Saturday, June 11, 2016

June 11, 2016

Summer days blending into one another– you have to look at the computer to be sure what day it is. Hot and misty blue. Though determined not to, I ended up at the nursery where I bought many plants, joe-pye and St. John’s wort and catmint, etc, and got them into the ground before the great heat rolled over the land. 
Endoscopy and colonoscopy yesterday– except for the guzzling of the nasty fluid, effortless on my part. I was right in assuming there would be no great revelation–that it was essentially unnecessary-- but there was some information useful to have. I know I have a hiatal hernia, because it used to cause murderous reflux. But since what the doctor calls “behavior modification” ended the reflux, I forgot about it. But there it is, and the wisdom of the test is that that’s what caused the anemia, and probably what caused it 40 years ago. The doctor advised me not to bother with it unless something happens that cannot be cured, as the anemia has been with iron pills.  So, status quo more or less restored, though a little better informed. This means I can have my gout medicine back, since stomach irritation by anti-inflammatories was not the culprit.
When I was unconscious I had an odd sensation– I thought I was perceiving unconsciousness rather than simply being unconsciousness. “I am alert and there is nothing to see or feel” as opposed to “I am not awake.” Was I really perceiving “nothing,”  or was that a sensation put together upon “waking’?
As I stood at the edge of the pond in late afternoon, when every inch of it is illuminated to the bottom, I saw a wondrous sight. Minos the musk turtle is still there. He detached from a clump of waterlily and dived down into a crack between rocks. He must have been there the whole time, practicing the most extraordinary stealth. Or perhaps he wanders away into the little woods and come back when he needs to soak and hide. I don’t know, but I rejoiced to see him there. His ability to remain invisible is all but supernatural, though I do never touch the tangle of lilies where he must abide in what he considers safety.
The back yard quickens with the languid fluttering of bluebirds. They seem hardly willing to be bothered to flap their wings.

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