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It's almost the Night Before Christmas.. . . We just got our tree a few days ago. I thought I'd share its assembly.
Nathan starts with the basics
Linda's mom gives me a hand
Kim and Linda in a Mission Accomplished embrace
Presents magically appear. Happy holidays everyone!
This is the chicken that capped my Saturday. For the full story and recipe, click here.
I took a couple days off to see Kim, and how did we spend it? Being silly. This out by the back patio.
This is where Nathan wanted to have his birthday supper. Note that it's 6:15 p.m. For text see my blog.
I'm looking pretty solemn. Maybe it's because I don't have any food. Leigh looks lovely as always .
We were all taking pictures. Evidence: Me taking a picture of my mother taking a picture of Leigh's mother.
Kim took this one of herself. Don't blame me for the angle.
This really is an example of our society. Kim is taking a picture of me taking of pictures of my mother taking a picture of somebody. Whatever happened to the Kodak moment?
Oh yes, here's Nathan and his girlfriend/partner , Danielle. The birthday guy!
This is Nathan and my mom. Notice that he is looking at one camera and she is looking at another ! Brad Pitt would be jealous.
Kim with lilies in front of the weeping cherry
Kim on the patio looking too serious. See blog for more.
What intrigues me about flowers is their fleeting power. When they're in full bloom they are all-powerful, bursting outward with color and grace. But it only lasts a short time. I caught this lily a couple days late. It's beginning to lose its brightness and boisterous feel. I still love the lines, subtle colors and shadows
This is Jackie's Cafe where Leigh and I ate coming home from Frostburg. For the story, click here for my blog. June 26, 2007 It's been sunny, hot and great for taking pictures of the garden residents who are now in their full, colorful glory.
These lilies and proud and boisterous.
A small, happy section of one of the back yard gardens. June 20, 2007
I really like the motion of the flowers and how they dance in front of the mosiac pattern of the newly done chimney behind them.
One of the reasons I love nature is this. Where else do you find the delicacy of a wildflower, the fluidity of a pool and the eon hardness of a boulder all in one quiet, dignified composition? I chased this busy Monarch all over the "magic mile" trying to get one shot of him sucking nectar. Flowers, butterflies, so beautiful and fleeting. . . . June 15, 2007
This is me in the Compton Science Center at Frostburg State University before my presentation. To read about my adventures before the conference, click here or on Enter Here at the top of the page. June 9, 2007 Okay, it has been way too long since I've posted here. I think I'm starting to get back into the swing of things. I've been pretty regular on my blog site, but I see it's been almost three months since I've been here. The gardens are planted, flowers are in bloom and mour "magic mile" is lush and green. And our chimney is falling apart. I'm constantly reminded that nothing in this world is permanent. Some things have a longer life span than others. Our chimney was at the end of its days. Fortunately my youngest brother Chip is a chimney cleaner and mason who has an excellent reputation. So, after checking his references (just kidding) we hired him for some extensive repair.
Well, he had a beautiful day to mud up the chimney. Thanks, Chip. The check is in the mail. More photos soon from my walk through the "magic mile."
March 24, 2007 The last post included photos from the Hershey Hotel. If you remember, that was the trip where I did two conferences at once. The American Education Services sent me a cd with photos of the live teleconference, so I'll share some of those to give you an idea of what a cool experience it was.
. First part of rehearsal. I'm trying to look like I might have a thought. Does it work?
Ten minutes before the real thing. Makeup. I was starting to get nervous.
A few minutes before the show, I'm talking with Kathryn the AES coordinator and a wonderful person. My exterior appears much more relaxed than what's going on inside.
I appear to be looking for a way out. There is none.
I think the director is instructing me not to faint during the show.
When all the folks involved with the production came together for a photo after it was over, I realized how large this event was. I left with a feeling of profound relief and happy that I was able to be a part of it. Whew. . . . March 13, 2007 I love the Hershey Hotel. I've been going there for more than 25 years. The first few years I was just overwhelmed. Now, it feels like home but I appreciate its grandeur just as much as I did the first year. Finally, (yes, it took awhile), I took some pictures to share.
The Hotel Hershey
This is the indoor fountain lobby. Cool, eh?
This is the lobby where you wait for the elevator. The photo is of Milton Hershey and his wife.
February 17, 2007 Major snow storm on Valentine's Day. About 16 inches of snow and high winds. Leigh and I spent about eight hours shoveling. The dogs, on the other hand, had a ball. Despite his forlorn expression, Tristan loves the snow.
The Gang of Three.
January 28, 2007
This is the photo of the suite I stayed in last week. It's the outside that's the real story. Click here.
January 20, 2007 I think I'll start every post here by saying I can't believe how fast time flies. It's been nearly two weeks since I've been here. In conjunction with my blog, I'm posting some new shots of Tristan, known around the house as The Devil Dog. He's growing pretty fast.
He's trying to look sweet here and he's succeeding.
I've title this "Dreams of Being A Big Dog."
Tired dogs come in all sizes.
January 7, 2007 My first post of the new year! Remember the last post I talked about my magic mile and how there's magic all around us? I was doing Saturday shopping duties yesterday at Consumer Square in Horseheads. It was a gray, windy day with scattered rain. Not the prettiest of days. I came out of The Dollar Store and just happened to look up to the north and seemingly out of nowhere was one of the most well-defined rainbows I've ever seen. I just happened to have my camera.
A moment later there was a second one.
I looked around to see if anyone else noticed them. A few seconds later a man walked by pointing to it and exclaimed to a young boy I assumed was his grandson, "Look! A rainbow!" They both stopped and stared at it. My moment was complete. I had someone to share it with in real time, and now with you in cyber space.
December 31, 2006 I want to give you a guided tour of my magic mile.
When we're at the bottom, we walk through tall, dead grass (it's December 31), through a thicket of thorns and then over an area of rocks and stones that are deposited there from spring flooding.
December 27, 2006 Whew! Christmas is over and my nervous system is slowly working its way back to normal. The best parts of Christmas for me was having Kim back for two weeks, Tristan, my energetic blue heeler puppy who's growing up way too fast, and seeing four of my five brothers. (I talked to the fifth one on the phone). Anyway, I've never shared a picture of my mother, Lorraine. I didn't tell her I was going to post this but I imagine she suspected it. Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday!
And here's a shot of Kim and Mom having too much fun.
December 16, 2006 Too many blogs, websites, etc. to keep up with. I've barely started my Christmas shopping and judging by the traffic jams at the mall today I'm not the only one. Kim surprised us by flying in from Alaska a week early. She worked it out with Nathan who picked her up. They both kept it a secret from Leigh and me. Nathan sneaked her into the house and put her in a box. When Leigh opened it she got her daughter. They all kept it secret from me. Leigh called and asked if I wanted to go out to supper, not an unusual request. So, at TGI Fridays, Kim appeared from the bar and after a moment of total shock and major hugs, we were off and running. The next Christmas surprise came the next morning when Leigh said she had an early present. Kim and Nathan were downstairs waiting by what is now called "the magic box." This guy was inside.
Pretty cute, eh? We're working on a name. I'm holding out for Tristan. What does everyone else think? November 25, 2006 I've haven't been around here to much but I have a lot of new blog posts. Click at the top or here.
This stork posed for me on the patio by the Hilton Disney pool. After he left, I poked around the bushes for babies but didn't find any. Must have been a sterile stork. Check my blog for my latest post.
While I was at the Hilton there was an Arthur Murray Dance Studio competition. There were groups from all over the country in every kind of outfit from sequins to motorcycle outfits. Look at the concentration of the group in the foreground. This was, by the way, at 8 a.m. For my latest blogs, click here. November 3, 2006 Okay, today we have a lesson in appropriate dress and behavior. Please look at the photo below that I took at the Disney Hilton while on a business trip (for background, click here). What's wrong with this picture? Look at it.
Yes. The man is wearing dress pants, a shirt and a tie! There is absolutely no excuse for this. I don't care how free this country is or how much he paid for his room, he should, under no circumstances be allowed at pool side wearing a shirt and tie. Disney Hilton Security should have seen this, awakened the napping intruder and escorted him back to his conference. Notice the woman down from him, dressed totally appropiately in not much at all. This is how one should look at a pool. I, for one, thinks she looks very good. Okay, you might argue that the middle-aged suit napper has a right to be there. Let's turn the tables. Let's say this man is in his conference meeting, along with 50 other men and women in formal conference suits. Let's say the same woman in the picture waltzes in wearing just her bikini and sits down to listen to the presenter. Maybe she even takes notes. How appropriate is that? How many men are going to be listening to the presentation? None of the heterosexual ones, I guarantee it. That woman's image is going into every testosterone soaked brain and put through as many different fantasies as there are brains. 35 men? At least 32 fantasies. The women aren't going to be listening either. Some of them are going to be looking at the lady with anger that she shifted all the attention to herself. Others are going to be internally writhing in envy of a body that looks good in a bikini. As we all know, good bodies are in short supply. Most people have too much body and should be outlawed from shorts and swimsuits. Anyway, I saw the scene and thought I would share it. If you ever see somebody by a pool wearing a tie, kindly inform him of his inappropriate attire. If he doesn't listen, throw the bastard into the water. Then he'll understand.
October 29, 2006 Okay. I haven't been here in awhile. Life is rushed and full of discoveries, new ideas and exciting new directions. I just returned from a three day conference in Orlando in which I was a guest speaker. I'll talk more about the adventure in my blog. I stayed at two four-star hotels which are an experience in themselves. I have a few more fun shots that I'll post in the next couple days. Meanwhile, click here for my rambles on jet-setting, how to kill a hotel room card key and visiting Disney Town.
This is the Disney Hilton where I stayed two nights
And this would be the Buena Vista where I stayed the first night. Not bad, eh? October 10, 2006 I had some time to spend at the creek with the dogs this weekend and took a few photos to share.
This reminds me of a scene at a mountain pass in New Mexico we travelled to a few years ago. It's actually a six inch length of moss and a small stone. I took it by the creek from ground level.
I caught this about 3 p.m. on a cloudless, beautiful day. I just like the way the sun backlits the leaves. Want beauty? Walk in nature. Want God? Walk in nature.
October 8, 2006 I've had a couple really busy weekends with special events at the university. When I'm gone all weekend, that means the week nights are busy catching up. Not much news here but I have posted several blogs . The Perfect Song site is now attracting about 1500 page views a week from the U.S., Canada and Europe, so thanks for all the support and keep spreading the word about The Perfect Song. And if you can contribute money to The Perfect Song Scholarship, I'd be grateful. The scholarship will give future writers the support they need to succeed. Send contributions to The Perfect Song Scholarship, Mansfield University Foundation, Alumni House, Mansfield University, Mansfield PA 16933. Thanks and check out my latest blogs. Feel free to send comments.
September 17, 2006 Beautiful summer day. Took thedogs to the creek and played. Will have some pictures later. Meanwhile, check out my latest blog, a commentary on Dole spinach and Popeye's career.
Driftwood after a summer flood at the creek
September 9, 2006 So I was talking with my daughter Kim in Alaska today and she said I hadn't been posting very much lately. "I checked your news page and you haven't added anything since August," she said. "No! I post something new every week!" "I don't know. It said August." I checked. She was right. The header said "August News," even though below it was a Sept. 2 posting. Good lesson for me. Check the heading. Second, everyone, including myself, is in a rush so she, and maybe others, didn't look below to see a September entry. I'll pay more attention from now on. Also, she didn't know about my blog site. If you haven't seen it yet, click here. There are a lot of postings as well as The Perfect Song audio book. Which brings me to my last point. If you see anything wrong here, or have questions or suggestions, please email me at theperfectsong@gmail.com September 2, 2006 Okay, it's done. The last chapter of The Perfect Song audio edition is posted. I have given my "child" to the world three times. First with the standard print edition, then the cyber edition on this site, and the audio. I played with it as much as any creator could. Now, I'm on to other projects. The western novel is one. Going back to look at influences and other thoughts behind TPS (okay, maybe I'm not through playing with it), and hauling out some short stories and poetry that I've written over the years. It's 4:17 p.m. on a Saturday. It's been raining since last night. The creeks are nearly in flood stage. Tropical Storm Ernesto split as it moved north. We're right in the middle, getting the gentlest part of the storm. The dogs are stretched out in a mixture of boredom and laziness, and I'm looking at my laptop and my production computer wondering which project to work on next. Give me feedback on the book and please spread the word to friends about this site, my blog site and, of course, The Perfect Song.
August 27, 2006 Sunday afternoon. It’s been raining all day. The dogs are sleeping on a new bed of straw that I scattered for them in their kennel. I stand out on the third story deck looking down the valley through openings in the trees and watch the creek now swollen muddy brown rushing with a watery roar down toward Big Flats. Got a lot done today. Produced a radio commercial, posted new material to The Perfect Song site, did some writing for an introduction to a reprint of an 1890 address by Simon B. Elliott, one of the founders of Mansfield Classical Seminary, now Mansfield University. Watched some clips of old Johnny Carson shows with Leigh’s mom who loves anything funny. Meditated. I'm trying some new healing meditation techniques for reasons I'll mention in future posts. Played with the dogs in the rain. Grabbed a meatball out of the spaghetti in the refrigerator, heated it up in the microwave and ate it without silverware. Picked some tomatoes from the garden. I’m thinking tonight about watching The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, a classic western. Which brings me to yet another announcement in my next posting
August 26, 2006 Just posted chapter 19 of the audio book which you can reach by clicking here. I'm feeling a little shaky and sad, as I mentioned before. The text version is done. You can read the complete book on this site. Next week the final chapter of the audio version will be posted. Send me your comments. And make a contribution to The Perfect Song Scholarship Fund, Mansfield University Foundation, Mansfield, PA 16933. Thanks!
August 20, 2006 Nathan took these pictures of Sam recently, thinking he is the embodiment of Mendel. I agree. This is exactly the way I pictured Mendel in the beach scenes.
August 18, 2006 Okay, we're coming to the end. Chapter 18 of the audio version of The Perfect Song is posted. Click here. Two more weeks and The Perfect Song is complete. I do have some other projects, but I am going to miss Poul and the gang. Please spread the word to your friends through email, myspace, or any other cyber social groups your part of. It really does help. I'm averaging over 1,000 page views a week! Thanks for all your support.
August 11, 2006 Chapter 17 of the audio book is posted. I'm feeling a little scared now. Only three more chapters to go and it's done. It's like letting another child go, knowing my work is done as I watch her float, fly and soar into the world as I stand here waving, sad, proud, wishing her well.
August 8, 2006 A week or so ago I asked you to spread the word about this site to your friends. I don't know how many of you did, but someone did because I had a spike Monday that blew me away. I usually have about 100 page views a day. That varies, of course. But Monday I had 616 page views! So, thanks, all of you loyal readers, and please, keep spreading the word about The Perfect Song and this website and the blog site. I've had a lot of really nice and sincere feedback about the site. I plan to continue adding to it. As long as there is a new day, there's always new material. What else is there but life, love, thoughts and adventure? Thanks again and keep spreading the word to your friends about The Perfect Song and the site. If you have a myspace or facebook page, tell your friends to visit the site and add it to their list!
August 7, 2006 It's late. I've had a couple drinks, and I'm feeling a little sad. I just uploaded chapter 18 of The Perfect Song, text version. Go to books. There are only two more chapters to load and it will be complete. You'll have the whole text. I have a few more audio chapters and that will be done. I will have published the book (yes! Don't forget that there is a soft cover book available through amazon.com, iuniverse.com or through me at theperfectsong@gmail.com). I have shared it on my website, and I've made the audio version available. Yes, I want you to read it, to love it, and tell friends about it. I want to spread The Perfect Song around the world. As I've mentioned before, all profits from the sale of the book, or contributions, go to The Perfect Song Scholarship at Mansfield University. The Perfect Song is all about the need to create and the necessity of sharing. When The Perfect Song was published, I felt that joy of birth (as much as a man can do that). Now that nearly all the chapters are uploaded, I feel the sadness of the end. At the same time, I have some other things in mind to share with you, so stay with me. (Yes, if you read The Perfect Song you know there is no end, only creation, over and over). I think you'll enjoy and be intrigued with what's coming. Life's a wonderful mystery-adventure. You just never know where that next step is taking you. It just might be. . . .
August 5, 2006 Chapter 16 of the audio book is posted. Click here or the Blog category in the left column.
August 1, 2006 New Link Some of you have discovered my blog site which is on Word Press. During our geek meeting last week, Jedi Jared suggested making the blog a category to the left of the site. With one swipe of his mighty HTML light sword he created it, so check it out. My blog is a combination of audio chapters of The Perfect Song, and snippets and thoughts from the daily life that we experience. I have fun with it and think you will too. Thanks, Jared. May the force of The Perfect Song be with you.
Near Death at the Gas Pump You know what I don’t like about getting gas? I don’t like the trauma. First, the pumps at every station are different. You slide your credit card in face out or face in. The regular gas is usually on the left but at one place it was on the right and I filled the tank with their highest grade instead of the lowest. Finding the right button to push to activate it has led to embarrassingly long searches during which time I’m imagining the clerk inside is watching and shaking her head at the pump-impaired fool with the white Taurus. I also do not like the picture of the huge black state trooper pointing his finger at me and saying, “If you steal gas, you go to jail!” First, it’s offensive and secondly, it’s foolish. Anybody who steals gas probably can’t read anyway.
Today I found something new. I’m standing the pump, pushing really expensive gas into my tank and I see a circle with a line through it. The message is, “Turn your cell phone off, sparks may ignite and cause and explosion leading to injury or death.” I realize my cell phone is in my shirt pocket. My body freezes and I feel like I’m in a scene from Mission Impossible where somebody’s cutting wires on a bomb. Is it the red one or the green one? Snip. I’ve never seen my cell phone emit sparks. Where the hell are the sparks coming from and am I going to wind up in a thousand little bits pasted all over Pump n Pantry and Rt. 15 and any fools who happened to be standing around when an ignorant guy pumped gas in his car with his cell phone on? I can just hear the police questions. Officer Smith: “What happened?” Larry Berjenski, Pump N Pantry regular: “Pumpin’ gas with his cell phone on,” he says while picking pieces of Miller off his shirt. “Big sign on the pump says to turn your phone off.” Officer Smith nods, making notes. “Never seem to learn, do they?” Berjinski: “Nope. Sign bigger’n hell saying a spark can blow ya up. He coulda just turned it off.” Officer Smith: “Was he in the act of pumping gas?” Berjinski: “Yeah. Just hit the $22 mark.” Officer Smith, making a note, then thinking: “Probably didn’t turn it off because he was afraid of creating a spark.” Berjinski: “Well, it backfired on him.” Shakes his head. “I hate to say it but I don’t have no sympathy for these guys.” He pushes more pieces of me away with his foot. “Big signs saying don’t steal gas and turn off your cell phone. Couldn’t be more clear.” Officer Smith: “I suppose not.” Officer shrugs. “You’ve been through a lot Larry. Buy you a donut.. . .”
I cannot describe how relieved I was to finally shut off the pump. I very carefully removed the nozzle and quickly hung it back on the pump. I twisted the cap back on the tank, jumped in the car and sped out as fast as I could from this near death experience. And I still have no idea where sparks come from on an active cell phone.
July 29, 2006 Chapter 15 of the audio book is posted on my blog site. Click here. I've also uploaded chapter 16 of the print version in "The Novel" section of this site. Enjoy. . .and write to me. July 28, 2006 I just made an announcement on my blog site so check it out. Also, if everything goes okay, I'll upload chapter 15 of the audio book and a new chapter of the print version. If you're enjoying the book and the website, please consider sending a donation to The Perfect Song Scholarship Fund, Mansfield Foundation, Mansfield University, Mansfield, PA 16933. More soon.
July 22, 2006
Chapter 14, part two of the audio version of The Perfect Song is up. Click here. Leigh's mom came back from California with her. They were exhausted. They had to get up at 3:30 for a 6 a.m. flight. Things went pretty smoothly until they hit Philadelphia again. Philly is where Leigh was held up for eight hours on the way out. I went over to the airport at 9:30 p.m. only to hear the announcement that the flight was delayed. A moment later Leigh called. "Our plane had to wait in line so long it ran low on fuel so the pilot had to drive back to miles, refuel, drive back and get back in line." US Airways gets a 1 star and that's for being able to keep the plane in the air. Otherwise they haven't done anything right. I picked Leigh and her mom up at 12:30 p.m. By the time we fell into bed it was 2:30. Leigh had been up 23 hours.
July 18, 2006 Couple new audio chapters of The Perfect Song posted. Click here. Dealing with record high temperatures just like everyone else in the East and Midwest. Here's a shot I took the other day. Again, I was struck by the different textures and the fleetingness of the flowers and the spider web against the stone wall.
July 16, 2006 Over 100 degrees today and muggy. Not the best time to mow the lawn and weed whack but it had to be done. Took the dogs to the creek where they could splash around and cool off. But by the time we trekked back up the hill we were as hot as before we started. Here's the latest in my flower series. It was taken in the garden overlooking the woods and valley.
July 15, 2006 The weeks are flying by. Leigh is back in California after an airline trip from Hell. I'm a bachelor with two dogs again. I'll be uploading the next chapters of both the print and audio version of the book tonight and tomorrow. I spent a lot of years not stopping to "smell the flowers," but now with digital everything I am taking time to appreciate the delicate beauty of these beings that brighten our lives and are gone too soon. I really like the colors, textures and composition of this one.
July 8, 2006 Chapter 13 of the audio version of The Perfect Song is posted. This is one of the key chapters in which Mendel meets Mara, the love of his life. I hope you like the music and sound effects.
July 7, 2006 Chapter 15 of the print version of TPS is up. Just go to The Novel and start reading, or continue reading. If you would like to make a donation, please send it to The Perfect Song Scholarship Fund, Mansfield University Foundation, Mansfield, PA 16933. Not much else to report. Doing a lot of work around the house to repair the damages that were done during last year's disasterous summer. I also bought some meditation CDs and I'm experimenting with them to see if I can get my mind to slow down or speed up and open up new areas of the mind, which has always been my personal frontier. June 30, 2006 Chapter 12 of the audio recording of The Perfect Song is posted. Go to http://www.perfectsong.net/wordpress/ and continue the saga of Mendel, Poul and Beasely.
June 28, 2006 During the three actual days of vacation we had recently, we traveled the side roads of the Rockies and dipped into Utah.
Model: Kim. Location: I cannot remember. The sign to her right tells, but I can't read it.
I could spend my life taking photos of rocks and trees. I love the textures of the stone, the movement of trunks and branches and the sweep of the sky. The rocks speak of endurance, the trees of inspiring persistence, the sky, the huge western skies speak of the gods. (Commercial 1: With all the postings I sometimes forget that this site revolves around my novel, The Perfect Song. If you haven't read it, please check it out on Amazon.com. It will make you laugh, cry, think. See the other sections of my site). (Commercial 2: to check out my blog site, click here).
June 27, 2006 More photos from our trip. I decided to look for the shots that no one else takes. Check these out.
I love this sign in the window of a shop in Hatch, New Mexico, chili capital of the world. The store specializes in chili products ranging from chilis to chili wreaths, chili jelly, cookbooks, towels, dishes and of course chili sauce.
Bowlin's Contintental Divide is one of those long, hardwood floor gift shops selling everything from cereamic rattlesnakes to cowboy hats, jewelry and fireworks. While Leigh shopped I wandered outside in the 100 degree dust-filled dry wind, realizing that the yellow roof used to house gas pumps. To the left were two empty service-type stores. This place was barren. I pictured a modern day Clint Eastwood driving in with Mercedes and having a shoot out over the Indian pottery made in China.
Western humor. In the Volkswagon is a dummy with a skeleton head wearing a cowboy hat. Hey, they had nothing to do and neither did I. Now that I think of it, they probably created this sculpture for bored husbands whose wives are looking for take-home gifts for children and relatives. When you look at this picture think of vast desolate territory, hot wind and Indian pottery made in China.
June 26, 2006 Here are some photos from our uneven vacation. Like I said, Leigh, Kim and I had a couple days to spend exploring before the sad interruption of Donald's death.
I like the light and forms in this shot of Kim on a boulder overlooking a very long drop.
Leigh taking photos of petroglyphs at Dinosaur National Monument. Petroglyphs are simply proof that humans (and it had to be males) have the need to scribble on things. After petroglyphs there was a long dry spell until subway walls were invented.
Okay, I'm going for the composition again. I just loved the boulders, the natural "door" and the colors--and my daughter. This was halfway up the mountain at the McCogee Farm. (I know I've mutilated the name but am too lazy to look it up again. Just enjoy the photo).
June 25, 2006 At last! Two new posts of the audio chapters of The Perfect Song! Click here. If for some reason you can't get to it with the link, go to www.perfectsong.net/wordpress/. It took awhile but the chapter, broken into two parts, will be worth it. It's a key chapter to the whole novel. Let me know how you like it. Drop a note to me at the theperfectsong@gmail.com More tomorrow. I'll try to post some of our travel shots out west. June 22, 2006 I'm back! When we returned home, my laptop, which had been operating on wireless systems in motels across the country, wouldn't connect. Leigh finally had to call the service provider and redo all our computers. That's her area of expertise, for which I'm thankful. We arrived home Saturday afternoon. Spent Sunday catching up on work around the house and went to work Monday. It felt good to be back. I had checked my office email from the road so I didn't have to spend the day going through that. Tonight I finally got a haircut. I was starting to look like I did in the '70s. It was also good to get back to my home office where I'm sitting right now.
June 16, 2006 Okay, gang. Hang in there with me. I've made some postings on my blog site and was trying again tonight but it took me to some funky site. I'll continue to share our California-Hell odyssey later. Right now it's 11 p.m. in a Cleveland suburb Holiday Inn after 12 hours of driving. I've eaten almost nothing the last three days because of a jaw problem, but the upside is I've lost about three pounds and am down to a sleek 142 lbs! Actually I look like a mess. Haven't had a haircut in nearly a month. The tensions in Coronado and the long days on the road haven't done much for my complexion. But it has been an adventure.
June 1, 2006 Page views on my site are increasing daily. Keep coming and keep spreading the word about The Perfect Song , the Web site and the blog. My newest entry is here I think you'll enjoy it. May 27, 2006
Gray day but warm. Bought vegetable plants, cleaned the garden and planted them. All kinds of yard and landscape work to do. Tomorrow's supposed to be sunny and warm. Started last night watching the original Twilight Zone shows that I had taped a couple years back. Great writing, excellent acting. Ah for those types of shows again. I shouldn't complain. I consider Lost one of the best shows on TV. New audio chapter of TPS is posted. Click here.
May 12, 2006 New posting on my blog site. Part 2 of the Lowes Life. Click here. Tomorrow is commencement at Mansfield University. My student assistant, Dave Fetzer is graduating. I gave him my digital recorder and microphone and asked him to record his thoughts during the ceremony. It will become the first podcast of a person's own graduation. Leigh is leaving Sunday for San Diego to see her mother. She's driving to Denver where Kim is flying in from Anchorage. They'll go the rest of the way together. I'll be worried about her. We've made the trip a dozen times but we've always been together. This time she's doing it solo. After she takes off I'll run down and see my mother who spent the week in the hospital. She was taken by ambulance with a lot of pain in her right side. After several days they found she was suffering from gastritus and fluid behind the lungs. I called her daily. Now I've got to get down and see her. I mean, after all, it is Mother's Day. Since Leigh is leaving on Mother's Day, I drove her to Barnes & Noble and told her to pick out some books to take on her trip. She's a big fan of Dan Brown and Robert B. Parker. She found some books and I bought them. It wasn't real romantic but it was practical and something she'll use. May 9, 2006 New posting on my blog site. Click here. Over the past few months I've been making the text version of The Perfect Song available on the Novel page, and the audio version available on my blog site. I'm getting a lot of downloads, which is good because I want to share it with as many people as possible. If you would like to make a contribution to this effort, please send a check to The Perfect Song Scholarship Fund, Mansfield University Foundation, Alumni House, Mansfield University, Mansfield, PA 16933. All profits from the sale of the book and any contributions go to this scholarship fund for future MU students who want to be writers or poets. My goal is to have $10,000 in the fund to create an endowed scholarship. Your contribution is tax-deductible. If you'd like a signed copy, send $16 to Dennis Miller, Beecher House, Mansfield University, Mansfield PA 16933, and I'll get it right out to you. A lot of folks who have read the book buy copies as presents for friends and relatives. Do it today, and write to me. I love to hear from everyone!
May 6, 2006 Chapter 7, Part 2 of The Perfect Song audio book is up. Click here.
May 2, 2006 Think I'm approaching temporary burn-out. Tired. As usual, I've taken on too many things. A stye in my eye just adds to the feeling of exhaustion and need to pay attention to my body. As I write this, I'm wondering why I'm bothering you with it, but then I realize, for the millionth time, that in this life I live to write. I want to write the truth, but that's almost never possible. I want to write about the moment but the moment is always here and never here. So I don't think about it and I just write. Too many things. I'm doing a weekly podcast from home plus several podcasts at the university. I'm recording the audio version of The Perfect Song, a project I love to work on, bringing the book to life through the spoken word, music and sound effects. I'm working on several projects for the 150th anniversary of Mansfield University and Mansfield Borough. Writing grants, planning books, oral histories, events. . . . I haven't paid as much attention as I should to the Fabulous 1890s Weekend which is a big event in the region. It's good that spring is here, forcing me to work outside in the nature that I love. I'm crazy. In my passion for all kinds of things, I take on too much. I do the publicity for the Canyon Country Bluegrass series because they're good people and I believe in what they're doing. I'm doing the publicity for the Jim Glimm Memorial Concert. Jim was an English professor, and a friend who died of cancer in 2000. His musician friends put on a concert each year to raise money for the Jim Glimm scholarship fund. In addition to the publicity, this year I agreed to emcee it. I'm looking forward to it. I stopped doing my weekly radio show on WHGL. As much as I love the music and the listeners, I wasn't enjoying it anymolre. I'm loving everything I do right now. I'm just doing too much. And now I'm whining about being tired. What the hell, I'm human.
April 29, 2006 Absolutely gorgeous day today. We worked outside, focusing on the stone patio that was wrecked with a hard rain storm. Moving, setting, and leveling the stones is, as Bush would say, "hard work," but to look up and watch the trees quietly budding in the warm sunshine gleaming through a cloudless sky reminds me that the wonderful things in life are all around you. It was good to be doing physical labor after five days that ran around 14 hours per day. New blog posting and chapter 7 part 1 of the audio book are up. Round up the usual suspects and click here.
April 21, 2006 Chapter 6 of the audio version of TPS is up. Check it out.
April 20, 2006 Chapter 11 is now loaded. Just go to the Excerpts and continue the saga of The Perfect Song.
April 19, 2006 What a beautiful day in the northeast! I had meetings all day and didn't get a chance to take my noon walk with my iPod but still, it was gorgeous. New posting on my blog site. New chapter of the Perfect Song audio book coming soon.
April 15. 2006 I haven't made any text entries lately, mainly because I've been working on the audio version of The Perfect Song. It's a slow process. For example, the other night I was working on chapter 6 in which Mendel talks to some mysterious god who is beckoning him out of his body. I had spent a couple hours on the god's voice, lowering my recorded voice by a couple pitches and adding reverb. As I listened back to it, it just didn't sound right. Too much of a Star Wars sounding voice. So I re-recorded those lines, then went into the mix and deleted the god, sentence-by-sentence and added the new voice, which I left the same pitch and added different effects. The four short sentences took a little over two hours. But it feels right, now. I have to remember that a lot of different people read my website. My mother is one of them. "I was reading your journal," she said on the phone. "I didn't know you played at the Erie House!" It sounded like she was glad she didn't know at the time. Chapter 5 of the audio book is up, thanks again to Jared.
April 12, 2006 Okay. Chapter 4 of the audio version of The Perfect Song is up and working.
April 10, 2006 Brian Pitzer, a friend and colleague, just created a blog site dedicated to the teachings of Seth, a spirit who shared his knowledge through Jane Roberts of Elmira, NY. The Seth books are considered pioneering efforts in New Age knowledge. If you want to check it out go to http://sethspeaker.blogspot.com/ For my newest postings on my blog, click here. April 8, 20 Chapter 10 of the text version is now loaded on the Excerpts page. I hope to upload chapter 4 of the audio version tomorrow. Hope everyone is having a great weekend.
April 6, 2006 Check out my blog site for news and chapter 3 of the audio version of TPS, including music and sound effects.
April 2 , 2006 I'm about to upload Chapter 9 the Excerpts page. Today was beautiful in the Twin Tiers. Got up, set the clocks ahead (to me it's easier to lose an hour in the morning than at night). Leigh and I worked outside cleaning the yard, then took the dogs to the creek. Came back and did chicken and mushrooms on the grill. Read a couple articles in Wired Magazine and took a 20-minute nap, worn out from all the physical activity. It was a good kind of tired and a very good day. It felt good to be working in and with nature. Had dinner at Applebee's last and left vowing never to order any of their steak again. For the details go to my blog site.
March 26, 2006 You might recall (or might not) the raven picture I took in Utah last summer. Nathan talked me into entering it into a photo contest in Elmira, NY. I had it matted and framed. It took second place.
So, thanks, Nathan, for forcing me to enter the contest. And thanks, raven, for being there. You're on my screen saver. I see you everyday and ponder you as you ponder the world. It's a beautiful moment and I'm thankful we were together in that moment in time and space.
March 24, 2006 My cyber guru, Jared, and I met at McDonald's Tuesday night, ate, and headed to the office to begin the final step of my long awaited journey -- the first step in uploading the audio version of The Perfect Song. If you want to hear it -- and I'd like you to click here I also posted a new blog entitled Geeks & Grease
March 18, 2006 I'm in the middle of some big transitions and I'm not totally sure where they're taking me. I'm starting a blog site for faster communications and to more easily post daily thoughts. It will also enable me to post the audio edition of The Perfect Song. I have six chapters done so far and will begin posting this week. So check out The Perfect Song Blog . Add it to your Favorites, and we'll see what the future brings
March 11, 2006 Back from Hershey. I never get tired of the Hershey Hotel, huge, grand, with a friendly, gracious staff. Spent an hour Friday sitting on the huge patio overlooking Hershey and the surrounding hills. The strong wind didn't decrease my appreciation of the sunny, 70 degree weather and the huge flock of geese honking its way northward. Today I finished editing the audio version of The Perfect Song. It's been a long six month task and it feels great to have all the chapter edited. It's a slow process, listening to every sentence, every phrase, every word. In many cases I recorded two or three versions of a sentence, so then it's a matter of listening to each for diction, speed, phrasing and inflection. Choose one, delete the rest. If I had recorded this a couple of years ago, I would have been done, but since then the technology allows me to add music. I commissioned my son to write some musical beds. My next step is to begin adding these, along with a few found effects. I'm really looking forward to this part of the project. I'm in all new territory. I have a feeling it's going to be long, grueling and fascinating. I'll keep you posted.
Sorry. My software program was on the blink and I'm just getting it back up. Off to a conference tomorrow through the end of the week. It's a state conference of PR and publications folks. I'll be giving a presentation on podcasting. I'm on the final chapter ofthe editing process of the audio recording of The Perfect Song. My son, Nathan has created some music beds and that will be the next step. I'm really excited with this project. It's going to sound incredible! Music adds a whole new dimension to the work. More later. Have to pack. . . .
February News
Feb. 23, 2006 It's 7:30 p.m. on Thursday night. Put in a 14-hour day yesterday with an anthrax scare. A performer in a show last week collapsed after the show. A few days later doctors found he had anthrax in his system. Our university called us, the PR staff, the vice presidents, police chief and music department chairman. Got home at 10:30, had a couple drinks, said a quick prayer of thanks and went to bed. February 19, 2004 I missed my hair appointment which was last Saturday and called Karen to apologize. “When can you get me in?” “How about 3:30 today? “Thanks!” We usually exchange views about movies we’ve seen, as well as TV shows. She began telling me about a show in which two brothers search out ghosts and other spooky things. “The last episode was about these backwoods people who catch people, let them go in the woods, and hunt them. When they kill them they cut them up –“ She was interrupted by a woman suddenly standing beside her holding a baby. “—Ohhh, isn’t he the big boy!” She cooed. “How ya doin? Oh, he’s growing every day!” The woman holding the boy must have been his grandmother. She spoke to the baby, “Justin, go –“ and her tongue leaped rapidly in and out of her mouth to create a laba laba laba” sound that was pretty freaky coming from a woman of her age. At the same time I was tempted to do it. I hadn’t made a laba laba laba sound since I was, hmm, six months old. Justin was not tempted. He was too busy checking out a woman getting her hair blown dry, which, to a baby, must look like a massive undertaking. He was not about to break his attention for such trivia. Besides, everyone knows you have to be in the mood. You just don’t do a laba laba laba on command. You do it when you’re happy, have a lot of energy and haven’t learned to talk yet. The woman excused herself for interrupting and continued on her way. Karen turned back to my hair. “—yeah, cut them up and eat them, I guess, or bury the body parts maybe.” She finished her gruesome review as I sat thinking about the instant transition from grisly murders to the gentlest, maternal baby talk and back again to violence. She never missed a beat and never missed a hair. February 18, 2004 Chapter 4 of The Perfect Song is up for those of you following the serialization of the book. Check it out under Excerpts. More on how daily life is going tomorrow. February 16, 2006
Understand, I love everything I’m doing right now. Sometimes there’s too much of a good thing, but I love it. I go to bed exhausted but anxious to start a new day. But of everything that I’m doing, the place I feel most at home, most relaxed, and most intimate, is right here. I’m sitting in front of my laptop creating words that express my thoughts, my being, my aliveness, to share with you. And yes, I have a mental picture of you. Of the many people I’ve met since the publication of The Perfect Song, I have a picture of you in the place that we met and talked – a coffee house, a library, on the street with passing cars and trucks. And if I haven’t met you, I picture a soul with many of the same thoughts, dreams and goals that I have. That, after all, is why you’re reading this. You may be a person who emails me on occasion and I love the chance to hear about your life and respond. If you haven’t emailed, please do at theperfectsong@gmail.com If it ever gets to be too much, I’ll let you know. But you’re important to me so I don’t think that will happen. * * * So I got really excited with a new idea about recording one of the great poems of all time (I think, at least). I’m thinking about recording Poe’s The Raven. Then I want to set it to music. Maybe a haunting tune that would fit the mood. Then I want to put maybe a punk sounding tune behind it to completely change the mood, make it dark, violent and thrashing. Then maybe a new age sounding tune. The idea is to show people – especially young people – that a poem can be exciting, deep, and varied. Then I carried it a step further and thought I should ask my friend Verne Lapps, a retired communication professor with an excellent, deep voice, if he would record it. And I would do the same thing with music. Then I thought, wow, if he could persuade his friend James Earl Jones to record it, I would really be able to get young people to listen to it. And then I would invite others – actors, musicians, laymen –to record it, and all the while setting it to different types of music. I would call it “The Raven Project.” It would show the flexibility of a good poem. It would show how different voices give the same poem different tones, how different inflections give it a slightly different life, how different music can make it something quite different each time. Then I would find other poems, maybe Frost’s “Stopping By The Woods On A Snowy Evening,” or selections from Shakespeare. Or other Poe poems, or Emily Dickinson. The possibilities s are endless! When I told Leigh and my son, Nathan thought it over and said, “Dad, you really should stick to the projects you have right now and finish them.” I hate it when someone says something really perceptive and practical. Okay. I’ll get the audio version of The Perfect Song done first, along with the music beds and sound effects. (Shhh. This is a really low whisper. Between you and me, I might sneak a test recording of The Raven in between the other projects. I really want to hear it. What do you think?)
February 12, 2006 Went to the Memories of Elvis show last night at the Clemens Center. Chris Macdonald as Elvis is great. I guess others think so, too. The house was full for the second year in a row. Each time "Elvis" passed out scarves, females from the age of 13 to 70 lined up, begging for a scarf. Elvis just keeps getting bigger and bigger each year.
February 9, 2006 If you're a regular reader, this will sound too familiar. I have never been busier in my life with everything I'm involved in. And I'm loving every minute of it. Went out last weekend with my iPod and mic to record live sounds and must have drop my microphone cord when I was packing up. I started to do an interview at school with a student and the cord was not in the bag. It was nowhere in the office or at home. Called my music dealer in Indianna and had him ship a new one overnight. Snowed lightly today but it was a slippery one. Coming down our driveway tonight the brakes locked and I thought I was going to slide right into our Explorer. I finally threw it in neutral and got stopped safely. Listened to a great interview with Neil Young on NPR's Fresh Air. I have a whole new appreciation for him as a man and an artist. Going to watch CSI, then work on The Perfect Song audio version. I'll write more about that. It's a laborious but fascinating process.
February 8, 2006 Leigh and I went out to supper last night. Super Bowl Sunday is a perfect time to go out to dinner. You have pretty much the choice of the house. I looked around to check out the other diners. A couple in their 70s walked in a stuttering, wobbling way to a table. I ordered a cheese steak. On the sound system The Doors were playing. Strange. They were the epitome of rebellious bands in the 70s-- sex, drugs and rock and roll. Jim Morrison was arrested on stage one night for exposing himself, proving that the culture has still not caught up to public genitals. (The only thing in America that's indecent are genitals, male and female. They all look pretty much the same but you can't look at them in public, or on a stage.) "Come on, come on, come on touch me babe. . ." Morrison sang. Rebellion as elevator music, background for cheese steak. I wonder if, 20 years from now rappers and hip hop music about "ho's" and shooting people will be background music for that generation.
February 5, 2006 A little colder today but still warm enough to take the dogs to the creek and record sounds for the audio version of TPS. I recorded various creek sounds. The creek itself is high and roaring. I found a couple smaller waterfalls where the melted snow is still draining from the higher parts of our mountain. And I recorded footsteps through the dry weeds, as well as some crows yelling at each other. I've also uploaded the next chapter of The Perfect Song under "Excerpts." One chapter a week.
February 3, 2006 Warm and rainy today. Strange for February but I don't hear anyone complaining. Continuing my grand experiment in doing an audio recording of The Perfect Song. I've edited seven chapters so far. I've created a blog which I'm working on. When it's available I'll let everyone know. There will be regular postings on news and updates of the recording, the music, etc. It's been taking up just about all of my time. My friend Sherry loaned me Wayne Dyers' The Path To Enlightnment lectures which I've been listening to while on the road. Nathan had his knee operated on last Thursday and hadn't been out of the house so I took him to Barnes & Nobel today. We had coffee and talked. The place was mobbed but it was pleasant to sit a one of the small tables and create our own small space in the midst of the hustle and bustle. Bought a couple of Dyers' books, and silently thanked Sherry for passing through my life at another perfect moment.
January News
Leigh took this today with my podcasting gear and Tyler. I was recording footsteps in different environments to be used on my audio book.
January 28, 2006 Okay, fellow Mendelites, there are some some changes in the wind. Somehow over the past two years I find myself with: 1. a website 2. four email addresses 3. a myspace site 4. Mansfield University podcast (much of which I do at home) 5. a project to do an audio recording of The Perfect Song 6. two dogs who need attention (and who I love to give attention to) 7. a weekly radio show on country music, which I haven’t been paying enough attention to because of the above. 8. I’m also thinking of doing my own podcast
Soooo, I’m making some changes. First, I’m going to begin uploading The Perfect Song. The whole thing. If you haven’t been able to afford to buy the book, or just haven’t gotten around to it, this will be your chance to read the whole thing in installments. I’m doing this: -to make it more widely available -hoping that even more people will read it, like it and spread the site to friends.
That’s the first thing. More on the others later. It is, by the way, sunny and about 60 degrees outside on this January 27 afternoon. I’m going out with Leigh and take the dogs down to the creek. Global warming or not, weather like this shouldn’t be wasted.
January 19, 2006 I spoke to the Thursday Study Club today and had a blast. Olynda Smith was excited because the group has 40 members and 32 of them came today. "They're curious about you," she said. They probably were. I'm a native Bradford County and knew a lot of the ladies from my school years, reporter years and musician years. The median age of the group was early 80s. The oldest member, Mildred Wright, is 101. (I've noticed that when a woman celebrates her hundredth birthday, she doesn't mind telling her age). Before my talk with had tea and cake. My high school English Teacher, Mary Smythe, sat at the table across from me and held up my book. "I read it! The whole thing!" She called out. "Did you like it?" I asked. "I'll talk to you later." I wondered what that meant. Once a student always a student, I guess. The meetings are held in the church in West Burlington. There's only one restroom, which I used before I spoke. After I was introduced I said, "Thank you for having me. I used the restroom a few minutes ago and left the seat up." That got a good laugh. "Actually, I didn't," I said. "I realized there are 32 women here and only one man so you'd know who the culprit was." During my talk I said Mary made me nervous because she said she wanted to talk to me later about The Perfect Song and I hoped she liked it. "I loved it," she said. We had a nice dialogue about the book while the others listened. After the talk, I pulled out my camera and asked Olynda to take a picture of Mary and me. "She gave me a good grade on my book. I'll put her on my website," I said. I had a blast and left feeling energized and again appreciative of being from such a great rural area.
Hanging out with my high school English teacher, Mary Smythe
January 11, 2006 Ever just get worn down? I think I'm there. There has been so much going on here and at work that I'm slowing down with a lack of energy. Seems like the more I learn about podcasts, blogs and various instant messager services, the more there is to learn. So I find myself working awhile on the net, a little while here, then reading Wired Magazine, Harpers (which I'm finding tedious and not renewing my subscription) and a couple novels. One of them is The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler. I'd read it a couple decades ago and wanted to back and re-experience Chandler's writing. Philip Marlowe is one of the great fictional detectives, and Chandler's skills at description and his eye for detail are wonderful. I'll get back into high gear soon. Meanwhile, I'll move in whatever direction my mind takes me and let the well start filling back up.
January 10, 2006 I'm talking to a group in Pennsylvania next week. Many of the folks in the group have heard my presentation so I'm not sure what I'm going to say. But that's the excitement of it, playing it by ear, as it were. I love talking with people -- about The Perfect Song, about art today, literature, pop culture. I feel like I'm swimming in several different worlds right now, sometimes going under for a bit. I've created a blog on myspace.com, a huge cyber community of young people who communicate with each other. I want to reach young people about TPS. I've also found some writers' blog sites and I need to begin interacting with them. I'm still working on recording The Perfect Song for an audio book that I'll make available on the web. And I'm thinking of creating a new podcast with a young guy who knows a lot about google. I'll do the straight stuff about writing and recording and he'll do updates on google. I'm having a great time and I'm spread so thin I feel like butter under constantly rising temperatures. To quote the Wicked Witch (in high screecy voice): "I'm melting! I'm melting!. . . . Thanks for reading, supporting and sticking with me. The quest is everything.
December News Dec. 29 Kim was here for a short, hectic week. We took one afternoon and headed to Ithaca and indulged in the happy chaos of Wegmen's two days before Christmas. Ithaca is a different sort of town. With Cornell and Ithaca College, it attracts all types of intellectuals, social misfits and people who couldn't exist anywhere else. I love the place. We followed a car with a bumper sticker that read, "Ithaca, 10 acres surrounded by reality." We also went to an Elmira Club where Nathan's band, Push Dawn, was playing. They attracted a good crowd. Unfortunately, Nathan stepped down from the stage while they were setting up and ripped a ligament in the knee that was already bad. He performed the whole evening in wrenching pain. I was impressed with the group. The songs, most of which Nathan wrote, have powerful lyrics that make you think, intricate chord patterns and rhythms. Nathan is on rhythm and lead guitar. Sam provides a rock solid bass. Brett is all over the place on drums, playing in and around the bass. The highlight is Laura on violin. She has a great, quiet stage presence, pulling all eyes -- male and female -- to her. She has a good sense of where she is all the time, backing the vocal without competing with it. When she takes the lead the violin becomes almost like a living force, sinuously winding around the other instruments, playing back and forth with them, and gradually expanding into an impressive all-encompassing force to which the other instruments are paying homage to it. If you ever get a chance to hear Push Dawn live, do it. No recording can capture the excitement their live sound creates.
Dec. 16 8:30 p.m. Woke up to eight inches of heavy snow. I started shoveling around 9. When Leigh came out I went in an woke Nathan. Shoveled awhile, then went in and did a 45-minute interview with a magazine editor about my podcast show at the university. It's starting to get some media attention -- and the attention of others. We're getting around 800 hits a day. Nathan and I went Christmas shopping for a couple hours. In Tops, we got in line behind a big, bald, slow moving white guy and his Asian wife. She had a coupon for nearly everything. I say nearly because when she found she didn't have a coupon for her cottage cheese, she told the clerk she didn't want it. She inspected each item as the clerk scanned it and put it in a plastic bag. The big bald white husband stared hard at the prices as they appeared on the register screen. The whole damned process took 20 minutes. "We jumped in the wrong line," I said. Nathan leaned on the counter. "Yeah, but fortunately we're two of the most patient guys in the world." I guess. I read the headlines asking what Jennifer is going to do. The weekly tabloid screamed that Angelina had a lesbian affair and that Brad is devastated. To the right was a picture of Dick Clark in a wheelchair following his stroke. Then I read the Altoids containers. Finally the world's most penny pinching couple were done. Finally it was our turn. We paid and left. Standing by the flower display the Asian woman was reading her receipt like an accountant. Her big bald white husband was probably in the car going through their checkbook to see what their balance was.
December 13 Said goodbye to one of my best friends today. John and I worked together at Mansfield University for 20 years. We went to many of the same meetings and had lunch once a week. I knew him better than my own brothers. In August he was diagnosed with lung cancer. I visited him a couple times in the hospital. His weight had dropped from 180 to 115. He had to use oxygen. The radiation had burned his esophagus so bad he couldn't eat. I talked to him last Monday night. I told him about the movie Walk The Line because we were both Johnny Cash fans. His voice was weak and distant. I didn't know that he knew the doctors had given up and told him he only had a short time to live. Friday morning his wife, Jane, sent me an email to say that John passed away peacefully early Thursday night. I talked to her on the phone and she said his breathing just kept getting shallower until he didn't breathe anymore. I spoke at the funeral today. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. But it was important. Jane asked me to, and he was my best friend. I worked all weekend on the address. Good friends should get a thoughtful send off. He was 58.
December 9 I was looking through some of my old entries here and came across one from the spring where I was out working and hardening my "soft winter muscles." As I sit here at 12:30 I'm looking out my second story office window watching the wind swirl the snow in playful clouds around the trees and up the driveway. Winter is here again already. We spent two hours shoveling the driveway to clear it of the five inches of snow we got last night. Opened my email to find a note from Jane. One of my best friends, John Abplanalp, died last night. He had lung cancer. The doctors discovered it in August. After a lot of radiation and chemo, they removed the tumor but the radiation burned his esaphogas so bad that he couldn't eat. He went from 180 to less than 120 pounds. He had trouble breathing and had to use oxygen. I visited him a couple times and the hospital and talked by phone when he was home. I called him early this week. He sounded tired and depressed. Jane's email said he gave up peacefully last night. I thought I was prepared for it. I walked downstairs and told Leigh, and then cried. You're never prepared. When a friend dies you realize that all you have in life is people. Friends, loved ones, relatives, acquaintences. . . people. And when you lose someone there is a hole in some very deep part of your heart. It always gets back to the moment, doesn't it? And appreciating every moment for the gift that it is. John's moments in this dimension are gone. But the time we shared over the last 25 years were special, the good ones and the bad ones. We were friends at the beginning, and then we weren't. We fought bitterly. Then we became friends again and fought together for the betterment of the university where we worked. We had weekly lunch together and talked politics, campus news, and always music. John loved old country music, especially Hank Williams and George Jones. Enough. He's gone. His suffering here is finished. I will always remember our moments as I live out mine. I may write more about John. I may not. I don't know.
December 4 I still don't know what's going on! While trying to update the Muse section, I noticed that when you hit chapter 38, no further chapters are listed. I, for the most part, have fixed that. For some strange reason, though, when you're on chapters 48 and 49, they don't list chapters 50 and 51 at the bottom of the page. Chapters 50 and 51 are up. Go back to any of the other chapters and you'll see the full listing at the bottom of the page. Chapter 50 is the beginning of a new series of stories based on my experiences playing in the Erie House, a bar at the bottom of everything. Check it out while I see if I can fix these technical difficulties.
December 2 Okay. I don't know what's going on but chapters 50 and 51 are not showing up on certain pages. They are on the site. Go to either chapter one of Muse or to chapter 46 and they show all the chapters at the bottom. This software's going to drive me bananas!
November News Nov. 27 I took my brother, my son and his girlfriend to see Walk The Line, the much touted movie about Johnny and June Carter Cash. I know the Johnny Cash story inside out. I interviewed him about 15 years ago for an article I was writing. I did months of research to write and produce a 3-hour radio documentary on his life. I found the movie riveting and painful. The movie did take some licenses but only to tighten and keep it moving. Joaquin Phoenix was incredible. He is Johnny Cash. It was painful because I knew about the tragedy that haunted him. I knew about the pills and how badly he screwed up, both in private and public. And yet Phoenix's acting was so powerful that I found myself in tears several times -- tears that come from experience something overwhelmingly beautiful and compelling. I'm working on the next chapter for Muse so keep watch. And remember, The Perfect Song is the perfect Christmas gift for mates, friends, relatives, or, heck, even strangers. For a signed copy email me at theperfectsong@gmail.com
Nov. 21 At 3:30 today, after walking across campus twice in the frigid wind, I sat working at my computer and I felt myself getting stuffed up. I thought it was allergies, but an hour later my nose was even more stuffed up. I was sneezing, and I thought, this is amazing! I don't think I ever remember knowing the exact moment a cold started! I can honestly say I felt a cold being born in my body at exactly 3:30 on Tuesday, Nov. 21, 2005. It's the little things in life. . . . I have a new email address if you want to write or order signed copies of The Perfect Song (the perfect Christmas gift). It's theperfectsong@gmail.com I'd love to hear from you.
Nov. 13 Sunday night after a pleasant day of getting the snow plow and chains on the garden tractor, cleaning up the yard and playing with the dogs. Days flash by. I think I've said it before but I don't remember ever being so busy and so overwhelmed with everything going on. It's not just the activities but the technology. I've learned just enough about Dreamweaver upload information to my website, just enough about my digital camera to take basic pictures and just enough about Fireworks to manipulate the photos for the web. In between I'm continually studying Adobe Audition to do my recordings and continue what is turning into a year-or-more quest to do an audio recording of The Perfect Song. Once it's recorded (and I'm halfway there) I'll go back and begin the laborious editing process. And I'm learning how to use iPod and iRiver for the pod cast show I'm doing at the university. I toyed with the thought of doing a Perfect Song pod cast but have given that up. There just isn't time. And I'm trying to learn Spanish. I have kicked myself for years for not learning it. I took two years of it in high school but promptly forgot it. But I've always loved the language and now it's sa language throughout the U.S. I'm determined somehow to learn it. I go to bed exhausted and when I get up I feel like I'm jumping into a race car, popping the clutch and pushing the accelerator to the floor. In seconds I'm in fifth gear and we're off! I swear time is shifting, speeding up, or rather, that we're speeding it up. We are collectively speeding up time. Okay, I don't know what's going on with amazon.com but they're carrying The Perfect Song in a rather fitful way. One week they have copies available. The next week just the Adobe download version is available. Ah, the perils of the self-published. If you want a copy of The Perfect Song -- and I hope you do -- the most direct way is to order it from me. You can send me an email and use PayPal, or you can send a check. If you want to send a check, email me and I'll send you my postal address. The bonus feature of ordering it directly from me is that I'll be happy --honored!-- to autograph it. Keep in mind that The Perfect Song is the perfect holiday gift for someone you love. I love the fall. In this mountainous region the leaves remind me each year that in death there is a colorful glory. I go into this in more depth in a couple new Muse chapters I'll post soon. I've run out of gigs and promotions for The Perfect Song. If you have any ideas to further spread the word, please email me. Usually I'm overflowing with ideas and projects. Maybe it's because it's been an intense summer and fall and my brain has stationed itself on standby. More later. Chapter 49 is up. Enjoy.
October News October 26 New posting in the Books page.
October 23 I recently posted chapter 48, a nearly truthful account of attempting to poop the perfect S. Read it and let me know if you think I should follow up with Oprah again.
October 14
I took the camera so Leigh could get a shot of fellow Mansfield alumna and Perfect Song fan, Eleanor Kodish
One of the unexpected rewards of having a novel and doing readings is the new friends I make. Eleanor Kodish had written to me months ago and said she and Mary Eischeid had reviewed my novel in the local paper. Eleanor is a graduate of Mansfield University. She sent me a copy of the review. Later, I think through her, the Ross Library invited me to come down to Lock Haven and speak. So Leigh (with a horrible cold) and I made the 2 ½ drive down last night. It was foggy and raining but we made good time. A small energetic woman with a huge smile that comes from a lifetime of practice, appeared in the room. She held her hand out but I ignored that and gave her a big hug. Anyone who meets Eleanor, I’m sure, never forgets her. My talk was to a small, dedicated, and very widely-read audience of Eleanor, Mary, Loretta, June and Diane. After I made my presentation they asked some pretty penetrating questions, referencing everyone from James Joyce to Greek gods. It was a great evening, ladies. Thank you for your warmth, hospitality and your interest in The Perfect Song. Mary and Eleanor, thank you again for the review. Keep up your own writing. And Eleanor, an early happy birthday!
It's late Wednesday night. Watched Lost, which Leigh and I love for it's characters, creativi, constant risk-taking and surprises. I'm really psyched about tomorrow night's presentation in Lock Haven. The folks there seem really enthused and I can't wait to meet and interact with them. Life is about interaction with people and nature. Check out my new postings in the Muse and Books pages. I promise I'll get new stuff on the On Writing page. Too much going on, which seems to be a theme in my life. Saturday I went to homecoming at Mansfield University. Sunday I visited my friend John who's in the hospital with cancer. This weekend I want to to have my brother up. He's special and I haven't seen him in several months. He's a music freak and when he comes up we spend the weekend shopping for music.
I posted a new entry in Muse tonight, along with new material to the Books page.
September News September 16, 2005 I'll be giving a presentation at the Bradford County Library in West Burlington, PA Tuesday, Sept. 20. If you're in the area, stop by at noon. The 7,000 Mile Journey This is a running account of our trek across country to take my wife’s parents home to San Diego. They are in their 80s and though they drove here in May, as they have for 25 years, their frail health prevented them from driving themselves. So we took two cars. If you’re just joining, please start from the bottom up. There are numerous postings and rather than force regular readers to scroll continually further down each time, I’ll put the newest posting at the top each day.
September 9, 2005 It’s always strange to be back home after a trip. It seems like we’ve been gone forever and for a minute. Left Toledo at 9:30 and drove straight through with two gas stops and one rest stop stop. The lush green mountains of PA and New York State are beautiful and stately. While I always appreciate the stunning scenery around the U.S., I also appreciate the area we live in. The last few hours are the hardest. The speed limit is slower and you want to be home more with each mile you travel. The dogs were so excited they couldn’t stop barking and jumping. And that was fine with me. I wanted them to want us home as much as I wanted to be home. Nathan did a great job keeping things together. Okay, so a few lights were on and the remnants of parties were still around, but we were home and together. I fixed supper on the grill – steaks, mushrooms, onions and potatoes. We ate on the deck overlooking the stone patio we built on the edge of the steep bank of forest. It was a quiet, much appreciated feast. Talked to staff members on the road to make sure things were going well. I had dropped the ball on a couple things but they kept things moving. Tired. You maintain an energy on the road because you have to. Now, I’m crashing. It’s 11 p.m. Tired. Going to see John tomorrow. He’s 57 and has lung cancer. He’s in the hospital. I need to see him. He was my supervisor once and. Then we became very close friends. I need to see him. I need to tell him not to die. Dying is too easy. Living takes will, and love, and curiosity, and friends. I need to tell him in person that he’s my friend and he needs, somehow, to live. When you’re alive, living is all that counts. I know he’s not ready to die.
Bryce Canyon 2005 September 6, 2005 Leigh loves museums and gift shops. She has the advantage of reading the Triple A books to find interesting places. We stopped at Fort Bridger,named after Jim Bridger the explorer and settler. We got a lot more than we bargained for. There were hundreds of cars, hundreds of tents and thousands of people dressed in pioneer outfits. We had driven smack into a huge re-enactment. We shopped at some of the tents and found necklaces for Nathan. We toured the museum which was pretty much about Jim Bridger and settling this area. At one tent, a large, grizzled older guy with a bushy gray beard, suspenders, wire rim glasses and a stocking cap, had his hands on the shoulders of a little girl in a gingham dress. “Now when you get back home, you stay in touch with me, dear, you hear?” She nodded. “I want to hear from you.” It was a loving scene from a prairie western. She nodded. “So when you get my e-mail, you reply, okay?” It took me a moment to fuse the two centuries. Re-enactors can go back and live the life of the 19 th century, but the 21 st leaks in in subtle way. Back on the road. Totally into the 21 st century, we had dinner at Pizza Hut for $15, then drove over to Wal-Mart and picked up computer supplies, shampoo and pillows. Up late this morning. By the time we ate breakfast we weren’t on the road until 11. Stopped in the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Interesting to walk through the huge structure and learn what prison life was like in the 1800s. There were also biographies and photos of some of the inmates, including their star prisoner, Butch Cassidy. Everybody who can lay claim to him in the west does it. I always liked Cassidy. He was a very successful robber. At one point, a special unit of 1,500 soldiers and Pinkerton folks were after Butch and the Sundance Kid but they never caught them. He and Sundance went to Bolivia and there is an unsolved mystery of how they died. Some say they were killed by soldiers. His sister said he returned the States s and lived his lived out in New York. But nobody knows. The best thing to ever happen to Butch Cassidy was Paul Newman.
I took this at sunset in Bryce Canyon, southern Utah, visibility about 200 miles. September 5, 2005 Wyoming 395 miles traveled. Where in hell are we? On the road you lose track of towns, days, all time. Rock Springs. We’re in Rock Springs. Yesterday we didn’t get started until 10:30. We were both exhausted with the summer, the stay at Coronado and the drive. We went to Zion National Park. Leigh saw a shot of some rocks that she wanted so I pulled over on a curve. She was waiting for traffic to pass to get the picture and I was causing a traffic jam where I was parked. I got a couple nasty stares. One man yelled out “Bad place to park!” I, of course, knew that by now. We wound our way up the mountain pass, through a mile-long tunnel and down the other side. Spectacular scenery from what I saw. On to Bryce Canyon, whose scenery surpasses the Grand Canyon. Took lots of pictures. When you go to one of these places and drive to all the scenic spots, you find yourself in rhythm with the same people. In this case it was young folks from Germany, France, and the far East. Posed The Raven Evermore In one spot we ran into the professional raven. Two ravens were sitting on the wooden fence that overlooks the canyon. A couple began taking pictures of them and one flew off and huddled over by a rock. Whether she was just camera shy or wasn’t satisfied with her make-up, she wanted nothing to do with photos. The other raven stayed on the fence and proceeded to pose. He looked at each of us as we approached, assessing each of person with a practiced eye. Then, like a professional model, he assumed different poses. He lifted his head up proudly, then eyed us, gave it some thought and turned his head backwards. He walked a few steps and stopped so we’d have a little different landscape to shoot. Judging by the languages I heard, there were visitors from Japan, Korea, Germany, England and the mid East. The raven was always reading the crowd. Once he was sure he was still the center of attention, he’d resume posing. At one point he dipped his head down as if in deep thought, which he may have been. I couldn’t really tell. He flipped around the opposite direction to give everybody an equal shot. When he was finally down to one woman he jumped off the fence, strutted to a puddle, drank a little and rested. Then he shook his head, ruffled his wings to stretch them out, smoothed a couple feathers and flew back up to the fence. He resumed his spot and waited for the next batch of tourists. When they formed a semi-circle around him, he went into action. . The bird was good, damn good. I knew he wasn’t getting paid enough for the job he was doing. Hundreds of people would go back home to different states and different countries and we’d all pull out our pictures of “this amazing raven,” tell our stories about him and shake our heads in wonder. This hard-working bird did more for the image of the U.S. than all our ambassadors. He had the ability to open up a universal type of communication and get all of us working together with nature. Verbal communication? Not needed. The humans gathered here all spoke different languages and couldn't communicate with each other, so we all shared this universal communion with nature. This raven had style and he brought us all together without any of us saying a word. Birds like this -- and humans -- are rare, indeed.
September 3, 2005 St. George, Utah 10:30 p.m. 450 miles traveled. Staying in Comfort Inn Suites. Nice rooms. Recommend it. This morning was not pleasant. I wanted to get on the road by 9 a.m. so Leigh, Marianne and I ate breakfast. After we packed, Leigh went down into the bedroom to say goodbye to Donald. She came back crying. I took my turn and sat down beside him on the bed. He was sitting up but hunched over in his fight to breathe. “Thanks, Den, for all you guys have done. I wish I cold have done more,” he said looking up at me then back down. Situations like this, and emotion, are hard for old military who are trained to be fighting, thinking machines. “We had fun. It was a good summer.” “Yes it was.” There was a silence and in the silence we realized there was nothing more to say. We shook hands and I held him. “You guys drive careful,” he said. I nodded. “We will. Take care of yourself.” I put my hand on his bare shoulder just to touch him one more time. I started away. “I’ll see you next year,” he said, though it was an effort to speak. “We’ll fly out this time.” I turned back and looked at the frail, skeletal figure sitting on the bed, his body shaking as he grabbed for breath. “I’ll plan on it.” I went to the kitchen and cried. I hugged Marianne and kissed her. She burst into tears. “I wish you didn’t have to go.” I nodded. “Believe me, I’m torn. But I have to.” Leaving was unceremonious. We saw ourselves to the door. We drove up the block, turned left on 4 th St. and left Coronado. For the first time, the Coronado Bridge was not intimidating. It was just another bridge to cross.
Goodbye, Coronado
* * * St. George is one of the most beautiful areas we’ve visited. When we were here several years ago, it was a small, artsy town. Now it, as most other places has grown with huge tracts of houses, chain stores and mini-marts. When we were here before there was a mystical feeling about the land, the rocky hills and mesas that glowed red from the inside as the sun lit them. Every tract of housing sucks a little more of the mystical energy out of an area. It is beautiful still, but somehow not as vibrant and timeless. Where do the gods go when people take their land?
September 2, 2005
Elvis and Me. . .again I believe in synchronicity. Meaningful coincidences. . . . Drove up to Orange Ave., Coronado’s Main St, to pick up some supplies. I didn’t really want to go back to the house and the patio which is starting to feel like a cage, so I drove up a few blocks. As many times as we’ve been to this island, I hadn’t been in this section, a few-block section for very rich tourists. As I came back down I looked over and saw a big kitchszy statue of Elvis. As if in invitation on this over-crowded street where parking is at a premium, there was a parking spot right in front of the shop. The signs were as subtle as a sledge hammer. I was even wearing my Elvis t-shirt that Nathan bought for me at the Salvation Army four years ago. I parked and grabbed my camera. As I began focusing on the statue, a man got up from his table and said, “Give me the camera and go over there. I’ll take your picture.” I showed him how to use it and posed with The King hanging out on Orange Ave., Coronado. It’s the little things. But figure the odds. . . .
Elvis is better looking, but I've got a much better tan. September 1, 2005
Orange Ave. and 10th on a slow afternoon. 9:30. Drove Leigh and Marianne up to Marianne’s hairdresser yesterday. Walked around and watched the people and traffic. Leigh came out and we went shopping for little things – night lights and other things they need around the house. Came back and meet with the first home health care giver company. Later Barb and I took Donald up to have an impression made for a new hearing aid. The rest of the day was filled in with reading on the patio, walking, more reading. At one point I was so stir crazy that I pulled out a few of Donald’s Penthouse Forum magazines. As I sat there reading I realized this was all the same stuff I read 30 years ago. I felt foolish and guilty and went back to Paul Theroux. This morning Leigh met me as I was pouring coffee. “Mom was taking a shower this morning and the chair slipped as she was getting up. She grabbed onto the bar Curt installed and it came loose from the wall and she fell.” A few minutes later she came out on the patio. “Happy birthday. I just remembered it. I’m sorry. So much has been going on that I just plain forgot.” “It’s not a big deal. There are a lot of other things more important.” “I had something big planned but it didn’t work out.” “It’s no problem.” Later I picked up Donald's daughter Barb who kindly agreed to help me find the Triple A office in Mission Valley. It had been so long since she’d driven in San Diego that she forgot the exits and we were promptly lost. . . We circled,backtracked, did a U-turn on a deserted little road and eventually found it. Leigh and I had stayed up till 1 a.m. last night trying to map a route home. “I want to go up to Utah, but I want Mexican food.” I’ll never understand female logic. We could take I-8 along the Mexican border and get Mexican food or we could go north on 15 and see some new scenery. Exhausted, she finally decided on 15 through Utah, east through Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois and Ohio. We would leave Friday morning. I had finally convinced her that I have to get back. This afternoon she approached me on the patio. “Everything’s conspiring against leaving Friday,”she said hesitantly. “The woman from the second care agency can’t come this afternoon. She can come tomorrow morning. Do you want to leave tomorrow afternoon?” “Friday afternoon on Labor Day Weekend? I don’t think so.” “Oh, no! It’s Labor Day Weekend!” And so it’s been moved back to Saturday. I’ve been making phone calls to make sure everyone knows I won’t be back when I thought. God, by the time I get back I’ll be so swamped I’ll never see the light. I’ve walked so much my legs hurt. I know Leigh would stay here for another two weeks if she could. I can’t. If the test results show that Donald’s tumor is cancerous and growing, I don’t know what’s going to happen. The ADT person was here today to demonstrate the emergency alert system. Marianne was totally confused by it. Each person wears a bracelet r a pendant which they push when there’s an emergency. Marianne thought it was a watch. She didn’t like it because it ruined her love of fashion. It conflicted with her bracelet. Marianne has lived a revolving around weekly hair appointments, getting her nails done, buying shoes and looking pretty. She’s a wonderful person but needs people around her, people to talk, to chatter, and make her laugh. Now it’s crumbling and I feel badly for her. She finally has it in her head that Donald cannot drive her to the hairdresser or the thrift shop where they volunteer, or to the church. They have to depend on someone to get their groceries. Her weekly stitch-and-bitch sessions with her female friends will ake place only if someone picks her up. I have a lot more insight and compassion for what happens when people reach a certain age and state of health. Between constant traffic, military planes, TV helicopters, medical copters, and people, I’m going a little crazy. I haven’t been able to upload entries to my website. It’s been a trip.
August 30, 2005 President Bush spoke at North Island today. Third St. was closed to any parking. The Coronado Bridge was closed several times for security reasons. I didn’t know what time the motorcade was passing by but at one point Donald said, “Must be it’s coming. I just saw a couple police on motorcycles.” I went outside. There were cops on every corner and third st. which has 40,000 vehicles a day, was empty. It was a very barren feeling. A few more motorcycles zoomed by. I went in to get the camera to take a picture of Bush’s car for Nathan, but by the time I got back out on the street and turned the camera on, his car whooshed by. They certainly weren’t going the 30 mph speed limit. I wanted to see it just because it’s history and I happened to be in the right place at the right moment to experience it. It was a big anti-climax. A bunch of police on motorcycles, a couple cars and a bullet-proof black limo. I felt like a pauper standing along the road to see the king and getting just a glimpse of his carriage. I didn’t feel a rush, I didn’t feel proud or special. I felt disappointed, just as I would, I suppose, if I met any president, a person who, as all of them have proved, a man with problems, failings, faults and a need to use the john. Took Donald to the hearing aid folks to replace the hearing aid he broke when he dropped on the table of Rt. 66 restaurant in New Mexico. The office had just relocated to a building on Orange and 10 th, right in the center of the bustling tourist section. I found an elevator and moved him to the second floor where we found the office among a series of empty offices being remodeled. “Hi Kathy!” He yelled as we walked in. The woman behind the desk looked a little confused. “You’re here for.. . ? “You want that Kathy over there.” She was pleasant and explained both receptionists are named Kathy. I wheeled him over to the correct Kathy, a middle aged, heavy set blond with glasses. “Hi Mr. Oliver. How are you?” She looked a little shocked at his condition but hid it well. he told her about his adventures while a beautiful Asian woman in her 20s checked his warranty. A few minutes later the young woman returned saying he’d already had one replaced and the warranty wouldn’t cover it. “Oh yeah,” Kathy said, looking at his records. The first one the dog chewed up.” I was confused. Don and Marianne don’t have a dog. The young woman asked me to bring him into her office where she could make an impression of the inside of his ear. She put a lit in and looked around. She looked a little concerned, then pulled out an instrument and dug around delicately. She shook her head. “”You’ve got a lot of wax build up in there and it’s so hard I can’t get it out,” she said to us. “You’ll have to go to a specialist.” She was very nice and professional and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The Story of Jimmy While we had waited for her, Donald asked Kathy, “Are you still feeding the cat? “No. Before we moved we gave the bowl to the office next to us and they’re feeding it. When they move, they’ll give it to the next office and they’ll feed it.” “A stray?” I asked. She shook her head. “Well, kind of. We had a man who lived in the house next to us. Jimmy. He was feeding it. Jimmy lived here for 30 years in the house that was really run down. It didn’t have a stove or refrigerator in it. Almost like a garage. Jimmy spent every day for 30 years roaming the alleys and pulling clothes out of the trash which he would give to the thrift shop or poor people. He rode an over sized bicycle, which he needed because he weighed about 300 pounds.” “So he didn’t work.” “No. He went to one restaurant every morning for breakfast, another for lunch, and another for dinner, and that’s the way he lived for 30 years. Then his sister in Mission Valley talked him into moving in with her. So he sold his house for two million dollars, built an addition on her house and moved in. That’s why we had the cat. He fed the cat everyday and when he moved he made us promise to feed it, which we did. And now the business next to us is feeding it.” Here are a couple pictures of some really regal hibuscus I took one day.
August 29, 2005 Sunday morning. Sitting on the patio with the sun so bright I can’t see the screen. So much is So much is happening that it’s hard to keep up with. Physically, little is happening but emotionally there is a whole new universe. Donald continues to get worse. Yesterday he and I were going to get groceries at the commissary. He wrote a check and we walked out to the car. Had to go uptown to the bank to cash it but his breathing was horrible. We stopped in the bank parking lot and he was gasping for breath. He put the seat back and fought for breath. I know now to stay quiet and just let him fight in silence. At one point a man and good looking woman walked toward the bank entrance. He sat up and wordlessly pointed to the woman. Ah, that drive will be with him for eternity I guess. I smiled. “That takes your breath away. You don’t need that.” He smiled. Finally when he could talk he whispered between gasps. “I can’t do it, Den.” “Do what?” “Get groceries.” He obviously couldn’t get into the bank either. I waited until he had the strength to sign the back of his check, took it into the bank and didn’t try to explain anything.. I just handed the teller the check. “Twenties and tens okay?” She asked. “That will be fine.” I took him back to the house. The rest of the morning he opened mail and argued with Marianne. He has a method with his mail: junk mail he throws in one pile; mail to be shredded goes into another pile and mail he wants to open in another pile. Marianne had a stack also. She leisurely opened each envelope and read it, even if it was junk mail. “Honey, don’t waste your time reading junk mail. You’ll never get through it.” “But it says, ‘Important.” “It’s junk. Throw it in the junk pile.” “What junk pile?” “The junk pile. I don’t know where you put the junk pile.” I made her three piles, plus one for mail addressed to Curt.” She opened another. “Donald, here’s one from Publisher’s Clearing House.” “Whaat?” “This one’s from Publisher’s Clearing House.” “Who’s house?” “Publisher’s Clearing House!” “Put it in the shred pile.” “I haven’t read it.” “Don’t waste your time reading it. It’s junk!” “How do you know if you haven’t read it?” “It’s junk. Put it in the shred pile.” “The Fred pile?” “The shred pile!” “Oh, where’s that?” “Where ever you put it.” “I didn’t put it anywhere.” I made her three signs that said “Junk, Shred, Curt.” “Oh, thank you, Denny,” she said sweetly. She opened another letter and began reading out loud about Christmas angels.” “Whaat?” “These angels are so cute.” “Throw it in the shred pile.” “I haven’t read it. . . . “ Life was almost back to normal. I left for a walk and to take pictures. Walked down to the bay that looks across at San Diego. Took pictures here and of the flowers in front of their house. Walked down to the bay and took pictures of the San Diego skyline and the huge, graceful Eucalyptus trees.
August 26, 2005 Coronado, CA 375 miles traveled Traveling the extra distance yesterday, though grueling, was worth it. We loaded everything this morning and drove around the corner to a waffle house. The waitress, Franny, was one of those rare outgoing people you feel you know immediately. “Good morning! Good morning! She greeted us. She helped Donald get a seat then turned quietly to me, “Aren’t these things wonderful?” She indicated the wheelchair. “My husband has one. They’re a lifesaver!” She had a hearty, raspy laugh. “Where are you all headed today? We told her we were traveling from New York State to San Diego. She said she grew up on a farm in Maine and proceeded to give us her life story in bits. I fell in love with her. She was interrupted by another customer, an African American woman who was leaving. Franny ran over and gave her a big hug. “Oh, and happy birthday,” the woman said. “Yes, I’m 56 tomorrow! How about that! And everyday is a blessing. .. .” I asked for her email address and said I’d write to her. I want to hear her whole story.
Franny, Donald and Marianne at the Pancake House We ate, loaded up, found our way to I-40 and continued west. Drove for 3 ½ hours, then pulled off in El Centro for gas. It happened to be the same exit and the same overpriced gas station we stopped at last year. $3.09 a gallon, the most we’d paid so far. “We need to get something to eat,” Leigh said. “Mom has been complaining for two hours that she’s hungry.” “We haven’t eaten lunch on the whole trip,” I said. “I know. But today she’s hungry.” We drove across the street to Carl Jr. and ordered burgers. As we continued toward Yuma, the desert began losing its grass and sage brush, giving way to sand and the huge sand dunes on the other side of Yuma. We drove the same route just last year but I didn’t remember a lot of it. Donald and I talked little. Once in awhile he’d tell a story about a pilot or a friend but the rest was driven in silence, both of us looking at the scenery and me trying to maintain 80 mph. We headed up the Laguna Mountains which I did remember because it’s a series of mountains of stones and boulders and is one of the most forsaken looking places in the U.S. And everyone travels 70 and 75 mph.
The foothills of the Laguna Mts. taken at 80 mph through the windshield. Not bad, eh? I was totally dependent on Donald to navigate once we hit San Diego because the outskirts leading into it throw me into a nervous fit. Five lanes of vehicles traveling 65 and 70 weaving in and out of lanes with other cars spitting forth from exit ramps while others are cutting into the same lane to ind another exit ramp. It’s a driving tradition that only San Diegans understand. I don’t understand. I don’t want to. Every time I come out I swear it will be the last time. This time I may be right. “Stay in this lane and take Rt. 94,”he said. “I’ll show you where.” He didn’t mention that this was not the route he went over with Leigh. We made it okay and finally hit the dreaded Coronado bridge. It wasn’t as bad as I remembered (but then I stayed in the middle lane and never looked over the bridge.) A few minutes later we pulled up to their house. I thanked God and all the God's troops who helped us get here safely. Donald was so excited he was out of the car and barking for his wheelchair. I wheeled him the 10 feet to the porch and took him straight to the bathroom. A few minutes later he and Marianne were arguing and soon he couldn’t breathe. I suppose it was all to be expected. They had left home in the middle of May and were finally back at the end of August. Once he had a little of his strength back, Donald checked his email on his Web TV. He had 475. Marianne hadn’t cleaned the refrigerator before they left, thinking, I suppose, that they were only going to be gone a few weeks. There was othing for supper. I said I’d go get some groceries, which I wanted to do about as much as taking an hour tour of hell. Came back and sat down to eat just as Donald’s son, Curt came in with his daughter. We talked. He left. We ate and proceeded to unpack. I’m exhausted. Leigh just fell asleep sitting on the footstool in the living room. Long day. Long week. Long summer. It wasn't the end. August 25, 2005 Phoenix AR 575 miles traveled Out the door in Santa Rosa at 9 a.m. We drove up the street to a restaurant called Rt. 66. It was shabby in a fun New Orleans kind of way with posters of Marilyn Monroe, 50s cars and motorcycles, and of course New Mexico license plates, just as Joseph’s had last night. It took some maneuvering to get Donald in. I had to wheel him to the end of the sidewalk where we could get on and then make the return journey. The booths were 50s style red and black and it was run by a Hispanic man with a heavy accent who had no appreciation for 50s American culture. It was just something that brought people in to buy food and look at the knick knacks and reminisce to the 50s rock and roll music that was piped in through satellite radio. To the Hispanic owner, ‘50s America was nothing more than personal economy. At one point Donald was playing with his hearing aid and it popped out and bounced on the table. He put it back in and a moment later knocked over a full glass of water. He was embarrassed but the waitress made light of it and mopped it up. Bought Nathan a Rt. 66 t-shirt and headed back out to I-40 west. The goal was Flagstaff, AZ, about 450 miles. I-40 all the way. Should be a breeze. We drove for three hours across New Mexico heading for the huge, jagged bluish mountains a hundred or so miles in the distance. Stopped for gas and a bathroom break. Time in the men’s room was again about 20 minutes, and again there was no toilet paper in the handicap booth. What is it with these people? Straight ahead was one of the most arresting clouds I’ve seen. I cursed myself for not having the camera in the front seat. For 30 miles I couldn’t take my eye off the cloud. There will be other clouds, I thought. But there won’t be another cloud like this, ever. I’ll be damned if 10 miles later we came to a construction area where they were actually stopping traffic. I reached back, grabbed my leather bag and yanked out the camera. Synchronicity strikes again! As we crawled along, I rolled the window down and took photos until I was satisfied. We took off again, steadily climbing, heading for the Great Divide. After about a half hour I sensed something was wrong. I looked over at Donald. He had put the back rest down and was breathing shallow breaths with long periods in between. He was ashen. I touched his arm. “Are you alright?” “If I don’t move,” he whispered. “Are you in pain?” He barely shook his head. “Are we near Gallup yet?” “Thirty miles” He swallowed and whispered again. “ Gallup’s 8,000 feet.” Christ. It dawned on me what he was saying. He couldn’t breathe! Even with the oxygen he couldn’t breathe. I yanked over at the nearest exit, a small two-lane road, and pulled over. Leigh was right behind me. “What’s the matter?” “Donald can’t breathe,” I said reaching back for the oxygen tank. He was out of the picture. “Are we at Gallup yet?” “Not yet.” “Eight thousand feet,” I could barely hear him. I don’t know much about these things but I was sure in this case he was nearly dead. I turned the oxygen up. “Is that better?” He nodded slightly. “We need to get to the other side of Gallup and get out of this elevation,” I told Leigh. She agreed. I got back onto I-40 accelerated up to 80 mph and kept it there. I passed everything on the road. He was breathing better but not much. The phone rang. “Did he take his inhaler this morning?” Leigh asked. I asked him and he nodded. Does he have it with him? Has he used it lately?” I asked him and he shook his head weakly. He started fumbling for it. I took his seat belt off so he could get to his pocket. After several agonizing minutes with me trying to watch him and stay on the road at 80 mph, he finally pulled it out. He brought it up to his chin but he was so week he couldn’t get it to his mouth. His hand dropped. He brought it up again, but couldn’t put it in his mouth. Finally on the third try he summoned enough strength to get into his mouth and inhale. “Hold it as long as you can,” I said. He exhaled. A few miles later I asked him if he was better. “That helped,” he said in a nearly normal tone of voice. He lay back and slept. His breathing was more even. His skin looked a little better. A half hour later he woke up and sat up. “Boy, I slept for a few minutes and feel a lot better.” “You slept for a half hour.” “Did I? I feel a lot better.”
Donald pointed this out to me. Notice the vertical cloud which always comes down over Flagstaff . Great road marker. We came upon Gallup. “There. We’re at Gallup. Now we should start going down hill.” He nodded. “ Flagstaff isn’t much lower. It’s about 7,000 feet.” My stomach sank. “Donald what were you thinking?” “I don’t know. I didn’t think about the elevation, I guess.” I thought it over. “How much further is Phoenix?” He looked it up. “A hundred and sixty eight miles.” It was about 4 p.m. “Then let’s cancel the reservations in Flagstaff, make new ones in Phoenix and drive straight there.” “That’s too much driving for you and Leigh.” “Listen, you won’t be able to breathe. You won’t be able to eat.” “You guys go out and just bring me a sandwich. That’s all I need.” I called Leigh and told her what I wanted to do. “We have to do it soon. Best Western’s cutoff is usually 4 o’clock.” It was 3:45. A few minutes later she called back. “We just gained an hour. My cell phone says it’s 2:45.” We pulled into the next gas station, a run down general store and Chinese restaurant. The gas pumps looked like they’d been installed in the 1950s. I pumped the gas and went inside. It was dark and quiet. The shelving and coolers were from the 1940s. A small voice said “hi.” I looked around and finally spotted an old Chinese man sat in a chair behind the counter. A tiny old Chinese woman stood up from her chair and said “Twenty seven” in a heavy accent. I handed her the credit card. She ran it through one of the early machines that imprint the card on paper. On the large window looking outside were many signs. One was a hand printed message that said “We resered the right to refused ANYONE.” The woman handed me the copy to be signed. I did and she fumbled with frail fingers to separate my copy. She handed it to me without a word or a smile.
I went back out into the hot New Mexico air. Leigh was on the phone. I took Marianne to the women’s room out back which you unlocked with a key that was held with a string to a large block of wood that someone had etched in pen: “Women.” A half hour later Leigh was still on the phone. After 45minutes she had completed the reservation changes. Back on I-40. A half hour later we passed Gallup. “There’s Gallup,” I said to Donald. By now he was back to his old self. He nodded. “Good.” We crossed the Arizona border. Another line of mountains loomed before us. I remembered them from past trips. I picked up the camera, and, and at 80 mph took pictures through the windshield. I just aimed at the general direction and shot knowing I could crop them and play with them later. We reached Flagstaff about 5 and turned off onto Rt. 17 South. The elevation was 7000 feet but Donald seemed to be having no problems. In fact he seemed to be fully recovered, talking reminiscing and eating munchies. Rt. 17 winds up and down the mountains which in most places had a 75 mph speed limit so I pushed it to 80 where ever I could. Donald played with his hearing aid and again it fell out. He looked it over. “It’s broken. A piece broke off so it won’t stay in my ear. I don’t understand how that happened.” So conversations were sparse. He couldn’t hear anything but he was very excited about staying in the Best Western that they always stay in on their way home. He directed me to the motel which involved crossing a three-lane highway full of traffic with no light. He was as excited as a little kid when we pulled in. “Just pull right up front. Right there. That’s where we always do. Right here. That’s it!” He excitedly pulled his wallet out and got out of the car before I had his chair around to get him. I pushed him in and Leigh guided Marianne. We stood patiently as the desk clerk finished another guest. “We have reservations!” Donald yelled because he can’t hear. The clerk looked confused. “The name?” “Can’t hear ya! I broke my hearing aid!” His voice boomed throughout the lobby. “Honey get up there and give him these cards!” Marianne stood petrified. “I don’t know—“ I stepped up. “Reservations for Oliver.” “Honey give him the cards!” “I don’t –“ “Can’t hear ya honey! I can’t hear! I broke my hearing aid remember?” I helped Marianne do the signing. “What’s your license number?” The clerk asked. Marianne stood confused. “I don’t –“ “What?” Donald yelled. “Our license number.” “I can’t hear you honey! I broke my hearing aid.” “Our license number!” He began reciting. “O 4 – “ As soon as he said “four” his upper teeth shot forward. He clamped them back in and said “four” again. The teeth popped out again.” It was all because he was so excited. As soon as I wheeled him into the room he began barking orders. “Bring in my oxygen machine? Where’s the tube? Get the Tube, would you Leigh? I need ice!” We grabbed the ice bucket. “My mouth’s dry. That’s why my teeth won’t stay in! Ice! Ice!” It was good to have him fully back. We ordered pizza and Marianne was as excited as a little girl. “Where will we eat it?” She asked. “Right here in your room,” I said. “Oh good!” When it arrived she sat and waited to be served. “Donald, turn your chair around here where I can see you. Yes. That’s good. Oh, this is good pizza. It’s hot! How did they keep it so hot?” Back in our room Leigh and I had a drink and fell into bed. It was a long day, physically and emotionally. Donald was alive. That’s all that mattered.
August 24, 2005 Santa Rosa, NM 10 p.m. 480 miles traveled Last night was the first time I had internet access and spent time posting after we ate dinner in the motel. The food wasn’t that good, colored by the young waiter’s assessment of things. Leigh asked about the spare ribs. “They’re good but I’m not sure how fresh the ribs are,” he said. He was in his 20s, dark hair, fresh innocent face. It made us wonder about the rest of the menu. After dinner, Leigh played cards with Marianne while I wrote. We had breakfast, packed and left by 10. I had talked the night before with some young construction workers, putting up buildings on a nearby reservation, and a woman who was heading back home to Texas with her husband in a travel trailer. They had been to Michigan to care for his mother, back east and home. She had lived in San Diego for several years selling real estate, so I asked her if she’d talked a little with Don and Marianne. They were thrilled to talk about San Diego. I talked with the desk clerk as she smoked two cigarettes on her break about the drought. Everything in Oklahoma was brown. The corn is dying. Today, the scenery looked the same. We’ve traveled this route several times. The rolling hill of Oklahoma, turning to plains, leaking into the Texas Pan Handle which became more brown, flat and barren, on into New Mexico, which, in terms of ancient energy, is one of my favorite states. Donald played more baseball radio shows. “Did you have a bowel movement this morning?” I asked, knowing it was important to him. “Yes, thank God. Finally.” At 1 p.m. we were coming up to a rest stop. “Do you want to stop?” “Yes!” There was an air of desperation. “Tell me these things.” We stopped. I wheeled him into an aged, decrepit rest stop. Leigh took Marianne to the womens’ room. I waited. . .and waited. Twenty minutes later he was ready. It was 95 degrees outside so I got him into the car as quickly as I could. As soon as he was in he barked the orders. “Turn the car on! Get me air!” I did, then folded up the wheelchair and loaded it, waited until Leigh was ready and we were back on the road. A few hours later the phone rang. Leigh was a little upset. “I tried to call you earlier. I need to stop and we just past a rest stop.” The connection was bad and I said okay, not telling her that the CD radio shows were so loud that I couldn’t hear the phone. And traveling 75 and 80 there’s not a lot of warning as far as rest stop exits. A few minutes later I saw a sign for gas so we pulled in. The credit card wouldn’t work in the pump so I had to go in and leave the card. Two Indian teens were punching each other the way teen guys do. A Mexican woman was behind the counter. I left the card, pumped the gas, and got Donald out of the car. He had to go again. It was hot with that New Mexico dry wind that I love. Something crunched under my sneaker. It was a dead cockroach. I looked around. The parking lot was littered with dead cockroaches. Big dead cockroaches. Leigh and I got Donald and Marianne inside. I wheeled him down an aisle of snacks over a warped floor, turned left and down a hallway made of plywood. We pushed open a rickety door into the men’s room. The floor was uneven. The room smelled of urine and feces. The walls were falling apart in places. He was desperate so we took what we thought was the handicapped stall. It wasn’t. It just happened to be a larger stall with no door. All the stalls were made of plywood. Because there was no door I was able to watch him, with some hesitation about invading his privacy, and realized what he was going through. The very act of unbuttoning his pants and sitting down put him out of breath. The act of pushing put him out of breath and he had to stop and regain it. Again, it took about 20 minutes. “Den! There’s no toilet paper in here!” I reached into the next stall that was filled with grafitti and a full toilet and pulled the toilet paper from the ring. The cockroaches in the parking lot were dead. In here they were alive and well. There seemed to be a whole society of them on this floor sticky with water, urine and other secretions. He got back into the wheelchair, shaking and breathless with the exertion. “How’d you do?” “Good! Good!” I nodded, relieved. “Three in one day. That’s good.” Back to the car. A lean black guy dressed in a half transvestite way, talked to the Indians, Mexicans and rednecks about cool stuff and followed me out as I pushed Donald and continued talking as I pushed the chair, crackling over dead cockroaches shells. When I stopped at our car, the black man also stopped and became suddenly, quietly courteous. “After you,” he said. I ain’t in no hurry.” We loaded up. I drove back through the large puddle of water left from a recent rainstorm and we were back on I-40. Leigh was behind us with Marianne. Back on the road, headed west.
August 23, 2005 Stroud, OK 420 miles traveled 10:25 p.m. Leigh had a talk with Donald last night and said we had to get up earlier. This morning he was ready at 9. After everything was packed, Leigh returned to the room saying Donald had lost the little wrench to his oxygen tank. We looked all over for it. “It has to be in his pocket,” I said. “He always puts it there and I saw him put it in there last night.” But after a half hour, we gave up. I drove to Lowe’s and bought a crescent wrench. Then we went off in search of breakfast. The woman at the desk said, “There’s a great place up the street three blocks. Great food. It’s on the left.” We drove but didn’t see it. I stopped and asked a cop who was talking with someone in a parked car. “Yeah, just up the street on the left. I don’t remember the name of it. Little greasy spoon place.” We found it and also found that you have to step up two steps. There was no way I could get the wheelchair up the steps. Donald had to step up then walk back to a table. By the time he got there he was bent over, gasping so hard he was shaking. Marianne followed slowly with her cane, looking around in little girl wonder. Ten minutes later he had his breath back and we ordered. It was a small place with old, sagging walls but on them were pictures of the place during the 50s’. I asked the waitress how long it had been in business. She was young, cute, in jeans. “Since 1949.” I was fascinated with the cook, a woman in maybe her early 30s, tall, well-built, who handled the food with the quick, efficient movements of one who had done this a long time but not long enough to look weary, just mechanical. She cracked the eggs flawlessly and they fell onto the grill that she had just buttered in two swipes with a broad brush. She flattened the sausage as the eggs fried and bread toasted. She was never still, always turning eggs, flipping sausage, pulling out toast and brushing it with melted butter, slicing the toast or egg sandwich with a razor-sharp knife. And things all came together at the same moment. It was a joy to watch. She was a pro. I’m sure she’d rather be doing something else, but what she did was, to me, an art. We finished breakfast and were on the road at 10, an hour earlier than yesterday. Took 44 west and stayed on it. Hit rain the first hour. It was heavy at times, slowing us down because of poor visibility, but then we moved out of it and it was gray for a couple hours, breaking into sunshine when we hit Oklahoma. Donald had been talking about Yogi Berra’s favorite baseball radio shows CD collection that we had bought him for Christmas last year. He wanted to listen to it so I pulled it out and we spent the better part of six hours listening to shows about famous baseball players of the 20s and 30s as well as Jack Benny, Eddy Cantor, Bob Hope and other radio show hosts whose show featured a player or a game or a theme about baseball. I have no interest in sports but I do love old radio shows so the time passed pretty quickly as we sailed across Missouri and into Oklahoma. The motel we stayed at last night had a Chili’s on the second floor so we ate supper there (at 8 p.m. One of the things I like least of anything is eating late. I feel rotten the rest of the night. Leigh likes eating later and it’s been a source of contention for years). I had a chicken sandwich, ate the chicken and left the bun. Earlier, when we unloaded the cars, it was raining and Leigh and I got pretty wet. Marianne said, “I don’t know why you’re not wet now.” “My pants are wet,” I said. She looked at me. “Denny, you’re a grown man. You should have more control.” It took me a second to get the joke, and we laughed. Then Donald said, “I wear diapers and even I’m not wet!” He seems to accept everything with good humor and I respect him a lot for that. With his bowel and bladder problems, we had to get Depends. Other men would be humiliated. He incorporates it, continues on and makes jokes about it. We pulled off the road at the last minute to stop in an outlet that sells walnut bowls, wooden items and grandfather clocks. Donald has stopped there several times over the years and bought gifts. He was happy that Leigh was interested in it. The place had a wheelchair ramp but it was about 30 feet long at a 45 degree grade. I pushed him up and wheeled him around inside. When we left I looked down the ramp and said, “Christ, this is like Extreme Wheelchair sports.” We made it down in one piece, got him loaded up and were on our way. This is the first time in history that a large number of people have lived long enough to need things no one ever planned for.
August 22, 05 St. Louis, Kirkwood Best Western 450 miles travelled 9:35 p.m. Didn’t get started until 11 a.m. this morning. We waited for Donald to get ready, left motel at 9:30. He needed a C battery for his oxygen machine so we found a little store and gas station, got gas, bought a battery, then drove across the street to the Leaf Restaurant where we ate the night before. While we ate supper they hung up their menu for breakfast this morning. But they were closed. So we drove down the road to a truck stop and had one of the worst breakfasts any of us has had. There were bits of bone in the sausage. The orange juice was stale. Ran back to the motel so Marianne could brush her teeth. We loaded everything and headed out at 11. Drove through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and into Missouri. The drive was pleasant, now that I had the rhythm of the road in me. The Midwest is a breeze – boring -- but a breeze with straight highways where you set the cruise control and try not to be hypnotized by the lulling rhythm. We started out with Beethoven, switched to Mozart, then Bach. “Your turn to pick one,” I said to Donald. He looked through the case. “How about Willie Nelson?” “Which one?” “Red Headed Stranger.” I shook my head, not telling him that it’s sacrilege to play Red Headed Stranger before you hit New Mexico or Colorado. “Play Stardust.” It skipped. We tried another country CD. It skipped. “Put Beethoven back on,” I said. It played fine. We stopped at a rest stop and went through the usual routine. I pulled out the wheelchair, opened it up, wheeled it around to his side. Linda got Marianne out of the car and pulled out her cane. She held Marianne’s arm and I pushed Donald. He went in and sat down in the men’s room. Later, on the road, I said, “How did you make out in the men’s room?” “I didn’t. I haven’t had a bowel movement in two days.” “I thought you went.” “No.” “Have you had prune juice?” “No, not in three days.” I thought it over. “You haven’t eaten much in the last three days either.” “No. You’re right.” We drove on in silence. He fumbled around for a new oxygen tank. I didn’t pay any attention until an explosion of compressed air nearly sent me into the other lane. I looked over. He had connected the tank to the top backward again. “Damn!” He muttered. When he gets it wrong, he panics and needs oxygen even more. “Just remember you have to match the prongs with the holes,” I said to calm him down. “Right. Right.” When you’re driving for eight hours with only two 10 minute stops, you have a lot of time to think. I thought this would be a sentimental trip, Donald’s last trip across country. But it hasn’t been at all. I asked him yesterday when I interviewed him, if they would be taking anymore cruises or tours. “No, I don’t think so,” he said matter-of-factly. I don’t think I can carry this thing.” He pointed to the oxygen tank. “And Marianne has a hard time getting around with her hip.” There was no sense of sadness or regret, just a matter-of-fact assessment. And so it’s hard for me to feel anything except a sense of satisfaction that Leigh and I can give them this trip. Yes, I was against it at first, until Marianne started getting better and we rented the wheelchair for him. The wheelchair is the only reason, the only reason we can bring them on this 3,000 mile journey. When we stop for gas, he wants to sit in the car. Leigh makes him get out. “You have to move to prevent blood clots in your legs,” she admonishes. I help him out. He totters weakly. He shuffles around to the back of the car and stands. A few minutes later he goes back to the seat with me carrying the tank. He’s like a yellow, crispy oak leaf, hanging on, trembling to its hold onto the twig. I spend about a hundred fifty miles thinking about The Perfect Song. I want to finish recording it, then edit it and make it available as an audio cd. Eventually I’d like to create a music sound track for it. It could be really dramatic. I thought about it as I listened to Beethoven. His symphonies are perfect for Mendel’s tantrums and existential rantings. I did notice something, though. “You know,” I said to Donald as we rolled through Ohio, the thing with Beethoven is he gets real quiet with a couple violins, lulls you, then slams in with the entire orchestra and scares the hell out of you. I’m onto the guy.”
August 21,05 Didn’t get started till 11:45. It took Donald a couple hours to get upstairs and eat breakfast. Said he couldn’t breathe and his back hurt. Got up to go to the bathroom at 3 last night and didn’t get back to sleep. He was excited and nervous about the trip. That was obvious. Nathan and I packed the cars as Linda got the bags ready. Last night I went out late to put something in the car, looked up at the night sky and said, “What the hell are we doing?” I said it to no one in particular and no one answered so everything worked out. Said goodbye to Nathan and the dogs (I already miss Tyler) and we headed out. Donald rode with me, Marianne with Leigh. By the time we hit Rt. 17 he was fine. He was on the road, moving, looking at the scenery and not focused on himself. Neither of us said much or felt the need to. I put on some Mozart and forced myself to relax. I brought the iPod to do some recording, knowing that I wanted to interview him, so the other side of Cleveland I pulled it out and began asking him questions about the Navy. He started out with one word answers but I’m used to that. I kept asking until he relaxed and started talking, then I couldn’t keep him quiet. I knew the ambient noise of the wind and traffic would be a problem, but I also know he loves to talk about the past and this would just be a warm-up. We arrived in St. Giliad, Ohio at 7. We stopped only once for gas and once for a bathroom break. The bathroom break was in Ohio and the routine was set. Find a handicap parking. (Leigh got him a couple stickers and he’s as excited as kid with them. I guess I can understand; he’s been out of breath for years and never used the handicap spots. They were somehow off limits to him, though all he had to do was apply for the sticker). “Don’t forget the handicap parking,” he said as we pulled into the rest stop. “There! Right there! Just waiting for us.” Leigh pulled in beside me. I took the wheelchair out, opened it and wheeled around to his side. While he was getting in, Leigh was getting Marianne out and pulling out her cane. And a new world began opening to me. I wheeled him up the sidewalk while Leigh held Marianne as she haltingly made her way. We used the handicap accessible door to go in. In the men’s room he stood and fought with the zippers and other things. By the time he was done he was exhausted and out of breath. On the way back out, a woman my age was helping and elderly woman in a walker. Behind us another elderly couple were helping each other back to the car. Old and infirm people have been traveling a long time but I never noticed it before. And I have a whole new appreciation for handicap accessibility. When we arrived at our motel, I got him into his wheelchair and then stopped with a newbee’s shock. The motel has double doors that open outward. Anyone who has ever been with someone in a wheelchair knows that you can’t open the door and get the person in without turning them backwards and pulling, holding the door at the same time. On top of that the second door into the lobby also opened outward but if you’ve gotten the wheelchair person in the foyer, there’s no room to open the second door. Getting Donald and Marianne in at the same time required strategy as Leigh opened one door and got Marianne through then tried to hold it while I grabbed it and pushed Donald’s chair with one hand. Okay. I’ve always had an academic appreciation for the problems of handicap accessibility. Now I’m living it. No fun. Same with the restaurant, a small, local, family place. Up a ramp. The door opens outward. The next door, only four feet from the first, also opens outward. Tripping, stumbling and looking really awkward, we finally made it. He insisted that we bring his oxygen machine, a piece of equipment that weighs about 40 pounds. So when we began unloading, I found a dolly. We filled the dolly and had to make a second trip. Leigh doled out their pills which took those while we finished bringing in luggage. At dinner Donald complained that he wasn’t hungry, just couldn’t eat. He said the same thing this morning. All summer he’s used the same line: “I can’t eat and breathe at the same time.” This morning he couldn’t eat because he couldn’t get his breath. Tonight he wasn’t hungry because he hadn’t done anything all day. Nobody pointed out to him that he doesn’t do anything any day. He sits, which is what he did today. I think it’s nerves and an unconscious bid for attention. He did finally order a sandwich and fries and ate quite a bit. It’s 10:15 p.m. and I’m exhausted. So is Leigh. So tomorrow we go through Columbus and St. Louis. Will it be Bach or Beethoven? August 19, 05 Friday night. We’re in that muddy area when the daily routine gives way to rushing about to get ready to leave. Too many things to do in too short a time. I did as much work today as I usually do in two or three, trying to get all the advertising for September in place, all the publications ready for the designer, all the things together that my news director will have to take care of for me. (While he was gone for three weeks I had to deal with our university president leaving, an interim president coming in, a new provost and our first casualty in Iraq, a much loved local student who majored in chemistry). I was so stressed and tired by noon that I ate and instead of exercising, went downstairs and napped on the couch. Home at the usual. Nathan had at the last minute invited a friend from Ireland that he’d met in Montreal for supper. So Leigh was rushing, trying to make lasagna, get traveler’s checks and clean the house. Tomorrow we have to get the tires checked, get groceries, vitamins, clean the cars, pack, etc. We leave Sunday. The biggest concern right now is Donald and oxygen. Leigh made arrangements today to pick up a new supply in Oklahoma.
August 17, 2005 We’re about to take a major journey. We’ve made the journey before but never in the way we’re about to do it this time. We’re heading to California. 3,000 miles. Five days. Here’s the background, which I’ve talked about a little bit. Leigh’s parents drove across country in May, as they do every year. Their in their 80’s. Almost as soon as they arrived, the heat wave hit the area and nearly did in Donald, who has emphysema, along with several other health problems. He went from one oxygen tank a day to four tanks and a large tank in the bedroom at night. So he’s on oxygen 24 hours a day. He can’t walk more than 20 feet without having to rest and fight to get his breath back. Marianne fell a couple weeks after they arrived and injured her tailbone. Both were pretty much bedridden for several weeks. She also has a bad hip and bad knee. She can’t bend one knee. She gets around now with a cane. Now they’re ready to go home. Leigh wanted to drive them. I wanted to fly them. We’re driving. They love to ride. I’ve taken them for drive over the gorgeous mountains here each Sunday and buy them ice cream. (They love ice cream. Their lunch everyday is ice cream. They have another bowl at 9 p.m. every night. Big scoops. They love ice cream). I understand where Leigh is coming from. It’s the last time they’ll be here. It’s the last time they’ll travel by road across country, something they’ve been doing for more than 20 years. So we’re driving them and I understand. I was against it because they’re so frail. A few nights ago we went out to supper. I parked close to the entrance. Donald walked to the door and stopped to get his breath. We walked inside and he sat down at the server’s station to get his breath. A moment later the server led us to a table. By the time Donald sat down he was gasping so hard he was shaking, quivering. Watching a person desperately gasping for breath is a frightening sight. I argued with Leigh. How would we get him in and out of restaurants and motels? What if he takes a turn for the worse with this or some of the other health problems. What if Marianne falls again, as she has twice? We rented a portable wheelchair and Donald will use that. He’s tried it out already and loves it. In fact, he wanted us to bring it in the house to use in here but I said no, that he needs to get up and walk once in awhile to help prevent blood clots. So we start out Sunday with a trunk full of oxygen tanks, a wheelchair, walker and possibly an oxygen machine. We’ll take Rt. 17 to 70 through Missouri and Oklahoma, then drop down to I-40 through Texas and Arizona. The final lap is down to I-10 into California. We’ll average 450 miles a day, stopping in Oklahoma for more oxygen tanks. We’ll stay four days in Coronado, a small island off San Diego which you get to via a bridge spanning the Pacific that makes me squeeze the wheel until my knuckles are white. I’ve mentioned it in previous posts. It’s high enough to let the tallest ships pass under and for ships it’s fine. For cars it’s too god damned high! I know some of you who visit here regularly are seniors. Some of you are my age with older parents. Some of you are younger with grandparents. No matter what age group you’re in, you’ll understand this journey. It’s a final journey for two people and no matter how frustrating it might be, no matter what surprises are thrown our way, I want to do my part to make it a good journey for them. I’ll share some background on Donald and Marianne as we move through our trip, but I’ll mention now that Donald was a Navy pilot who served in World War II, the Korean War and Vietnam. Then he spent years training new pilots. In the 80s he worked for the state of California. He and Marianne (and they have a love story that is so incredible that in fiction would be unbelievable), have traveled all over the world. Now we travel home for the last time. I’ll keep you posted. My postings may be irregular. There are too many variables in this trip to think that I can upload every night. Stick with me. As I have over the past year, I’ll give you the highs and lows, the lights and the darks, the details of this continually surprising journey we call life.
August 15, 2005 I want this site to be one of the most honest sites out there about the creative process and the highs and lows that go with it. For several weeks I've had a nagging feeling of uneasiness. I know now that when I have that feeling that I'm living off course from my true intentions. It's the gut feeling, the instinct, talking and I've learned to listen. I have spent the summer, as I mentioned before, learning about pod casting, learning several software programs, researching pod cast shows, wrestling with the Mansfield University pod cast content and flow, and struggling with The Perfect Song pod cast content. Finally, I took a walk down to the creek with my son and the dogs. It was dusk. He talked about where he is in his life and what he wants to do, and then I took my turn. "I've finally admitted for maybe the first time in my life, that I've over-extended myself," I said, as much to hear myself say it as to tell him. I love the idea of pod casting but I asked myself what is really important to me. The immediate answer was: the book. And all these things I've taken on have been taking time from everything I wanted to do with The Perfect Song. I haven't been marketing it as I should because every free moment has been spent with pod casting and other projects. One of my goals after promoting the book was to create and maintain this website. Even that has fallen off a bit. Another goal was to record the TPS to create an audio book. It's a huge task, but I love doing voice work and I love the whole recording and editing process. And, most importantly, if I record it, the book will be done in the way that I hear it. It was growing dark so we headed up the bank through the woods to the house. I decided to try something. I went upstairs into my studio, turned on the recording equipment and began reading. Yes, it felt right. It felt good. My sense of uneasiness melted away. Sometimes we take several side paths to explore new territories before we realize we need to get back on that original path. I don't regret spending the summer on all the new technologies and software programs, but it did feel good to stand in front of the microphone, holding my book, feeling the characters as living beings and reading out loud in my voice with my inflections and my passions, the work that is so close to me. It's going to take a long time to do an audio recording of The Perfect Song. It takes time to read it all, and an even longer time with the arduous task of editing. But I'm going to do it because I want to encourage people to read. To do that you sometimes have to make non-readers listen. When that project is finished, I want to write music, a sound score, and add yet another dimension to the audio recording. This is a wonderful time to be alive with all the technologies becoming available to people like you and me. But I'm finding there's too much and sometimes we have to slow down, survey the scene and refocus on our original journey. So, Mendel, Poul, Beasely, I've come back to you. I'm home. And it feels right. It feels good.
August 13, 2005 It's raining, reluctantly. For some reason, the rain over the past month has hit everywhere around us but ignored this general area. Coming home from Mansfield last night I drove through a thunderstorm with lightning ahead and both sides of me. When I arrived home I found it had rained lightly for about two minutes. Today, it rains for five minutes, quits, squirts a few more drops and quits. I've uploaded Chapter 44 but the only way to get to it is to go to The Muse home page. I'll keep working on it.
August 9, 2005 We’ve been having computer problems on the mountain so I’ve been out of commission the past few days. This goes along with all the other minor and major challenges –the septic system overhaul, the basement leaking, the drought that’s causing leaves to fall two months early. The health inspector was here last week, looked around the property and said, “You have a Shangri-La here. It’s beautiful.” He’s right. But even Shangri-La has its yin and yang. Here are photos of the yin and the yang.
Top photo: lovely flower garden & patio still intact. Bottom: What used to be meditation area, major holes to fix septic & leech bed. Hmm. Wonder if Eden had a septic system? Ron and Sherry, publishers of a new magazine, stopped by yesterday today to interview me about The Perfect Song. We drove down to Marks Brothers in Mansfield for lunch. Marks Brothers is a restored old two-story house with hardwood floors, the original fireplace and photos of Mansfield’s 19 th century years. Ron pulled out a Sony digital recorder and we talked, then ate, then talked for nearly two hours. Ron is a well-read man and our discussion moved from the Big Bang theory to Greek mythology to Jungian psychology. Our discussion about the book gave me more insights into it and myself. Sherry, one of the few people in the world who knows shorthand, took notes when the Sony gave out. (The wonders of technology. She had a spare Sony recorder and pulled it out when his quit. But hers stopped, too. Synchronicity? We had just been talking about what would happen if there was some kind of natural or man-made cataclysm that knocked out power around the world and the electronic grid that so tenuously binds us. The answer seemed to be that you go back to such basic human skills as short-hand). At any rate, it was pleasant and stimulating two hours and I’m grateful that Ron and Sherry chose The Perfect Song to highlight in the debut issue of what promises to be a great magazine. I’ll keep you posted.
Took Leigh’s parents for a ride up to Harris Hill again Sunday. They love the ice cream and getting out. I love watching the gliders soar in graceful silence over the wide flats below. We took a road down that I hadn’t driven before. It was steep and winding. A dense forest closed in over the road from both sides, reminding me of the snaking roads of South Dakota’s Black Hills and that crazy desolate road over the mountain in New Mexico that brought us to Los Alamos. Check out Chapter 19 of the Muse section.
I don't believe it's August already. Everyone I've talked to feels the same way. Ah, but at least the weather is a little cooler. Here in the Northern Tier it's so dry that the lawns are brown. The creek where we take the dogs to play is nearly dry. The farmer who we buy sweet corn from says it's his worst season in a long time. We took a drive up to Harris Hill, about five miles away, and watched the gliders, one of the most graceful and quiet machines to grace the sky. My father-in-law, who was a Navy fighter pilot and trainer from World War II through Vietnam, took a ride in a glider years back. "It's so low to the ground I thought sure the pilot was going to crash! God, the was practically right below your butt! It was great soaring, though. Everything is so quiet and peaceful up there."
July News July 27
Nathan celebrating his birthday It was Nathan's 26th birthday yesterday. I stayed home from work at his request and we spent a couple dirty, sweaty, manly hours thinning small trees and saplings in the woods. We live on the side of a hill. The woods descend down to the creek. The slope isn't too bad until you hit the final bank before the creek. That bank is pretty much a 60 degree slope so you have to brace yourself against another tree or stump to cut the ones around you. It was 95 degrees yesterday. And we had a ball. Didn't say much to each other except "how about this one?" Or "That looks better." It's good work your muscles, to sweat and be in nature. It's good to work hard at something that doesn't have to be done.
Not sure what I was doing here. Looking for a way out, maybe.
July 21 It's been humid, in the 80s and 90s, and sunny. Not like the usual Twin Tiers Appalchian weather. Went to my hair cut appointment tonight. Karen, my stylist, greeted me with a bigsmile. "I finished The Perfect Song! I loved it!" This was a major relief since she had bought it back in October and hadn't gotten around to it. Karen reads a lot and watches a lot of movies. She used to work in the local video rental store and we always discussed, disected and critiqued movies. I knew she would like the book if she would just read it. But after a couple haircuts, she said she'd started it but hadn't had time to keep going. Karen works as a hairdresser and as a bartender, plus has a family so I know she's busy. But I also knew that she reads a lot and if she hadn't continued the book, maybe it wasn't that good. (Writers and artists are so insecure. Everything depends on feedback, whether you're a writer, musician, painter . . .) So I threw it to the winds and figured if she didn't read it, the book wasn't for her. I was overjoyed when she said she'd finished it. "Oh my God, when I got back into it, I didn't want to put it down," she said, clipping with the efficiency of years of practice and knowing the vaguries of my head shape, hair wave and consistency of my hair. "I wanted to be with Poul while he was searching for the papers, even though it was hard and he was suffering. I wanted to be there to find those papers." She continued snipping. "And I wanted to hear the music. I could feel it. I could feel what Mendel was writing and I wanted to hear it so bad!" She moved around to the right side, putting the comb next to my scalp, lifting the hair and clipping so fast that I always stare in the mirror in wonder. "I just didn't want to put it down. I wanted to see what was going to happen next. My husband would go to bed and holler out to see when I was coming in and I'd say 'As soon as I finish this chapter!'" She lifts the comb in the back and chops more off, knowing exactly how much to take, how to move the comb and scissors over and take the exact same amount off there. "And when I finished I wondered if they. . .if Mendel and Poul were the . . .you know what I mean. . .if they were. . .I hated to come to the end. I didn't want it to end. I felt so much like them. I lived it. God, I just didn't want it to end. . . ." She pulled out the shaver and did the final trim and again it was perfect. She knows my style, my head, the coarseness of my hair, the quality of it from the wave to the length to damn near its dna properties. When it was over I stood up with the same appreciated I've always had. She's an artist too.
July 18 Still hot and humid. Picked up another reading for January. I called The Bookery a week after doing the Casey Stevens show to see if my books had sold. I asked for Sharon, who does consignments. "This Dennis Miller, the author of The Perfect Song." "Yes! I read your book and really enjoyed it. It was really well written," she said. "That's great. Thank you. I'm glad you liked it. I was just checking to see if you needed anymore copies." "Let me check." There was silence while she looked. "No. We sold one book and that was . . .to me. Hmm." "Well, in that case, thanks, and spread the word about it." Meanwhile I'm listening to NPR and the 8 million Harry Potter books that were sold this weekend. Listening to interviews with little girls who stayed up the whole weekend and read the book. I'm rolling down the road to work, a maelstrom of emotions. Part of me is jealous, of course. At the same time I'm thinking how great it is that there's a book that causes young people to want to read. And I think about how Rowling was broke, single mother sitting at a bistro nearly desperate, and coming up with the idea for Harry Potter. The world is full of miracles. Everyday. Big and small. All we need to do is see them, appreciate them, act upon them.
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