Turning the Wheel

October 29 2019

The new moon hit with a vengeance this weekend and this has been a time of bodily transformation for me.  Well, okay, maybe not bodily transformation so much as a "The Tower" major arcana moment of a flash of insight that some foundation beliefs are not true.

October has been a month for aura-migraines.  These are different from migraines in that they don't paralyze me with debilitating pain, but I do get a kind of spiral staircase of lightning that grows from a spark in a random point in my eyesight and expands over a period of about a half hour to a strobing arc along one side of my field of vision.

I'm used to these types of light-shows because I typically get them about once every eighteen to thirty-six months.  I used to get full-blown migraines back in the early eighties, and the lightning staircases are a cake-walk by comparison.  I've gone decades between them.  They are more irritating than painful, mostly because I can't read or see around them very well, and I often feel tired or "off" after my vision clears.

Except that since October 1, I've had three. (Edited: three and a half counting the 30th.) Unfortunately, other than the flashing spirals, there haven't been any manifestations of Latent Superpowers, nor has the spiral turned into a Holy Lightning Snake who Sang me Divine Truth.  Which is too damn bad, because I could use a superpower or the gift of prophesy.

The last time I had an aura-migraine, everyone on the Internet advised me to make sure my retina wasn't falling off.  I went to an eye doctor and my retina was fine.

In any case, the October increase in frequency was worrisome and I made an appointment to see my primary health care provider about it.  Since I hadn't visited him in -- oh -- about three years, there were a bunch of tests they ordered.

The upshot of the tests was 1) my cholesterol levels have improved from something like 132 over 10, but the ratio is still Not Good, and 2) my pituitary gland is working overtime producing thyroid signals to get my thyroid into gear.  Unfortunately, this did not mean my Third Eye and Throat Chakra were opening ala Doctor Strange -- and now I have a diagnosis of hypothyroidism and a prescription for thyroid hormones.

Which launched me straight from denial about my age into anger at my weak flesh.
I am angry with my body for failing me in biology.

I am angry with my little brown prescription bottle of meds for the daily reminder that my body is breaking down, and for the unseen mountain of empty brown plastic bottles looming in my future.
I am angry that I have to take a daily little pill and the material chain that puts on me.  When I wake up, the first thing I have to do is take a pill and then wait an hour before eating.  If I were going to wake up in Paris or something, I'll have to plan to travel with my cache of medications.  And good-bye to Parisian tartlet breakfast in bed.

Mark was sympathetic to some degree, but pointed out that I live in a wonderful time where a little pill can redress hormonal imbalances.   I pointed out that this was a treatment, and not a cure.  And then I launched into an internal review of the "See this pill?  It's to remind me to take this pill." routine.

One of the possible side-effects of the pills is temporary hair-loss.  But if they treat hypothyroidism, they may treat things like dry skin, sore joints, feeling tired all the time, sensitivity to cold, and a grab-bag of little complaints that I was attributing to (secretly) being fifty-something.
I am also angry because having to take a daily prescription is something Old Men do, which doesn't fit into my inner vision of myself:  who is a man in his early thirties.   And if My Inner Me was taking supplements, it would be some Ylang-Ylang or protein concoction designed to enhance his Abs of Steel.

And then I tell myself I'm lucky they didn't find something worse, like cancer.  But I still feel angry about the situation of having to take a daily medication, and now I feel guilty for feeling angry about something that isn't a terminal illness.

Mark points out that at least I don't have to inject the meds, which I know is supposed to make me feel better, but I'm still pissed off that the medication-free days are over.

And underneath that anger is anger at myself for getting older and having to adjust my self image, and anger at time for taking away the part of me that I like:  my rugged good looks (okay, my goofy nerd looks), my gym body (yes, I'm aware I have a spare tire around my middle), my creativity (er, uniqueness), my mental sharpness (which some people call "lateral thinking") -- and then I wonder at what point will I stop being me, would I still be me if I couldn't have sex, or would I still be me if I lost the allure that pleases Mark.  (Okay, stud; stand in the half-light and swallow that levothyroidozine.  That's so hot.)  What if I got into some horrible accident, would I still be lovable and attractive?  What if I become a terrible burden to Mark?

I was so irritated that I went to the gym early and then went out for dinner instead of preparing Mandatory Taco Monday Tacos.

I think the only way to cope with this is to find the right medication dispenser.  And I'm not talking a square plastic pill box in the shape of a calendar.

I want a dispenser that is Death's Head PEZ dispenser -- except these pills are too small to fit into a PEZ dispenser.  I want a pill dispenser that is a fairy with a wicked smile and a silver chain; or in the image of the Norse Goddess who dispenses the Apples of Youth that keep the Aesir hale.

I want a pill dispenser that is a giant geared circle, slowly turning one cog every twenty four hours and dropping a pill into a crystal goblet with a chime.  

I want a dispenser that is Green Lantern's lantern and I can start out each day with, "By brightest day / by darkest night..."

Maybe I can train a flock of white birds to fly to our house after Mark and I face the East with our palms out, and sing the song that the aged star, Ramandu, and his daughter sang in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader;" and then the brightest, whitest bird will drop a pill into my mouth the way one dropped a fire-berry from the valleys of the sun into Ramandu's mouth to make the aged star young again.

Naw, nix the birds -- they'd probably leave bird poop all over everything.

Pre-Halloween Reports

 Gym Report;  I managed to be virtuous and get to the gym Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  I tried increasing the weights for the sitting dumbbell press Monday, but Tuesday my left arm was super-sore along the elbow -- it might have been related to the flu shot I got a few days earlier, but I dialed back the weights to regular on Wednesday.  

Writing:  The hunt for a good place to write on Tuesday nights continues.  I've found a place on the north bank of the Willamette River that has a nice ambiance (sound-buffering carpeting and wood paneled decor) and decent enough wooden tables/booths and chairs.  And it's kind of expensive to order any food there (which probably explains why it isn't overrun with undergraduates).  I suppose that I could try just ordering a salad, which could help manage the expense and would leave me less open to grease-induced indigestion.   Oh well... I had a nice session there just writing and not editing too much and managed to pound out about a thousand words (maybe not the best words, and probably disjointed, but I'm going to take them, anyway).

On the technology front: I think I may be using my mobile phone for Internet stuff too much.  The convenience of being able to check e-mail and Facebook is probably leading to over-use, so I guess it's time to use the user diagnostic tools and keep my daily usage down.  I think my eyesight and posture will improve.

The days have been sunny and in the 50's and 60's, which makes the middle of the days pleasant for being outside.  Alas, most of the mornings and evenings have been foggy  or overcast,  so viewing the crescent moon's transit past  Aldebaran in Taurus and Regulus in Leo have been impossible.   However, the other morning (thanks cats) I did manage to see a scintillating Orion and Sirius near the meridian.
 
On the Halloween Front: this is the weekend for decking the halls with pumpkins, and... Mark has gone on a solo hike, I've got a writers' event, we're visiting family, The Child is volunteering at a local haunted house, and a bunch of other domestic tasks are interfering with Halloween Spookiness. I'll have to break out the Box Of Halloween Decor while Mark's gone.

Second Annual Eugene Coffin Race

 Today is a grey day, overcast with sprinkles and threatening heavier rain.

Mark and I went on a hike around Spencer Butte.  The leaves are turning red, yellow, and orange--and a some are beginning to degrade to brown.  The mushrooms of a few weeks ago have become large, dark growths, which have toppled over into the mud.

We ended up at the Raptor Center.  I've never been to the Raptor Center, but, alas, it is closed until November 2, 2019.  I imagine they have owls and various hawks.

Yesterday (10/19) were the Eugene Coffin Races.  Think soap-box derby with a Halloween theme.  Mark and The Child declined to go; there's a lot of standing around waiting for things to happen, and the various vendors' and Typical Eugene Activity tents don't appeal to them.

I enjoy seeing some of the artistry in the various carts.  I think the most creative entrant was the Eugene Skinner Grave:  that team went to the Pioneer Cemetery and recreated the large slab covering Eugene's founding father.

The most technical entrant was a re-created ladder truck, from the Eugene-Springfield Fire Department (it had two steering wheels).

The funniest entrant (for me anyway) was "Coffin' and Sneezing", which was a giant tissue box driven by a nose and pollinating flower ... although the "Roller Toaster" (a bathtub body surrounded by electrical appliances) from "Dead Bath and Beyond," was pretty funny, too.

Other entrants were more Horror Film oriented.

I managed to get some photographs of the qualifying safety-check races before the actual race (a majority were foiled by the auto-focus deciding I really wanted a shot of a stray twig or guy-wire).  There was one crash that I saw, but it didn't seem too catastrophic (unlike last year, which featured at least two high-speed crashes--one involving an obelisk impaling a hay bale-- and one wipe-out).

If I were going to make an entry into the Coffin Races, I'd want to do a riff off of the Strettweg Cult-wagon.

On the Gym Front:  Went to the gym Friday (10/18) and did the regular routine.

On the Writing Front:  One of my flash stories has been short-listed; there's a something-to-fifty percent chance (according to the market) it will be actually published.  I've only been trying to break into this market for almost a decade, and this is the first piece I've submitted to actually make it past the first hurdle, so it would be nice if this flash was accepted.

Looking at this month's submission history, I should get more stories into the mail; August currently holds the record for most stories submitted in a calendar month.

Mid October

On the gym front, I skipped the gym on Monday, but I resumed Wednesday with a slightly reduced routine (no cable twists, Roman Chair curls, and a reduced number of lat pull-downs) in the interests of only spending an hour in the gym instead of 75 minutes.

While I was there, I ran into a Wordo I haven't seen in over a year. Seen out of context (although, now that I think on it, the last time I saw him probably was in the gym), I struggled to recognize him; he now has a very full beard and he was clean-shaven last I saw him. He's also bulked out in his upper-arms (John wonders if he should start lifting heavier weights and if his arms would respond in a similar fashion).

The season has officially changed: Mark and I took apart the pavilion and folded it up for storage until next Spring. The structure seems to have held up fairly well; there was only a little bit of rusting in one strut which leaked bright orange ichor onto the deck. The fabric had some interesting sun-faded patterns along the Velcro ties keeping it rolled up against the corner posts, but otherwise seems robust enough for a season or two.

Mark insured that all the struts remained labeled so we can follow the instructions for assembly. While the whole things weighs a lot, in little parts it's much more manageable.

Now the deck is open, and the table is protected by only a single umbrella. It's nice to be able to see the sky from the breakfast nook again, and the extra light will be welcome during the winter-tide months -- especially on those clear days when the December sun managed to get about half-way into the house. But I think I'll miss being able to get out into the shaded deck to write.

Tea Shopping Numerology

Scene:  The supermarket express checkout lane.

Clerk:  "Good afternoon.  How are you?"

John (setting his tea on the counter):   "I'm fine.  And yourself?"

Clerk:  "I'm good, thanks.  (Rings up tea purchase)  That'll be $6.60."

John:  "Oh darn.   Just six cents more and I could have had (raises hands in clawed parodies of ecstasy; makes his voice deeper and more raspy; going for a Church Lady voice, but probably making it closer to something Lovecraftian ) TEA of the DEVIL!"  

Clerk:  . . . (clearly re-winding the conversation in her head to see how it so quickly jumped the track)

John:  . . .  (lowers hands, schools face back to semblance of normalcy)

Clerk:  "Oh.  Uh.  Ha ha.  Here's your change.  Have a good day."

John:  "Thanks; you, too."  (Wishes he could work "Beast of the Apocalypso" into the conversation but restrains himself.)

Now of course I wonder what the numerology of 660 is.... 

Writings News and Delta Ponds

 The big news this week is that my short story, "A Summoner's Tale," is on-line at the On The Premises site:  https://onthepremises.com/issues/issue-34/issue-34-place1/  I'm glad this story found a home.

Sunday, Mark and I went for a walk in Delta Ponds.  I brought along my camera and managed to catch a few photographs of turtles, cormorants, nutria, and white egrets.  Mark actually likes nutria -- I always thought they were a kind of large, furry water rat -- and we learned that they have an attractive undercoat underneath their disheveled overcoat.

OK.  I guess they do have cute little paws.



The white egrets were the most difficult to photograph. 


The one we first saw was across the ponds, and the only way to not get a shaky shot at that distance is to use a tripod or at least rest agains a signpost or fence. 

We lucked out in that the egrets flew much nearer, and I was able to get some more close-up photographs.   I had been fiddling with the manual settings, but I realized that I was much more likely to get a passable photograph if I let the camera do things on automatic.

One egret flew up into a near-by tree, and for once my camera was able to focus on the bird and not the branches (or leaves) in front of it. 

Feathers in the Circle

Went to the gym Friday Night and did the regular routine.

Saturday morning Mark discovered that (presumably) one of the cats (he blames Cicero) had killed a bird and spread feathers (at least) all over the garden circle.  Of course it looks like an augury to me (similar to reading tea leaves),  but Mark forbade me from posting photos, claiming it was something The Internet didn't need to see.  

(Queues Suzanne Vega's "Predictions")

Standing at the periphery of the circle and looking at it, I tried to figure out what, if anything the feathers suggested.  The feathers have a blue tint to them, but are mostly dark -- maybe they come from a scrub jay, but I am not sure (they seem small for a jay, but too large for something like a nuthatch, chickadee, or junco).  All of the feathers are in the southern hemisphere of the circle.  There's a lot of down feathers.  Slightly east of the center of the circle, there's a square of primary feathers.  There's a scattering of secondary and down feathers closer to the southeast edge.   There's a clump of last week's mown grass midway to the southwest edge with some down feathers on it --  which looks like a body part, but is really feathered vegetation.  There's a scrap of semi-plumes halfway to the perimeter, west-southwest.   All of the feathers are in the circle, which is about eight feet in diameter; so far I haven't found any entrails, feet, head, or beaks.  

The square of primaries is made up of about six or seven feather, and is more of an open-ended box, with the opening pointing south-southeast.  The quills suggest a clockwise motion around the square box's center.

Interpreting the feathers as hands on a clock, they suggest to me ten minutes after ten (approximately).  Interpreting the clumps of feathers as events on the wheel of the year, they suggest a gathering or collection (the clockwise box) of ideas (primary feathers)... maybe a still active opportunity?  I'm not sure what down feathers and semi-plumes would signify, but the timing would around May 1 (the Ides of Spring) and later around August 15 (a week or so past the Ides of Summer).   Since the semi-plumes look worse than they actually are, perhaps this presages a bumpy event that isn't all that bad?

(Sits back...)

I suppose the primary thing the feathers in the circle tell us is that the cats caught a scrub jay.  

I'm left caught between the phrase, "Scripture is everywhere; pay attention," and that dream Mark once had decades ago where he came home and I had enchanted a string of sausages to learn the future from them and they were mad and from the frying pan they said, "Why are you asking us?  We're just sausages!"

Thursday Update

On the writing front, I sent out a manuscript and got a 24 hour turn-around rejection.  Very likely, the manuscript was too far on the fantasy side of the science-fiction/fantasy spectrum.  It's also long, so I'm not sure where to send it next.   I've been looking at old, put-aside manuscripts, and I'm coming to the conclusion that A) they don't suck quite so much as I thought, B) they've got some things in them that need polishing, C) I should get them into the mail.

On the gym front:  I went to the gym Monday and Wednesday night and did the regular routine.  I've been extending my legs out when I've been doing the bench presses, and the other night I noticed some improvement in my, uh, front lats?  side abdominals?  (looks at muscle chart) oblique external abdominis?  So yay!   I also bumped into my trainer, who says he really wants to mix up what I've been doing with a set of bench-heavy sets.

Autumnal Flora

The leaves are turning.  I took my camera and went looking for good candidates.  I'd noticed a few red edges on some leaves around the corner, and waited until the afternoon when the sun would shine through them.

I unpacked the tripod and took a lot of shots with the camera on full manual.  This resulted in a lot of bad shots -- either under- or over-exposed, but I managed to get a few photographs that approached the glowing colors above my head.

Of course, there was one really over-exposed photo because the camera remembered the manual settings when I had been taking some pictures of the moon and stars.  I laughed when I saw this one, but I kept it because it seemed as if the shape of the leaves had been burned into the image -- which I struck me as "artsy" and brought out the fiery nature of the leaves.

And it was a moral imperative to take a photo of the miniature rose on our deck.

When Masks Fall

The big news on the writing front is that a story of mine will be published on-line on October 14.  I'll post a link to it once it's live.

Now that I'm feeling like I've fully recovered from last week's stupid cold, I have to get back into the swing of writing new stories, marketing stories, and going to the gym.   I did go to the gym last Friday night, and I was sore the next day from reminding various muscles what a bench press or cable pull was.


The weekend brought a revelation for The Child.

Scene:  (Leaving a social gathering.  John is waving to D.R. and K.R. as they walk past the car.)

The Child:  “...Wait. _That_ was D.R.?”

John:  “Well, yeah; like I said, we used to have these really great religious discussions about faith and grace and transcendent—“

T.C.:  “Uh, I thought that was years ago at Arcosanti, and you were tossing back drinks and talking about (air quotes) religion (end air quotes) until they threw you out at two in the morning into a big pile of homeless drunks.”

J (Pretty sure that fezes, hookahs, beaded curtains, and sitar background music is part of this re-imagined history):  “Oh, no; we were at Turtles after Wordos.”

T.C.:  “What?!  Only old hippies go there.  I thought you were drinking in a biker bar.”

J (adding a black leather jacket and chaps to his own re-imagined religious discussion apparel, and giving D a poet shirt and black, wide-brimmed Jesuit Priest's hat), :  “I drank tequila; D.R. drank Diet Pepsi.  (Recoloring this history in a Casablanca noir sepia tone)  Did you think D. was some kind of Hipster Priest with an unbuttoned shirt showing a gold bling cross dangling over his hairy chest?”

T.C:  “I thought you guys were cool...”

Early October

The lingering cold is lingering.  The worst of it was over a few days ago, but the congestion has continued.  Also, the general sense of wanting to take a nap at the drop of a hat.  So, I haven't been to the gym for over a week, since last Wednesday (9/28) -- I'm hoping to go tomorrow.

On the writing front, I've been working on some final edits for a story that will appear later, in the middle of this month.   On the marketing front, I've managed to keep about five stories in the mail at once, but I've slowed down and I need to send out more so when I know more about the current batch in a few weeks my mailcount won't fall to zero.

I had hoped to snap a few photos of the Moon and Jupiter tonight (10/3), but, like clockwork, the clouds rolled in and the heavens are thrifty tonight.  Oh well... at least I got some photos of the Moon last week when it was near Regulus.

Soon, it's going to be time to take down the pavilion for the Winter.  That will be too bad, because writing outside is nice (not to mention when I'm writing outside I'm not underfoot in the house).  There may be a few more weeks with outside writing weather, but once November comes, it's likely to stay fairly wet (not that we haven't already been getting about three times as much rainfall as we usually do -- which is a good thing).

It's the first week of classes at the UO.  Things almost got off to a rocky start:  there was nearly a workers' strike, but it was averted at the last moment.  I'd say this year is going mostly better than some previous years; everyone seems to be in the swing of things, and there aren't too many "it feels like the first time" moments.