It’s been one year since I fell over on the floor of my office and tried to pass into another stage of being using a heart attack as my ticket to oblivion. EOTWAWKI, personal version. Very personal. Ah, well. Didn’t make the transition quite yet. No ashes to ashes, dust to dust, shit to fertilizer. Some day…but not yet. So, how have I celebrated my surviving another twelve months?Don’t fret, that’s not me playing the trumpet (although there was a time when I did play trumpet and I am likely in the same age range as the gentlemen pictured…).
Following a weight lifting session and a five mile walk, my significant other and I visited the local–25 miles to the west of us–mall to where we experienced the shopping madness. OK, there wasn’t much shopping, just a tad of madness, not too many shoppers and we sat for a few minutes listening to Desert Swing, a Sierra Vista, Arizona, based band contribute to the Christmas cheer. Yes, that’s the connection to the above image. After returning home I found the band’s web site and learned that a family friend, Joe Anton, was one of the founders of the group back in the 1980s. Joe, at least as I recall being told, had also made the helicopter journey to the big city following some sort of illness. Farm Out, as we hippies like to murmur in a stupor.
That was Saturday’s activity. Sunday–following another five mile walkabout–we attended a small concert to hear Rene Serrano, an internationally recognized guitarist, present a selection of classical Bach. No photos, I don’t lug my big camera into an intimate venue to disturb the other patrons with its obnoxious noise.
Monday was another walking day, a working-on-the-motorcycle day, a fiddle-around-the-house and meditate-on-the-past-year day. I can not truthfully say that I can contrast how I feel now with the way I did during the hours before my heart attack. I don’t remember the hours before the attack. Nothing. Nada. Not a fucking thing, not for a couple of days before the myocardial infarction, not for several days afterward and certainly not the moment of the big event. Rather like the aftermath of a really bad drunk, I can truthfully claim innocence of my actions. My significant other tells me I was awake and talking while at St. Joe’s hospital in Tucson. That’s great, I believe her, but the recording mechanism in my brain was not operating. Yep, just like a bad drunk. No memories.
Tuesday. Walked five miles, beautiful weather, legs felt strong…then waiting for the “witching” time. According to girlfriend, she heard the thump at about 4:30 PM on December 9 (2013). At 4:30 PM, I didn’t thumb. Maybe I farted (though I’m sure I didn’t, gentulmen don’t break wind…), so I’ve survived one year since I had a heart attack. If I make it through December 23 of this year, I’ll have logged a year since surgery but I don’t see that as a problem.
Now for the next year.