09 June 2012

Random thoughts above North America, 9 June 2012 Edition

The last four months have brought new meaning to “overload.”

Working to maintain a parent’s dignity as they face physical and cognitive crises at the end of life isn’t something you’re taught how to do. And you either do it, or you don’t.

When that challenge is combined with a work environment which is every bit as venal and guileful as a Borgia or Medici palazzo, there really isn’t much more you can do but work like hell through the week and curl up and cocoon on the weekends.

Pottery and gardening help, too, as do good Rhône reds.

Whatever glamour remained in air travel has been evaporated and remains like the thin crust found in a dried-out perfume bottle.

Bumping, shaking, and shuddering at more than 450 miles per hour through cumulonimbus clouds more than 40,000 feet tall is no way to spend a June afternoon. The ominous squeaking from some part of the cabin doesn’t help, either.

Mark Eitzel’s “60 Watt Silver Lining” may well be my favorite album from the 1990s. “Track me down and I’ll give you /my pomegranate heart” is just one of the images that sticks with me. Not to mention production values that rival Steely Dan’s “Aja” and stunning performances by Eitzel, Vudi, and Mark Isham.

 The tomatoes have already bloomed and set fruit at home. And there will be lots more before frost stops the harvest.

 I’m so disgusted by the politics of this electoral cycle that I can’t bear to listen to or watch the news. The foreign press, and a limited segment of the blogosphere are the only sources I can rely on without causing nausea or threatening damage to the physical object producing the sound or image.

Thinking about discussions of exsanguinations due to aortic rupture is disconcerting to say the least. When the discussion is about someone you love, it’s even more disconcerting. When the discussion leads to purchase of supplies to cope with said possible exsanguinations, it’s neither disconcerting, macabre, or terrifying, but instead is practical.

How many more of these cross-country sprints will we make before VJC dances off this mortal coil?

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