Insulin Pump

Insulin Pump

It has been exactly one month today since I stopped the Byetta, and got a prescription for an Insulin Pump. Of course, the pump is in insurance limbo. I do not expect to get a reply for another month, and as usual, if it is negative, I will appeal the decision. So I could be looking at months.

In the meantime, it is back to four injections per day. I have been following this regime for so long, I do not even mind too much. A pump would simplify it all so much though, not to mention, bring my numbers more into line, hopefully forestalling any new diabetic complications, and perhaps I would see an actual improvement of the ones I already have.

End of the month blues

The kitchen cupboards are mostly empty. As is the refrigerator. I am not going hungry. I have food: potatoes, carrots, onions, ramen, jello, peanut butter, and pasta. And the all-important coffee! Just yesterday, I spent my last $10 on milk, eggs, margarine, and bread.

The problem is I can’t really go to the kitchen and prepare a balanced, low calorie, low fat, diabetic meal or snack. I can have toast and eggs, or a peanut butter sandwich, or boiled potatoes, carrots, and onions. 1% Milk for a beverage and in my coffee, and Jello for snacks. Not quiet a ‘diabetic’ menu, but as close to it as I can get under these circumstances. It gets frustrating, especially watching my blood sugars go up temporarily.

But it’s kinda like this at the end of each month, no matter how carefully I budget and shop, and I must say, I’ve gotten very good at doing both those things, otherwise I’d have nothing to eat!

Well, this is really depressing!

Scanning all these old pics is getting to me, though we’re coming up to the time of year when historically (since age 10!) I tend to get depressed; I usually start down in late June as the days begin to shorten, and vice versa in December. However, this past winter has not only had rain, but a dearth of sunshine; clouds and fog have obscured the sun, probably more often than not.

Then too, there are those old pictures and documents I’m sorting and scanning, and yes, posting to a site. (If you want the URL, please email me.) Each and every one, evoke a memory or feeling or both.

I think it would be easy to procrastinate on this project, but I am not. Just the opposite, I try to not look, not get involved in what I am scanning (though sometimes I have to, in order to come up with a name or date or address, etc.) but just gather a stack and run them through without getting emotionally involved. No easy trick, though I am scanning almost daily, but after over 500 items, it is getting more automatic.

I will be very glad when this self-imposed project is finished (Maybe I am half done?); the entire project keeps me in a frame of mind reminiscent of “All the dead dears” (Sylvia Plath).

I think I would rather be creating new poetry, or even new fiction, than reburying my dead, or perhaps that should be, finally burying my dead. Funerals are important, socially and emotionally, cathartic, even if depressing

John Jive (Horrigan) & Vince Labor

This is a copy of an email I sent to John & Vince today in preparation for John Jive's vacation to CA

***Been meaning to send both of you this for awhile. Of course, it IS a poem, and a 'compilation' at that, written many years ago! But I thought you'd both enjoy it; that it would stir some memories! Feel free to pass it on (Nancy, Alex, etc), but other than close friends, I'd actually prefer if they bought the eBook!

Hope that you two will be able to get together! For certain, I can't make it to LA. John, take a digital camera and take LOTS of pic! (I can put up a 'reunion' web page if you like.)


Southern Comfort


Many a night, we would gather, count
and pool our meager cash,
then make a last run to the liquor
store before it closed
to buy as many pints as we could.
Unwilling to wait for gratification,
or the promised comfort, we cracked
the first bottle while leaning against
the car in the store's parking lot.
We passed the bottle lovingly around,
actually a communion of sorts,
each taking in turn, a first sweet mouthful
and swallowing with a delighted shiver.
A ritual we'd developed over time
and practiced no matter the season.
One bottle quickly killed we'd crack
another and stash the remaining bottles
in the trunk of the car, for safety,
while on our way to somewhere.
Often, we went to the park, occupied
the swings that playing children
had no doubt, reluctantly left
a few short hours before. Or we hung
from the jungle gym never missing
a swig from the passing bottle
or a hit from the passing joint,
nor did we ever lose track of the talk.
We always dedicated each bottle
of Southern Comfort to one of us; musicians
actors, dancers, writers and poet,
and our ilk. Or to some current
and close to our hearts cause whenever
we thought of our social responsibilities,
which was frequent and melodramatic.
Social responsibilities as impacted by art,
that is. Therefore, we regularly solved
the major problems of the world.
But mostly we discussed our ideas of art,
and the social tragedy of being artists.
And we got drunk. And we got loaded.
To a person, we bravely laughed out loud
in the spectacular darkness, knowing how apt
we were to cry, scream, howl
in the light of the following day.
Out of those beautiful, strange nights,
those nights when we shared our souls,
each of us grew without knowing it.
During those Southern Comfort nights,
we bravely dissected our futility
to find it a manageable terror.
During those strange nights, the roads
each of us would eventually travel
were mapped out with precision.
And during those Southern Comfort nights,
uncountable poems were conceived;
sounds were found, styles developed.
So that now, those bastard conceptions,
as well as the ideas, and ethics,
of those incredible Southern Comfort nights,
today goad me to produce multitudes
of poems, sounds to keep me company
in my now sober, self-imposed isolation.
And sometimes, when the moon is full
or the night is consumed by storms;
that park pulls me, though it's hundreds
of long miles from here and now.
At those times, I can almost hear
those far-ago voices, and the laughter,
of my companions, my friends, my peers,
today scattered across a continent.
Oh, and I'd swear that I can taste, feel
the sweet burning sensation of
Southern Comfort coursing down my throat.

All rights reserved by evvy garrett

John Jive (Horrigan)

John Jive is in LA for the next four days. In fact, he's already there; I can feel him.

He's visiting from Boston where he's lived for the last 30 or so years now. He invited me to join him for a drink.

But I now longer drink. And getting to LA in a wheelchair, using public transportation (trains, busses), is extremely problematic, especially when poor!

I counter-invited him to rent a car and come for a visit. But I know he won't. Though I'd love to see him and hear about how his live has been.

I hope he does find a way to get to Long Beach to visit Vince Labor, who just had heart surgery. But I doubt that also.

John Jive was never one for putting himself out unless there was something in it for him...

Family Issues

This is a copy of an email I sent today to: Jon Suydam, Lisa (my children), Dale Taber, (half-brother), Roni Anderson & Linda Watterson (nieces). I can only hope that some of them DO forward it to other family members!

Please forward this to ANY interested parties! As I only have a 'few' family emails. So if someone could forward to Ann, Tracey, Marie, Bill, Bobbie, Karen, Kathy's adult children (I'd still like to have their full names), Bill Taber, etc, I'd appreciate it.

If u wish to print it out and send it to someone via snail mail, that is fine by me also! (And if you do any of the above, would u please let me know to whom you've sent it???) It is easier viewed/printed if you enlarge it. (John Oliver & Donna both had copies of this.)

Note MOTHER'S name, my birth place, (2110 Jefferson St.), that Irene claimed she'd had two other children (eliminating John Oliver), and had lived at that address 4 yrs.

After 60 yrs. I've never found a 'Kenneth' Estes! There were 3 Estes Brothers, one of which was Clyde, Aldine's husband. None of them were named Kenneth. (Aldine told me they 'made-up' this name. That she thought my father was an Italian guy Irene had been dating.)

This is 'part' of my family picture scanning project. And this will be included when pics are put online. I hope to have first 'stuff' up by this summer. (As soon as I choose a service and have the first 'yearly' fee for the site.)

I'll also put this stuff on CD's, for those that want them...Though they'll be downloadable from the site.

I have now scanned all of Aldine's Albums, (about 100 pics), am now working on her documents. Will soon start on my albums which start in 1966 (they include a lot of pics of Marie & Bill, Tracey, & Annie, some of Donna, none of Dale or Bobbie, and a lot of the Bob & Shirley Taber family.

PLEASE, if u have old pics/documents u want included, scan and email to me! I'd be more than happy to include them. BE SURE TO INCLUDE NAMES AND DATES!

Thanks!
Your aunt/sister

Back to Living

After about a week of pretty severe depression over Kathy's death, the lack of my family including me, and Russell's heart condition, I got back to scanning pictures today.

It seems even more important now...

Sister Kathy Dilly

My half-sister Kathy Dilly died today, at another half-sister, Marie Hards home.

Since no one in the immediate family contacted me; I got the news via email from a niece that cared enough to bother.

I don't know the actual cause of death. I do know that she'd been fighting Breast Cancer for several years.

I didn't know Kathy. We shared a childhood, but because of age (I was older by 7 yrs), and mile differences, had no adult relationship. Still, I mourn her loss deeply...

I know she left behind at least one daughter, Amy.