I am happy and involved with life, but…but there are too many things that need to be done, and I am not making time and effort to do nothing, creating an island in the sea of time for the isolation that is necessary to me for creative thought. Social networking, while in some ways less intrusive than face-to-face friendships, is always there!  So, too, are the dogs. And Al comes and goes with more frequency since October’s schedule change, which is odd to cope with, because I need to do my own thing, but I want to be with Al, also, while he’s here.

One change that’s needed is a change we both agree on. We need to cut down on the outside volunteer work. If Al goes to bed late and wakes up later, in effect, a two-hour volunteer shift for the two of us can eat up the whole day. We’ve done that far too often, this year. So we are agreed to stringent limits.

Outward Voyage

Is he downstairs, again,
fallen asleep in his chair?
Or did we bury him, years ago,
under Terra’s summer sun,
and I’ve forgotten once more
during the long, cold night?

— Elizabeth W. Bennefeld
Star*Line 34.3, p. 24, July–September 2011

One can’t refuse to feel in the hope of diminishing the grief of future loss. And grieving now for what may not come to pass is foolish.

The significant moments will come or not, and they will be lived…or not.

November's Leaves

It’s close to December, already, and yet we have no snow on the ground. (This photo is from five years ago, when winter was similarly late.) I was in the gazebo, earlier in the day, on the exercise bike, and the temperature was close to 60°F.

I have no photographs from this autumn’s onset, having been much troubled by breathing problems. During the first few snowfalls—no ground accumulation—I was in hospital and viewed the gigantic snowflakes drift down past my third-floor windows. Those weeks passed, the snow melted, and we continue to enjoy unseasonably warm weather. Almost enough that one wonders if we might even make it to Christmas Day without snow cover. I remember a year when we did. During our winter school vacation, the ground was bare but frozen. There were thin layers of clear ice on the school ground where rain had fallen earlier. I believe I was in junior high school, then.

The tensions of the last weeks have caught up with me, and I feel extremely tense, filled with adrenalin, as though I would explode. Rather as I felt the first day or so that I was in hospital…until I finally got rid of the nasal cannulas and the accompanying nosebleeds. It is an odd feeling, being in a chemically hazardous environment such as a hospital or clinic while being treated for respiratory problems due to airborne toxins and allergens. I found myself wondering if I would recover from the assault that brought me into the emergency room and out of the hospital again, before I fell victim to the fragrances and other chemicals that abound there. I was extremely tense and barely slept during the whole time I was there. (About 62 hours in all, I believe.) With the cooperation and vigilance of staff, the treatments were successful, and I actually made it out, again, without too many ill effects other than burns from adhesive. And I made the discovery that I am not necessarily allergic to Benadryl; perhaps some anti-itch cream would be good for the itching from the adhesive tape.

Not being able to breathe is somewhat unnerving to begin with, and coping with that while additionally being subjected to fragrances is not pleasant. It is nice to sit here being able to breathe freely and comfortably, now, more than a week away from the experience.

I do wonder what it would take, though, to clear out from healthcare facilities, at least, all the toxic, aromatic compounds that interfere with pulmonary functioning. We could start with Purell® hand sanitizer. Please!

SFPA members reading their own spooky poetry include

1. “Pumping Up the Local Economy” by David Kopaska-Merkel
2. “Wicked Karnival: A Tribute to Tod Browning, Jr.” by Stephen M. Wilson
3. “A House with No Windows” by F.J. Bergmann
4. “The Head” by G. O. Clark
5. “Sentient Shadows Rise” by David Glen Larson
6. “A Night at Hotel Sedgewick” by irving
7. “Not Alone” by Ann K. Schwader
8. “The Cosmic Web” by David Lee Summers
9. “All Creatures Great and Small” by Elissa Malcohn
10. “Death in a Harlequin Suit” by Karen A. Romanko
11. “Vision Stalker” by Elizabeth W. Bennefeld
12. “Vicious Trees” by Mary A. Turzillo
13. “Waking Beauty” by Lyn C. A. Gardner
14. “Secrets” by Deborah P Kolodji
15. “Renovation” by Kath Abela Wilson

In addition to my artwork, there are pictures by Geoffrey Landis and Kath Abela Wilson. 

I’ve actually been dreaming about this “world” for many decades, but from a different perspective: growing up in weightlessness, out in space, and then living in an improvised shelter on a stairway landing, the stairs and walkways clinging for the most part to the sides of a gigantic sphere whose lights switch on a regular cycle from full daylight to soft, dim lighting and back. Within the past 10 year, I believe, I read a book that described a similar environment, although it was just part of a permanent settlement; I do not recall the name of the book or of the boy who ended up there by mistake. (I’m thinking that perhaps the author’s first name was Robert and that perhaps he wrote a number of YA SF books.) It is startling when I see a place that I’ve been in, described by an author in a book I’m reading for the first time. As though the places of my dreams do have an independent existence.