ㅁ I plow through time, inconsolable, as if it were heavy, deep snow, exhilarated by cold but unclear on what goals I should be chasing, stepping ahead, feeling feet go down... whomp.
Month: August 2021
Caveat: Tree #943
This tree is from my past. Though I took this picture in 2018, the time I remember this tree from is 1983. It is a tree in front of my freshman dorm (Turck Hall) at Macalester College in Saint Paul.
Caveat: Poem #1843 “The fog”
ㅁ The fog is a cloud suffering doubt. The fog has some low self-esteem. The fog is the risen sea. The fog absorbs the light. The fog grasps the earth. The fog is damp. The fog waits. The fog is...
Caveat: Tree #942
This tree is in front of the clinic in Klawock.
I went to the dentist today, there.
Just to be clear, as I’ve said before, in general, I preferred having cancer to certain dentist visits I’ve experienced, and would make the same choice again. That said, this visit was relatively harmless – just a checkup and xrays and exam, preliminary to cleaning. I was also pleased to hear that I have no evident problems (i.e. caries). The dentist agreed that with my complex medical history in and around my mouth, dental work would be arduous.
Caveat: Poem #1842 “Foiled ambitions”
ㅁ The tree's being, unfathomable, defies gravity for a while, attempting to run away, to rise up and escape, yearning for the sky, for the cool clouds, but it can't, it's stuck, still.
Caveat: Tree #941
This tree decided to start out near this pile of rocks.
Meanwhile I added some greenhouse-fresh green poblano peppers to a batch of fish curry.
Caveat: Corporate Epistemological Crisis (Why AT&T, Why?)
I took this screenshot on my phone a few weeks back, but I just now remembered I’d taken it with the intent to share it. AT&T is convinced that my phone is a “3G” phone, and they are trying very, very hard to get me to “upgrade.” The thing is… I don’t think their belief is accurate. See the screenshot from my phone, for clarification.
I’ve dealt with various people in their customer service multiple times, but they are unconvinceable.
Caveat: Poem #1841 “Storm”
ㅁ A storm from the west presses the sea. The sea leaps up and climbs the rocks. It pushes the dock up, down, and rocks the little boat, which pulls at its ropes. Flecks of white foam line the beach. The trees swing.
Caveat: Tree #940
Caveat: Poem #1840 “Trackless”
Caveat: Tree #939
Caveat: Poem #1839 “A riot dressed in all black”
Caveat: Tree #938
This tree is from my past. I took this picture not far from Hongnong, South Korea (where I was living at that time), in December, 2010.
Today was a bit of a milestone in Arthur’s post-stroke evolution / recovery. Lately he’s been becoming increasingly self-aware that some of the limitations he’s lived with are, in a sense, self-imposed: a kind of affective inertia. He had a consultation / annual follow-up with the headshrinkers at the Portland VA, the other day (via video call), while I was at work. And they planted in his mind the idea that he could or should be doing more – staying more active.
Of course, this has been suggested before. But this time, for whatever reason, the advice stuck. I suspect that it being someone new and different making the suggestion, and not the same old voices, helped.
One thing that came up as Arthur and I discussed the call later was that he wanted to drive to town. That, in turn, brought us around to what I’ve told him many times before: his driving, specifically, makes me feel unsafe. This is not because of lack of skill, but rather because of his seemingly stroke-related attentional issues: twice that I remember, when I let him drive a few times two years ago, he got distracted while attempting to multi-task and essentially forgot that he was driving. Once, he was trying to adjust his iPod that he was using for listening to an audiobook, and another time, he was trying to break off a piece of chocolate that he was trying to eat. And those times were scary. So my point being: it’s not his driving that makes me feel unsafe, it’s his refusal to avoid trying to multi-task while driving that makes me feel unsafe, because these days, his ability to multi-task frankly sucks.
But I don’t want to limit him. So I said that while I wouldn’t ride with him, I wasn’t going to prevent him from driving somewhere if he wanted to. It’s the same thing I’ve said about his going out in the boat: while it makes me somewhat worried or uncomfortable, I’m not going to try to prevent him. I’ve essentially given up on my supposed role as “safety officer.”
I really don’t want to be a “control freak” – Arthur actually used that term about my behavior, which wounded me pretty deeply. And that’s not to say the term is entirely inaccurate. But then, he’s been wounding me a lot, lately. I suppose that’s his way of taking back control of his own life to a greater degree. It is not my intent or desire to begrudge him that.
So all of this, above, is preamble to the following: he drove to town today on his own, and did his weekly shopping and library visit by himself.
And apparently he survived that. That’s good.
I had the somewhat depressing insight that it made me feel useless. I’m not the safety officer anymore, having abrogated that job in protest, so what, exactly, is my role here, now?
I wish I had more financial independence. I could move out.
Caveat: Poem #1838 “A difficult life”
ㅁ The bear shuffled, unwary, and lonesome, among some huckleberries, and scary.
Caveat: Tree #937
Caveat: where the field long slept in pastoral green
The Apparition (A Retrospect) Convulsions came; and, where the field Long slept in pastoral green, A goblin-mountain was upheaved (Sure the scared sense was all deceived), Marl-glen and slag-ravine. The unreserve of Ill was there, The clinkers in her last retreat; But, ere the eye could take it in, Or mind could comprehension win, It sunk!—and at our feet. So, then, Solidity’s a crust— The core of fire below; all may go well for many a year, But who can think without a fear Of horrors that happen so?
Caveat: Poem #1837 “A stray thought”
ㅁ The deer on the road walked by and paused, looking down, then jumped and ran off.
Caveat: Tree #936
Caveat: Poem #1836 “A bold move”
ㅁ Suicide's a bold move, like rage-quitting from the world. And there's no backsies. Waking from that dream, you're surprised to be alive. You sit up, startled.
Caveat: Tree #935
Caveat: Poem #1835 “Summer’s hour”
ㅁ The summer here refrains from lasting long. Instead it stays some hours, and then moves on. Interpolated clouds extend their damp and dull suggestions lowered down to earth.
Caveat: Tree #934
Caveat: Fishing Report #(n+27)
We went fishing again today. This is because Joe wanted to maximize his friend Jim’s chances to fish, before Jim goes back to Idaho.
We left right before 7 AM. Joe rejected even the possibility of trolling for salmon. My impression is that Joe finds trolling boring, and his fishing dreams focus on catching great big halibuts, battling them with his fishing rod silhouetted against the horizon.
Arthur, on the other hand, seems to find fishing for halibut frustrating and boring. It’s mostly waiting around. There is much more to be done when trolling. The downriggers have to be deployed, depths monitored, and the whole thing takes place while in motion. So Arthur was visibly disconsolate when Joe declared his desire to focus on halibut, but, since Joe and Jim were guests, he hunkered down and decided to just mess with rigging up new hook assemblies for some future trolling excursion.
We motored straight out to Diamond Point and parked there, and fished for halibut. Joe’s instincts worked out, this time, and we caught quite a few. Importantly, Joe got to hook a 60 pound halibut, much bigger than the other small ones, and hauled it in. It was actually impressive.
Arthur actually rejected fishing at all, except a very brief stint at the end. Earlier, I took a third rod and fished instead. I even caught a halibut. I’d never caught one before. It was small. Mostly Jim and Joe did the catching. We did it all at Diamond Point, so from a navigational standpoint, the day was straightforward. The weather started quite calm but it was getting blowy by the time we decided to head in, around noon.
We caught a total of 10 halibut. Here they are, laid out on the deck, with Jim and Joe admiring them.
I have had another depressing insight about why communication with Arthur breaks down for me (and I mean for me, specifically) so frequently.
It goes like this. Arthur’s default belief is that I’m incompetent. This isn’t precisely that he thinks badly of me, but rather, in his mind I’m frozen, developmentally, at around age 11 or so – at least as far as I can figure out. So then when I ask Arthur something, or make a statement, and he misunderstands me (which is the most common result, these days, either because of his hearing loss or his cognitive processing issues), he always misunderstands me in the direction of assuming that my question or statement is coming from the position of incompetence. I am not a particularly thick-skinned person. So of course my feelings get hurt by this insinuation of incompetence, which is further offensive because it’s based on a failure to understand what I’ve said.
It might help to give an example. Arthur prefers to dump the fish carcasses from a big haul far away from the dock, off in the middle of the bay somewhere. This is an established procedure, in which I’ve participated many times. I went to ask Arthur about if he wanted me to take the scraps out in the boat and dump them in the middle of the bay right away, or if he wanted to supervise that undertaking. He didn’t fully hear me, and of course he doesn’t remember ever doing that with me before (I’m still 11 years old, right?), so he immediately gets upset, because he’d already said that the fish carcasses needed to be dumped in the middle of the bay, and he starts explaining, defensively, in excessive detail, why he believes this to be important. All the while, becoming increasingly agitated by what he clearly perceived to be an obvious question that he’d answered before. But remember – I wasn’t questioning the procedure, I was merely trying to take initiative and see if he simply wanted me to do it, or if he didn’t trust me to do it.
Anyway, I walked away. And I did it.
Here is a rather large boat that passed us while we fished.
Year-to-date totals:
- Coho: 15
- Kings: 0
- Halibut: 11
- Other: 3
- Too-small fish sent home to mama: 27
- Downrigger weights left on the bottom of the sea: 1
Caveat: Poem #1834 “The semiotic dare”
ㅁ I was walking here and there, and searching for some meaning, in the air, on some semiotic dare.
Caveat: Tree #933
This tree is the same tree as tree #601, which is the same tree as tree #237. I planted (transplanted) it two years ago. It’s still alive, but not really thriving. Perhaps this is a metaphor for something.
Caveat: Poem #1833 “Temporary sunshine”
Caveat: Tree #932
This tree is on a little island just west of San Ignacio Island, along a passage there with much kelp.
Caveat: Fishing Report #(n+26)
Art and I went out fishing today, accompanied by Joe and his friend Jim. It was a very long day, but quite mediocre in terms of results.
We launched a little before 7 AM.
We trolled from Tranquil point to Port Estrella, and tried for some halibut there. We moved northwestward to the center of Bucareli Bay, to a spot over a shallower underwater plateau there, and tried for halibut again. Jim caught the bottom and there was lots of spinning the boat around and yelling while we tried to get him loose – in the end, we broke the line and left his hook and weight at the bottom.
Then we crossed increasingly rough and windswept waters to the southwest corner of San Igancio Island, where we again tried for halibut, drifting northward with the wind, motoring south again, and drifting northward again.
That having proved fairly fruitless, we trolled through the passage on the west side of San Ignacio to that island’s north end. Nothing at all bit our hooks. We proceeded southeastward from there to Diamond Point (the southwest corner of San Juan Island), where Jim had had much luck with halibut a few days earlier. But nothing – though Joe hooked what he and I both believed was a “big one” that seemed to get away.
Then we gave up and went home.
I didn’t keep a very good mental record of where we caught our fishes, but in total Art got one “pink” salmon. I got one silver (coho) – which I caught, much to my own surprise, using a halibut hook. Joe got one smallish halibut and one healthy-sized ling-cod. Jim caught a tiny black bass that didn’t seem much larger than the bait it had swallowed. Art and I sent all the caught fish home with Joe and Jim.
After getting back to the house at just before 5 PM, Joe had his cooler with his small haul of fish, with the tail of one fish sticking out.
Year-to-date totals:
- Coho: 15
- Kings: 0
- Halibut: 1
- Other: 3
- Too-small fish sent home to mama: 22
- Downrigger weights left on the bottom of the sea: 1
Caveat: Poem #1832 “Look where you’re going”
Caveat: Tree #931
Caveat: Poem #1831 “The forest floor”
ㅁ Walking along my small trail, I saw a slug's spotted tail, a far mountain's tiny scale.
Caveat: Tree #930
This tree is the maple tree I’m trying to grow, in the kitchen window. It’s put out some new leaves, which gives me some small optimism.