Time Flys - Hopefully Air New Zealand - My fav way to cross the Pacifid

Where ever does time go? It is Thursday in Oz. The date at the top of the previous post is Monday - boxing day in Australia and all the other British colonies.

Of course, it's entirely unimportant where time slips away unless one needs a lost element. Then, it's helpful to know precisely where the past now resides so one can go and find what is needed.

Silly, I know. What is really on my mind is an email I just received from a dear friend who wrote to share with me that her mother, age 94, died on Christmas Eve. A difficult time to say good-bye if one is Christian and my friend is.

To add to the emotional load of the holiday, her husband died on the first day of Kwanzaa, boxing day in Oz and all the other British colonies.

To lose one's mother and one's partner of more than 40 years in three days of what is usually festivities strikes me as an emotional load that would be very difficult to bear or is it bare? I mean, one's emotions are raw leaving one with a minimum of psychological cover behind which to hide. And then there is the whole expectation of community to manage one's self in an appropriate way—to bear up, if you will.

My temptation under these circumstances would be to tell everyone to go away. I'd want to take a long walk in the wilderness, to be left alone with beauty to remember whatever comes to mind about my life with the two loved ones who have departed this plane. I'm not sure my friend has that option, but certainly that is what I wish for her.

The greatest loss I recall in my life was the death of my sister on 4 December 1973. The funeral services took place in the midst of a Michigan winter storm—vicious wind swirling a silent snow through the night air. I walked out of the service, unable to cope with the Christian nonsense, and bundled my core with heavy wool scarves, hat, and coat and walked into that wind, tears streaming down my face - furious with my little sis for abandoning us, for abandoning me. The storm was my helpmate. It gave me something against which to rail, a barrier to penetrate with all the energy I possessed.

I suppose that's the gist of the issue, isn't it. Death leaves us with so little against which to push. It's final. I hate it when a battle is entirely finished and there is nothing in hand to prove that I have tried my utmost to solve the issue or win the day.

Being Home, prairie women and dining delights

About to embark on a week end with the gurls - prairie women, that is.

Had a conversation with my prairie friend yesterday about 'feeling home again' as she crossed the border from South Dakota to Nordacotah. In the midst of the whole exchange, I realized there is no where about which I feel what she described - the sense of being home, of returning to the tribe.

I had been in the midst of discussing an incident involved with 'prairie food', a very specific style of cooking akin to southern fried, but seriously not limited to chicken. Fish and plenty of it are included in 'prairie fodder'. Some of that fish is local - like Walleye. A second delicacy is breaded cod with a distinctly Norwegian name. The preponderance of Scandinavian settlers in this region of Nordamerika has a definite influence on what is served at Sunday dinners or everyday field dinners carried out to the men operating combines and seeding equipment.

And it does seem that food and the ritual surrounding food creates the ambiance surrounding the sense of 'being home'. My own tastes are far more eclectic but I do recall my first three years in Australia. At least once every couple of weeks I'd sneak out of the house and trudge a good two kilometers to the closest MacDonalds to enjoy a large order of 'fries', in Aussie parlance better known as 'chips'. Just the taste was enough to fend off my sense of being a stranger in a strange land. My digestive tract somehow communicated with my brain to let it know that I could survive at least one more week of being a foreigner.

So, what of this week end with the 'gurls'? I don't have much hope for any sense of comfort, but it will be a learning experience, filled I'm sure with bouts of laughter, to spend three days with 'prairie women'.

I'd write more if my knee didn't hurt

Ok, so while I was whinging over here in my southern corner of the universe trying to find a comfy spot to sit while typing this post on my desktop computer and at the same time trying to keep my right knee above my heart (go on, you try it..and don't laugh!! :), I found the online info on the surgery used on my knee last Tuesday morning so jazzy that I decided to go ahead and write anyhow. (Distraction - pain relief is all about distraction.)

Really, it's all about ME! Yep! I'm not sick, I'm rehabilitating! And there's a difference, I promise you. The pain at this point is about using ligaments, tendons, and muscles that were manhandled on the surgical table a week ago. I'm certain neither my knee nor my thigh, nor my hips were ever really meant to move in the directions the surgeons managed during that 2 1/2 hour process. (Unicompartmental surgery is more complex than the whole knee replacement; thus the longer time on the table.)

Fortunately, I had a great anaesthetist looking after my welfare and so know absolutely nothing about it - until afterwards when the nerve blocks were removed and my usually strong (if unbalanced) right leg decided to let me know just how abused it felt.

In fact, the pain is breathable and endurable. I have Tramadol at night and analgesic pain relief during the daytime. I could use the Tramadol during daytime too, but it's way too pleasant - better to avoid the addiction.

So, only half of my right knee has been replaced which means the surgeon only cut 25% of the bone that a full Monty would require.

You do realize that means I have about 25% of the pain and recovery issues as well. Hooray for a healthy right side of my right knee.

In 1979 while backpacking in the Sierra (Mt. Olancha) my right knee gave way, the meniscus tore. No laparoscopy back then. I knew I would have to wait. I had no idea just how long that wait would be.

Finally, in 2005 the last of the left half of the meniscus in my right knee gave way - bone on bone for the past 4 1/2 years -no more treks in the mountains and lots of incidents of falling over on busy city streets while walking in conversation with friends and family (Oaxaca, Mexico and Park Road, Brisbane are favourite examples)

However, the most amazing aspect of my situation is that although for the past 22 years, half knee (unicompartimental) replacements have been available in the UK, Australia, Europe, and Asia - they have only been available in the USA for the last two years (and then performed only by a very small number of specialized surgeons in very limited circumstances).

So how lucky do you think I am to be an American living in Australia? Here is my surgeon, Peter Meyers, an old pro at this game, a surgeon who volunteers as team doctor for the Queensland Reds (Rugby Union Footie Team) and smiles delightedly at old women like me who come in and claim, 'New half knee, please. I'm missing my mountains.'

Peter warned that I probably won't be able to trek 15 miles a day anymore - but I never did, so who cares. If I can put in a solid 8 miles a day in my beloved Sierra, trek in Nepal with the upwardly mobile old folks looking for adventure tour groups, who cares.

Prognosis is that I have just extended my healthy life style for an additional two years, that I will be able to exercise pain free to enable me to get my weight back down to a healthy 160 pounds, and that recovery will be relatively short.

I could flash my ex-rays so you can see what my knee now looks like, but the visuals and explanations on line give a more vivid summary. Here's the addy: http://www.biomet.com/patients/oxford.cfm

I'll keep you updated on my new bionic circumstance. Life is Good and I'm not referring to air conditioners or kitchen appliances.

Stunning!

Absolutely stunning - what a picture...the photo and the words below it..

I love it when a plan comes together and obviously this is precisely what the universe had in store! Prosperity of love.

Congrats, my dear friend...this is perfection in every aspect!!

HOLIDAYS

I haven't written today - went wild yesterday - 3000 words. Needless to say, I use way too many words, most of which I don't even know - just my typing fingers know them.

What I remember of my childhood, the topic of my next book? Not so much, actually, but there are several stories I have wanted to put to print.

The working title of this book is HOLIDAYS. The theme has something to do with the lingering disappointments, outright shambles, and utter nightmares of mid winter holidays. Wanna read it?

A bit dreary, I know. Makes me feel that way, too, after a writing session. I need my shrink around to process all the dross dredged up.

So, that's what I am doing. Not precisely what you thought, now, is it? Not as productive as I might be if I were to write more laudatory prose..

100 Queries to American Agents

Yep, 100 queries to American literary agents have been sent out either on line or in snail mail format in the past two months.

The results:

25 No Thank You;

'I'm too busy,
we're inundated with queries and yours just isn't right for us,
You've got to be kidding. Did you do any research before sending this query to us?,
Good luck on finding an agent. Keep trying'

*****************and*****************

75 queries still wandering around the ether waiting for a response

*****************and*******************

1 'please send us your manuscript.'


Keep the Kookaburra Serenade in your positive thoughts file. It needs all the support it can manage in the cold winter of Nordamerica.

Love from the great sandy south: Oz in summer has been very very wet - a pleasant sojourn from Flaxton and environs. We do look forward to our June return to the prairie, however.

Happiest New Years

SPOOKS

SPOOKS is a BBC production that has been running on British TV for the past seven seasons. For good reason the series is a hit in our household.

Our engagement with the program revolves around the characterization as well as the plot structure of the scripts. At the same time, we find the technical aspects of the film crew responsible for putting the entire show together to be admirable.

Sharp shots, great action sequences, excellent lighting as well as expert editing produce a superb, engaging series.

Our enjoyment of this production reminds me of my penchant for enjoying another BBC production, Poldark, from the early 1990s. Again the story line, the depth of characterization and the technique of director and film crew drew me into a world unlike any available to me in real life.

Perhaps that is the clue to any and all good story telling, no matter if we encounter it on paper or on film. Excellence creates a strong audience reaction. Isn't that the reason we are caught with any story - The Little Prince, Where the Wild Things Are, Cryptonomocon, The Left Hand of Darkness, Oliver Twist, Huckleberry Finn - great stories inhabited by complex real characters.

May my next book be as engaging!

Happy New Year, all!!