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Re Lunar eclipse February 21, Thursday

“Whoa! This has been some week. Dr. Wyatt, the Workman’s Comp doctor, encouraged me to return to work – said I was OK to go – just no Heavy Lifting. Of course he was partially responding to my Monday morning enthusiasm. Wasn't feeling myself or anyone else. I truly felt the urge to return to the Floor of the Casket. I still remember the encounter.

Responding to his suggestion of the prior week that I find a new job: “Would it be all right to return to the Cask? I have the urge. Everyone loves me there.”

“The money is probably good w/all those expensive wines.”

“True & I know the routine. The path of least resistance.”

“Better than the stress of finding a new job.”

“Exactly. But I don’t want to injure myself and be back here again.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I won’t re-injure myself working on concrete?”

“The concrete wasn’t the problem. It was the lifting which crushed your arches.”

“Running around on the concrete floors wasn’t the problem?”

“Not at all. All the restaurants in town have concrete floors.”

“Not Citronelle, my last job.”

“You were lucky. However your feet have healed sufficiently. Your case of Plantar’s wasn’t really that bad according to the podiatrist’s report.” Subtext: “It’s your Psyche that’s injured more than your body.”

“Really? They certainly gave me a lot of pain.”

“How long have you been out?”

“About a month, except for one shift.”

“Certainly enough time for your feet to recover. I’ll give you my OK to return to work.”

As we leave the office, my wife: “That’s great. The Doctor says you can return to work any time now.”

Subtext: “At last. I’m so sick of his face. It’s painful when I see him. I can’t wait for him to leave the house. And the burden of supporting both of us is killing me. He keeps talking about getting some money from Workman’s Comp or State Disability, but we haven’t seen one cent yet. Time to get him back to work. Besides he’s been powering on his creative projects non-stop. He seems fine to me. He’s so lazy that he’ll probably milk this forever if I let him. So gentle pressure that’s the way.”

Out loud: “When are you going to contact Andy [the manager of the Cask]?”

Internally: “Aurgh! The constant pressure – I can’t take it. She doesn’t trust me. She thinks I’m faking it to prolong my creative time.”

Out loud: “As soon as we arrive home I’m going to Email him bout starting back to work.”

”It’s great that the doctor said you were good to go.”

Mentally: “Uh! More pressure. I can tell she‘s sick of me. Has no idea what I’m going thru. But smile and pretend nothing is wrong. After all the Doc said I’m fine –implication being that it’s all in my head. And she always believes the doctors. Ah well. One foot in front of the other.”

Encouraged by the Doctor and feeling this unspoken pressure from his wife my Person Emailed Andy about his imminent return.

Email of 2-18-08 Monday noon entitled ‘job reapplication: “I visited the Workman's Comp doctor today and he gave me a little different information than last week. He said that if I could avoid lifting anything over 20 pounds that I could come back to work.  I asked him about the concrete floors. He said that the lifting squashed my feet causing the tendon problems - plantar's fasciitis, and that the floors aggravated the injury, but that the concrete shouldn't be a problem if I don't do any more excessive lifting.

Anyway I'm reapplying for my job if you haven't filled it yet. Talk to you soon - one way or another.

don 'pops' lehman”

Then came the fateful get together with my brothers Tuesday night - followed by another emotional collapse. Rescind my Casket application on Wednesday.

Email of 2-20-08 Wednesday morning entitled ‘a change of heart‘: “Although my body has recovered, my mind hasn't. I'm still having a hard time dealing with stress - resulting in erratic energy swings. Regretfully I'm going to have to retract my reapplication for the time being, Sorry for my ambivalence. Thanks again for your understanding.

Sincerely don 'pops' lehman”

And his tolerant response: “I received your other e-mail regarding not coming back. Take care of yourself and I will hopefully see you soon.”

And now here it is Thursday – my feet still hurt a little – but the Doc said I’m good to go. Well in that case I’m going to give these feet of mine a little workout – with a walk up the hill – in my Birkenstocks – my best shoes – the one’s I would choose to work in.’

It’s evident from this chain of events that my Person was buffeted by forces beyond his control – making decisions which weren’t really of his own choosing. His wife, the Doctor, and the Cask wanted him to return to work, but the Muse had other plans.

Muse: “I wasn’t finished with him yet. We were still in a frenzy – putting up and editing his Southeast Asia trilogy. I was aware of the potential abortion to this extended project if he returned to work too soon. I needed to prove all the doubters wrong. And the only way was by abusing his body again – destroying his feet & legs with this uphill hike. Put any suggestion of his return to work to rest until I’m finished with him.”

So my Person trudges up the steep foothills behind his house. After 30 minutes: ”Ouch! My arches are beginning to hurt. It’s probably just psychological – at least according to all those surrounding me – nothing that serious. Well I’m going to proceed on up the hill. Besides if I return to work I’ll need to be on my feet for more than a half an hour. Oooo! Sharp pains in my right arches – aching in my left heel. “But the Doc said ‘good to go' - And my wife obviously wants me gone. Never has trusted me –Thinks I’m a lazy bum. A little further up to this crest. Ow! My joints are really starting to hurt. I’d better turn back!”

Muse: “He can return home now. He has done enough damage to maim his feet and prevent a return to work until March, at least. ‘Twill give me that much more time to cultivate our beautiful relation together.”

Arrive home L; “How’re ya doin’?”

“OK. How about we watch the Lunar Eclipse together. It’s happening right now,

L: “Sounds romantic.”

As we stand together the full moon rises, partially obscured by clouds. We see the disk turning black with a slight halo around the perimeter - for just 15 minutes – and then the clouds swarmed in – completely blocking our view of this celestial event.

Me thinking: “Solar eclipses are an omen for a change of leadership. I wonder what this obscured lunar eclipse means?”

Muse: “It means I’m still in charge – hapless mortal – until I let you go.”

Me: “I’m going back inside. My feet are killing me. I can barely stand without an agony attacking my soul. “

”Again!?”

“Probably the walk I took.”

“Why’d you do that? Especially with the condition your feet are in.”

“Doc said I was good to go. Figured if I could work I could walk.’

“But straight up the hill. That’s not the same at all;”

“Something just came over me. “

“I can’t believe you sometimes, No sense of better judgment, Walking straight up the hill when your feet are recuperating. No common sense whatsoever. What am I going to do with you?”

“Throw me in the trash can?”

“No. I haven’t given up on you – yet. Ha, ha.”

“Aurgh! She hates me, “

Muse: “Ah. He’s mine, all mine – for a little while longer, at least.”