STILL NOT DEAD YET

So, once again i'm fighting MRSA.
Once more my immune system has decided
it couldn't care less about me.  Foreign bodies,
assorted virus', and unlimited vaguely threatening
entities? Come on in!!! We've just about got
this guy set up for the kill!

So, I get to go to the hospital for 7-10 days
to sit in a chair and get a bunch of Vancomycin
pumped into my poor little veins.
But, and this is the Good Part, I get to come home
every night! That's right ... spend three hours
with the wretched ugly mob of sick people
who insist on some kind of emergency care
when they crack up their Camaros and Hummers!

Why, just today, a fine strapping young man was parading
around the IV area showing of his smacked up fist,
gaily recounting how he had gotten likkered up
and punched a Wall!!!! And Guess What!!!!
The Wall won!!!!  Jesus, Mary and Mailer, help me.

Winter Sick - Tired

Not writing much.
I've been getting terrible joint pain and chills and temperatures up to 102.5.
Maybe once a week - or two weeks. I can't remember - I remember from my past ( and from a glimpse into the future ) having MRSA; a very, very bad thing to have had. Isolated Hospital rooms and gowned up Candy Stripers pushing bad trayed-up hospital food at me as if i'd wolf it down like some bedraggled old, well, wolf.

I'm seeing a Foot Doc who is trying to close the last of my wounds; a stubborn open thing on the bottom of my foot. I've had plastic surgery twice on this thing; semi-successful in that the procedures managed to get ass graft  skin to stick and grow. Last summer I managed my wood lots in person. On the ground, on my own two feet. The wound re-opened and somewhere, had a boogaloo party with something rank and rotten. (Maybe a back room Health Care boondoggle! )

So the Good Doc took a culture and sure enough, MRSA is back. That's what we expected. It's like walking around with a sinus infection, chill popping head cold while being beaten by little Mark McQuires. So i'm trying to hang on and will be probably getting wired up for in home IV therapy.  TIED to the MACHINES again! Little buzzy intrusive things..... Five times a day, I get to have an IV Liquid Diet through a PICT line. This is not a great way to live.

Town, Gown and Remorse in equal Measure

---

I'm guessing that what the individual wants out of life, how he wishes to spend his working hours and leisure hours counts for a lot. Without getting in to DOB land, i'd say that the people who have been educated at Elite schools and move in rarefied social circles, have an existential moment or two, where they realize, that indeed, "Is that All Their Is" is more than a Peggy Lee song.

After careful rumination, some of them go back to school at their Local Community College and study Beatnik Lit. Or Buddhism.
In other words, some realize they have taken the wrong path for them; and gotten lost on that Path to Boot. Others will never feel that heart pounding in the middle of the night I've wasted my life I should have joined Barbara Seagull in the tree house moment. They'll just go to work in the morning and summer at the Lake House with Cousin Edwards family. They'll ski at Vail. He'll die never knowing how much his wife actually, really did love him and what beautiful wonderful children he has left behind.

Others will be American cowboys; fiercely independent and proud, quite willing to sacrifice and delay satisfaction. He'll change his own oil and do his own brakes on his 6 year old American car. He'll be proud his wife holds an important job at the Hardware Store, even though she only went to the Community College for Upholstery. He'll attend his son's ball games and laugh and cry at all his heroics and miscues. He'll vote in every election and do his own taxes (wrong) explaining the importance of both actions to his disinterested family.

They'll spend a week down at the lake, the south side, with the slightly weedy, muddy and rocky beach. They'll ski on Fridays at the Kenwood Ski Tow.

He'll work overtime and his son will get into Boston University, a Jewel of a school, nestled in the Arms of Boston, surrounded by constant reminders of what made America, America. He'll hear 40 languages and find his love at an Abbott and Costello Revival at a small, bum laden theatre.

He'll go; probably the damn cigarettes his wife yelled at him about. He will be attended to by friends and family and possibly a shadow outline of Michael; a saintly presence during his entire
life.

But - who knows - such is the fate of those of us who pursue pieces of paper.......

ah .....sunshine ....

... you Jewels, you. 

VINYL ALBUMS

Back in the '60's you learned when Harvey was getting the new Beatles album in. You'd get in line on Central Street outside of Harvey's Book Land and wait for him to open. When he did, you'd enter and pay his daughter. He preferred that you pay with 3 singles as the price was $2.50 + .15 for tax. Teresa was standing on the right, with a stack of dimes and quarters, accepting the folding stock and handing you back your change. She'd have a five on the counter, close to the edge, in case some rich kid from Chelmsford had rolled in to town. She'd say "Thank you" and you'd shuffle ahead and when it was your turn, you'd spy Harvey half hidden amongst the plain brown boxes. You'd hold out your hand and Harvey would hand over the sacramental vinyl and you'd make a left turn and walk out into the grit and chop of Central Street, Lowell, Mass not knowing Kerouac, the great Beat Angel himself would right then, be up Back Central at Nicky's Bar regaling the regulars with stories of Old Angel Midnight.

It would take years of friendship with Harvey, before he would acknowledge the times Jack would slip in the back way and watch his flock running their hands over the spines and edges of the holy goof book classics stacked in haphazard order. How they'd sip from a bottle of wine and marvel at the will of the people to read, desire, consume.

That's gone. Harvey now running with Jack and Poe; chasing Lucy down Merrimack Street, threatening to dip her pig tails into the universal ink.

Old Hippy & Young Mr. Wards Poster Art

Just got the "Ballad of John & Yoko from Sean Ward of Toronto (and the World), and hung it on the Far Wall of my Barking Dogs Recording Studio and Secret Hide Out. It's the first thing you see when you walk through the (open) door. It's colorful and Witty and draws attention. I want him to do a pencil sketch of me sitting next to Harry with both of us looking down at the floor and noticing it needs sweeping. Done in the style of that famous B.B. King-Eric Clapton, sitting on the Fender Amps photograph.

Check out seanward.net for Beatles art, comics and general all around nice guy stuff.

Mot & Mat Play Guitars Very Nicely

And sing , too.
If you are into New Hampshire and acoustic guitars and Bluesy electric snapping and popping; check these guys out!!!!!!

http://file313.blogspot.com/2009/12/blog-post.html

LILLY

I guess it's time to introduce the Boss of the family 

Lilly is now about ten.  No one knows how old she is, or where she is from. But about ten years ago, Kate, then eight, needed someone to talk to. After school, and at night. Someone to confide in. And since Maureen was getting pretty tired of walking me after dinner, a dog seemed natural.


We have a great facility near us, in Methuen, Ma. named Nevin's Farm.  They not only shelter cat's and dog's; but big old worn out farm horses and dairy cows all milked out who's owners  couldn't stand to hamburger them up. Pigs and chickens who managed to lie, cheat or steal their way off the disassembly line.  All living out at the farm. 


We drove up there one bone chilling night and popped inside and down the narrow hall to the "puppies".  Which of course, consisted of a dozen Bull Terriers, Dobermans and various attack assault dog-machines.


..... and Lilly. Fifteen pounds of terrified little mixed breed terrier, herself.  We went back up to the Big Desk, and since we were repeat customers and had been checked out previously, we busted her out of there. And we're all still running.


Lilly had been running loose in some of the worst neighborhoods  in the area when she caught the eye of an Animal Control Officer. She stalked "Bella", as she called her and brought her to her own home, kicking, snarling and biting.  Said she had "Trust" issues. She kept her there and worked with her and by the time we got her, two weeks later. (The dog, not the Nice Animal Control Woman), she was in much calmer waters.


Lilly wouldn't come near us for three days, just sit on the couch and eye us warily. But she never bit or nipped us and slowly allowed us to spoil her over the next week. Now, as you can imagine, she's put on weight and lays about as much as any terrier until we walk. Then, she puts it in overdrive and terrorizes the mousie, voles and chipmonk tribes out back!  It's just amazing how the little Hellions get to you!