Since the innkeeper is a writer and a reader, you're probably wondering what books I'm plowing through--and thanks to my recent surgeries, I've had time to plow: There's nothing like general anesthesia and a team of doctor's up your urethra to slow a boy down. Given all this down time--and the exceptional book sale at the Stowe Free Library--I've been plowing through a collection of books as eclectic as me:
The Caine Mutiny: Herman Wouk would never be able to spin a tale like this in the instant gratification world of today. It's the story of Willie Keith and all his doubts as he joins the nave in WWII, only to bump into the wing nut Captain Queeg. Wouk leaves doubt lying about in this book the way my kids leave iPods and laptops lying around the house. Everything's messy, nothing's clear. In a move that inspired Jerry Seinfeld, the resolution of the book is that there's no resolution.
In Cold Blood: Here's a chipper story guaranteed to lift your spirits. From the first sentence this book is bleak, with short punctuations of happy humanity that begin to resemble roadkill on a west Texas highway. The sheer hideous magnitude of the depravity of the killers should make us all understand the consequences of mental illness. For all the hype around this book, and it's legendary status, I found that Harper Lee--er, I mean Truman Capote--used large parts of depositions and pages-long interviews to fill the text. So I'm not sure that this is the nonfiction novel it claims to be.
In Harm's Way: This is the story of the U.S.S. Indianapolis, the ship that delivered the A-bomb, and was later sunk by a Japanese sub. This is the classic navy screw-up story that gets hung on the captain. A heart wrenching read, especially the descriptions (from first hand accounts by the survivors) about what happens to humans when they get blown up, tossed into the sea, and eaten by sharks.
Sphere: Related Content
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Monday, July 06, 2009
The Stones Visit My B&B!
No, not the Rolling Stones. The kidney stones.
A couple of weeks ago, I woke up and went through my regular routine: make the coffee, let the dog out, and start writing. But within fifteen minutes I was writhing on the floor in pain. The pain came from my lower left back, in the area of my kidney. My mother-in-law whisked me to the ER where kidney stones were diagnosed. The pain was indescribable. When the nurse came to see me, she showed me the little scale of faces used to diagnose pain. You know the one: happy face on one end at number one (no pain), crinkled face on the other end at number ten (take me out back and shoot me pain). I pointed to number ten and cried, "Aarrrghrrrlllmmnsttrrrfff!"
In a few minutes I was shot up with several pain killers, and for the next four hours I lay on a gurney, receiving medication updates. Finally, around noon, blasted into bliss by drugs, I was allowed to go home. But the pain persisted for several days, finally abating six days after the onset. The culprits--three kidney stones--were lined up, waiting to be ejected. That was my job now: drink lots of water, pee through a screen, and save the kidney stones for analysis when they showed themselves.
This presents a tricky problem for an innkeeper. While I'm fortunate that my wife, Chantal, is the front of the house, I still have plenty of duties behind the scenes. Air conditioners needed to be installed, the fence around the pool needed to be repaired, and I had to prepare for a conference of writers. All of those tasks are difficult to accomplish when you're doped up on oxycodone.
Innkeepers don't get to call in sick. Guests can be understanding, but there's a limit to how much they want to hear about your plumbing woes. I've dealt with this illness the way I deal with most unpleasant things: humor. My low profile allows me to make guest appearances out in the breakfast room, tell a few jokes about my pain, and retreat. But the work remains. The writing needs to be done. My two classes at Community College of Vermont didn't go away.
So I medicate and wait. I'm mostly pain free, but last Friday I had another attack of moving stones that sent me to the ER when the pain outran the abilities of my medication. The hope is that these things will pass naturally and painfully, but the prospect of a procedure looms. In any case, it will be an interesting summer as I try to balance health with work. Sphere: Related Content
A couple of weeks ago, I woke up and went through my regular routine: make the coffee, let the dog out, and start writing. But within fifteen minutes I was writhing on the floor in pain. The pain came from my lower left back, in the area of my kidney. My mother-in-law whisked me to the ER where kidney stones were diagnosed. The pain was indescribable. When the nurse came to see me, she showed me the little scale of faces used to diagnose pain. You know the one: happy face on one end at number one (no pain), crinkled face on the other end at number ten (take me out back and shoot me pain). I pointed to number ten and cried, "Aarrrghrrrlllmmnsttrrrfff!"
In a few minutes I was shot up with several pain killers, and for the next four hours I lay on a gurney, receiving medication updates. Finally, around noon, blasted into bliss by drugs, I was allowed to go home. But the pain persisted for several days, finally abating six days after the onset. The culprits--three kidney stones--were lined up, waiting to be ejected. That was my job now: drink lots of water, pee through a screen, and save the kidney stones for analysis when they showed themselves.
This presents a tricky problem for an innkeeper. While I'm fortunate that my wife, Chantal, is the front of the house, I still have plenty of duties behind the scenes. Air conditioners needed to be installed, the fence around the pool needed to be repaired, and I had to prepare for a conference of writers. All of those tasks are difficult to accomplish when you're doped up on oxycodone.
Innkeepers don't get to call in sick. Guests can be understanding, but there's a limit to how much they want to hear about your plumbing woes. I've dealt with this illness the way I deal with most unpleasant things: humor. My low profile allows me to make guest appearances out in the breakfast room, tell a few jokes about my pain, and retreat. But the work remains. The writing needs to be done. My two classes at Community College of Vermont didn't go away.
So I medicate and wait. I'm mostly pain free, but last Friday I had another attack of moving stones that sent me to the ER when the pain outran the abilities of my medication. The hope is that these things will pass naturally and painfully, but the prospect of a procedure looms. In any case, it will be an interesting summer as I try to balance health with work. Sphere: Related Content
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