life

Scrapbooks and Journaling, Taking Note

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Scrapbooks

I save little snippets, tickets and programs, thinking one day I will create a scrapbook of several of the things that I have done in my life. Why do I do this and why do I never get started? These thoughts jumped into my head as I was sorting through the detritus of pill bottles and the paper that comes with them and reloading my weekly pill box.

This could be a scrapbook, I said to myself as I looked at my cardiac logbook/diary from Mercy Health. I brought this book with me to my last follow-up visit with the cardio-thoracic surgery folks and the NP that I saw that day remarked that people rarely bring the book with them to the doctor. It plainly states to bring this log to the post op visits. Do people not read well?

Do I want a scrapbook of my heart attack? This binder collects everything in one spot. BPs, heart rate, exercise (I lied a little), how many times I blew into the lung gizmo and how many times I sucked on the other lung gizmo. A book that I could open a few years hence and reminisce. Do people do that? Do I want to do that?

Jake the exercise guy came today dismiss me from the follow up exercise program that came with my CABG surgery five weeks ago. He asked me to do a few specific exercises to assess my recovery and during that activity I noticed a small book sticking out from behind my IKEA bookcase I bought several years ago. After the exercise I pulled it from behind the shelves and discovered it was a small photo album that I had purchased for Cheryl many years ago. She had placed in it photographs of the grand children. She did this at the beginning of her dementia years to remember who they were as small children. They were pictures that she liked. As her mind deteriorated she added a few other notes and an obituary of some unknown (to me) person carefully trimmed from the newspaper. She had created a sort of scrapbook.

Now that I have discovered it and recovered it from its hiding place, I will return it to the collection of similar items that I separated from the other random assemblies in her office when she went to stay in memory care.

The small booklet and exercise papers and Jake’s dismissal paper and the Mercy Health binder and log that I meticulously kept up and later discovered the material was dated and they needed to update, I put together on a shelf (and called it macaroni like Yankee doodle). Perhaps one day hence I will look through it all and reminisce. But I suspect not.

Like the closet full of old checks and check statements I think that in a few years I will skim over it and recycle it into the nearest trash receptacle. I will be able to look in the bathroom mirror at my scar and reminisce.

The little picture album with random notes will await my return in the tub of family memories.

Carpe Scrapbook Diem.

Carpe Diem

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In keeping with my overall theme of seize the moment, I bid farewell to my commentary and narration of my heart attack and subsequent plumbing repairs and the recovery from all of that. God has given me an extended life. What will I do with it?

These past few days and weeks have been remarkably suited for riding. This single fact has caused me to be down a bit. I cannot ride. At first I felt little like riding but as I heal I become more anxious to do it every day. It is a goal. It is a quest. In February and in March I was beginning to ride a few miles and then a mile or so more before the universe made me stop and discover where the pain was coming from.

I need to work on stamina first. It is surprising how winded I get just walking around my little condo’s parking area. But I must pay attention to how my body is healing and what substances will help it to heal. In the hospital I was getting a calcium drip for a couple days. Debbie suggested that I should drink milk and eat cheese to accomplish a similar effect.

The simple joy of chocolate milk, I used to drink this as a child. In the hospital I was given Ensure. I found that the chocolate variety pleased my pallet. There is a chocolate variety of Bailey’s Irish Cream. Those two together can only improve the value and overall flavor profile of chocolate Ensure. This might be adult Ensure. I will try this later.

Mom said to me long ago after one of her hospital stays that Ensure or Boost is not too bad if you mix it with a little milk. It tasted like a low end milk shake.

I will drink more Ensure and maybe add some Bailey’s. And I will walk more. Stay tuned.

Carpe Diem.

Miraculous

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Miraculous Pain in the Ass (a Diary)

Debbie made this comment the other day about my recent myocardial infarction/ angioplasty/ cardio arterial bypass graft activity. I have to agree. I have complained to the medical folks steering my care that I am personally amazed that I do not feel worse than I do. The whole process has been a miraculous pain in the ass (or chest – but I felt little pain in my chest after all the chest tubes came out.)

  • March 19, 2026 – Sun shining, high of 70 or so. A good day to ride the bike and get used to the trail again. Pain in my chest and left arm that I wrote off as winter stiffness and out-of-shapeness, was not to be ignored. I did ignore it for a bit. I stopped at my “turn around” point and sat on a bench along side of the trail.
  • March 20, 2026 – a little pain here and there but nothing of note but distracting enough that I could not ignore. Debbie insisted I make a doctor appointment. I did.
  • March 21, 2026 – Pain in my chest and left arm with a vengeance while I was beginning to assemble a porch glider that was purchased online a few days before. I sat down. Debbie looked at me while I insisted that I did not need anything other than to sit for a bit. The look on her face told me that I should be taking this more seriously.
  • March 21, 2026 – I drove myself and Debbie to the hospital and walked into the ER at Jewish Hospital part of the Mercy Health system in Cincinnati. I announced that I think I am having a heart attack. They brought me a wheelchair and things happened quickly.
  • People work in the hospital on the weekends. This destroyed my theory that nothing would happen before Monday. Nevertheless a cardiologist ordered several diagnostic tests all aimed at discovering why I was feeling what I was feeling. I was put on a hepron drip and aspirin to keep me from plugging up before the eventual solution could be executed.
  • March 22, 2026 – About 5:15 in the afternoon I sent this email message to the stock club membership. — Hey guys; It is unlikely that I will be at the meeting tomorrow. Sorry about the last minute notice but I’m in the hospital. Denny has my proxy. Paul
  • March 23, 2026 – Monday. Early in the morning I had an angioplasty diagnostic test to determine what was wrong. A stint or two was not going to fix me. As previously reported one artery was 99% blocked and another was 95% blocked.
  • March 23, 2026 I was trucked (literally) over to Mercy Anderson where they specialize in cardiac arterial bypass graft surgery (CABG). I took my hepron drip with me.
  • March 23, 2026 – This was the week for CABG surgery. I had to wait for my turn which was scheduled for Friday. I needed it but I was in too good of shape to go first. No one ever said this out loud but the thought was there. I settled into the cardiac care ICU room C221. Debbie stayed with me overnight the night before the surgery.
  • March 27, 2026 – Three days of the cardiac diet in the hospital got me here. The food is not bad it is just boring. Days go slow in the hospital. A cardiac burger has little maybe no salt involved in its cooking. Otherwise it is perfectly edible. “Worth his salt” is a comment from Roman times. Nothing to eat past midnight. I did not miss it.
  • March 27, 2026 – In the late morning Becky a nurse practitioner with big hands joined us in C221 to chat about what was coming soon. The first surgery of the day was going quicker than expected. They would come get me soon. Debbie and I waited. David showed up to wait with me. Sarah showed up to wait with me. They did not come to get me soon. It was more like two hours later.
  • March 27, 2026 – Early afternoon Becky reappeared with another nurse to push me to the operating theater. I scooted onto the operating table. The anesthetist remarked to Becky that I was too high up the table. She grabbed my feet and said she was going to move me down. She did. Big hands. Moments later it was lights out.
  • March 27, 2026 – about 9PM – Wendy from the breathing department said to me, I’m going to do a little suction and then pull the breathing tube out. I was still a little groggy but she did what she said. I was breathing again on my own. Debbie had left my phone and my glasses with the night nurse after peeking through the C221 glass door. I could talk which surprised me a bit. At 9:30PM I called Debbie to report that I was still alive and kicking. I called her first because I knew she would be worried overnight otherwise. We always – since we met – call each other at night to say good night. I actually slept that first night.
  • March 28, 2026 – about 3:30AM – a lab technician showed up to draw blood and make sure that I was awake.
  • March 28, 2026 – About 5AM – two NPs showed up with their very own portable bedside x-ray machine. They sat me up to take a chest picture to be sure I was still screwed together. The My Chart report says yep, all good. They left to go wake up the next patient. The night nurse helped me to sit up in my chair about 6AM. This became my morning routine for the next four days or so.
  • March 28, 2026 – a little after 7AM – rounds. Several bright cheery young women appeared to take over the day shift and find out from the night shift any important stuff about the patient – me. Another morning routine began.
  • March 29, 2026 – 3, 5 & 7AM – pretty much the same as March 28th. The times may be off slightly but the 3:30AM blood draw was very consistent as was the morning x-ray. On this day I think I got a shower in the morning by Austin, Austin is an incredibly gentle nurse on the night shift. Austin stayed in my room overnight March 27-28 after my surgery. He monitored my numbers and laughed when I told Debbie after I woke up, “I’m still alive, baby!”
  • March 29, 2026 – physical therapy folks appeared to get me going and walking a little bit in the room. Occupational therapy showed up to ask a lot of questions about my home and to offer suggestions about staying in the tube.– which is their way for saying do not use your arms for anything like pushing up out of a chair.
  • March 30, 2026 – 3, 5 & 7AM – pretty much the same as March 28 & 29. Either a nurse or a PT person showed up every couple hours to walk me around the hallway. There are practice steps overlooking the hospital lobby. The more I walked, the closer I came to going home. I was feeling better. I found some underwear to put on in my backpack that David had brought. No longer was my butt hanging out for all to see when I walked around.
  • March 31, 2026 – discharge day. Taylor, the day nurse, came in with her trainee, Emily, to go through this book I have been filling in for several days now at home. Scott and David and Zachary came to give me a ride home. Emily went to find a wheel chair to give me a ride to the front so that I could get into my car. Scott had left his car at my house and drove my car to the hospital. I rode home in the back of the car. The medical folks were concerned about the airbags. Zachary went home with Uncle David.
  • April 1, 2026 – April Fools Day – I am home. I do not feel too much from the surgery. A little sore here and there. Debbie came over to stay with me for the next several days. David also stayed with me for a week. Sarah came and made soup. It was heavenly.
  • April 2, 2026 – People came to feed us. Debbie cooked her award winning and legendary meat loaf. Denise, Debbie’s sister, made her special scalloped cheesy potatoes and ham. It was much better than green eggs and ham (Sam I am.) There was a lot of it so Debbie and I ate it for lunch and dinner for a couple days. I think I ate the last of it a week or so later.
  • April 3, 2026 – Kristin, a work friend of Debbie’s, brought her special soup also called Paula Dean’s chicken noodle soup. It was excellent even though Kristin made it without the alcoholic beverage in it. In case you were wondering – see below
    • For the Stock;
      • 2 1⁄2 to 3 pounds broiler-fryer chicken, cut up
      • 3 1⁄2 quarts water
      • 1 onion, peeled and diced
      • 2 teaspoons Italian seasoning
      • 1 teaspoon lemon-pepper seasoning
      • 3 garlic cloves, minced
      • 4 bay leaves
      • 3 chicken bouillon cubes
      • Kosher salt, to taste
      • Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
    • For the Soup
      • 7 cups sliced carrots
      • 2 cups sliced celery, leaves included
      • 2 1⁄2 cups uncooked egg noodles
      • 1 cup sliced mushrooms
      • 3 tablespoons parsley, chopped
      • 1⁄3 cup cooking sherry
      • 2 teaspoons fresh rosemary leaves, chopped
      • 1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
      • 3⁄4 cup heavy cream, optional
      • Salt and pepper, to taste
      • Crusty French bread, for serving
  • April 4, 2026 – I found the ice cream in the freezer. This is the beginning of 4 long weeks of no driving and depending on my kids and others to drive me around. Debbie kept telling me how good I was doing. I think she meant that I was not complaining about my lot in life.
  • April 5, 2026 – Easter Sunday. I stayed home. Although I was feeling better each day, I did not feel up to church. I thanked God for Debbie and her persistence at chasing me to the hospital to be checked out.
  • April 6 – 10, 2026 – Debbie went back to work. David hung on for a couple more nights and ultimately moved home. I was on my own for a few nights.
  • April 10, 2026 – Debbie returned for the weekend and to be sure I did my exercises. Over time she has arranged her working schedule so that she has a 4 day weekend. During this time in our relationship she has cleared her grandmotherly duties to take care of me. For that I will be forever grateful. On this day we resumed our charcuterie board lunch and planning session for the rest of the weekend.
  • April 11, 2026 – It was a great day for a walk in the park so we did just that. We chilled for most of the weekend.
  • April 13, 2026 – Debbie returned to her grandmotherly duties during the day. We went to dinner in the evening.
  • April 14, 2026 – Debbie returned to work. The physical therapy sessions continued and the visiting nurse came to assess my progress. Rhonda laughed when I told her that Debbie referred to her as the exercise nazi.
  • April 14 – 17, 2026 – I continued a routine of taking care of myself. Showering everyday and gently washing my chest wound. Monitoring my blood pressure and heart rate. Getting up to walk in the parking lot. I did not do this as much as the log book wanted me to do that but it is a boring activity and occasionally I napped instead.
  • April 19, 2026 – Sunday. Debbie and I went to the Kenwood Theater to see “Hail Mary” a peculiar movie about some sort of star eating bacteria and one man’s quest to solve the problem. Entertaining but an odd story line.
  • April 22, 2026 – Wednesday – The anniversary of Cheryl’s death. Scott, Zachary and I went to visit Cheryl’s columbarium niche. Her flowers are in full bloom.

Debbie remarked that this has been a miraculous pain in the ass a couple days ago and she is right. It still feels strange to me that I am feeling so good after the surgery that was performed on me. I had two bypass grafts added to my heart plumbing by Dr. Lynn Seto who is, apparently, a skilled heart surgeon.

Dr. Seto, thank you and your team for your excellence.

Carpe Diem.

A Couple More Days

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Seems like every time I want to close my eyes for a small little tiny nap some health person is encouraging me to get up and move around.

Today the occupational therapist had a gap in her schedule and just as I pushed my chair back to NAP position the phone ran.

May I come and assess your functionality? Sure why not. I will be here.

It actually makes me laugh. All the attention about a little thing like cardiac arterial bypass graft surgery. CABG “cabbage” is the term used by the cutters. All week long I have kind of complained a little that I did not feel all that bad and that is true. Most of that seems to be due to something described as a freezing nerve block that will wear off over time as my body heals.

Every day is a bit better and today is much better.

Today on the way home from the cardiothorasic surgery visit we stopped at one of my favorite diner chili parlors to get a 5-way for lunch. If you live in southwest Ohio you do not need more description.

Carpe Diem.

Days Four and Five

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Fourth day and Home

Open heart surgery – cracked open my chest – the whole thing – has come a long way since Mom had it many years ago.

I woke up about 9pm after surgery on Friday. The breathing specialist took the plastic tube out of my mouth and lungs. A little one, two, three and its out. Wow I am hoping to never have that experience again. There were four other drain tubes still in. two around my lungs, two around my heart. And to keep with the twos I had a double bypass.

I could talk so the first thing I did was call Debbie when the night nurse whose name was Austin gave me the phone it was great to hear her voice and I knew she would sleep better knowing that I was still my annoying self. I thought she would spread the word that Paul was back.

What a long slog this will be. The nurses and physical therapy folks – Emma and Amy – don’t leave you alone. The first day was simply sit in a hospital recliner chair until its too much. And they talked about keeping my elbows near my body, move in the tube is phrase that they use to help you remember. When they cut your pectoral muscles and your breast bone apart, your body tells you. There is that little pulling sensation in your chest that says – hey, hey, hey we are are healing down here – that will remind you to be careful.

On the Fifth day

What a remarkable feeling it is to sleep in one’s own bed. There is the added bonus of not getting poked in the arm somewhere at 3:15AM because they need another blood test. The chest x-rays at 5AM were also reduced to none at home.

I am truly amazed at my own progress.

I think I will stop here but God taught me two things; exercise is good for all recovery and do not ignore chest pain. I do have a greater appreciation of life.

Carpe Diem.

Screwtape and Lent

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Our pastor decided that it might be fun to read The Screwtape Letters by C. S. Lewis for a Lenten exercise this year. Having read that in high school along with “Out of the Silent Planet” and “Paralandra”, I thought it might be a kick.

C. S. Lewis in the guise of Screwtape, a master devil mentoring his nephew and apprentice devil, Wormwood, writes near the end of chapter 13, paragraph 4: … The man who truly and disinterestedly enjoys any one thing in the world, for its own sake, and without caring two-pence what other people say about it, is by that very fact forearmed against some of our subtlest modes of attack. You should always try to make the patient (human subject) abandon the people or food or books he really likes in favor of the ‘best’ people, the ‘right’ food, the ‘important’ books….

That particular passage struck me right my prefrontal cortex. It was a bright sunny warm(ish) day in March. There are not many of those in Ohio. The Screwtape discussion group was scheduled for 1PM. I put my Trek in the back of the car and went to my favorite spot and rode 6 miles. There is something very special about early spring/late winter rides. They are infrequent and special. The book discussion was not in the category of “disinterestedly enjoyable”. I thought it would be a kick. It was not.

On the weekend prior to this book discussion meeting, we had met with friends for lunch and after lunch it was our plan to visit a small independent book store nearby. Debbie likes book stores. So do I actually but generally I am satisfied to patiently wait for the latest and greatest ‘important’ books from the library. Sometimes my wait is long enough that I do not remember why or who put me onto the title that magically appears in my holds queue at the nearby branch of the library. In this little book store I noticed a little book by Sarah Knight entitled “the life changing magic of not giving a f*ck”. The title alone made me laugh and I picked it up, turned to a random page and read, 7. Calculus. This may be my earliest recorded instance of not giving a fuck. My high school guidance counselor insisted …. I needed this for getting into college…. I did not take the class. I did get into Harvard.” That paragraph made me laugh and I bought the book.

I took calculus in high school. I also took it in college since the one I went to did not recognize the high school credit. Engineering students get a lot of math. Physics folks get more. Technical fields generally have statistical math of one sort or another. I do give a fuck about math.

Sarah’s book is much more interesting than “The Screwtape Letters”. The language is a bit crude but it captures the sentiment of, “abandon the people or food or books he really likes in favor of the ‘best’ people, the ‘right’ food, the ‘important’ books” succinctly. In life there is often (maybe always) someone to report to you what wine pairs with what food. There is, no doubt, also a YouTube video about wine pairings. If those things are important to you then you should give a fuck to it whatever it may be.

Be present to your own ideas, thoughts, morality, ethics. Educate yourself to your needs not other’s wants. Believe in yourself and as the Max Ehrmann quote goes, ” And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul….”

Carpe Diem.

A Summer Day in Winter and other Thoughts

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A Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean —

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

These words by Mary Oliver send my thoughts in many directions. The last two lines seem to be very popular with the counted cross stitch and embroidery set. These are words of inspiration to the young.

The previous two lines “Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?” seem a lament for the old. We tell ourselves, we have lived life as best we thought at the time.

Do I have regrets? “Tell me, what else should I have done?” hides in the back of other thoughts. What could I have done different that would put me in a better place today? How would I define “better place”?

Grief, that missing another, that emptiness for love’s object, that restless lonely, that longing, is often with me at seemingly random times. It will always be there. It is smoother on some days. I noticed this past evening as I talked to my son that I could tell stories and talk about Cheryl without choking up. Cheryl and I had many great times.

In the now, my son and his wife are splitting. My girlfriend’s daughter is very ill. She is hospitalized with an undefined infection. My girlfriend’s youngest son has split with his significant other and that is a remarkable similarity to my son’s situation. He has snapped back to his savior and supporter, Mom. (She has pushed him out of the nest several times. It is hard (but time) for him to fly on his own.) I have interest and concern for all of these people in my life. They give me a place to send my love and support.

“Tell me, what else couldI do?” is a question I ask of myself but it is an unfair question. Simply being present to other’s needs and being there as they sort through their difficulties is enough. I do not volunteer a solution if I have one. It would be my solution, not their solution. The same heartfelt commitment would not be there. (My mother would say, ‘Pull up your socks!’, which was her way of saying you have to be the designer of your own way out, otherwise you are not committed to it.)

My son is staying with me in the guest bedroom while he sorts through moving vehicles, furniture and just plain stuff accumulated over time to his new rental digs.

Debbie’s daughter is in the best hospital in town. They are committed to finding out what is wrong in her anatomy and doing their best to fix it or mitigate it.

Debbie’s son has a short term solution for housing and a wonderful employer that seems committed to his success. Maybe her consultation support is of greater value to him than monetary support. Maybe he will come to understand that. Maybe he will be able to move on from this former girlfriend who suddenly turned physically violent toward him. Maybe he will realize what he feels is grief of a sort for a lost relationship.

I do know how to pay attention, and listen and offer advice when asked and pray that God will provide a stable solution to the currently evolving dilemmas.

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? If not die, at least, stop?

Maybe not soon enough? Was that snarky?

I love them all.

Carpe Diem.

Little Women

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I stood on the scale and as luck would have it, no weight loss and no weight gain either.

Huh. Alas. Alack. Oh whoa is me. Or is it?

The new snow is coating the grass.

The early morning sky is azure blue as the sun blazes near the eastern horizon.

The chilly birds are dive bombing Jane’s feeder next door.

It is a new day!

These thoughts come to me in rapid fire as I awaken more fully while drinking my coffee and thinking about the previous evening. The play “Little Women” was excellent. The production itself is a co-production, a special partnership between two theaters working on a single play. The play was staged first in Portland and then here in Cincinnati. Debbie and I went to see it last night during one of our field trips. The play itself tells the stories within Little Women but focuses on Louisa May Alcott as a writer and her life.

At intermission we had a conversation with a younger man seated next to us. He asked how longer we had been together. I responded with “about a year and a half.” I did not think much of it but Debbie picked up on the fact that he thought I was joking. Debbie talked to him for a bit and found out that he was from out of town.

Later as we drove home she told me that he thought we had been together for a long time, an easy assumption to make since we are both older. When she corrected his notion he was interested in our story. Her synopsis of us meeting later in life interested him.

Yesterday was a pleasant day. The play was well done.

There have been many instances now where total strangers have commented on the love and affection vibe that they perceive between us.

I feel that way about Debbie and she feels that way about me.

It shows.

Carpe Diem.

Friday

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This day of the week has over time become special to me and to Debbie and I.

Last year the part time teaching job I had with a local community college involved maintaining an open lab on Wednesday and Thursday evenings as well as Tuesday mornings. Debbie works in her profession on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday also. I remarked once to her that our Friday came on Thursday, so our Saturday came on Friday. It was our day of relaxation, dinner or lunch and other dates.

The movie theaters are very uncrowded on Fridays. Sometimes in our favorite theater us and one other couple are watching the film. I like that.

When I bought tickets to the play we are going to see tonight I specifically picked the Friday performance.

When we started dating, that term seemed foreign to me. I referred to our outings as field trips. I think, I am certain, I was hunting for a term that would not hurt Cheryl’s feelings. Cheryl had passed on from this earthly existence but then as now she is still in my heart. Field trip is a term Debbie and I still use to describe our date activities. Much like a term of endearment it is a code, a phrase with a personal meaning for being together and enjoyment of an activity.

“We need a field trip.” she will say. My reply is yes we do and off we go to dinner and a movie or something.

Today the field trip is an afternoon luncheon and later this evening the play at Cincinnati’s Playhouse in the Park. The performance is “Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women” an adaptation by playwright Lauren M. Gunderson. I am looking forward to it for several reasons. It is coming to Cincinnati directly from Portland where my sister lives. Some of the actors are from there. I could not get through the book earlier in my life so I am inclined to find it in the library and read it again to see if my reading tastes have changed as I grow older. However, the real reason is that I have an opportunity to spend time with Debbie.

We will talk and muse about the past week. We will discuss Florida again. It is currently snowing in our part of the world so we will complain a bit about that. Afterward we will discuss the play itself over a glass of wine and maybe a snack.

We are going tonight because our trip to Florida bumped this play from our schedule last week. Another field trip is what we both need during this snowy season in Ohio.

We could stay in and whine about the weather or we could ignore it and rejoice in life and its pleasurable attributes. Soon the snow will be over.

Snow-mageddon be damned. We are going to the play.

Carpe Diem.

Longing for Spring

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Last week we returned from a midwinter trip to southern Florida to our home here in the “Heart of it All” Ohio. I like the slogan. Close your eyes a little and squint at the shape of the state. It is slightly heart shaped. These days here it is a cold heart.

Sit back and relax while I whine a little about the Ohio winter made worse by visiting Florida in late January. I am just starting to understand the snowbird phenomenon and why Delta Airlines has direct flights from Cincinnati to Naples, Florida bypassing their home port Atlanta, Georgia which is actually on the way.

When Cheryl was still here, winter weather was terrifying for two reasons. The first was obvious. She did not move well with her Parkinson ailment, so, any slippery surface was an opportunity for a catastrophic fall. She did not think well with her dementia ailment, so the winter darkness brought on strange behaviors that I did my best to help her cope with. We did many late night drives around a four mile loop I invented on the fly to take her home because her sun-downers syndrome convinced her that she was not home. Once I took a different path “home” and she told me, “This isn’t the way home.” I never varied from my original route after that comment.

I am not terrified of Ohio winter any longer. Inconvenienced perhaps. Uninterested in winter sports perhaps. There is a great sledding hill just across the street on an old abandoned golf course but I am not going there.

Going for a walk is inconvenient. Most folks just shovel off the driveway if they shovel anything at all.

Going for a bike ride is out of the question for similar reasons to those of walking. Many drivers are incompetent at that in normal daylight dry conditions. Cabin fever makes them aggressive it seems or maybe they are upset that the dairy guy is unable to refill the shelves in a timely manner and they will miss out. FOMO sires aggressiveness. Bicycle riders be damned. And it is too cold in any case, I am a warm weather rider.

Mostly winter anywhere is just gray while the world awaits the return of the sunlight and warmth. The view of the woods from my living room window will be bleak and gray for a few weeks more. And just as I am thinking these sad thoughts, a cardinal appears in view outside of that window and lifts my spirits.

He is wearing his best late winter plumage. He is looking for a mate. His distinctness against the gray and white is fantastical. He whispers change is coming. He cheeps a little because there are no females in this woods. He is off again.

This picture is from my trail camera that Debbie gave me for Christmas.

Spring is coming.

Carpe Diem.