Never Been.........Until

A year ago the 15th of April on the advice of an old blogger buddy I contacted the Mayo Clinic/Scottsdale Campus regarding my ongoing respitory issues. At the time I was informed that I would be put on a waiting list and that someone would contact me when my name came up.

I figured if was lucky, maybe a month or two would pass before I heard from them.

Of course I have never been lucky. Never win raffles. Never wind drawings. Never won the lottery.

After three months with no phone call the whole Mayo Clinic idea soon slipped into the background noise of life eventually to be forgotten.

Imagine my surprise than when last week a phone call was received from the Mayo Clinic. Seems I was not forgotten afterall. Only that there are quite a few people like myself with long term respitory issues.

Bottom line is that I have my appointment on May 10th. Since Scottsdale is five hours highway time away I will be driving in on the 9th.

My stay could be short as a day or as long as several weeks. All depends on the initial testing.

Momdate 3.29.06

Been away from the throne for the better part of a week. Took a quick jaunt across the desert to visit mom in her Bullhead home.

Overall she is doing well. The various meds have improved her red blood cell count and she is beginning to have more energy. Her appetite was little better this visit as I actually witnessed her eating more than one meal.

The cancer is still limited to her bones. A recent scan showed that all of her organs are clear of the disease.

Her heart continues to be a concern. The inflammation is under control but the meds will not last forever.

Mom insists that the cancer does not worry her at all that it is her heart that will do her in.

Her attitude is good. In all honesty she is dealing with her own mortality better than I or my siblings are. I asked her how come she was always upbeat with the grim reaper somewhere in the neighborhood. She actually laughed at me and told me that she could either live and enjoy her remaining time or worry and not. She chose to live.

God bless her.

waiting room

poor fluorescent lighting
casts a pallor of doom
through out the lab
one could almost picture
igor hissing a yes master
passing you in the hall
patients slump in worn furniture
sagging with age
smothered in fabrics
recovered from dumpsters
behind the remnant store
windowless
there is a sense of seperation
as the minutes pass
the real world slips into
mythology
the waiting room
become the ying and the yang
the alpha and omega
the beginning and the end
a timeless stretch
of linear space
dimensionless existance
the only reality
the holiest of all grails
a name called
out of the darkness
another one
chosen by the most high
allowed to escape
the purgatory
of the waiting room

silent addiction

in the back of the closet
on an old wire hanger
hung the coat
his father had left behind
nothing fancy
brown leather
sweat stained, worn
buttons made
of simulated deer horn
it hung there for years
a painful reminder
of all that had been lost
when the sirens call
of the corner bar
became unresistable
and he crawled
into the wasteland
a barren place
where scattered bones
were a silent reminder
of all he had sacrificed
at the altar
of addiction

swamp night

quicksand encrusted red canvas shoes
new moon hidden beneath the moss
bullfrog throwing back tequila shooters
mermaid tattoo on his back leg
an old 45 skips rope in the corner
where several rattlers shed their skin
slim whitman's old bandana
covers the log where the termites dance
several well worn firestones
serve as nurserys for the mosquito young
entertained by an old black bear
whispering stories that frighten the young
about a blonde haired monster
with large white teeth
who he swears he once saw
broke the furniture, ate the food
and slept in his childhood bed
of course no one belives him
he has a scar on his head
where a hunter once took a shot at him
and they know he is a little soft
the larvae settle in for the night
to the sound of a cricket song
interspersed with a gentle roar
from the giant on the ground.......

squirrel's know nothing

squirrel's know nothing
about traffic jams
one way streets
traffice lights
or parking fines

squirrel's know nothing
about utility bills
satellite dishes
cellular phones
or the internet

squirrel's know nothing
about household chores
backed up plumbing
piles of laundry
or carpet stains

squirrel's know nothing
about engagement rings
wedding rings
no fault divorces
or child support

squirrel's know nothing
about anxiety
lung cancer
kidney failure
or heart attacks

squirrel's know nothing
about global warming
the greenhouse effect
air pollution
or mass extinction

squirrel's know
about the coming winter
hording nuts
blending with nature
and living in peace

maybe the squirrel's
know something after all

shores of compromise

an emotional tattoo
burned into the tissue
of a warm and loving heart
love is a bitter reminder
of failed expectations
of fairy tales passed
from the dying breath
of one generation to the next
love is all you need
love will keep us together
love makes the world go round
legends built upon the bones
of the broken hearted
love is not the retirement party
a gold watch, a handshake
and goodbye
love is the application
love is the interview
a career chosen
a path explored
a shared vision
of a lifetimes journey
not upon a golden street
or upon the calmest seas
but one upon which
the roads are unpaved
one way
with ten thousand foot drops
for those who travel unawares
one upon which
the seas are fraught
with hurricanes
and sixty foot waves
love is a journey
on which survival depends
not on how many
i love you's
are exchanged
but on the compromise
and sharing
that make up a life
where each is ready
to give there all
to share the bitterness
to share the joy
found at journey's end
when two old souls
in faded wooden rockers
clutching trembling hands
can look upon the sunset
with pride
built upon accomplishment
with eyes
burning bright
whispering
i love you now as i did
on the day we said i do
but today i like you even more.......

amidst the whispering stones

amongst the whispering stones
i search my soul
for crumbs of peace
hansel on the trail
of a med free life
a modern day nirvana
here amid
the marble and brass
lie the bones of generations
some withered flowers
and empty words
left to mark their passing
can they sense my anguish
can they taste
the salt of my tears
or am i but a shadow
a dust filled memory
of a world long forgotten

Shaking the Family Tree

The internet for all its faults has brought great joy to my life. I reconnected with my oldest son. I reconnected with friends of the past. Complete strangers have sent me books just because I was looking for them accepting nothing in return. I have met and made friends with a few people who given our real world locations we would have never even been introduced. Now I cannot imagine my life without them.

My latest internet gift was so out of left field and unexpected that I am still somewhat stunned by its significance.

For several years now I have been working on the geneology of my family. My paternal side has been going nowhere for quite sometime. To my chagrin the Brueckner's and the Finn's with immediate connections to me have all passed away. Leaving no records behind to mark their passing. Someday I know I will find that first piece that leads to the discovery of a mother lode of information. Someday. But not today.

My luck has been much more rewarding on the maternal side.

I knew my maternal grandpa well but we never really discussed the Pankopf side of the family much. I have found information going back to Germany via Milwaukee though so I have made great progress. His mother's maiden name was Weinbrenner and there is an entire website dedicated to her family tree put together by various branches and I have been overwhelmed by the available information.

My maternal grandmother's maiden name was Spelta. Nana and I were close and we spent many hours discussing family history. I have letters she exchanged with my grandfather. I have postcards she received over the years from both friends and family. Funeral cards, her nursing certificate, her grade school graduation book. For the most part that information has been limited to her generation.

Recently I received an email from someone asking if I was interested in any information related to Quinto Spelta. At first I assumed that the email must be from a relative. I know my grandmother's oldest brother Eligio had a son Bobby who had moved to Alaska and the email was from Anchorage. I knew it was not from Bobby because he had died many years ago in small plane crash. I was sure that it must be from one of his children or grandchildren.

I was not even close.

The person who contacted me has no connection with our family in anyway, shape or form.

She is someone who is also working on her family tree. A friend of hers passed on to her a bible she had bought at a thrift store. The friend assumed she might be interested because there was a lot of paperwork stuffed between the pages.

She went through the bible and discovered birth records, newspaper articles, funeral cards and other documents. All were linked to the family name of Spelta.

She did some research and discovered that I was interested in information about the Spelta name. So she sent me the email.

The information she has is more than I had ever expected to find. There is birth information related to my grandmother, her siblings and relations still living in Italy. We exchanged several more emails with the bottom line being that she is sending me the bible and all of its contents to me at no charge. She is just thrilled to find someone related to Quinto who wants the information.

Life is good.

first

my hands were damp
unable to grasp the steering wheel
with any sense of security
as my old jalopy drew closer to her home
i was filled with fear
my mouth was dry
saliva gone
as if sucked into oblivion
by a crazed dentist
my eyes darted nervously
from the oncoming traffic
to the rearview mirror
to the girl beside me
her profile showed no tension
she appeared to be calm, serene
at peace with the universe
undisturbed by the approaching chasm
why was i here
i was not ready
seventeen was to old for a first date
to old for a first kiss
to old to tremble at the thought
of stealing first base
what if she laughs
what if she slaps me
what if my breath could kill a dragon
as i turn onto her street the rain begins to fall
droplets the size of small balloons
slam my car
the gates of heaven have opened
am i to drown
is this a sign
should i let her go
unkissed,
a silent goodbye lost in the roar
of the battering storm
i pull into her driveway
turn off the engine
the only sound is our breathing
fogging the windows
closing us off from the outside world
and the rain
primordial in nature
creation, destruction
lost in confusion
i turn to speak
only to find her lips
on mine
gentle at first
than firmer and more intense
my world explodes
filled with bright light and sounds
i am shocked by the intensity
until i realize,
the explosion came from without
nothing more than the thunder
from our passing storm
lightening filled the skies with an intensity
our kiss could never match
we whispered awhile
kissed some more
watching the storm
awed by the power of nature
humbled by the spectacular
before hurried goodnights
beneath the rain
i walked back to my car
lost in the afterglow
of the passing storm

apocalypse

his last days
were far from pretty
damaged lungs
beyond repair
were underinflated
fighting for oxygen
like a fish out of water
every muscle knotted
every nerve ready
every breath a battle
inhale, exhale
taken for granted
for so many years
as a child in milwaukee
as a young man
dancing with his future
a sentimental journey
for his heart
his soul
welcoming his children
into the world
three boys
and finally his
little girl
the apple of his eye
breathing was easy then
no warning on packages
no bans on it use
camel's were his friend
unfiltered and pure
brackish clouds of smoke
trailed behind him
toxic in nature
he would soon learn
too late for him
the will of the cigarette
was stronger
than the will of the man
even when that demon
emphasyma began
its slash and burn attack
leaving shriveled bronchia
in its wake
he tried
he failed
his world shrank
beyond recognition
a bed, a chair
an oxygen tank
a camel
the four horsemen
of his apocalypse