The View from the Hermitage, Day 241

"Listen to the rhythm of the fallin' rain..." would make a good tag line for today as would "Raindrops keep fallin' on my head...." It's been raining all day, at times harder than others. The Family Dog wanted none of it but agreed not to turn around until she'd done her morning business. We had to go out to begin with in order to take the neighbors' newspapers from the top of their driveway to their front door. They're both in their eighties with mobility issues, so every morning we take their paper down and hang it on a binder clip hanging from a cut-down plastic clothes hanger on their front doorknob. They don't even need to step out onto their porch landing to get it.

I know I kept harping about how many days it would take for there to have been 1,000,000 new cases once the daily total started to exceed 100,000. Yesterday was November 10, and we passed 1,000,000 new cases in the month of November. And each day, the excess over the base of 100,000 grows larger. It's not going to be long before it hits 150,000 in one day. The state numbers continue to rise as well. The seven-day rolling average number of new cases was 1,524 this morning. The percent positivity rate for the tests done yesterday was 6.2; this rate is also on the way up.

I will admit that my stomach turned a bit when I read about Mike Pompeo's mention of a smooth transition to the second Trump administration. I did not expect there to be a smooth transition between The Orange Foolius and Uncle Joe, but I did not expect to hear crap such as that. I thought The Professor would cool off once the Electoral College votes indicated one or the other candidate as the winner. There was steam coming out of The Professor's ears this morning at the breakfast table as he read Pompeo's comment. I really need to keep him off Facebook and CNN first thing in the morning. 

The online Fox News account of Pompeo's comment included: 'Later in the interview, Pompeo stated that "if I'm an adversary [of the U.S.], I would not think for a moment that in this time between now and January, that this was the moment that they might have an opportunity. It's simply not the case. President Trump and our team are on watch."' The Orange Foolius and cronies are on watch? Really? The team that schedules a presser for a garden shop in between a crematorium and a sex shop in the neighborhood of a jail? We're supposed to trust them to keep us safe. I can easily see them allowing no formal transition, leaving the country essentially unprotected on January 20 and the days that closely follow. 

And even The Foolius's autocratic friends are sending Uncle Joe their congratulations. While, Vlad Putin has yet to do so, even MBS in Saudi Arabia and Erdogan in Turkey have communicated with Uncle Joe. I can see how The Foolius is so dense as to ignore world opinion, but I have trouble believing his Cabinet members such as Pompeo are accompanying him on his ego trip. The Foolius did, I know, fire the Secretary of Defense, and some high-level, non-Cabinet officers are said to be next on the chopping block, but how does it hurt to get fired by The Foolius in the wake of an electoral defeat. The officials standing with The Foolius are only hurting themselves. Who would want to hire one of them?

Finally, on a note with some levity, it turns out that my Halloween dinosaur costume was noted. One of the neighborhood kids sent a message out thanking the neighbors who had candy out for trick-or-treaters. The message noted that I had been wandering around in a dinosaur costume. I really should put it on more often and practice walking in it. Moving around in the dark was sort of scary in terms of not being able to see sidewalk steps or, in the yard, branches ready to trip the unwary. T-rex arms aren't really long enough to reach out and use a railing or a tree for support. 

And now, to the earrings!

It's Been Too Long

I really should try to update this blog more often. An entire year between one post and the next does not make me happy. As I go through the day, a thought here or there is followed by another thought that I should write something about the first thought. You can see how often I've gone through with that. It's mostly because somewhere, possibly folded in the emotional baggage some of us carry, is the thought that keeping a blog or journal is a waste of time. I need to work on changing that. I like to write and therefore should write even if it is just for myself.

My six-months-from-New-Year's-Day birthday means it's another new year, this time a new year of my life. According to the horoscope in today's Washington Post, here's how that year might go:

This year, optimism becomes a given in your life. You will see concrete results from this attitude change. If you are single, you have a strong personality, so you probably will need someone a little less intense for a partner. You will have several potential sweeties around you. If you are attached, this year offers many romantic moments. Aquarius teaches you how to express your feelings.

Do I have to be single to be strong? Does that mean I am not strong having been married for a third of a century? I'm also not sure how being married relates to the "several potential sweeties" angle. If I skip those thoughts and go to the next line, not passing "Go" on the way, "many romantic moments" doesn't really seem like much for a whole year. How about some excitement on a front other than the romantic one?

About those "concrete results" from being more optimistic, well, there might be something to needing to be more optimistic. My 62nd year had more than a few rough spots. Several people I know got medical diagnoses of a less-than-positive nature. The results for most have, however, been positive. While I do have pretty much the dream job (part-time, from home), I'm still adjusting to the retirement of my boss of several decades (and the only reason I went back to work when asked to). Even after more than a year, there are new things to get used to with a new boss. Even though it was the right time, saying good-bye to our canine companion Biscuit still hurts much more than a little.

And my own physical condition leaves a lot to be desired. While I feel so much better after April's knee replacement, to get there I had to give up several things I loved doing and that kept me in great physical condition. And let's not talk about the more than 15 pounds I've gained as a result. I went from being in the best physical shape I'd ever been in to being in worse shape than at any time since childhood. Would being more optimistic help here? Probably, but it's not necessarily easy. I am working steadily at getting my strength back while also dealing with knowing that more of my weight gain may have come from emotional eating rather than lack of exercise. Having lost 30-plus pounds at one other time in my life tells me that I can do it. It also tells me that it won't be easy. Note to self: Try to feel more optimistic about succeeding.

Should I offer resolutions for this new new year of my life? Would "be more optimistic" count? Would "blogging more than once a year"? Spending less time on social media and more time in creative pursuits? Keeping the house and environs neater and more organized? All the resolutions that come to mind are based on improvements, suggesting there is a lot that needs fixing. Which I know, when it come right down to it, there is.

So let's start small, with putting up another blog post before 2019. And add a photo or two next time.

Looking Back

I mentioned a couple of posts back that my dad died this past fall. Most of the people who read this blog never met Dad. The people who have read this blog since its inception, or who went back to see what they missed in the early days of this blog, met Dad through this post. I can't really describe Dad any better now than I did then.

My dad fought and, for the most part, beat prostate cancer for the last two decades. He fought, but in the end lost to, multiple myeloma for the last five years. Given his age--he was 81 when he died--that his battle lasted five years is noteworthy. When the end came, it came somewhat suddenly. Early in his second round of chemotherapy (the first one had bought him another two years), he developed abdominal pain severe enough that he was sent from his doctor's office straight to the ICU. A few days later, my stepmother's report was that it didn't look good. I flew to Florida two days after that, planning to stay for five days. My brother was able to get time off from his job; he and his wife arrived in Orlando the same morning I did. Dad's sister had arrived the day before.

Our first full day there, Dad wanted to make sure my brother and I knew all the details of his estate, the location of the obituary he'd written, and the things he'd done to try to make the logistics of his death easier for our stepmother. He also wanted to talk about our childhood, how he worried that he had been absent for too many important moments in our lives after he and our mother divorced and his work took him to another city. We shared our side of that story with him, that while he had certainly missed some things, he had been there for the ones that counted most. High school graduation. Weddings. His grandsons. We laughed a bit together, and we cried a bit together.

The second full day, Dad asked for time alone with my brother's wife. He also made the decision to stop all treatments which were, his doctor admitted, only buying him time. The pain that caused his ICU admission had been traced to a clot that was blocking any blood flow between his kidneys and his liver. Dad said that the time he'd been bought had let him see his kids and his sister, and that he was done fighting. I can't say that I blamed him. The treatment buying him time was heparin, which required that his blood be tested every four hours. The night before, it had taken 11 needle sticks to find a vein from which enough blood could be drawn. They moved Dad from the ICU to a private room and began arrangements to admit him to a hospice the next day, the day before my and my brother's flights to our respective homes. Thanks to a relatively low-pressure, part-time job and a wonderful boss, I was able to cancel my flight and stay on. My heart almost broke watching my brother say good-bye to Dad. I felt a bit bad that I was able to stay when he had to go. Two days later, my aunt returned to her home in Nebraska.

Dad was in the hospice for six days before he died. He and I had several more talks from the heart. Among other things, he told me how proud he'd been that I had insisted on keeping my maiden name in addition to the husband's surname and using both though without a connecting hyphen. He also told me, not for the first time, how much he appreciated the decision the husband and I had made to have me stay at home with the sons when they were little. I was able to tell him how much that support had meant to me. Dad had always loved Frank Sinatra. I had my Mac along and set iTunes to shuffle through the four Frank Sinatra CDs I'd stored. Sometimes Dad and I just sat there holding hands and mouthing the words along with Old Blue Eyes. We needed no words of our own. My stepmother and I made sure Dad always had someone there, and we gave each other private time with him.

Dad was pretty much out of it the two days before he died, but we took turns sitting with him, talking with him, and just being there. The hospice nurses and aides were absolutely incredible. I cannot praise them enough for the care they gave Dad and for the care they gave my stepmother and me. I'm a bit embarrassed to say that I knew of hospice in only general terms before all this. It was just amazing.

I put in my Christmas letter that as deaths go, Dad's was a good one. It was. He could have been hit by a truck or had a heart attack and gone without warning, with no chance for the goodbyes my brother and I got to share with him. I might not have been able to read him the e-mails I got from the sons, each sharing the memories of him that they will cherish. He went out on his own terms, with dignity, sharing one last lesson, setting one last example for me.

Finally, I must admit that my father was an atheist of long standing. The only times I ever saw Dad in church were during my appearances in Sunday School Christmas pageants, one reason that this year's Christmas Eve service left me in tears when the candles were passed, and at my wedding. A hospital chaplain visited Dad after he had left the ICU and was in the private hospital room for one night. They evidently had quite the discussion of faith or lack thereof. Dad told me after he'd moved to the hospice that he hoped the chaplain might come visit him so that they could continue their discussion; he said the chaplain had told him that he was the first atheist he'd met who clearly articulated why he chose not to believe. The chaplain did visit Dad in the hospice, but not until Dad was basically continually sedated. He confirmed Dad's account of their initial conversation and said he, too, had looked forward to continuing their discussion.

My post of two years ago referenced above alludes to Dad's somewhat daring nature, his willingness to bluff his way through certain situations. He was a lucky fellow when it came right down to it. And even at the end, Lady Luck smiled on him. Atheist though Dad was, one of his tennis buddies was a retired Catholic priest. I'm blanking on his name as I write this, but I'll call him Father Mike. Father Mike and some of Dad's other tennis buddies came to visit during the time near the end, when Dad was out of it. As they were getting ready to leave, Father Mike asked if he could offer a prayer. I told him that I thought that would be nice. I told Father Mike that my aunt is Catholic and Dad's atheism was very painful for her, and that I knew it would give her comfort to know that a priest had offered a prayer for Dad near the end. Father Mike pulled out his pocket prayer guide, we all bowed our heads, and he read what essentially amounted to an absolution of all Dad's sins. I'm more "spiritual" these days than I am into any organized church faith, but I figure that Dad left this world with all his bases covered. If he was right, and there's no God and nothing to come after death, cool. If he was wrong, well, he certainly didn't have the chance to commit any sins after all his previous ones were absolved.

For Dad's 80th birthday, in 2009, I gave him a copy of Showing up for Life: Thoughts on the Gifts of a Lifetime by Bill Gates, Sr. In one of those last talks with Dad, when he apologized for missing so much of my childhood, I reminded him of the inscription I'd written in that book. "It wasn't always easy for you to show up, but you always managed to be there when it mattered most. Love, Jean"

He was always there when it mattered most, and I wouldn't be who I am today without that. I miss you, Dad, and always will.