Local traffic

Traffic at the cat bowl, November 2021.

Duck and coot traffic at Kai Tai Nature Park.

Laptop traffic. It’s busy.

Bushtit feeder traffic.

Great blue heron traffic. How many do you count in this tree?

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: traffic.

Star

November means concert this year. I have sung in Rainshadow Chorale for 23 years now. My father was one of the eight people who started it in 1997. Concert this coming weekend!

My favorite song is the lobster one, though “Something like a star” always makes me tear up.

This is not concert attire.

The Unexpected Brass Band played yesterday too.

We will be birds, too, in the concert.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: November

.

Black and white

Pandas are black and white, clarity
between the parts, yet both are present together
Pandemic has lessened humans charity
Stress rises, fights and a turn to war weather.
It’s hard to fight a virus way smaller than a bee
And as they change and attack birds and us anew
Frustration rises and we attack the humans that we see
We take sides, black or white, and don’t see that we’re a stew
Perspective changes, white to black and back
The pandas eat their daily bamboo pounds
Unworried which parts are white or black
I hope they are far from the crying bombing rounds
I hope every person has the charity
to give all others love and parity.

We are singing Frostiana, poems by Robert Frost, set to music by Randall Thompson, in chorus. The ending of this makes me cry:
“So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.”

I took the photograph in Oregon this month, on a Pandasonic (ha, ha).

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: clarity.

Fan

There aren’t two roads diverged before me
But a fan of roads and possibilities
Poetry and writing, music and medicine,
Art and quilting, paints and knitting,
Cats and travel, dance and friends.
I spread the fan with joy
as life opens like a flower.
Not two roads, neither one best
but the daily gift of the sunrise and a song.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: observe.

An ideal death

Death is quotidian, isn’t it?

There is a movement to make death more ideal. I agree that we should talk more about death and find out what people want, but ideal is complex. The VA did a survey and found three ideal deaths. Which is your ideal?

  1. The Hallmark Death. In hospice, surrounded by family and friends, making peace with everyone, visitors from all over. My mother died of ovarian cancer. We had a hospital bed and a baby monitor and when she was awake, she would say, “I am ready to be entertained.” It lasted for 6 weeks and my grandmothers bones rose out of her face as her weight dropped. I was so tired by the end that I couldn’t see straight. She did not want us to cry, so my sister and I did not cry. Afterwards I wished that I had cried.
  2. No warning, sudden death. Take me, in my sleep, or suddenly, with little or no warning. The heart is the number one cause of death. My father went this way, in his home. I was the one who found him, though I’d expected it for over a year. He was a bit of a hermit and had horrible emphysema, was on oxygen and steroids, but he stayed at home. That’s what he wanted and I did not fight it. It was not much fun finding him.
  3. Fight every step. There are some people who remain full code, who have end stage cancer and want dialysis, who will not give in. My sister was in this category. She was a truly amazing fighter and refused hospice until the last week. This can be about believing that one can continue to hope for a miracle or it can be about social justice or about a promise to one’s family. Some families have said, if father had been able to access care earlier, he wouldn’t be dying, so he wants everything done. I can understand all of those feelings.

So which would be your ideal? Ideally we would talk to our parents and our children and explore these different ideals. I did that with people in clinic. There are interesting openings. A patient would say, “I don’t want to die of cancer.” I would say, “How do you want to die? What is your ideal?” They would be surprised and I would explain the three different scenarios above. “Put in your order, though we do not have any control.” I would say.

We do not have control. I did prenatal care and deliveries for 19 years and didn’t have control there. I always preferred to intervene as little as possible and only if I had to for mother or baby’s health. Once our surgeon went to take out an appendix and it turned out to be something else, so took three hours. I had called a cesarean section, but had to wait. The baby had a fast heart rate and it rose in those three hours. We finally did the c-section and the baby promptly looked completely fine. I have no idea why the heart rate rose from 140 to 180. We were all hugely relieved. Sometimes the cause was obvious: a short umbilical cord or a cord wrapped four times around the neck, but sometimes the cause is a complete mystery.

I talked to a person yesterday who has a frail 90 year old in their life. They said something about keeping them from dying. I said, “Well, they are going to die eventually.” Then I thought, I wonder if they have had the discussion: what is your ideal? Do everything, which may mean being in a hospital? Hospice? At home? And I sometimes see families fight, because siblings have different ideals and may not even be aware of it.

Blessings.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: quotidian.

I took the photograph of the neighbor’s flowers while I was walking the cats in the dark. I like it.

Storm tossed

The word tethered makes me think of the year and a half on oxygen. I had a standing concentrator for in the house. This means that I have oxygen tubing following me on three floors. I had to have connectors and I got caught on everything. I tripped over it. I wondered why it wasn’t helping and discovered the tubing was unplugged. The kittens chewed holes in it.

The sea plants are tethered too, to rocks, to grow up from the deep. I think this looks like a distressed stranded mermaid. Poor thing, her rock, her foundation has been thrown on shore by a storm. She can’t get home. I took this in May 2021, when I was still on continuous oxygen.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: tethered.

Guide

The Ragtag Daily Prompt is latibule: a place where you feel safe and cosy. I was going to say my house, but I wrote this poem near the end of my stay in Italy. My latibule is my mind. The poem is named Guide.

Guide

I want to write a travel guide
To the interior
No matter where I am
nor who I am with
nor what the circumstance
Ok, in a disaster or crisis I act
I don’t withdraw
But barring that
What does your space look like inside?

My interior is a garden
And an ocean
And the universe
Monsters, angels, demons, daemons
Friends
Many dead
People remembered and loved
Even if they don’t love me
Even if there is no reconciliation
Flowers birds insects science sex philosophy
A universe of stars and math
Tiny atoms, shy electrons circle protons
Whirl happily at the atomic level
Nebulae and black holes
Other worlds and beings
Of course there are other beings
In this wide universe

I am riding on a train in Italy
And traveling my vast interior
At the same time.

Written September 10, 2023. The photograph is from a friend’s doll house.