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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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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!
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
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.
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 news...it 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.
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.
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!
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!
Rob's birthday was a spontaneous two day celebration this year, thanks to our beautiful Oregon friends. An evening singing, dancing,playing music and Sardines with Danny, Vicki, Riley and Scotty. Vicki made us a gorgeous Thai meal and we sipped red wine and ate coconut ice cream. A hike up Mount Pisgah the next day with a shish kebab cookout in Nancy's green backyard at dusk, hanging out with her, Georgina and Micah. We made strawberry shortcake for dessert but Micah was unimpressed and quietly slipped away to buy a full on chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday Rob" on it. Sweet! So we had two cakes as well. I caught the best shot of Rob's wish face with the magic Micah cake.
Home is where I want to be. After literally months of preparation and nearly two weeks traveling and camping up in verdant Oregon, we have landed at home with a sigh. The trip was marked by extremes. Peaks and plunges. After vowing to pace ourselves and thinking we were, we worked ourselves to exhaustion anyway, left a day later than intended and plowed north, 500 miles in one day.
There was an extreme heat advisory in effect for most of southern Oregon so we sucked on frozen water bottles and pined for air conditioning as we pushed through. Our van did great considering how overloaded she was. That was a plus since we've had lots of car karma on other trips. Our usual stop in Ashland was fruitful, stocking up on food, water, treats and a squirt of some Peruvian herb called Qat (ilex guayusa). We got to fair by late afternoon with all the good stuff: golden light, smiling faces, pennyroyal redolence and a Full Load Teddy (a magical slip of paper that allowed us access into the Eight to unload right at our booth). The site looked good, no mud, not too dry and no mosquitoes.
We took our time unloading and making camp. It is after all a three day endeavor just setting up. I soon discovered that the brew from Peru was a stimulant, big time. It kicked in so strong that I was clearing debris like an Amazon. Before I knew it I not only had the kitchen just so, I'd cleared a new tent space where before there'd been a fallen tree. Did I move a fallen tree? I think maybe I did. We worked until dark and then fell asleep reveling in our new foam mats. So comfy. It is possible to love a hunk of petroleum. I remember the trees dancing over our heads like a dream.
Camp was more organized and tidy than ever before which did my head good. Tables placed well are a revelation. On Wednesday, Rob and I built new bones for the "wall" between us and our neighbor so we were all about strong lines and consolidation. Our scene felt so together that we were ready when everyone began to land. The energy shifts and builds with each arrival, so it's key to be grounded. Danny, Karen, Zoie...Mom and Dad...Mitch's Clan...Jay and Eileen. All told there's close to 20 of us sharing that behind the booths camp space. Tight.
So, Wednesday night, after Danny, Karen, Zoie got in and pitched tents, it rained. Full on pour, thunderclaps and all. Danny saved us with his excellent tarping skills but by the end of the day we were wondering why we do this crazy thing? I caught a momentary charge from the ionized air but soon enough my batteries began to run low.
The Fair was opening on Friday so we spent Thursday setting setting up merchandise. That's the hardest part for me because it's not straightforward and focusing is hard. The girls demand help setting up their scenes. There are cards to stock, signs to put up, paintings to hang, tags to place and dozens of other nitpicky decisions for me and only me to make. Besides, spectacles begin to appear along the Path and folks start to drift in to check stuff out. Invaluable aid was given by all with a special shout out to Steve for being my slave with a screw driver while hanging canvases and to Mom for tasteful discrimination and taking initiative on painting placement. By day's end we looked pretty good. The best ever. I think the weeks of painting paid off. Almost all original pieces in the booth made it feel high caliber.
So, Friday the party officially begins but by then I was pooped. I stayed juiced up on feedback from people who were liking the work. I feel such thanks for everyone's appreciation. That kept me high. And breathing in the vibe we co creative creatures make. So much luscious opulent expression. I got to trip around on Saturday night as is tradition, laughing and ogling and dancing. Highlights of the weekend include: large serene light forms changing color, dancing in the dark to the Kitchen Syncopators, members of Royal Famille du Caniveaux playing music at Chez Ray's Saturday night, African Harp, lavish visuals, amazing folks, deep conversations, synchronicities. It all adds up.
By Sunday I hit my low, waking with sneezing and chest congestion. Low ebb and vulnerable. Not my first fair cold but by then I'd had a few other firsts . A territorial dispute with a neighbor (that new wall) and a reprimand from the Fair for not being in my booth at all times(!) Not in my booth? My booth is me. The dispute worked itself out but I have some processing still to do on that last one. I sink so much energy into offering to the Fair that I can't help reeling a bit with hurt and anger. Can't they hit on the party booth down the way? Shit. Nevertheless, I am recommitted to sticking to my booth.
By the end we'd chalked up a strange and turbulent but lucrative fair. I sold several originals, hundreds of cards and prints and took in enough praise to last me a year. The fun bubbled up in twinkles and small doses, flashed out from niches and impromptu stages. Bits strung out, together they made a decent pretty thing. When I think of all this I grok the Country Fair adage "Thanks For Being Us". I couldn't have done it without everyone. My fair family. Us.
In the midst of our OCF crunch we had a chance to step outside of the craziness for a small respite. It so happened that Rob's mother's youngest brother flew out here from Florida. Rob hadn't seen his Uncle Mike for over 30 years so we had to get together. He generously offered to take us out to a fine meal "someplace over the top, your choice" he said. Our choice, hmmm. We consulted with Mom and Dad since they've eaten out in the county more than we have. We picked Madrona Manor out on Westside Road in Healdsburg. I've been wanting to go out there because I knew my grandma lived there in 1943 with her mom when my mom was a new baby. My great grandpa was like the ranch foreman out there. It was a good choice. It was fancy French/Cali country and the hotel and grounds were beautiful. After a rather stiff mannered French Maitre d' seated us at a large table and addressed each girl as "mademoiselle" Eden whispered "This restaurant is so fancy it's kind of scary." Mike turned out to be a really nice guy. He had two Southern ladies with him and it was nice just to hear them talk. They were game for the minimalist gourmet cuisine scene. When a wide bowl was set before Uncle Mike with what looked like a tablespoon of fresh corn in the center, even I thought things had gone too far but the waitress quickly assuaged dismay by topping the bowl with a hot creamy soup from a small pitcher.They even rolled with the unexpected arrival of some "beet shooters" sent out by the chef. Where else but California do you get a shot glass of blood red juice topped with peach foam? We had a bottle of Pinot, appetizers, entrees, dessert (very impressive for the girls) and cafe presse decaf. Wow. I don't even want to guess how much it all came to. A small fortune. But Uncle Mike didn't blink an eye. He's had a successful career in water table consultation and is still in demand all over the US so he can enjoy the good things. I hope they liked it all as much as we did. Great folks. They even came back to our digs for a quiet visit and then au revoir. Always nice to meet new family in the world.
It is that time of year once again, Oregon Country Fair looming. We have so many irons in the fire over here, it's cookin'. I'm painting, making altars, bagging prints, designing signs, assembling displays, consolidating our camping gear for two weeks up there. The girls are each making stuff to sell. India has her very popular wool gnomie dolls, her poetry stickers,bottle cap art magnets and jewelry and she plans to face paint, too. Eden has art stickers and this year we worked together to make faerie chairs and other whimsies. Here is a sample: a faerie queen bed. I'll eventually post more pix over on flickr though it may be when we get back.
UPDATE 7/20: Eden sold this one the day before the Fair for $45 to a woman who intended to use it for a jewelry display in a store window. Nice. E took her money and bought a bright green velvet top with puff sleeves and pointed hem. Sticks and moss from a graveyard at dusk becomes pixie garb. True faerie magic.
Between the Lines, Over the Edge.
I finally finished this baby. It's been in process for months. Not that it's taken me that long to paint it, I was just contemplating more than painting. I gleaned the eye lamp shape from Picasso's Guernica. That was my starting point. It grew from there. No planning on this one. No preliminary drawing. Just flow. I wanted to speak about evolving beyond left brain perception. Moving past the alphabet and the rational mind to embrace intuitive knowing and other ways of seeing. Stepping beyond the known into Mystery where ancients, mystics, poets and shamans have walked before. A new path into the supple realms where anything is possible.
"The eye is lamp of the body."-Jesus
Sort of a sad Independence Day considering the bitter reality of the news: Executive Privilege abuse, US Attorney scandal, endless war and a Constitutional crisis...seems the only one really celebrating freedom is Scooter. Still, I like to see fireworks, experience fireworks. I thought we'd miss them this year since we are so crazy busy working to get launched up north to Oregon Country Fair but last night we were in the right place at the right time. On Highway 12 cruising past the Fairgrounds. The traffic slowed to a crawl and eventually stalled completely as everyone abandoned the flow to just ogle. Kinda cool. Tough luck if you were actually in a hurry to get somewhere, like the guy who was yelling curses at everyone afterward. Pretty spectacular.
