EXIT Intn'l Thank You

It''s been a mere year and a half that Medical Aid In Dying (MAID) has been available in New Mexico. One group is revelling while another is working to have it removed.

Though a step in the right direction, the hospice nurse I recently spoke with  said I had to pick a date and time so a physician could hand me the lethal cocktail. This is a ridiculous requirement.

Here is a Thank You letter from a daughter whose parents were able to assert their right of "body autonomy." A human right, it is, sadly, only recognized in Switzerland. 

https://www.exitinternational.net/thank-you-for-the-information-help-you-gave-both-my-parents/?utm_source=mailpoet&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=exit%40euthanasia.net

Information is available in the Peaceful Pill Handbook at:

https://www.peacefulpillhandbook.com/

Death Café & Beckett

Led by Gail Rubin, the Doyenne of Death, about 20 people showed up at the monthly Death Café to talk about death and dying. Several were/are hospice workers, one a retired physician, even a few youngsters.

The hospice worker sitting next to me encouraged me to call Hi-Desert Hospice. She said they have their own physicians who support MAID and it sounded to her as if I'd qualify. I don't need a referral from my cardiologist anyone else. I'll  do that Monday.

             ----------------------------

Damned to Fame is the only authorized biography of Samuel Beckett. As the stage is being set, we learn of Bill Beckett, Samuel's Dad, parking his sports Delage at the Royale Irish Automobile Club. Here're some pictures...

The 1930s Delage

The 2022 Delage

McIntosh Slough

It's the acid; everytime I do it things just seem to smoooth out, like ex-laks.

After the Sugar Shack (bakery) I got drawn into watching some fisherman clean their one salmon. 

I'm puzzled by my inability to "come to terms" with death, MY death, that is. I have, for decades advocated for the right to end one's life when one chose. I'm now struggling with an irrational anxiety that may be able to be alleviated.

Micro-dosing has brought me along, but I feel I'm running out of time. I know myself well enough to realize I sometimes get stuck and a facilitator could be helpful, particularly when partaking of what's called a "heroic" dose.  It's interesting being in a geographic area that has recognized the need and is moving to meet it. There are, at some of the Service Centers, waiting lists.

It was time to find a place to have the conversation with Evelyn, the psilocybin facilitator.

https://elevate-with-evelyn.com/how-does-it-work/

Eventually, I found the McIntosh Slough bridge; its attraction was so strong I considered sleeping under it.

I chose Evelyn for her attitude...mainly these two paragraphs:

My studies have led me to believe that our minds co-evolved with plant medicines and that they are basic human need. They provide our minds with non-toxic, non-addictive chemicals that are essential to self actualization. Unfortunately, many of us in this world have been systemically distanced for over 1000 years from entheogenic use like that of our ancestors.

A consequence of that distance is that many generations of negative thought patterns based on unresolved traumas have been solidified as core beliefs and passed down to us as culture and society. Plant medicines can be used as a tool to break that cycle, and to scrape away the influence of society, culture, your parents, and your trauma while empowering your inner truth to take control of your life.

While many people eshew "help," I've found it to be tremendously beneficial. The results have been unimagined, and that, "unimagined," is key.

It's my experience I don't know what I don't know. By working with others, I've discovered perspectives that were beyond my imaginative capacity. And they've enriched my life in so many ways I spend much of my time cogitating and marveling at the ever-broadening spectrum of layers and concomitant emotions. 

But (sigh), it's true, I'm an inveterate navel-gazer. 

The area was spotless,

obviously a trap for the unwary. 

Facilitators are required to ask several questions. One is: Have you ever had suicidal thoughts or attempted to harm yourself or others?

The use of the word "ever" is, as she acknowledged, problematic since most people have, at one time or another, considered the idea. My answer amounted to "No."

Another question asks if I have any life-threatening conditions. This one resulted in her giving me this website spiritpharmacist.com and encouraged me to ask if imagined exertion such as running, while under the influence, could result in death.

Given the level of my angina, she didn't think she had enough experience to go forward but said she'd talk with a couple of facilitator-doulas and get back to me inna few days. I decided to wait until I've talked with the doulas before paying the pharmacist's $99 consulting fee, but the fact the website exists is, to me, encouraging. After 50+ years of demonization, entheogens are being recognized for their positive effects and a supportive infrastructure is taking shape.

Today, 10.Aug., I had a conversation with a legal assistant with Compassion & Choices. My legal questions were about the facilitator's liability in the event I died. I also wanted to talk to someone about instituting a change to the law that requires a prognosis of death within six months. Being able to predict is something oncologists now offer, but the cardiologists I've talked with have been unwilling to go out on the limb. What then?

Camp - Elliot State Forest

On a different level but similar vein, EXIT International is now helping people take advantage of Switzerland's Aid In Dying program. There, people can obtain a lethal dose of medication pretty much for the asking. All they need is to get there. And helping them is EXIT's latest undertaking (pun intended).

Eye Pain

For years my left eye has intermittently caused bouts of SEVERE pain that sometimes lasted for days. Repeated attempts to diagnose have been unsuccessful and the physician assured me there's no way to relieve the pain. And furthermore, he's known it to make Navy SEALS emote.

Yesterday, after several years without an incident, I spent all day, from about 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. in such intense pain I lost control of my bowels. (I was in the hills near Baker City, Oregon.) I tried several times to use the Debreather but each time, after a few minutes, I felt as if I couldn't breath and had to stop. (See Richard's, the inventor of the Debreather, reply on the link above)

The headgear is part of the Debreather II. The chin strap keeps the mouth closed after a person loses consciousness. The fabric is velcro and holds the face-mask in place.

Note swollen left eye

An Increasing Interest...in Dying

This is a link to an article in The New Yorker made available through EXIT International. The article is titled: 

We’ve Had Great Success Extending Life. What About Ending It?

In addition to the article there's a link to Dan Gaffney's blog. In this post, dated May 5, (I'm assuming it's from 2021, but there's no way to know) he touches on common aspects of dying including: coping with a terminal illness, aging, and self-deliverance. The last is my preferred phrase for throwing-in-the-towel and not necessarily his choice.

Gaffney quotes Stephen Jenkinson who was director of a palliative care program in Canada:

“More time, when it finally kicks in, is the rest of a dying person’s life, and the rest of that life will be lived in the never-before-known shadow of the inevitability of their dying. For the first time in their lives they will live knowing that they will die from what afflicts them. More time means more time to live their dying."

“It means more symptoms, more drugs for the symptoms, more drugs for the side effects of the first drugs, more weakness and diminishment and dependence to go along with more time with the kids or grandkids or walks in the park with the dog.

“That’s not all it means, not necessarily, but more time almost always means more dying. No one is born, no one walks in the park or sits looking out the window knowing how to die like that, slowly and visibly and knowingly. Very few here on these shores, where death phobia rules, learn how, or want to.”

I don't wanna get morbid or anything, but now that it appears (after 50 years of stupidity...and what does that tell us about the Powers-That-Be?) that decriminalization of marijuana throughout the U.S. is assured, choosing the time and method of one's death is an issue of increasing importance, especially to the most famous cohort in recorded history: The Baby Boomers!

In this case though, the issue's likely to REALLY benefit our Social Security system...and maybe our taxes! Oh, lordy, wouldn't THAT be something!

But for those of us who inhaled, one of the questions we'll undoubtedly face is: How long will we need to "hold it in" THIS TIME?

NITROGEN & LSD

We spent the morning saying goodbye. The pain from my eye was unbearable. It started Friday morning and continued through the examination by the physician. He put a soft contact lens over the cornea to keep it from leaking and help it heal. The prognosis was not good. 

It was time.

Saturday morning I took a quarter tab and we held each other....crying; there seemed no way to ease it. Finally work had to be done...there were cats in need. She took me to Phoebe.

Phoebe - A moon of Saturn

We stood in the street and hugged one last time. As tears ran down our faces, she said, "See yuh later." and soon drove off.

The acid enabled me to focus. I was clear on my decision....or so I thought.

I spent an hour or so delving for unresolved issues. I found only minor anxiety at the unknown and the terrible pain of "leaving." 

I opened the tank valve and put on the mask. I then opened the secondary valve on the line. The force of the gas blew my cheeks out and I couldn't breath. I removed the mask and moved the control valve to lower the pressure. This was my mistake. I should have shut off the gas and adjusted the regulator. 

With the mask close to my face the escaping gas caused me to lose consciousness. The mask then must have fallen away but close enough to have an effect. The blood drained from my face; my skin turned grey and mottled and my lips went purple...near death....but not quite. 

At some point I regained consciousness. The lucidity, considering, was surprising. I attributed it to the LSD. But I also blame the drug for my failure. It impaired my ability to shut down the process and adjust the regulator...or was there a subconscious resistance? 

I looked down and saw the line-valve was wide open! I was sure I'd moved it to lower the pressure. Post event conjecture leads me to think I intended to move the valve but lost consciousness before I actually did.

The tank was empty. And no backup plan.

I lay back and enjoyed the irony of regaining consciousness unharmed. It crept onto my face. I was disappointed at my lack of preparedness.

Photo by Michelle Cook

Michelle's relief was terrible to see.

Monday we watched an interview with Katie Engelhart, author of The Inevitable: Dispatches on the Right to Die.  Engelhart pointed out how every other country that has physician-assisted dying also has free health care. Whereas in this country they're slooooowly legalizing physician-assisted dying, but not free health care. The inference is obvious: Once they're dead they won't NEED health care; it's cheaper to help them die.

Below is the blurb that accompanied the invitation from Greenlight Bookstore...

'Reporter Katie Engelhart presents her new book The Inevitable, a riveting, incisive, and wide-ranging book about the Right to Die movement, and the doctors, patients, and activists at the heart of this increasingly urgent issue. Engelhart focuses on six people representing different aspects of the debate. Spanning North America, Europe, and Australia, The Inevitable offers a deeply reported and fearless look at a morally tangled subject. It introduces readers to ordinary people who are fighting to find dignity and authenticity in the final hours of their lives. Larissa MacFarquhar, author of Strangers Drowning, joins Engelhart in conversation at this virtual book talk.'

I'll get the tank refilled and reset the regulator.

Denise

This is a blog, a weB-Log. As my memory continues to recede, I find myself turning to it more frequently.

My brother and his family have grown increasingly distant so when I got his email on 3, Dec, saying our sister had died, figuring Eric wouldn't think of it, I wrote to Judith, our sister in Bad Kreuznach, Germany, where Denise was born. Judith wrote back asking how old Denise was. This morning I woke wondering if I'd ever replied. I had, and decided to include it here as well.

The River Nahe

4, Dec, 2020

Good Morning, Sweetheart,

It's  a little past 8:00 in the morning and I'm about to make my second pot of coffee.

Denise was eight years younger than me; her 60th birthday was 1, August. 

She had a rough life. She was only two years old

when we came back from Germany. Mom had the flu while she was

pregnant with Denise and said she thought that affected Denise's health.

Denise always had problems with her teeth; I'm not sure what KIND of problems,

but I think some had to be taken out because they came in sideways or something.

In 1968 we moved from Nashville, Tennessee to El Paso, Texas where Mom befriended Bob Cohn,

a young musician who was playing at the Holiday Inn where she worked. I'd gone back to Nashville

to find work and Mom let him stay in my room. Denise fell in love with him and at age 14

she left to travel with him. Eventually they married.

For the first several years Denise did nothing but sit in the audience and drink.

It was during that time that she became addicted to alcohol.

Throughout the years, Mom had been helping Bob and Denise financially. When Mom died

they owed her $2,000.00. I don't think anyone expected them to pay it back, but Bob divorced

Denise and married a woman who had more money. No one ever mentioned the $2,000 again.

Denise had no source of income and I was preoccupied with my own troubles at the time. 

Denise, who'd always enjoyed sex, became a prostitute.

She worked at that for -- as far as I know -- the rest of her life.

I went to see her once when she was around 50. She said she enjoyed her

work and liked giving and receiving pleasure. But she was drinking a lot

and had been anorexic since she was in her teens and the stomach acid

from throwing up had ruined her teeth. She also lost so much calcium from

her bones she had osteoporosis and, as a result, couldn't stand up straight.

A week or so after we saw each other she called and said she needed money for rent. I took her some and told

her I had had to borrow it from my VISA and if there was any way she could pay it back I'd really appreciate it.

A friend of hers called soon thereafter and told me she thought Denise had become a criminal...that she just

took whatever she could from whomever. It was her way of letting me know I shouldn't expect Denise to pay me back. 

I never heard from Denise again. 

I know she tried a couple of times to get off the alcohol but couldn't do it. A year or so ago I looked her up online and

saw she'd moved to Pennsylvania. 

I was saddened by her not having kept in touch. We had a very close relationship and she was one of the few

people who really understood me. I loved her a lot and her death, although probably a mercy for her, has affected

me deeply. I feel sad I wasn't able to do more for her, but -- like all of us Herrmanns -- she had a mind of her own.

              Love You !!!

                             Michael

Thoughts From Air

It's true, the pain of a heart attack is worse than you can imagine. 

This past Spring, on March 8, I used mine to vent some pent-up rage at the petty judgmentalisms that form the basis of major disputes around the globe. 

Recognizing the rage as judgement-based did little to affect my opinions, but the adrenaline infusion (interestingly) altered my biochemistry such that I now have a tad more empathy for others and a heightened proclivity toward humor. 

On the other end of the spectrum, though the event catapulted my life-long fascination with death -- the trebuchet having been a metaphorical device all along -- the patience required between "shots" continues to be a source of frustration. 

I keep returning to my first blogpost and chanting, "process, process, process"  augmented with, of course, a microdose. 

Jozien, in an email, mentioned the book Cured: The Life-Changing Science of Spontaneous Healing by Jeffrey Rediger, M.D. which led to When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi.

On pp 131-132, about the middle of the book, Paul writes: "Before my cancer was diagnosed, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn't know when. After the diagnosis, I knew that someday I would die, but I didn't know when.But now I knew it acutely.The problem wasn't really a scientific one. The fact of death is unsettling.Yet there is no other way to live." (You might notice the similarity to that  aphorism, "Before enlightenment chop wood carry water; after enlightenment chop wood carry water.") 

Then, on pp. 160-161, he adds some spin: "The tricky part of illness is that, as you go through it, your values are constantly changing. You try to figure out what matters to you, and then you keep figuring it out. It felt like someone had taken away my credit card and I was having to learn how to budget. You may decide you want to spend your time working as a neurosurgeon, but two months later, you may feel differently. Two months after that, you may want to learn to play the saxophone or devote yourself to the church. Death may be a one-time event, but living with terminal illness is a process."  

P.166 - "...the physician's duty is not to stave off death or return patients to their old lives, but to take into our arms a patient and family whose lives have disintegrated and work until they can stand back up and face, and make sense of, their own existence." 

I like that he includes several quotes from Waiting For Godot...one being, "I can't go on. I go on."

Recommended Reading: Damned If I Do

A great story of a courageous individual. Dr. Nitschke has spent the majority of his life tackling an issue you'd think would've been one of the goddess-given rights....the right to die.

Dr. Nitschke's autobiography, superbly written with Peter Corris, gives excellent insight into the travails & triumphs.

Nancy Crick's Story

https://exitinternational.net/story/nancy-crick/

EXIT International's Website

https://exitinternational.net/

ARGON - Painless & Dignified (hopefully)

Over the years I have tested several inert gases including helium, carbon monoxide and nitrogen. I have not tested argon. 

My reason for this post is to alert people to the fact that each of these gases has their own properties and effects. As with drugs, their effect on you may be different. 

Argon filled bottles are available from Cyberweld at: https://store.cyberweld.com/shielgascyl22.html

The dropdown menu for the tank offers two options: one with 25% CO2 and another with 100% argon.

Helium

In 2014, using the exit bag method with a party balloon tank, I opened the valve and let the gas flow unregulated into the bag. Within about a minute I experienced a sensation I describe as having a hive of bees slowly lowered over my head. It was similar to a pins-&-needles sensation and not pleasant. I suppose if you were in a lot of physical pain it might seem relatively minor. Had I continued, I suspect I would have lost consciousness within less than ten minutes. As it was, I had no trouble stopping the process. It was about 8 hours until I recovered my full conscious abilities.

Carbon Monoxide

In the winter of 2015 I was traveling in my 1999 Geo Metro hatchback. 

I'd read of the Japanese using hibachis in small vehicles as a means of exiting. The carbon monoxide created by the burning charcoal was supposedly very effective. Curious about the effects, I lit both burners of my Coleman camp stove and lay back to wait. In about 20 minutes I felt a very slight pressure in my frontal lobe and grew increasingly sleepy. As I neared losing consciousness, I opened the car door and after a few minutes was able to get up and turn off the stove. The sensation was quite pleasant and I could have easily continued until death. My concern was whether the stove would stop burning once the oxygen was depleted. I have yet to test this. The upsetting effect was it took fully two weeks to regain my mental acuity. I was advised by a physician that exposure to carbon monoxide can cause permanent damage.

In March of 2020 I had a heart attack. The pain was excruciating! Unwilling to undergo the experience a second time I purchased a tank of nitrogen and using a regular set at a flow rate of 16 psi, tested it. I did not follow any guidelines such as preliminary hyperventilation, simply donned a mask connected to the regulator and opened the valve. Within five minutes I felt a sense of increasing lightheadedness that I felt had I continued would have progressed to a mild state of euphoria. There was no discomfort. After about 10 minutes I closed the valve and within two hours had regained my (allegedly) normal mental capabilities.  

SARCO - Painless & Dignified Death

 

THE SARCO - Currently Unavailable

Main website:

https://www.exitinternational.net/sarco/

HTTPS://WWW.EXITINTERNATIONAL.NET/SARCO/SARCO-X/

Related Videos

https://www.exitinternational.net/sarco/sarco-venice-design-2019/

When That Light at the End of the Tunnel Glows Bright(er)

http://rollingsteeltent.blogspot.com/2019/05/update.html

Eulogy

Enjoying the remembrances....(see prev post), here are a few of the things that inspired the love of his family and friends...

From a letter of condolence:

One of the many qualities I enjoy about your brother was unafraid he was to be open with his feelings.  Peter recalled the time when he visited your mom in the hospital many years ago, I only wished he taken her advice.  He said she told him, "Take care of yourself Peter."  I only wish he heeded her words, we all could have had so many more good laughs together.  This is the one thing I will truly miss about your brother, laughter brought about by trading funny stories with each other till 4 a.m. in the morning .  Mistaking super glue for eye drops?  I still don't think I will ever beat that one.

Your brother was a very smart, caring and fun person to be around, he had a good heart so I never minded trying to help him out.  He truly had a gift of gab and could make friends with a telephone pole if I left him alone outside for 5 minutes.  Mind you, we've had our moments but the vast majority of good times are something I can always reflect back upon with a  wide smile.

From his "Favorites"...

Favorite songs...(Interesting, isn't it, what a diff just a couple of years makes in what we like(d)?)


Jay & the Americans

The Newbeats .....

This piece will accompany him as he's lowered into the ground.

East...toward a new day; beyond the sun.

The Words We Never Tire of Hearing

I was in Walmartz buying groceries this afternoon when the text came saying her brother had died an hour earlier. He'd been at it for years, but the last few weeks his regular pilgrimages to the E.R. let us know it wasn't gonna be much longer. Still, it brings tears.

Two months ago one of her best friends, they'd been Best Friends since elementary school, went.

That same month another good friend's daughter passed. She was 56. She'd lost another some years earlier when, on her bicycle, a truck turned in front of her. It didn't make this one any easier.

At the high-school reunion six weeks ago the prettiest, smartest, most "successful" told her she had MS; it seemed incomprehensible. No one can say how long she has, but regardless, it's too soon.

Her Dad died a few years ago. At our age it feels like "just the other day." He'd gone to an assisted-living facility, of his own volition, where he met and fell in love at age 85. The woman was an artist -- in the most wonderful way. She'd sing at the dinner table -- Broadway tunes from the '40s mostly --  her soprano still clear and bright at age 86...inspiring the rest of the family, they often visited, to join in. She died in March.

I've written of this before: In my early thirties my wife was studying to be a nurse. As part of her training she rotated through various departments. One evening, during her stint in ICU, she came home and told how people often die in ICU. She described how they realize what's happening, and that it may be in the next few hours. But what has stuck with me was how many, she said, are saddened by having neglected to say, "I love you." And now it was too late.

The Wait May Kill Yuh

We, Two El and I, set up the swampcooler and while she lowed the mawn I went down to my "apartment" (a Motel 6 Studio) for a break. She was still working when I came back and continued while I set out salmon, cheese and pineapple for dinner. She lost track of time and forgot she had two cat-sits. I returned the hose she'd bought and didn't need to Lowe's while she ate. We said goodbye several times as I got the last of the stuff into the car.

I went and picked up Michele (One El) at Vitamin Cottage (she doesn't drive and usually takes the bus) and took her home where I took Eggbert's plate off. She'll coordinate with The Make a Wish Foundation who's sending someone to come get him. They'll auction him off and the proceeds will go to the New Mexico chapter.

Susan called this afternoon to tell me she got an apartment at the Curley School in Ajo, Arizona. For over twenty years she's dreamed of living there. A one-bedroom came open at the same time Section 8 gave her a voucher -- after they told her in January she'd have to wait two years. The timing was exquisite...she'd run out of places to stay and the van (see blogpost 11/22/14) was full of stuff her friend Jack had left her when he died a few months ago. She'll move in June 1. (Suzan was homeless in Nov 2014, so I gave her the van.)

Squishy Tulips (a blog I read) got to meet Susan Branch, an author she admires. In the course of the event, she was introduced to some people she knew by sight but had been too shy to approach. Several other wonderful things happened that day.

Timing is amazing. I gave up speculating years ago when I realized reality was gonna far surpass anything I could imagine. I still wish it didn't wait until the last minute; sometimes the wait gets a tad excruciating.

Tomorrow I'll leave for the Expo in Two El's 2008 FIT. She's loaning it for the duration.

I made an appt with my physician for Sept 29 for my annual physical. One El reminded me that's our name day. She said we've been celebrating it for years; Two El said we celebrated it last year.

I guess we'll celebrate this year...if we're still here. All in all, the many happenings of the day hint at the possibilities of the next phase. It was a nice way to cap this one...most notable for the many deaths including Eggbert's mechanic (brain cancer) and Two El's mom (olde age). I can hardly wait! 

Cancer, the Springville Museum of Art & Home

It was while checking the grade on a rocky slope in the Nevada desert I noticed the Metro (3 cyl, 1,000cc, 50+ miles/gal) needed new tires. The Michelin "X Radial"s I'd bought two years ago were warranted (yeah, right) for 80,000 miles. Now at 35,000, less than half their lifespan, they were shot. I googled Costco and began cogitating on the worth of my pro-rated refund.

I settled on a store in an outlying suburb of Salt Lake City. It was rush hour (of course) when I began my approach. I made several passes, each involving getting on & off the freeway, multiple u-turns (when sequential they become pirouettes) and other gyrations. Forty minutes later.....not bad for rush hour.

Early demise - Promise not even remotely met.

I couldn't help but overhear as The Tire Manager schpeeled the customer in front of me. The pros and cons of tires weren't as fascinating as the olde days, but his prosody was amusing. Generally found in car salesmen, door-to-door proselytizers and multi-level marketers (multi-level doesn't qualify for the teer suffix...as in marketeer), it had that "just get 'em tuh get out their wallet" cadence.

My turn. Things quickly deteriorated. I had THE FINAL INVOICE but not a receipt...and there wasn't one in the computer. AND the computer contained no evidence of my having purchased an INSTALLATION PACKAGE (road-hazard & caveats coverage). This was where things got rough. I remembered buying the package, I always do, but without it the tire's warranty isn't worth the noise of voicing it. He Laughed Out Loud when I asked about the manufacturer's warranty. We then went out, took the measure of the tread, and determined that the tires were, in fact, worn out.

Back inside, Steve printed out all the information in my file and signed off on my handwritten notes. It was getting late and he offered to escort me through the work area rather than chance the possibility of overexertion from walking round the building. I accepted.

As we approached the exit door he asked what had brought me to the area. I explained I'd been the primary caregiver for two women undergoing treatment for cancer during the last few years and was taking a breather before entering the next phase, a stem-cell transplant pre-op meeting at the Mayo Clinic. This is a difficult subject for me and I spoke while looking at the floor. The pause that followed my last sentence was longer than usual and when I looked up I saw that he was crying. I asked what was wrong.

He said he'd found out this week his mother has an aggressive form of breast cancer and was going to die. He and his wife were planning to visit, but the doctors had refused to speculate on how much time she had and he was in a turmoil over when to schedule the time off.

It is moments like this that even I find difficult. A friend who's had far more experience once counseled me to simply say, "I'm sorry." And so I did. He thanked me and there followed another pause. I thought he might reach for the door, but instead he talked a bit about her condition, how young she is, the life she's lead and that with all that and 24 grandchildren it didn't seem fair. Again at a loss for words, after a  moment I once more expressed my sympathy and extended my hand, which he accepted.

As I walked out into the deepening dusk of the parking lot I looked up at the stars which were just beginning. I stood there softly crying and pondered on how difficult it sometimes gets. Somehow, most of us find the wherewithal to make it through. Later I remembered what my wife (the one time I legally married) who was an ICU nurse (the Intensive Care Unit is where alot of the dying occurs) said, "It's sad how many people don't take the time to say I love you. It's often too late when they get to the end....and then they realize they've missed their chance." If I'd been thinking a bit faster I might have said something to Steve about the significance of those three words; but I felt sure he knew.

Intuition said head for the pass. I could just make it out against the darkeling sky. As I drove through the streets of Springville a sign for the Art Museum blinked. I made a mental note to check it out the next day.

Suddenly, I noticed a multitood of cars parked along the curb and a large, brightly-lit building loomed in the dark -- people were coming and going. It was the museum and there was a reception in process. Art has always provided solace and I made for the entrance like a boar that's sighted a sow. (Male pig's are famous for their multiple orgasms; little to nothing is known of female pigs' orgasms. One can guess which gender did the counting.)

The installation by Ashlee Whitaker, Associate Curator of Exhibition

The reception was for an exhibit of paintings and prints by German-American artist, Herr Wulf Barsch. Born in 1943, Herr Barsch studied painting in Germany before immigrating to the U.S. After receiving his Master's degree from Brigham Young University he taught there. Over the years he also produced a number of lithographs at The Tamarind Institute in Albuquerque.



But it was Andrew Smith's sculpture, Moon Pool that made the day.

After the party the road led into the "Exclusive Neighborhood." (Nothing like a big home to assuage mortality.) At the end I took a right, went about a mile and came to Canyon Road.
The name sounded right and I could make out some high ridges against the dark sky. Ten (mostly dirt) miles later I was ensconced on a mountain top surrounded by those (aforementioned) stars. Now, I could tell, giving it their all.

And though not fully recovered from the jolt of Steve's mother's illness, they inspired a wave of gratitude for the sixth sense that enables me to find my way home each night...into the wilds where they await with their undying lights.