What, then, shall we make of today if it comes to us bearing nothing but trouble, sacks full of heartache, luggage with nothing but wrinkled misery? Do we confine ourselves to the pinhole vision of old men and bitter women teetering on the cusp of death, or do we dig for them their graves so that we might gleefully push them in and cover their decay with dirt? Is there any good found while cowering in fear? Rather, let us take to the feeble a battle they are unable to fight; for the noise they make is the sound of broken swords, clanging meaninglessly in scabbards fastened loosely around protruding waists.
I’m finding little use this morning in attempting to recount for yet another day the perils of my health conditions. Rain is in the offing for this morning and colder temperatures follow behind that. Even if I weren’t on chemo and my head wasn’t screaming this would still not be a day likely to etch itself into my memories for any good or pleasurable reason. Brief respite is given by those familiars who look on silently, rubbing a nuzzle against my hand, not conscious of the aid they provide. My shirt, pulled fresh from my closet this morning, is already covered with hair that is not mine, making me a walking allergen.
G came home from school excited about a D&D campaign he is planning for his friends to enjoy come January. His dreams are lofty and to achieve them I’ve recommended the works of Huxley and Asimov so that he needn’t reinvent what has already been so beautifully created. Alas, those volumes that were once on my shelves are no more. I am continually mystified at how pages filled with ink can disappear into some special ether that consumes nothing but that which I most urgently desire to read.
Tipper gleefully announced her intention to spend Black Friday in the company of her boyfriend. Their intent is to visit a Hot Topic at one of the remaining malls in the area. They are employing a strategy that assumes waiting until the afternoon when more eager shoppers have exhausted themselves, will provide them with greater access. He has promised to buy her whatever it is that she desires. I am hopeful that what she desires is on sale.
Familial lives change around me without my interference. I am of little use to any of them except as a source to share their syncopated excitements. As they grow into their own experiences I am freed to spend my time on other goals if only my body would consummate the intentions of my mind.
Perhaps the news of the day should worry me more. Does a television doctor threaten the health and wellness of my future? Will one steeped in the art of frivolous deception steer education into a mythological abyss? Can the assemblage of a privileged few threaten the humanity of those our ancestors embraced? Malfeasance has a short life and its demise is hastened with the raising of our voices. Are the streets not ours? The wind carries our objections and determination in gigabyte packages to audiences whose faces we never see. Political pyramids topple from the vibrations of marching feet today as surely as did the mythical walls of Jericho yield to the stomping and shouting of homeless nomads in antiquity. Even under perceived threat, our lives, your lives, are more powerful than the heated words of a company whose foundation is pretense.
All prayers are meaningless when there is no deity to hear them. No deity ever conceived gives an ear to the desires of hate. My love for you is infinitely stronger than imagined characters formed by willful ignorance. Your love for each other, open and unapologetic, demolishes the fear-fueled diatribes of those who clutch pearls in the shadow of a temple, a mosque, or a cross. Stand up. Clothe yourselves in flags of your own making. Set foot to the demolition of abhorrent attitudes and loathsome schemes.
Who can stop a nation whose will is to love as one loves without boundary or exclusion? One cannot make a mortar of hate. What is formed of execration crumbles like dust. Stand up. Blow your horns and stomp your feet with pride and defiance. The graves waiting to be filled will not hold you but the corpses of those whose faces turn orange as they scream into the winter wind.
Stand the fuck up. No one has put your feet in cement. The visions of threats are nothing more than a mirage. Your voice cannot be silenced. Your humanity cannot be defeated. If love does conquer all then all shall fall before you. Stand. Move. Yell. Scream. Defeat.
And do not bother to lay a wreath at the grave of hate.
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Thursday Morning Update: 11/21/24
Watch the snowfall, the glimmer of tiny flakes reflected in the street lights and headlights of passing cars. Shiver as a northerly wind caresses the one tract of skin left bare while the rest of your body attempts to snuggle deeper inside a heavy coat. Even the dogs do not linger here. This first hint of the coming winter reveals how accustomed we’ve become to our planet’s warming temperatures. Like the proverbial frogs in slowly-heated water, we prefer that which leads to our demise. A snow shovel sits ready and waiting; it will see no action today, possibly not all season.
Tipper “borrowed” her mom’s heavy coat as she slipped out the back door. On a school excursion, she would visit Purdue University for her first glimpse of college life. Her mind goes back and forth in an argument with herself over whether she needs post-secondary education. Already tired of classrooms, she ponders a possible life as an artist. Surely, one doesn’t need a diploma to sell a banana for $6.2 million. But then, how long might the market for bananas taped to walls remain so bullish?
G does not harbor such fantasies. His mind struggles with the various choices that take advantage of his creativity and genius. Last night he bemoaned the imagined frustrations of a fashion designer interrupted. Today, he takes on the media world in a video interview. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll be nominated for a cabinet position. He is as well qualified as any of the others awaiting confirmation. Nothing is outside his grasp. Yet, so many choices create a different problem for his ADHD mind. He feels no rush in making a decision. There is still time to explore.
Kat struggles still with the limitations imposed by diminished breathing ability. She does not want the kids burdened with the knowledge of how close she came to no longer being present in this world. She powers on through the exhaustion. Her sleep does not last long. Both cold and hot, her body struggles to regulate temperature. Cats long to snuggle but their weight diminishes her breathing capability even more. G asked whether her lungs would ever recover their full capabilities. She had no certain answer to give him, only that time would move slowly as she inches back to her normal routine.
More poison arrives today. Only three more deliveries remain. Who knows my future after chemo? Will my energy return? Will my mind clear? Will I stand without falling? I sit here struggling to grasp at words that slip through my mind like water through a sieve. What were we discussing? Did I have anything important to say? Minutes pass into hours and I don’t recall my last thought. My coffee grows cold as it sits in the mug; I forget the most routine part of my day.
Kat asked last night if I am planning to visit the boys over the holidays. Her question caught me by surprise. No doubt, seeing the boys would be a wonderful treat. Two years have passed since I last saw Zach, Meg, and Ren. Three years without seeing Ben. Yet, I struggle to cover expenses until the end of every month. The lowest round-trip airfare is $542 plus taxes and fees. Lodging would be another $50 per night. Factor a reasonable amount for additional expenses and the total exceeds more than an entire month’s budget. My body cannot handle a long road trip; even from here to Chicago is too much. Train service to Chattanooga doesn’t exist. There is no choo-choo there. The idea has been planted, however, and a dream has begun to sprout. I fear that disappointment is the only yield.
I cannot tell if snow is still falling. With daylight, the delicate flakes become almost invisible. The thermometer warns of conditions below freezing. The dogs wait for me to return to bed.
Meanwhile, the universe asks, what is Google without Chrome? Does Jaguar still make cars? Does Campbell’s still make soup? What’s to become of MSNBC without NBC? What is rhetoric without meaning?
Solaris gently places his paws on my chest. He, too, wants me to return to bed. Still, there is food that must be eaten and meds that must be swallowed.
Will I remember to drink my coffee?
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