Patient's Progress

Emotional resilience remains with me, apart from minor daytime lapses and nocturnal responses to my own unique brand of peripheral neuropathy. These nocturnal skin flaying, burning, tingling, claustrophobic sensations seem to afflict my whole psychosomatic being with expletive laden outbursts and foot stomps around the bedroom whilst my beloved sleeps contentedly.

Perhaps I should explain that the symptoms afflicting my whole being are, superficially at least, only being felt on the upper parts of my toes. The claustrophobia represents these pitiful digits' need to escape the confines of any bed-linen and / or duvet! There just doesn’t seem to be any chance of finding a comfortable position for the lower limbs, in order to settle down to sleep. Sundry intermittent discomforts play havoc with the bodies need for rest yet, quite strangely, by the time my beloved is waking from her slumbers I’m able to relax sufficiently to enter the Land of Nod!

Sudden onset daytime bouts of exhaustion are currently in the ascendant, frequently accompanied by wrist, elbow and knee pains demanding application of sundry splints and supports, which seem to simultaneously ease the nausea inducing tenderness emanating from axillary lymph nodes. Painkillers are then required as, once again, I’ve failed to divine that a pre-emptive dose would have been in order!

Ma belle frequently feels frustrated, and even guilty, by her inability to alleviate the intense discomfort that I quite frequently experience; I know that my suffering would be far greater without the experience of love and care for each other through which I am truly blessed.

From Storm to Calm

That all too familiar nausea producing tenderness of lymph nodes, particularly axillary & cervical, has returned; the accompanying discomfort frequently seems to precede a more acutely throbbing pain in the upper arm.

Wrist splints and supports, tubular bandages, elbow supports and tramadol are very much in demand at the moment. Omeprazole, mebeverine, and mometasone fuorate seem currently (but hopefully only temporarily) rather less effective, in tackling reflux, IBS, diverticular problems, and rhinitis.

Quite frequently, a variant (as opposed to my more regular nocturnal tradition) of restless leg syndrome seems to take control in the hours out of bed. As I arise from a seated posture, it feels as if I have to make a conscious effort to issue the necessary commands to my lower limbs, to ensure they travel in the intended direction, rather than making a random displacement / detour,  and assuring them that they’re quite capable of supporting my torso.as I move across the room.

Even quite minimal exertion seems to take a disproportionate toll on my shattered constitution. I don’t think I’ve become more lax in ‘pacing’, but rather that my stamina reserves have diminished somewhat, over the years, from their already low plateau.

Apart from the foregoing minutiae of my current state of unhealth, I still feel rather blessed that I have a roof over my head, food in the larder, and other home comforts, but, the real icing on the cake is the love that I share with ma belle Helen. Love is such an amazing thing, a symbol of transcendence in a world dominated by the forces of greed.

To life and love, I raise my glass.

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS from Me to You

may it be a season of 

PEACE, HOPE, LOVE & JOY

Easter Greetings

simple pleasures and a heartless regime

Sometimes, far too frequently in fact, I forget to count my blessings.

Quite recently I was able to enjoy Christmas to a far greater extent than has been the case for several years past; I actually managed to pace myself reasonably well, with a minimum of twelve hours bed rest per twenty-four. Medications and grace combined to keep the worst excesses of pains, aches and sensory overload at bay; even my limited reserves of emotional stamina held out well for this time of grateful celebration.

In the past few days I’ve crashed a little; sudden bouts of fatiguing exhaustion during daytime hours are (almost invariably) followed by restlessly discomforting nights. At least I’m able to do a bit of reading, even though my concentration wavers considerably more than in days of yore! Most importantly, I’m able to enjoy the activity without it seeming a chore.

I always feel privileged to love and be loved by ma belle Helen, just to hold and be held by each other brings with it a tremendous sense of wholeness, going a long way towards alleviating that sense of isolation arising from a greatly restricted ability to socialise in the wider world since the onset of this debilitating illness.

Sat in a comfortable supporting armchair, I can watch all the avian activity in our garden; in recent days we’ve had plentiful visits from coal, blue, and long-tailed tits, alongside the sparrows and starlings. Their antics are always a delight, as are the regular sightings of red kite, gracefully riding the thermals overhead.

As a recipient of a state pension, alongside a couple of small company pensions, I am fortunate that I no longer have to be dragged through the arduous demeaning benefits medical assessments, that so many sufferers of chronic illnesses – mental or physical – are so unfairly forced to endure, adding further stress to their already vulnerable state of being.

I am truly blessed, having food in my belly, a roof over my head and, we are still able to afford to keep ourselves warm (despite the profiteering greed of the privatized utilities). These things, that should be a right, are increasingly becoming a privilege under a heartless ConDem regime.   

normality may be resumed ...

 

Back to normality; these days I’m somewhat at a loss when trying to describe what is normal for me. At what point on the scale (and intensity) of regular aches, pains and general discomfort, lies my norm? Pain free days are a fondly remembered experience, albeit never fully appreciated at the time but, rather taken for granted.

 

Last weekend, feeling a lot more at ease and alert than I had done for some considerable time, I carried out a few extra tasks on the Saturday and was relieved to have an equally good, although more restful, day on the Sunday. Tuesday and Wednesday were the days I suffered payback, from the weekend’s exertion; almost all parts of torso and limbs took pleasure in competing for the max discomfort trophy. Shatteredly de-energized, all became a struggle; it even seemed to require a tremendous effort of willpower to enable me to partake of a little light dietary sustenance.

 

Thankfully, that more extreme discomfort has eased and I’m now back to that elusive norm, where I’m able to concentrate on whatever I’m listening to, observing or reading. Perhaps that is what I should take to be my norm; those days when the gift of concentration is restored/present; the rest is simply passing time!

 

Watching the Red Kite riding the thermals, in clear view from my comfortable armchair, at times circling low down over the top end of the garden, brought a little brightness to a drearily grey gloomy day. And once again I celebrate the joy of being here and now, privileged in being loved and ready to share that love, in what can sometimes be a cruel and heartless world, ruled by greed and self-interest

 

I really must count my blessings!

tidings of discomfort and joy

The gaps between postings seem to be increasing; don’t know why I tell you that, presumably you’d already noticed. Sundry muscular aches and pains almost got the better of me during recent weeks, not so much the intensity of pain (barely halfway up the scale) but rather a disconcerting all pervasive sense of dis-ease. At present it feels as if a generalized discomfort proves more disabling than spasmodic acutely intense pain.

The question constantly arises whether codeine, tramadol or any general painkiller can tackle these dull persistently nagging aches. On occasion simply putting on wrist, elbow and shoulder supports seems to alleviate all but a background purring nausea, at others only the combination of pills and  strappings seem to do the trick.

It’s strange that some nights, following on from a more comfortable day, the discomfort only begins its nagging and gnawing routine when I attempt to settle down to sleep; brief interludes of dream laden sleep interrupt my sadly familiar restlessness. At times I could swear that the amitriptyline is working as a stimulant rather than benefitting me with its supposed gently sedative properties.

For the past several nights I’ve pre-emptively dosed myself with tramadol before retiring au lit but, I’ll never know whether it’s the medications efficacy that grants me a more comfortable (albeit still unrefreshing) night’s rest, or have these nights just happened to be ones that were destined to be more comfortable anyway.

At its worst the discomfort is such that I become nauseatingly ill at ease inside my own skin ….

                                                                                    ***

I’m now beginning to see a reason for not posting; all the preceding spilt out as if I’m having a miserable life whereas in fact I continue to feel rather blessed.

My love for ma belle grows ever deeper and, what’s more, that love is reciprocated. The assurance that one is loved somehow overwhelms life’s more negative aspects, simultaneously building one’s reserves of emotional stamina in readiness for the ongoing struggle for justice and compassion for all.

Having always been of a somewhat gregarious disposition I still, not infrequently, find myself mourning the loss of the ability to socialize (other than on the most modestly minimal scale) but still feel fortunate that I can enjoy all kinds of music and drama via television, radio, and sundry recorded formats. It’s strange the way that sudden unexpected sounds can serve to shatter my nerves, almost crushing the breath out of me, whilst dramatic transitions in a musical score never (or perhaps very rarely) seem to play such a disruptive role.

The garden too is a source of constant delight and refreshment, even when it’s getting a bit out of hand, and the avian activity (viewed from the comfort of a supportive high-backed armchair) is a constant source of pleasure.

Come to think of it, perhaps the reason I’m not posting so regularly is that I’m far too busy appreciating life!

three poems for Helen

 

                                 THAT DAY (for Helen)

                                  That day we found each other,

or perhaps the day

found us.

Though neither of us knew

what we were looking for,

a clasp of hands, an affirmation

of each others presence -

meant more

than either of us knew.

That day we found

each other -

and suddenly we knew.

          Malcolm Evison

TRANSFORMED

(for Helen)

Right now I feel

the urge to scream

forget the aching limbs

dance deftly

on the brim

of my emotions.

Right now

I feel the lure of love

the light

that breaches

my stoical defence.

I see your face

I glow with joy -

right now

there is no you or I

as we rejoice.

Right now I am

alive with you -

I feel -

imbibe the air of this

our perfect world.

                                      Malcolm Evison

 

EMBRACE

Wrapped in each other                     

we break illusions

of our separateness.

As bodies merge

we lose location

finding our place

in vaster schemes.

Thanksgiving, sanctified

with each embrace,

transmits a joy

beyond our reckonings.

Today

love knows no bounds.

                                Malcolm Evison

twelve years on

Today is the twelfth anniversary of my marriage to Helen; on the one hand it seems amazing that all those years have passed and yet, at the same time, it feels as if we’ve always known one another. Not a day goes by that we don’t express our love for one another both verbally and (hopefully) by our actions.

Although during this time I’ve succumbed to moderate ME (an unwelcome intruder since 2003) and sundry other, probably related, chronic conditions, I can still say in all honesty these have been the best years of my life. It’s almost impossible to imagine any quality of life where we are not together.

Of Celebration and Payback

And just when you think it’s all going well, the old devil returns.

 During the past few weeks I’d been enjoying copious doses of Advent and Christmas music, predominantly of the sacred variety, as I looked forward to our quiet Christmas celebrations (just ma belle Helen, Beth and myself). To be perfectly honest, I was quite surprised by how well I’d managed Christmas decorations, food preparation, and sundry minor pressures such festivities may place upon one. Admittedly, the run up to Christmas week wasn’t without an occasional venture into the realm of shatteredness, with spasmodic eruptions of acute pain.

As lunch-time on Boxing Day approached, my chronically throbbing aching wrists allied themselves with intense convulsive pains in both biceps and shoulders. It felt as if my torso was being crushed whilst, simultaneously, being stretched on a rack. The effort of holding the DVD recorder’s remote control, in readiness for starting off a recording, seemed to set every nerve-ending on edge; a kind of pulsating bruise surged through my forearms and shoulders which, in turn, contributed to an all pervasive feeling of nausea.

For the first time in ages, the degree and intensity of pain and discomfort produced a convulsive sobbing response.

I love and adore my family, every moment spent with ma belle amoureuse affirms the privilege of love, and I always wish to affirm all the most positive values and emotions that the season represents. The joy of the season is somewhat marred by the realization / recognition that even my somewhat low-key exertion, as we prepare and celebrate, seems to demand a degree of excruciating payback in return.

upbeat to crestfallen and rising again

I am genuinely puzzled about where the daytime hours go, or at least how swiftly they pass; a sure sign that I’m not currently experiencing any of the more excruciating aches and pains that the flesh has so frequently become heir to. A little pottering about in the garden, the odd half-hour of book reading, listening to sundry genres of music brought to me via radio, vinyl, CD and MP3 – the time just seems to vanish.

Have to admit though that, having had the company of my beloved for the best part of 24 hours every day during the past fortnight, Monday did seem to drag somewhat at times. Even though I strolled down to, and enjoyed an hour at, ‘Open Church’ (in the morning), and performed some minor gardening chores later on, I became increasingly conscious of the absence of ma belle as the day went on and was just eager for her return home from her first day back at work.  I never cease to be amazed by the love and bond, between Helen and myself, which just seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

Reflecting on the rapidity with which each day passes by serves, quite simply, to amplify the rapid growth of that bond. It was twelve years ago last March that I first met Helen, we married eleven months after that; I just feel so fortunate in having such a wonderful partnership.

*******

“not currently experiencing etc…..” –  less than twenty-four hours after writing the preceding paragraphs, the sundry aches and pains returned with a vengeance. My colon seemed determined to painfully demonstrate its full range of spasticity whilst, simultaneously, my chest played host to a spasmodically pounding ache; at times it felt like a heavy-handed skiffler had chosen my ribs to replace his washboard.  Add to this the aching calves and thighs, sore throat and raw feeling sinuses and, you may get the feeling, it wasn’t too bright a start to the day. Having spent a goodly part of the morning in intermittent sleep, I was somewhat surprised to be overwhelmed by a heavy drowsiness in the early afternoon at which point I had to wrap myself in a slanket and seek at least a moderately comfortable posture to snatch a few more zzzzzs...zzsssss…

This morning time had moved into a long slow crawl, each moment hanging drearily on the edge of despair. At times I feared that I was heading back towards depression; reactive or clinical remains a moot point!

After a post-lunch catnap, I decided to sample a little of that which “hath charms”; in retrospect my choice of listening [The Randy Newman Songbook Vols. 1 & 2] may be considered odd in the circumstances but, somehow, even (or perhaps especially) the more cynical lyrics of Randy Newman, presented by the master himself, managed to lift my spirits.

an Easter Declaration

Thermostatic Quirks and Simple Pleasures

Quite when it happened, I don’t remember; all that I know is that for a number of recent years my body thermostat, though somewhat erratic, tended to play up in such a way that night-sweats, and even passive day-time cool room sitting sweats, have tended to dominate my life experience. The ambient temperature bore little, if any relationship, to my body heat and subsequent seepage of saline solution from pores all around my body, limbs and head.




It has come as something of a surprise, in more recent weeks, as the realization dawned that I’ve started feeling the “cold” to an apparently greater degree than others around me. It seems as if the thermostat has swung from one extreme to the other and, as a result, I no longer (if ever) have any realistic awareness of the ambient temperature. It’s actually quite a positive experience to be rid of the “night-sweats” but, not so the cold shudders experienced when sat in what I would have considered a comfortably heated environment. On the “up” side it suggests that I’m unlikely to suffer from hypothermia but, the “down” side is that we’re definitely going to be confronted with higher energy bills this fall and winter.




Is it possible that this thermostatic change could relate to my having doubled up on my ppi intake; could a reduction in the production of stomach acids serve to reduce my perceived body temperature. Of course, this “cooling down” also coincides with my most recent sustained period of refraining from smoking but, in normal circumstances (with the supposed deleterious effect of smoking on ones circulatory system) one would have anticipated the opposite result.




I could so easily produce pointlessly circular arguments at this point so, a change of topic is called for. And the subject today is …. SIMPLE PLEASURES!




In fact, simple pleasures, in spite of my regular moans, are a dominant feature of my life; I feel truly blessed with an ability, at times, to simply be still and bask in the wonderful phenomena of breathing. I look out of the window and observe the goldfinches, blue, great and coal tits, dunnocks, collared doves, jackdaws, house sparrows, all successfully scavenging for food, both from our feeders and natures natural bounty. I frequently feel quite overawed by the sheer variety of life forms that have evolved on this amazing planet.




Of an evening, as my beloved works on her laptop, whether for service preparation or updating her weblog, sat opposite me in the living room, I find myself quite simply lost in adoration, contemplation, care and concern for her well-being. Just to see her smile, watch her sing along with ‘Songs Of Praise’, even animatedly reading whatever novel or short story currently engages her attention, I just want to reach out and hold her, hug and squeeze her!




These simple things, a source of warm glowing pleasure, simultaneously serve to reinforce a sense of responsibility to look after and protect that / those for which / whom one cares.

Easter Greetings

Matters Arising

 

 

Tensions mount as the appointed hour for the great disclosure approaches. Although pretty cool about the whole thing, the nearer the disclosure the more, at an almost unconscious level, little anxieties creep in; “what ifs” abound. Perhaps some sinister shadowy condition is the source of my ailments, an organic disease that I’d rather be unaware of.  The whole episode becomes quite absurd, one has a scan to try to find out the cause of a certain condition only to (belatedly) realize that perhaps it would be better to remain in the dark about such causes.

 

My beloved was becoming more overtly concerned about what the scan may have disclosed; worried about organs of the body that may be diseased and, of which my severe discomfort may simply be an obscurely veiled indicator of a much more critical condition. Her obvious upset with this thought, found a counterpart in me as my (only vaguely considered) concerns were given body and substance. This was perhaps the transforming motive whereby my “Que Sera, Sera” was converted into an anxiety laden wondering what.

 

We visited my GP this morning; he soon put our minds at ease by saying that the report sounded much more sinister than it really was; amongst other things, the MRI had disclosed a 12mm hernia on one of the discs, it really is amazing what havoc such a tiny intrusion / protrusion, in the vicinity of the sciatic nerve, can wreak. He then presented me with the options of consulting a neurosurgeon or, “doing nothing” – quite simply continuing with a programme of pain management as and when necessary. For the time being, I’ve settled for the do nothing option as I’m all too well aware of the risks involved in any spinal surgery.

 

Should the extreme pain be sustained for increasing periods of time, becoming incapacitating on an even more regular basis than at present, that’s when the neurosurgical route will have to be followed.  

Returning Home from Being There

 

An endless numbness, a dull sullen hanging sense of nausea and, barely the energy to read a single word, listen to a note of music; if only I had the stamina to put a thought together it would probably turn into a single-syllabled question. The querulous word would, I suspect, be more on the lines of “What” rather than “Why”.

I’ve long since given up on the existential / metaphysical why; more an exercise in futility rather than to proffer any result. “What” keeps the world alive, “why” seems more like an evasion.

Well, that’s yesterday dealt with; today I have returned to me. The preceding days, and nights, had been dominated by intensely excruciating pain, ranging from the numbing tourniquet, to the slightly blunted arrow; the bone and muscle crumbling ache in combat with those swiftly-fleeting nerve-tingling darts that seem to take one’s breath away; a kind of Topsy-Turvy Terpsichore:

Dance rules over all – it prevails against reason, common-sense and substantial portions of ritual belief. Trouble is that, we are never in control; I am currently in thrall to a kind of voodoo dance –nature’s response to a crushing debilitating pain scenario.

When all else fails, randomly fling limbs in whatsoever direction they feel like; if it causes further discomfort then that adds a whole new terpsichorean overlay, disclosing hitherto undreamt of fraught sequences of space displacement.

On Monday my pain-killing medication was changed, to a 3 day slow release opiate patch. Having applied the patch, late afternoon, my familiar discomforted restless night was in attendance, so nothing different then but the following morn was quite a different proposition. A total inability to concentrate, a generalized dull ache underlining the spasmodically erupting specific sharp pains; all was eventually blanketed under a heavily nausea spiced  airless cloud of unbeing, crushing a body wracked in turn between hot and cold shivering sweats.

Needless to say, all the remaining patches have been returned to the pharmacy and, my routine has been switched back to Tramadol, this time of a non-modified release type, to enable me to remain in control, modifying the dosage as necessary. Meanwhile, I’ve once again been referred to the hospital for further investigative work.

The 18 hours respite, including some ‘real’ bed rest, between removing the patch and taking a further pain-killer, has served to enhance my appreciation of the home environment. For the first-time this season, I was aware of the seasonally decorated dining table, and the various Christmas ornaments and tinsel sundrily scattered around our abode. This awareness of one’s habitation, the taste of food, the sound of music and always one’s loving companion is a gift to be truly celebrated. The return from a pain-riddled drug addled stupor makes me feel like the fabled Prodigal Son; although at heart I am always aware of the love that surrounds me, it’s good to receive a whole-hearted reminder, for one’s abode to find it’s rightful status as Home.

 

A Christmas Message

I just sit and look across the room, my beloved lost in thought, a slightly perplexed smile on her face as she ponders the words she’s typing. I smile to myself, a token of admiration coupled with adoration. Sometimes, I lose track of time as I simply contemplate ma belle’s visage; I enter a wonderful world of devotion and love. It seems strange that no matter how much in love I am, it continues to grow.

We’ve gradually completed the Christmas decorations and enter into the magic of the season. Most importantly, for all the gewgaws with which we surround ourselves, we remember that our real celebration is of a helpless child born to a teenage mum in an occupied state in the Middle East. Research suggests that this child Jesus would most probably have been born around April but, I rather like the way Christianity has assimilated this pagan feast time to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. Those who choose to follow the way of the Christ child should not seek to separate themselves from the world but always be there alongside those they can assist in a far from perfect world. Christians are to be “in the world but not of the world”; it’s never enough to accept the world as it is but, rather, we have a duty to transform it.

Just as our Christmas lights and decorations transform the darkest time of the year; Jesus message was to turn the accepted values of the ruling elite on their head. Sadly, just like we put away the lights before twelfth night so, through the centuries, have some of the ruling elites served to restore the injustices which Jesus challenged, in the name of Christendom!

May the message of Peace On Earth and Goodwill To All Men be taken seriously in this twenty first century of the common era.

Just as my contemplation of my beloved gives me such a warm glow, so does the true meaning of Christmas.

*******************************************************

This post first appeared on 22 December 2006

collapse of the stoical front

Occasionally the stoical front collapses and tears catch one by surprise. That sudden inexplicable low, amidst the sundry serial and perpetual ailments that beset one, tips the balance. Is it the constant pain, the seemingly interminable incapacity, the sense of isolation resultant from that same invisible disability, or a more general existential angst? Perhaps it’s the combination, of all those things, that sets the tears flowing; for a while I teeter on the brink of self-pity and it proves a real struggle to regain my general positivity. [No sooner have the symptoms of a recent chronic bout of sleep disrupting sciatica receded than a case of TMJD (temporal mandibular joint dysfunction) takes pole position in the table of well-being assailants.]
I’ve always suspected that it’s much harder to witness and share the suffering of a loved one than it is to suffer oneself but, when one does suffer from any ailment, or dis-ease, the awareness that those who care for, and about you, somehow share your pain, intensifies the sense of spiritual suffering. The sufferer also feels guilty at imposing, on the one who loves and cares for them, some of the restrictions (on the socializing front) implicit in one’s own condition. I frequently find myself apologizing to my beloved for my, all too familiar, achingly fatigued condition, and the consequent wearyingly low stamina levels; it’s not that I blame myself for being ill but, to be honest, I’d prefer to be an enabler rather than a burden.

This posting is also on Mal's Murmurings.

Of Disparity and Separation

If the overall level of discomfort was greater, the whole situation would be easier to understand. It’s a rather strange sensation, even if not at all unfamiliar, to feel totally drained and tetchy, yet not at all tired. It has been one of those fidgety days for me, eager to get on with something yet not having the stamina to perform whatever task it may be.

Perhaps I’m suffering from shell-shock, having been separated from my beloved for more than 14 hours yesterday, whilst she attended a wedding in Northumberland!

We’re a couple of softies really, with a mutual dependence on each other’s presence; in the 8 ½ years since we were married, we’ve only spent three nights apart, two occasions when I was hospitalized overnight and once when Helen’s recently bereaved sister needed her company. It’s almost as if life goes into a tortuous state of suspended animation, when such separations occur!

For someone who had remained free from marital entanglement, until I had spent nearly five and a half decades on planet earth, it’s rather unnerving to have entered such a mutually dependent relationship but, neither of us feels complete without the other.

I’ve just realized, it sounds like I’m blaming marriage for my plight. That’s far from the reality; in fact, what I was hoping to express was the deleterious effect of separation! Similarly, the disparity between my desire to be active and the available resource of physical and emotional stamina could well be responsible for today’s sense of dis-ease.

Give Me The Simple Life

Oh the pleasure of simple things. Although my beloved wasn’t sure whether the groans I emitted, whilst sat in the shower, weren’t those of agony, I hastened to reassure her that they were definitely not of that ilk but, neither had I quite entered the realms of the ecstatic. It was a simple shuddering joy; the joy of being alive and luxuriating in the steamy heat, the superficial alleviation of the aches in shoulders, hips, thighs and calves, even a temporary farewell to aching sinuses.

It really is amazing that we can so easily take these little luxuries for granted. Although, at times, I still lament the dramatic reduction of physical and emotional stamina since those, seemingly distant, pre-illness days (pre-2003), in the course of the past couple of years my gratitude quotient has increased dramatically. A walk down to St.Marks for coffee and a chat at ‘Open Church’ almost invariably proves a rewarding event. The delight I take in the garden, just pottering about, watching the fish in the pond, filling up the various bird feeders, (even watching the grass grow) is something I couldn’t have imagined in the more active phase of my life.

The garden seems to be an oasis for blue tits, coal tits, great tits, collar doves, tree sparrows, dunnocks, squabbling starlings and wood pigeons. How privileged I am to have the time to simply observe the avian goings on.

Of course the greatest privilege of all is my beloved, Helen, who brings so much light, love, joy and fun into every day. It’s strange that for so many years I was afraid of commitment, being tied down, only to realize in later life what an abundant freedom is to be found in a committed loving relationship. It is truly a cause for thanksgiving that in each other we are able to find ourselves!