“Without confirmation, in the absence of direct contradiction, hope will linger long beyond point of being useful.”
Mina, Denise. The Less Dead (p. 1). Little, Brown and Company.
I spent Wednesday evening at Peter and Barrie’s house where I was permitted to expend a whole month’s worth of words in one evening. At home in the Enchanted Forest, I don’t talk much. Naida spends a lot of her time writing her memoir, I fiddle with my computer and write T&T and a few other things. I speak a few dozen words in the course of the day, a lot of them to the dog. I write perhaps a hundred or so more. In the evening, sometimes Naida plays the piano or we watch television together and now and then commenting on or discussing something we see. So, a lot of words back up inside of me that I need to get out. Peter and Barrie allow me to do that. When I am at their house, a glass of Prosecco in hand, all those pent up words begin to flow out. I projectile vomit words for several hours until I am empty of them and I, exhausted from the effort, trundle off to bed. Peter and Barrie are very understanding of my particular peculiar peccadillo. They are a lot like health workers in an insane asylum, sympathetic but not too intrusive.
Anyway, the next morning Peter drove me to UCSF and after some blood tests and CT scans, I met with my oncologist. He told me that, after over nine months since my last immunotherapy treatment, my cancer cells remain crystalized and dormant. He scheduled another series of tests and further review in three months. Pleased with the results, I caught the next train back to Sacramento. For some reason, when I got home I was exhausted. Perhaps it was a result of all the energy I expended evacuating the truckload of words at Peter and Barrie’s. So after dinner, I went to bed and slept until morning.
Friday was meh. Nothing to write home about.
Saturday, we got up too late to attend the Saturday Morning Coffee. By the time I had breakfast, washed, dressed, and moped around the house it was about 3PM so I ate lunch and decided the day was over. Today was somewhat better than “Meh” but it still was a “nothing” day on “Pookie’s classifications of the subjective quality of my days.” Tomorrow, I am sure we will make it to an ”OK” (Good, not great but good) day. It was my onomastica today, my name day, the feast day of St. Joseph. In Sicily it is Father’s Day. It is to Sicilians what St. Patrick’s Day is to the Irish, except in place of partying, singing and dancing, Sicilians celebrate it with food, special breads called St. Josephs bread, and sweets such at Zeppole. An elaborate altar is constricted containing statues and/or paintings of Joseph and Mary as well as piles the foods to be served at the feast. The family, fathers, mothers, grandparents, cousins and so on all gather to enjoy the festival. The fact that it is not celebrated by Sicilians here in the US and also going out of fashion in Sicily is a bummer for me.
Sunday was warmer. I went for a couple of nice walks through the Enchanted Forest — another OK (good but not great) day.
Monday, I did not wake up until about 11AM having spent most of the night reading my latest novel, this one about necromancers, dragons and zombies and finally deciding I need to get a life even if I am a short timer. After breakfast and some hanky-panky, I had a long telephone conversation with Frank from Florida. He wanted to check on the current state of my health. I told him I was feeling better and promised him that he would receive an invitation to my funeral when the time comes. Naida and I then had a late lunch outdoors at Piatti a local restaurant I like. We enjoyed it a lot. After lunch we returned home, I yelled at the dog for barking too much, Naida went to work on her memoir, and I busied myself making travel arrangements for our trip to Denver and Tennessee next week. Another “OK” ( good but not too good either) day. I am in a rut.
In the evening, as we usually do, we walked the dog through the Forest. We walked a path we had not explored before and came upon some interesting local folk art.
uesday afternoon I drove into the Golden Hills to have lunch with Hayden. I met him at his house in EDH. He had just returned from school and had Kaleb with him. In the past six months or so, Kaleb has grown from about 5’10’’ to 6’6’’. He told me he had been diagnosed with a growth disorder that may cause him severe physical problems as he grows older. I feel bad for him. He is a great kid. We went to Nugget Market in Town Center, bought Pizza and soft drinks and took them to eat at a picnic table by the lake. We talked about the 50s and 60s which they thought was a great time to be alive and teenagers.
I agreed it was a great time and talked about my friend Bob Cavallo and my experiences in the music business at the time. We learned that in about 1956-57 wealth in the US had passed from the hands of men to women primarily because of the increasing longevity of women at the time. Also, disposable income (money not needed for shelter, food and the like) passed from adults to teenagers, mostly on account of the baby boomers coming of age and the increasingly vibrant economy of the time. Since, most of the money owned by women were due to their longer lives that their husbands had tied up in trusts and estates and were controlled with rabid tenacity by Wall Street and the banking industry, there seemed to limit the opportunity for two ambitious young men to become wealthy, so we decided to become rich by selling to children, and what children wanted at the time was music (dope came in about 10 years later). So we went into the music business — at first by arranging dances at concerts at Georgetown where we were matriculating. After returning to NY, I continued promoting concerts and dances and later organized a company providing low cost air and hotel packages to Bermuda and Puerto Rica for college students during spring break. Bobby remained in DC, dropped out of college, and opened a night-club before branching out as a manager and promoter of music groups, first with Loving Spoonful, then Earth, Wind and Fire, Prince, Elvis Costello and a host of other groups. He then added to his portfolio by producing movies such as Purple Rain, 12 Monkeys and others.
The boys, Haden and Kaleb appeared fascinated by my stories. I reminded them that the Viet Nam War was going on about this time also and it was not such a good time for teens and young adults. Kaleb told about his grandfathers experiences in the Viet Nam war.
After lunch I dropped Kaleb off at his house and drove Hayden to his. We spent a few moments discussing Haden’s future and how proud I was of him. He described how bored he was at school and how much he enjoyed working, figuring things out and solving problems on his own, and being active.
After that, I drove home, Naida went to play tennis and I walked the dog. The dog and I went to the pool where I decided to take a hot tub. For me it ranks as an adventure to sit in a hot tub and stare up at the trees waving gently in the grey-blue sky at dusk. It is an even more delightful adventure to sit there in the hot tub staring at the trees waving gently in the grey-blue sky at dusk and watching two ducks gently enter and quietly swim across the pool. Staring at the trees waving gently in the grey-blue sky at dusk as a pair of ducks swim across the pool while the dog begins barking like a..like a mad dog forcing me to jump out of the hot tub dress and drag him home, I am not so sure. Anyway, it was still a good (not bad at all) day. No, better — it was great (Great!) day.
The next day was curious. We got up a bit late. The previous evening Naida was quite concerned that the first chapter of her memoir was unsatisfactory to present to her critique group later this week. After a night of twisting and turning instead of sleeping, she seemed to work out something that she felt confident would fix it. After breakfast and her fixing the errant chapter, we set off to the bank to withdraw the small fortune needed to pay for my new solid gold reconditioned hearing aids. At the hearing aid office, we paid the blood money. I then mentioned the inconsistent performance of the hearing aids so far and complained that I expected that after paying a kings ransom for the damned things they would perform near perfectly. The woman dealing with me (What do they call someone who deals in hearing aids, auditors?) apologized, took wax impressions of my ears and promised to have adjustments prepared to be installed on my devices by the time we return from our trip next week.
After that bit of adventure, Naida and I set out to find a replacement battery for her iPhone. Eventually, after several stops at places we thought could do the job, we were sent to the Apple Store in Arden Mall. We arrived at about 2PM, for the next four hours, I was imprisoned in the Arden Mall with only the music of Django Reinhardt on my iphone to accompany me while Naida spent the time locked-up in the Apple Store Dungeon. She finally emerged without a battery or a phone having been released only upon her promise to return the next day at precisely 11AM where she will learn whether her phone will be returned to her with or without a battery. We then rushed home to relieve the dog from his unexpected incarceration. After a quick dinner, I crawled upstairs, flopped into bed and struggled with nightmares about tomorrow. You would think this would be a “Shit,”(Sometimes, ‘Porca Miseria’) “Meh,” (I am not impressed), or at best a “Nothing” (nothing) day on *Pookie’s classifications of the subjective quality of his days, but it is not. I consider it a “Hmm,”(Get back to me later) day. After all, I did have Django Reinhardt and perhaps, it will all work out at 11AM tomorrow.
Today is tomorrow, the day after yesterday and I feel like shit so I spent most of the day in bed leaving Naida to brave the Apple Dungeon and Boo-boo to fend for himself. Naida returned after only about four hours, iPhone and battery in hand and full of stories about her adventures surviving the Apple Jungle. Eventually, I got up and spent an hour or so obsessively arranging my shirts on hangers in the closet according to rules understood only by me and which I refuse to divulge fearing accusation that I am an idiot. So far I classify this day as Porca Miseria (a little better than shit). The only thing good about it is the hope it may get better. A hope that has little basis in reality. After all, one of the main reasons one wallows in shit is the absence of hope things will get better. That is why Porca Miseria is a slight improvement. There is still hope, as small as it may be. I apologize. I am sitting here typing this and snacking on raw vegetables. I usually hate raw vegetables, except carrots. I like raw carrots. Anyway, I am snacking on raw vegetables and enjoying them. I am very confused.
Friday. Spent much of the day in various stages of hysteria assisting Naida in sending 10 pages of he memoir to her critique group while listening to Louie Prima’s greatest hits. Porca Miseria! Outside of that, it was a mostly lovely warm day.
While lying here in bed typing this, I discovered somewhere in the internet that I probably suffer from clinomania, an excessive desire to stay in bed. It is good to know that I may be obsessed rather than simply lazy.
On Saturday, we attended the Saturday Morning Coffee. One important announcement was that the monthly Happy Hour at a local gin mill that we “alters” had enjoyed and that were suspended due to COVID will now resume. Unfortunately we will be in Denver for the first one. Also, one of the people who manage the small lending library in the Nepenthe Club House that I try to contribute some books every time I get a chance, came up to me and suggested that I take my books and drop them off at the local library instead.
After the coffee, I drove into Roseville for another CT scan then up to EDH where I dropped into The Purple Place for lunch. Hayden was just getting off work so he joined me.
I think that is enough chatter for this post. Next week I am off to Denver and Tennessee. You all take care, hear?
Papa Joe's Tales, Fables and Parables 