My Sunday Feeling

David wasn’t a friend exactly.  He was more of an associate.  We practiced law together briefly when I was a young Legal Services lawyer in LIttle Rock.  I went to work for the Government and I guess he did too as he took a job as an Administrative Law Judge for the Social Security Administration out in California.  

I kept up with him through mutual friends.  He eventually transferred back to Little Rock.  I would see him now and again in the Federal Building or out to lunch.  He was always cordial and we would chit chat and catch up on old news.  He had to take a medical retirement after developing some sort of virulent blood cancer (as I understood it).  We both got our hair cut at the same place and so I would see him there from time to time.  And up until last Fall he volunteered at the VA Legal Clinic.  

David lost his battle in March.  His memorial service was today.  Normally I would have been in attendance.  This is not a normal time. I’m pushing 65 and I have chronic upper respiratory issues.  And we have a pestilence upon the land.  One that could, statistically speaking, kill me if I contracted it.  

Now I like to think that I am a young 64.  I exercise regularly.  Have good energy and a lot of interests that keep me busy.  And I like to think that these interests keep me sharp mentally. I memorized the words “Person, woman, man, camera, TV” and I typed them right now in real time.  Give me access to the nuclear codes.

No, I can’t say that David and I were close.  But I admired him very much and he was a part of my life for 30 years or so.  “Attention must be paid,” as Mrs. Loman says at the end of the play.  30 years and now he’s lost and gone forever.   

The cops refer to it as “risk calculation.” It is one of the many cruelties of this viral age that we are required-or some of us are- to perform one before we take part in public activities that we once took for granted.  Like going to a memorial service. 

So I did the risk calculation and decided that my relationship with David-as warm and friendly as it was over all of these years-was not worth the risk of being with a group of people in a funeral home chapel given my age and medical status.  That and I don’t live by myself anymore.  

And that’s a hell of a thing if you think about it.  The virus has robbed us of some of the social rituals we, particularly we in the south, cherish.  Going to church.  Singing in the choir. Having folks over for supper or to watch the game.  Riding in the golf cart with a buddy.  Visiting the elderly, especially at an old folk’s home.  Shooting the bull with a teller at the bank.  Meeting for drinks.

And going to pay one’s respects at a memorial service.  

Sure David would have understood.  He would have told me to stay home.  

But still it’s a hell of a thing.  Knowing somebody that long would have meant something 6 months ago.  

It would have meant that attention could have been paid without worrying if I were bringing something evil and deadly back home with me.  It would have meant that I didn’t have to do a risk calculation before doing my Christian duty.  

It would have meant that things were normal.

My Sunday Feeling

I have led a pretty charmed life in many respects but none greater than when it comes to my good health.  Sure, I have asthma which is a real pain when it’s this hot.  And I am plagued with recurrent sinus infections, bronchitis and allergies.  But all of these maladies are pretty manageable.  It’s not like I have a severe condition like diabetes or MS.  I know people that do.  It’s no fun.  

I’ve also never had any surgeries to speak of.  I had a cyst removed from my shoulder 25 years or so ago.  But that was nothing.  And I always figured i would have blown a knee up by now.  But I haven’t.  I did tear a rotator cuff in the gym.  But it was pretty minor.  I just quit playing tennis.  

Monday I go in for my first cataract surgery.  I was originally diagnosed with them about 4 years ago.  Daylight Savings Time had just ended.  I was in the hallway at Catholic watching the kids change classes.  A kid waved at me from down the hall.  I noticed I couldn’t make out his face.  Later that day I noticed that it looked all around me like the Almighty had hit the dimmer switch.  

Just like that.

I figured I needed a new prescription.  Wrong as usual.  Cataracts.  Both eyes.  They just weren’t ready for surgery yet.  Last year, during my yearly exam my doctor told me that I would know it was time when I couldn’t find a golf ball.  I mean, one that it is in the fairway.  The fact that I lose plenty of golf balls is no sign of a medical disorder.  Anyway, in the last month or so I noticed myself asking guys that I play with if they could see my ball.  Because about half the time I couldn’t.  

For the longest time I haven’t been able to make out faces at a distance.  Just last week I didn’t recognize a girl that I practically raised.  As in fed her her bottle.  I recognized her voice before I made out her face.  I haven’t been able to read street signs in some time especially at night.  

So it’s time.

My doctor says the procedure will take all of 8-10 minutes and that I should be able to see the next day.  He said the lens he will put in will increase my distance vision which will help my golf, attendance at ball games and recognizing folks.  And I won’t have to wear glasses everyday for the first time in 30 years.  

If only I can return to fearlessly going down staircases. It will have been worth it since I currently have to maneuver some scary ass stairsin my current condition.  And everybody I know that has had the surgery has told me that it is literally a life changing experience.  Like everybody.  

But.  Surgery is surgery.  I will be knocked out.  I don’t like the idea of that.  But it’s not like I will be intubated.  My doc says the only side effect I may notice is that I might come out of it with a shiner as I bruise easily.  So he advises me to come up with a good bar fight story.  

So here we go.  I do look forward to being able to read numbers on jerseys again.  And read signs.

Maybe next time we meet I will actually recognize you as you come down the street.  That would be splendid.    

See you later.  No pun intended. 
  

My Sunday Feeling

I love the smell of cordite in the morning.  Beyond that I have nothing to allow on this, the 5th of July.  

Except that I might have liked to have been a fly on Jefferson Davis’s wall on this day in 1863.  

Talk to you later.