The world outside my window is brown and white. The bare ground divulges no color, and what remains of the snow that blanketted us not two weeks ago fades by the hour with each drop of rain. There is a song bird making its call. I hear it through windows still closed tightly against the cold. Its repetitious, unremitting tweet will be annoying in another month when it wakes me too early. This morning it is encourages me to remember that spring is on its way.
In the last two months much, and happily little, has transpired. Denise and I had a most uneventful return visit to Aruba, breaking the spell of last year's troubles with fire at home while we were away. Bonnie, Mark and Rob treated us to shrimp and chocolate when we returned on St. Valentine's Day. Nikko turned 18, immediately began trading securities and has promised me the villa in no time. I am content with his adventurous joy and the greater security than stocks bring knowing that he is off to college at the Rochester Institute of Technology in the fall. A perfect fit of student to school and in the geographic perimeter of my origins, renewed by Denise's presence there. Sam is doing well in the final lap of 8th grade. Comforted by his circle of friends, he samples life cautiously but curiously in anticipation of high school.
My health is unchanged. As everyone knows, I have chronic pain, tingling and numbness on the right side of my face. The newish neuropathic drug I take has helped, more than any one of the others of its kind, but by no means offers complete coverage for the sensation; true to is reputation, it has caused me some weight. I am working now in a more holistic way -- yes, including yoga -- to live with the sensation; medication will only be a part of that program and not the whole thing. Call me a slow learner, I guess I only hoped that medical science could do everything.
My Uncle Joe passed away last month. Although a mercy for him, it was sad for me. About him, I have written an extended piece already:
http://www.bartolomeo.com/Memorials/Detail.aspx?oid=1199&mid=1366. Prayers continue for Aunt Angel, Richard and Lori and the children, Renee and Mark in this period of what must be renewal. As Uncle Joe did so resplendently in life, so did he do in passing: the funeral brought the family together for a celebration.
More than anything this morning I mourn with the Cornell community for the passing of some students' lives this year as a result of illness, perhaps accidents and suicide. The awful loss of their lives and the unspeakable sadness it brings families must be understood as a piercing reminder to search for deeper and true meaning no matter what our disciplines or ambitions. Nothing like illness or death sharpens those realizations. The song bird has flown away. Perhaps it sensed I might become annoyed with its call. Or that its lesson had already been imparted on me and it has so many other people to visit today.
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