pain, chains and change

Sunday am, on the couch in the hour before sunrise. Looking for a storm today, winter's gift to the desert, southern moisture drawn across ribbed mountains and saline flats, drawn inland to this thirsty crust of sandstone, sage and and blowing sand. My body feels the same need, parched with increasing pain in remote parts seeking the chemo rain, random in my viens, wanting relief to reach this range of danger between feeling well and feeling the incessant cancer creeping. Outside,the desert waits, moonlit and indistinct, inside I sit and wait, and while the desert wears its rabbit printed sand and sends echos of distant coyote calls, I wear some dull needle marks and hear eternity in the the soma silence of waking at two am. somewhere out behind our comfortable loving house-life, snakes sleep and dream of the sudden strike and kill, the snakes dream of the late spring sun, warming their blood with movement and motive. This morning I dreamed I cried with my dead father, telling H.J. how unfair, how mean, how pained I feel with this disease and the death within it. In this morning's dream, he held me while I cried. We cried and I felt I was touching all the hours, days and years of shared joy with his handsome, loving spirit. In time we caught our breath back from the furies of grief, and I felt how he is within me and how I'll be within all I love, I felt the sad clouds of time and loss, clouds that come and go, clouds compressed, clouds dead dark with menance and malvolinece, and I saw both above and below those clouds other worlds alive, vibrant, unending.
I wonder about about my spirit as I wait the coming transitions from night to day, day to night, I wonder if I will stay bright minded and humorous, or will I burden my loving family with fear and pain expressed. I hope not. I hope I remain who i have been on my best days, days of sun warming my blood and melting clouds. I hope. Hope with me. love and laughter, marcus

On Martin's Monday

tThe fire burns fresh pine and I sit farther away from the windows this morning. Brian-cat is over on the couch, a grey clump of fur and purr. I watch the fire grow and spread across the wood stove and hear its demanding crackle and snap- come to me to burn and turn to ash. I hear that, I'm here. Curious, the process that consumes gives light and warmth. This mornings's light is slowly arcing from blue black horizon through a faded levi-blue and back to black space above, where a fat moon falls to the northwest. Like my cancer,I can't see the moon from here, only the effects it casts on desert around, the sage, the trees i've planted, the driveway of grey white gravel. A few minutes pass; I make toast and eat it slowly, letting my body accept nurishment wishing/wanting/needing to regain the weight and muscle i've lost to cancer. Best to avoid nasuea. Cancer is one hell of a diet and one that won't show up on late night paid programming. What would they say? "Last diet you'll ever need?"or who could they use? terminal testimonials, dying dialogues, whispers from the hospice hotels? Forget the disease, and watch the earth wake up. Best to eat my toast slowly and watch the sun rise.
The color has shifted and is banded from the blue to a sage greeen and then of course into rosy fingered dawn. The cat is playful; he jumps from chair to chair like the teenager he is, catching himself and landing on at least three paws. I feel fair and normal this am, slept till six without interruption, little pain, little awareness of the chemo, which hurts so good, that I took in on Friday. So this dawn pomises to be a full, active: chop woods, clean truck, go down and work on the boat at the marina. A promise anticipated is more likely to happen, so I anticipate an active day.
Updates: Judy and Dave spent the weekend, I love having good friends and good food around, thanks to the cooks, mahi on friday, and shrimp pasta saturday, delicious soup on sunday. Ron, a friend of Mandy's, drove up from Tucson to visit (thanks for the audio video help, do-Ron-ron) and later Maddox brought his family out yesterday after lunch to watch football, track Gracie's walking lessons and to take me for a walk. Maddox and I treked up thru the sandy fields to our near/dear neightbors Jim and Vicki, Mad-man was most impressed, (Is that a real gun, Jim?) with the "rabbit gun" Jim showed him. On the way back down to our house, he posed a ominous threat to invisible rabbits, must of nailed 200 of them in 50 yards.
So much else to tell, Em, I predicted that Lars would get home this weekand get better tuite suite. A prediction is like a promise isn't it?
So much,so many to be thanked: thank you to all the care givers in Flag at the Cancer center, to my bro Chas, five days a week at least on the hotline, KJ, glad Florida was warm, Pk louis, get those carbs back on and send a video, Jules, you're amazing, thinking of you. And once again, thanks to Kelsos and Phillips for easy lodging and funny visitor's guide (Kelsos).
So much more to plan, took the van in for a new tranny, get it back and we'll be mobile, wanna-be hippies again, planning trips and taking them.
Tanner thank you majorly for the upload and posts to Wayne's words, make yo daddy smile and remember the best part of growing you up. I love you.
Of course more love, kisses, more love, kisses and more hugs to Peggy and Mandy for all the daily details that I need help with, you are appreciated beyond words. "Pills, diet, water...small important words that you help me with, and provide the promise that is today...love and laughter to all, Marcus

ps, someone wanted our address: Box 410119, Big Water, Ut 84741-2119

of family, fish and foreigners

Home last nite, after 9 days away from Casa Del Bilge Agua. Much to say; much to share. many to thank, my fast loving family, friends that give time and space, and our hosts in sayulita, the Dumonts, muchos gracias Kelly, Connie and Barry.
As my ritual demands, we start with sunrise.
I woke about six, dark windows face an eastern night light, dull and distant as if some god thought to protect us from total blackout. Keep your eyes on that edge, where monsters sit, and this morning the night light fades and I glimpse a sailor's threat in the long webs of pink-bloody vapors climbing from that edge toward the peppered grey skinned buttes nearby. Soaked in sun thousands of feet above me, these fingers of aerial fire out-blaze the night light. Little lights won't protect all of us from everything. Today's monsters are like these crimson creatures above and within: unseen or half-glimpsed, they scare me, my uncertain body, the unmeasured damage. Clouds of red occlude my confidence, limit my good humor and make me feel small and weak. The feeling stays awhile, and I feel sponged in sadness and self pity. But, I sit still and sad through the the color shift: red goes to faint amber, amber towards gold and the buttes now appear like measureless mountains of mica. Fools gold wrings out the sponge and soon the gold sky gives way to white light and warming rays, the promise the gods give for another day of building confidence, enriching humor and stretching the strength of my spirit. Watch the sun rise, and be sure to see all the lights.
The light now shows our casa, our cat at the glass watching a few rabbits outside, inside we are well, now the cat pincushions into the overstuffed crazy patterned chair, and wood stove glows in the next room. Precious sleeping under too many comforters, most of them half tossed off toward my vacant side the bed...she's warm, and more loving and caring than I remember earning. I must have been good some of these years ago.
We've been watching Mexican sunrises for the last week or so. Peg, Mandy, Wes, Alena, Julie, Paul Louis, Normie and I drifted thru mild days, 80' days and nights on the wide patio, feasted on the resident cook's best recipes, lazed in daytime dialogue and discovered that Monday's a banner fishing day in Sayulita. Many joys, many surprizes. Best was my brother, KJ, showing up unexpectedly, just jaunting up the street like the casual surfer he once was. Great idea, KJ, thanks for the extra spice to a lively vacation. I spent most of limited energy at and in la Casa Rana Verde. read 3 books, sun soaked, and slept well. Others walked to town, shopped, snorkeled and swam.
Monday, banner day, look out Jaws, coming to get ya! Or more mundane: we fished. Kurt, Paul, Wes and Marcus. Please know, along with sunrises, fishing is a ritual for me. Eight in the morining, on the soft sloped beach, 24' open boat with bimini and single outboard, fully outfitted with a two life jackets and a nearly mute captain. Ugh,lift boat, again, again, and then we catch the leading edge of the surf and push some more, jump in and head aroung the first rocky point towards the west. "Where we going? Capt." Nando nods his head and pilots us around the corner, idles the motor down and we troll for 2+ hours and nada, nix, no fish...ain't this fun? now, we move quicly to some shallows, a reef maybe 20 miles from Sayulita, a mile of so off-shore. But hey, we catch a mackerel, now two, Wes got the first one, then PK, then Capt. Mute, I object to my brothers and son, "Shouldn't we be doing all the catching?" No time to talk thru the matter, because Capt. fish-boxes four of these foot long fish, and we head off at WOT to where the sea boils with birds, bait fish, and predators, churning the surface to wild salty foam, flashes of iridescence below the boat show large powerful animals annihilating the smaller, slower fish. Capt. Mute, grabs two of our fish, hooks them thru the mouth and tosses both into the boiling waves and moments later, Wes has a strike, off hook quickly, then KJ hooks one better, calls out" got one" and Capt. Mute seems to smile. Kurt, for about 10 minutes, fights and pulls and reels and pulls and reels and pulls up finally, a slack line. Fish was strong and broke off. Frustated and feisty, KJ shakes his head and says things all fishermen say when they lose a good one, "Oh dang". Not.
Out of fish for bait we return to the reef, haul in another four or five bait fish in the next hour and then way off, beyond what we can see, Capt. Mute turns the boat north and we bounce across the swell for 15 mins and cruise right up to a massive boiling sea of drama and death for sea creatures. Many fish, small and large fish flash and fly beneath the bow The large animals inhale countless smaller fish. Wide bodied sea birds dive bomb and do the same and the water is frantic with the contest between dinner and death. Capt. drops in two lines, Wes and I both hook up quickly, we yelp to each other "got one" "got one". His fish flips off a moment later, but mine is firm and powerful on the line,unreeling yard after yard of line. Capt. had actually spoken earlier and told us to count 1-10 before setting the hook, I may have reached 8 1/2 before pulling against the power of this unseen fish; but now, 50 yards away he jumps out of the water and shows his huge beautiful body. Capt Mute calls "got one". "One what," I ask. Que? "Rooster tail, or pescado gallo" he shares in his longest bit of dialogue for the day. Ok. soften the drag, let him run, let him run some more, hell, I'm not letting him run, he is taking me with him in. So the contest continues. I pull and reel, pull and reel, catch a breath, adjust the rod and drag, and so on and so on, for 45 min, till he's exhausted, I'm pretty well exhausted too and I know Paul, Wes and KJ are ready to see what I've caught. The rooster tail finnaly taps out and at the surface appears like a wide wet carpet. Capt Mute, "Whoa, big" To me he looks like a young Moby Dick, white belly to the sky and steel hook deep in his body. Gaffed, Capt. wrestles the rooster tail on board and nods his approval to me. I feel great, great relief for the struggle's end, and great to be with 3 guys who love and support me. That moment I cherish. On the hour long, bumpy return ride, the boat leaked some and Paul failed found a comfort zone for a soft landing on each growing swell we blased thru. I sat facing south, eyes closed and other senses switched to memory building, I dutifully etched the boat's sounds, the salty-spray mist, the voices of my friends sharing congratulations and joy for my success, the joy that is sometimes a ritual for me. I marked that memory well and I can close my eyes right now and be there.
What an adventure. What a vacation, what a nice way to start the new year with family, fun and fishing. Mexican sunrises are bonito. Amor, adios, amigos Marcos