Michael's Chronicles: Cling

I wondered how long it would take my brother to start writing again after his heart surgery. Apparently not long at all. Some people get knocked for a loop for months, even years, and I don't blame them for that, but I was pretty sure Michael would make his own path. That's just what he does. Check out his site for Hardwood Music Company to see what else he does.

Cling

Cling to passion 
Submit to her power
You have nothing to lose
She will show you
Who you are
And who you can be

You are a mere
Work in progress
Aren’t we all?
Do we really care
About the end,
Or is it all about the pursuit?

Attend to longings
Let hunger be your guide
Be driven by the need
For beauty
Let it be
The very breath you take

Find your other
Travel the path together
Keep no secrets
For they will only cloud the joy
Sure, you can do it alone
But who will ever know you?

Cling to passion
Regardless of doubts
Someone will see you
And honor your vision
With love and connection
Cling to passion

Cling to it 

Michael's Chronicles: Cracks

I wondered how long it would take my brother to start writing again after his heart surgery. Apparently not long at all. Some people get knocked for a loop for months, even years, and I don't blame them for that, but I was pretty sure Michael would make his own path. That's just what he does. Check out his site for Hardwood Music Company to see what else he does.

Cracks
2 A.M.
January 28, Amarillo

Walk between life’s cracks
Or hop over them but I must ask,
What interest have you in solid ground?
Have you not been there before?
No worthy journey is about the rinse and repeat

What earthly things do we learn
By traipsing along the beaten path?
If you landed on some strange planet
Would you find joy in seeing footprints
Or a planted flag? I suspect not.

I prefer to stumble through unanticipated places
To be graced with surprise and wonder
The morning rain on my imaginary tin roof
Embroiders my awakening with thoughts of adventure
I will not sit still this day - not this one

Let me not walk with blinders on
For I may miss something quite funny
Or something so beautiful and strange
That it my change my life forever
Well, maybe not forever but at least 
Until the next time
Yeah, at least until then

Michael's Chronicles: Recovery Part 2

My brother Michael has been dominating this page lately, mostly because he's the only one doing the writing these days, and considering that he also works full time in his wood shop and drives all over the continental US selling drums and musical furniture, not to mention doing all the driving on the two-week crazy road-trips we take together, I can definitely understand why you would think he's Superman, made of steel, the Energizer Bunny, unstoppable.

Turns out he's not so unstoppable. He had a full work-up from a doctor, and it turns out he needed open-heart surgery. The surgery went well, and being Michael, he is recovering in his own (kind of peculiar) way. This is what he's got to say about it.

Recovery Part 2

Nothing tastes right. I like peaches. I don’t like asparagus. Got it? So why should my peaches taste like asparagus? They shouldn’t, right? But, since The Surgery, I assure you they do. And there are innumerable other examples. I thought to myself, “Gee, I’m just going to look this up,” and I did. I, as they say, Googled it.

Turns out this side effect is common. Real common. No one claims to know if the queering of taste is a by-product of the open heart surgery or the medications associated with recovery but the problem is said to be widespread. Not in my view a ringing endorsement for the heart bypass thing.

One would think that smell, a companion to taste, would be equally affected but I see no evidence of that. Bad deal. Here’s why. When a food item smells familiar (as in how it has always smelled) one is encouraged to go ahead and eat it. But when its taste doesn’t match the smell the brain can’t handle it. I’m not sure what the banana thing tastes like any more but it ain’t monkey food.

Back to smell. On yesterday’s walk I was near a park. A big dog had just laid down a huge steaming pile of shit, the effervescence of which was the same old rank I have grown to know and hate. I didn’t taste it - never have - so I had nothing to compare it to. This is a good thing. If it tasted like blueberries or marshmallows I might have acquired a taste for something I’d have been challenged to defend to friends and family. God is good. He protecteth my judgement.

In the end I’m hoping this all changes for the better. I actually like food and am told that eating is related to staying alive. Wonder what I have to eat to simulate the taste of strawberries. Sauerkraut? Hope not.

Later

Michael's Chronicle: Recovery

My brother Michael has been dominating this page lately, mostly because he's the only one doing the writing these days, and considering that he also works full time in his wood shop and drives all over the continental US selling drums and musical furniture, not to mention doing all the driving on the two-week crazy road-trips we take together, I can definitely understand why you would think he's Superman, made of steel, the Energizer Bunny, unstoppable.

Turns out he's not so unstoppable. He had a full work-up from a doctor, and it turns out he needed open-heart surgery. The surgery went well, and being Michael, he is recovering in his own (kind of peculiar) way. This is what he's got to say about it.

Recovery

I fell asleep with my glasses on last night. Don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve heard of night vision, but sleep vision? I don’t think so. They may have messed with my dream which included a guy in an ice cream bar outfit (the stamp on his single stick leg said Good Humor, though he did not look tasty to me), a dog with just two legs ( one front and one back) who didn’t even limp and an apple wearing tennis shoes and constantly running off so it couldn’t be eaten.

The dream seemed pretty normal to me since I’ve had much stranger ones but perhaps I just needed some entertainment. I’m recovering from open heart surgery though not on drugs known to have weird dreams as side effects. Perhaps I should be happy to be dreaming at all since this sort of surgery is, if nothing else, somewhat invasive. Perhaps they inadvertently left a gag toy in an artery leading to my brain. 

On the other hand, if the operation is in any way related to that dream sign me up again. I can’t stop laughing.