Nothing Special

This is a photo I took at Longwood Gardens, when I went back to Pennsylvania in March to visit my niece, who is in the process of blooming, just like these tulips. Even though the image is from spring, somehow it feels appropriate for these glorious summer days. The light is so white right now, the air so clear, the colors so vibrant.

I am well. My visits to various divisions of the Kaiser cardiology department have yielded no dire warnings to sit still or die, I'm pleased to say. The Holter test (24-hour EKG) showed a couple of flutters; the stress test was barely stressful. After the latter, my doctor said I did well--came within one bpm of my maximum of 160. This I did in 12 minutes. The best sign, she said, was that my pulse returned to within normal range within three minutes. Recovery, evidently, is key. The upshot seems to be that I do get the occasional irregular heartbeat, but it is only very occasional. There is no sign of any kind of blockage in that wonderful network of vessels that keep my blood happily sloshing through my body, the red and white cells jamming along full speed like racecars at Indy. I do have an appointment toward the end of the month with a cardiologist, just because my doctor (the divine Ms. S., MD) thinks as long as I'm still feeling hip-hops now and then I might as well get a specialist's opinion.

I ran six miles this morning, with nary a flutter, and so can't get very concerned.

I am very busy working right now, so busy I'm not doing much else. Tuesday I was offered a permanent part-time position as a proofreader at company X, a medium-sized but well-respected ad agency in SF. (Is well-respected ad agency an oxymoron?) I've decided to take the job for a number of reasons, not the least being the stability, along with the guarantee of a certain amount of income. Side benefit: my commute includes about a half hour of brisk walking every day, in a lovely part of the city. So when I can't run I at least can do some version of the old left-right.

Went up to Reno last weekend to visit my oldest sister and my mighty fine nephew and his family. The older I get the more I appreciate looking into these faces and seeing some version of myself looking back. There's something mystical to me about blood relationships. Maybe they make real the very abstract notion that we, that is, humans, are all one.

In Reno I ran down at the park along the river at dawn, as is my wont when I go to that city where I was born. I thought of my mother and father, both now gone, and how they walked that path so many times, nodding and smiling at everyone they encountered. Then I remembered playing in that park when I was very small. Then remembered later, when I was a teenager, taking that mighty fine nephew (who was then about three and is now, ahem, over forty) to that park. Years after that, I went with my own two sons there. My youngest, who is now 33, was so little that I had to help him climb the stairs that led up to the smallest slide. My older son was still young enough to wear himself out playing imaginary games without a shred of self-consciousness.

Tonight I went for a short walk as the sun was setting. It is the Fourth of July, and there seem to be a lot of families hanging out in their front yards. One very small boy, an over-excited small boy, ran at me, shrieking with laughter, his hands up as if to stop my walking by. I sidestepped him easily, putting my hand on his small head as I pivoted around him. The feel of his silky hair under my hand drew me up short--so warm, so sweet, so ordinary. He was a complete stranger to me, and yet--and yet.

I draw no particular conclusions from all this, other than the obvious one that wow, I've been around a while. How happy I am to still be living, to still be running. How happy to be able to pass just an ordinary day--a run, meeting for coffee with a friend, working at my desk for a few hours, having dinner and then going for a stroll. Nothing special.