"Mortal " voice over 8.

There have been some occurrences, in the last few years, that have slammed me face to face with my mortality. Maybe this happens to everyone as they get older - but it sure feels personal. All I can say is I now have a profound appreciation of life and death. Life is SO precious - and death is constantly lurking, ready to strike in an instant, rendering everything you were, everything you are, everything you hope to be or accomplish - moot.
Is it any wonder people cling to love?

"Mortal " voice over 7.

I love the line from The Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs" that says, "I am tired, I am weary. I could sleep for a thousand years." I understand that world weariness. I feel that way, sometimes - like I could take a millennium nap. Well, as I always say, "Sleep is the new sex."

"Mortal " voice over 6.

I'm a pretty serious person, but I do have a sense of humor. It may be subtle, it may be dark, but it exists. Take the time to get to know me and maybe you'll be able to detect it. Sure, it's bittersweet. There's a sadness behind a lot of it, but I do have the ability to find something to smile about in the human experience. I think that's a necessary tool for survival.

"Mortal " voice over 5.

I have within me, it seems, the ability to kill undying love. The proof is in my cache of old love letters, which are full of such sentiments as, "Nothing will ever change my love for you" and "I will love you forever." These letters were written by MANY different people. They all said that I, at some point, meant everything to them. But, not any more, of course - due to my peculiarly particular aforementioned power: The ability to kill undying love.
What a responsibility to wield such a weapon.

"Mortal " voice over 4.

When I was in my late 20s and early 30s, I was on fire. Inspiration was pouring like rain. Creativity was flooding me. I felt like a shaman. Really. It was like I was receiving messages from god that I was obliged to share with the world. I was overflowing with poetry and music. It just kept coming. Often, I felt as if I could not take credit for what was being produced - it came fully formed, like Athena emerging from the skull of Zeus, screaming a war cry. ART!! The fact that no one else was interested didn't matter. It was in me and it had to come out.

"Mortal " voice over 3.

I never finished high school. I got a GED. I was smart in school and had been enrolled in college prep classes, but I had no one in my court. No one encouraged me. I never went to college.
I got married at 20. I was divorced at 28. I threw myself into the club scene, sex, drugs, alcohol and rock and roll. Lots of everything. I ignored my health. I'm paying for that now.
The late blues man (Fat Possum recording artist) Junior Kimbrough had a song called, "Most Things Haven't Worked Out." That would be a great personal summation. Most things HAVEN'T worked out. Maybe, most things never work out. I dunno...

"Mortal " voice over 2.

I was practically an only child. My brother and sisters were so much older than me that I barely remember any of them living at home. Because I was alone so much, I developed a vivid imagination. I had 3 imaginary friends: Bam-Bam, Sootsie and Caca. When I was older, a friend explained to me what the word Caca meant. It figures. I was so naive.
Often, I would ask my mom if I was adopted. I even had dreams that I was. I just didn't fit in. Whenever my imagination would rear it's brightly plumed head, I would be hushed, knocked down, made to feel ashamed. Is it any wonder that I spent so much of my later life in a self-destructive rebellion?

"Mortal " voice over 1.

I was born poor, into a poor family. My parents grew up during the Great Depression and never managed to climb out of that abyss. As a child, you don't realize that you're poor, that you have nothing. It's just the way life is. As you get older, though, you venture out into the world and see what you're missing. I guess I never made it out of the Great Depression either, even though I was born 30 years later. It's funny, the things that shape you, mold you and sometimes cast you in stone. Theoretically, I could have gone in a myriad of directions - but, at this point in my life, it feels as if my fate was sealed. (And I don't even believe in fate...)

10 years.

It's hard to believe it's been 10 years since those planes crashed on 9/11/2001. I was working on a golf course. I was with some co-workers, on the 18th hole, when someone pulled up, in a cart, and said for us to go to the club house - something was happening. We stood in front of the TV, by the bar, and watched. No one seemed to really know what was occurring. We couldn't believe our eyes.
Today, on TV, I watched some of the commemoration ceremony at ground zero - the reading of the names of the fallen. It went on and on. So many people.
Everyone still seems to be grappling with 9/11. What? How? Who? Why? Meanwhile, religious intolerance runs rampant throughout the world. I won't get into that, other than to say that we are all in this together. We're on the same small planet, hurtling through space. If we could just show each other (if not love) a little respect, then maybe our experience here would be a little more pleasant. And a lot less deadly.

AKA Scooter.

His name is Scooter - but he has many nick-names:

Scooterini Alphonso Del Vecchio Vespoochie (Why he has an Italian name, I don't know...)
Scootaceous D.
Scoo
Cooters (taking the S off the front and placing it on the end), which leads to
"Mr. Cooters..." (Sung to the tune of "Mr. Crowley" by Ozzie.)
Coot
Jackson
Jackson Brown
Jack Rabbit Slim
Scooter Eugene
Scooter Ray
Buckwheat Zydeco
Buckshot Le Funk
Monsieur Dookie Head
Boogity Boo
ARRRGGGHHHHH! (As in, "ARRRGGGHHHHH, why did you do that?! I'm gonna twist your little head off!!")
And so on.

 

My home away from home. (Life on 3 Anderson.)

My first roommates, while I was in the hospital, were an older couple from Clinton, NC. He was the patient and she slept on a chair by his bed. Sounds sweet, right? They argued the whole time they were there. He complained about everything. He complained about his beverage and asked the nurse if they had any Cokes. The nurse said he would try to round him up a Coke. My neighbor said, "Bring me 4 dem."
I started taking notes towards the end of their stay. I wish I had started earlier. Here's an example of how this couple spoke:

"Wot jaw durrin?"
"Where dem at?"
"I don't like two cent milk. Two cent milk taste like water."
"She should ashed him hersef."
"See will he gib you $35."
"Get in dat bay-ed and wait fo dat nurse."
"When I woke up diz morn..."
"Kevin ain't got no TV! Dat my TV. I reprofess dat TV."
"Some medicines I been takin' I ain't be takin' no mo."
"Dat dey gray pe-ill?"
"My phone be day-ed."
"Y'all gimme dat?"
"Aight. Ahmo be downstays."
"I did too said ahmo use it!"
"Den he got go get..."
"Dey down to da chirren hoss-pe-ill."
"We's in 3719. Third flo."
"Here dat pitcher o' Rodney. Don't want jer pitcher?"
"Get up your ass off dat TV!"
And the old guys favorite expression:
"Sheee-it!"

They finally checked out and I had a peaceful night by myself.
The next day, a new guy moved in. He was from Zebulon (I love the name of that town). The doctor went through the long list of questions they ask a new patient. When he got to the one about drug use, the guy said, "Absolutely not. I worked 45 years in law enforcement." The doctor told him, and his wife, that he had a minor heart problem causing him to retain fluids. He went over some treatment ideas and told him not to worry. After the doctor left, his wife said she was going home and would be back in the morning. Later that night, however, after he had taken a test of some sort, the doctor came back in and told him that he wasn't 100% sure, but it looked as if he had something serious, rare and untreatable. He asked my new neighbor if he would like him to call his wife and talk to her. He said no. He would tell her in the morning. He was worried and alone.
I talked to him a bit before I was discharged. I'm not very good in these situations, but my heart went out to him. I gave it my best shot. I told him to wait and see if the diagnosis was confirmed. I told him he couldn't be in a better hospital. I couldn't think of much else to say.
I've had several of these kinds of encounters over the years, and they haunt me.

My heart.

I left home, at 3 am Wednesday, August 31, to make my 6:30 appointment at Chapel Hill hospital. Upon arrival, I registered, had blood drawn, and was taken to a mobile operating room - outside the hospital. It was the strangest thing. My family thought I was pretty drugged up (well, I was) when I was wheeled into my room after the procedure, and told them that I had been outside.
I'm now the proud owner of a St. Jude Cardiac Resynchronization Therapy Defibrillator, model number CD3231-40. My cardiologist said it was the Cadillac of CRT-Ds. Or maybe the Ferrari, he said. I prefer Ferrari. Installing this device required 2 additional leads in my heart - one in the top and one around the back. I have a total of 3 leads now, allowing total heart monitoring and synchronization of EVERY heart beat.
I have been taken off of the drug Amiodarone and placed back on Sotalol. This is a good thing. Because of the Sotalol "loading," I had to remain in the hospital for 3 days, for monitoring. I came through ok and was released late Friday night.
I have been doing ok, except for the usual soreness and the HORRIBLE dreams that Sotalol causes. Because this is my 3rd device - my second in the last 6 months - I know the routine: No raising of my left arm above my shoulder for several weeks, no lifting of anything over 5 pounds (try this...), no pushing of lawn mowers or vacuum cleaners, keep the incision area clean and dry, etc.
Thanks to Dr. Chung, the nurses and the rest of the staff at UNC, and my family, for everything they've done for me. I'm happy to be able to report in to TBOGL. I'm happy to be alive.
Sorry 'bout the pic...

 

To: Mrs. Rose Gugliotta, Teaneck, NJ.

I found this postcard/ad hoc bookmark in an old copy of Ernest Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms." It was postmarked July 19, 1975.
The back of the postcard says, "Doubleday Field. Cooperstown, NY. Annual baseball Hall of Fame game in progress. Sell-out crowd of nearly 10,000 fans watches. Game is attended by Hall of Fame members and baseball dignitaries. Ektachrome by Peter L. Hollis."
Ektachrome. I love it.
The note reads:

Dear Rose,
Hope Angelo is O.K. We are having a wonderful time here. My birthday yesterday + son Bob took us out to eat in beautiful restaurant overlooking Lake Schuyler - had prime ribs of beef but NO CAKE OR SUGAR. Will call you when we return.
Love,
Bobbie Daly

This postcard was mailed, 35 years ago, with an 8 cent stamp. I wonder how many of these people (Rose, Angelo, Bob, Bobbie, the crowd in the photo) are still living. I seem to be a bit obsessed with thoughts like that, lately.

 

So long, Irene.

This is an example of the worst of the damage in my yard. Having lived through many hurricanes, I have to say, this is not too bad.
It's still a bit windy, but Irene has moved on.

 

Here comes Irene.

After the usual amount of speculation (will it or won't it?), it looks like Hurricane Irene is going to hit us. It's raining now and the winds are picking up. The cable has already malfunctioned this morning, so I figure I'd better post while I can.
Here's hoping for minimal damage. I also hope those aren't famous last words.

And, as Alexander Portnoy may know, it's also good on liver...

In Philip Roth's book "Goodbye, Columbus," the main character, Neil Klugman, lived with an aunt who refused to cook with black pepper. She said it had no nutritional value and she didn't like the idea of giving it a free ride through the digestive system. That became a little joke between my friend Chuck and I. Whenever we would eat out together, I would ask him about the nutritional value of black pepper - as I dumped it on my food.
Well, guess what? Black pepper is good for you! It helps with diabetes, arthritis, and can assist in the prevention of colon cancer. It's packed with antioxidants and provides a healthy boost, overall.
That's good to know. Now that I watch my salt intake, I use more black pepper than ever.

 

DON'T PANIC.

I was reading about the String Theory, which is in the running for the theory of Everything. Now, I don't for one second pretend to understand any of it, but the idea is that the electrons and quarks in atoms are "strings -" one dimensional slices of a two dimensional membrane, which vibrate in eleven dimensional spacetime.
Got that?
I'm not too concerned with any of that. I already know that the Answer to the Question of Life, the Universe and Everything is: 42.
But, what is the question?

R.I.P.

Two great songwriters have died: Jerry Leiber (78), of Leiber and Stoller fame, and Nick Ashford (70), of Ashford and Simpson.

Jacob's Coats.

Coleus. My mom called them "Jacob's Coats." I've had a fascination with them since I was a kid. Sometimes I can grow them, sometimes not. Here is this year's version. My sister gave me a tiny plant and it took off.

I can feel Summer winding down. I don't like that feeling. I never even made it to the beach this year. Even though it's a relatively cheap activity, I can't afford the gas. I also worry about being alone, on the beach, with my health issues. What if something happened to me? How would anyone know, if I was just laying there to begin with? I could be dead and lay there all day, unnoticed.
I couldn't sleep last night. My heart was feeling funny (still is) and I had a LOT on my mind. I had read an article in the paper, yesterday, about Social Security Disability Benefits. It said that not only was the government running low on funds, but it could take over 2 years to receive any assistance.
I have been nothing but a burden on my friends and family. My bills are piling up and I have a medical procedure in 7 days. And there's no hope in sight. I'm between the proverbial rock and the proverbial hard place. All I can do is wait - on the Federal Government. Do you think they're in a hurry to hand out money in this economic climate?
Not only am I depressed, I'm embarrassed. I always took care of myself. I never had anything of value, but I got by. I'm in a mess now, and it shames me. I feel worthless and my situation feels hopeless.

My sister grew the Coleus from seed. I've never tried that. I think I'll save some seed and give it a shot next Spring.
How's that for hope?

 

HEY!!

Just in case anyone wants to know, the greatest rock and roll song ever written is "Rock and Roll Part Two," by Gary Glitter.
There, I said it.