Julie Child pronounced it "tom-AH-to" which I often do.
I supplied the delicious potato salad. To make it a complete meal, and I ate it for breakfast, I added chunks of Colby cheese, first made in Colby, WI. Who knew?
Colby is similar to Cheddar, but does not undergo the cheddaring process.[4] Colby is a softer, moister, and milder cheese than Cheddar because it is produced through a washed-curd process. Colby is considered semi-hard (Sans-kendrall).[5] The washed-curd process means that during the cooking time, the whey is replaced by water; this reduces the curd's acidity, resulting in Colby's characteristically mild flavor. Like most other cheeses, it takes a little more than a U.S. gallon of milk to produce just 1 pound (just over 8 liters for a kilogram) of cheese. Monterey Jack cheese is produced almost identically as Colby, but is uncolored and softer.Had a nice relaxing day today, reading, napping, eating and of course shooting up.
My goal was to finish a poem about my upcoming surgery.
The surgery planning is not too swift. In the last week, the surgery office scheduled me for lots of appointments. They should've done this during the entire month of July, not the week before surgery.
Finally, finally, Kidney Clinic at Einstein called me, after my numerous phone calls and emails.
Now they wanna see me before surgery. They assured me I would not have to wait four hours before seeing the nephrologist, kidney doctor, Dr Kung, whom I like a lot.
Dyou think I should give him a print-out of my Prednisone poem, the last line of which says I'm gonna go off Prednisone entirely, one of my three antirejection meds. I will definitely check with them before I take the plunge....and go back on should I show signs of rejection.
Scott and I met with an anesthetist on Friday to make sure they're aware of my special concerns. Nice guy, a Dr Werner, who was on his numbered cell phone every five minutes cuz someone was coming in for surgery.
I was excited for him.
What fun to have an exciting job. Excitement is something I've gotta have in my life.
I asked him if I'd wear a cute little shower cap like his during surgery.
Yes, he said.
Then I asked what position my body would be in. Scott's friend Mike Kramer who's had numerous back surgeries, a couple done by my surgeon, Guy Lee, was on his knees for one of the surgeries.
You'll be on your stomach, said Werner.
I wore my shirt that read "Ask me Why I have Three Kidneys" to remind me to mention all my antirejection meds.
I asked him what I should do if I woke up with lo blood sugar the morning of surgery.
Drink something clear like Gatorade, he said.
So if you see a woman at the Giant Supermarket using her shopping cart as a walker and filled with bags of cashews, almonds, and peanuts, some talapia, and plenty of cheeses, plus a bottle of Gatorade, you'll know it's me.
The Gatorade website is amazing. It seems they've figgered out how to partner with all the athletic teams and make it a mandatory part of being an athlete.
Excuse me, what aisle is the Gatorade in? I'm preparing for the Philadelphia marathon in September.
Actually, Sarah and my niece Nikki are in training for that now.
Okay, before I unveil my newest poem, enshrouded in a blue tarp, lemme tell you what I've been watching on my laptop.
Charlie Rose interviewed "at this table" the sculptor/scribbler Richard Serra, born in 1939. At first, I'd confused him with the great minimalist architect Richard Neutra, whom I see, has left for the Afterlife back in 1970.
My interest in Serra kindled, I watched an excellent video in which he's interviewed by the great artist Laurie Anderson. Since I slept thru most of it, I'll try to watch this PBS video again tonite here.
During my fitful sleep, it was hot and my sciatica was toying with me all nite, I kept dreaming of posting the link to the PBS show on my blogroll. During pre-sleep, that hynogogic period when you can't move, I'm often to be found grasping the mouse and then quaking myself awake with a start.
Did that ever happen to you?
TO THY KNIFE I COMMEND MY SOUL
As the day of my surgery grows near
the demon sciatica
grows hungry
its torture has
failed to drown this swimmer
who comes up daily
for air.
how useless to taunt me with your newest games
when will you understand?
oh, if it makes you happy, demon,
i will call you by your right name
i’ll shout it aloud to the world,
o conjoined twin of the devil:
coward Lucifer
people in pain are sworn to secrecy
we must not speak our pain
it is how we remain unbroken
but demon lucifer has broken through
reading in bed last night
the breeze from an open window
caressing my hair
you grabbed my feet
scraped the soles with
razor-sharp hay
I closed my book and howled
“you would do that, you loser!”
as the straw grew into hay bales
on Raytharn’s Farm
under a perfect sky
next, o demon, your poison has
spread up my tanned thighs
where two children sprang
and men lay there and sighed
now I am crushed beneath a
tractor
riderless
that digs furrows
a river of blood on
my sheets
smelling of
afterbirth.
your encore is
a vise
a vietnam cage that held
the captured warrior
screams muffled
as coward Lucifer
laughed in the clouds.
Time heals all.
time or surgery or death will be
your final demise.
Where go then, coward Lucifer?
When my demon leaves me
amnesia like the scent of
lilacs in spring
will walk with me through
the hospital ward
twenty years of pain
and You
erased forever from my mind.
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