I feel like this sometimes, but not because of my trade

Now when I had mastered the language of this water and had come to know
every trifling feature that bordered the great river as familiarly as I
knew the letters of the alphabet, I had made a valuable acquisition.
But I had lost something, too. I had lost something which could never
be restored to me while I lived. All the grace, the beauty, the poetry
had gone out of the majestic river! I still keep in mind a certain
wonderful sunset which I witnessed when steamboating was new to me.
A broad expanse of the river was turned to blood; in the middle distance
the red hue brightened into gold, through which a solitary log came floating,
black and conspicuous; in one place a long, slanting mark lay sparkling upon
the water; in another the surface was broken by boiling, tumbling rings,
that were as many-tinted as an opal; where the ruddy flush was faintest,
was a smooth spot that was covered with graceful circles and radiating lines,
ever so delicately traced; the shore on our left was densely wooded,
and the somber shadow that fell from this forest was broken in one place
by a long, ruffled trail that shone like silver; and high above the forest
wall a clean-stemmed dead tree waved a single leafy bough that glowed
like a flame in the unobstructed splendor that was flowing from the sun.
There were graceful curves, reflected images, woody heights, soft distances;
and over the whole scene, far and near, the dissolving lights drifted
steadily, enriching it, every passing moment, with new marvels of coloring.

I stood like one bewitched. I drank it in, in a speechless rapture.
The world was new to me, and I had never seen anything like this at home.
But as I have said, a day came when I began to cease from noting the glories
and the charms which the moon and the sun and the twilight wrought upon
the river's face; another day came when I ceased altogether to note them.
Then, if that sunset scene had been repeated, I should have looked upon
it without rapture, and should have commented upon it, inwardly, after
this fashion: This sun means that we are going to have wind to-morrow;
that floating log means that the river is rising, small thanks to it;
that slanting mark on the water refers to a bluff reef which is going
to kill somebody's steamboat one of these nights, if it keeps on stretching
out like that; those tumbling 'boils' show a dissolving bar and a changing
channel there; the lines and circles in the slick water over yonder
are a warning that that troublesome place is shoaling up dangerously;
that silver streak in the shadow of the forest is the 'break' from a new snag,
and he has located himself in the very best place he could have found
to fish for steamboats; that tall dead tree, with a single living branch,
is not going to last long, and then how is a body ever going to get through
this blind place at night without the friendly old landmark.

No, the romance and the beauty were all gone from the river.
All the value any feature of it had for me now was the amount
of usefulness it could furnish toward compassing the safe piloting
of a steamboat. Since those days, I have pitied doctors from my heart.
What does the lovely flush in a beauty's cheek mean to a doctor
but a 'break' that ripples above some deadly disease.
Are not all her visible charms sown thick with what are to him
the signs and symbols of hidden decay? Does he ever see her
beauty at all, or doesn't he simply view her professionally,
and comment upon her unwholesome condition all to himself?
And doesn't he sometimes wonder whether he has gained most or lost
most by learning his trade?

I've been noting a number of magazine articles and books reflecting on the ups and downs of the past 10 years. The "twenty-oughts" if you will. Obviously, these writings address shared experiences in the larger world. In quiet moments I find myself reflecting on triumphs and tragedies of the last 10 years as we approach the end of 2009, mostly personal, others just my take on national events:


2000 - January 1, everything continued working, and I was therefore not forced to rely on my 1972 TR-6, purchased strictly because it was Y2K compliant (remember that) for transportation.


October, I was having lunch with my friend John Taylor at Cafe Brio. John said that he had no idea who would be elected president, but posited that the result would be clear by 7 p.m. Good thing he didn't say what day. Or who would be doing the electing.


2001- In July Cathy and I found out we were going to have a baby. About 2 months later I was driving to work when I heard on the radio that the Springfield airport had shut down. It took several more minutes to find out what huge, horrific event triggered that piece of local news.


2002 - April, G.T. is born on a Monday after keeping us awake all weekend. He was well worth the wait. May, Cathy graduated from med school, but did not seem very happy about it. Horrid post-partum depression and the beginning of residency followed. Cathy showed unimaginable strength.

2003 - Moved to a new, nice house. Careers going well. Nothing much else stands out.


2004 - Everything seemed to be going well for the first half of the year. It was hard to complain. Along about mid-year, though, Cathy notes a change. Her energy was waning. She feared that her depression, which had been well controlled, was returning. She reduced her hours, although it's hard to call her work schedule, which still consisted of probably 80 hours per week "reduced" in any conventional sense of the word. She did find some time for herself, though, and found . . .

A LUMP. And, on November 3, our worst fears were confirmed. Breast cancer. A big tumor and it had spread to lymph nodes. Spots in her lungs, which she wanted more information about. Against her oncologists advice, she asked to have one removed and examined. Dr. Hazelrigg came to me after the surgery and told me that, although pathology would have the final word, what he took out did not look like cancer. And he would know. It was not. Well, a little good news anyway. Chemo started, and we got through the rest of the year.

2005 - A blur. I took care of Graham, and Cathy the best I could. I watched helplessly as she endured the ravages of chemotherapy, surgery, and radiation. I had the benefit of a very understanding employer, which allowed me the time I needed to take care of things at home, and sit by Cathy's side as they pumped poison into her bloodstream every three weeks. I cannot imagine how heartrending it is for people who don't have that support.


By November, though, good news - clean scans! False hope about the future as it turned out, but false hope was a good thing in this case. An amazing trip to Puerto Vallarta. A very happy Thanksgiving, and a very Merry Christmas followed. Things were looking up, and Cathy was starting to feel better looking more like herself. But, she was starting to get migraines. She told me it was just premature menopause, caused by the chemo, reversing itself.


2006 - Worst year ever. The headaches got worse. We went out to dinner with friends for my birthday in early February. The next morning, Cathy asked if the bar where we went to see a band after dinner was especially smoky. It wasn't. She said her lungs felt "rough" and she had a headache. The headache never went away again. She put off going to the doctor until March, when she found out what she already knew. Every week some sign of her condition got significantly worse. After 7 weeks we lost her. Unimaginable.

There was so much to miss about her. And I missed all of them. The thing that I was reminded of over and over, though, was how much knowledge just disappeared from the world.

The rest of the year, I saw some of the best of what humanity has to offer, but I also found out that people really aren't always as they seem. I wish I would have taken that to heart more.

Also, later in 2006 I got to spend some great quality time with Graham (New Orleans, Key West, and Captiva thanks to my friends at ISBA, especially Jack Carey).


2007 - More false hope, not such a good thing this time. Remember what I said about people not always being as they seem? Enough said. In this case, the person revealed herself as she was fairly soon, but too late none the less. Also, my mom, who was marginal in her ability to take care of herself anyway, suffered major setbacks.

2008 - A fairly crappy year, things got bad, then things got worse. At least it marked the beginning of a new start. Good to be closer to home. Graham and I miss our friends in Springfield, but enjoy being here. Within a few months, Graham seems to know everybody in town under the age of 12, and a significant number of people over that age.

2009 - What a ride! It didn't start out too promising, but it really appears that it is the year that I will look back on and see as the time things really turned around. Got out of a bad marriage and a bad house purchase, and it appears my house in Springfield will finally sell after being for sale for almost a year and a half. Also the career situation is promising. More significantly, facebook reconnected me with an acquaintance I made a couple years ago. Facebook chat and e-mails led hours on the phone every night, which led to a visit from Marcie and Chantilly, which led to them moving from Chicago. Marcie fit right in and claims not to miss Chicago in the least, Chantilly misses the city.

The last 10 years have allowed me to find some peace with constant change and some comfort with uncertainty, which is something I have never had.

I will borrow words from another acquaintance from Chicago to sum up my prediction for the next year or 10: Hope and Change.

Happy New Year!

Welcome to our friends from facebook. As I said, I will do my best to post on some sort of regular basis.

Tom (and Graham)

I had an anon comment to the last post that said "You should have said it! Every woman needs to hear those words when they are going through this! I miss her too... " Unfortunately, when I went to publish the comment, it popped up rejected. No way to undo that as far as I can find. Here is a bit "I am sorry" to "Anon," and I will try to muster the strength to say it when that happens again.

So, what do I say?

As I suspect you saw from wherever it is that you went after your body abandoned you, we went out to Rigazzi’s for dinner on Valentine’s Day last night. Half a dozen couples, all appearing to be in their early 30’s, were seated at a table next to ours. Good looking and happy appearing folks, all. I especially noticed one of the women. She was wearing a head cover, and the complexion of someone undergoing chemo. Well, she was also wearing nice clothes and big earrings. I was reminded of you.

God, I wanted to say something to her. I wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful, and strong. Although not necessarily true in the conventional sense of the words “beautiful” or “strong,” it is more true than it would be by those definitions. I KNOW this. And that’s why I can’t say it. I don’t want to start the conversation, because I fear it might lead to a discouraging place. I remember when women would come up to you and say, “I can see what your going through. You look great! I’ve been there and you can make it.” I can’t recall a time when a man came up to you and said “you’re beautiful, stay strong” without more explanation, and walked away. It’s hard for me to resist the urge, but I don’t want to remind her of the obvious possibility that she might leave her loved ones.

This isn’t the way I wanted to be reminded of you. I wish I would have just seen an attractive woman who was obviously quick witted, and had a certain spark in her eyes and red curly hair. That’s really the way I remember you. Love you! Happy Valentines Day, my sweet Babboo-ette.

Tom

into blogging

OK, here we go. I'm doing this at my friend Aaron's suggestion. Not really sure where it's going. Actually the suggestion was that GT start a blog from a 6 year old's point of view. There'll be lots of that, but some of my POV, too.