kvetching up

I never thought about the education and entertainment I would get living in a shy acre in the Duwamish riparian zone.  Coyotes, possum, the occasional raccoon seem to be ubiquitous in Seattle now. The eagles, hummingbirds, Northern flicker woodpeckers, bald eagles, coopers and red tail hawks, barn owls and last night the second bat I've seen in the last 5 years. Field mice abound, which is why I love the birds of prey. Between them and my traps, they have not been a problem for a long time--knock on wood. The California Scrubjay and sparrows occupying spaces in the roof in the back, the stellar jays in the front are lovely, but need to be evicted. You can hear their bird feet scritch-scratching early each morning.  On the adjacent property to the South stand 2 or 3 large Alders right on the property line. There at particular times of year, you could shoot scenes for another Omen remake--thid given the 100s of crows who roost there in the early morning in the spring, and in the...

Fall 2025, Key Tower 54th floor   Sometimes, when I curse the weather and the unrecognizable changes that make me question why it's even called Seattle anymore, I just need to look at this picture taken from my desk at work. That 500,000 year old mountain in the distance is young in geological years. It endures. Beauty endures. Don't miss it.  Mysteries abound. Today, while looking at Seattle Public Utility satellite images to see if I could find any evidence of a stream. My lower yard is unwaljable October through May or so given the saturated soil. A bit of a spoiler alert, it turns out the wind storm and snowfall were not the only contributing factors in the demise of the late plum tree. Mar, who I call my handyman, came and chopped up much of the tree today. When he got down to look at the stump damage it was clear that water is flowing under the tree. It isn't coming off the slope of the hill above. I think some wise guy buried a stream here many years ago  it i...

  This morning, quite soon actually, I am heading to meet the cardiac interventionist. I keep asking myself if I feel lucky. I have no pot at the end of the rainbow awaiting me, no fired up joint, no hope for a better day. This morning looks to be uneventful, apart from receiving a date for the heart procedure. Sigh. Happy fucking St. Patrick's Day.  I took the whole day. Given that Abby is home, we will go out and see the c herry blossoms today in the Quad. I haven't done this since Jenny and I took the kids and Buddy, back in our Ravenna days. I miss them both today, terribly so.  In honor of my 65+ percent plus Irish DNA, I say, "Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona daoibh!" 

  A proud heart can survive a general failure because such a failure does not prick its pride. It is more difficult and more bitter when a man fails alone.” ― Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart   The tree on the right side of the fence --Did it fall of its own weight? Abby came home night before last, her plane arriving around 1 a.m. I was so ecstatic in anticipation on Thursday that my joy spilled over so much at work that people noticed. On the drive to and from the airport, a slushy rain was falling. I was fairly convinced that would be the extent of it. I hate snow and the cold, if you didn't know, so  I was relieved that this was all coming to an end. I woke up to this beautiful mess yesterday. The plum trees in the foreground had bloomed this week and had been absolutely gorgeous. I presume that two of the three won't fruit this year--which is fine. I  am certain the third one, the tree on the right side of the fence and closest to t...

                                                                          A cutie-patootie. 

Modern Conveniences The news arrives at 2 a.m. —  a man in a hat, a war,  the familiar architecture of catastrophe  dressed in new colors. We knew this was coming.  We have always known.  The bookcase holds its patient dead,  Parenti, Postman, all the ones who said exactly this to no particular effect.   The children are grown.  The house does what houses do  when the noise finally stops —  it shows you what was always there  underneath the noise.   Which turns out to be the question  you never had time for,  sitting with the answer  you can't find on a Sunday night,   right about everything,  arrived nowhere.

Someone had a heart attack this morning, requiring an emergency procedure and delaying this procedure. But, the doctor just came in and said soon. So, 5 minutes from now my latest cbc draw will be read, and off we. go. I hope. 

I am glad that AI wasn't around when Jenny was ill. I would have asked for every permutation and possible outcome. I know this because since I woke up early this morning, I was giving AI excerpts of my recent exploration--the stress test, the echocardiogram, and family history (uncle dead at 66 from an MI, my dad dead of a stroke at 48). It's cheery stuff. I just want to know what to expect. Here is my favorite AI's response: Before adding family history, based on everything you told me, I estimated roughly: CABG: ~55–70% Stents: ~20–35% Meds only: ~5–10% With strong family history of early and severe vascular disease , I’d nudge that further to something like: CABG recommended: ~60–75% More stents: ~15–30% Meds only: ~5–10% Why not 90%+? Because: If the cath shows one clear focal culprit lesion and the rest is moderate/stable, they may still reasonably stent that. Anatomy still rules. But your family history makes it much less likely they’ll say:...

Let 'er roll! Yesterday I got mixed signals from Monjouro. I had hunger and ate lunch. Immediately after and until today, I paid for it by feeling overfull, lethargic for the rest of the day and evening. I didn't eat a lot, just a sandwich but it felt like I had showed up at The Royal Fork and had gone through the buffet line 16 times  I was so full, I couldn't even get myself to drink fluids. Wild.  The girls are calling every day, sounding sweet, but full of worry. I planned with Abby that she call me each day--she is 3000 miles away and worried, hence the calls  But sweet Leiney has called each day too, worried, inquisitive, and hopeful. These kids are my rock. Luck Be A Lady I feel like I have treated my body like I am a drunk and my body a flophouse. I have made, knowingly and with intentional ignorance masquerading as bravado as I poisoned my body over and again. Now that I live like a monk--albeit one who last year started smoking pot routinely again after 40 ...

8:03 a.m.  Bright and early on a Saturday, I am at hospital, waiting on my imaging appt. Did I mention this is Saturday? Been up since nearly, but not quite, 4 a.m.  I'm hoping they find no occlusions, no stenosis  more likely, it will appear that the yellow brick road runs through my left ventricle. Monjouro has me down another couple lbs, my stomach nearly as flat as my affect. Is there even a slight possibility this is going to result in good news? Keep hope alive. 2 PM. They already have a bill up for the angiogram I undergo on Thursday. Process flow: angiogram--if not too dirty angioplasty and stents. Too dirty, calendar for bypass surgery at Swedish. I am dreading both Thursday and the almost Bellagio-like buffet choices--all so excellent. Do nothing, stent or surgery. Fun. The bill for the procedure is already in Mychart. Just under 30 grand--I am responsible for about 800 of that because of insurance. I miss having double-coverage, which is reason alone to get mar...

Crossroads I woke up at 3 a.m. to the sound of sirens in the far distance. On the other side of the fence line, a coyote repeatedly howled back an answer. The schmucks are snug in a den in the blackberry bushes. Willow thought about going out, but didn't fight it when I rejected her ask. I stand either quite near her outside or at the window when she goes out at night, depending on the perceived proximity of the little jerks. Most nights I go with her. Most nights since the coyotes came, and only when she knows they are around, she asks me and waits for me to come with her. She is no dummy. She could eat one or two coyotes, she is huge and built for war, but I don't want that to ever have to be tested. Most of the preliminary stuff is done. On Saturday I have an early morning ultrasound of my heart, just for kicks I suppose. I wonder if that will give them enough information to just say fuck it, we are cutting him open.  I've talked to two ppl who have had open heart surger...

I'm Doin' Fine   Like I forgot the lyrics to a Johnny Cash song, A lost child in the forest ramblin’ on and on, If I forgave you for doing wrong, I'd be messin' up a damn good country song I’m a Ford that ain’t run since 2009, I’m a broken 8-track player, a wandering eye A phone that never gets anyone on the line Ask anyone around, I’m doin’ fine You been gone so long the sun lost its shine, Your love for me was so sublime My next home will be a box of pine Ask anyone around, I’m doin’ fine Sitting alone with a box of wine, Every minute you are on my mind A long time ago you said you'd be mine? Ask anyone around, I’m doin’ fine I have a heart procedure next week. The doctor told me the problem with my earlier procedure is that it wasn't open heart surgery. So, he has done what he has to do, scheduled me for the placement of stents next week on Leiney's birthday. Its as soon as he could get me in, and I can't wait any longer. Making it even b...

Abby and I were sitting on the far corner of the black leather couch closest to the fireplace, by the picture front picture window. Buddy was lying next to us on the edge of the couch, his tail wagging as he looked out the window. It was a bright July afternoon. The living room blinds were open. The door was ajar. Warm air, carrying the smell of cut grass, blew gently into the house and made everything seem almost perfect. The room was full of light. We were goofing. Abby and I as I showed her a ridiculous video from my youth called The John Wayne Rap. She watched it with the impatient distance of a teenager, pre-a noyance evident. I was doing an atrocious John Wayne imitation, my noise hitting Abby like a shuriken each time I threw a daha her way. We were laughing. Jenny had just come home from the scan she had insisted on getting (after losing 25 lbs in a couple months without trying), the one she was told she did not need, the one the physician’s assistant told her would show nothin...

55 has come and gone. I woke this morning not expecting to be grieving, Four years ago, what did we do for Jenny's birthday? I don't remember. I can't find the feelings or remember anything approaching profundity. Jenny. I miss Jenny, more now than I did when she died, given the bitter taste in my mouth has been washed away (for today) by the tears streaming down my cheeks. I want to let go and celebrate the life we shared together, even if much of it turns out was a lie. I want to honor the good Jenny put in the world.

Three days was the morning My focus three days old My head, it landed To the sounds of cricket bows 3 Days Gone I really couldn't have hoped for a better Christmas holiday, with both girls and I celebrating multiple times. We went to the Central Cinema twice--once for the Muppet Christmas Carol which, bluntly put, is sacrilege to the memory of all I hold holy around the bourgeois Dickens story. I own the Reginald Owen, Alistar Sims, George C. Scott, a couple of cartoon versions, but not the Mr. Magoo version (it must exist, right?). All have one Marley. None have Rizzo the Rat accompanying a Gonzo as Dickens to provide exposition. Call me a purist. I own a very old copy of the story itself--not quite a novel in length-that I bought when my mother was dying in hospital back in 2008. I have never gotten through the first stave, praise the lord of ADHD.  Anyhow, Christmas has been an utter delight. We dutifully watched Charlie Brown's Christmas, played board games together--a firs...