Beethoven by Thanksgiving
After seventy-one years of using my right arm, it was hard to suddenly be impaired. The doctor called it a torn rotator cuff, this ripping of a tendon from my arm bone. All I knew was that I felt a lot of pain which I tried to limit by not using my arm. That would be my dominant arm, the one bearing the brunt of every pound I lift, the one I depend on to write a note, drive a car, and lift a hot casserole from the oven. So, I had the surgery, the surgeon sewing that tendon back in place. (Who knew you could use needle and thread on a bone?) I’m thankful for the nerve block that lasted the first one and a half days because even with it, the pain was fierce. The ice machine helped, though...
Innocence
Faces devoid of guile, the twin fawns raise their heads and watch as I walk by. Their mother stands near, alert to my presence, but seemingly unconcerned as she resumes grazing. They’re called urban deer, these animals that roam my neighborhood. Many people consider them a nuisance since their tendency to eat flowers and trees negatively impacts landscapes. To me, they’re a gift. The small spotted babies, white tails flipping, are the picture of innocence. They look at me with black, unblinking eyes, unafraid. I minimize my movements to keep from startling, not wanting to frighten them, but at the same time hoping they will fear humans. Hunting season, after all, is just around the corner....
Almost Heaven?
My parents were born and raised in West Virginia, so we often visited there when I was growing up. My dad’s parents lived on Twenty-Sixth Street in Huntington and his brother, my Uncle Leonard, lived with his family on the same street, just up the road a bit. Though I loved seeing my grandparents, my favorite place to stay during our visits was at Uncle Leonard’s house where I could spend time with my cousins Frances, Johnny, and David. Frances and my sister Debbie were a bit older, so they tended to hang out in Frances’ room for girl talk. Pretty boring. I, on the other hand, felt right at home with the boys. My memories are varied, but vivid. Having boy-cousins to pal around with was akin to having brothers, something I never experienced. Other than...
A Summer of Contrasts
One of my stories has just been featured on Pulse, Voices from the Heart of Medicine. Here’s the link: https://pulsevoices.org/pulse-more-voices/more-voices-2023/bedside-manner/a-summer-of-contrasts/
The Sixth Sense
Humans have five basic senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. I would postulate there is a sixth sense, though maybe it’s peculiar only to me: sensus scelerisque, in Latin, or chocolate sense. It has to do with the deep need and desire for chocolate. Some people might call it an addiction. But is that truly what it is when a person can barely think without it? I stopped eating chocolate for six months while following an anti-inflammation diet. The diet included eliminating sweets and increasing consumption of protein. It seems the protein saved me from the expected chocolate withdrawal headache, so I thought I was home free. But then I realized I couldn’t think. I...
Rooted
I pass a parked car on my daily walks through the neighborhood and am always drawn to one of its window decals: an outline of the state of Montana with roots extending from the bottom. The owner of the vehicle must feel rooted in Montana, as I’ve tried to feel. I looked in a few stores for a similar decal so that I, too, could show what I considered my home. Alas, I was unable to find one. But now, it seems that would be an unnecessary accoutrement as we are poised to move on. We came here to be close to our daughter and her family, but her husband, having left his federal job, is moving to the eastern part of the country. The East is where I’ve spent most of my life, my familiar stomping grounds, but how I will miss the beauty of Montana. I am in awe of this...
The Scent of Color
When eleven-year-old Hannah finished one of the songs she had practiced for her piano lesson, she pointed to a particular section in the musical score and said, “That measure sounds like yellow.” I looked quizzically at my granddaughter. “The music sounds like yellow?” She nodded and went on to explain that she and her younger brothers had been assigning colors to things. She gave the days of the week as an example. “Mondays are blue. Light blue.” “Interesting,” I said. “What else?” “Fridays are green.” “Green as in go?’ “Yes. Fridays are green…and skinny.” I gave her comments a lot of thought and then finally turned to Google to see what I could learn about senses triggering other senses. It’s an actual thing, called synesthesia. Webster defines it as a...
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