Recovery!

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As many of you know, my son, Ben, had emergency surgery for peritonitis before Christmas. Since then, he has enjoyed the benefits of a colonostomy and all the paraphernalia that goes with it. This past Tuesday he re-entered hospital to have his plumbing restored to a conventional plan. The operation was a success. Wednesday, he was walking around the hospital, stoked with pain meds and possibly at gunpoint. Yesterday, he enjoyed solid hospital food supplemented by a large chocolate malted smuggled to him by his thoughtful wife. Tonight he will sleep in his own bed. His future prognosis is good. He should have no further trouble in this area.

This is a good report. The rest of the family has shared the anguish of his illness for more than three months. It has sapped our energies and damped our spirits a little each day. Now that we are beginning to “unclench,” the broader recovery begins for the rest of us.

As for me, I do not know what the future might bring. I have aged a score of years during this ordeal. Will I get them back? I do not know. In truth, I do not care. It is enough for me that my son got his life back.

In spring, I will find the strength to travel to the Texas Hill Country a couple of times, at least once by motorcycle. I will resume writing and my photography habit. Later, I may take a longer ride. I am thinking Oregon or Idaho. Hm. I feel the rejuvenation kicking in already.

Our heartfelt thanks go to all who kept us in their thoughts and prayers these months.

And thank God.
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Lumberjack?

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It has been a peaceful week. I was concerned I would have nothing to share with my loyal readers. It seems every other day brought dark skies, heavy rain and wind. I do not mind, really, but it is hard to convert cold rain down the neck into anything more than a whine, well short of an adventure.

Between frog-strangling rains, the days were as bright and sunny as anywhere in Heaven or on Earth. The sun has begun to warm exposed skin. It feels great! This is the perfect setting for high adventure.

And here it is.

The principal challenge in my life these days is the carnage that is my back garden. Several thick limbs are on the ground or suspended precariously by other branches. Each time the sun peeks out; I rush to the shed and grab a chainsaw. I have accumulated an impressive pile of debris on my front walk only this week. It is pile number two out of as many as four or five. I have a way to go.

Today is sunny and warm. After breakfast, I rushed to the shed, grabbed the chainsaw and attacked the debris. Things were going well. I filled my firewood rack and added another ten feet of length to the pile and a foot or two in height. I was considering quitting for the day when I saw the enormous limb hanging over the creek at the back of the property.

“Oh, what the heck,” I thought. “I’ll just trim it up a bit in preparation for a full on attack the next sunny day.”

I approached cautiously. The branch weighs over a ton and it could drop of its own accord at any moment. Like a bull and bullfighter, we seemed to study each other for a long time. Then, my plan complete, I attacked. Smaller limbs fell one after another, as I trimmed and cleared. I was five minutes from stopping for the day when it happened.

I tugged on a downed limb, dragging it free from the work area when I felt a scratch on my knee. The thought that I might have just sawed my leg with the chainsaw was slow arriving at my brain. I blissfully tugged and dragged the branch to a temporary pile. Then I looked down.

There was a tear in the leg of my jeans. “Uh oh.”

The concept of the spinning blade gently bumping my knee arrived at “brain central” and I uttered a magical incantation involving a deity, perdition and a small pronoun. I am sure the deity will understand and forgive me.

I killed the saw and began hiking up my trouser leg, all the while dreading what I might find. I took comfort from the fact I had not tipped over. After a long and careful struggle, I found the wound. It was, as chainsaw wounds go, a scratch. Heck, I could barely make out the bone of my kneecap.

Chastened by my dumb mistake, I walked to the shed and put the chainsaw away. In my cabinet, I found bandages and ointments left over from my fiery bicycle crash of last October. Somehow, I knew they would come in handy, eventually.

Now, everything is okay. I will need another pair of jeans and another box of heavy-duty band-aids, but other than that, I will live to saw another day.

Sure, the big limb won this one, but I’ll be back.
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Return to Cross Timbers

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The Cross Timbers Fine Arts Council (CTFAC) in Stephenville, TX is exhibiting art with a Texas historical theme during the month of March.  Better still, they invited me to include a few pictures.

Later today I will travel to Stephenville, Texas and install three historical images for the entertainment and enlightenment of gallery visitors.  I started to bring a few of my baby pictures.  Lord knows they are becoming more historical each year.  In the end, I chose somewhat older subjects, even though they aren't that much older.

I hope you will join me at the CTFAC gallery between now and March 25.  Let me know you're coming and I'll try to meet you there!

PS:  The Barbeque at the "Hard Eight" restaurant is worth the trip.
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Sophia Has Big Fete

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Recently, my favorite Orange County Register Blogger, Eva “Anonymous” Kilgore, posted her account of the spring gala hosted by a fancy Huntington Harbour organization. The theme of this year’s event was western, or cowboy casual. (They apparently have themes. Who knew?) According to Eva, there were bales of straw and at least one cowboy hat in attendance, so I know they went all out. The pate’ was probably from free-range geese. My invitation was lost in the mail, but I recovered from my disappointment. Besides, my social calendar is filled with such events. Here is an example from last Saturday.

My daughter invited me to attend my granddaughter’s third birthday party on Saturday. Granddaughter, Sophia, is a major league cutie and a princess in every respect. Her parents went all out for this event. First, they rented a huge party warehouse. The place was fully equipped with kiddy cars, air-hockey tables, a bounce house and hundreds of smaller toys to amuse the guests and grandparents. Always stylish, I donned a brightly striped Mexican sombrero for the occasion. I was quite a hit with my grandchildren.

“Mommy, grandfather is acting up, again!” One precocious grandchild announced.

At the appointed hour, small guests flooded into the place, bearing gifts and accompanied by their parents. In an instant, the adults were awash in small children. Like ants at a picnic, they were in everything. They filled the bounce house. Air hockey pucks filled the air. Kiddy cars zoomed around the floor at random. It was utter chaos and great fun.

Food was a big hit with everyone. This party began at ten am, so few had breakfast before arriving. Fried chicken balls and cheese dip were never so tasty. A generous tray of fresh cut fruit with a collection of dipping sauces topped off the feed. Drinks? Juice boxes. Mmm, mmm! I stuffed myself with these goodies in the full knowledge that cake with ice cream lurked somewhere. I was hungry and resolved to deal with the cake when it showed up.

The party lasted two hours. After forty minutes, I began looking for a place to sit down. That is when I discovered all the chairs were 12” tall. Worse, they were alarmingly narrow. I calculated the embarrassment factor of being stuck in one of these tiny seats and decided to tough it out on my own tired feet.

During the lulls, I chatted with other parents and played with a dozen or so children. Of all the groups, the dads had the best take on the party. They decided the real fun would be in opening a bar and grill next door to this place. You know, one with normal size chairs, or at least stools. It would be a kind of refuge for dads in need of relief or sustenance. The possibility of an adjoining facility got the most votes. When we got to pole dancers, the marriage police broke up the conversation. Darn.

In the fullness of time, we dined on princess themed birthday cake and Blue Bell ice cream. Sophia eagerly opened a mound of gifts, each one princessier than the last. I have never seen so much pink in one place in my life. Then, it was time to go home. I enjoyed the party. The children were fun and well behaved in every respect. The adults showed good-natured patience with each other and the scurrying masses. At the appointed hour, I bid the guests and hosts goodbye and staggered to my car, speeding homeward as fast as the laws of physics allowed.

Arriving home, I dived onto my sofa for an extended nap. It is only Wednesday and I am mostly recovered. I wonder if Eva can say the same.
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