by cg on September 5, 2010
Dear friend Scott was kind enough to drive me down to the Monterey Museum of Art yesterday, to see the exhibit “Ansel Adams: Portrait of America” (through October 3). I’d never been to MMA, and was very pleased to discover a beautiful, spacious facility that is blessedly accessible (Scott was pushing me in a wheelchair).
70-some iconic Adams’ images are on display, comprising one of only 4 of the “Museum Sets” the photographer printed before his death in 1984. He’d planned to make some 20 sets totaling about 2000 prints according to daughter Anne Adams Helms, whom we met at the show and from whose collection the current show is mounted.
As gulker.com readers may know, I’m a huge Adams fan, having been trained originally as a black-and-white photographer in the late 1960s by Bill Moos. Adams has famously said that the negative is the score and the print is the performance, and he returned to “perform” favorite images at different times during his long and productive career. I greatly enjoy seeing and comparing his many interpretations.
The museum sets are interesting because they are among the last-known instances of prints created by Adams or under his direct supervision (again, this according to Anne). Most Adams fans take as a given that Adams printed darker as he grew older, but there are a few surprises – notably the print of “Clearing Storm, Mt. Williamson,” which shows more open shadows and lighter textures than can be seen in some earlier interpretations.
My very favorite photograph of all times and authors is “Moonrise.” A large framed print of this (It’s actually one of the estate’s high quality posters printed at very high resolution on heavy clay-coated stock) hangs next to my bed. It’s the first and last image I see every day. The moon, the sky, the cemetery crosses and humble adobes have spoken volumes to me even before current circumstances.
It’s the “classic” interpretation (seen above), in which the sky above the clouds is essentially a black rectangle – other prints exist, printed early on (1948) which show wispy clouds high in the sky, above the apparent position of the moon – one of these prints sold for $360,000 last year. Recommended… and a must for serious Adams fans… as usual, apologies to the estate if the image above, in wide circulation, is unauthorized….
On the phone the other day, a relative said “You sound really good, Chris.” Visitors who see me seated, frequently at our patio table comment on how “good” (I think they mean “healthy”) I look. I feel good much of the time – and let’s be clear that glioma, blessedly, is free of the wrenching pain that accompanies many cancers- the brain doesn’t, interestingly, have a nervous system that allows it to sense pain in itself, for all its massive neural machinery.
Except for the creeping, now neck-down left-side paralysis and attendant nightly muscle spasms (a common fallout from paralysis, I’m told) and a perennial back ache caused by the right side constantly trying to yank the slumping left to something like level. My pain relievers at this point are no stronger than all-day aspirin remedies like Alleve.
I’ve written about my hemiplegia (paralysis) and hemiparesis (muscle weakness), before, and can assure all comers that it’s no fun, especially for a formerly active jogger and hiker who still pines for the trails of Windy Hill and the rest of the Peninsula Open Space. It won’t be entirely unwelcome to cease having to deal with those particular conditions.
Other unwelcome fallout includes, apparently, an enlarged prostrate, which has arrived in sync with the new brain tumors – wether just my luck to get this old man’s condition now, or related to an immune system that’s going nuts trying to contain the cancer, it, too is no fun. When you’re not very mobile, it’s definitely a drag to constantly need to visit the bathroom. Fortunately an old college buddy is now a renowned urologist, and he’s fixed me up with a prescription that’s been a great help.
While we’re on the topic, we see that Christopher Hitchens has gone public with some of the more intimate fallout from his esophageal cancer, so we’ll note that glioma, particularly a right-side lesion, particularly one located on the motor strip has tragic consequences for one’s sex life.
Other than that we’re fine, mom, really….another Countdown post, aimed at, perhaps, helping those who may find themseves walking in my path…
Two weeks ago, an exhausted spouse looked over at me from behind her Mac, and said “do you realize that we have had people over, or been out to dinner for 21 straight nights?” That pace would have continued unabated, thanks to a life that has been enriched by many friends from church, work, neighborhoods et al. These dear friends have rushed to console and support us, for which we truly feel blessed.
Problem is, we’re both exhausted. I’m not sure that I ever went 21 nights in a row, even in my twenties. And the problem is definitely not our friends and neighbors, who are only trying to help. The problem is me, and the trouble I have saying the word “no.”
And I should know better – I’m definitely not in my 20s anymore, and my stamina has been steadily declining as the cancer progresses. Even with a long afternoon nap, Linda has often had to struggle to drag me and my fatigued, non-working left side out of restaurants and into the car.
So, the new rule is, we consult on invitations – Linda is much busier than I, and, therefore, better at ‘no’ – and I’m trying to build respite time – for both Linda and me – into the calendar. True friends understand that we have to pace ourselves – and we don’t have to default to dinner – morning coffee or a PM drink work, too. This post is part of the Countdown category, aimed at, perhaps, helping those who may find themseves walking in my path…
When William Gibson’s new novel arrived it made an immediate improvement in the tone, at least, of my current reading list. The nightstand was down to two titles when Zero History arrived: “A Guide to Dying,” a thin volume, and, on the Kindle “Terminal Planet,” a steampunk saga chronicling the adventures of a mutant coroner. Not a lot of cheer, there, admittedly.
Zero History, in contrast, has lots to cheer about – we just finished it. I was completely riveted… when I put the book down this morning, Linda said “Oh good, the husband’s back,” and put me to work editing InMenlo copy. A review is in the works… I’m collecting thoughts, some that go waaaay back…
Honest, we’re not that worried about the approaching “expiration date,” but Zero History is a page turner, so far, and we’re burning through it. Hollis and Milgrim, two favorite, very eccentric characters from Spook Country are loose in two of my favorite cities, dodging creepy figures in Galeries Lafayette, Euston Station and the cramped streets of SoHo. Plus, “cartel grade” assault trucks as the solution to London traffic, Japanese psychotherapists, slut’s wool, antimarketing espionage, secret brands, gussets, Full English Breakfast, enigma rotors and “Even the delusionally paranoid have enemies.”. Oh, yeah… loving it… again, my sincere thanks to Monsieur G….
A Fedex package awaited on the porch this morning, as Linda and I returned from an InMenlo interview.
After undoing a couple yards of Homeland Security tape, there, gasp, was a copy of Zero History. Somewhere in the cyberverse lurks a shadowy figure, a scifi writer with a very kind heart…
So, the last time we were waiting for William Gibson’s then-latest novel, Spook Country, we were uncertain we’d be around to read it. We made it handily into 2007, though, and enjoyed the book.
However, this time around things are considerably more iffy. True, Gibson’s latest, Zero History is due out September 7, which, while not far away, is still perilously close to my neuro-oncologist’s best guess at my longevity, given current circumstance. We’ve already pre-ordered our copy. Kindle edition, naturally, since it will arrive more quickly…
Continuing with the “countdown” posts:
So, we have referred to our paralyzed left side as “the neural downgrade” in casual conversation – it’s an easy way to refer to an unfortunate situation that sometimes injects a little humor into the discussion.
Many friends have had the experience of downgrading from Microsoft’s Vista to Windows XP with generally favorable results. It’s a good thing.
Our downgrade from, say, Left Side 10.0 to Left Side 1.5 has been much less fun, and unfortunately continues to slide. We did have a pretty good run, after two years of pretty much daily rehab exercises, that saw us walking a Stanford loop, alone, without a walking stick, at 3 miles an hour (normal adult walking speed). We also walked the hills of Ameugny and Taizé unaided (no stick or walker). We felt great… we were daring to hope that a return to slow jogging was in our future, meaning I could once again go for sunrise jogs with Linda.
But, alas, it was not to be. An episode of brain swelling a year ago wiped out the newly reconnected neural pathways – our walking speed dropped to 2 MPH in the space of about 6 weeks. Everything from getting out of bed to donning socks to tying shoes became harder.
I have never stopped doing the rehab exercises – trainer Heidi Engel’s take was simple: it happened, you lost it, tough break, now get over it and keep going. She kept reminding me that I might have lost it all if I hadn’t kept up the weight training and treadmill routines at the gym, along with the alternate-day 1.5 mile walks with loyal friends Scott and Lily, followed by specialized Heidi exercises.
My last days at the gym saw me fall on the treadmill – embarrassing to say the least: the final two sessions saw me all but unable even to step up on the treadmill, and I had to dial the speed way down. A couple Scott walks had to be truncated when the left leg began breaking down – first at 3/4 mile, then at shorter intervals. I almost cried when I cancelled my Y membership.
Falling has become a bigger problem, so we’ve compensated, first with a walking stick, now a (really good) hemi-walker that Heidi conjured up, and occasionally in a wheelchair. We belatedly heeded Heidi’s advice and had a wheelchair ramp and some other assistive aids installed. We’re barbecueing less, letting stepson John and our various male guests step in, because standing for extended periods has become difficult.
Yesterday, after standing, making omelets for 20 minutes at the stove, my left leg just stopped moving and we had to hop, with help, to a chair.
The leg came back after some rest – after 4 years we’re used to neural muscle failures after brisk exercise, but this one caught us by surprise. I was able to stand and cook for much longer periods only a couple weeks ago.
The hard part of this has been letting go of the much stronger body I’d built up over three years on Heidi’s training program. It’s just going away, little by little and there’s very little I can do about it – Heidi, of course, has given me a daily routine to keep some core muscles going that can get me out of bed and onto my feet et al. Looks like electric wheelchair is next…
A couple of correspondents – both secular and faithful – have recently lamented the seeming absence of God in all that Linda and I have endured these past few years. In truth, I feel closer to God now than at any previous time in my life.
Cancer and other human affliction have almost nothing to do with “the will of God”, and everything to do with the wonderful cosmic machine we call Creation. It whirs and hums – machinery so elegant that it allows wondrous creations (Angelina Jolie comes to mind), to rise literally from the dust of the universe.
Indeed, there is evidence that life is the default when conditions allow – isn’t that curious? A faithful person might choose to make a lot out of that, seeing divine purpose in such a celestial arrangement.
I can’t quite go there: I’m of the mind that if you believe in a Creator God, then everything we can ever see or know has to be a part of that Creation. Good stuff, bad stuff, everything.
Humans like Einstein and Hawking had and have minds that allow them to appreciate the beauty of creation in ways that most of us cannot. Famously secular Einstein did once say “I believe in Spinoza’s God who reveals himself in the orderly harmony of what exists, not in a God who concerns himself with fates and actions of human beings.”
Spinoza saw God in nature and nature in God, a “quantum view” that I’ve come to share. Soon I will be returning to nature (not that I ever really left) and ultimately to the cosmic stardust whence I came. Part of nature, part of God? Perhaps we’ll see…
Randomness is part of our universe, and, indeed, if you believe some theoretical physicists, it is core to physical creation. Randomness means some people get the $5 million lottery ticket, and others get a few brain cells that in 4 of 100,000 people, begin to divide in a chaotic way. It’s just how it goes, here in creation.
Me, I’m happy to have lived in a universe where love was possible, if not always practiced. And no, I don’t believe that I have been smote…but it’s fun to use words like “smite”….
Linda came back from the mailbox this afternoon and flashed this month’s Scientific American cover. “Look, hon, they’ve dedicated a whole issue to you!”
True, I’ve been a subscriber for more than 30 years, but no, this isn’t a celebration of all things Gulker.
Last month SciAm did “Origins,” so it would follow that we’d do endings this month. Tagline reads “The eternal fascinations – and surprising upsides – of endings.” We’re waiting for the “surprising upsides”…
