Me 'n' Huck

"Reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated," said Huck Finn (or something like it) as he watched his own funeral from the rafters of the church. Well, all week long the neurologist repeated I'd had a stroke, a "hemorrhagic event" she called it (nothing at all like an academy award or a Bar Mitzvah), so all week long I dreaded the idea that Depends were in my near future. However, when the hospital finally did a blood work up (a little thing they'd neglected) it turned out that I had an unchecked urinary tract infection that seeped into my bloodstream and caused septicemia, blood poisoning. This displays the same symptoms as a stroke but a stroke it ain't. Keep your Depends. I'm outta here. And one day later I was.

I'm home now in the place I love most in this world, getting stronger every day and feeling like my old self. Something I learned this week: one can become old very quickly, overnight, my friends.One way to stave this off is to drink tons of water. Must stay hydrated. For years my kids have been telling me to drink more water, that coffee and beer wouldn't cut it. OK., kids, so now I'm a believer. Here comes the corny part: I feel like I've been given a gift. I could have died but I didn't. Instead, I learned that toughing it out in the old ways worked well enough when I was younger, but if I'm going to live long and heartily as the tough, old bastard I'd like to think I am, I'm going to have to change my ways. Suddenly, staying alive and healthy has become more important to me than another cinnamon roll. Discipline, a concept that had become quaint, is required. There's nothing cute about a crotchety old man. Come on, ref, lemme go another round and let's see what I can do! What's more important about another Baby Ruth bar that eclipses the love I have for family and friends? Yes. There. I said it. Love. I didn't mind being irresponsible when I could get away with it. Can't no more. Whenever I do shuck this mortal coil, I want it to be after a long, loving run. Nothing is more important than the people in my life. This week has shown me that. Nothing.

So now it's August, and I'm thrilled to be here. 'Til mid-October there's no place on earth more beautiful. Still warm and temperate, but now you see the occasional maple leaf turned copper-red in the grass, and there is a crispness in the air, a hint of Fall. Jamie and I picked wild blueberries yesterday. The trees are chock full of apples, a boon year for them. A large bough from our crab apple tree in the back came down in a wind storm. I never like to lose part of a tree, but this branch is filled with apples. Every evening a young buck in velvet comes to feed from it. My kids are fine. Dear friends have come through. Jamie is seeing to it that I drink more water.

Hang in there, buddy, I got a bet on ya! Here's the clincher: other people do, too.

I'm Still Alive, & I'm Not a Vegetable

Was working in my garden last week on my knees tying up tomato plants when I keeled over and could not get up. I felt no pain but I remember feeling really curious as to how I got there, and since my closest neighbor is a good quarter mile away, I was going to have to stay there unless I could get up. Which I could not. So I rested and rearranged myself, shifted my weight, and, at some point, got myself back to my knees. Getting to my feet was the harder part, like being buffeted by waves at the beach. I don't remember how long it took to get there but finally I did. I knew my feet were under me because. I could see them there but I felt so off-balance like a sapling waving to and fro in the wind. I kept thinking if I can only get to the house, drink water, and lie down. Chan, our close friend later called me a semper fi curmudgeon. I say, "Whatever it takes." I don't remember getting there but I remember being there, lying down, and answering the phone because I could see it was Jamie checking in like she usually does. Right away she knew something was wrong. "J," I said, "I'm just too tired to talk," whereupon she promptly called our neighbor down the road, Mike, who got to me pronto and phoned the local paramedics. Good thing, too. One hour later an ambulance got me to the emergency ward in Kingston. "When was the last time you ate?" I couldn't remember. "How do you feel?" I was asked. "Fine. Just tired." However, my vital signs did not say fine: blood pressure way up; pulse way down. I wasn't fine, not at all, but the fact that I was sick would not sink in. Huh? Sick? Me? I'm just really tired. Need sleep. Want to go home. "Sorry, buddy, you've had a stroke. Oh, shit. "Why don't I feel anything?" I asked myself. "Because you're out of it," came an answer, although I can't remember where the answer came from. But I couldn't handle simple questions, like what's your phone number? And I kept falling asleep before the person asking ever finished the question. Oh, holy shit, I allowed. I guess I've really come down with something. "Can I go home tonight?" I asked. It was about 10 pm. I think. Not sure. What I am sure about is someone said, no, we're waiting for a bed to open. The thought occurred to me that the housekeepers were waiting for someone to die and free up a room. At some point orderlies with a stretcher appeared, but I couldn't manage to get on it. They lifted me on and took me upstairs. I think it was about 3 in the morning. Can't remember.

Stay tuned.

33 Years -- August 12, 2013

The CIA calls it "tacit reasoning": the almost magical way of intuiting where things are going or what something means, the ability to sense hidden agendas and actually draw accurate conclusions. How do we know what we know? We've never been in this situation before nor have we met the other person before just now, yet our brains quickly make a series of tentative judgments in order to reach a conclusion. Tacit reasoning.

Love at first sight. Tacit reasoning. The door opened, and there she was -- Jamie -- the woman who would become my wife. We had yet to exchange word one. A second ago I had never known she existed, but I felt a jolt to my system that told me something important had just happened. It was a July 4th party, thirty-five years ago, at a friend's apartment to watch the fireworks over Santa Monica  Bay. I was sitting on the floor leaning back against a sofa with a brandy in my hand when my friend opened the door and let her in. I remember her smile. That was the first thing. She was an actress and projected one so large it could be seen from the last row of the balcony. I was paralyzed, literally afraid to move and probably wouldn't have had my friend not brought her over to introduce us. In my mind she looks now as she did then. She sat down on the floor opposite me and thus began a conversation that has continued for decades.We married two years after that and began a life that has lasted all this time, created a family, struggled with our careers, sometimes it seemed struggled with everything, and yet here we are, the two of us, still holding hands while we sleep. Each of us now has white hair but a little less of it. We're not as impetuous as we once were. We often veer away from the fall line that once seemed so attractive. There is no longer a rush to get down hill. There are other ways to get around.

So what's next? I don't know. I never did. I truly never fathomed just how good life could be. I know it now, and some part of me knew it then. What I know now is I am still excited at the prospect of Jamie coming through the door. But it is a quiet excitement, nothing raucous. We no longer tear each other's clothes off, but we have found peace in each other's presence.

Thanks, J. I love ya.