Mark's Journal

Thank you all for being my friends here. And for putting up with a grumpy old somebody like me. About the time I wanna shut it all down and chock the wheels, I come here, read about others and realize my life isn't all that bad. Then I can grit my teeth, tuck my ears back, drop the flaps and gun it! Before I know it I am off the ground and defying aerodynamic principles and law again! It is said that helicopters and bumblebees really don't fly, per se... they BEAT THE AIR INTO SUBMISSION!

It's Labor Day 2017. I have behaved myself well and avoided dietary indiscretions but I did succumb to two beers. One with my meal and one for dessert. And they were so good... the first I've drank in nearly eight months. I still do not know when. But for now, I remain oddly at ease. I rested this burden and the decision I made toward it in the hands of Someone far greater. It would be nice to see the conclusion of all this, but it will come when it does. The evening has ended well, and I am going to bed, perchance to dream. Good night, everybody.

I came to my appointment today with a list of questions in hand. After a sleepless night before, I think the doctor saw in my eyes something that made him hear me out. I have been tormented over open heart/mechanical valve versus TAVR/bioprosthetic valve for the past two months. My concern were simple- I didn't want to end up going through some redo later on. While not enamored with the idea of my sternum being split, rejoined and having to heal, along with other issues I faced health-wise (in MD speak- "co-morbidities"...) and knowing I would NOT having the luxury of recovering over the prescribed time for such an insult, I decided to go with TAVR, and embrace the bovine within. After the appointment my wife took me to our favorite Tex-Mex restaurant, and we escaped the gravitational pull of our shared worry. A friend I hadn't seen in quite a while was there with his wife and son. It was good to see him, and his family. Whenever there was a get-together of folks from our congregation, and music was expected, he would bring his pedal steel guitar and play, along with others on guitar. His son would bring out his drum kit, I'd bring my Fender Jazz and Ashbory basses and an amp, and there would be all sorts of music- live. For some weird reason there is never a shortage of guitar players, but I sometimes would pack a cheap Flying Vee copy and a 6-string Ovation acoustic knockoff. I play guitar for my own amazement and other's irritation. I try not to sing unless my blood alcohol level is adequate to the task. Definitely not in a congregation get together, though. We reminisced about the last get-together nearly five years ago, and threatened to do it all again if we got the chance. I pray that chance comes, well before he or I are no longer around. After getting home, I got on my computer and came here. Peace has come upon me now. While there is still no set surgical date, I am OK within the boundaries of my own Fantasia, and the Nothingness of faceless worries haunts me no more. It will come in due time, and I will be ready... for I am the Rock Biter. These look like good big strong hands... don't they? Now, I lay me Down to sleep. I pray the Lord My soul to keep. If I die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul To take. Amen. And goodnight, my friends. Mark

I have another appointment with my cardiologist in six days. Hopefully I will know when a surgery date can be set, or at least know what lies ahead. I am still nervous to the point of hives and itching, Benadryl does nothing for that. I am ready to move into this part of my life and do what is to be done. Playing through earbuds now is Vaughan William's beautiful "Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis". My face is wet and I don't know why. I don't know if it is dread of the unknown, the measure of worry borne by today, or the uncertainty of tomorrow. I am at work so I have to "run unmarked" and keep myself in check, but when it's time, I'm headed home. Too much thinking.... I wish I could shut down for a while, like I do with my computer when I'm done working. Ever since the start of July I am uncharacteristically insomniac. https://youtu.be/qIhZbvlCjY0

What's on my mind? Way too much. More than I can process adequately or even poorly right now. Today is not a good day. I am in the snittiest of grand snits. To borrow Dr. Seuss' wit and way of terming things, I would have to call today a "bad, sad day." I have seen the movement of events, people and things around me, and I am fixed and still. This scares me to the worst degree, because I would be moving right along with everything. OK, what was it I was supposed to do when I found that my butt was spending quality time with the prairie sod? I don't think it was "admire the neat fringe going down the sides of my chaps" or the shine on my boots or how my spurs "jingle jangle jingle, as I go riding merrily along". Alrighty, it was "pull myself up by my boot straps, dust myself off and get a move on". Well, I've got an answer for that. And since "I am Man. Hear me whine!" I will say it: "Pull myself up?" I feel like a heavy somebody today. "Dust myself off?" Most Oklahomans have fleas, and they're not biting me now, so I will remain enshrouded in the powder of Mother Earth, thank you. "Move on?" Maybe to the bathroom, or the fridge. Or to my 'puter. But for now, to borrow part of the lyrics from Gerry and the Pacemakers "Ferry Across The Mersey", "Here I'll stay." The clouds are pretty, one looks like Lawrence Welk, and as long as a bird don't crap on me or the sprinklers come on, I'm happy. Headphones are on, Jo Stafford and Gordon MacRae are serenading me with "Whispering Hope". This is one of those nice "Happy Trails bumba deeda bumba deeda" kinda songs that makes being at sod level on the prairie somewhat palatable, and just suits the daylights outta my selected apothegm for the day: "Let sleeping dogs lie". I think I'll lay here and call a Board of Misery meeting for Me, Myselph and Aye Inc. this afternoon. The downside? Designating someone to make a Panera Bread run prior to the meeting. Bagels and coffee would be sooooo uplifting...

My journal begins today Sunday August 20, 2017. After debating with myself over keeping a journal I decided reluctantly to go ahead. For me, a journal was a handwritten, then later a word processed chronicling of events and issues, concerns and joys, secrets and yet-to-be yelled-at-the-top-of-my-lungs stuff that I wanted to "save" first, then publish. Playing now through headphones is a masterful remix of John Paul Young's "Love Is In The Air". I am in "cruise mode" after two cups of coffee, and except for my dog and cat, I am alone here at home. After coming home from a 12 hour shift I napped until thirty minutes ago and woke up, made some coffee and decided to check email and listen to some music. I found Adam Pick's welcome email to here, and set up my page. I am not a blogger, and my "cyberpresence" is limited to lurking forums of interest and occasionally posting in them, going to YouTube, and checking email. I have no Facebook, no Twitter or other social media activity. Not that I couldn't do it but I just don't find any of it interesting. Besides, the thought of "putting myself out there" kinda leaves me cold. My generation- Boomer- saw computers go from skyscraper floor size to the ubiquitous lap top and tablet, word processing go from a nice dependable manual typewriter to various incarnations of Microsoft Office's Word(tm) and Publisher(tm), the birth and rapid growth of the Internet from a military application to a global standard, and many other things. In our quest to further our horizons, ours truly is the world and all its wealth of information, at our fingertips. There is no waiting to send messages, email is slightly antiquated, but still de rigeur. The videophone, once a 1960's dream concept is now reality thanks to Skype, and other "apps" of its ilk, the flying car? still a ways away but today's automobile ain't your grandpa's Buick. I feel in the process of shrinking the world down to size that we have shrunk ourselves with it. We have become insular, almost hermitlike. Previously we had to meet others the hard way- in person- and employ tact, wit and charm to make a lively conversation or spirited debate ensue. If all went well, we gained a new personal acquaintance- a new friend or maybe more than that. Now, we can be whatever we define ourselves to be and sometimes who we're not. It goes by a name- catfishing. Couldn't do that in person very well. Even in costume at a party. So we might be who we are or we might not. Not good. I'm sorry, with me, WYSIWYG. You might or might not like it but it's quite real. This is why I don't "tweet", I have no desire to update my "status", or acquire "friends". My method of acquiring friends takes a lot of personal investment and "face time" to develop it to where I can truly call it a friendship. I still like to meet people face to face, having been a licensed practical nurse for twenty-five plus years makes this skill indispensable. In the process of bringing all the knowledge of the world to a great "universal library" format, we have given our children a powerful tool to learn things we could only have dreamed of in our time. But have we really made it better? or have we taken from them the fine art we relegated to our computer servants- the ability to search out our information, assess its value to us, organize it to suit our purpose and deliver it in our unique fashion? I call it the "cerebral hunter-gatherer" skills, for lack of a better description. It seems to be suitable to the task I am designating it to take. In the same manner as food, we take in information to make our lives easier, develop skills we didn't have before, expand our horizons like we expand our waistline after consuming a great meal. While not "basic survival", pretty close... So here I am, typing happily away on a computer keyboard. I am sharing with others the journey I will take when I found out my monster had a name. I felt its presence, its heavy breath, its fur rustling and claws scratching for traction as it pursued me... I'm really gonna be a big old stick in the mud with this journal thing. But it will be all me, warts, hair and all.