Hello once more from knock on wood still sunny northern Colorado. I hope everyone has had a blessed holiday! There were miracles in my life yesterday and some already today.
Yesterday’s was that Doug and I had a beautiful Christmas. Let’s just say that we’ve had a rough twenty years of so many ups and downs it would take a War and Peace to do them justice. Take a laid back recovering Texas Southern Baptist Teacher/Cowboy/Writer and pair him with an intense dilettante poet and see if you can get it to work.
As I’ve elsewhere mentioned, we were gifted with what Garrison Keillor in last year’s bit for Christmas reprised on NPR today, “the dark angel of projectile vomiting” and worse but a week ago. First I fell ill and went to the ER thinking I was bleeding internally, and he took me back to our old place and cared for me. Then, two nights later, just as I was feeling better, he– and I think this is the sequence– fell ill in the night, became disoriented in his rush in the dark to the bathroom sans glasses, crashed into a door, passing out with a TIA– a Temporary Ischemic Attack– and was mortally ill while unconscious.
I found him lying in the living room, got him up and into the bathroom, into the tub and hosed him off and into clean clothes while he spoke an utterly foreign language. I called 911 and our house was filled with a garrison of paramedics who agreed with me that he had aphasia and took him off to the ER. Thank God he came out of it a time later.
Two paramedics stayed behind and helped me get the Jack Russells out in a pen with water and food and I kept the Goldens in the house with me. I got some rest and then spent the next two days to and from the hospital while he got better.
Those were the first miracles– that we each got better– and then, that we had a wonderful Christmas, listening to so very much gorgeous music by candlelight, playing with the cats and dogs. Last night I got a head of steam and roasted a turkey and we had a delectable meal. Doug devoured the new Oil & Water Anthology and the Charles Lindbergh autobiography I got him; in the midst of it all I had an epiphany and wrote a poem I posted at La Parola Vivace.
Meanwhile, my brother picked up his new puppy and brought him back to Buena Vista. My brother is a very good and loving person and lives in the woods and I do not want him to be alone. He sent me this a bit ago and I must post it, because it is just too too wonderful. World, meet Trevor of Badger Ridge and my brother– the wonderful artist Stuart Codington Andrews’ legs and feet: Awwwwwwww!