even modest resources of an established small press. Still have to do all the marketing. I told him I was interested. I am. And ambivalent.
Oh, there's more to catch up with, but I'm going to lie down with Steven King's new book, one I would never have picked up on my own, but Beth bought it and gave it to me to read while she is out of town. It's like popcorn, not very filling but hard to put down. I have not read a King novel (I do read his stories that appear in the New Yorker) since the Shining. That was a good yarn, as I remember, better than the movie. This one is over 1000 pages. Since I read at the pace of a forth grader, maybe, it's going to take longer than her trip for me to finish it. Way longer. Maybe by the first of the year.
Now, to a recumbent position. May catch up with you tomorrow.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Bear Scare
It is an "Ahhhh" day in the Southern Blue Ridge Mountains. Carolina Blue sky, with wisps of white, like cosmic cotton balls pulled apart and strewn willy nilly ito the air. I was at my desk at eight a.m., getting antsy. My spirit told me to go up the Blue Ridge Parkway. I grabbed a coffee at Starbuck's (it was the only place open, I'm sorry) and a chicken biscuit at Bojangles (no apologies) and headed east. There were few others on that scenic drive, the Leafers still lolling in their lodgings in Asheville, or not having arrived yet in the area. The foliage was at peak color for the first few miles. I was disappointed when I first experienced fall in the western Carolina mountains, the colors being less dramatic than I had been used to growing up in the Northeast. Over the years I have come to appreciate the more subtle palette of the region, the soft pinks and muted yellows, interspersed with dashs of bright orange and red. The colors faded as I gained altitude. The drive was still spectacular, vista after vista appearing around the curves in the road. There was none of the haze which has become more or less a permanent characteristic of the air in the southeast.
I hiked to the top of the ridge above the Craggy Garden picnic area, somewhat disconcerted by the sign reading, "AREA CLOSED-DANGEROUS BEAR ACTIVITY." However, it was posted near the ridge top, facing away from me, meant to be seen by hikers coming up from the other side. It made no sense, since there had been no such caution at the picnic area itself, which would be the place most attractive to those black marauders. Nonetheless, I did cut my hike short by about ten minutes, in the possibility I had missed something below, since I was the only car in the parking area-- others may have gotten the message somehow. Back at the picnic area parking lot, there were now several cars. I ask a man if he had seen any other such warnings. He had not. I have decided it is an artifact from earlier in the year, other postings have been removed, and they didn't get to this one.
My spirit renewed, I returned to my table and have spent the next three hours finding things to do other than work on the novel. I am twenty-five pages or so from finishing my run through making changes suggested by Andy. There will be some additional work to set up the main villain better, flesh out a subplot and make our protaganists wife a richer character. My goal was to have it done by the end of the month and if I quit doing THIS and focus on THAT, I may make it.
I hiked to the top of the ridge above the Craggy Garden picnic area, somewhat disconcerted by the sign reading, "AREA CLOSED-DANGEROUS BEAR ACTIVITY." However, it was posted near the ridge top, facing away from me, meant to be seen by hikers coming up from the other side. It made no sense, since there had been no such caution at the picnic area itself, which would be the place most attractive to those black marauders. Nonetheless, I did cut my hike short by about ten minutes, in the possibility I had missed something below, since I was the only car in the parking area-- others may have gotten the message somehow. Back at the picnic area parking lot, there were now several cars. I ask a man if he had seen any other such warnings. He had not. I have decided it is an artifact from earlier in the year, other postings have been removed, and they didn't get to this one.
My spirit renewed, I returned to my table and have spent the next three hours finding things to do other than work on the novel. I am twenty-five pages or so from finishing my run through making changes suggested by Andy. There will be some additional work to set up the main villain better, flesh out a subplot and make our protaganists wife a richer character. My goal was to have it done by the end of the month and if I quit doing THIS and focus on THAT, I may make it.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Home Stretch
Three forty-five, Wednesday afternoon, cup of cafe au lait at hand, unlit Camel dangling between my lips, dressed in writing attire -- 2006 Rome (GA) International Film Festival T-shirt, gray cotton gym shorts, green wool blend socks (my toes get cold, perhaps a harbinger of great circulatory issues to come). Candle lit. Windows open. Didn't sleep well, up from two-thirty to five-thirty, during which time I read and thought I might have to see my doctor about getting some Trazadone, standard anti-depressant sleep-aid drug. Discovered this morning I didn't take my nighttime meds which include melatonin -- a non Rx sleeping aid -- and my generic Dylantin, anti-seizure meds which have some sedative effect. So, no wonder I didn't sleep. Skip the Trazadone for now.
Glorious afternoon, mid-60's, clear blue skies, light breeze, a voice says "you ought to be out in this." The voice carries little weight against the forces of sloth. Or shall we be more affirming to ourself. We are writing. Then we might be napping. Lack of sleep and all, you know.
Andy, my editor, had much to say. The work is in the last stages of creation. Need to deepen Kathy, the wife of the protagonist; draw out a plot line more; create more tension near the end. I envision how the first and last of these will go. The drawing out of the particular plot line ("the movie") is going to be the greatest challenge. I struggled with it in the original and it showed. It is a vehicle for generating suspicion of one of the main characters and was more intentionally constructed than other parts of the narrative which flowed more directly from the initial story line, although we always new this particular character - Jay - would be a suspect. I played with alternative narratives none of which seemed satisfying.
Part of my difficultly lies, I think (I'm just making this up, but it seems reasonable) is my ADD, my difficulty in thinking the thing ALL the way through. I get part way into it, it seems to be good, and then I get into problems. Maybe this is sloth, the failure to attack it with the necessary discipline -- if "a" happens, then "b" happens, then "c" happens, all the way out to "n." And all of this is happening while two or three other story lines are also going on, and none are entirely separate from the others. Andy suggests, however, that the movie story line be kept MORE separate from the others. I thought it was. There's the rub. Because that story is what brings us to our first contact with the prime villain. And is the problem then that it is too much of a stretch, or do I have to lay more groundwork so it is more organic to the larger narrative?
My goal is to be done in a month, lets say November 1. I have already done 40 pages of general clean up. He will then read it again.
I may have written before about the why of a free-lance editor as opposed with selling the book and let the publisher do the editing. And the why is, in this ultra-competitive environment I would like to have the tightest, best-written work I can before sending out to the universe. (And, of course, it keeps me one step away from the dreaded HAVING TO PEDDLE THE BOOK stage.)
Trivia tonigh sans daughter and Billy. I feel a nap coming on, to get my brain into a state that random knowledge contained therein will be more to come to the fore when summoned.
Glorious afternoon, mid-60's, clear blue skies, light breeze, a voice says "you ought to be out in this." The voice carries little weight against the forces of sloth. Or shall we be more affirming to ourself. We are writing. Then we might be napping. Lack of sleep and all, you know.
Andy, my editor, had much to say. The work is in the last stages of creation. Need to deepen Kathy, the wife of the protagonist; draw out a plot line more; create more tension near the end. I envision how the first and last of these will go. The drawing out of the particular plot line ("the movie") is going to be the greatest challenge. I struggled with it in the original and it showed. It is a vehicle for generating suspicion of one of the main characters and was more intentionally constructed than other parts of the narrative which flowed more directly from the initial story line, although we always new this particular character - Jay - would be a suspect. I played with alternative narratives none of which seemed satisfying.
Part of my difficultly lies, I think (I'm just making this up, but it seems reasonable) is my ADD, my difficulty in thinking the thing ALL the way through. I get part way into it, it seems to be good, and then I get into problems. Maybe this is sloth, the failure to attack it with the necessary discipline -- if "a" happens, then "b" happens, then "c" happens, all the way out to "n." And all of this is happening while two or three other story lines are also going on, and none are entirely separate from the others. Andy suggests, however, that the movie story line be kept MORE separate from the others. I thought it was. There's the rub. Because that story is what brings us to our first contact with the prime villain. And is the problem then that it is too much of a stretch, or do I have to lay more groundwork so it is more organic to the larger narrative?
My goal is to be done in a month, lets say November 1. I have already done 40 pages of general clean up. He will then read it again.
I may have written before about the why of a free-lance editor as opposed with selling the book and let the publisher do the editing. And the why is, in this ultra-competitive environment I would like to have the tightest, best-written work I can before sending out to the universe. (And, of course, it keeps me one step away from the dreaded HAVING TO PEDDLE THE BOOK stage.)
Trivia tonigh sans daughter and Billy. I feel a nap coming on, to get my brain into a state that random knowledge contained therein will be more to come to the fore when summoned.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Getting Ready
I'm meeting with Andy over dinner tonight at his place, excited and anxious. He has said he likes this draft much better than the last, but that does not mean he won't have suggestions for serious changes. I don't mind the work, if it seems to fit with what I want to do with the novel. It is the time that bothers me. I want to get this off to a publisher, agent, whatever comes first. I am clearing the decks, putting all the other fiction work to the side (having submitted the first 1000 words of my novella, Come Back, to Glimmertrain's "First Pages" contest, and gotten some ideas for places for the short story, Junk Mail-- I will continue try to place it, but the writing is done!) and getting the desk top clean. This is in lieu of writing fiction this morning, a condition akin to withdrawal for me. I was writing on the second of the Rick Ryder books into yesterday afternoon when I had to tell myself, STOP. Put it down. It will wait.
Fall has come to the mountains, a few days late, having been shoved aside for some late summer storms. Cool, clear, breezy this morning. Took a walk to the City Bakery. They had no bread! It hadn't come from the ovens yet (the ovens being across town.) Was forced to choose among cinnamon roll, bagel, bear claw. Cinnamon roll won. Real pastry! And Asheville Coffee Roasters was closed late yesterday morning. What's going on here? Thwarted at every move!
(Spell Check for this doesn't recognize ASHEVILLE!?)
Fall has come to the mountains, a few days late, having been shoved aside for some late summer storms. Cool, clear, breezy this morning. Took a walk to the City Bakery. They had no bread! It hadn't come from the ovens yet (the ovens being across town.) Was forced to choose among cinnamon roll, bagel, bear claw. Cinnamon roll won. Real pastry! And Asheville Coffee Roasters was closed late yesterday morning. What's going on here? Thwarted at every move!
(Spell Check for this doesn't recognize ASHEVILLE!?)
Saturday, September 26, 2009
A tree dies in Asheville
Back on Day Two I noted the orange band around one of the two sycamores in the yard. I knew what that meant. Like when you see a noose hanging from a scaffold and a man being walked up with a hood over his head. At the time I had also seen a similar ribbon hanging from one of the lower branches of the other sycamore on the property, the one that I saw right outside my window, the one I looked to for inspiration. I assumed the ribbon hanging on a branch indicated that some of the lower branches needed to be removed. So when the Asplund trucks arrived a few afternoons ago, I knew the one tree was about to meet its demise. I talked to a supervisor looking kind of guy, the only one there at that time, apparently reconnoitering the area. I said it was too bad the tree had to go but saw it was dying and how dangerous that can be in a residential area. He said, yeah, the other one's going, too. I hadn't noticed, as much as I have looked at that tree, that the upper branches were barren. Three mornings ago, they came. When I got home from work, both trees had been stripped of limbs. The next morning they came to finish them off. I watched some as chain saws ate into the flesh of the trunks. Loud thwumps shook the building when they finally toppled.
Who knows what was killing them. Some bug? Air pollution? The stress of urban living? I understand why they were taken down. It is a loss just the same. Less CO2 being taken care of. Fewer roots to hold water (although, the stumps were not removed- they have this piece of equipment, a saw blade maybe three feet across, that is worked back and forth over the top of the stump, grinding it down to about a half foot below ground level- we suppose the hole will be covered and the roots will not be able to breath, and will eventually die themselves). Less green to balance the greys and blacks and browns of the city.
Now I see directly across the street to the "vacant" lot. It is not really vacant at all. It is so dense with growth, I can not see past the vegetation at sidewalk level, although as the hardwoods lose their leaves, more will become visible. There is a great maple tree, taller perhaps than the sycamore. It is already showing orange. My view of it will be unobstructed (except for the philodendron hanging in my window I have to maneuver my head around).
Still, I will miss my old friend. I will get used to it. What don't we? What can't we live without? It is not the same as a loved one -- a parent or sibling gone -- there is no pain. Not really much sadness. A slight void. The squirrels and birds which populated it will no longer be around either. It is a chain. The web of all living things. A slight tear in the web, hardly noticeable, possibly balanced by something new growing somewhere else.
Ah, Saturday. Time to write. Meeting with Andy -- the editor -- tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.
Who knows what was killing them. Some bug? Air pollution? The stress of urban living? I understand why they were taken down. It is a loss just the same. Less CO2 being taken care of. Fewer roots to hold water (although, the stumps were not removed- they have this piece of equipment, a saw blade maybe three feet across, that is worked back and forth over the top of the stump, grinding it down to about a half foot below ground level- we suppose the hole will be covered and the roots will not be able to breath, and will eventually die themselves). Less green to balance the greys and blacks and browns of the city.
Now I see directly across the street to the "vacant" lot. It is not really vacant at all. It is so dense with growth, I can not see past the vegetation at sidewalk level, although as the hardwoods lose their leaves, more will become visible. There is a great maple tree, taller perhaps than the sycamore. It is already showing orange. My view of it will be unobstructed (except for the philodendron hanging in my window I have to maneuver my head around).
Still, I will miss my old friend. I will get used to it. What don't we? What can't we live without? It is not the same as a loved one -- a parent or sibling gone -- there is no pain. Not really much sadness. A slight void. The squirrels and birds which populated it will no longer be around either. It is a chain. The web of all living things. A slight tear in the web, hardly noticeable, possibly balanced by something new growing somewhere else.
Ah, Saturday. Time to write. Meeting with Andy -- the editor -- tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Last day of the experiment
The week is over. Now I have to assess whether I will continue to use this for my morning writing or return to my freehand journaling. I aware of the showoffy nature of this, a certain narcissism. Look what's on my mind. I'm writing to other people rather than writing for the writing itself. We may know tomorrow morning what I have decided.
I joined my daughter, Cammie, and some of her friends for dinner last night at Carraba's, a slighly uppish-scale pizza and pasta place, uppish meaning cloth napkins et al. A nice place. I've always liked it. And I like her friends, smart, funny, reasonably sober (no one had more than one drink unless the pitcher of Sangria provided more than one apiece for the two who shared it.) Much of the conversation related to contemporary pop culture, TV and movies, and hand-held electronic devices. Not having one of the latter and my TV watching limited to the three channels I can get with my rabbit ears (four, sometimes, if I jump around just right), I was an aural voyeur for much of the conversation.
Earlier in the day, a friend was showing off his hand held device and explaining the business of "apps." (I at least knew that meant applications!) Several "pages" or screens full of apps. He opened, for instance, the GPS. Ok, that's cool. But when in my life have I ever needed a GPS. Oh, maybe that time I got turned around in Charlotte looking for a house due to the sketchy directions I had and the tendency of Charlotte streets to change names willy-nilly. If I was into the markets like he is (he has been working on regaining his networth) I guess it would be nice to be able to look at them 24/7. But I can't imagine how one has time to use all those things, much less the inclination.
Soooo. When I read in the Times this a.m. about how much electricity is being used by the profusion of electronics gear, I got to be smug in my abstinence from them. (I do have a cell phone; it makes and receives phone calls; it can receive text messages [I probably can send them, too] but the only ones I get are the no-charge ones telling me my phone bill is available on line- now there's a whole story in the paper about that, too). Living on a modest income, I don't choose to spend the money for techy stuff, it is partly an economic issue with me, not just a pricipled environmental stand. (All this consumer electronic stuff is going to require hundreds of new coal or nuclear fueled power plants at a time when the "movement" is working to reduce demand to avoid having to build new plants. ALternatives apparently will not generate sufficient "new" energy to come anywhere near offsetting the increase in demand.) I can justify my choices in moral-superiority terms. While, yes, typing away at an energy using computer-- perhaps this is justification enough for going back to pen and paper.
We're having a nice little storm right now, although it feels like it's winding down. Wind still whipping the sycamore branches around, but in gusts. The rain has let up. I may stay hunkered down or may go see a movie. And get filters for the fish tank before it gets out of control. Again.
Whitman catalogues wonders of the world and the universe in a section of Leaves of Grass and ends the passage, "Come I should like to hear you tell me what there is in yourself/that is not just as wonderful,/ And I should like to hear the name of anything between Sunday/morning and Saturday night that is not just as wonderful." Great way to start the week.
I joined my daughter, Cammie, and some of her friends for dinner last night at Carraba's, a slighly uppish-scale pizza and pasta place, uppish meaning cloth napkins et al. A nice place. I've always liked it. And I like her friends, smart, funny, reasonably sober (no one had more than one drink unless the pitcher of Sangria provided more than one apiece for the two who shared it.) Much of the conversation related to contemporary pop culture, TV and movies, and hand-held electronic devices. Not having one of the latter and my TV watching limited to the three channels I can get with my rabbit ears (four, sometimes, if I jump around just right), I was an aural voyeur for much of the conversation.
Earlier in the day, a friend was showing off his hand held device and explaining the business of "apps." (I at least knew that meant applications!) Several "pages" or screens full of apps. He opened, for instance, the GPS. Ok, that's cool. But when in my life have I ever needed a GPS. Oh, maybe that time I got turned around in Charlotte looking for a house due to the sketchy directions I had and the tendency of Charlotte streets to change names willy-nilly. If I was into the markets like he is (he has been working on regaining his networth) I guess it would be nice to be able to look at them 24/7. But I can't imagine how one has time to use all those things, much less the inclination.
Soooo. When I read in the Times this a.m. about how much electricity is being used by the profusion of electronics gear, I got to be smug in my abstinence from them. (I do have a cell phone; it makes and receives phone calls; it can receive text messages [I probably can send them, too] but the only ones I get are the no-charge ones telling me my phone bill is available on line- now there's a whole story in the paper about that, too). Living on a modest income, I don't choose to spend the money for techy stuff, it is partly an economic issue with me, not just a pricipled environmental stand. (All this consumer electronic stuff is going to require hundreds of new coal or nuclear fueled power plants at a time when the "movement" is working to reduce demand to avoid having to build new plants. ALternatives apparently will not generate sufficient "new" energy to come anywhere near offsetting the increase in demand.) I can justify my choices in moral-superiority terms. While, yes, typing away at an energy using computer-- perhaps this is justification enough for going back to pen and paper.
We're having a nice little storm right now, although it feels like it's winding down. Wind still whipping the sycamore branches around, but in gusts. The rain has let up. I may stay hunkered down or may go see a movie. And get filters for the fish tank before it gets out of control. Again.
Whitman catalogues wonders of the world and the universe in a section of Leaves of Grass and ends the passage, "Come I should like to hear you tell me what there is in yourself/that is not just as wonderful,/ And I should like to hear the name of anything between Sunday/morning and Saturday night that is not just as wonderful." Great way to start the week.
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