The blood vessels beneath the skin on my right arm and right hand are more than simply visible. They appear to be just barely shy of the surface—working their way toward contact with the air around me. The tangled webs of veins on the tops of my hands are thin and blue. They are thicker and fewer as I look at my forearm, but still quite visible. In my upper arm, they have disappeared beneath layers of skin and muscle and, I suppose, bone. Not so many months ago, the now-visible veins would have been largely hidden under thicker muscles and skin and fat. Today, though, much of the substance of those layers has disappeared. Once-plump, young extremities have shriveled into reminders that age and a sedentary lifestyle take their toll. And, of course, chemicals pumped into my body in an effort to destroy cancer cells tend to amplify evidence of advancing age. I get the sense that I could actually witness the deterioration by videotaping myself standing motionless and then playing the video back at high speed. I doubt I would find that appealing, though.
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Almost thirty years ago I visited New Zealand. The first stop was Auckland, then Wellington, then Christchurch. Last night, as we watched another episode of A Remarkable Place to Die (set in Queenstown, NZ), I was reminded of my whirlwind visit. Most of my memories have been muffled and muted by time, but viewing the landscape on the south island sparked some pleasant recollections. I wondered, though, how different my memories must be compared to the realities of today. My recollections of Chicago during the four-plus years I spent there in the second half of the 1980s are, I know, quite different from the city today. I suspect New Zealand has changed as much. But I imagine I would find return visits just as exciting today as was my time in years past.
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Books and movies take us to interesting, exciting places. We experience emotions very different from the emotions we have in our “real” lives. What is it, I wonder, that we find so appealing about venturing into imaginary worlds? If we lived in those imaginary worlds, would we find visits to the “real” world just as appealing? I suspect we might learn that “appealing” and “tolerable” are interchangeable, depending on situations that are “normal” versus situations that are “unusual.” Context…again. Everything is contextual. Everything exists along a spectrum. I am a broken record. Maybe not a record, but broken.
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Today’s high temperature is forecast to be 68°F. Yesterday’s high was 84°F. I am growing partial to daytime temperatures in the mid-80s. At night, 70°F-72°F seems about right; with a light blanket. Higher with just a sheet.
