When rest takes over, conquers all

Yesterday, soon after I got up, I discovered that a new, daunting and totally unexpected task awaited me and I could not rest until I addressed it. Rest was what I needed, the doc said. If I did not get rest, then I would not shake these shingles off. Yet, this task had to be done. So I turned my attention to it and here is what I had to do: open up a document, go a certain page, change a lower-case "i" to a capitol "I," make a pdf of that page and email it.

It took some doing and nearly put me in my grave, but I did change that "i" to "I" I did make a pdf and I did email it.

And that was it. Two minutes work, maybe three. I had no other job pressing me - not one other thing that I needed to do, and the day was still early. To be under no work pressure - what a strange feeling! 

I was under doctor's orders to get rest. I had been given the assurance that if I did not rest, I would not get over these shingles. So, for the rest of the day, my mission would be to rest. Nothing else would matter. Rest, and rest only

But how? How does one rest, especially after such a prolonged stint of not resting?

"I will read," I told myself. But no, I could not read. The weight on my brain was dragging it down below the reading point. Then the answer came to me. I had purchased the photo book, burn.02, weeks ago, but had not yet even removed it from the packaging. It would involve a little bit of reading, too, but not much, as the stories are told in the pictures.

So I got the book, freed it from the packaging, took a seat on the couch, and began to slowly page my way through. The photography, of course, was quite excellent and I was enjoying the experience, but still the weight was heavy on my brain and all the shingles remained in place -- although thanks to the vicodin and the other drugs, the intensity was less and it was more bearable.

Margie had a nice fire going. The heat felt good - much better than furnace heat or electric or natural gas heat can ever feel. Chicago thought so, too. Normally, if I go to the couch, I either have to scoot her over or she joins me within minutes, but this time she made herself comfy on the floor, where she could soak up the heat.

Jim was maintaining the office by himself and who knew where Pistol was? He tends not to join in the couch napping scrums, because of the animosity that he and Chicago hold for each other.

But about halfway through the book, as I was in the midst of the Arab Spring, as shot by Paolo Pellegrin, chapterm Pistol-Yero came nosing his way towards me.

I put the book down so that I could use my hands to keep Pistol from stepping onto my chest. After a few attempts, he got the idea and settled down onto my legs. Due to the heaviness of the weight on my brain, I did not pick the book back up, but just leaned back into the pillows and dozed off into another strange dream.

And then I rested - a strange rest that at once was both pleasant and troubling... I want to explain but it is too complicated. So, to keep it short and simple, I remained on the couch, in a state of rest both troubled and pleasant, for about three hours. Then I got up for my coffee break, headed to Metro Cafe, and took the long way home, sipping, with the radio on.

It was earlier than I normally go out and instead of All Things Considered, Fresh Air with Terry Gross was on KSKA. The segment was devoted to wounded veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars and a soldier who had lost his legs and five buddies to an IED was being interviewed.

As he spoke, I saw a raven, sitting atop a utility pole as another flew by overhead.

Soon, I was passing by the horses, wondering what insults I might have to bear today. "Hey Bill," Black horse shouted. "We hear you got the shingles. We don't care. We don't care at all. It is no big deal. They will soon pass. So we are just going to ignore you, as if there is nothing wrong."

And ignore me they did.

So I drove on. I decided the horses are right. Shingles is no big deal. It hurts like hell for awhile and then it is gone. At the moment, to me, it does seem like a big deal but it isn't. It is a temporary discomfort and nothing more.

When I got home, I found Chicago stretched out on my dreaming couch. I scooted her over, pulled the blanket up over us both and soon fell asleep again. The fire was hotter than it had been before, hotter than I normally like but somehow that heat just felt wonderful to me. I felt as though I never wanted to rise from the couch. I stayed there, Chicago purring at my side for about two hours, until about 6:30, when it was time to get up and take another vicodin. Margie had dinner just about ready, so I stayed up to eat it.

I should note that, except for the book, Margie put the other things on top of the couch to try to keep the cats off the cushions. She does not like the way they crumple the cushions when they lie on top of them.

After dinner, I asked Margie if she wanted to go to Dairy Queen. I expected her to say, "no," because it was very warm and cozy in the house and cold outside and she is not one who likes to venture out needlessly from a warm house into the cold, especially to get ice cream.

"Sure," she said.

So off we went. And here is Miranda, handing me the cone I bought for Margie. I had a banana split. During times of suffering, one must take pleasure where he can find it.

After we got back home, I decided to put this post together. I downloaded the pictures, selected the ones you see here, uploaded them into this blog in draft mode and then stopped, without writing one word. That weight was mighty heavy on my brain. I hadn't done much, but still needed to take a short break. It was about 8:30 PM.

I returned to the couch, adjusted Chicago, pulled the blanket up and then Jim joined us too, settling in on my legs. Again, I slipped into dreamland. Again, the heat from the fire felt wonderful to me. Again, I felt as though I never wanted to open my eyes again, or to ever rise fom the couch.

I stayed put, right on the couch, my blog unfinished, until midnight. By then, it was time to go to bed. Even though I was on my feet, I did not feel that I had fully awakened. I did not want to fully awaken. Having spent so much of the day asleep, I feared that if I did fully awaken, I would not be able to go back to sleep. But I wanted to do one thing only: sleep.

Still, certain things had to be done. The fish needed to be fed and so did the cats. Margie had already cleaned the litter. I had to check email, brush my teeth, etc., take my next vicodin and the other bedtime pills. I decided just to leave the blog unfinished.

So I spent five to ten minutes doing all that I needed to do and then went straight to bed. It was about 12:30 AM now. I feared I might have trouble going to sleep. If I did fall asleep, I felt certain that I would wake up at 2:30 or 3:00 AM, certainly no later than 4:00 and would not be able to go back to sleep.

I was wrong.

I quickly fell back to sleep. With a few, short interruptions, I stayed asleep until just a few minutes before noon - almost 12 hours - and this after spending more than half of the previous day napping!

I got up and took Margie out for a late breakfast. After that, Margie dropped me off at the house, then turned around and drove through falling snow to Anchorage, so she could help Lavina care for the little ones, because Jacob was off doing ski patrol at Alyeska.

I came out here to add words to the photos and complete the blog post I had started last night.

I did not want to do it. All I wanted to do was nap.

But I did it. This post is now up. Next, I will add a few more logs to the fire. Then, if necessary, I will adjust Chicago and lie back down on the couch.

Who knows how long I might sleep? Half-an-hour? Four hours, when my next vicodin is due? All day?

I don't know and I don't care. I will sleep however long my body demands. The doc says I need to rest, my immediate work is all done. I want to plunge these shingles back into dormancy, so I am going to rest.

I just realized - this is a long and boring entry. I could tighten it up, but the weight on my brain is too heavy for that. Couch, here I come!

Chicago - the blessing of fire

It is snowing outside, lightly.

Inside, Chicago is warm and toasty.

iPadding it: with Jobe, Kalib, Margie, Chicago, Jim and Pistol

I have been wanting an iPad since they first came out - mostly, because I want to see the capabilities for online magazine and e-photo-book publishing, but until now I have not been able to justify the expense. I justify it now because I had pretty much resigned myself to the idea that I was going to have to purchase a new computer that would cost many times as much as the iPad, but now that I don't have to, then an iPad seems a good investment.

Of course, the iPad comes with a built-in camera. The resolution is low and the quality less than the iPhone, but I love any camera I can get my hands on and I worry less about technical quality than if I can use it to capture a feeling in the picture.

So, all of today's images were taken with my new iPad.

I started out with Margie and me.

Jobe and me next. He and Kalib came yesterday afternoon and will be here through today, maybe into tomorrow. I'm not sure.

Kalib, eating peanut butter and jelly.

I went to bed about midnight and, as always, when these boys overnight, Kalib slept with me and Jobe with Margie in the guest room. I spent an hour reading, Miss New India, a book that I first heard about from an Alan Cheuse review on NPR and he convinced me that I must read it. It is the first book that I will have read on an e-reader - in this case, the iPad.

It was fun, because I did not have to turn any lights on and page turning was instantaneous. At first, I thought I preferred reading a paper book, but after I had been at it for awhile I began to change my mind. I wouldn't want to read a book on an iPad while soaking in the tub, though.

In the morning, when I woke up for good sometime after 7:00 AM, I found Kalib sleeping like this, and so picked up the iPad and shot.

The light was dim in the room. This would be approximately the equivalent of shooting at ISO 10,000 or so.

Chicago had slept on the other side of my head. Here she is.

Chicago and me, in the early hours. 

My hand, before I get out of bed.

Me, still in bed. I have to wear that damn thing on my nose if I am to breathe and get any sleep at all. Looks likes its time for a haircut and beard trim again, especially since I will be heading back into the field shortly.

Jim was looking out the window.

Jim - as captured in the early morning with my iPad.

I went into the next room, which was even darker. Jobe woke up and came to greet me.

He was still tired, so he collapsed at his grandma's feet.

Soon, Jobe and I were out in the front room. Kalib slept on. Margie was coming to and would soon join us.

You did not see Pistol in the bedroom because he did not want to share the bed with Kalib, so he pouted and slept in the front room by himself.

Jobe scurries across the living room, carrying the two golf balls.

You can't see them, but this is only a second or so later, so he is still carrying the balls.

Now he is eating them.

Margie and Jobe, immediately after a diaper change.

Gramma and grandson.

Grandson and gramma.

Jobe gets down.

Jobe is ready to go. Gramma is not ready to let him go.

iPad still life: half a small cup of coffee. When Melanie and I went to India for Soundarya's wedding, Murthy gave me a set of small coffee cups. In India, they tend to keep their cups small. Drinking from a small cup helps me to not overdo it.

Plus, I like the cups.

Margie feeds Jobe some Oatmeal Squares.

iPad still life: Artificial flowers on the kitchen table, flanked by math.

But then, isn't math everywhere?

That's what my kindergarten teacher would always tell us, whenever we complained about the difficulty of the latest calculus quiz she had given us.

"Math is everywhere!" she would say. "Around and inside us - in the number of times a bird flaps its wings as it flies overhead - and how many times does your heart beat per minute... how many bites can you take out of a cookie... how many decibels in the croak of a frog...?

"It's all math, students," she would say. "Math is everywhere."

Jobe dumped the garbage on the floor, found the diaper his grandma had just taken off of him and gave it a toss. It took .9128999999999999999999 seconds for the diaper to plop onto the floor.

Sorry I can't be more precise than this. My math skills have been on the wane ever since I graduated from kindergarten and left behind the most brilliant mathematics teacher I ever had.

So ends my first experiment with iPad photography.

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A bug moves in, takes Margie down, then me too

IPhone photo of the cat warmer Chicago beneath the red and black blanket.

Yesterday, Margie ate only a few bites of her breakfast, then announced that she was strangely full and could eat no more. Shortly afterward, she announced that she was not feeling well and her tummy hurt. She then descended into a state of misery. Except for a few saltine crackers, she has eaten no food since and she basically spent the remainder of the day on the couch, looking miserable, able to do nothing at all.

I had three hopes: one, that she would soon get better, two, that my body would fight off whatever bug had got her (and Caleb) and that if it didn't the illness would be short-lived and would not affect me so badly as it had her.

I have too much to do to be sick.

Often, bugs hit others around me and do miss me. When they get me, they do not generally take me down as far as they do Margie. I might feel miserable, but I can generally function whereas she had been rendered unfunctionable.

When I woke up this morning at about 7:30, I felt a little queasy. I hoped it was just an early morning thing and would soon go away. I set some coffee to brew, then came out here to my office to skim through the beluga pictures from which I planned to make today's post, to check emails, do a comment respond, etc., and then I went back in to cook my oatmeal.

But I did not cook my oatmeal, for I knew I could not eat it if I did and Margie said she still couldn't eat. I knew I needed to eat something, so I got one of those little pre-packaged half-cups of applesauce. I took one teaspoonful and it felt like it was about to rip my stomach out. I did not take a second teaspoon.

I forced myself to drink a glass of water, which I feared was going to rocket right back up but it didn't.

I then found a red and black blanket near the couch-that-is-good-to-nap-on and summoned two cat warmers to join. I lay down upon the couch with one cat warmer beneath the blanket on my torso and the other atop the blanket on my shins and there I stayed in a state of immobile misery with respites of dose until after 1:00 PM.

So that's it. This is all the blog I can muster today. I feel horrible, as though I am about to lose all the food that I am not eating, as though there are tiny knives in my gut, stabbing at the lining from the inside. My head aches and I feel weak. No energy. I cannot do today what I had planned to do.

The belugas have waited quite awhile to make their appearance on my blog. They will just have to wait for at least one more day.

Three trucks, three cats and a fire

Too much to do. Current events keep overwhelming desires and ambitions. I had an important task that had to be completed on Friday, thus I spent all day Thursday and Friday working on it - temporarily pushing my Kivgiq editing to the side.

Now I have another task that must be completed by the end of the day Tuesday and, except for going to town to pick up Margie on Saturday, I kept my Kivgiq take pushed to the side and that task was the only thing that I worked on.

I had thought that I could finish it over the weekend, but it remains in a state of chaos, so my goal now is to finish it before I go to bed tonight and then send it on its way in the morning, so I can get back to Kivgiq.

I am determined to get back to Kivgiq, and to do with it just what I stated I would.

So I really have no time for this blog right now at all. 

None. Zero seconds - that's how much time I have for it. ZERO SECONDS.

I will keep it going anyway - but simple and short.

With that in mind, yesterday I determined that I would take just one picture for this blog and I would make certain that it was a fairly dull image so that when I put it in this post and looked at it I would not have much to waste my time writing about it.

This is is. A blue Dodge Ram pickup truck.

I parked next to it when Margie and I took yesterday's lunch at McDonald's.

I know - this confession is going to cause me grief. I will be scolded and reprimanded on multiple fronts for taking Margie to McDonald's and thus ruining the health of the both of us.

But it was Sunday. Margie had come down with whatever had brought Kalib and Jobe down. She was not up to cooking, neither was I and anyway nobody has done any serious shopping around here for awhile and there nothing to fix for lunch.

So we went to McDonald's. Their new Angus burgers are actually very good. It was cheap. We could sit in the car with the heater going so it was warm.

And we got to look at this blue pickup truck.

I was even privileged to be able to take a photo of it.

Thus, I had all that I needed to make today's post.

I could keep it very short and simple.

One picture, plus one, two, or possibly three sentences. No more than that.

That is why I took this single boring picture of a blue pickup truck at McDonald's.

So that I could keep this post short and brief.

This will be my goal all week - until all my tasks and Kivgiq are done:

To keep these posts short and brief.

Then, this morning, as I was eating breakfast - steel cut oatmeal with walnuts, peaches and blackberries - one cat lay down in front of the wood stove and two more sauntered by.

No matter how brief one sincerely wants to keep his post, when something so dramatic and exciting as this takes place, one must go into action.

So I did.

And here they are:

Pistol, Jimmy, and Chicago by today's fire.

And this from India: 

Two trucks, passing in opposite directions.

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