Three Years

Three years ago I was getting up every weekday morning at about 5:30 to get to the cancer clinic by 7:00 am for my radiation treatments.

It’s not an experience you easily forget.  It gets burnt into your being.  Every six months I still get a PSA test.  Every six months I hold my breath for two days waiting for the result.  It changes you.  You fight to be back in the innocent time before treatment.

Only, there is no going back.  The best you can do is push forward with what you have left and I am still writing these posts with the time I’ve been gifted.

Although lately, I’ve been devoting most of my writing energy for my poetry book so I won’t write much tonight.  One of the things I’ve been doing for the book has been rereading some of my old posts.  Some of these posts have poems I am revising and adding to the book, while others are source material for poems.  A couple of days ago I came across this one, Two Years, that I wrote last January.  I did something at the end of that post that I don’t normally do – predicted what I might do in the future.

Well, I thought I’d bring you up to date on a few of those things.  First, I am changing how I write this blog and what I use it for.  If you’ve been following me for a while you’ll see that I’m doing much more poetry and less long essays.  That is likely to continue.  I’ve done voice recordings for a couple of my poems.  That will continue, and I hope to start doing some short videos soon as well.

Here is the list I wrote last year with updates:

Find a new energy source for my writing – poetry is the closest I come to a new energy source.  There is just something about the poetic that gives my brain a different view and energy.

Do more marquetry work – well that hasn’t been happening but in the post I did give myself two years for this stuff.  And I do have a new marquetry piece on the workbench.

Sell a piece of my work – did that.  Donated one of my crosses to the church.  It was sold at a silent auction for about $40.  Okay, I didn’t get the money but it was bought.  Today the lady who bought it asked if I was putting anything into the auction this year.  I am – the mouse cheese boards (have six to donate).

Discover a way to retire early – still a work in progress.  Still having problems with my financial adviser as he seems to think early retirement is age 62, while I am thinking – next spring?

Improve my health – well, um.  Okay I’m still working on that.

Laugh more – I’d like to think I am, but likely my perspective on that might be a bit skewed and others might not notice my regular bursts of laughter.  Perhaps if I laughed when people where around to hear it?

Stomp in more puddles – I would, if there were puddles, but in California we’re suffering from this epic drought and there just aren’t any puddles.  Yes, I know, and you know, I meant the metaphorical puddles of engaging in childlike joys.  Can we just put this on the ‘failed’ list and move on?

Fly a kite – Actually forgot about this one.  That sounds like fun.  If I do this one, would you give me partial credit for ‘stomping in puddles?’

Let me know.

Till next week,
Andrew

Posted in Prostate Cancer | Tagged | 17 Comments

Wednesday Woodworking – Heart box

Just in time for Valentine’s day: A heart shaped box.

This is a project that our marquetry club did last weekend.  It’s a band saw box about five inches across.  I didn’t get my 100% finished, so here are the progress pictures.  The next step is to complete the marquetry for the top – a heart shaped Celtic knot.  Then a bit of sanding and some wipe on ploy for a finish.

Heart shaped band saw box in progress

Heart shaped band saw box in progress

The lid swings open and the inside bottom has a veneer applied to it.

The lid swings open and the inside bottom has a veneer applied to it.

The lid top will get this Celtic knot marquetry.

The lid top will get this Celtic knot marquetry.

I hope to get some time this weekend to finish the marquetry.  Might write a poem about it this week.

If you need me – I’ll be in the shop,

Andrew

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Fog

California fog
costal fog
tule fog.

In the summer the sea covers the forest
in cooling fog
shading trees from the heat of the day.

Tule fog comes after the refreshing rains
when the air stills
when the nights are long waiting for more rain.

Fog covers the world
in damp and cold
that penetrates the soul and bones

The world pauses as long visions obscure
and grey fills the sight and mind.
Grey covers green lawns and red stop lights.

The coastal redwoods reaching for the sky
spread their thin hands to catch the mist
and let the water drop at their feet.
Life giving, thirst quenching, cooling fog

People it drives indoors as it chills the soul
driving light and life from their eyes.
Bones ache in the silent damp
as all turn their eyes to where the sun should be.

Through the ages, the trees have welcomed the fog
and it’s gift of refreshing water.
Their small needles specially made for the task finding
water in the long summer drought of the California coast.

Slowly, painfully
the bright spot of the sun grows
brings the day to glorious clear light.

Dancing in the sun people rejoice at the return of light and warmth.

The trees lament as
their roots return to the thirst of a long dry summer.

Me reading the poem.

That’s all for this week.  I am taking next week off from this blog to spend a little more time on my poetry book.

Till next time,

Andrew

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In The Choir

He sits in the choir
in the same chair for 50 years
sings the same part
Once his hair was black and his voice could fill the sanctuary
this place he built with the others of his time
today he still sings, still does his part
as the lights that now dim
and the spot light focuses on the pulpit
and the young preacher beginning her sermon
on a text the old man has heard each of his 80 years
He knows the story well, it has filled his hunger and is etched on his heart.
Still the pastor tells it once again
as the man’s head leans forward
not in prayer but in sleep
which is the better gift, the word or the sleep?

Well that’s it for this week, just a short poem that I wrote when I should have been listening to the pastor preach.

Till Next week,

Andrew

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