. Spinning .

Lord knows I stand in my shop at the worktable for long periods of time so it shouldn’t have bothered me, but this afternoon working at a paper cutter for two hours I was near crying with the pain.  I even tried to stand (as I do while washing dishes) in the crane position which usually helps (I am swaybacked) but it was impossible since the repetitive back and forth movement of the picking up, sliding in, slicing, sticking together and boxing undid my knotted stance within the first moments, and I almost fell on my ass.

So I only stayed through half of the pile to be done, and with luck I’ll finish up in the morning without ending up staying at the rehab house where I’ll afterwards be visiting my father-in-law.  Who, by the way, despite the cancer, pneumonia and not eating, is up and around and determined to go back home.  God bless ‘im.

Feelin’ the changes of new and improved; sadly missing the old.

Ray’s Village Food Mart is gone, after thirty-something years in the center of town.  Replaced by a soon-to-be expanded Dairy Mart or some such thing.  We townies were asked what we needed or wanted to see.  A pharmacy, a bakery, and some, a large grocery store. 

Went to the new CVS this am.  No "Mornin’, Susan!" to greet me. They didn’t have ready the prescription I dropped off two days ago. 

But it’s big.  And nobody knows my name.

Well that was quite fun.  I did some running around to banks and grocery and pharmacy, then stopped at Friendly’s and got a chocolate milkshake with a bendy straw in a plain brown paper bag to sneak it into the hospital for my father-in-law.  I am now his favorite daughter-in-law, or maybe even his all-time bestest favorite person.  He’s doing surprisingly well, and they’re talking about sending him home, which most likely will mean a rehab place.  The cancer is not what’s bothering him yet; it’s more the fear of the fluid in his lungs or getting weak from hospital food that he refuses to eat. 

I happened to walk in when he was on his last half hour of dialysis, so I sat with him and watched the blood go round and round through him, through yards of tubing and back again.  It reminded me of siphoning the raspberry wine I make.  In fact, the technician actually does get all the blood back into the patient by gravity flow.  Amazing technology these days.

Then I got lost coming home.  Nevermind that I had just been there with my husband three times in the last week, I have absolutely no sense of direction.  Actually, I took the wrong exit to the hospital, knowing both ways roughly, but being very surprised to find that the one I thought I had taken brought me to the other spot.  Finding the hospital wasn’t hard–I vaguely remembered, and besides you just follow the blue "H" signs and arrows. 

Unfortunately, on the way back  there were no "H" signs for home.  I wound my way through the neighborhoods of New Britain until I found a way to get onto I-84 (didn’t matter which direction I figured because I kind of know that Waterbury’s one way, Hartford’s the other and could get off and on again if necessary) and made it back to my personal safety zone.  Saw the Tunxis CC signs and from there I knew my direction. 

So it was a good morning, and I made an old man very, very happy with a chocolate shake.

Popping buds fooled by days of sun and soft warm wind lay startled into halted growth frozen against the cold grey skies March brings.  A leaf of tulip curls in a tiny question mark of Nature’s prank.

Could be two days, could be two months.  My father-in-law’s illness is terminal, and it depends upon keeping his lungs free of fluid, but there is no pain from the tumors that slowly press against his esophagus, and destroy the lining of his stomach.  So we sneak into the hospital with food we know that he likes.  Tonight I made Finnan Haddie.  We meet my sister-in-law coming in on our way out.  She’s got corned beef.  Everybody coming in and out of the hospital in the early evening hours seems to be carrying plastic containers camouflaged in some way.

I didn’t think I could stand it again, but somehow even helping someone face dying is something you do when you’re needed.  It was awkward at first; he’s hard of hearing and the doctors weren’t sure he’d understood.  We weren’t sure he did either, or whether it was how he wanted to cope with it, or maybe he wanted to hide it from us.  We all decided that he was in such a great mood that it didn’t seem necessary to sit down and holler, "Hey listen carefully, you do understand that you’re dying, right?"  But in the meantime, one of the nurses made it clear to him.  We could tell that tonight.  When we left, he said, "I love you." 

Had an absolutely delightful sitdown with a couple of friends yesterday afternoon that demonstrated both the spontaneity of an unplanned meeting and the bonding of minds that holds people together.  We’ve worked together on various projects and have enjoyed each other’s input in creative ideas, and I consider both of these gentlemen good friends.  From a business discussion we meandered into the evils of bureaucracy and then to personality analysis and into psychological effects of the creative spirit. 

The informality and mutual respect formed a basis for empathy and honesty.  It was terrific insight and extremely productive in many ways, including self awareness as well as the importance of understanding others and different viewpoints. 

I sought opinions and was rewarded with honest feedback.  So I’m obsessive and a bit bossy; but not overbearing and actually considered nice.  In being allowed to sound off about personal frustrations I was given the opportunity to understand human nature from their own experiences.  In vocalizing problems the burden lightens instead of simmering in a stew of unvoiced obsession. 

It was just one of those great unplanned hours that we’re lucky to have in our lives.

Funny how human growth can settle into cycles.  Bursting forth or skidding to a halt to nestle on a new plateau.  Learning, seeking, finding, learning what is found; it’s all a pattern that repeats itself as if our skin is just rolled out in strips like wallpaper.  What we are is what we want to just be seen to be to harmonize the scheme.

I must learn to temper passion with much patience.  A lesser steam from simmer than from boil.  Keep the crayon well within the lines even if it can be purple; move sideways up and down within the checkered bored of squares.  Paint the world by numbers as when a child, and washing brushes in between the dip of colors.  Rules once broken never mend; rules are not for me to bend.  Time is given to the wise to wisely spend.  Do not amend, do not amend.