April 10, 2005
Got up at seven and made homemade huevos rancheros. Had fun in the kitchen.

At about 9:30, got a call from my former radio mate Jeanne Sedello. She and her old man, Larry were driving around north Cave Creek looking for land to buy. They're thinking of buying five acres down by Rancho Manana for a half mil. That's just the land! We paid $32,000 for our land back in 1983, or so.

The housing market out here is going absolutely bonkers. Had dinner with Russell and Wendy Shaw on Friday night and Russ told us a typical house that should sell for $200,000 goes on the market, and within hours, not days, hours, the bids start coming in: $225, $245, $275, and this is happening on virtually every listing. Just insane (in the membrane).

Worked on the driveway and got good and muddy (need to soften up the hard ground with the hose). Afterwards read the paper. Interesting obituary on Saul Bellow and how he absolutely despised the literature that came out of the sixties, thought it was vile and degraded. I thought to myself, "Well, that would be all the things my generation created from Zap comics to Easy Rider. He is just an old man, who didn't get it. Poor thing. Life passed him by, that's all."

Deena called about eleven and said she absolutely loved Sin City, thought the writing was clever and very funny. I said, "Well, I guess I’m just an old man who doesn't get it.” She said, "No, dad. Usually you’re pretty hip."

Thanks, favorite daughter, but this is what happens to old men like me. We see ourselves as cutting edge and hip because we took all the things our fathers created and turned them upside down and threw them out in the street, laughing at them and mocking them and then another generation comes in behind and throws everything we hold dear upside down, and in the street, laughing at us, mocking us. Sigh.

Got some cryptic advice on my medical condition:

"Maybe you need an old fashioned blood-letting, or maybe some pet leeches!"
—Lauren, True West Maniac, #19

This is from the mysterious Doc Scoggin:

"So, has your doctor started phlebotomy and testosterone? (Simple, cheap, often effective). Sue me for prying, but all you'll get is a 2001 Chevy Duramax that needs tires, and a 13 year old Labrador retriever with whom I have a mutual suicide pact (don't tell her, but I probably won't hold up my end of the deal.)"

"All bleeding eventually stops."
—Old Vaquero Saying

Then I got this more seriouis follow up from Doc Scoggin:

"Mesenteric vein thrombosis is serious stuff. Mesenteric vein thrombosis is serious and life-threatening. Promptly recognized and treated, the short-term and long-term prognoses are good. Coumadin is appropriate therapy. Problem is, like with other forms of clots in veins, it is not clear how long to continue therapy. Some say at least 3 months, and I'm sure some would say much longer. There is a very good chance that the clot has long ago dissolved. One of the key questions is what caused the thrombosis in the first place, and what's the chance of recurrence. Lots of things can cause the condition. There are several blood disorders that increase the tendency of blood to clot (‘hypercoaguable state’), but any good internist and/or hematologist should be able to rule them in or out. All are treatable. Given the iron issue, and the history of clotting, if it were me, I'd go back to the hematologist. If I didn't like the hematologist, and didn't want to go back to them, I'd get another hematologist or a good internist."

"What this patient needs is a doctor."
—E.A. Stead, Jr. MD

Worked almost all day on the Tucson overview painting. Did manage to finish a small portrait of the black and blue, plaid shirt guy in the Crystal Palace. Overworked it. Speaking of which, I often bring unfinished paintings into the bedroom and then as I wake up, I sit in bed, drink coffee, and study them, deciding what works and what doesn't. Kathy looked at the Tucson overview and said, "That’s very nice. Are you going to quit while you are ahead?"

And I said, "No, I’m going to keep working on it until I ruin it."

"Reality is such a jungle—with no signposts, landmarks or boundaries."
—Helen Hayes