Mick McKellar Update--Day +89
The intrepid walkers did manage to get a couple of miles in this afternoon, by walking down to Walgreen's and back. This morning, the sky leaked. It was double-down gray and gloomy, with a steady, light rain falling. So old Darth Mick took his first turn behind the wheel of the Focus, since January 27, the evening I drove the car into the parking lot at Gift of Life Transplant House.
Recent changes in my medications have made some of the stuff yuckier, but replaced many of the medications that caused dizziness and blurred vision. I also quit using Ambien to sleep five nights ago, and have managed well without it. So, heave-ho my hearties, we shoved off for WalMart and related stores on 25th St. SE, off S. Broadway. We hoisted anchor and the good ship Focus made her way into the river of traffic -- as you will see -- I mean that literally.
We found it without mishap, and old Darth Mick waited in the car while Marian took care of business. Then began the trip back to the house. It has been many years since I have seen a sky open up and dump so much rain in so short a time. It was a sustained cloudburst that lasted until five minutes after I parked the car at the transplant house. I was tested. I passed.
Naturally, I wrote a poem about it. You'll find Cloudburst and its introductory prose, below.
Medically, today is like yesterday -- still fighting the rash, and still wondering what is killing my red blood cells. My blood glucose is staying within parameters, and I feel fine, except for the ongoing fatigue problem.
This afternoon sunlight has been brightly fighting against patchy cloud shadows. The temperature on the sign at Walgreen's read 80 degrees, but it's more like 70 when you can find a shady spot. Somewhere the sun will set in golden fire, it may even happen here, only the clouds will decide. The long shadows are growing, but they are pale against the strong sunlight, and all remains bright, even in the evening light.
Thanks for the light of your communications, brightening our days with a bit of home.
God bless and good evening,
Mick
And now, Cloudburst
I truly enjoy listening to rain tapping on the roof, especially when I don't have to go out into the wet weather. Walking along in the rain, when there is no wind, and you have an umbrella, can be an enjoyable experience -- but how often does that happen? At home, in the Keweenaw, I most often see rain moving sideways, being driven by a storm wind, and fighting an umbrella under those circumstances adds frustration to the whole soggy experience.
Today started with a slow, but steady rain, and I decided to try driving my car for the first time since January. All was fine until the return trip to the Gift of Life Transplant House, when the sky opened up and let loose a torrent which made vision near impossible in downtown Rochester traffic. However, I passed the test. Five minutes after I parked the car, the rain stopped and the sun came out. I like rain, I really do...but it can be overdone.
Mick
Cloudburst
I love to quietly listen to rain,
Tapping softly on our roof when falling.
The natural rhythms sky tears sustain,
To the music in my heart is calling.
And when in sync, the flow is powerful,
To make a pewter-gray day a jewel;
Instead of the dreary, drab, and hour-full,
Tests of patience so many find cruel.
To walk in a light rain is a pleasure,
If there's no wind, and you've an umbrella.
A bubble of dryness is a treasure,
To a slightly damp, but happy fella;
Not because the other walkers are damp,
From each dripping head to each soggy shoe,
As through falling sky-dew they're forced to tramp.
But then again, I smile -- maybe that's true...
Still there are times I find rain abhorrent,
Especially when I am caught outside,
And unzipped clouds pour forth in a torrent:
A deluge leaving me no place to hide!
I trudge along, taking a cold shower
In my clothes, but that may not be the worst;
Try driving a car, through traffic's power,
When near blinded by a sudden cloudburst.
In other words, I really love the rain;
But when overdone, it can be a pain.
Mick McKellar
May 2011