Sunday, January 13, 2002

dead owl

"Most people live, whether physically, intellectually or morally, in a very restricted circle of their potential being. They make use of a very small portion of their possible consciousness, and of their soul's resources in general, much like a man who, out of his whole bodily organism, should get into a habit of using and moving only his little finger. Great emergencies and crises show us how much greater our vital resources are than we had supposed."

William James, Letter to W. Lutoslawski

I wake up in much better shape than yesterday. FFP says I haven't coughed as much. I get dressed and do a little writing. When SuRu suggests a walk, I'm all for it.

FFP decides to go so the urban adventurers are off to Hyde Park. We park near Avenue B grocery and wander the avenues. It seems there are some remodels done or under way that we'd never noticed. Cars are parked everywhere for the megachurch service.

We see dead animals and birds all the time. (The dogs tend to point them out lest we miss them.) But never had I seen an owl before today.

We end up at a table in front of Quack's. We bump into a gal who works at West Austin News who is reading and drinking coffee with a little white dog in her lap (Mimi). We all walk back together since she lives near where we parked.

I feel sort of energetic when we return. I talk to Mom and tell her that I'll take a half day of vacation to work with her medicines and see the doctor with her. This pleases her.

I move things around in a vain attempt to straighten up. I scan pix for my journal. (Even though I haven't posted anything to the WEB in a couple of weeks, I've been writing it while trying to decide what to do.) I pick up Christmas ornaments and put them in a drawer in the guest room. I just put them on shelves and in a bowl for decoration since we never put up a tree. I think, "Maybe next year I'll have a tree." But, probably not. I pick up scores of bendie Santas and other Christmas characters (reindeer, elves, even a tree or two). I leave the box out because just when I think that's it, I see another. Man, we have lots of stuff. I feel like I spend a lot of time just moving it around.

I do feel energetic. Not that I'm getting a whole lot done, of course. I stack up all the Christmas cards that are strewn around. We received a bunch this year although a lot of them seemed to arrive a bit later than usual.

Gayle comes over to try out recipes for our Project Transitions dinner. FFP has purchased a bunch of food for it.

We try (somewhat unsuccessfully) to be helpful. The kitchen fills with rich smells. There are bleu cheese crackers in the oven, a mushroom beef brandy sauce reducing.

I eat all of the stuffed tomato salad (FFP's gotten huge tomoatoes), but I can only taste the steak with bleu cheese brandy sauce and the potato puree on portabello and baby spinach. No one else can finish either. We pack it away for tomorrow and clean up. We decide that for the real event we will have smaller tomatoes and filets instead of ribeyes.

We watch some Law and Order and other stuff and a pleasant day ends. I've had no drugs and I don't feel half bad. You almost have to feel better to know how bad you felt. I'm still spitting up some ugly stuff but I almost feel alive. My peripheral vision seems to have expanded, certainly my hearing is improved (although I can still pop my ears occasionally to good effect), my brain seems to be on this planet. I despise illness. I can barely tolerate it in others, but when its mine I'm tremendously impatient with it. It's a good thing that FFP is so healthy most of the time and so quick to heal. And me, too. I guess, however, if I were ever to encounter a real health crisis, that I would respond to it with more sympathy and understanding. Right?

JUST TYPING
Health.
Is somewhat subjective.
Conscious?
Alive?
Upright?
Only the patient can detect the more subtle changes.