I Saw New York City!

I got to fly into Newark at night. I was in a window seat, but I couldn't figure out if I was going to get a good shot of Manhattan or not. And then I saw it. We were farther away than I wanted to be, but wow. Wow. You could see all the streets going east to west and they were all completely lit up with car lights, white one way and red on the other, and in the middle of the city you could see Times Square like a big pinball game in the middle. It was just around dusk, with everything lit up, but everything also lit by the setting sun. It was cool.

I had an okay flight to Newark. There was hardly anyone on the plane and it was one of those small ones that has just one seat on one side and two on the other. The flight from Newark to San Francisco was pretty good, too. I got to sit next to a pretty lady with no one in the middle seat. I got to watch 30 Rock and Rise of the Planet of the Apes. I had planned on drinking, but the drink cart only came around once. I was going to go back and ask for a drink. They're usually pretty good about that. But after Rise of the Planet of the Apes, I did not want to push my luck. So, still, it was kind of a long flight. But it could've been worse.

A week earlier, my flight to New Hampshire was cancelled and I had to reschedule. Sonny can tell you that this is true. In the Chicago Airport, my connecting flight was late, and then it just kept getting later. They kept adding hour after hour onto the arrival time. I walked up and down the airport terminal. I had some beef and some beer. But then the whole being-in-the-airport thing got old. I started thinking that I had never gone on a plane with anybody else. I've always traveled by myself. (It turns out that this is not true). I can think of three times I've flown with others. Once when I was fifteen to San Antonio, Texas. Once to Hawaii, and once to Los Angeles.

Still, this did not feel like a vacation. I was, at the time, kind of dreading seeing my folks, and the shape they were in. And it seemed like the airline (the gods) were making me wait and wait to get there. An airport layover that keeps getting later and later when you're dreading the destination is, I think, what the Catholics call Purgatory.

Now, let me sum up. My dad, as I think I've mentioned, has cancer, and they've given him a short timeline. And, he is looking a little bit worse for the wear. My mom was moved to the recuperation place when the blackout occurred on the east coast. When they went to bring her home, somehow, she fell out of her wheelchair in the ambulance and broke her leg. So, when I got there, she was in the hospital, and during my visit, she was moved back to the recuperation place (this time without incident).

Both my folks are troopers. Except for a broken leg, and being immobile, my mom seems to be in hardy shape. I got to spend a very nice amount of time with her where we would talk for awhile, look at photo albums, then she would read her kindle and I would do some crossword puzzles. It was relaxing and very, very nice. I do not get to see her very often, and it was nice that both of us did not feel the need to do anything but be in each others' company.

My dad looked a little smaller, and he had shaved the beard he's had since, I don't know, maybe forty years ago? That can't be right. I think he was around forty when he had his appendicitis. He was in the hospital getting his appendix out, and he grew the beard. When he went back into the hospital for the cancer surgery, he shaved it off. He's a bookend kind of guy like that. I appreciate that.

Since my mom got all messed up with her back, and the pain, and the medication and the immobility, my dad won't go out to eat or anything. He says it is unfair to her. You can try and reason with him, tell him that my mom would want him to go out and enjoy himself, that it might be making her feel bad, his staying home like a martyr. But he won't hear of it.

But then, things have changed for him. When I complain in my head, I think things like how my parents have never seen an apartment of mine since I was in college, that I missed many, many years with them and that I missed a lot of stuff, like having a drink with my dad somewhere.

But, this time, he let us take him out. Three times! Me and him had a steak dinner, Italian(Greek) and Mexican. He had a martini! He is charming and just awful at the same time. He and I played roommates for 6 days. It was crazy and really nice. The first night I was there, we stayed up 'til 6 in the morning, just talking.

My parents are going through some rough times, but they are still very nice to spend time with.

I look forward to seeing them both again in January.

Freedom

In the nursing home (I don't think this is the right word for this anymore) my mom and dad share the same room while my dad recovers from surgery. It turns out his news is not as good as I thought the last time I wrote, and his cancer (his cancer) has spread. At 81, this is...what? Bad doesn't seem to cover it. Complicated is a better word, still, not exactly right. At some point, it seems like our lives become one long session of packing up our stuff and getting ready to go.

I am sure I am just naive at the moment, but how come we all don't get to go quickly? I do not see the point of having to be sick for long periods of time. I think we should get a notification in the mail that our time is up, get a week to put our affairs in order and then pop out with the teeniest display of sparks and bacony-smelling smoke. Forget leaving the stinking body behind.

Then again, maybe I do get it. We get forced to slow down with sickness so we can reflect upon our lives or the earth or whatever. The pain and indignity are gifts of some sort and we should be thankful.

And thank you doctors and technology. We can prolong life, but can we guarantee any sort of quality? Does it matter? I'm not sure. I do not know how scary death is, or upcoming death. When we get to a certain point do we want to be alive no matter what? My parents (maybe everybody's) are not, I suspect, too worried about dying, it is, however, this odd time in between that seems like such a hassle.

My parents are locked into each other's existence like no two other people I've ever known. When I was growing up they seemed to have a few good friends. My mom seemed to have one good friend and my dad had three that I can think of. Two of them died before they were forty, even earlier. As friends died off or moved away, they did not seem to take on any new ones, nor did they seem interested. My guess is that they were fine with each other's company. They seemed to be, off and on, now and again, once in awhile....

Here is the thing. I don't know if they are both ready to go, or what. But I know that the thing with them is that neither of them wants to leave the other behind. I think this must be the way it is for many older couples, but my mom's immobility makes it much more urgent.

All of these complications. I have been able to feel for my dad in that I've tried to imagine what it is like to get this kind of news. It's really happening. I know that where he is he is not able to make the most of his time like he would at home. Someone else is taking care of my mom, and he doesn't have a good enough internet connection to do the type of study of his own condition and his possibilities. So, I know he's had time to think about all of this. But I think that, so far, the answers must be pretty unsatisfactory. I have not been able to think about what the loss of my dad might mean beyond the usual loss of dad stuff. I don't even know what that means, or what I'm talking about.

I feel like I'm nailing the coffin lid on him, sorry dad. I mean, he may take the stuff and maybe he'll be all right. But that is not the stuff we have to prepare for.

Will Maple Candy Kill My Father?

I am terribly distracted today. I took on too many things this week (not really. I, honestly, do not have a very hectic schedule. I am just awful at time management). This weekend I am going camping from, like, Friday to Sunday, and that's (sadly) when I usually get most of my work done. Which means I have to do all that work stuff during the week, like a normal human being.

In another goofball move, I signed up for these meeting things at my work. They're online and they come with little assignments and reading and there is no way to tell how much time they are going to take.

So, naturally, this morning, I am spending time writing this. It is because I care for you, dear readers.

Also, ironically, I am teaching a class this semester that is basically, a time management class. I feel completely unprepared. It is a four-hour class, once a week. So, I think you can understand how even thinking about it can be exhausting.

Another thing that is on my mind is my dad and my mom. My mom has been moved to a nursing home temporarily because my dad went into the hospital for some newly discovered cancer. Good news. It has not spread. And, the operation was pretty successful, but the recovery seems like it may be difficult. My dad does not react well to medications and he can get a little out of control. This puts his recovery at risk because he might rip stuff out of his body or go on some hulk-like rampage. (Not really, but it's cute to think about). More good news. My dad's recovery time is going to take place at the same place my mom is staying, so they can be together.

Who's to say who is winning, here, World. You or me. Why use my mom and dad as pawns in our game? Or, wait, is it possible this is not all about me?

Still, I am here (beautiful San Fran) while my sister and brother in law are out there doing the heavy lifting. That weighs on me. But they really have all the weight. I just feel bad about stuff, hoping it evens me out karmacally. That, my friends, seems like a stupid waste of time. Still, it is one of the few things I do really, really well.

The surgery was Thursday and I have not called my dad since then (using the excuse that he's too loopy to talk to) and I have not sent a card or anything either (I'm too caught up with all this work stuff).

Oy, if you know what I mean.

My dad likes maple candy. But I bet he hasn't had some in a very, very long time. Not since, probably, he got diagnosed with diabetes. I'd like to send him some. I do not think it will kill him. I do not think it will. And I think he might really enjoy it, and think of me as being very thoughtful.

Me. Me.

Part Two

I have a favorite Beatles song and that seems weird to me. But I know it now, I always have. It's And Your Bird Can Sing: period. The best Beatles songs ever. They sing like four Siamese twin princes from soul space on that song and it's got that impossible guitar part. Plus, it's about rejection, which I'm sure the Beatles, at that time, must've been going through a ton of.

But, I think they're biggest accomplishment is this song Long, Long, Long, which is a George Harrison song so some people think it doesn't count. But Long, Long, Long, just like And Your Bird Can Sing sounds like it is beyond even what the Beatles could do. It's weird, weird, weird and really beautiful. And if people want to get technical with me I hear that it's only three Beatles on that song, no John Lennon who I think may have been out doing drugs.

Anyway, I can't sleep. Ten, fifteen years I've been up at four every morning wondering what to do. I figured it out when I got an ipod, and I think when I started this web-logging thing, it was the first thing I talked about...how the ipod saved my life, it got me out and running and it let me listen and be into music again AND I now spend that awake time simply listening...really listening to music...not doing anything else, just listening, like you used to have time to do when you were a kid. It's great and I've been listening to And Your Bird Can Sing and Long, Long, Long and I don't care if I sleep or not.

Sometimes, however, the ipod messes with my dreams because I do fall asleep eventually and often in my dreams I will be, say, a salesman at a stereo shop, and some customers come in, and I realize I've got the music playing way too loud in the shop, but when I go to turn it down I cannot find the knob. And the people are telling me what kind of stereo they want, but I can't hear them because of the music, and I am going to blow the sale.

That night, I had a dream that I was in the old copy-shop in Harvard Square where I used to work with Kurt. Same building, only now it was a record store. Everyone in there was singing Long, Long, Long. It was beautiful and sad and we were all a magical wonderful chorus. But then something else was going on, and we were all looking toward the door or outside the window because there was something, like a shooting, or the cops were coming, something. And I said to all the people in the record store, "What is it, violence?"

Turns out it was my mom calling out for help. I had tested the earbud thing all night. Put them on so my thoughts wouldn't drive me insane, and pulled them off at least six times when she started snoring or coughing across the hall. So, I thought it was a safe bet that I wouldn't sleep through or miss anything important and to my credit I think I heard the first call in the dream and was up as the she called a second time. My dad, too.

This time she wanted to go to the hospital. But getting her into the ambulance was no picnic. She's immobile due to a terribly messed up back, and like I said, she has some trouble expressing herself. But she was afraid the ambulance guys were going to drop her. They had her in a sitting up kind of chair to move her out instead of a stretcher, and just sitting for her is difficult. And this chair thing had no sides. I thought they were going to drop her, too.

My mom does not complain. My dad does. My sister does, and I do. But my mom doesn't. So it's hard to tell how far things have gotten before she calls out. As they were wheeling her through the garage (possibly the coldest garage on record) she simply said: "I can't take it." She was wrapped in these thin white blankets. They had kind of swaddled her in them, covered her head with them and she reminded me of Thumbelina when Danny Kaye does it in Hans Christian Andersen. Her little face sticking out, and her button eyes. Thumbelina, if she was getting ready to go into the ambulance on the coldest, darkest morning in history. Me and my dad, putting our pants on. Nobody escapes going through this part of our lives, but I have been absent for a lot of it. As grim as it seems, I am happy I was there, to be with them.

It turns out she wasn't getting enough oxygen, and we believe that caused her to panic (of course) but I can't figure out if she knew it or not. She may not have been able to figure it out, and she may have been hiding it from us, either because she doesn't want to complain or she wants to stay out of the hospital at all costs.

Anyway, I don't know how to end this particular entry. I promise that the ones that follow will have reports about fruit and more scores with me and the world going at it. I just had to process this stuff quickly, in this disjointed way.

We are hoping she just needs some of her meds adjusted. She feels better at home, with my dad taking care of her. My dad: Mr. Super-Step-Up-To-The-Plate. Hoorah for the both of them.

I am back in California. This was a working vacation, that had some complications.

I had delicious pineapple with Guy, Pam, Steve and Scotty, if that helps.

Anyway.


Dear Time,

What the fuck.