Thursday, August 30, 2007

Looking Ahead

I've been keeping an apolitical profile lately, not because of dispassion but more because I've come to see how unproductive feelings of powerlessness and festering rage are. I still follow the haps closely but don't dwell on stories that make me despair. Instead I'm focusing on looking for evidence of the change I want to see. Apparently others are too. This video of Russ Feingold doing a Dylan a la "Don't Look Back" compiled of people's vision for our future prez.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Where The Heart Is

Welcome home, Dad. We gotcha.


This is Dad actually giggling, he was so happy to be at home today even if it was just a temporary visit. An hour of testing the home waters, checking his maneuvering skills on stairs, getting in and out of chairs and up and out of bed. Once he settled into his old chair, he did not want to go back to the old hospital but the fun had to end and back he went. Just for one more night. In the morning all go over there early to nab him. Tomorrow he's back for good.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Red Moon

A full Piscean moon has just risen over the treetops, white and glowing. By the wee hours (3:30ish) it will be fully eclipsed, shadowed red. Maybe I'll catch a glimpse when Scout mews to go out. Fully gibbous moons always move me, speaking so unambiguously about ripeness and power. An eclipse of that seems unwelcome and yet the event is undeniably mystical. Rare and significant. Anything lunar translates as emotional to me. The ebb and flow. Rock and roll. Introspection and reflection. Shamanically, an eclipse seems like an opportunity to look closer, shift and heal. To peer into the shadow, scrutinize the emotional stirrings close to the surface and follow the ripples. Here's a little story from the Ge' people of Brazil: the sun and moon have a fight resulting in an eclipse. The eye of the sun or moon is pierced when a small boy shoots them with an arrow. The wound bleeds and the moon turns reddish and dims. It takes the Shaman to remove the arrow so the wound can heal. So...a fight, turbulent emotions, the shock of the arrow and the skilled tending the to the point. Then a healing. So, we have been given a lunar eclipse. Use it well.

Picture- An old German print of a lunar eclipse, 1888.

Bitter Pill

A small one but hard to swallow. After a week's anticipation and right at the hour of his scheduled home visit, Dad learned that a postponement was necessary because the antibiotic injection needed for his temporary release from the IV pump (with its cumbersome pole) had not been ordered. So his home assessment visit will be tomorrow. Also, he won't be released on Tuesday as we were told because the Someone in charge didn't bother to make arrangements with the infusion center to have his IV changed over to a pack so he can actually come home. This even though all of us have been questioning about this very issue all week with multiple vague assurances. His final day in the hospital will now be Wednesday. Deeply frustrating. He's been hanging in there despite the torturous boredom. I guess the patient's mental health takes a back seat. He is so ready and we all just can't wait until he is out of there but I guess we'll just have to. Grrrr. On a positive note, I did get some paintings underway in studio today. Color and texture. Satisfying.

Painting by me-Fall Star

Friday, August 24, 2007

Last Summer Flings

On Monday we launched India up to Not Back To School Camp so now it's just we three for the next few weeks trying to
squeeze in some last minute summer fun. Swimming in the mineral pools out at Morton's Warm Springs, a trip to the beach, eating dinner outside, night walks, bike rides, dance class, hooping on the lawn, eating ice cream and tomato sandwiches, stargazing, staying up late...we are cramming it in. I hung out with my dad during his physical therapy today to see the haps in preparation for his imminent return on Tuesday. He's waxing strong and lively. Raring to come home. He wants to join in our antics. Meanwhile, I'm angling toward more time in studio and hatching plans for some new work. Yes, indeed, life is good.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007


Aspiration for today: a clear lung. For the week's end: home. The procedure to unclog his lung went well. A little sting, Dad said, then a slow easing. One and a half liters lighter. Yes, they pulled a lot of liquid out and he immediately felt better, breathing deeply. Watch out, he growled laughingly, I'm feeling dangerous! I think getting that siphoned renewed his outlook. That and finally meeting Dr. Korver, his heart surgeon (the Man). We all like that doc a lot. Dad got a little teary thanking him in person. We all did. Words fall short. He prescribed a walking regimen of three times a day, some blood to relieve a bit of anemia and predicted a release possibly by the end of the week!* With all the rigmarole, Dad missed lunch so we went out to fetch him some favorite fare from Ting Hau restaurant downtown...honey walnut prawns, rice and garlicky sauteed spinach, which he ate with gusto. It finally feels like the homestretch.

*( UPDATE: Dad will get an escorted home visit on Monday to assess his maneuvering skills on home turf. If it looks good then he'll be home on Tuesday).

Painting by me. "Sigh"

Monday, August 20, 2007

Getting Clear

Hopes for an imminent release from the hospital were put on hold today by news that Dad still has a gunky lung. He has had some difficulty sleeping the last few nights, because of "anxiety". Turns out he's not getting enough air. That would make anyone anxious about falling asleep. So he's back on some oxygen and getting a diuretic to dry him out. His energy's been flagging from a double whammy. A lack of sleep and air. We keep stressing the importance of those breathing exercises he doesn't care much for and staying inclined even while in bed just to keep those lungs open. He's trying but it's hard because he's been tired. It looks like he will go back over to Memorial tomorrow to have his lung aspirated and that should bring relief. His doc says this is a minor setback and pretty common with heart patients. That helped Dad feel more positive. I think he was seeing this as a big setback and feeling discouraged. When he heard that the decision to release him depends largely on the physical therapists' assessment (with the doctor signing off, of course), he got motivated to get working again until they deem him strong enough. This is definitely the slog but the payoff will be sweet. He said when they transported him to Memorial for the x-ray today, the medic commented that he looked good for someone two weeks out from heart surgery. He does. I think he forgets what he's just been through. Yesterday was a biggie, too. Dad got Mom to bring his guitar. We pushed him out into the sun and he took it up. Nervous. Could he do it? He could! All the connections are there despite the weakness in his left arm and hand. The strength coming back is inevitable. That was major and it made me realize how much he'll improve once he's on his home turf, doing the things he's passionate about. Gotta get those lungs in ship shape and his body strong so he soon will be.

Photo of the creek at Annadel by moi.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Jerry Update

Dad's making great progress. Everyday he seems more himself. He's getting some regular physical therapy so now he's walking, carefully and slowly with a spotter, up and down the halls. He's learning how to get up to a stand without stressing his sutures. He has to watch out about that. His lungs are shaking off the pneumonic gunk, his breathing seems easier and his voice is returning to normal. He's still toting around an IV stand with the penicillin drip but that will become a small fanny pack type deal by the time he's home. The lump and shiner he got from taking a spill last week (thinking he could get up on his own) has gone down and become quite a colorful bruise (probably due in part to the Coumadin, a blood thinner given as a precaution until he is fully healed). He still gets tired and catnaps throughout the day but that's to be expected. He's lost some sleep worrying about how permanent all this will be but today I think he really got that despite the spectacular drama of the last two weeks, he will be able to work his way back to absolute health.

Young Airplane

I love this old footage of a young Jefferson Airplane performing on the Smothers Brothers show. "A new concept in airplane made out of people, hair, guitars and held together by words and music." They perform two songs, White Rabbit (which first rocked my world when I was four) and Somebody To Love, from one of my all time favorite albums. (I played Surrealistic Pillow so often as a teen that the vinyl warped and the songs still transport me like a time machine...only to the Eighties not the Sixties). This features a chubby-faced Grace belting away, handsome oh-so-cool Jorma Kaukonen on guitar and mind-bending psychedelic effects.

Into The Desert

I just opened an email from our good friend Jay and was inspired to post it here.

My Most Dear Family and Friends,

The desert is a harsh, unforgiving environment and people who would cross it´s vast expanse do so with great reluctance.

Thousands of years ago my people crossed a desert. They did it to escape oppressive slavery. Their footsteps were guided by a pillar of fire. Each morning they gathered manna from heaven to ease their hunger. When they thirsted, water sprung forth from a rock.

Today, there are other people in the deserts of California, Arizona, Texas. They too are leaving behind oppressive poverty in search of opportunity. They have no pillar of fire to lead them on through the unmarked sands.There is no manna for them to eat and when their thirst becomes unbearable, they die. They die alone with only the drifting sands to cover their bodies

The week of Labor Day I am going into the desert with a group called No More Deaths who participate in search and rescue of people dying of thirst. Most frequently those who die are the weak- the children and the women. Last year at least four thousand people died out there. Hopefully, we can be of a little help. Right now I am in Ecuador, studying Spanish, and a headline in the Cuenca News a few days ago read: El desierto de Arizon fue mortal para Miriam Riera. So it´s real and it´s happening every day.

The cost of supporting one volunteer for one week is one hundred dollars and I am asking you to sponsor me with a donation of five dollars. In giving that, I will find comfort in the shade of your love, compassion and humanity. In that way I will not be going alone from our community. I will be walking with all the spirits of my loved ones.

I don't want to publish his home address so if any of you want to sponsor Jay please send your envelope to me at: P.O. Box 1119, Sebastopol, CA 95472 and I will forward all such to him. Or perhaps you're inspired to give a little to No More Deaths.

Photo from the No Mas Muertes website.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

The Point Of View Of Light

Rob stumbled on this and sent it to me because he knows I love this kind of crazy stuff. Digging down to the common root of science and spirit. The place where ancient mystics, physicists and futurists can understand each other. This is Peter Russell, whose book The Global Brain I read back in the 80s. It infused me with real optimism about the state of the world. He was inspired by the Gaia guy, James Lovelock, who postulated the Gaia Hypothesis (now the Gaia Theory)-a holistic view of the earth as a self-regulating system akin to any multi-celled organism. Working with early computer systems, Russell extrapolated the concept of Earth as a living being and began to see humans and our ever-evolving complex communication networks as the neural network of this planet entity. Anyway, here he is again with more interesting perceptions.

Another Day On Earth

Autumn is in the air and I'm feeling a pull to get grounded in some everyday practical doings before summer fades completely. I stepped out of the bubble yesterday and spent a few hours at the studio clearing junk and sprucing. I want to open the space to visitors soon. The plan is to have it be a casual affair. An offering to friends, family and interested interesting strangers to come hang out, talk art and life, drink tea and see some work. I'll let it be known when I'm ready and hopefully some of you will come by (I feel like the summer got away and I've barely seen anyone). Meanwhile we're building a mundane but meaningful momentum with dentist appointments, Not Back To School Camp packing, cleaning house and baking cakes!

Photo of India with her blue confection by me.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Almost There

Dad Update: Today he was moved to the Sotoyome rehabilitation facility a block away from Memorial Hospital. It's a funkier building, circa the 60s. His room looks east with a sliding door that opens onto a patio. So he has fresh air and can gaze out the window at a big old apple tree and some large oaks. He's now nearly tube free, down to good old fashioned Penicillin and focusing on getting strong enough to come home. Supposedly, Sotoyome really works to get the prone up and going. Sitting up, standing and walking unassisted is the goal. Maybe by next week he will be home!

(Hi all Jerry well-wishers. My updates will be more sporadic from here on out but I'll definitely post the day he comes home.)

Photo: This is actually not the view from his room. I took this in the Spring out at Annadel.

Sunday, August 12, 2007


Strange days. Time has slowed down and life just feels surreal. I've taken up refuge in a a soft sun-drenched corner of my head which seems to be fortified by eating buttered toast and warm cereal, reading Harry Potter and hot baths. Everyday we see healing but it is slow, like watching a plant grow. You know it's happening but surrender to the moment is required. Just let it be. Dad's got the work load right now and he's putting in his hours. Every day, a workout. Exhaustion. A lot of time on his hands. Boredom. Hospital environment. Constant pokes. Hanging onto what he dramatically calls his "shreds of dignity". He's frustrated and a bit surprised by how weak he still is, I think. Everyone working with him is pretty stellar but, hey, he just wants to be home. Puts a whole new spin on the word patient. The big picture is rosy. One week of astonishing progress. That's easy to forget in the irritation of details. It's a long row but he's doing great. This is a Chinese calligraphic brush painting for Patience. I thought it was interesting that the top character is two symbols, one representing 'blade" over one meaning "heart". The bottom character means "now" or "law". Basically, enduring a "blade to the heart" and dealing with it "now". The only way out is through. Like the Taoist metaphor of the muddy glass of water. Don't keep stirring. Just be present and let the water clear. And he is. We all are.

Calligraphy by Sang H. Kim

Friday, August 10, 2007

Moving Up

Dad's finally out of the ICU! He now has a relatively quiet room on the top floor with large northwestern windows. Much more serene, with a view of sky and tree tops. I think he'll be able to sleep better up there. Not so many beeps, buzzes, clicks and groans. The ICU was like command central. Constant hustle and bustle. Tension and urgency. Now it's more like a garden view apartment. Mom saw the doctors hobnobbing outside his cubicle this morning and overheard his doc say " He's shown a remarkable recovery." So true. Considering it's been less than a week since the surgery and he's out of Intensive Care, down to minimal tubes and working on pure convalescence. Strengthening and fattening up. Dad says they're still sticking holes in him but mostly they are giving him workouts everyday, getting him sitting upright for an hour at a time in a chair. He still has that weakness in his arms, a common residual from cardiac surgery, apparently. He's eating well (baked salmon tonight and a milkshake with every meal). Well, I'm not sure about the milkshake. Dad claimed that when we commented on how slim he looked. His spirits seem up and his sense of humor and sarcasm is intact. Today his brothers and sister visited from out of town. I think he was pleased. Mom said a lot of love was exchanged. Very healing. Altogether he had a good day but he looked mighty tired when we finally got to see him late today. He should sleep good tonight.

Picture: A collage the girls and I pieced together to inspire Dad.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Solid Ground

I'll be posting a bit more on Dad since there are folks checking in here for news. His recovery is accelerating. Today's biggies: chest tubes out, off dialysis and first solid food. Baby steps, says Dad. I say more like leaps and bounds. I think it's a good sign that he got to bypass the "Thick&Easy", a thickened milk beverage with "nectar consistency"...yum. Dad read it as "Thick&Greasy". It is made by Hormel. Instead he got a bite of graham cracker. His swallowing reflex is good so he was going to get his first real meal after the last kidney test. We left before the test was over so I haven't heard what he actually got. (Update: Mom guessed right...bouillon and jello). He said he really wanted baby back ribs. I'm afraid that won't be the case. But almost anything is better than Pap On Tap, that feed tube slurry he was on all week. His voice is sounding better and soon they'll be working to rebuild the strength in his limbs, etc. He's still somewhat "noodly". Now his main issues are recuperating and not getting bored. He claims the clock is his only entertainment. Zen torture. We'll be bringing him some magazines and he has an mp3 player. And us.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007


Dad's off the ventilator today! Breathing on his own. I called Mom this afternoon and they had just removed the tube. We all rushed over to the hospital, whooping and cheering. He looked so tired but absolutely relieved to have it gone. He said "I can talk now. Not much, but I can talk." His voice is weak and at first it was hard to understand him but it was lovely to hear him anyway. We kept our visit short because he is still needing deep rest. We went back this evening and his voice was a bit stronger. He no longer has the feeding tube either. Just good old oxygen. He and Mom got to kiss. We asked him lots of questions. Do you know what happened? No. Do you want us to tell you? No, I'll just forget. Do you want to watch TV? Are you bored? I've been bored since the minute I came in here. Music? Yes. He listened to the player Rob had programmed for him with one ear and to us chattering with the other. He looked ready to doze off but he said he didn't want us to go. We stayed a bit longer but soon we had to say goodnight. We're all so happy and excited to see what tomorrow brings. His progress so far has been amazing.

I like this Russian painting of The Fire Bird. It makes me think of the Phoenix. Dad's the Phoenix. He's been through Something. He went right to the edge, burned through to the other side and now he's rising up from the bed of ashes. Dross consumed. Radiantly reborn, really. As we were entering the hospital this evening, I saw a group of young guys standing outside smoking cigars. A new baby, most likely. I realized I was smiling like a fool, anticipating seeing Dad. I had the same joyful feeling that accompanies a new baby. Life granted. So beautiful.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Dad Update

The word, as of tonight, is he's doing "amazingly well". That's quoting his doctor. His lungs are clear. He'll be off the ventilator tomorrow or Wednesday. He's down to 40% oxygen which is the lowest they give. He is on some dialysis to support his kidneys. That will end in a few days. He will most likely be in the rehabilitation hospital by next week. He's still sedated but that's best for now. We are keeping our visits few and brief so he can really rest and heal. He still hasn't fully come to yet. When he's off the ventilator they will probably stop the amnesiac drug. That'll be wonderful and a bit scary. I don't know how Dad will feel about all this. Rather shocked, I guess.

P.S. That candle is still burning in the garden! That's five days solid. Thanks, Amy!

Sunday, August 05, 2007

The Resuscitator

Images of balloons have been one of the good omens dogging us. It began on Friday when Jonathan was recounting his meeting with Dad's surgeon, Dr. Keith Korver. He was describing him as clear, honest and concerned. "He was very serious. He really tried to convey the levity of the situation." Awkward pause. Levity? "Um...I meant gravity." We laughed. "Yeah, he was making balloon animals to demonstrate how the surgery will go." That really got us laughing (much-neededly) because Dr. Korver is indeed very serious and as unlikely a balloon animal type guy as you could imagine. I kept seeing balloon images everywhere. They were jumping out at me. Uplifting. On the morning of the operation, as he stood talking to us, we noticed he had a cap on with a hot air balloon print. Since he seemed to be working hours each day and we wondered if he ever slept, Rob and I starting calling him The Resuscitator (like the Terminator...only not). He is reputedly one of the best heart surgeons in the county. "Talented" and "Experienced". I believe them but, really, all I know is he saved my Dad's heart and it's easy to get a crush on a guy who does that.

Picture by Royce B. McClure

Smile And A Wink

All my thoughts and doings are still revolving around my dad though last night I was able to get some deep sleep and today feels easier. We took shifts today. Mom went in this the morning, then Rob went with me this afternoon. Dad's eyes were open but he seemed out of it so I just took his hand and talked to him a little. We got booted out briefly. When we got back, I greeted Dad and he perked up immediately. He tried to focus on me and squeezed my hand tightly. I told him yet again what's happened and where he is and all. That's because the sedation affects his short term memory. It's like "50 First Dates". We just keep telling him. We always explain the ventilator, why he can't talk because of that tube and how this is all temporary. Especially that. He gets a little watery eyed and looks somewhat relieved when he gets it. (We all hope it's out within the next few days). Today he just gazed and gazed at me. I said I love you too, Dad. He smiled. Then he winked. I said, is something in your eye? Shakes his head "no". Are you winking?! Nods yes. Dad! He even tried to write today but he's still noodly weak. He has chicken scratch kinda illegible handwriting normally so this wasn't much worse but we couldn't make it out which was frustrating. It felt great just to connect. I think we tired him out because he started to fade so we just let him sleep which is what he needs most right now. Jon and Mom will check in on him this evening. I think everyday will be progress.

P.S. Dad's altar candle is still burning on in the garden and his tomato is the grandest beauty in the bed. It's almost fully ripe so soon we will pick it.

Photo of the white echinacea in Memorial's garden.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Pumped Up

Operation Heart Fixed. If I wasn't so tired, I'd be dancing. Dad went into surgery at 8 a.m. and after almost five tedious hours we got the went "beautifully". Mom and I got to the hospital at the crack of dawn with a promising clear sky. Soon Jon showed up and we all hung out in the ICU, holding Dad's hands and juicing him up with encouraging words. He was deeply sedated and won't remember but we had to for our own sakes. He looked better. They'd been administering diuretics to dry him out so his face and hands looked like him, not so puffy. He was ready to go. We went out while they did last minute prep and we talked with Dr. Korver, his surgeon. He sounded more positive than before. Though he was still deeply serious, the dire note in his voice was absent. We immediately felt enheartened. Soon we were alerted that Dad was about to be moved across the hall to surgery. We waited as the team came pushing Dad's bed along with every machine he was hooked up to en mass. As they approached us they stopped so we could touch his hands once more and tell him we love him. Then he was on his way and our wait began. We hung out mostly in the sunny garden on Memorial's grounds. It was invitingly serene with a quiet fountain, big trees and lots of flowers. We talked, joked, read poetry and bit our nails. Then people began to show up. Sisters, brothers, friends, family. Mom's sisters Laurie and Phyllis, brother-in- law Rod, good friends Jon and Laurie Drew and then two of Dad's brothers all the way from Auburn, Hal and Mike with Hal's wife Bonnie and Dad's step dad Darrell. That meant a lot and really drove home once more how serious all this is. I got very emotional hugging my Uncle Hal. He's so like Dad. I felt how hungry I am to see him standing again. As noon approached, we all began to migrate back to the small crowded waiting room. 12 o' clock came and went. Then 12:30. We were getting really anxious. At quarter to Mom cries "He's coming out!" and the whole big group of us gathered around the ICU door as they came slowly through. Dr. Korver's face spoke the good news before he did. It went beautifully. As well as it could. The bacterial growth was bad and the valve destoyed but he was confident they got it all. His heart is pumping strong now. We cried and cheered. A huge collective sigh. Amazingly, we were all, every one of us, able to go in to see him within 10 minutes. Briefly and all together was the best way they said. We stood around his bed, saying things in low voices and the nurse, Lynn, gave us a tutorial about every tube and what it was for, in case any of us was freaked out. Then we were kindly kicked out. The group broke up as some of us went in search of food and respite from all the stress. I'm home now, limp and happy and so grateful for loving people, competent people, compassionate people. Now we are on the road to getting him home.

Friday, August 03, 2007

Interior of the Heart

This painting has been tucked behind the office door for months but I spied it yesterday and rescued it. Now it's dusted off and hanging in the kitchen and giving me a lot of solace. I am aware that I have a lot of heart images and they've taken on a new and poignant meaning. We all hit a low point on Wednesday night when everything seemed so dire and Dad's survival so precarious. I had a hard time sleeping. I felt like I had taken a blow to the chest and I could hardly breath. Emotional pain. News of everyone's good wishes gave a sense of expanding support and really sustained us. Thank you, everybody. My little altar comforted me. Seeing the flame burning out in the dark garden like a small star was infinitely hopeful but I was scared about the next day. But yesterday was "good". Mom came by in the morning and we hung out in the garden together looking at Dad's picture. We took a walk and then headed to the hospital. We were greeted in the ICU by his new nurse, Chris. She was incredible! She was completely upbeat, smiling and talking to Dad. She'd given him a nice shave so he looked better. He was still hooked up to everything but now he had a little pump in his heart to help compensate for his failed valve and he looked pinker. She gave us a little lotion and encouraged us to rub his hands and feet which felt so good to do. Just human. I said we needed some good news. She said, but this is good news. He's completely stabilized. She said she's been a cardiac nurse in the ICU for like 28 years and he looked very good to her. She asked us all about him and when she heard he likes to cook she put on the cooking channel and turned the volume up low. These small acts had a tremendous effect on Mom and me. We both felt so much lighter. It was like this woman had taken a huge stone off my chest. She also assured us about his surgeon Dr. Korver. The best, she said.We spoke with the surgeon's nurse about what to expect with the surgery on Saturday. Apparently Dad's surgeon believes that patients heal better at home so he aims to get them there as soon as is practical. We liked hearing that! He will, of course have a slower recovery just because he's been so ill but he will be so motivated to get the hell out of there. We also heard his white cell count is lower though there's still no definite news about his bacteria count which is the critical aspect of all this. We want his system clear of that bacteria. So, we all rode this positive wave into the night. One more day and one more night. Then surgery on Saturday starting around 8 and ending around noon. Then we're on the road to recovery. Hang in there, Dad.
UPDATE: When we arrived at the hospital this morning we discovered that Dad had had a rough morning with a sudden rise in temperature and a drop in some other vitals. I was so thankful to see that Chris was his nurse again but she'd gotten a bit of a scare. Soon after we arrived he started doing better. We stayed right with him, holding his hands and talking to him, for some hours. We met his surgeon, Dr. Korver. He stressed again that Dad's condition is very serious. Our spirits slumped some after that but we pushed on.
The good news today was that the blood culture results from yesterday came back clean. Clean. We won't know the blood culture results for today until tomorrow. I feel strangely optimistic despite everything. He's got a top notch surgical team there at Memorial and the love around him right now is the miracle that will buoy him through this.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Picture This

My dad's playful vivaciousness shining through. He's a masterful guitar player, food shaman, family man, elegant software engineer, lover of life, irreverent, wise and kind. He's full of good stuff and he's just not done. He's got things to do and places to go. Picture him well!

Heart's Ease

This afternoon I'm putting all my energy into healing my dad. He's been ailing for awhile now, a flu that seemed to settle in his lungs. He went into the hospital yesterday morning with a fever, shortness of breath and extreme fatigue. They gave him oxygen, a drip for rehydration and strong antibiotics. By afternoon he was on life support in the ICU. Now we know he has an infected heart valve (maybe even from recent dental work!!) and will probably need heart surgery. He's made of tough stuff. He can get through this, but it's been a hard row and the work's not done. We are all praying and saturating him with healing thoughts. I put a picture of him in the tangled green tomato bed out back with a pot of heart's ease beside him. A sun drenched, growing place. I tagged the biggest most beautiful heirloom tomato for him, imagining his heart healed and strong. I want him home and well . Thanks everybody and anybody for any and all good vibes. Picture him feeling good!