SJ Rozan

Last Tuesday, in Bryant Park. Accordions there every Tuesday 5-7 until the end of July.

And you know I can do it.

Dawn fog softens, grays —

Trees at edge of field, shed roof,

Orange azalea.

Three catbirds on branch:

Two hungry, squawking fledglings,

One harried adult.

Doe enters backyard,

Sees me, snorts, stamps, throws head back,

Exits behind pine.

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I told almost no one this was on the schedule, but I had outpatient laproscopic surgery this morning to repair a hernia I finally had to admit wasn’t a pulled muscle. I mean, pulled muscles don’t last ten months, know what I mean?

Everything went swimmingly, I’m home now, a little sore (but less than I expected) and a little spacey (but more than I expected this late in the day).

A few remarks: I was at Roosevelt Hospital (which used to be St. Luke’s Roosevelt and is now Mt. Sinai Roosevelt, what’s up with that?) and I want to tell you, no one there was less than polite and respectful and almost everyone seemed to go out of their way to be kind and cheerful. Nurses walking by in the holding area, who weren’t coming to see me at all, looked in and smiled as they passed. My surgeon, the anesthesiologists, all the nurses — I truly liked their bedside manners. Since I thanked the doctors but I didn’t get a chance to thank all the nurses, I’d like to thank all nurses here and now, categorically.

I also want to thank Suzanne Solomon for fetching me and escorting me home. Couldn’t have been in better hands.

I do not want to thank Bella the Cat for her reaction to my climbing back in bed at 1:30. She had not been happy with the idea that I got up at 4:00 a.m. to leave at 4:45 to present myself at the hospital at 5:45 for a 7:30 surgery. Neither, for that matter, was I; though later, when I saw how the ambulatory unit filled up, I was glad I’d told the surgeon to schedule me as early as possible (admittedly I didn’t know what that meant). Bella was delighted when I came back in the middle of the day and took myself immediately to bed. She was so happy that she tried to exercise her feline right to stroll across the torso of any human on the mattress. We had a short loud conversation about it.

S: OW!

B: MEOW?

S: No, just OW!

In order to do this kind of laproscopic surgery they inject gas under your skin. Normally internal gas is in your digestive system and works its way out in the normal way either up or down. This stuff, though, just wanders around your body until it breaks down and gets absorbed, a process that takes 24 hours or so. Meanhwile you have little gas pains in your chest, your neck, your back, your shoulder. I feel carbonated.

Tomorrow I intend to go out to the Rancho, where my plan is to swan about and malinger all weekend, getting myself waited upon hand and foot by the other denizens. We’ll see how that works out… Meanwhile, right now, having slept for much of the afternoon, I’m going to settle in and watch the Spurs try to wallop the Heat. Go San Antonio!

Lots of bird action at the Rancho these mornings. It’s nesting season, so the dawn’s full of mating calls, territorial songs, warning signals. Up in the top of the huge pawlonia — apparently more properly spelled “paulonia,” and also known as an Empress of China tree — an ongoing battle of blue jay versus crow has been recurring like Groundhog Day. (Or like Edge of Tomorrow?) A crow perches on the highest branch and grooms its feathers. A blue jay flies at it, squawking. The crow bats at the blue jay, which dives away after getting in a peck or two, which annoys the crow and calls for more grooming. This can go on for fifteen minutes, while I get a stiff neck from watching. Eventually one or the other will fly away. Yesterday it was the crow; today, the blue jay. I don’t know where the nest is that the jay’s protecting. It’s not in that tree, and the pawlonia stands alone in the yard, so wherever the nest is it’s far enough away that I wonder why it’s worth it to the blue jay to drive the crow from that particular tree. By now it’s probably a grudge match, an avian Hatfield/McCoy thing.

Pawlonia leaves and blossoms (and last year’s nuts), just so’s you know:

pawlonia in early sun

pawlonia, half way between blossoms and leaves

pawlonia blossoms on lawn

iris

Even on my chair

Scattered lavender trumpets —

Pawlonia blooms.

Courageous squirrel

Takes shortcut across backyard,

Bypasses treetops.

Purple irises

Rise through grass next to white ones

In the weed garden.

Herein, on the Murder is Everywhere blog, Carlos Dews talks about Jesuits. He sounds so smart. (Because he is.)

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