Looking out my windows, I see a canvas of multiple shades of green, all protected from direct sunlight by shadows of the house and the trees behind it. But my eyes are drawn to a patch of brilliant yellow and brown and chartreuse leaves, accentuated by rays of bright sunlight that makes its way through the shadows. Strips of blue sky show through the dense woods in front of me. All of this is a replay; I have seen it all before. No matter how common, though, the scene always is equally calming and breathtaking. Every time I rest my eyes on the repetitive beauty in front of me, I sigh in appreciation, I suppose, or wonder, or both. Just now, I watched a large, withered yellow leaf drop from one of the highest branches, twisting in the breeze. Rays of direct sun briefly caught it on its trip down, making it appear to sparkle magically as it made its way to the ground. Another leaf just danced down to the forest floor, mimicking that first remarkable display. I feel fortunate to have seen that mundane spectacle…a reward of sitting and staring out the window.
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A summary of the results of yesterday’s PET-scan were posted, within a few hours of its completion, on the oncology clinic’s portal. I carefully read every word, hoping to understand, before my appointment on Monday, what my doctor would learn from the results. I might as well have been reading War and Peace in the original Russian, along with an occasional paragraph in Tagalog. My guess, after wading through a full page of abstruse messaging, is that there is some good news and some not-so-good news. That guess may be utterly off-base; my prognosis may give me a dependable ten years or more…or the potential of only months. I will have to wait until Monday morning to know…and, even then, I suspect the scan’s mixed messages (if, indeed, that’s what they are) may make it impossible to predict the course of the disease. Certainty is not assured.
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Preservation of one’s own culture does not require contempt or disrespect for other cultures.
~ Cesar Chavez ~
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Before she left on her brief trip, and at my request, mi novia bought a couple of bags of frozen cooked shrimp. I thawed some last night and ate them with a very mild dipping sauce. It occurred to me while enjoying them that they represented my second seafood meal of the day, having stopped for a late lunch of lobster bisque after the PET-scan. And seafood was a topic of conversation during part of the drive home…or was that the day before…or both? Whenever the discussion(s) took place, the conversation included praise for flounder and scallops and shrimp. And my thoughts turned to a recent appetizer meal that included calamari steaks. I have always enjoyed seafood, but lately I seem to have developed an even greater appreciation for it, while simultaneously finding beef and chicken not quite as appealing as they once were. Mussels and clams and oysters and all sorts of fish are special treats for me. The problem with eating all such creatures and beasts is that they are sentient. Whether farmed or wild, they are killed to satisfy human appetites. The morality of such behavior is debatable; but do people question the “morality” of lions “brutally” killing water buffalos for food? Do we question the morality of feeding animal-based diets to pets? I have trouble arguing either for or against the human morality of consuming “meat” of whatever kind. As difficult as it is to imagine the agonizing slaughter of antelope by hungry leopards, though, I do not think of those felines as immoral. The manner of raising livestock and slaughtering them for food, though, is a moral issue, in my mind. Is it sufficiently difficult to think about, though, to spur me to make the effort to ensure that I eat only “ethically-produced” meat? On one hand, I do not consider myself a hypocrite; on the other, I do.
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It is nearing 10 a.m. My dawdling is becoming a refined habit.
