MAID Came Today

New Mexico's Medical Aid In Dying (MAID) program was the result of years of effort. Over 10 years ago Dr. Gunasegaram, a renowned oncologist at the University of New Mexico Medical Center and I stood on the Court House steps along with several others in support of its implementation. 

After artist Vincent Distasio died from cutting his wrists, his granddaughter testified before the State Legislature about how he was unaffected by morphine. The excruciating pain of his bone cancer drove him to kill himself.

It came in this delightfully macabre black bag.

The presiding physician will open the case and dispense the medication on the day and time I choose. The medication is good until October 5th. The case must be returned.

I wonder who makes the case?

The Penguin Lessons

I rarely go out, but The Penguin Lessons at The Guild Cinema had the right blend of Old Yeller and To Sir With Love.  

The Archer

Some years ago Michelle and her brother Steve made a pilgrimage to the Blue Bunny factory in La Mars, Iowa. I got a cap.

The Release

The Draw

The Stomach

Good Day On The Market

Though I consider myself one of the luckiest in love, I was never able to make any money.

From Trader Joe's 

Lying here hour after hour, day after day, I realized I had all the time in the world to study. I lost $40,000 in the market crash of 2008. I was day-trading and doing okay, not great, but was trading with over $100,000 which, for me, was a significant amount.

The crash left me with a bit of an aversion, but at the start of the year things just looked too good. My curiosity wouldn't leave me alone; I blame the years of associating with cats.

Hoping to get rich, and soon too, I opened a Webull account with $1,500.00. Now, 3 1/2 months later, you can see the bottom line. It's kept me entertained.

Something changed last week. It had a similar feel to when years ago I suddenly realized I was an art dealer. It had taken three years of continuous study including a number of classes at the University in art history and art theory and a tremendous amount of networking and information gathering. But that day I stepped out onto my porch, straightened my tie, shot my cuffs and sauntered off to the gallery knowing I knew what I was doing. Or, at least I had a better idea of it than I'd had before.

A similar change occurred a few days ago with regard to the stock trading. It was subtle and had to do with the feeling that losing no longer felt inexorable. Up until then I'd approached each trade with a sense of dread....almost resignation. Nevermore.

I don't know what to attribute it to. I did stop eating red meat which did seem to reduce the incidence of twinges in my chest, but this is grander...it has to do with my identity. Instead of just being a dying lump on hospice, I'm now a source of income; there's the potential to do good things. I might start a foundation. But the main thing is I now have a sense of optimism; a feeling that things, rather than going down, could go either way. 

Today's trading, or rather "putting on the positions," as it's called, portends some positive results. I'm still in the kiddie pool in terms of numbers of shares. I don't have a lot of money to lose. But what we're looking at here includes the recovery of the $150 lost over the previous two weeks. I'm pleased. And it's only Tuesday; there're three more days of trading.

Concentrator

Process! It's like Bugental says...curiosity and process. 

https://draft.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/7680448513888634383/7885177733516665285

It's sort of like trying. I guess it was Yoda that popularized the "You no try! You DO!" As much as this may appeal to The Castaneda Crowd, it lacks appreciation of the things, the process involved, before one "does."

There's:

Hold my beer.

Have you ever done this before?

Is there a Plan B?

Is there an extra key for the handcuffs?

The main thing here is dying..the process of getting to dead.

There are markers along the way. The ever-increasing array of medications. Similar to guinea hens, there're concentrations at the dining table and bedside. They get moved around, regroup, then spread out again.

The hospital bed, with its silent workings.

Yesterday they installed the oxygen concentrator. It buzzes along kinda like a small plane with a half decent muffler. It came rolling up the front walk with an insouciance that belied its purpose. About the size of a smallish Labrador, it has a cuddly physiognomy and the water filter evokes sentiments of Christmas bubble lights. One can almost burst into a carol....Caaaaaaaaatt Oddddoorrrrrrr Reeeeevvvviiiiieewww..,.

The plastic cannula stinks of phenols, those petroleum-based units that determine plastics' flexibility. (Imma check for glass.)

Guylian

It's rare that I find a product worth mentioning. Thirty years ago we discovered these at our local Cost Plus store. Ten years ago they disappeared. And now, TODAY! they've been rediscovered! 

https://www.amazon.com/stores/GuyLian/page/6E6AB9B7-D855-4B28-9F33-C1A135BF5675?lp_asin=B004LDEYFE&ref_=cm_sw_r_mwn_sf_stores_8N8HFF1D8BX7R0RKY4X0&store_ref=bl_ast_dp_brandLogo_sto

And *still* only $9.99!

https://www.amazon.com/stores/page/F722E606-54AD-456B-8542-3E05DE3FEB86?ingress=2&visitId=4a14989d-be3c-47dc-8e3e-26da057a7562&store_ref=bl_ast_dp_brandLogo_sto&ref_=ast_bln

27.Apr.25 -- OOPS! 3 days later I went to order & the price has gone up $2.00. Thank you, President Trump, for those tariffs that're gonna replace income taxes.

Acrylic-Handled Bumbershoot

Susan, Michelle's mom, spent the late '30s and early '40s in New York & Paris where she wore couture. The clear acrylic horse-head handle of her umbrella still glows with the embers of those years.

A striking brunette, fully cognizent of her charms, she had over 40 pairs of shoes.

https://newmexnomad.blogspot.com/2014/03/susans-shooz.html?m=1

We celebrate spring with hyacinths. Their emergence signals the survival of -- yet another winter. We usually get a trio from Smith's. 

Tradition has, in our family, meant a deep delve into the erotic velveteen that affords sensual pleasures. But now the years have left us little more than soft purrings of whose cosiness we nestle amongst. Gone are the flickerings of the tongue that brought forth sweet ecstasies. 

We still decorate eggs.

Many happy returns!!!