Dear Doctor,

While in the care of you and your staff and that of the hospital I was asked on a number of occasions this question__"What do you do?"

In my life I have done many things. Artist, writer, seller of others works. I have worked for myself. I have worked for others. I have always worked. Now I am no longer able to paint as my hands do not possess their old dexterity. Writing? Yes, I still write but not as I once did. My mind seems to wander and I have difficulty pulling pieces together. It must be this age thing everyone keeps talking about.

And my physical abilities seem to be deserting me.

Once I realized that most of these things I depended on all my life were gone and not coming back I had to come to a new definition of what it is that I do. It's taken me awhile but I believe over the last few years I can now more easily characterize it.

I engender. Yes, that is as good a term as any. I, and others like me, seek to reach out and encourage and engender the people around us who we encounter. Are we a group? Not that I'm aware of but I'm certain I'm not alone. What I am certain of__ this is what I now do.

When I see someone doing something that should be commented on, I do so. Commended, yes. Criticized? This is more difficult. Because as I grow older I also realize I have very little footing to stand in condemnation upon. Oh, don't mistake me, I may think it, but I try [sometimes with valiant effort] to keep it to myself.

So that is my answer to your question.

And Doctor? Thank you for all that you and your wonderful staff did for me.

Why

It's interesting how different people are. We like to think were alike when it comes right down to it and concerning the big view I would say that is probably true but with the small things, or at least the smaller things, the private things we are all very different. Some of us are open books and others of us keep things close to the chest. I am some of both.
Recently I went through a rash of medical diagnostics. The more tests they ran the more unrelated things they would trip over. This is not a new and strange occurrence for me in the medical field. It's been happening all my life. It's one of the reasons I am so less than fond of Dr's visits. They almost always find something...and it's almost always a surprise. This time, while having an MRI for my painful hip [which they missed along with the painful lower spine] they discovered a tumor on my right kidney. A benign tumor. And not all that rare. However__this one was large...more than twice the size they usually are when they are discovered and removed. The problem with these things is that [they are called renal aml's] they can tear and cause catastrophic and fatal bleeding. I was taken in for surgery last Thursday.
The procedure was not pleasant. I was drugged but awake. They did what is called a cathatarization/embolization which amounts to them going through a vein in my leg to the kidney and severing all the places [veins and vessels] where the mass was attached and then filling in the ends of those v & v's with a substance to block any blood leakage. It lasted about 2 hrs. It was painful. I spent that night in the hospital and most of the next day and then came home. I couldn't stay longer as my insurance wouldn't cover the costs. If it had been up to the Dr. I think he would have kept me for at least a week. My instructions? As little movement as possible. No stairs. No straining, reaching, bending, squatting or lifting. No laughing, coughing, sneezing [seriously]. No yelling [Matt had to remind me of this during the football game] No riding in the car. It reminds of the old saying 'Don't pop a gut.' In this case it would be popping a kidney...and the possibility to have a bleed-out is now greater, I think, than it was before...at least in the short run.
So this is why, at least one of the reasons, I haven't been here. The pain meds interfere with what lucidity I still possess and I used to pride myself in my verbal acuity. LoL. Boy, does that me laugh now.
After all this is over, I get to go find out what it happening with my right ovary. Oh, and deal with the RA that I haven't been getting medicine for yet because no-one wanted to do anything until this mass was taken care of.

I thought a lot about explaining all of this. It is after all fairly grisly. But I wanted you all to know why I'm not here and not to take my absences in any personal way.

I did not know This man but I knew many men and women who walked his steps, warmed his seat and comforted the people in much the same way. As I read this article I misted for them all and really, why? They lived as they wished. Out in the wild blue, day to day, sad some but mostly not. A gift to us all in suits of eccentric behavior and generally wreathed in smiles and knowledge of obscure facts and fun. Bless him. Bless them all.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

No Home But Plenty of Community

Peter Bis may have been the most rootless savant on Capitol Hill. He lived most of the past decade on the streets near Union Station without an address, a phone, a job or even a reliable connection to reality (unless the former law student with the uncanny memory really wasPrincess Diana’s former lover and a onetime aerospace magnate).
But in the week since Bis died of an apparent heart attack near his favorite corner at Second Street and Massachusetts Avenue NE, his many acquaintances — from think-tank economists to Hill waiters — have been marveling at just how deep a homeless man’s roots can sink into a busy neighborhood.
His catchphrases live on in the memories of Hill dwellers: “Four days until the weekend,” he’d rasp in his distinctive voice to passersby. “It’s 10 a.m., tea time in London, cocktails in Singapore.” One of the most common, and inexplicable, is tacked up in printed form to the tree: “No skinny dipping!”
His audience — his family, really — was the never-ending parade of humanity pouring in and out of the train station, the Congress, the Heritage Foundation offices down the block. Also the waiters at Armand’s Pizzeria, where he used to store his many piles of clutter each night, and the workers at the Exxon where he not only used the bathrooms but kept them clean.
“We looked out for him; he was a peaceful guy,” said Joseph Rohayem, co-owner of the gas station. Bis would use his computer sometimes and, on the coldest nights only, he would sleep in the garage.
Otherwise, he made his bed outdoors. “I grew up in Michigan; we do winter camping,” hetold WAMU (88.5 FM) radio several years ago. “I’m good to 30 below zero. Seriously. I don’t think Paris Hilton is going to come by and pick me up in a limousine.”
After spending some time living near the United Nations building in New York, Bis migrated to another power center, Capitol Hill in Washington. His brother said the neighborhood reminded him of the bustling international feel of their youth near the university. Bis called home often, borrowing cellphones from his friends on the street.
“I got some very interesting names on my caller ID,” James Bis said. “I’d say, ‘Why are Capitol Police calling me, or some congressional office. ‘Oh, it’s Pete . . . ’ ”
Peter Bis became well-known as a homeless guy who never asked for money, although he gratefully accepted bagels, leftovers and free coffee from hundreds of sidewalk benefactors.
When strangers approached, he gave them business cards listing the address of a blog titled “Peter Bis: Vatican, Finances, Mafia, Kalamazoo,” where he regularly laid down his extremely wide-ranging thoughts with the help of acquaintances.
“Evil spirits thought to include Laura Bush and Catherine Zeta-Jones wiped out civilizations on Mars and Venus,” according to one entry. “Hillary Clinton’s Senate seat is owned by the Mafia,” starts another.
Washington lawyer Marc Alain Bohn encountered Bis regularly when he was a Senate staffer in 2006. One day, Bohn was carrying an international law book when Bis yelled out that he’d been involved in an arbitration proceeding before the United Nations.
“He would sidetrack into these stories of CIA adventures he may have been involved in,” Bohn said, “but through all of that, I felt I got grains and nuggets of truth here and there.”
Bis once told Bohn that he’d turned down teaching positions, because the $48,000 salary was simply “not enough to live on in this area.”
At one point, Bockweg helped Bis move into a nearby apartment, which was provided by social services agencies to get him off the streets. But he filled it with so much clutter that he was evicted, Bockweg said.
Bis ended up back at the tree by the Exxon station. It was the place he considered home.
~~~~
By Steve Hendrix and J. Freedom du Lac, Published: August 21
Jennifer Jenkins contributed to this report.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/capitol-hill-grieves-for-homeless-man-who-was-neighborhood-fixture/2012/08/21/1395b668-ebc8-11e1-b811-09036bcb182b_story.html?hpid=z4

Today I saw the first woolly worm of the season. It was very fuzzy. He reminded me of a Lhasa Apso as he went trundling down the pathway. His coat was so long and fuzzy it made him look like he was waddling__just like the LA's do when they're in a hurry. And for some reason this little guy seemed to be in a big hurry. Maybe he knows something we don't. 

They say if the woollies are all brown then it will be a mild winter__half brown/half black, a medium winter. Black in the middle with two brown ends then you're going to get the majority of your winter weather in the middle of the season and the reverse is true if the colors are reversed [this is what happened here last year]. Late last Fall our few woollies were mostly brown with a little bit of black on either end and sure enough we got a bitter blast of cold in October and then more cold late season but for the most part our winter was pretty mild. This little guy was all black...with a long fur coat.

Hmm.

In spite of the fact that it's in the mid-eighties and ever so slightly humid the dogwoods are beginning to change color. There are a few red leaves on the giant Sassafras tree in front of the house and the spiders are moving back inside [yes, not crazy about that part of the Fall season].

I don't know why it seems early to me this year. It's been a sweltering summer. I should be glad to see the changes coming__looking forward to the crisp temps, the changeable weather, but I wouldn't mind if the warm stayed around for awhile. No, I wouldn't mind.

The bear in the yard is still around and showing no signs of wandering away and there are a couple of young bucks that seem to think this is a fine spot, too. I thought they'd all be gone by now since they've eaten all the berries but, no, they linger on. Maybe they plan on spending the winter here. Mattie would be happy with that. It gives her so many things to roll around in. [yuk] I bathed her today and it took two soapings to subdue the odor. She probably could have used three.

The neighbor to the west, the one who blew up the Thanksgiving turkey a few holidays ago in the turkey fryer out back, has split up with his wife and is planning on moving west. At least that's the story the last time he spoke to Matt. I haven't seen a for sale sign on the property and it's not a great time of the year to try to sell up here. Oh, it looks good when the trees change but trying to navigate on this road in late Fall and Winter if you're not prepared for it is, well, we'll call it challenging. It's better to try to sell in Spring. But, hey, who knows with the way the market is anything is possible. He says he wants to go to California and get into the medicinal pot business. Ok. I would imagine he may find it a bit crowded but there again who knows?

I never see any dragonflies here in the yard. They're down at the lake and I see them all over town when I go but I suppose the elevation may be too high here [not that it's all that high__this is the Blue Ridge, after all and these mountains are Old. Old and worn down__short in other words] but still higher than the surrounds and I guess that may be one reason why the dragonflies don't come up here. It may also be that we're on the east face of the mountain and they don't like the shade. I like dragonflies. I take it as a sign of good luck when I see one. Do you have any naturally occurring objects that you consider lucky? The reason I ask is I've been seeing many when I wander on down off the bump. More than usual. I like that.

This turned into a long blog. And it's a wandering blog. Blondering? More like blithering. Oh, well. The virgin page has yielded, if not to fine prose then at least to words, many, many words. Let her be blogified.