Campaign in Poetry. Govern in Prose.

----- Mario Cuomo


Today was such a good day.

Over the past few weeks since I received the piggyback diagnosis of high PRAs and the high risk I've now become as a transplant patient, I've had some difficult thoughts.

Today it was suggested, and well accepted, that I'm grieving. I'm preparing. I'm letting go. I'm projecting possibilities - all of them. And recognizing that sorrow arrives at the strangest moments, disguised, wily, and unexpected.

*****

A few weeks back I inexplicably had trouble letting go of summer. I don't recall ever having trouble letting go of summer, but this year I put a stranglehold on it and squeezed out every remaining carefree sunbeam.

The longing passed.

Then I grieved for Christmas. What if I'm listed and can't travel.

What if! What if! What if!

Whatever.

That concern was taken away from me with the new diagnosis.

Then I started to worry about Olivia and David's wedding. I grieved the very idea that I might miss it.

Then today happened.

I've accepted the fact that it's okay to grieve, but it's not okay to get stuck in the gooey muck of puddly sadness.

I also recognized something I've always known about myself... I am not good at making decisions - and I might be facing big ones. Ahhhhhhh, perhaps that's why I have three brilliant children. *smiles*


*****


This week at the close of an important conversation with a nurse at Cleveland Clinic, I made the mistake of stepping aside from prose and spoke with poetry. I said, "I'm the healthiest sick person you'll ever meet. Vanderbilt thought I was a rock star until the PRAs."

The nurse's response, "Well, you couldn't have been much of a rock star if they wouldn't give you lungs."

screeeeeeeeech.

I took the high road. Yes I did. I responded, "Yup. I fell to the bottom of the charts."

End of phone call.


*****


The thing of it is that when someone like me who tries to be buoyant and happy and full of hope is swatted like that, it's quite devastating. It does terrible things to a person. It made me wonder if I've been a donkey-nose fool all along.

*sigh*

Note to self: no more poetry with nurses.


*****


So, Joan and Johnny Ray came today to winterize my home and property. I love Joan and Johnny Ray. They're good-hearted mountain folk. Kind and giving. They're simple in all good ways and always bring lots and lots of laughter into my home. But I swear - I can never get Joan to smile for photos. She has the best smile ever... and look at this!

OMG.




Joan & Johnny Ray







Johnny Ray's Shoes with Silver Dimes




At one point Joan and I sent Johnny Ray on errands so we could sit a spell with freshly brewed coffee. She got to talking about a shopkeeper in town and referred to him as being tighter than bark on a tree. I laughed - had never heard that one.

The following photos pretty much give an overview of the work they did for me winterizing everything.

It was a good day.

I know I'll continue to have moments when I'll grieve, but that's okay. There'd be something wrong with me if I didn't.

But I have a beautiful life. A beautiful home in a beautiful woods with beautiful friends and an especially beautiful family. I know that I am loved.

Given all that, what else should matter? (Well, except the end of war, hunger, disease and so many other ills.)

It was a good day - mostly due to the homespun kindness of Joan & Johnny Ray. Though they may lead simple lives, it's not to be confused with easy. I admire them so much and am grateful for their example. They bring some of the finest poetry to my days.






Portion of winterized porch






Plants brought indoors























Winterized front porch with Copyright in her winter attire. The vendor at the flea market named her Copyright - said she came with her name stamped on her back. *smiles* It's one of my favorite mountain stories.

All the ferns have been removed - leaving the empty baskets to fill next spring.







Deep in the woods the hand-painted Italian bowl I use as a birdbath is turned upside down until next spring