Today, a walk

Today I had a doctor appointment at 7:45. After, I decided to walk back to the office. It wasn’t that far. It was maybe four miles away. I chose to walk because I felt I needed to. I walked familiar regions, but I’d never walked this path before. Some things were familiar. Many things were new. At one point I had to pee. I paused in the corner of a wall just off and well hidden from the traffic of busy streets to relieve myself. I continued, working myself south and east. On Cherry street, just south of the Plaza after passing through the university, I happened by the house of a sometimes client whose house I’ve heard about, but never seen. It’s shape is an octogon. It is ’60s weird. But beautiful in its stance. It sits as an anomaly in its neighborhood of stately mansions. I walked on down Holmes where a few blocks further south I would be within three blocks of the office. As I walked, I thought, I have never seen these streets before. It was an adventure I thought might take an hour (turned out to be 1:20). I was tiring. I thought I could make it. I knew I would make it.

I walk a brisk pace. Many who walk with me sometimes say “Hey, where’s the fire?

I thought about the events of the past few weeks. I was on an adventure. I still am. One thing I thought about: At the start of my brother’s ride on Saturday, they had a table with pictures of my brother in frames on the registration table. As I looked at his pictures I came to know my brother in a way I’d not seen before. He was happy in those pictures.  He had a family who was happy to know him just the way he was. A family I’d never known. It made me happy for him. It made me sad I didn’t know this side of him.

When I topped the hill where I could see the office, I was exhausted, but invigorated. The weather was cool, humid, drizzley–I was wet from the exertion and the weather, but I felt, for the first time in weeks, good.

Episode On Another Patio: Or Reincarnation Again.

Recently I pitched over the patio’s low brick wall at kristopher’s house at the lake. I had a cold and made the mistake of mixing my medicines. I was all hopped up on goofballs (Mucinex D, aspirin, Sinex Nasal spray) plus I had a couple of weak martinis. (There may have been more, I remember two. Maybe they weren’t so weak.) Went outside after dinner with kristopher’s Paul to smoke a cigarette. Standing, talking. I leaned over to ash my butt into one of those glass insulators you find (or used to find) that were once used or are used on telephone poles to insulate the power lines from the wood of the pole. As I leaned, I vaguely remember feeling a dizzy wave. I realized I was leaning farther than I intended, or that I thought I had intended. I remember thinking “OK, use your hands, catch yourself on the low brick wall.” I put my hands out, but I missed. I think I missed. I slowly rolled forward. Far off, I heard Paul calling, “Oh God! Are you OK?” I was headed down. He tried to catch me. I thought he caught me. I think he got a hand on my arm. He said, “Did you pass out for a moment?” Somehow, I rolled out of his hold. It was like I was out, going down. I remember seeing the brick of the low wall coming toward me again. Again I put out my hands. The bricks passed my eyes. I saw the rocks on the ground beyond the wall. I was rolling forward, twisting a little. The wind was whistling past my ears. This happened very slowly. I tumbled over, the base of the wall below me a foot or two lower than the patio surface where I’d stood. The rocks steep off down the hill toward the lake. I bounced once, settled on my side and by virtue of gravity rolled onto my back. I remember seeing the trees, the sky above me. I remember thinking it was pretty. Right away, I tried to get up. kristopher’s big dogs, giant schnauzer, Vaughn, and collie, Dante, were all over me, barking licking like it was play time, trying to hold me down or help me up. Paul’s face was above me in the trees. I saw him say, “Are you OK? Here take my hand. Take my hand.” I grabbed. He pulled me up. I was pretty wobbly, but seemed entirely uninjured. “Are you OK? Did you hit your head? You went down head first! It was like slow motion! You talked the entire time you were going down. Are you OK?” I insisted I was fine. I did a little dance. “See?” I said “This can be our little secret, right?” He said “OK.”

But back inside sitting at the table, I noticed some blood on my knuckle, went to wash it off. Something, a trickling maybe, caused me to pull up my pantleg. I found my knee was pretty scraped up. Bleeding. Sandy came by the bath as I had my pant leg up. She got a tissue and wet it, started tamping the blood. Danny came by, “Oh, Ricky, what happened?” He started helping Sandy clean me up as he asked difficult questions I tried to answer.

The next morning at home I found I had some bruisey sore spots. I found some little annoying knicks on my hands and fingers. My collar bone seemed sore. I saw a raw little scrape on my chin in my whiskers that reddened and scabbed over during the day. A couple more sore spots on my arms. I had a fairly big bruise beneath my ribcage. How close was I to a broken rib? To a broken arm? What if I’d been by myself alone out there, fallen with broken bones?

I’m getting older. Is it time to watch out? It is time to watch out. Is it time to get scared? I don’t want to be scared. But I think it’s time to be more careful. I’ve been thinking lately it’s time to start thinking it’s time.

Thanksgiving

For

The things we are,

the things we could be

with a little work,

with a little help.

Song Title

For one whose blog I follow. It’s nice to see you writing more on your blog. Your post “Song Title,” is a lovely observation. As for your music, your recordings, I don’t have any business asking if I could, but if you could see your way clear to allow it, could I be on the permanent mailing list?

Moving more, reading more

An update on my January 1 entry below. I (we’ve) sold the car I drove the most, the ‘95 Ford Escort. I did this, most, to make myself have to walk on a daily basis. I’ve been walking to work now for one week. I feel different. And things are changing. I have to think “lunch” in a different way. I have to bring it, or know I have to walk to get it, so I’m spending my lunch hour, now, staying in the office for large part. During my lunch hour, I’ve started to read. Coupled with my reading at lunch, I’ve decided to read, first, when I get home, before opening this laptop to see what news there is, in the internet worlds I inhabit (outside of the email I use profusely at work).

I’m discovering how much I’ve missed opening a book, how out-of-practice I am with turning pages and making my eyes follow the lines, as opposed to scrolling down the lines, of text before me. For the walking, I’m very much enjoying moving my legs in ways other than pressing an accelerator, clutch and brake.

It’s only a mile to work, about 16 minutes at a brisk pace. The surroundings are pleasant.

As for the rest of my January 1 list, it seems these two changes in my day-to-day bring the benefit of covering most of the other items. I’m thinking more by virtue of my spending about a half-hour walking and a couple hours reading. The reading brings things to mull over while I’m walking. I’m writing a little, though by “writing more” I meant time spent in “artful” writing pursuits, of which I don’t quite count this blog post. But by virtue of this blog post I am sharing more. And by virtue of the reading, walking, thinking and sharing, I find myself thinking on others with more love.

When I made the list, I didn’t realize I only had to make an attempt to change two of the items on it to have the rest start to fall into place. Stay tuned for further developments.

XOR

Tits Up in a Ditch

I just finished reading Annie Proulx’s piece Tits Up in a Ditch in the most recent New Yorker.

I’m taking the weekend off, since 10:00 this morning, “to center myself and get some things done around the house,” as I put it to my boss, to my co-workers. I apologized for the short notice, but begged they would understand I “wouldn’t do it if it weren’t absolutely necessary.” And that “I would rather not say more just now.”

I went in to the office this morning at 6:45 knowing I would make this announcement. It was raining when I got up. Again. And the plans I had made yesterday for work, for workers to do the work, with the managers who direct the work, was once again in need of re-planning,  re-adjustment almost as soon as it was planned. 

(Nevermind that there are folks with far worse issues than mine where rain is concerned and that I should count my blessings we’re not in Cedar Rapids, or any other town along this neverending rainy front stretching from Canada to North Texas. I hold all positive thought I can hold in my heart for those with real loss. For us it is, at root, a mere slow-down of work. Still, I’ve made promises I can’t keep.)

I feel ashamed. I like to think I’m resilient, able to move at a moment’s notice. I’d like to think I’m not a whiner, but this Winter-into-Spring-into-Summer has taken its toll on me. I’m exhausted.

It was wonderful how the folks around me at the office this morning asked no questions after my announcement. They offered support, “Yes, I can take care of that,” and “Take the time you need,” as I sent email after email to them of the loose-ends I had not been able to handle in the past few days. I tried to release as much information as possible of the undone things I had inside me and on lists I’ve written day after day. I’m so blessed. Alan, laurie, matt, paul, charles, meri, les and kristopher, thank you all for your support. Danny, you too, don’t know where I’d be without you.

Please know I’ll be fine, I just need a break from obligations. All are real. Some self-imposed, some imagined.

R

 

For One Whose Blog I Follow

Well, I put that title up there, and there’s nothing now but to write something to follow it. I’m still looking in, since you’re still writing and putting it out there for someone to look at.

As I am, writing and putting it out here, though it seems the seeming winter-that-would-not-end is finally ending and with it my long-winter’s-nap, I’m not yet fully awake. I’ve written little bits. There are a few more lookers here than there used to be. It’s an interesting feeling to know that one is read occasionally by others and interesting still further not really knowing who is actually doing the reading. The few dear folks who have commented here are known (and loved), but I see evidence of more visitors who have looked and said nothing. (Which of course is perfectly fine. I’m just curious: Who were they? What’d they think?)

I see by your posts of late, there are forks in the road in front of you. The hardest decisions are the ones for choices in which it is impossible to tell which is “right” especially when neither seem “wrong.” On the flip side…wait, I was going to say the easiest decisions are about things that clearly have a right and wrong about them, but clearly, folks make wrong choices all the time.  Sometimes right choices get made and worlds crumble. Sometimes wrong choices get made and no one’s the worse for wear.

You know I don’t know where I’m going with this. Just know you’ve been read and your inward thoughts are appreciated.

 

In DC

Came along with Danny for a few days in Washington, D.C. He’s auditing a class he’ll later be teaching. I’m just along for fun. Here are a few pics:

Our favorite restaurant. When Danny was attending AU for weekends every three weeks or so, this was his ritual, get off the plane, Metro to Dupont, walk a few blocks to the B&B where he stayed most of the time, walk back to the Circle and eat dinner at La Tomate. Naturally a couple times a year I’d come along, eating here was an immediate ”No. 1″ for me.

A couple shots waiting for the Metro:

And coming up from the Metro at Dupont Circle:

We’ll be back in KC Wednesday evening.

 

What Does It Take?

This is preying on my mind. What makes great art? Whether painting, drawing, sculpting, writing, film-making. Or whatever other form it is. Does it take a singularity of focus? Whereby one abandons all other things in the world around them to make the art one feels compelled to make? What compels one to abandon all to focus on the creation of what one sees. Or feels.

I fear, for all my love for the thought of it, I will never be that person. I am too concerned with the day-to-day–with making money to pay the bills, with having food on the table. What might I make that might stand the test of time? Still, I appreciate it. I see it delivered in fabulous ways on nearly a daily basis.

I suppose, there must be room for the appreciator. Without us, where would the artist be? Without us, wouldn’t the great works be? Lost, forgotten. Perhaps we are the keepers of the archive. The “critics” we are, serve to hold these works in a place of protection.

I’ve scarce started to talk about this. All y’all! Some of you are true artists, some of you are appreciators. Help me figure it out. OK?

Your Purpose Will Find You

What would you tell your younger self?