This time of year, I always love remembering a wonderful trip I took to Italy in 2005. It was my second time to Italy and, this time, I made a special point not to dash from place to place, trying to glance at everything, rather to linger and ponder special things.
In Florence, I went alone late in the day and lay on the floor of the Baptistry and looked at the ceiling until it was too late to join my group for dinner.
In Venice, in the Academia, I sat on a step in front of Titian’s “Presentation of the Virgin in the Temple,” again missing dinner and the Peggy Guggenheim.
I took the vaporetto to Murano and spent most of a day finding just the right piece of glass to buy.
And in Rome, I stood in front of “The School of Athens” with a college art student who said he could die happy now having seen it.
Lately, we’ve all been thinking about the tragic figure that is our current American president. He is presently on a whirlwind world tour. He is the most powerful man in the world, as people are fond of saying. Yet, he will spend less than twelve hours in Rome. I doubt he will ever even realize that may well be the greatest tragedy of his shallow, superficial life.
I am very lucky: I’ve checked off all the places on my bucket list, but there are definitely some places I would return to again and again and again. East Portal. The Nile. Florence, of course. And Rome. By all means, Rome.
How we take these things for granted! Good health and a head clear enough to drive down the block for a quick haircut and to Freddy’s to buy a white top to wear as part of the volunteer uniform for the Master Chorus gig on Sunday afternoon.
In case you’ve ever wondered who Fred Meyer was, here he is, a much-admired merchant here in the Northwest. Known for his modesty, integrity, and work ethic.
I am sorry to report, however, that I had to settle for a white tee shirt. All Freddy’s other white tops looked like doilies.
Then on down the street to get a winter’s worth of mud off the Subaru only to discover that my favorite carwash doesn’t exist any more. Where it used to be is a large, impersonal, very noisy new place. They don’t have the kinks worked out yet. I was not impressed with the pointless flashing lights.
The only person who seemed to know what he was about was the Comcast man who was there hooking up eight huge TV sets. The Subaru does look great, and her new decal stayed on in the process.
I know we have to be flexible and embrace change, but enough already! Also down the street, I discovered that my old privately-owned oil-changing place recently became an Oil Can Henry’s.
I used to know how to change the oil and wash the car. Today it was all I could do to remember how to reinstall the kayak racks on the Subaru after their long winter leaning against the wall in the garage.
Much of April was spent in a blessedly drugged state. Still, so much of it had the clarity of HD — bright and clear. And then all of a sudden the channel you are watching sneaks in that awful commercial about suffering dogs and you can’t find the remote fast enough. I will not deny that there were those moments.
Kidney stones are serious. A hundred years ago I would not have survived the infection alone. My treatments included lots of tests and three surgical procedures. There is that old question about whether you’d rather give birth or have a kidney stone. If you have that choice, choose the baby. Babies are really cute.
Because of the love and support and good medical care that I received, I am going to be good as new. Friends and daughters came from near and far to look after me.
First and foremost to arrive on the scene was Roxanne who was my strong support and note-taking advocate when I was not able to do this for myself. There was a time in the past when Roxanne was taking complete care of Jack and I asked her what would happen to us when serious health issues occurred. Our relatives all live so far away. She always said she would be there for me. She really meant it. I could never have hoped or imagined the extent she would go to in my behalf. There are not words to express my gratitude.
Very soon, Katherine arrived with her menagerie, my beloved grand-dogs. Having her here almost made it worth being sick. She researched everything, pressed me to take all the necessary steps when I would have just curled up in a ball, filled my pantry and refrigerator with good, healthful things, and took complete care of everything while she was here.
Next, Meg arrived from Maui and took over responsibility for my care and the running of things at 1880. Her fortes include a vast knowledge of pharmacopeia. She researched what pain alleviators and dietary additions and restrictions should be implemented. Did you know that in Oregon you can just walk down the street and buy chocolate imbued with cannabis and ointment containing frankincense, myrrh, and CBC oil, definitely a better 3rd ingredient than gold here at 1880. Later, I may write a separate post about healing ointments and the importance of having an open mind to alternative approaches, all the while looking to traditional medical practices as well.
Meg and I spent many happy hours binge-watching various shows — suggested by Katherine — in bed on my lap top. Roxie clearly understood her job description in this regard:
Joannie and Elizabeth ministered from afar. Elizabeth was posted on a remote island at the time and sent this picture of her sunrise. Excellent medicine.
I woke up from all this to find that it is the merry month of May. Ironically — or maybe not — my garden is producing two of the most healthful foods for preventing the formation of future kidney stones — asparagus and raspberries.
What rises to the top is a heart full of gratitude for your loving and devoted care and hard work to help get me well. You know who you are.
