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“Dawning Reflections: Navigating Life’s Unpredictable Journey”
My morning journal:
This Friday, I had a terrible night and really thought it was the big one (death). I struggled with the idea of waking the family and/or dialing 911, then decided to simply let it go and put it in the hands of God. Whatever it was, it broke around daylight, and I remained in bed the entire day and the next evening. I had a very short period of nausea around sundown, then returned to bed.
But Sunday dawned, and I felt almost human. I spent the day trying to get my blood sugars back in a normal range and rhythm. I am at that stage in life where the pain is going to dictate whether I see the medics or not. I don’t need to suffer with that. I am medicated to the 9nth degree as it stands now, and I am going to stop seeking cures.
None the less, I am not all that morbid. I am still going to do the implanted heart device soon. It is some sort of thing that stops arrhythmia. It runs on a battery that is placed under the skin and requires minor surgery from time to time to replace the battery. It supposedly reprimands the heart if it decides to step out of the straight and narrow by Tazing it or something. It has majorly messed up some other plans I have made for the next few months.
“Mentsch tracht, un Gott lakht,” as they say in Yiddish. Man plans, and God laughs, it would seem. I had three appointments, a family trip, and a few other items that all fell on that same day. So, I am trying to move things around, and that with the foggy brain that has remained with me over the weekend.
Not much new other than that is going on. The days have cooled, and a breeze heralds in to blow out the old and bring in the new. But I do notice the sunlight is weakening, and the birds, neeper-peepers, and bugs have all gone silent. The meadows look a bit spent. And it all closes in on my state of mind.
I think I am more weary than anything, even to the point of being weary with being weary. I am hoping for a little rally in my overall well-being. That would be nice. I could get so much in order. And the days roll on by. I idly watch life passing by on my little window into the internet and the big window behind me. I have a mirror set to the right of my PC that lets me look out the real window with a mere glance to the side.
Good morning.
“Embracing the Day: Reflections on Life, Creativity, and Resilience”
A wet, drippy morning embraced the day, the low 70’s offering a reprieve from the relentless heat and drought of yesteryears. The droplets outside whispered tales of transformation, a tangible reminder that seasons change, both in weather and in life. Shaking off the remnants of sleep, I unhooked myself from the slumber’s grasp and navigated to the kitchen, the aroma of coffee promising a gentle awakening.
The studio, my haven of creativity, beckoned me next. It was time to sift through the daily deluge of news, a task laced with skepticism. In a world where truth seemed elusive, attempting to find a balanced perspective often felt like a futile endeavor. The headlines from the left and right blurred into a mosaic of deception, leaving me yearning for a clearer narrative. Yet, amidst this quagmire, I reminded myself of who truly held the reins of control and chose to silence the discordant voices.
The crossword puzzle, a delightful mental exercise, followed suit. With surprising ease, the answers flowed from pen to paper, resulting in a score that boasted a victory of sorts. The allure of the train simulation beckoned, a virtual adventure awaiting, but today, it offered no new landscapes to explore.
A quiet journey to the bedroom revealed a flicker of light from the bathroom, signaling that my beloved Snooks was stirring. She had wrestled with a restless night, the memories of which now danced beyond her reach. Yesterday had been a rare day of productivity, a precious gem amidst the struggles that had become all too familiar. She clung to the fragments of familiarity—family and friends—yet the sands of recent time slipped through the sieve of her short-term memory.
A former colleague had left a number for her to call, a gesture of kindness that would momentarily brighten her day. The conversation would flow, and she would sound like her old self, bringing comfort to her friend. However, the conversation’s echoes would fade within the recesses of her mind mere minutes after it concluded.
In parallel, my own battles waged silently. Fatigue and restlessness, an unusual alliance, had become constant companions. Writing again had become a balm, soothing the weariness of the soul, although it hadn’t yet emboldened me to tackle larger literary endeavors. These small coffee posts, simple yet meaningful, seemed to mirror my contentment, born from a life that others might perceive as uneventful.
As the day unfurled its canvas, I took solace in kindling the flickering flame of creativity. A reservoir of doggerel lay behind me, a testament to lighter musings. I glanced through the shelves of older manuscripts, a journey through time, before gently placing them back. Journals and essays beckoned, offering a path that felt aligned with the cadence of my thoughts.
And so, with the sun ascending on this wet and promising morning, I embraced the day ahead. The world continued its relentless dance, and I, too, must continue mine.
Good morning!
“Reflections on Life: A Journey of Healing and Wisdom”
Well, the holiday has come and gone. Since every day feels like a holiday to me now, it went mostly unnoticed. I still have two family members who go to work, and I can tell what day it is by their groans of agony when the work week begins.
I’ve been noticing an improvement in my writing lately, which is a relief. Writing is my last refuge, and if I were to lose the ability to communicate, I’d truly feel lost.
Supposedly, today marks the end of the heat wave, and temperatures are expected to drop tomorrow. It might not be a significant drop, but at least the days of sweltering 100-degree weather are over, and we can look forward to autumn. I’m eager to get back to spending some time in the yard.
My wife, whom I affectionately call “Snookums,” gave us a scare this week when she wasn’t feeling well. She went to bed and stayed there, which is unusual for her. We worried it might be a stroke or arrhythmia, so we kept a close eye on her. Even though she may have felt alone, 14 pairs of eyes passed by her doorway and paused, watching her breathe. Fortunately, the following day, she seemed to have recovered, and all our concerns were forgotten.
Tomorrow, I have a meeting scheduled with the palliative care team. It seems I may have passed the worst of my crisis, or at least I hope so. I’m unsure whether to continue with their care or not. I think I’d like to keep them involved in my treatment plan because I don’t anticipate significant improvement. However, my kidney numbers have been gradually improving, even if only slightly.
I hope my ambition returns one day. I dislike feeling aimless for extended periods. Maybe God intends for me to embrace this phase of life as a time of reflection. I’ve read that God imparts a different wisdom to the elderly, and I can now attest to its truth. It may not necessarily be better, but it is different. Complexities in scripture become clearer, and I’m delighted by the revelations.
When I was a young man, I had different priorities, all given by God as well. A laborer needs encouragement, an idler requires motivation, a father must endure, a husband needs to express love outwardly, and an old man needs visions just to know that his labor was not in vain.
So, the day has led to noon. A nap is on the horizon.
“An Elder’s Gaze Beyond the River’s Edge”
In the window’s frame, an old man sits,
Gazing out with pensive wits.
Once, his house stood neat and bright,
Now, it’s in disarray’s twilight.
Drapes hang loose, tables cluttered, astray,
But today, no tidying, come what may.
And not tomorrow, he’s quite certain,
His thoughts on a distant, obscure curtain.
His eyes don’t dwell on the present’s charm,
But a far-off shore, across a river’s calm.
No sorrow fills his heart’s core,
Rather, curiosity, he can’t ignore.
He’s prepared, though unsure of the quest,
Ready for whatever comes, at best.
Across that mystic, unknown shore,
An old man ponders, forevermore.
Embracing the Rhythms of Life: Moments with Snookums
Date: Wednesday August 30
As I sit down with my morning cup of coffee and a slice of cake, I’m reminded of the subtle beauty that fills our everyday lives. It’s these small moments, like sharing a simple breakfast with my beloved Snookums, that remind me to cherish the present.
Snookums and Her Journey:
My wife, Snookums, is a remarkable woman. Her strength and resilience have been tested in ways most of us can’t even imagine. After a stroke, she’s embarked on a journey of relearning and rediscovery. Every day, she faces the challenges that come with rebuilding her life, and she does it with grace and determination.
Morning Coffee and Cake:
Our morning routine has taken on a special significance. It’s not just about the caffeine jolt; it’s a moment to connect, to share our dreams and aspirations, and to simply be together. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room, and the sweetness of cake complements the bitterness of the coffee perfectly. It’s a reminder that life is all about balance, just like our journey.
The Monotony of Insulin Shots and Pilling:
Life after a stroke comes with its share of monotony. The routine of insulin shots and medication pills can sometimes seem never-ending. But in the midst of this routine, we find a deeper appreciation for each other’s support. These moments, seemingly mundane, are a testament to our commitment to Snookums’ health and well-being.
The Rotation of Days:
Life has a rhythm, a rotation of days, that we often take for granted. But when you face a significant life event like a stroke, you learn to appreciate the ebb and flow of time. Each day is a new opportunity to grow, to love, and to cherish.
As I look at Snookums, I’m reminded that life is a journey, and every step counts. Her journey is one of bravery, love, and hope. We’re in this together, navigating the waves of life’s challenges and relishing in the moments of joy.
In closing, I want to encourage all of you to find beauty in the seemingly ordinary moments of your lives. Whether it’s a morning cup of coffee, a shared meal, or a routine that may seem monotonous, these are the threads that make up the tapestry of our existence. Embrace them, for they are the true essence of life.
Good morning.
BardAI: Google’s AI That Sings Like Shakespeare and Rocks Like Elvis
I am out of things to write in a journal. So I go to bard®, googles AI bot and asked it for suggestions. I didn’t get any surprises, but he did suggest that I set a timer for eight minutes, and just write what comes to mind.
So … I’m bored and antsy at the same time. Chores I used to do handily are now feats of strength. Even putting on a pair of shoes requires a rest before continuing. I sit here at four in the afternoon, still in bedclothes.
The only thing I did was run a train simulation where I picked up a train at Edwards, a siding near Edwards AFB in California, and took the train to Barstow receiving, unhooked the engines and took them to the shop, did my paperwork and signed off.
That was it. My whole day was rise, drink some coffee and eat some coffeecake with Snookums, take a whole plate of pills, shoot some long-term insulin and short-term insulin into the belly, galumph down to the studio to play the game, finished the game and asked bard for journal suggestions.
And the eight-minute timer just went off.
But my lazy spell continues, and I really don’t want to edit this bland, self-serving pap, so’s I puts ‘er back in bard® and ask him to clean it up a little. Here is bards version:
I found myself running low on journaling inspiration, so I turned to Bard, Google’s AI assistant, for some creative prompts. While Bard didn’t provide any groundbreaking ideas, it did suggest setting an eight-minute timer and simply jotting down whatever thoughts flowed through my mind.
So here I am, simultaneously battling boredom and restlessness. Tasks that used to be effortless now feel like monumental feats of strength. Even the simple act of donning a pair of shoes demands a momentary pause for recuperation. It’s currently four in the afternoon, and I’m still clad in my bedclothes, having accomplished very little today.
My sole achievement thus far has been running a train simulation. I embarked on a journey from Edwards, a siding near Edwards Air Force Base in California, to Barstow receiving. Afterward, I disconnected the engines and transported them to the workshop, diligently completed my paperwork, and officially signed off for the day.
That’s the extent of it. My day has consisted of a routine that involves rising from bed, sharing some coffee and coffeecake with my beloved Snookums, ingesting a multitude of pills, administering both long-term and short-term insulin injections into my belly, then lumbering down to my studio to engage in some gaming. Subsequently, I wrapped up the game and reached out to Bard for journaling suggestions.
And wouldn’t you know it, just as I finish recounting my day, the eight-minute timer chimes to signal the end of my spontaneous writing session.
…
I then went over to ChatGPT and asked it to make a title for this post:
Perhaps I could just have the two write my daily blogs … 🤔
Abide With Me
Writing is easy. You just stare at a blank page until blood drops appear on your forehead.
~Gene Fowler (no relation)
Good morning!
I woke up at dawn today to find that Snookums was already awake. My niece had warned me that she was feeling unstable and forgetful, so I took her blood pressure and gave her her insulin shot. We had coffeecake and coffee, and then I checked our mail.
I tried to play some online games, but the connections were bad. I would do almost anything to avoid writing, but I know I need to do it.
On Monday morning, we’re taking Snookums in for a follow-up cognitive test. I’m hoping that she’s holding her own, but I’m afraid that her condition may have deteriorated. The appointment is early in the morning, because the clinician doesn’t make afternoon appointments.
The heat wave continues, and now we’re in a severe drought and high fire danger. I was hoping for a wet year, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards. Our air conditioner is broken, and I thought that by now it would be cooler and I could put off fixing it for another year. That was a bad decision, but we’re stuck with it.
I proudly missed the Republican debates. I’m not ready for the political silly season, and I won’t be paying attention to politics until the conventions. Even then, I’ll be watching closely for any evidence of system gaming. That will have more impact on whether I vote or stay home than anything the candidates say. But I can’t stay away from the political dialogue altogether. It seems to creep in at every turn.
I’m feeling marginally stronger, and some of my plans to get my life on track are showing small but measurable gains. However, the front yard needs to be cleared of brush and cleaned up. A half-repaired mower sits in the driveway, and a disassembled planter is choked with weeds. The front porch is a wreck, and I’m humiliated every time a visitor sees it. The place I took so much pride in is an embarrassment. My own studio is neglected, and my morning roost is a cluttered mess.
I don’t think things are going to improve. Time is marching on, and the time to do has come and gone. Now we just abide.
The Whimsical Symphony of Dawn
This morning, I am trying to revive the art of whimsical prose. As I edit this, it becomes apparent that I am going to need some practice. But one cannot practice without practicing. I hope it isn’t too cloying and saccharine.
As the curtains let in the morning sun, it tiptoes across the bedroom wall with a gentle embrace of warmth. Nestled under the covers, I’m serenaded by the hushed whispers of morning beyond my door. Outside, Snookums orchestrates a delicate ballet in the kitchen, tending to the feral cats with a touch of magic. Meanwhile, the air conditioner hums its own soft tune, signaling its victory over the rising outdoor temperatures.
With eyes closed, I sip on the tranquility of this moment. In a world that races forward, it’s a fleeting indulgence to relish. Yet, for now, I’m content to lie here, a silent audience to the symphony of dawn.
Gradually, I coax myself upright, unhooking from the bedside tubes and donning my portable companions. My journey leads me to the kitchen, where Snookums and I rendezvous over cups of coffee. Words remain in slumber until that first sip awakens them, and only the second cup finds room for our laughter and musings.
With caffeine-fueled courage, I embark on a wobbly pilgrimage to my creative sanctuary, penning down these whimsical reflections. As the morning unfurls, Snookums readies herself for a follow-up to her ER visit, then I follow with my own tango with my curmudgeonly cardiologist. His terse candor is refreshing when I think of the usual dispassionate meeting I normally have with doctors.
The day wears no crown of chaos, but it’s adorned with engagements. Yet, I find solace in this rhythm. To rise from my cocooned haven and greet the day is a gift I’ll never tire of unwrapping.
Slowly but surely, the days rekindle their routine, knitting comfort into their fabric. Life, like an old friend, edges closer to its familiar dance.
I hope my whimsical morning recital painted a smile across your face. Thank you for joining me on this lyrical journey!
Preparation day We clean, cook, and rest our souls Then the Sabbath comes
Friday is my favorite day of the week. It is like getting my house ready for visitors that I really am anxious to see. Before my wife (Snookums) became disabled, it was really her day. She baked challah for the Shabbat table that is set every Friday evening, and cleaned the kitchen and dining room as part of the ritual for this day. Then she set the Shabbat table early and turned on the lights in the dining room to remind us what day this is.
Now that age and disability have come, my niece, great-nephew, and brother do most of the Shabbat preparations, and Snookums lights the candles and recites the ancient blessing. Some days she is still up for setting the table.
It is odd how some Shabbats Snook rips through the blessings without error, usually when she doesn’t think about it too hard. But once she starts struggling with it, the blessing gets a bit incoherent. We know what she is trying to say and patiently wait for her to finish.
My niece now reads the woman’s prayer that is on a typewritten sheet, then it is my show to do the benediction, recitation of Proverbs 10’s blessings for the wife, the introduction to the Shabbat, the blessings for food and wine, and the washing of the hands.
This morning was an entertaining one. Snooks’ second order of the day is that after starting the coffee, she feeds the feral cats. We don’t feed them as much as we would a domestic cat because we want them to be good mousers. And they are.
Occasionally, though, one of the kittens forgets that we have dogs in the house that don’t think cats should live. And this morning it happened when Snooks opened the door. One kitten darted in, and my brother Bruce saw that and grabbed Jenna.
Jenna is an efficient killer and rats don’t stand a chance when she is around. She doesn’t get excited, but works the prey like a master carpenter, not wasting moves or spending time in excitement. Once the rat is dispatched, she loses interest in it.
Unfortunately, she is just as efficient with cats and so the kitten probably doesn’t know how close it came this morning. Amber put Jenna into my studio and closed the door, and they all went cat hunting.
Snookums was the one that got the kitten by the scruff of the neck, and the kitten sensed that was a mommy kind of grab and just went limp as Linda carried it outside to safety.
I just sat and watched the scurrying around of excited women and the other dogs from my royal perch at the kitchen table. The kitchen table has become my dispensary. All my medical stuff is there in reach, and I have a morning ritual, a before dinner ritual, and a get up around midnight ritual. It is a royal PITA, but that is my lot in life these days, so I quit complaining (usually) and just do what is necessary.
So that is it. Another exciting day with the family. I hope this finds you as peaceful and happy as I am.
Good morning!
I’m Taking Life by the Horns
Since I started living much of my life outside the home in a wheelchair, I have looked at ways of handling normal events. The biggest trial was shopping. Grocery stores are good about helping carry out groceries, but other retail stores aren’t.
My solution was a folding basket from Amazon. It is a little large for the chair, but I can manage. It lets me put items into the basket, then hand the basket to the cashier or put it on the conveyer, and then the cashier can ‘bag’ the basket and I only have one thing to carry out.
I must time my purchases, there is no getting everything in one whack.
Today I decided to take life by the horns. I was tired of sitting around waiting to die. So this morning I told my new invisible friend, Bard, the AI with google, that I was procrastinating. Bard told me to take it all in small bites, then reward myself. It sort of works with my mutts, and so I thought it might work with me.
It too about ten minutes to load my compression socks into the adaptive device and step into it, but viola! The socks went on like magic, only needing a tug here and there to get the wrinkles out.
Then a glass of Kool-Aid and some more internet time wasting. That was my reward for getting the socks on. But I quickly used up my reward time and it was on to clean shirt and trousers. That went quickly so I skipped the reward. On with my vest that hold all my worldly belongings. Rescue inhaler, eyeglasses and sunshades, glucose tablets, wallet. Check
Then I loaded the recharged wheelchair battery into that basket and went out to the car. There sat the chair, waiting for me, and it chirped happily as I pushed the battery into its slot. I don’t know where it came from, but a strong smell of urine hit me.
I closed the hatch back, hobbled to the front door and checked the urinary bag. Yeah, I wear one of those, but I don’t want to talk much about ‘em. The bag and hoses were dry. So I fired up Blue Bucephalus, put the phone on GPS, adjusted the seats, made the short prayer (Lord, don’t let me drive like hell was on my tail) and sat out to be a normal human being.
Ever so often I caught the whiff of urine, but it was fleeting. Maybe I had had an ‘accident’ in the car, I though. But I went on.
Arriving at Texas’ beloved H.E.B. Grocery, way off in the corner of the lot was a shady spot under a huge oak. People didn’t park there because it was a long long way to the entrance of the store. But I have a powered chair, and I sneered at them sissies that needed to leave their cars out in the broiling lot while they shopped.
It is a super light weight chair, about 38lbs with the battery in. It folds, but since I have a mommy van, it sits unfolded in the back. I have unloading it down to a science, set the new shopping basket on my knees and tootled off to the entrance at a pleasant 5.6 mph.
The only thing that broke my serenity was once again the strong stench of urine. But I wasn’t going to let that mar my attempt at being a normal person. Or close to one, anyway. Zipping inside and making a hard left, I went down the aisle of nostrums to pick a few nostrums for the medicine cabinet. Then to the paper section to pick up some paper products for another item near the medicine cabinet, then zipped along the lunchmeat section for some sliced chicken, got some chewy bread and peanut butter, and rolled on to the cashier.
I threw the bag on the conveyer just like a normie, albeit one that stank of stale urine, pretended I couldn’t smell it. The cashier was delighted with my shopping solution. It was like I brought my own cart and bags.
I could barely reach the credit card machine, but finally after some prompting by the cashier figured out the mysteries of it. Push the wrong button, and you lose. The card machines can smell fear, but I bluffed my way through the process and out the door I went.
Then it hit me. A certain male dog in my household had been using my bag as his peeing post!
OK … I am going to have to work with that one.
Picked up my narcotics at the drive-through, showed them my ID and drove off like an outlaw, and then to the carwash. Bucephalus was bird poop stained and really needed a good scrubbing. And home.
It was a triumph. I got the groceries into the house unaided. I was set free!
Rusty's Armory 