My life is made up of small stuff. From all too fleeting moments of gracious, simple joy to seemingly unending moments of complex pain - They all are subject to the simplicity of smallness, the majesty of the mundane. Experienced, enjoyed or endured on the battlefield of my nature - their outcome is determined by my tactics. And, no matter what any one general plans, they will also decide my fate - the small stuff will become my big picture.
Here’s something small...
During my recent ordeal with idiopathic (a word doctors use that means “I have no freakin clue what causes it”) pain in my left wrist, I had to start wearing my watch on my right hand. A small detail but a big change - a half century turnaround. This little detail affected me in ways I could never imagine. Or maybe the effect was only in my mind - just my imagination. Maybe Sadness, Love, Joy, Despair, are all only make believe, only figments of my imagination. Maybe.
I have become accustomed to doing things a certain way, most of us have. After many years of trial and error I have discovered what works for me and what doesn’t. From the important life and marriage saving realization: THAT much alcohol does not make me feel THAT much better, to... “I’ll have my eggs over medium please and don’t forget to salt the grits while cooking - you sure look beautiful this morning.” I know what I like. I don’t like to drink to excess and I like for my grits to have flavor. I am not a control freak if I am only trying to control my own life.
“If you always wear a watch you never have to ask anyone for the time”
I have become accustomed to reading my watch from a certain point-of-view also, always wearing it on my left arm there for was looking from same angle always having the same viewpoint. And, unlike most things in my life I know for certain why wear it on my left arm.
Does wearing a watch make you a man?
Not if you’re a woman.
I still remember my first personal timepiece - My Dad, in what seemed like a rite of passage ceremony, bought it for me, and although I have no recollection of exactly when or were, I do recall him patiently instructing me that since I was right handed it was better to wear my new timepiece on my left - the hand that doesn’t get used the most. Made sense to me. Nearly everything my Dad said made sense to me. I’ve had many watches since that Baptism by time, yet I still hear my Dad’s voice... “the hand that doesn’t get used the most.” every time I buy a new one.
BACK TO NOW...
The entire experience of telling time was changed when I switched sides to make room for a wrist-brace. It looked different. It felt different. I had become so established in my point-of-view-point I couldn’t tell the difference between 9:30 or 12:45 : Four-Twenty or Five-After-One. My muscle memory has become so ingrained, and the paths in my brain so well worn, that six months later I am still having to adjust. The brace, along with most of the pain is gone, my arm for all intents and purposes has healed. But my Timex COLORTIME© watch stays on my right, my used the most hand. Why?
Why do I even wear a watch? I rarely have to be anywhere, much less anywhere on time. I use my I-Phone alarm to tell me when I need to take a pill, although my own crawling skin, low pressure front mentality, along with drool on my hardwood floor tells me with obvious accuracy. There is a clock in every room the house and my computer has the time always displayed. Why do I need a watch, especially a watch that I am wearing top-side-down, outside-in, a watch that tells time based on my awareness? - When I wake up look on my right wrist and believe it to be 6:15 when the actual tine is 3:00 my body - mind - soul believe it too. I believe it is time to wake up after a full nights sleep that has rendered me refreshed, rejuvenated and relaxed. Once you have fooled your body there is a strict no return policy. So Virginia, I have changed time again, yes - there is a Santa Clause.
I wear my $35 watch because of that ability, that ability to teach me that time is not time sensitive, time is only time, a name given to idea that had no name like Joy or Love or God. Items that compose the bulk of my existence but yet themselves do not exist in any measurable form - Items that are only ideas, ideas that I have been given the charge to experience. My bassackwards Timex reminds me of my gift of awareness. It reminds me that the greatest gift God has given to me is the ability to comprehend a God. And with that comes the ability to comprehend - to fear or to enjoy all of the other unnamed wonders of my sacred humanity.
A PIECE OF KAKe
Lagniappe - A French Creole word meaning a little something extra - like the 13th donut in a baker’s dozen. I have expanded the meaning for use in my Andyverse. Where one size never fits all.
I call the extra sleep I sometimes get in addition to my usual 3 to 4 hours a day Desert Sleep© sweet - delicious. Something extra - something spatial - A PIECE OF KAKe...
I now - thanks to John Quinta - my personal reflexologist, muse and garden consultant -have a new word for those elusive moments of non-parkinsonium reality.
LAGNIAPPE - Pronounced - LAN yap
“I am living in the nostalgia of my future.”
The Quote above has nothing to do with the picture of a painting by your truly preceding it, and the picture has nothing to do with the quote. They are not vexed with each other - they have only never met.
Love , Andy
It’s the little things that win the trophy, the one only most of us get - the one inscribed “BEST LIFE”. In my case the Pure Giraffe hands them out during a Quasi Formal banquet held anywhere from one second to a billion years after you become the same as you were before you were.
Is it the god or is it the devil that lives in details - the minutia that forms the playdough of our existence into a face that can’t be stolen - does it matter? The following is one of the small things - one of many I will be writing about in the coming weeks - if I feel like it.
I CAN SEE!!
I have been wearing corrective lenses since second grade. I clearly remember complaining to my Mom how I couldn’t read the blackboard from my seat in the back of the class - “it looks like Spanish written backwards.” This was one of my first comparative analogies. I also remember knowing I had not a clue as to what Spanish looked like - but it sounded good. And the Gr00vyLand musical motto is... if it sounds good - Play It.
I was nearsighted - I am still nearsighted But, I do not need my glasses anymore - right now they are outside somewhere in the WouldShed while I am inside in climate controlled comfort. My eyes haven’t changed - My World has, or more accurately what part or at what distance do i need to see clearly has.
I noticed that I was misplacing my visual crutches a lot more than usual and at first blamed it on mr. parkinson. However, through intensive scientific observation I discovered I was removing my glasses during the times that i didn’t need them and not only when I went to bed - this haphazard removal protocol would cause anyone to lose their specks, not just someone like me. And, like me I am.
SIMPLE ANSWER -
The distance in which my life now resides has changed mainly because of the parkinson rally being held in my brain. Because of this rally promoted and attended by 100% dopamine intolerant fachists I choose to NO LonGEr Drive. I no longer need to see clearly in the far. I can see anyone in a small room clearly enough to hold a conversation, if that were indeed something could hold. Let’s say I can see clearly enough to see the pained look on their face as I drop the squirming verbal beast I was trying to hold in my tired, clawed hands. I can see clearly their lips purse those words I am ever so tired of - HUH? WHA? - But I digress.
Since I don’t drive, which in and of itself is delight and a blessing - I am now driven everywhere I can’t walk like a general or the President - since I don’t deal with oncoming traffic anymore and this natural occurring area of acute visual acumen, my new visual “world”, is all I need - All I need to see. So the glasses come off, and I temporarily lose them. Why look though scratched - paint be speckled lenses of cheap plastic when I can peer through clear, washed daily, pure unadulterated windows to my soul? This should make me happy, and it does - to a point - there is one problem. I HÅte the way I look without my glasses- Vanity thy name is Andy. I know this is wrong but I can’t help it. I have grown so accustomed to my face - my smile - my me, as it appears wrapped in semi-stylish, low end European eyewear. I know I shouldn’t care, but I do. I don’t look like myself. But, who do I look like? You tell me. That is not rhetorical - use your commenting feature and tell me.
It’s the little things. It’s the details... that matter. I don’t know if the god or the devil choose to reside there, I only know that if it weren’t for these little things there would be only one big channel on this Cable Company of life. One big channel that wouldn’t carry the Pure Giraffe’s awards banquet. One big channel that wouldn’t even know what you looked like - much less care enough to even care.
THIS JUST IN FROM ANDYVERSE CORPORATE’S EXCLUSIVE 24HR A DAY COVERAGE OF THE BATTLE ROYALE BETWEEN OUR FOUNDER, CEO AND ALL AROUND GOOD GUY ANDY WARD KING AND THE DEVILS OWN HANDMAIDEN, pARKINSON’S DISEASE - TODAYS BATTLE WAS AN UPSET VICTORY FOR MR ANDY WINING WITH 57 DOTS AGAINST pARKINSON’S - 11 - MORE BELOW...
mr p is not only a $@#%^& of the highest degree he is also very lazy and has never done an honest days work in his miserable life - he is a hack - he must hire ringers, nefarious drifters, to do his dirty work of him. He can't torment me on his own. He hires Depression, that often ends in suicide - Injury and death from falls - Pneumonia - Dystonia (extreme pain) - Severe Side Effects to the medications required to keep the wheelchairs and nursing homes away.- even psoriasis, not life threatening but it can still break your heart. The list goes on and on and on and on...
For me (every one with parkinson’s experiences different symptoms - different timetables - different differences) the nefarious drifter of late has been a condition that around 65% of parkinson’s people endure at one time or another. I’ll call him by his legal name (notice no caps) gastroparesisis. This is a condition where the stomach can’t empty food properly and, in my case, is caused by pd. It is marked by severe bloating (I become “BLOAT BOY”) and extreme discomfort. The pickle is that this condition causes the medication I take for pd not to be efficiently absorbed by my stomach - the drug needed to stop me from becoming: ”BLOAT BOY’ is stopped by the very same condition it was sent to fight. It is quite uncomfortable and I am halted in my tracks during one of it attacks. - attacks where I have to use a hand towel to keep me from drooling on your carpet - attacks that can last any where from 15 minutes to up to an hour - attacks that happen no matter what, how much, or when I eat. It is really quite the nuisance - an ever increasing drain on my quality of life with up to eight or ten of these episodes a day. It is really quite the nuisance
But not all is bad news - the Cavalry had been ordered to my rescue.
For reasons known only to family and friends I will readers digest the rest of the story.
The battle with the interloper began in earnest today with the arrival a new (to me) medication my also new (to me) neurologist prescribed. I have been running it through its paces - using my body is its own Bonneville Salt Flats taking as prescribed and eating pretty much whatever I want - whenever I want to. Protein - Dairy - Sweet treats all of it. So far so good - attack free. I can still feel the enemy within me fighting this charging cavalry that has come to my rescue. So far so good - Hallelujah, attack free at last. I’ll keep you posted
MY WIFE HAS A BLUE TONGUE (and I think I have problems)
I feel sorry for myself sometimes, then I remember the old adage “I felt bad because I have a broke brain... until I met a man with no head”.
This how I rule my life - with absurdities and non sequiturs that only I (and a lucky few - some I know - some I don’t - some I am yet to met) understand and comprehend. These are internal and personal dead sea scrolls waiting to be discovered by someone who knows much more about these matters than I - still they won’t be able to cash the spiritual paycheck I have burning a hole in my pocket .
Yes my wife has a blue tongue and I am jealous. I am also jealous of her artistic skill and talent, for she can draw a horse that looks like a horse. When I try to draw a horse it looks like a machine gun. But, I still love her dearly - in spite of all of her talents.
A QUICK WORD ABOUT ALL HAMMOCKS GREAT AND SMALL
To us here in Gr00vyLand Hammocks are more than just a lunarosistic relaxation arrangement - more than just a soft and pretty face in which to lay our tired bodies. In Gr00vyLand, as all of the AndyVers3 they are a way of life - they are a religious sacrament - they are a drug - they are holy. They are also the best format from which to view the Earth from space. So, if your incessant worrying about the very real - ever increasing possibility of Zombie Pandas taking over your neighborhood, if this quasi delusional worrying has manifest itself as a bad rash in your swimsuit area do what we, citizens of The Principality of Gr00vyLand do - author a quick email to the GREAT Giraffe (or someone like her) - acquire a balm of undone origin, available nowhere, apply sparingly to the affected area - take two hammocks and call #14 in the morning.
#parkinsons #groovyland #andyverse #moonhammock #dotnodot#horsedrawer
First I would like to thank every one of you that read my posts on FB and in my Blogfish, your support and encouragement is water for my thirsty soul. Even if you sit and only read, never responding or commenting, I still know you are there. I still hear you breathing.
I haven’t been writing much lately. I do apologize but I am not sorry, for I have been plenty busy with many projects. Plenty busy living life. Plenty busy loving life. Plenty busy. My joy is in the job. I have no particular destination. I only wish for more time to get to were I’m not going. If only I could find a way to squeeze more hours out of my paint covered Timex. Time is the one thing I do not have plenty of - no one does. Or do we?
If I enjoy an activity the time spent joyfully engaged seems to race ridiculously by, there aren’t enough hours in the day. The opposite is also true - misery lasts seemingly forever. There is always enough time. I am searching for a way to have these two classmates switch seats without professor perception finding out. If I was able to turn misery into joy - pain and suffering into pleasure and delight. I then would control the perception of moments passing . Since Father time is nothing more than what I perceive him to be, since time does not actually exist. I would control him... I would now have plenty of time...
While working at Disney’s Pleasure Island as a musician I was required to always wear a smile. I learned the skill of turning whatever emotion I was feeling into a great big shiny grin. Happy = Smile, Sad = Smile, Sleepy = Smile, Hungry = Smile.
It’s a fairly easy formula that suited me well working for the Mouse. I must now acquire the ability to turn any time extending situation I am in, no matter how painful - embarrassing - miserable, into one that with I’m joyfully engaged. Learn to love pain. Love misery. These are elements in my life that are also mere perceptions, elements that don’t exist. If I learn to accomplish that then the drawn out moments I endure every day - the ones that seem to last forever - would be moments worth taking the time for.
just say yes!
meet Andy Ward King, a professional musician and artist until a diagnosis of parkinons dsease at age 49 forced him into an early retirement., he now uses his music, his art along with the whimsical world he has created in this blog as therapy to ( as he puts it ) outsmart his brain and make the daily battles with parkinson’s a little bit easier, to give him that all important reason to get up on the morning, to make his life worth living. Andy has learned how to say NO to gving up \ NO to depression and apathy \ NO to following willingly the road of decline that stretches before him. he learned that to say no to all of these things all one has to do is say yes. Andy has learned to just say YES to life/\\