A Journal Entry for the Last Minutes of 8/14/2017

It's what's left of a Monday.  It was hot, we had some storms, went to the retina specialist, and celebrated.  Now, I'm in a fit of looking which requires me to get into the "library" and take it apart box by box, bag by bag, and book by book.  Yes, sometimes I hide things in books thinking it was the perfect place to put something I knew I'd remember I had placed in there.  No.  It doesn't work well that way.  The results are that anything put in a particular book will not be seen for *years* later.  The story of my life sometimes.

I'm trying to find a tiny carving of an eagle I had done and it's not where I thought I placed it.  The library tends to be the place things get moved to to make room for other things that take their place.  Like yarn.  Now I have to find all of the yarn and combine it so I have it in one place rather than have it in 6 different places.  That way, I can find what I'm looking for and not need to go out to HL or JoAnn's and get more yarn.  It's like Christmas when I find a carefully sealed box or neatly packed bin and I crack the lid open to see what's in there.  Latest find, vintage fabrics from the 50s, 60s, and 70s.  Not mine, my late mother's.  Hmmm.  I don't remember how they made it into the house, but they are here and they need to be gathered together and carefully repacked into a bin that has the contents listed.  Materials for sculpting.  Goodness.  Hadn't seen that in years as well.  At least the bin it's all in is clear so IDing it is simple.  I just need to resist the urge of opening it and handling it.  That can wait for later.  Then all the books.  They must be gathered along with the old Scientific America magazines and seed catalogs that have the cool old prints and the manuals for everything we still own.  Filing cabinets, ho!

I've been described as a hoarder.  I looked at the videos of those wretched souls that are neck deep in garbage and dead cats.  I'm far from a hoarder.  Light years in fact.  My house, on the other hand, is cluttered.  Not with bric-a-brac that has some obscure sentimental value, but it's got my gear, and all the material I use to create things stuck in there as well.  If I did no arting, I'd have a neat and terribly dull and sterile house.  There are folks that are telling me to get rid of it all.  I don't need it.  I should do only one thing.  It's almost like I'm being told how dare I do more than one thing.  Hmm.  Naw.  My stuff.  My resources.  My things to do.  At least I'm not boring and with all the projects, it's rare I'm bored.

Now to the retina specialist...

I have a cataract and an inflamed retina.  This has put a whammy on my arting.  A huge whammy.  I'm having to learn how to do things with one eye and that's made for a frustrating year to date.

So today, I went back for a follow-up and got some sobering news and then a surprise.  The sobering part was the inflammation of the retina.  About half the retina in the right eye was affected and he said that is wasn't something that one recovers from.  It only gets worse and the eye loses sight permanently.  Well crap.  To Hell with the cataract, I'm going to go blind regardless of what I do.  Then he stopped me.  Before I could sink into a heavy mope, he said this.... "Whatever you are doing, don't stop.  It's reversing the inflammation and the progress of the cataract has halted."

What?

He showed the picture of the inflammation from the first visit.  Lots of angry red in half the retina.  Then he showed me the picture of the inflammation from today.  The lower quadrant of the retina was clear and the upper quadrant was a third of what it had been.  He let that sink in.  I cried and hugged him.  You bet I'm going to keep what I was doing up.  I see him in 6 months.  Yeah, I call that a good visit.  Something to let me know I'm doing the right thing.  I want to beat this cataract and this inflammation because I want to totally see things again and carve and draw, and sew, and whatever else without interference.  Yeah.  So to all the nay-sayers, I say "Sock Monkeys!"  You figure it out.  Hint:  It isn't a substitute for saying something rude.

I will end this journal now into the wee hours of 8/15/2017 and go back to looking for that tiny eagle so I can put it back with the crochet hooks and carvings.