Fat Tuesday

Mardi Gras Masks and Beads

Mardi Gras Masks and Beads, originally uploaded by biskuit.

It seems a kind of cheating to celebrate Mardi Gras when I have no intention of giving up anything for Lent.

Early in the evening I officially commemorated the holiday with a Sazerac cocktail — a classic drink of New Orleans. I listened to Madeleine Peyroux too, for extra Big Easy flair. I enjoyed both thoroughly.

I felt no extra thrill to them though: I may well have a Sazerac again before Easter, and Ms. Peyroux is almost certain to pop up again on my playlist. So what makes this evening different from any other for me?

I suppose there was one other way I celebrated: I skipped going to the gym.

Perhaps I can can turn today’s laziness to my advantage. I wrote a post some weeks back about needing a focus for my self- and health-improvement efforts. Here’s what I’ll do: For the next 40 days, I’ll exercise for at least 40 minutes each day. The exercise needn’t require a trip to the gym or a big sweat; 40 minutes of focused yoga or even dancing around the living room will do.

So, retroactively, I now feel a bit more justified in sitting about listening to music and drinking rye on Mardi Gras. And I look forward to arriving at Easter a little less gras.

Morning

CPMC Surgery

CPMC Surgery, originally uploaded by crucially.

My mom is in the hospital this morning, undergoing surgery to repair her foot. She broke her foot sometime last year; she slipped while walking down stairs, and though she barely fell at all she tore a tendon in her heel. The tendon is irreparable, but the surgery will relieve pain and make it easier to walk.

This surgery comes just months after other surgery to replace her knee. A couple years ago my father had a hip replaced, and he should have the other replaced too but, typically for him, he has put it off indefinitely.

Dad doesn’t hear too well anymore, but rather than see a specialist, he wears the decrepit hearing aid his mother wore — it’s decades old, doesn’t fit him, and helps his hearing not at all.

When I stopped by my parents’ house last night, they were just finishing dinner. Mom had me fix myself a plate of pot roast with noodles and vegetables, and we sat around the table as we always did.

But not everything was the same. Conversation centered first on my mom’s search for a wheelchair, to use after her surgery. Then we talked about a close family friend who has been in the ICU for days and probably won’t survive many days longer.

My younger brother Jude was wearing pajamas at the dinner table, at 7pm, which seemed unusual even by Closkey standards; he’s become an old curmudgeon well before his time. After dinner Dad sat watching TV wrapped in a blanket against the cold, exactly where my grandmother used to sit and looking for all the world like her reincarnation.

As much as a downer as this all should be — all of us growing old and staring Death in the eye, my mother undergoing anesthesia right this moment — I find myself cheerful. The sun shines through my window, I’m drinking fresh, hot coffee, and I’m looking ahead to a day full of good work for clients I like.

I’d like to draw a Wise Thought from this, some pithy sentence to share with everyone or to think back on myself when life seems grim. All I have, though, is this feeling that the day is new, and that whatever it brings is enough.

An antidote to a pervasive sense of death

Abe Vigoda as Fish in the TV show "Barney Miller"

Two thousand eight has started well for me, as years go. Lots of work to do — interesting work too. I’ve a least little time each week to spend with family and friends, the weather has been mellow, I’m feeling healthy…. Things are good.

Yet I keep feeling that I’m surrounded by images of death. The 22-year-old daughter of friends is killed, apparently by her boyfriend. A close family friend is hospitalized with a brain hemorrage, and her children are told to fly home to say goodbye. The next selection for my book group is The Gathering, a novel that centers on the funeral of a young Irish man who committed suicide. I buy a book of essays (Best American Essays 2006), and most of them seem to deal with death of a loved one.

Yesterday, I heard that Heath Ledger had died. I’ve always liked Ledger’s acting, and I’m looking forward to The Dark Knight, but I’ve never been a starstruck fan. All the same, the news of his death hit me hard. It seemed like yet another example of this month, this year, being all about death and dying.

Of course I realize that there’s nothing to this perceived trend. There’s just as much life around me as death. For some reason, my brain has become stuck in a mode of noticing death, putting extra emphasis on it. It’s a self-fulfilling cycle, and it’s bringing me down.

But I have decided to get out of this mental rut, to focus on life and the living. As my model, I look to Abe Vigoda. He’s a fine character actor, but more importantly, he’s still alive.

Mr. Vigoda was erroneously reported to be dead in 1982 by People magazine. Since then, his continued existence has been a source of humor.

But for me, he’s now also a symbol of continued perseverence and on-going life force. Go, Fish!