2/22/2025

  February 22, 2-25

D+107 

1300 Pope Boniface VIII issued a papal bull (decree) instating a Jubilee Year, granting forgiveness of sins and debts for those who fulfill various conditions

2014 Viktor Yanukovych was ousted as President of Ukraine by the parliament following the Euromaidan revolution

2021 US death toll from COVID-19 passed 500,000, higher than US deaths in World War I, World War II, and the Vietnam War combined. 

In bed around 9, awake and up at 4:50.  

Prednisone, day 307, 2.5 mg., day 18, Kevzara, day 4/14.  2.5 mg. prednisone at 5 a.m. and 5w p.m.  Other meds at 7:20 a.m.5

The Habit of Writing.  While reading an old (2.26.2017) New Yorker article about Elizabeth Bishop's life, actually a then-new biography by Megan Marshall, “Elizabeth Bishop: A Miracle for Breakfast,” I thought about how long I've been in the habit of writing.  For years after I reconciled with my father in 1995, I wrote him a letter every day.  I suppose I was trying to make up for lost time, but in any case, I didn't call him every day, or even frequently, but rather I wrote to him.  That practice stopped at some point before he came to live with us outside of Saukville in 2003 (?), but it continued for a long time.  Perhaps it was part of what made it possible for him to accept our invitation to live with us; the letters gave him a pretty good idea of our lives, what we did and didn't do, who our friends were, etc.  I don't remember when Kitty and I started having our daily early morning conversations by text messages (2013? 2014?) but those exchanges also involved daily writing down my experiences, thoughts, fears, concerns, etc,, ofter at some length, and we never missed starting each day with those written conversations every morning.  I even continued texting her after she died on March 3, 2022, knowing she was gone but being so habituated to starting each day by writing her that I continued.  I suppose it was that experience of starting each day tapping on the keyboard of my laptop that led me on July 29th or 30th of that year to pull up my old Blogspot blog and type "Am I still here?" and to discover that my blog still existed and provided a place write some thoughts each morning.  Two and a half years later, I'm still writing every morning, sometimes sensibly, sometimes not.

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop  1911 –1979

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

 

On this date last year and 2 years ago.  Last year I was in serious pain with polymyalgia rheumatica and back pains.  I wrote a long letter to Dr. Chatt describing the pain and wondering about solutions, but I think it just pissed her off, as I recall she was pretty curt and nasty on my next visit.  She and Dr. Cheng in the PM&R Clinic were still treating the problem as osteoarthritis to be treated with Tylenol, diclofenac, and physical therapy.  The letter to Dr. Chatt suggests to me that this was when I was thinking again about suicide, especially the question about whether I should expect the pain to continue for the rest of my life.  I'm disappointed now (and then?) that she didn't ask me about a referral to the mental health clinic next door to the Gold Clinic.  It wasn't until May 13th, 81 days later, that I finally got to see Dr. Ryzka in the Rheumatology Clinic who confirmed my self-diagnosis of PMR and prescribed prednisone.   

Two years ago today I was reflecting on the political situation in the U.S. and in Israel and morosely noting the pernicious similarities in the two countries and comparing myself to my former (alas) friend Peter the Pity Partyer.

Facebook posting today.  Charles D. Clausen is  reading The New York Times.

and thinking about the headline and sub-headline "U.S. Presses Tough Demands in Revised Deal for Ukraine’s Minerals: Ukraine would have to relinquish half its revenues from resource extraction with no guarantee of U.S. security aid."  This reminds me of the scene in "The Godfather" in which Amerigo Bonasera asks for and receives a big favor from Don Corleone.  Bonasera thanks the Don profusely and the Don replies "Someday, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day, accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day.". That is to say, you are now in my debt and the debt for which I may call upon you to "do me a service" may be a lot more than you can imagine.  America provided the military and economic aid to Ukraine to help a friendly nation and to prevent a vicious aggressor from gaining from aggression.  Now Trump wants to cash in.  He tried to extort Zelensky in 2019 (the "perfect" phone call), and now he's doing it again.

LTMW I see my good neighbor John out walking in the 27° weather with th 12° wind chill, recovering with chemotherapy from his leukemia, dressed for the weather and all hunched over from his childhood polio.  He's an inspiration, a good man.  Later, at 5:05 in the afternoon, a herd of 12 whitetail deer loped across our front lawn.

Almost did a pitchpole today at Sendik's, giving my grocery cart a hard shove  while holding two shoping bags, topheavy body wanting to follow the cart.  Very close call.

Weltanschauung - Trump's, Putin's, Biden's, my mother's, mine.  Tomorrow.