Watching the parade go by

Every once in a while I’ll open the Windows Task Manager to see what is going on under the hood of this gadget, there appears to be about 30 or so processes going on at any one time, I’ll do a Google search of a program name, read a line or two it, and then carefully, to avoid disturbing their work, close that window. I have installed a couple myself, I want to have some input to my own machine; I have seen to it that my computer clock is synchronized with the Master Clock of the U. S. Naval Observatory, and that the two clocks will talk to one another weekly, the talk is one-sided of course; yesterday I installed a telephone service that runs on the WWW, there is a nice blue light t glowing to show that the device is working, working at the rate of $20 per year, working so that I can hear what callers say—-but no one can understand me or the messages I have left them. I just like to have some input to the party, however faulty.

 

The previous paragraph was a long way round way of saying that I have only bits & pieces, small programs running, this morning, I lack the theme, even though everything is running well:

-My new tools are a mixed success, I’ll work on making the phone program better; I’ll enjoy fooling round with OpenOffice Writer, fun fonts for fooling around, and such.

-We are at the beginning of a winter storm, the third in a couple of weeks; this is fore casted to drop a foot of snow on the far-northern suburbs, perhaps eight inches downtown, winds gusting to 35, the sleet portion began here about 8:30.

-I feel an obligation to write something current about Lyrica; I am staying at 300 mg. per day, with 1000 mg. of acetaminophen added; my intention, my hope, was that this stuff would do some kind of continued repair, that I’d be able to lessen the dosage; but I feel that at I am at the edge, that I can feel all the circuits are ready to fire.

What I mean by the circuits firing is that this whole business is about electrical circuits firing signals that are being read by the brain as pain. The mechanism for modulating those circuits is busted, a neurologist has told me that the circuits were burned out.Sufferers know exactly what I am saying here.

That’s all I can say about that, except that it is wonderful to be on this side of the line of pain, really wonderful.

-I have a couple of Valentine’s Day cards ready for the grandkids, it was fun to pretend I was a kid as I chose them, what would tickle the fancies of a 4 and a 6 year old? It gives me a chance to use an old tool just brought up to date; I have had the nib of my fountain pen shaped, sent it to someone who put on a fine-oblique shape. It’s fun to write with this thing, reminds me of my first sports-car, (it wasn’t mine, the Austin-Healy Midget belonged to a girlfriend; she was cute, and the car was great fun). There aren’t many uses for a pen, not many hand written checks to write; I have bought my first Moleskine notebook, I could use it with that, but I don’t very much. Anyway, I recommend for anyone with an old pen, discover the fun of writing in your particular way, on a sheet of good paper, just try it.

-I am sending four books to the bookbinder today, using some of my tax refund for that; these are the ones that resonate each time I delve; in truth it is I who resonates, I feel something when I find a passage that opens up some part of me that was unknown. It is important to have books like this, they keep my neurons firing in new patterns, always changing, exploring. No book is holy unless it moves the reader along the path.

-I keep having the feeling that I should be somehow thankful for being rid of the major depression, as if there was a weight lifted, rather than a weight that I have decided not to carry any further; that I should write something memorable about how it is to be born at this age, how I see clearer because I saw darker for all that time—I’d like to say something memorable, but can’t, it has passed.

 

All of the above are running in the back of my mind, all adding to something that made me sit down here this morning, something I want to get off my mind.

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I am back from a trip to the video rental and to the supermarket; it is better to lay in supplies at the beginning of a storm, far better; I have the recent release of 30 Rock that will get me through the next day or so, enough groceries of the basic type. It is sleeting, the temperature is just at or above freezing, walking is slippery, tiring sliding through and across watery snow; the prediction continues as before; a good day to write, to figure out how to make the new phone better, to listen to Bach. The books were mailed to the bookbinder, finally.

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The other reason to go for a hike in this storm was to see what I want to conclude here this morning, what was the reason I started this log event before I was out of bed?

I intend to say again that all of those items above are just that, experiences, chores, responses to the nature of things–none of primary concern.

As Bert and I sit in the hallway, out at the home, we watch the parade go by; people of purpose doing whatever they need do, people beset with all sorts of afflictions, acting as they must in response to their problems, the smile he gives me when I shake his hand and say “hello old friend”; none of these is the ultimate concern: that is a different matter.