The ferocity of last night’s wind and rain and thunder and lightning felt and sounded like the final storm had come to wash all of us off the surface of the Earth. But both of us are (I think) still here. Our continued existence suggests others, too, probably escaped termination. I will not know until after sunrise whether the fierce winds took the trees that surrounded our house. If all that’s remains are scarred, rolling fields—empty of everything but broken limbs and unidentifiable ruin—I will rethink the storm’s power.
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A few days ago, our oven died when the “bake” button was pressed. All the electrical components refuse to show any signs of life. The oven’s breakers in the garage seem to work just fine. Perhaps a breaker internal to the wall oven went out. Fixing a 20-plus year-old appliance is not likely to be a wise investment. So, we’re in the market for a new oven. While we’re at it, we’ll look for a new countertop stove, a new microwave, a new dishwasher, a new sink, and new countertops. All of them, as far as we know, are just as old as (or older than) the oven. The cost of these replacements, I suspect, will be astronomical. Fortunately, we can consider selling the cat (don’t tell Phaedra, yet) and my soul (see next item, below). If we’re still short on cash, there’s a neighbor or two, a few blocks over, whose houses we could consider selling when they go on vacation; they might fetch a tidy sum. And if we still need funds, I would be willing to sell a South African billionaire at a deep discount. I am serious about the appliances; not so much about the sources of money to pay for them.
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Dictionary.com presents a number of meanings for the word “soul,” offering fifteen senses for the term. But the Second Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), published in 1989, lists 430 senses for the verb “set,” the most meanings of any word in the English language. Those statistics suggest to me the English language has considerably more definitions than it has words, the latter estimated to be 171,476 words in current use (and 47,156 obsolete words). So, no matter how you define “soul,” the definition you use probably is correct. The definition that comes closest to my definition is this one from the OED (but I cannot fully accept every aspect of the definition):
the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body, and commonly held to be separable in existence from the body; the spiritual part of humans as distinct from the physical part.
When I think of the “soul of the United States of America,” I think of the original principles embedded in the Declaration of Independence, the U.S. Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and—importantly—the original people who wrote, approved, and adopted them. Today, I believe the original principles are conveniently overlooked or rejected by the people who hold the most power. Unlike the people instrumental in forming the United States, I believe today’s political leaders do not consider the three formative documents sacrosanct. Beyond that, though, I think those people are perfectly happy to ignore the principles incorporated in those documents. And, from what I read and hear, they have massive numbers of supporters whose definition of “soul” is not one of the OED‘s fifteen. Instead, they have adopted a fluid definition that relies on a bastardization of religious beliefs and easily changeable self-serving attitudes. I fear some OED definitions of “soul” will be surreptitiously eliminated in future editions and new, unseemly ones added—the English language thereby increasingly becoming a political tool of social control.
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I thought the appointments for my first four trips to M.D. Anderson (MDA) were settled. But I learned yesterday I will have several additional appointment for the second, third, and fourth visits. Today, I hope to settle whether MDA can adapt to my chest port for blood draws and IVs. If not, they are suggesting they want me to have a new, MDA-suitable port implanted…before next Thursday. I seriously doubt that’s going to happen; but with passing time, I’m learning of more and more unexpected expectations. As I wrote yesterday, I do not want an implant and I would rather not subject my veins to direct needle attacks. Ach! If only they could (and would) sedate me for the duration of the clinical trial…
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The outside temperature has already reached 57°F, today’s high. The rest of the day is expected to be generally stable at 55°F or 56°F. If I had thought to do it, I would have arranged to have the ingredients for chili delivered to the house yesterday because, as you know, 55°F to 56°F is the right temperature for a chili festival. Whether my stomach would tolerate chili, though, is an open question. I—who used to have a cast-iron digestive system—have grown quite sensitive to hot and/or spicy foods. I miss biting into foods that bite me back. Even only moderately spicy salsa at Mexican restaurants whose primary customers are Gringos is questionable for me these days. Damn chemotherapy! (On the other hand, chemo may be keeping me alive, so I should not complain.)
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I suspect I will return to the warmth of a comfortable bed for an hour or so. When I wake, I will call MDA about the port issue…
