Well, in all the 9 years we have been letting the white-robed beings who act like vampires around me exact their multiple-times-a-year toll from my veins, yesterday will be marked as a red-letter day.
For the first time in all this time, we have seen a reversal towards normal across the board. Every principal measure that for years has simply shown a steady decline as everything seemed to unwind with no way to truly prevent it has now shown between a little and much improvement. While all of my numbers are still quite unhealthy for an average adult, yesterday's work showed levels I haven't seen since 2004 on the worst measures, and since 2000 on the less pernicious ones.
I am very thankful this current line of treatment seems to be along the lines of the answers we have been looking for all these 9 years, and am even more thankful for the friendship, support, and prayers so many of you have supplied along the way to buoy me along. I'm especially thankful that I can leave my parents with that close-to-peace-of-mind news, and allow them to focus more on the many other people that need them so much on a daily basis.
My dear Potter...your clay...nothing more, and nothing less.
-A grateful Old Fool
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.
-
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Let's not do that again
So, yeah...I would like to avoid nights like this one again, at all costs.
Thanks to my wonderful, beautiful, beloved CPAP machine, I am able to sleep soundly after many years of having a very bad sleep problem. I've been on the CPAP machine for about two years now...heck, I depend on it to be able to sleep at all, and to make it through the night without a heart attack. :) My brother is in the same boat as I, only not quite so dependent.
However, one of the less pleasant side-effects my brother and I discovered is that our sleep is SO deep, we end up not moving very much in our sleep once we've drifted off courtesy of our beloved machines. This is generally not a problem, as most people can generally pick a comfortable position before drifting off to sleep. When we each first began learning to use our equipment, we quickly learned that a few positions seem comfortable when laying down, but can quickly degenerate into bad, bad uncomfortable - with a limb, usually a leg, going numb or being in pain from being ill-positioned.
Back at home I have body-length pillows I use to keep from rolling over or moving around much after I'm set for the night. Not so here. So, back to the original world-class freak-out now that I've intro'd it so heavily.
Apparently last night, while I was asleep, my back decided it had had just about all it could take in this one position, and I rolled forward in my sleep. This was not a good thing, as I rolled forward and onto my right arm in a very awkward position. And then, apparently I just slept for a very long time. Maybe 4 hours into being asleep, I woke up quite startled...and realized I was uncomfortably on top of my arm. I tried to move off of it, but I got NOTHING from my arm. So I rolled over, and when I stood up, to my horror, my arm was a deep, deep purple, and nothing but a dead limb. As I stood up, it swung limply in front of me with absolutely zero muscle response. I grasped the arm with my left hand, and I may as well been grabbing a giant sausage for as lively as it felt, as much of a dead weight as it was, and as unable to feel the grasping as I was.
Interestingly enough, this was not the freak-out moment for the night. :-) I managed to RELATIVELY calmly spend 10 minutes waking my arm back up and restoring circulation. I got the first bit of response to my shoulder after a minute, biceps after a couple of minutes, major muscle groups in general after 3, and finally finger control before 4 minutes were up.(big clock in the bedroom...good way to keep track). I then pumped my arm and hands to keep the circulation going, went to take some heart-safe aspirin and a small piece of fruit to accompany it into my empty stomach, and felt my arm nearly fully restored.
Then, the weird sensation began to spread from my arm on outward through my body, very slowly...across my chest, down my back, etc. I couldn't explain the tightening, oppressive, at times tingly, at other times painful sensation that was spreading from my shoulder outwards...and I hoped that it wasn't something like a bunch of clotted or Roleauxe'd blood from the no-circulation arm making it back into my system. Now, for having handled the previous paragraph's events in a measured and deliberate manner, I was surprisingly panicky about this sensation. World-class freak out, I suppose would describe how that felt. No yelling or flailing about or incoherent muttering or much of all that kind of stuff...but definitely an internal freak-out feeling.
On the BRIGHT side...I now have access to a home ECG monitoring kit, and my parents heard me up and about for the second half of my incident, came out to calm me down, and took my ECG. As opposed to my two triggered panic attacks in Ruston that led to needing to go get my heart checked, now that I have the medicine more balanced, there was nothing but a slightly elevated heart rate to show for this freak-out. So, trial-by-fire of the new balance of the medications, I suppose...and it seems to have worked.
If at all possible, I'd like to avoid this much testing of new medicine plans in the foreseeable future. :-)
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.
-
Thanks to my wonderful, beautiful, beloved CPAP machine, I am able to sleep soundly after many years of having a very bad sleep problem. I've been on the CPAP machine for about two years now...heck, I depend on it to be able to sleep at all, and to make it through the night without a heart attack. :) My brother is in the same boat as I, only not quite so dependent.
However, one of the less pleasant side-effects my brother and I discovered is that our sleep is SO deep, we end up not moving very much in our sleep once we've drifted off courtesy of our beloved machines. This is generally not a problem, as most people can generally pick a comfortable position before drifting off to sleep. When we each first began learning to use our equipment, we quickly learned that a few positions seem comfortable when laying down, but can quickly degenerate into bad, bad uncomfortable - with a limb, usually a leg, going numb or being in pain from being ill-positioned.
Back at home I have body-length pillows I use to keep from rolling over or moving around much after I'm set for the night. Not so here. So, back to the original world-class freak-out now that I've intro'd it so heavily.
Apparently last night, while I was asleep, my back decided it had had just about all it could take in this one position, and I rolled forward in my sleep. This was not a good thing, as I rolled forward and onto my right arm in a very awkward position. And then, apparently I just slept for a very long time. Maybe 4 hours into being asleep, I woke up quite startled...and realized I was uncomfortably on top of my arm. I tried to move off of it, but I got NOTHING from my arm. So I rolled over, and when I stood up, to my horror, my arm was a deep, deep purple, and nothing but a dead limb. As I stood up, it swung limply in front of me with absolutely zero muscle response. I grasped the arm with my left hand, and I may as well been grabbing a giant sausage for as lively as it felt, as much of a dead weight as it was, and as unable to feel the grasping as I was.
Interestingly enough, this was not the freak-out moment for the night. :-) I managed to RELATIVELY calmly spend 10 minutes waking my arm back up and restoring circulation. I got the first bit of response to my shoulder after a minute, biceps after a couple of minutes, major muscle groups in general after 3, and finally finger control before 4 minutes were up.(big clock in the bedroom...good way to keep track). I then pumped my arm and hands to keep the circulation going, went to take some heart-safe aspirin and a small piece of fruit to accompany it into my empty stomach, and felt my arm nearly fully restored.
Then, the weird sensation began to spread from my arm on outward through my body, very slowly...across my chest, down my back, etc. I couldn't explain the tightening, oppressive, at times tingly, at other times painful sensation that was spreading from my shoulder outwards...and I hoped that it wasn't something like a bunch of clotted or Roleauxe'd blood from the no-circulation arm making it back into my system. Now, for having handled the previous paragraph's events in a measured and deliberate manner, I was surprisingly panicky about this sensation. World-class freak out, I suppose would describe how that felt. No yelling or flailing about or incoherent muttering or much of all that kind of stuff...but definitely an internal freak-out feeling.
On the BRIGHT side...I now have access to a home ECG monitoring kit, and my parents heard me up and about for the second half of my incident, came out to calm me down, and took my ECG. As opposed to my two triggered panic attacks in Ruston that led to needing to go get my heart checked, now that I have the medicine more balanced, there was nothing but a slightly elevated heart rate to show for this freak-out. So, trial-by-fire of the new balance of the medications, I suppose...and it seems to have worked.
If at all possible, I'd like to avoid this much testing of new medicine plans in the foreseeable future. :-)
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
*NOTE: I reserve the rights to all the original postings in this blog. Do not use without permission and/or full attribution.
-
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Steps in an Empty Ballroom
I really thought I had posted this, but I can't find it anywhere on my blog, and I was trying to point someone to it today...so, here goes a re-post. This was written earlier this year.
----
Steps in an empty ballroom
The Old Fool is dancing again,
Moving, carousing, and hobnobbing.
His foolish ears are filled with merriment.
His aging eyes near blinded by the glittering lights.
His withered nose imbibes the wafting bouquet of the perfumed guests.
His old tongue delights in the vibrant and exotic spice of feasting delicacies.
His gnarled hands flitting from shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand in welcome greeting.
Yet the Old Fool's heart seemingly beats young, strong, and joyful.
It's filled with love, joy, and celebration as another party gets underway.
He greets his guests one by one with a cheery effusiveness that belies his age.
The band strikes up once more with the shimmering chords of gentle waltzes
The Old Fool has orchestrated this occasion anon to honor his five-star -
An honored guest, the guest of honor, the reason for this nightly repast.
Try as you may, inquisitive reader, this is one guest list you'll never infiltrate.
The exclusivity of this group is as impressive as it is impervious.
Should you seek out this gaiety and frivolity, you will not find it.
If you find the building, it's joy will remain unavailable to you.
Yet, should you overcome all odds and stumble upon the ballroom, only sadness you'll find.
You'll try the door and find it barred, you'll seek the windows and find them boarded.
But if you discover that broken board, that dirty window, and force the ballroom to its secret disgorge...
Then you must decide whether to feel pity, sadness, disgust, or dismay
As the old man's folly unto you is plainly revealed, his secret laid bare.
The lights are long dark, the delicacies a fading memory, the music silenced.
Guests have grown old in their homes and forgotten the lights, the glitter, the dancing.
The furniture gone, the room denuded, the dust turning bright colors to gray where the light invades.
But this room is not silent, not entirely dead.
Look carefully, and find the moving shadow, hear the echoing steps.
Wait patiently and find the Old Fool at it again.
His...
eyes blinded
ears deafened
hands numbed
tongue silenced
He dances in the shadows, greeting the guests of nights long gone.
A tenuous existence, where only the love and joy in the heart of this Fool remain.
His heart still strong, providing the only sustenance, providing this fantasy.
The feasting long gone, the five-star moved on,the foolish heart refuses to capitulate.
The room you face no longer filled with the sounds of merriment,
Only the lonely echoes of his feeble steps in the empty ballroom.
His five-star, once the center of these festivities, long ago did she fly
His love unrequited, her affections ungiven.
With nothing but a frail body left, the Old Fool's heart rebelled
It drew him back to the happier days, before he was beleaguered and wanting.
And here is where you find him, and now it is time.
It is now that you face a decision - a choice you're not sure is yours to make.
Do you quietly move on, abandoning the Old Fool to this nightly mirage,
Abscond your duty to another human life and allow a fellow being to inhabit this Limbo?
Is it better to wake him from this eternal slumber,
When once conscious his life must assuredly crumble, his body finally submit to Father Time's demands?
When to awake will be to remember, to suffer, to wail?
Or shall you allow him to live on in the lie...
Let his eyes see, ears hear, hands feel, tongue taste, and voice greet joys made up by the heart?
Shall you have the will to decide? The fortitude to choose?
For remain or walk away, then and there a choice you will make.
Will he awake?
Or will you again sneak away,
And as you leave hear the fading sounds
The echoes of steps in the empty ballroom?
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
----
Steps in an empty ballroom
The Old Fool is dancing again,
Moving, carousing, and hobnobbing.
His foolish ears are filled with merriment.
His aging eyes near blinded by the glittering lights.
His withered nose imbibes the wafting bouquet of the perfumed guests.
His old tongue delights in the vibrant and exotic spice of feasting delicacies.
His gnarled hands flitting from shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand in welcome greeting.
Yet the Old Fool's heart seemingly beats young, strong, and joyful.
It's filled with love, joy, and celebration as another party gets underway.
He greets his guests one by one with a cheery effusiveness that belies his age.
The band strikes up once more with the shimmering chords of gentle waltzes
The Old Fool has orchestrated this occasion anon to honor his five-star -
An honored guest, the guest of honor, the reason for this nightly repast.
Try as you may, inquisitive reader, this is one guest list you'll never infiltrate.
The exclusivity of this group is as impressive as it is impervious.
Should you seek out this gaiety and frivolity, you will not find it.
If you find the building, it's joy will remain unavailable to you.
Yet, should you overcome all odds and stumble upon the ballroom, only sadness you'll find.
You'll try the door and find it barred, you'll seek the windows and find them boarded.
But if you discover that broken board, that dirty window, and force the ballroom to its secret disgorge...
Then you must decide whether to feel pity, sadness, disgust, or dismay
As the old man's folly unto you is plainly revealed, his secret laid bare.
The lights are long dark, the delicacies a fading memory, the music silenced.
Guests have grown old in their homes and forgotten the lights, the glitter, the dancing.
The furniture gone, the room denuded, the dust turning bright colors to gray where the light invades.
But this room is not silent, not entirely dead.
Look carefully, and find the moving shadow, hear the echoing steps.
Wait patiently and find the Old Fool at it again.
His...
eyes blinded
ears deafened
hands numbed
tongue silenced
He dances in the shadows, greeting the guests of nights long gone.
A tenuous existence, where only the love and joy in the heart of this Fool remain.
His heart still strong, providing the only sustenance, providing this fantasy.
The feasting long gone, the five-star moved on,the foolish heart refuses to capitulate.
The room you face no longer filled with the sounds of merriment,
Only the lonely echoes of his feeble steps in the empty ballroom.
His five-star, once the center of these festivities, long ago did she fly
His love unrequited, her affections ungiven.
With nothing but a frail body left, the Old Fool's heart rebelled
It drew him back to the happier days, before he was beleaguered and wanting.
And here is where you find him, and now it is time.
It is now that you face a decision - a choice you're not sure is yours to make.
Do you quietly move on, abandoning the Old Fool to this nightly mirage,
Abscond your duty to another human life and allow a fellow being to inhabit this Limbo?
Is it better to wake him from this eternal slumber,
When once conscious his life must assuredly crumble, his body finally submit to Father Time's demands?
When to awake will be to remember, to suffer, to wail?
Or shall you allow him to live on in the lie...
Let his eyes see, ears hear, hands feel, tongue taste, and voice greet joys made up by the heart?
Shall you have the will to decide? The fortitude to choose?
For remain or walk away, then and there a choice you will make.
Will he awake?
Or will you again sneak away,
And as you leave hear the fading sounds
The echoes of steps in the empty ballroom?
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
Monday, July 20, 2009
Objectivism and victimhood
So, I have been THOROUGHLY enjoying my late-in-life discovery of Ayn Rand. I say late, because I feel I should have been exposed to this stuff at least as discussion material at least as early as High School. :-)
I recently commented on a friend's thoughts on Rand's Objectivist philosophy, but I think that my comment had more to do with why I love the novels - and the characters in them, as well as my concept of victimhood. Those heroes presented in the novels are truly the people I have sought out, hunted, searched for my whole life - though sadly the world is quite devoid of people with that much passion and conviction and life all in one big bundle of a person.
Anyway, on to my comments about the characters, and the stories....
I just finished Anthem, Fountainhead, and got halfway through Atlas over the last couple of days when I decided to stop and save the rest of it for my return trip, or I'd have nothing good to read. :) Rand's essay/book "An Introduction to Objectivist Epistemology" is a heady, but good read. I think it does a much better job of discussing objectivism than the novels do, though the novels show it in a more interesting way. :) I do find it interesting how many people continue to accuse the main characters of having "no heart". These comments are not limited to their fictional opponents within the setting of the novel, but also people out in the "real world" discussing the pros/cons of what these characters represent.
I posit that this is a thorough misunderstanding of the characters. I believe that these are people who are PASSIONATELY filled with emotion and drive. They have a purpose...in a world filled with people who would rather aspire to nothing. In such a world - where they are asked to either become mediocre, or support the mediocrity via their hard labor, they rebel. They have no space, no heart, no feelings for those who are unwilling to put in as much passion and effort for THEMSELVES as the heroes of the story have done. But this does not mean they are devoid of "heart". Instead, they are driven to find other people as passionately filled with "heart" as they are...about life, living, and the opportunity to do something with ourselves. When the main characters in all these stories find each other, there bursts forward a passion and emotional entanglement much stronger and deeper than any of the "second-handers" has ever or will ever experience. Because these looters and leeches are content to live with no passion, they can never achieve the heights of emotional exultation that the main characters do. Every person has an opportunity to do MORE with themselves - if they only choose to do so. Especially in THIS day and age, there are even LESS excuses for someone to not take charge of their own life and do something good and maybe even great with it. One never has to be anyone else's victim. Even if you cannot physically avoid subjugation, you get to choose whether your spirit is broken or not. I have experienced racism, discriminatory attitudes, poverty (though not abject/extreme poverty), and a multitude of other things that people consider to be "debilitating" and "hurtful" and "victimizing". While they HAVE hurt, they have made me victim to NO ONE. I am what I do with my life, not what I let someone else tell me I can or cannot be. If I BELIEVE what those naysayers say about me, then I stagnate...then they have won something over me. Hurt my feelings and my pride if you want to...take everything away from me...but you can never change who I am.
People are taught to be victims. People learn helplessness in the face of terrible odds. People succumb to the pressures. But they don't HAVE to. Some of the most JOYFUL people I know live in mud homes with thatch roofs, dirt floors, untreated illnesses, and in areas where they can't look the lighter skinned people directly in the eyes when speaking to them. And yet, they live lives filled with more joy and bounty than many of us ever will experience...because they don't feel the need to allow the world around them to convince them they are victims...helpless squanders of existence. The main characters in these novels don't "have no heart". That is what the degraded world around them accuses them of representing. Instead, these heroes, these passionate people, simply refused to BE victims, and refused to give parlay to anyone who allowed themselves to feel victimized - and therefore deserving of some special consideration. Now, I just need to find myself a good Miss Taggart or Francone...
sigh. ;-) This is my version of all the teenager-y "I love Edward" crap on facebook. I'm goo-goo eyed for those people that I have not yet found to exist.
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Great...just great.
I couldn't have said it better than the artist of the comic Non-Sequitur did...
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
You can retire to....
(got this forwarded by a buddy)
You can retire to Phoenix, Arizona where.....
1. You are willing to park 3 blocks away because you found shade.
2. You've experienced condensation on your butt from the hot water in the toilet bowl.
3. You can drive for 4 hours in one direction and never leave town.
4. You have over 100 recipes for Mexican food.
5. You know that "dry heat" is comparable to what hits you in the face when you open your oven door.
6. The 4 seasons are: tolerable, hot, really hot, and ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!
You can retire to California where...
1. You make over $250,000 and you still can't afford to buy a house.
2. The fastest part of your commute is going down your driveway.
3. You know how to eat an artichoke.
4. You drive your rented Mercedes to your neighborhood block party.
1. You are willing to park 3 blocks away because you found shade.
2. You've experienced condensation on your butt from the hot water in the toilet bowl.
3. You can drive for 4 hours in one direction and never leave town.
4. You have over 100 recipes for Mexican food.
5. You know that "dry heat" is comparable to what hits you in the face when you open your oven door.
6. The 4 seasons are: tolerable, hot, really hot, and ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!!
You can retire to California where...
1. You make over $250,000 and you still can't afford to buy a house.
2. The fastest part of your commute is going down your driveway.
3. You know how to eat an artichoke.
4. You drive your rented Mercedes to your neighborhood block party.
5. When someone asks you how far something is, you tell them how longit will take to get there rather than how many miles away it is.
6. The 4 seasons are: Fire, Flood, Mud, and Drought.
You can retire to New York City where...
1. You say "the city" and expect everyone to know you mean Manhattan ....
2. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park, but can't find Wisconsin on a map.
3. You think Central Park is "nature."
4. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
5. You've worn out a car horn.
6. The 4 seasons are: Fire, Flood, Mud, and Drought.
You can retire to New York City where...
1. You say "the city" and expect everyone to know you mean Manhattan ....
2. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park, but can't find Wisconsin on a map.
3. You think Central Park is "nature."
4. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
5. You've worn out a car horn.
You can retire to Maine where...
1. You only have four spices: salt, pepper, ketchup, and Tabasco .
2. Halloween costumes fit over parkas.
3. You have more than one recipe for moose.
4. Sexy lingerie is anything flannel with less than eight buttons.
5. The four seasons are: winter, still winter, almost winter, and construction.
You can retire to the Deep South where...
1. You can rent a movie and buy bait in the same store.
2. "Y'all" is singular and "all y'all" is plural.
3. "He needed killin'" is a valid defense.
4. Everyone has 2 first names: Billy Bob , Jimmy Bob , Mary Sue, Billie Jean, Betty Jean, Mary Beth, etc.
5. Everything is either "in yonder," "over yonder" or "out yonder." It's important to know the difference, too.
You can retire to Colorado where...
1. You carry your $3,000 mountain bike atop your $500 car ..
2. You tell your husband to pick up Granola on his way home and so he stops at the day care center.
3. A pass does not involve a football or dating.
4. The top of your head is bald, but you still have a pony tail.
You can retire to the Midwest where...
1. You've never met any celebrities, but the mayor knows your name.
2. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor.
3. You have had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" on the same day.
4. You end sentences with a preposition: "Where's my coat at? "
5. When asked how your trip was to any exotic place, you say, "It was different!"
AND You can retire to Florida where..
1. You eat dinner at 3:15 in the afternoon.
2. All purchases include a coupon of some kind -- even houses and cars.
3. Everyone can recommend an excellent dermatologist.
4. Road construction never ends anywhere in the state.
1. You only have four spices: salt, pepper, ketchup, and Tabasco .
2. Halloween costumes fit over parkas.
3. You have more than one recipe for moose.
4. Sexy lingerie is anything flannel with less than eight buttons.
5. The four seasons are: winter, still winter, almost winter, and construction.
You can retire to the Deep South where...
1. You can rent a movie and buy bait in the same store.
2. "Y'all" is singular and "all y'all" is plural.
3. "He needed killin'" is a valid defense.
4. Everyone has 2 first names: Billy Bob , Jimmy Bob , Mary Sue, Billie Jean, Betty Jean, Mary Beth, etc.
5. Everything is either "in yonder," "over yonder" or "out yonder." It's important to know the difference, too.
You can retire to Colorado where...
1. You carry your $3,000 mountain bike atop your $500 car ..
2. You tell your husband to pick up Granola on his way home and so he stops at the day care center.
3. A pass does not involve a football or dating.
4. The top of your head is bald, but you still have a pony tail.
You can retire to the Midwest where...
1. You've never met any celebrities, but the mayor knows your name.
2. Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor.
3. You have had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" on the same day.
4. You end sentences with a preposition: "Where's my coat at? "
5. When asked how your trip was to any exotic place, you say, "It was different!"
AND You can retire to Florida where..
1. You eat dinner at 3:15 in the afternoon.
2. All purchases include a coupon of some kind -- even houses and cars.
3. Everyone can recommend an excellent dermatologist.
4. Road construction never ends anywhere in the state.
5. Cars in front of you often appear to be driven by headless people.
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
From a good friend, a laugh!
Ah, the laugh I needed. :)
A good friend sent me a series of inspirational posters for second amendment...and good for a great chuckle as well... :)
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
A good friend sent me a series of inspirational posters for second amendment...and good for a great chuckle as well... :)
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
Dear Potter
The Old Fool settles with a groan and a sigh to his familiar place before the writing desk. He adjusts the light and lays out the proud and efficient tools of his trade.
But today these tools will be compelled to betray their daily routine, through no small fault of the Fool's. The impetus he provides this time will drive his constant companions in a radically different direction.
Accustomed to technical drawings and business-like writing, these tools are aghast at their master as he denudes his current intent by the first few words gashed across the virginal page...
"Dear Potter,"
-*Can this be? Can we be truly repurposed so, debasing ourselves to this mundane repast? A personal missive, no less, but even worse - one to Him?*-
The Fool gives a stern glare, grimly setting his jaw, determination apparent in spades. His tools cease their protests, and yield to his task - though still slightly aghast.
but this
"Dear Potter,"
Though firm is his gaze and determined his stare, the Fool knows his attitude is for the benefit of his horrified audience - and nothing more. For as he reads those two words - that beachead on parchment, that breach in the seawall from which the heartfelt words may flow - he knows that even his words will not be sufficient.
"Dear Potter,"
He longs to proceed, he needs to continue, he's compelled to drive on - but this man who has rarely shown fear now shrinks internally away from these two horrifying words. These admissions of weakness, of helplessness, of...he dare not append to this unappealing nomenclature.
"Dear Potter,"
Oh cursed words, nearly mocking in their simplicity! Their existence an abomination to his sense of ability and independence. Their necessity a source of sorrow...and, yes, shame.
"Dear Potter,"
Words fail the Fool...he longs to lay out his plaintive case, his need for strength and succor in a time of endless decay, weakening and disarray. He searches for the words that might arrogate these thoughts with a quiet dignity, and is dismayed to find none.
"Dear Potter,"
Horrid, wretched, vile, hated words! The Fool instinctively tries to abscond from this task, but alas, even that will is no more. The horror before him is irrevocably his to confront and now his devoir.
"Dear Potter,"
And yet, in the midst of this self-pitying angst, an old memory creeps in - careful to wind its way around the fear, frustration, and sheer fever surrounding this task. A memory of lessons long forgotten, and wisdom now rusty.
"Dear Potter,"
What is this bothersome memory? This wisp of life from childhood drifting across the gulf of time and past the shortcomings of recall? It is but one thing, one sentence, two words.
"Dear Potter,"
The two frightening words now have a competing pair. Two words of power, comfort, and assurance. Two words long ago left behind, but abandoned by the Fool, never the Potter.
"Dear Potter,"
"His Clay."
And now, the long, pleading letter...the deep arrogations for clemency, strength, and succor...feel empty and meaningless beside these two words. A simple truth, once forgotten, now replacing the fear.
"Dear Potter,
Help me remember I am merely "His Clay". Your clay. The day may bode long ahead, its shadows menacing and filled with unknowns. And yet, my Dear Potter, please help me remember those two words I had let fall in the chaff and get lost in time. For on my own, these coming days are impossible. But Your Clay has merely the limits YOU give it, nothing more nothing less.
So now, my Dear Potter, I amend my plea, center my request, repurpose my devoir - simply help me remember through these coming days, those two words...so I may rest in the peace they can bring.
His Clay.
Merely and yet supremely, your clay, my Dear Potter. Give me the patience, the will, the endurance, to live up to the challenge. And, Dear Potter - I beg - forgive my insecurities, weakness, and despair.
Always and gratefully,
An Old Fool...His Clay."
The tools slow down, and finally stop, and gaze with new eyes at the sight of their master. Clay...merely clay.
-*He will certainly always be such an enigma, don't you think? Reduced to a clod, a clump, a mud pie, and yet our proud keeper seems bright, happy, serene. A wonder indeed.*-
And thus, with a grunt and a sigh, the Fool rises from the usual place, leaving his perplexed companions behind, and us to boot. So we can ponder together, what is it about this wet earth concept that can bring so much peace?
"Dear Potter," - indeed.
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
But today these tools will be compelled to betray their daily routine, through no small fault of the Fool's. The impetus he provides this time will drive his constant companions in a radically different direction.
Accustomed to technical drawings and business-like writing, these tools are aghast at their master as he denudes his current intent by the first few words gashed across the virginal page...
"Dear Potter,"
-*Can this be? Can we be truly repurposed so, debasing ourselves to this mundane repast? A personal missive, no less, but even worse - one to Him?*-
The Fool gives a stern glare, grimly setting his jaw, determination apparent in spades. His tools cease their protests, and yield to his task - though still slightly aghast.
but this
"Dear Potter,"
Though firm is his gaze and determined his stare, the Fool knows his attitude is for the benefit of his horrified audience - and nothing more. For as he reads those two words - that beachead on parchment, that breach in the seawall from which the heartfelt words may flow - he knows that even his words will not be sufficient.
"Dear Potter,"
He longs to proceed, he needs to continue, he's compelled to drive on - but this man who has rarely shown fear now shrinks internally away from these two horrifying words. These admissions of weakness, of helplessness, of...he dare not append to this unappealing nomenclature.
"Dear Potter,"
Oh cursed words, nearly mocking in their simplicity! Their existence an abomination to his sense of ability and independence. Their necessity a source of sorrow...and, yes, shame.
"Dear Potter,"
Words fail the Fool...he longs to lay out his plaintive case, his need for strength and succor in a time of endless decay, weakening and disarray. He searches for the words that might arrogate these thoughts with a quiet dignity, and is dismayed to find none.
"Dear Potter,"
Horrid, wretched, vile, hated words! The Fool instinctively tries to abscond from this task, but alas, even that will is no more. The horror before him is irrevocably his to confront and now his devoir.
"Dear Potter,"
And yet, in the midst of this self-pitying angst, an old memory creeps in - careful to wind its way around the fear, frustration, and sheer fever surrounding this task. A memory of lessons long forgotten, and wisdom now rusty.
"Dear Potter,"
What is this bothersome memory? This wisp of life from childhood drifting across the gulf of time and past the shortcomings of recall? It is but one thing, one sentence, two words.
"Dear Potter,"
The two frightening words now have a competing pair. Two words of power, comfort, and assurance. Two words long ago left behind, but abandoned by the Fool, never the Potter.
"Dear Potter,"
"His Clay."
And now, the long, pleading letter...the deep arrogations for clemency, strength, and succor...feel empty and meaningless beside these two words. A simple truth, once forgotten, now replacing the fear.
"Dear Potter,
Help me remember I am merely "His Clay". Your clay. The day may bode long ahead, its shadows menacing and filled with unknowns. And yet, my Dear Potter, please help me remember those two words I had let fall in the chaff and get lost in time. For on my own, these coming days are impossible. But Your Clay has merely the limits YOU give it, nothing more nothing less.
So now, my Dear Potter, I amend my plea, center my request, repurpose my devoir - simply help me remember through these coming days, those two words...so I may rest in the peace they can bring.
His Clay.
Merely and yet supremely, your clay, my Dear Potter. Give me the patience, the will, the endurance, to live up to the challenge. And, Dear Potter - I beg - forgive my insecurities, weakness, and despair.
Always and gratefully,
An Old Fool...His Clay."
The tools slow down, and finally stop, and gaze with new eyes at the sight of their master. Clay...merely clay.
-*He will certainly always be such an enigma, don't you think? Reduced to a clod, a clump, a mud pie, and yet our proud keeper seems bright, happy, serene. A wonder indeed.*-
And thus, with a grunt and a sigh, the Fool rises from the usual place, leaving his perplexed companions behind, and us to boot. So we can ponder together, what is it about this wet earth concept that can bring so much peace?
"Dear Potter," - indeed.
--
The Old Fool
“If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” -George Orwell.
-
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