Closing Out the First Decade of the Twenty First Century

Whew! Ten years! Gone! Poof!

I was laying a bed this morning and suddenly could not remember what happened this last decade. It went so fast I couldn't remember? It scared me. Yes, it did go fast. And I have more behind me than I have before me. That scared me too. At first. Then I thought, somewhat inapposite to my "glass half empty" nature, that there was an opportunity here, to treasure what was left far more perhaps than I did in the days gone by when I thought I had all the time in the world. Does this make sense?

The time has been a gift and I have been so in the middle of doing and thinking and worrying and wondering that too often I have failed to savor. You know. The moment.

I won't promise that I'll change. I am though recognizing that the window of opportunity is closing and it's up to me, no one else.

And as for the last decade, yes, how could I forget? The big, and the sad, first. The 2000 election that preceded the worst attack on the United States ever on September 11, 2001. A new generation was born after that, and the rest of us have sanitized the event such that we are ripe for another if we aren't vigilant and insistent on American values rather than variable, relative global ones. The 2008 election of the first black president, a landmark proof of the legacy of the American dream, if only we don't deny it.

For me, there were new friends, old friends who moved to new places, a train trip to Chicago, a discovery that Missouri has lovely wineries and beautiful countryside, and that I really could move to the quaint old towns of the South Shore Massachusetts cause it was so beautiful, except for that darn cold weather in winter, that I really could kayak with a bunch of 20 year olds in Hawaii, that it is fun to go home again to the old college radio crowd, and stay in a cool revolutionary home now hotel called the Kittle House, an installation of a new Archbishop in San Francisco and a second trip to Sausalito by ferry, a wedding in the dry Ventura river bed in Ojai, my father's 90th birthday celebration weekend with Sophis and Len, Chris, and Andrew, many movies and dinners with friends. It was also a decade of horrible loss, Fran Bassios, Gerry Markle, Bill Tilden, my father too soon after the celebration of his life, people who were integral to my life in various ways they could never really know.

So, I raise a glass (that photo is really me raising a glass one day at lunch at Cork in downtown LA), to the ten years past, to the people and places that populated my experience of it, to a grateful moment of memory.

Testing. . .Testing. . . .

I made this appointment about a month ago. A few more tests so that my new doctor will have the fullest (internal) picture of me, my heart, and I, as well as to determine whether I am in danger of breaking any bones during those recent games of racketball I have been playing. I am at that age where the level of calcium in the bones determines whether osteoporosis will render me eligible to replace Sally Field as the spokesperson for Boniva. This morning it occurred to me that it might be better to blow off the appointment and remain in blissful ignorance regarding the state of my carotid artery and the transport of oxygen to the brain. I am certain I have before expressed my regret that I compelled my late father to see his doctor about some trouble he was having, when he'd have rather waited. The cure was worse than the disease. My father did not die at 90 of either a heart attack (he had his first at 51) or of the bladder cancer he was diagnosed with (and he had bladder issues his whole mid-life as well), but of sepsis caused by stents to his kidneys for a condition he did not realize he had in the first place. I am not that trusting of doctors or their tests, and so the idea was compelling indeed to save our soon to be extant health system from the cost of this preventative testing.

But they had confirmed my appointment on Friday, so the idea of standing even the technicians up today seemed, untoward. So dutifully I sallied forth. Got my three hour parking courtesy of the City of Beverly Hills for three dollars. Advised the desk staff of my presence and appointment time of 12:15-filled in some paperwork advising that either my insurance would pay or I would. And then, I waited. For over an hour as the first shift in the room became the second. There are 17 doctors in this group and remembering how much of a nudge I sensed I had become at my internist of many years previously, from whom I have removed myself save for his name on the insurance card (I have the ability to go out of network), because I would inquire and then complain about the inevitable wait, I said nothing despite my increasing anger. Seeing Debbie Reynolds coming out after her appointment distracted me for a few moments, and then I sat, and prayed for humility. Watching the interactions of the desk staff and the incoming elderly patients (the doctor is a heart specialist), I saw my father standing there announcing his presence and the time of his appointment to the inevitable indifferent response, "Take a seat". By the way, doctors make out like bandits at this holiday time of year, with shopping bag after shopping bag of gifts pouring in from grateful patients. My pessimistic sense as the girls at the desk (they were all girls; this is not sexism) collected them is that the doctors won't remember the gift givers from the non-gift givers and that the gesture is largely unappreciated given the number of faces and other parts of bodies these people are forced to see over time. But then, I was not feeling festive at this point in my experience of my "new" doctor's office. True, it wouldn't be him I'd be seeing since this was all laboratory like stuff. Could I really blame him? I was considering my next action, more money in the three hour meter, leaving in a huff, leaving silently, when I was finally called to the next waiting room downstairs. Not too long this time and as Janet the technician (whom I liked very much) put goo on my feet and my neck (alternately) to check the old pumping of blood form head to toe, she let it slip that they knew I had been waiting a long time. Why? I had come at the lunch hour (that was when the appointment was made) and they, well, forgot about me. She said this was unusual for them, and the next time, I should wait only about ten minutes and then check at the desk.

It is amazing to me how things that do not usually happen when it comes to the doctoring world, seem to happen to me. Ok. I am being dramatic. Basically, I haven't had much need for doctoring, so I have been pretty blessed. And they got to me finally, and as it turned out, though I was eleven minutes past my three hours, I did not have a ticket!

The hardest of the several tests (the bone density test was merely me being passed in and out of a donut, and apparently also included my heart for good measure), was the echocardiogram stress test. I came in and saw what appeared to be a portion of a bicycle on the examining table. First thought, "I can't climb up there!". Idiot. Of course you lie on the table and spin until you hit the heart rate appropriate for your age and weight (in my case, past middle age and fat). They take a resting echo and then one while you are well, stressed, by the exercise. You do sign a little form just before, just in case. Stroke. Death. But the good news is that along with the technician, there was a physician assistant there watching the computer, and taking the blood pressure regularly. Since my blood pressure when I finally was called to my testing was high, I am guessing that was an issue for my taking the test today and yet, though I do not know the results structurally, (I peeked a little; there was no danger, happily, of ischemic attack, but I do show whatever it is that indicates I have hypertension), I recovered quickly and I felt quite fine. I suppose the approximately month and a half at the gym (which I hope to continue) helped a little bit to prepare me for the pushing I'd have to do at one point). I do know that I have a small window of opportunity to get in better shape before my shape becomes such that it is too late, inside and out. There is a certain irony in the good possibility that what they are testing me for is not what will ultimately kill me. Still, at least I can say I have taken some steps toward my potential longevity. I am kind of a crap shoot, my mother having died at 48 and my father at 90. You do what you can.

Pre-Christmas Reveries

It is precisely two weeks till Christmas Day.

I have been hitting the malls for gift buying, and observing the secular "spirit" of the season, the good, and the not so good. The religious Spirit, the second Person of the Trinity whose birth is the nominal genesis of the secular frenzy, is always hovering around and infusing me, although my ability to receive Him varies. I suppose it varies as well when it comes to the secular "spirit".

About a week ago, I was over at the Grove, and I passed the little Santa Clause house they put up smack in the middle of the centre. I never noticed that there was a window that the passerby could stop at to watch the children as they each sat on Santa's lap and had their pictures taken. I am pretty sure it wasn't there before, or I am certain that I would have stopped before, as I did that weekend. It is as if you are watching an old movie, even Miracle on 34th Street. Some children are delighted. Some are fearful, crying for their mothers before the picture to memorialize the occasion can be taken. Outside of American Girl, a father and his daughter open the package to expose the doll she cannot wait till Christmas to carry.

This weekend. Even the weather cooperated to create the sense of fa la la, as much as California can do such things. It has finally rained a thorough rain. I could almost believe I were in New York 30 years ago, as the dark cumulous released their wet force. As I wrote, finally, Christmas cards on Thursday night, the drops sounded on the buildig roof, and the warmth of my wall heater and flannell comforted me. Joy, though, has been hard to come by, even with the prayer, the gift buying, the pre-holiday parties. It comes in transient moments. And then it is gone. This is life. This is the suffering, in very small portion, of which we are promised as our portion before the revelation of all. And I resist it. Right now, as I write, I am in between watchin EWTN, the Catholic Network. They are playing something from the 50's, a program in black and white featuring someone most people would never remember, Pat O'Brien, praying the rosary as the then well known Father Peyton used to encourage, as a prelude to tales of the time just before Christ's birth, with people like Raymond Burr, and Emlyn Williams, long dead actors, playing legionnaires and saints to the television orchestral strains of "Ave Maria". It makes me sad, and happy, at the same time, to remember a simpler time, and I do remember it, that has passed us by in favor of the prideful knowledge of man that laughs at a Higher Power.

Oh, well, it is up to us to save our souls or not, by the light that we have been given, however much or little that might be. I leave that to God, for myself and others, and hope that I don't disgrace Him to much and need to spend too much time in the purification of the Purgatory in which I do believe. I had a rosary blessed today, one I bought in a non-religious affiliated store. It is from Italy. It is colorful, artistic and large. I hope that I will use it well in occasional and honest prayer for myself and the world.