the patient

Before surgery:
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After surgery, below, the Patient is hooked up to his cold water pump that circulates in the pad on his shoulder for 4 days. And you can see his nifty black sling with a support. He got to bring them both home.



The Patient is comfortably watching MSU basketball as I write. The pain block is still in his system. He'll take Vicadin before "bed" to help when the block wears off.
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"Bed" will be a recliner chair, most comfortable apparently for rotator cuff patients.
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The surgery was fine, the doctor told me she repaired the rotator cuff beautifully, and she also found a bicep tendon that needed help. So she cut it! He has two on that bone after all! Who needs two? No, really, I trust her.
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You see I am not showing many pictures of the Patient. That's because I waited four hours in the waiting room.

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I slept.

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I read.










I talked with a very funny bus driver waiting for his wife.

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I drank coffee.

I watched CNN.

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And I took pictures.

"Sıkıldım," we say in Turkish, which means a combination of boredom and anxiousness. "I was restlessly bored." I wanted to know how things were going.

Happily, the first stage of the ordeal is over and successful. Now on to the rest of the story.

Thank you, thank you, thank you everyone for your wellness wishes for the Patient! We were, and are, touched and encouraged by that.

torn rotator cuff

Today Don is having torn rotator cuff surgery.

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In August the rotator cuff on his right shoulder tore when he caught a ball while pitching for his kickball team.

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The rotator cuff is a group of muscles and tendons that keep the arm in its ball and socket. These tendons keep the shoulder muscles attached to the shoulder and arm bones. Don's rotator cuff tore from the shoulder bone, so the surgeon will reattach it with suture anchors (think staples).

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He won't spend the night, it's outpatient surgery. But recovery for rotator cuff surgery is long and painful, partly because there is not a lot of blood flow in tendons. He will have to endure 5 months of rehab.

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The surgeon will also remove a bone spur on his shoulder, and she'll look for any bursa that might be lurking.

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The images are from University of Wisconsin Health.

New Huff

If you're so inclined, come see what I'm huffing about.

yes, it was a happy Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving morning we woke up to snow.



Our dear little Phoebe bravely faces another Michigan winter. But this time she has a new birdbath at her back.

Bishop acted like she didn't remember what snow was. You can see Don, Mike and little Kaeley going for a walk, getting needed fresh air after being cooped up in the house.

I wish I could bring the hydrangea inside for chandeliers above the big table. I think the candles would make them sparkle.

It felt good to get outside into the air that smells like sunlight refrigerated in earth.

To see our kids at home together for a few days warmed my heart.

Indoors, Grandma is the cuddler of choice for little Kaeley.

Games, games and more games are what my husband's family loves at holidays. Peter brought "Guitar Hero" which was a challenge and a hit. You thought playing a real guitar was hard? Try playing this video game. The expert gives tips to his dad and sister.

"Cranium" is more my speed, with word and picture challenges.



I had to draw something to make my all women team guess more quickly than the men's team. This drawing is a "place." Can you guess what/where? We won this round. Wish I'd taken a pic of the men's drawing so you could see why.


Of course Thanksgiving is not all fun and games for the people doing the preparations. For all that good food, there is work, work, work. But when we do it together, it is fun.

Lesley cleaned and polished all the silver, bless her. We have a collection passed down from my mom's and my dad's families. I love using old things that my grandparents and aunt used. Imagine, those big serving spoons in my Grandma Olive's hands! Oh I love thinking about that.

I made pies, apple and pumpkin (remember, with Don's home grown organic pumpkins).

And I arranged flowers.

Don and I did the turkey, stuffing, potatoes, gravy and I don't know what else. And the dozen other people in our home contributed to the meal in their own ways, and they cleaned up with energy and joy.

It's all about the meal, you might think. All the days of preparation, the hours of cleaning up.

But the meal is only a symbol. Our fingers mixing the ingredients. Our hands moving the furniture around to make room for the big table. Our hands laying the white tablecloth as clean and fresh as the snow outside. The perfect tiny flowers bordering the table on the good china. The polished silver, the flowers like jewels, the white candles lighting our familiar faces more softly than usual. Why do we do this?

We do it because we love each other, because we're thankful for each other, and we don't want to forget that our closest family and friends deserve special attention and the best we can offer.

Happy Thanksgiving

It didn't occur to me until after I was taking some still life shots in the living room (too cold and yucky outside to go out with the camera, without enough interesting payoff) that they were appropriate for Thanksgiving week.

Above, turkey feathers found on the farm, with a backdrop of a Navajo rug my great grandfather Arthur and great grandmother Carrie picked up on one of their mountain hikes out West, all sitting on a 200-year-old chair that belonged through the years to my mom's family. It made me so happy to realize the significant juxtaposition of an Indian rug and turkey feathers. I love that Thanksgiving started with a feast where immigrants and their helpers, the new land's native inhabitants, broke food together that they had worked together to raise. This human reliance on the kindness of strangers touches me, and I love remembering it.

Below, Don's grandparents Marshie and Guy behind the Thanksgiving cactus. Guy was one of 10 boys. These two were strong people. I met Guy, but not Marshie. Don says of his grandpa that he was a "brusque teddy bear." Guy was 6'4", and you can see Marshie was right up there too, at 5'11".

Wednesday we will welcome our children, and some of Don's family, for a few days of feasting, gratitude, family stories and laughing, and just treasuring each other. All too soon, all we have left are feathers, travel souvenirs and photographs.

I'm thankful this week, as always, but still, I'm huffing . . .

digitalis

It's November in Michigan. These photos were taken this week.

When I was a little girl, we often had our first snow by Halloween, and our first real snow storm by Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is next week, the 22nd. Today it's 60°F (15°C). But it could still snow next week.

Last year Don planted an English garden, with a few digitalis plants. We also call them "foxgloves" in the U.S. They kind of look like gloves, don't you think?

Medicines from digitalis are called "Digitalin," used for cardiac help to control the heart rate for patients in artrial fibrillation.

But if you eat it, it is toxic and will cause vomiting and diarrhea. Believe it or not, some people do eat it to keep their weight down.

* * * *

See what I'm huffing about today.

just so you know

I'm starting a new blog. Yes, me.

SYNCHRONIZING is my primary blog. Flying is my photoblog.

The new one is titled "HUFFING."

huffing
v. huffed, huff·ing, huffs 1. To puff; blow. 2. To make noisy threats; bluster. 3. To react indignantly; take offense.

It's a place for me to huff and puff once in a while. Yes, that Bono post got me wishing I had a regular room for that kind of discussion. I hope you'll visit and huff with me.

See what I'm huffing about today . . .

HAPPY DIWALI

To all my friends, Indian and otherwise,

I wish you a Happy Diwali.

May your life be filled with truth and light.

en-(COURAGE)-ment

Because I need courage to face our world, maybe you do too. I've been losing heart lately. And I'm a LEO! I need to be more lion-hearted.

So I'm choosing to lay aside skepticism and cynicism for a minute and take (COURAGE) from Paul Hewson, aka Bono, and his partner Bobby Shriver. It's been a year since they launched the (PRODUCT)RED campaign. They targeted HIV/AIDS, Malaria and Tuberculosis in Africa, through the Global Fund.

Companies GAP, American Express, Converse, Apple and others send 50% of the profit for these target (RED) products to the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria, which uses 100% to fight disease and poverty in Africa. All customers have to do is choose products that are supporting the campaign, such as a red iPod, a (red) Motorola cell phone, a (red) t-shirt from GAP, a (red) American Express card (only in the UK, darn), cool (red) Converse sneakers, etc. Please go here to see the full list of products promoting health in Africa.

In the year since the (RED) campaign was launched:

* $47 million donated to the campaign

* 1 million new people are now receiving daily treatment for HIV/AIDS; 1400 new people a day are getting meds

* 2 million new people are now being treated for tuberculosis

* 20 million new people are now being treated for malaria

Sure, these companies are making a profit. But when companies make a profit, it makes campaigns like this sustainable. Let's be smart, people.

Hey, Bono's Irish, but he knows how to market this campaign in the U.S. He says, America needs to "redescribe" itself in the world.

That's the kind of marketing I like. Let's be gullible and believe we can make a difference. Look at the difference these two men have made.

Click on THE (RED) MANIFESTO below to read it:

I got me a (RED) GAP t-shirt, the (2 WEEKS) one. Gap's contribution to the Global Fund from the sale of each (2 WEEKS) t-shirt is equivalent to the average cost of 2 weeks of antiretroviral medicine in Africa, which, along with appropriate nutrition and care, enables people living with HIV to lead healthy, normal lives. That gives them COURAGE, which is (WAY) more important than giving me COURAGE. But giving them COURAGE also gives me COURAGE.

Be en-(COURAGE)-ed. Don't give up. Please never give up.

the music, the dance

Rumi quotes in bold arabesque (orange).

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Mawlānā Jalāl-ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, or just Rumi. I met his writing a couple of years ago. You can find a link to his poems on my sidebar. I had heard about him in Istanbul when we lived there in the late 1980s.

You picked up a handful of earth, I was in that handful.


Rumi was born in present day Afghanistan September 30, 1207. Apparently 2007 is the year of Rumi, celebrating his birth year 800 years ago. He died in Konya, Turkey, December 17, 1273. This carpet in our guest room is from Konya, where Rumi died and is buried.





Not until a person dissolves, can
he or she know what union is.

There is a descent into emptiness.
A lie will not change to truth

with just talking about it.


I’ve read that he’s the most popular poet in the U.S. (best selling). I find this surprising. I’m guessing 10 years ago not many had heard of him here. Is it surprising to you that an 800-year-old Persian poet is the most popular in the United States of America, more popular than Robert Frost or Maya Angelou? But if you pay attention to the boom in Eastern philosophy in this country, maybe it isn’t too surprising.

A lover wants only to be in love’s presence, an ocean whose depth will never be known.

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Love’s work looks absurd, but trying to find a
meaning will hide it more. Silence.


And isn’t it a little ironic that a mystical Muslim is our poet, when our government has demonized Muslims? I am tired of being around such blindness. Oh, the beauty of poetry to bridge this gap.



Blessed is one who sees his weakness, and blessed is one who, when
he sees a flaw in someone

else, takes responsibility for it. Because, half of any person
is wrong and weak and off

the path. Half! The other half is dancing and swimming and
flying in the invisible joy.




Last night Coleman Barks, translator of Rumi in the volume I own, came to my University, and Inge and I went to hear him, and also to see the Whirling Dervishes after his reading.




Barks’ voice is deep and just a tad southern. (He was born in Tennessee and now lives in Atlanta.) For an hour and a half, he recited from memory or read Rumi on the mysteries and perplexities of love and life, accompanied by Glen Velez, drummer (please go to his link and see how amazing his playing is), and David Darling, cellist. Barks' strong voice supported by the beats of the drum and the pluck of the cello melded into a very easy-to-listen-to rhythmic cadence. Each artist alone would have forced my eyes closed in delight. But hearing the trio together, I simply sat in stunned bliss. Actually, it was a quartet, Rumi in the lead. Every moment the sunlight is totally empty and totally full.





Rumi asks, What is the heart? What is it to be a true human being? What is in the human exchange?

After Rumi’s death, the Mevlevi Sufi Order was founded, they are the Whirling Dervishes.


Following Barks’ reading, Velez’ drumming and Darling’s cello playing, two Whirling Dervishes whirled in a performance. Dervishes believe their ecstasy from union with God culminates in this dance.


I was a little troubled, even beforehand, by the prospect of watching this practice, because it felt as if I would be watching something intimate, and I wondered how this could be conjured for a show?


Be a clear and rational lunatic.


So mostly I just closed my eyes and listened to the Sufi musical foursome from Chicago play for the Dervishes. They too were earnest, and I appreciated their devotion, all of them.



The two dancers walked in ceremoniously, dressed in white gowns covered by black robes. It’s now time to live naked.

But the event for me was about listening to the words of a man who thought he

could find a way through fire, expressed through the artistry of three men whose gifts and skills match the depths of a poet’s words still alive after 800 years.

You’ve been walking the ocean’s edge,
holding up your robes to keep them dry. You

must dive naked under and deeper under, a thousand
times deeper! Love flows down. The ground

submits to the sky and suffers what comes. Tell
me, is the earth worse for giving in like that?