July in the Lowcountry

It's a rainy day with thunder in the distance.  Everything is refreshed from the downpour of yesterday and today.  It's the kind of day to relax, read, write a little and take a nap.  I have to say that the rain is a relief from the 90 F days we have had over the past week.

I was out on the boat when Tropical Storm Arthur decided to become a hurricane. I had planned to come back in on Thursday afternoon but pulled up anchor on Wednesday and came back to the dock. It was a wise decision because the rain bands, winds and seas from the storm would have been unpleasant to ride out at anchor.

Then July 4 came on Friday. It was a bright sunny day that could have used a bit more wind. We sweltered at the marina where some friends gathered to watch the evening fireworks and have a pot luck dinner.  But the sea breeze came in later in the afternoon and cooled us down.

We had a nice evening. The fireworks were good. The conversation was thought-provoking. A British lady and a couple from France were there to give thoughts on the American Revolution.  We talked about how the French were our great allies in defeating the British. And we joked with our British friend about whipping up on Cornwallis, leading to the surrender at Yorktown. We talked about so many things until the wee hours of the morning--dangers of processed food, compromised auto-immune systems, medical care in the US compared to Britain and France, and how good it is to be able to have these discussions without rancor, without the animosity that seems to pervade the news and labels a person as being right wing or left wing.  I believe these were open-minded people, willing to listen and discuss.  Good times, good food, and intelligent conversations.

My wife has a head cold that she is nursing.  And I am nursing her as much as she will allow.  The coughing makes me concerned because a sponsee has pertussis, Whooping Cough, and has been very sick. Evidently, Whooping Cough has reached epidemic proportions on the West Coast where he recently visited. I am protective of C. and don't want her to do too much.  But it is hard for her to not do.  But I suspect today we will take a nap together and snuggle next to each other.  It is one of those days where not much can be done, except relax.

I talked with my first sponsor who has stage IV lung cancer.  He is moving in with his son and his family because he can not stay at the retirement home where he has been living.  He is accepting of what is to come. I have accepted it also. But I can imagine how hard it must be to give up personal freedom and know that a sick diseased body is what is left. I sincerely hope that his remaining life won't be difficult with prolonged suffering. He says that some nights are hard because he is afraid. I understand and ask myself if any person can be fully accepting of death.  Do we not still hold out hope that some miracle will happen to restore vitality to our body?  I don't know but hope that he is content surrounded by his children and grandchildren.

So I'll leave you with some photos from the past week. This is early July in the Lowcountry.

Thanksgiving gratitude

We were up early this morning to work on getting Thanksgiving dinner together.  The turkey is in the oven and the ham is ready to be baked in another hour.  We aren't serving the old Smithfield ham that my father would cook when I was a child. That ham was salty and had a strong flavor which was the way old time Virginians liked their ham.  And the leftover ham would be served with biscuits for many days after Thanksgiving was over. But we are fixing sage dressing, butternut squash soup, corn pudding, yams, garlic mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, apple and pumpkin pies.

I can't help but be nostalgic about the Thanksgiving days of long ago when my father would carve the turkey and the ham with the bone- handled knife that has been in the family for generations.  My mother would have a tray of spiced apples and peaches and sweet pickles.  There would be mince and sweet potato pies with real churned ice cream. After dinner, everyone would retire to the living room where a fire would be burning in the fireplace. Those are some good memories.

But we are making new memories today. We have a fire going and friends coming over in the afternoon for dinner.  It may not be the same without any family here, but there is a lineage of good feelings and gratitude on this day. I am grateful for the time I did spend with family on Thanksgiving day. Those memories are precious and worth holding onto. And they carry me into this day. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Reunion time

It has been a stunningly beautiful day in eastern Virginia. I drove up here last Thursday to attend my high school reunion.  My good friend from elementary and high school flew in from New Mexico.  Today we spent most of the day being a tourist in our home town.

One of the sites visited was Rosewell ruins, reputed in its day to be one of the most elaborate homes in the American colonies.  I remember seeing Rosewell as a child and climbing through brambles and brush to climb on the ruins. Today, the structure has been shored up and the brush cleared away. Archaeological studies are ongoing to unearth artifacts from the 1700's and later times.

After we did sightseeing, we had a chance to sit and talk for a long time.  He came right out and told me that he was the adult child of an alcoholic.  I had no idea that his dad drank heavily.  He told me about his struggles with being a perfectionist and not feeling good enough.  Amazing after all these years, he tells me about the difficulties he had with an alcoholic father.  Once again I am reminded that there are so many of us affected by alcoholism.

I have taken many photos since I arrived.  The reunion was a good time. The ones who were drunks in high school are still drunks.  But they are getting a little worn around the edges after years of drinking.  And 18 classmates have died from various causes including suicide. Some people actually looked better than I remember them.  Several of the fellows I didn't recognize because they had no hair.  Genetics and hard living definitely have a lot to do with how we age.

I really wish that C. could be here.  I've talked to her many times each day, but it isn't the same as having her here. The animals definitely make it difficult for us to go on an extended vacation together.  I don't really know what I'll do for the next few days.  There are more sights to see as the area is historical.  I've been to most all the places at one time or another in my life, but I didn't photograph them.  So I'll have my camera and do as much photography as possible while I'm here.

Here are a few images from my hometown:

The Fourth

We had quite a feast and good time at the marina picnic yesterday.  It felt good to chill out, talk to friends, watch fireworks and sleep on the boat at the end of the evening.  

The marina was packed with people who come down to watch the fireworks from probably the best location in the city.  In years past, the fireworks were shot off the deck of the aircraft carrier Yorktown.  This year, they were shot from a barge in the Harbor near the Yorktown and the marina.  So we really had a great view since our boat is docked next to the Yorktown breakwater.  

I do feel like a kid again watching those fireworks.  The kaleidoscope of lights and the sound of the rockets make for a happy time.  We left our dog at home since it was really hot in the afternoon, and we thought that all the people and fireworks might further add to her discomfort.  

As I watched the events and participated in the liveliness of the evening, I couldn't help but think about my friend, M., who is dying in a hospital in Boston.  He and I would room together at just about every national meeting we attended.  He was diagnosed with cancer around 12 years ago and managed to be in partial remission until last year.  A tumor was removed from his brain then.  Last week, he, his wife and children were at the family cabin in Maine when he began to bleed internally.  He was rushed to the hospital but remains in a coma.  I called him and left a message on his cell phone, telling him that I was thinking of him and thinking of the good times that we had over the years.  I don't know if he will hear what I said.  What do you say to someone who is dying?  I like what Randy Pausch, a terminally ill professor at Carnegie Mellon, said in a lecture: 

What is the most appropriate thing to say to a friend who was about to die. He answered: ”tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Whenever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone."  (The Last Lecture)

A couple of years ago, M. told me that his great hope was to see his children grow up.  I talked with a mutual friend who said that he knew the cancer was back and that the outcome wasn't going to be good.  So over the past month or so, M. had been preparing his children for his death.  I used to kid him about working so hard into the night when he was at meetings.  He would stay up reviewing manuscripts and tended to take on a lot of extra work.  But he lived for his family and his work.  He was content with who he was and was engaged in every aspect of those things that mattered in life.  I know that he has prepared them by giving unconditional love. 

I hope that he will go out peacefully, knowing that there are many who will miss him and remember him as a kind and gentle human being. 

Grateful for every day

A couple of people who came into and touched our lives have died.  Both died within a day of each other, so we are still absorbing this.

My wife's sponsor died of lung cancer, going peacefully in her sleep.  She was diagnosed about two years ago, went through surgery and radiation for a brain tumor and chemotherapy for lung cancer.  After receiving her 17 year chip recently, her health deteriorated markedly.  She could no longer walk and towards the end was bed ridden.  Thankfully, her struggle and pain is now over.

Her husband is bereft.  We, and other members of the AA community, have been taking food over and sitting with him when family aren't there.  It's one thing to know that someone is going to die, but when the actual event occurs, it still is shocking and sad.

We also got the news yesterday that an old friend from graduate school days died from a massive heart attack on Monday.  I remember him as a young, vigorous fellow who liked to party and worked hard at his job.  We hadn't seen him in years and had heard that he had retired not so long ago.  Now, he is dead, leaving a wife, a daughter and a couple of grandchildren.

When I heard of his death, my heart felt especially heavy because he is only a few years older than me.  I could see him as being young and remembered when we had a beer or two together, went fishing, and celebrated his engagement.  It's a time warp to go from those days to now, as if the person is frozen in time, not aging or becoming infirm over time.

I know that I'm lucky to be in good health and that my wife is lucky to be here. I'm grateful for every day.

When you are five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties, you know how old you are. I'm twenty-three you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties, something strange starts to happen. It is a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I'm--you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you are not. You're thirty-five. And then you're bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it's decades before you admit it.— Sara Gruen (Water for Elephants)

Friday evening on the boat

We are anchored at an inlet up the coast for the weekend. Tonight is breezy. We watched lightening in the distance, but not a drop of rain has fallen here. There are campers on shore, and I see their fire blazing.

Tomorrow, some other boaters will be joining us. We are planning a campfire and shared meal in the evening. I'll be making a shrimp stew which is one of the Lowcountry favorites. I wonder if there will be any green marshmallows to roast on St. Patrick's day.

I am tired after the run up the coast. My wife is finishing up a bowl of soup. I fixed some crispy fried eggplant earlier. Neither of us felt like cooking anything too elaborate. Time to read now for a few minutes and then get a good night's sleep. I sleep so soundly on the boat, listening to the sound of the wind and the waves.

All is well here. I have been looking forward to this trip for a while. It's just a simple get-away, but it is like being in another world to me. The simple things are just fine.