fire, bright lights, & a '48 Chevy
Poem, life is a poem, and if so, it must be one of those Victorian era poems that observe, experience and portray life serious and to be contended with, contentious even melancholic. In a convoluted world and convoluted life that 2018ly struck hard and grew yet more convoluted, A Word a day and A Poem a day are welcome bits of distraction that lead the mind off the main path to where I'd otherwise not wander but where as part of mental fitness I need to go; and that, leading, also help me establish new mental files to open as needed for escape from the convolution. I can escape onto that ferry riding across Narragansett Bay toward Jamestown. I also can escape into Matthew Arnold. Robert Frost. Marcus Aurelius.
Recently a friend put me back in touch with Matthew Arnold, whom I can find online. Not for everyone, his poems, I can and do find myself. And though another friend several years ago put me onto contemplative Marcus Aurelius, his book of Meditations, along with other books, all of Frost, the complete works of Flannery O'Connor (jiminy cricket), et al, rest inaccessible on the inaccessible bookshelf against the inaccessible wall by my inaccessible chair in chaotic 7H. And beloved overflow books kept in my office and on "my" shelves at the church library are GOK where, in tubs and boxes; but it's not a problem, it's raining.
We have a day that in someone's future may be a poem. Sunday night Malinda woke with pain in her left eye. Which ignites panic because the hemorrhagic stroke from the May 2018 burst aneurysm left her blind in her right eye. However, the pain was in the eye not the head, and last Thursday's visit with her brain surgeon in Pensacola included a brain MRI, imaging that found her brain safe and sound, aneurysms gone and all is well, so this had to be eye not brain problem. Monday we spent emergency at the Eye Center, which, ceilings collapsed and interior soaked, had to be gutted after the storm, is being rebuilt inside, the surgery side with new drywall, other side in progress as patients come and go, Eye Center just last week coming back in service. Eye surgeon diagnosed an eye infection and prescribed drops without fail every 30 minutes for six hours then every hour for the next 24 hours including waking hourly overnight, and return to Eye Center every day until the doctor is assured the infection is conquered.
Meantime, I am wanting and trying to arrange a visit with my gypsy sister, in town for her 81st birthday last week and still in town but itching to get her RV back on the road. An eyedrop every hour without fail, back to the surgeon today and daily this week. Friday morning Linda & I drive to Apalachicola for overnight, Saturday morning funeral at Trinity, for which I am now preparing a homily, then to Tallahassee for eagerly anticipated family events including concert featuring Charlotte Saturday evening, spectacular FSU Prism extravaganza Sunday afternoon. Drive home at leisure Monday, stopping by Trader Joe's just before getting on I-10, in fact, TJ's has its own almost private direct entry onto I-10. Ray, Britany, Lilly, nephews Damon and Devrin arrive back here from Gatlinburg sometime today and Ray will take the con.
It's not a problem, it's raining, but for long years my computers are bought refurbished, and I always try to have on hand two that work properly, one as worker bee and one as backup against Inevitable. Inevitable surfaced yesterday such that last evening was invested, following manufacturer's guidelines on the backup computer, in vainly trying to overcome its refusal to finish booting. Recalcitrant still this morning, it's nine years old, almost ten, and time to shelve it, promote backup computer to worker bee, and order the backup's replacement.
None of this is a problem, it's raining, I turn 84 in eight months and, from time to time still needed here and there, taking all my pills against oblivion.
Recently a friend put me back in touch with Matthew Arnold, whom I can find online. Not for everyone, his poems, I can and do find myself. And though another friend several years ago put me onto contemplative Marcus Aurelius, his book of Meditations, along with other books, all of Frost, the complete works of Flannery O'Connor (jiminy cricket), et al, rest inaccessible on the inaccessible bookshelf against the inaccessible wall by my inaccessible chair in chaotic 7H. And beloved overflow books kept in my office and on "my" shelves at the church library are GOK where, in tubs and boxes; but it's not a problem, it's raining.
We have a day that in someone's future may be a poem. Sunday night Malinda woke with pain in her left eye. Which ignites panic because the hemorrhagic stroke from the May 2018 burst aneurysm left her blind in her right eye. However, the pain was in the eye not the head, and last Thursday's visit with her brain surgeon in Pensacola included a brain MRI, imaging that found her brain safe and sound, aneurysms gone and all is well, so this had to be eye not brain problem. Monday we spent emergency at the Eye Center, which, ceilings collapsed and interior soaked, had to be gutted after the storm, is being rebuilt inside, the surgery side with new drywall, other side in progress as patients come and go, Eye Center just last week coming back in service. Eye surgeon diagnosed an eye infection and prescribed drops without fail every 30 minutes for six hours then every hour for the next 24 hours including waking hourly overnight, and return to Eye Center every day until the doctor is assured the infection is conquered.
Meantime, I am wanting and trying to arrange a visit with my gypsy sister, in town for her 81st birthday last week and still in town but itching to get her RV back on the road. An eyedrop every hour without fail, back to the surgeon today and daily this week. Friday morning Linda & I drive to Apalachicola for overnight, Saturday morning funeral at Trinity, for which I am now preparing a homily, then to Tallahassee for eagerly anticipated family events including concert featuring Charlotte Saturday evening, spectacular FSU Prism extravaganza Sunday afternoon. Drive home at leisure Monday, stopping by Trader Joe's just before getting on I-10, in fact, TJ's has its own almost private direct entry onto I-10. Ray, Britany, Lilly, nephews Damon and Devrin arrive back here from Gatlinburg sometime today and Ray will take the con.
It's not a problem, it's raining, but for long years my computers are bought refurbished, and I always try to have on hand two that work properly, one as worker bee and one as backup against Inevitable. Inevitable surfaced yesterday such that last evening was invested, following manufacturer's guidelines on the backup computer, in vainly trying to overcome its refusal to finish booting. Recalcitrant still this morning, it's nine years old, almost ten, and time to shelve it, promote backup computer to worker bee, and order the backup's replacement.
None of this is a problem, it's raining, I turn 84 in eight months and, from time to time still needed here and there, taking all my pills against oblivion.