Lessons

Lessons

For me to try to make heads or tails of what's happening in my life lately would be an effort in futility.  My reactions to events occurring around me seem other-worldly and sometimes I cannot express how I feel, so I just attribute it all to 'it was meant to be' and escape all the unnecessary plumbing of the depths of reasoning.

Have recently felt detached to life itself, even though a lot of it is going on around me, occasionally reaching out to include me in its grasp.  There are no lessons to be learned, I believe, and that is a departure for me, for I have always felt that what happens to me has a message that I must look at and worry with, like a dog with a new bone.

The recent theft of my car from my driveway - it was locked and in sight when I got in bed the night before, gone the next morning - has taught me this:  I will have my own car until I am unable to drive one - not settle for a one-car-in-the-house existence - and the garage will be for keeping cars locked up safely at night, not space for stored crap .....

So, I guess there is a lesson here, and I have plumbed the depths of reason, if only in a rather shallow manner......

Shannon's blog today featured her walk through a local cemetery in Jacksonville OR, along with pictures of old headstones that always tell a story.  It reminded me of something I wrote a couple of years ago:

Plumas-Eureka Mine State Park, Jonesville CA

Faces looking up at me through sepia tints of age;

Bride and groom,traditionally posed, he seated

She resting her hand on his shoulder,

Dress in their fanciest finery.

A group of boyhood chums, 

Arms around each others' shoulders,

Hats at a rakish angle, perched on a fence-rail,

Laughing out at us in teen-age abandon.

Tall skiers propped on long skis, smiling,

Their sunburned faces dark shadows

Against the backdrop of sun -

Their healthy zest for life bursting though.

The museum's collection impresses me

With artifacts of this by-gone era:

Gold mining tools, mine diagrams,

Funnels, scales, core samples.

But the images captured by unseen cameramen

Beckon me back again to will life into those

Hopeful newlyweds, prankish young boys,,

Long-dead, handsome skiers.

They don't make folks like that anymore, do they?

Boy, how could they have stood the cold?

How did women keep up their spirits and keep warm?

Quiet and admiring comments from visitors close by.

A small well-kept cemetery is filled with reminders

Of those hardy, propelled people:

Italians, Irishmen, Slavs, Germans,

All represented in ethnic isolation and solidarity.

Tall pine trees surround this tiny spot,

Sheltering them all in regal shade.

Are the happy newlyweds resting here,

Those adventerous and happy teen-agers

Those lean, intrepid skiers?

The photos in the museum were unmarked,

But these tomb engravings give wings to my imagination:

Mary, Beloved Wife

James, Honorable and Loving Husband.

WWI Survivor, Miner

Native of Ireland, Miner

Native of Italy, Miner,

Native of Jonesville, 

Undefeated long-distance Skier.

Carrie's Journey

I haven't posted much lately although much has been happening to encourage it!  My mind sometimes shifts into lassitude, one of my wonderful gifts of being, and stays there.  However, being on Carrie's journey with her is one of the wonders of my life. Her acceptance and progress through this miasma of emotions and revelations, to say nothing of the total love that surrounds her in the form of friends, abundance, and love, is nothing short of miraculous.

She continues to accept current status of her surgery, its aftermath, and her future with grace and equanimity, inspiring others with her attitude of peace.  She has her faltering moments, of course, but they are far outweighed by her patience and acceptance of 'what is'.

I am very humbled and very proud of her.

Another week, another event, namely the Historic Yard Sale!

It was a singular event, held last Friday - postponed on Saturday due to rain/wind/lightning - attended by hundreds, with about twenty A-one helpers, from setters-up to takers-down, all energetic and happy to be together.  Many were old friends who hadn't been in contact for so many years they couldn't remember! The feeling of community and helping Carrie in her need continues on as the days pass. Even now people are volunteering their time for the next sale.   And to top it off, the proceeds were unheard of, $3500 to date, with more donations coming in!

Carrie has attempted to see if she could get the surgery done at UNM Medical Center;  their oral surgeon, who mainly handles trauma cases, can do the surgery, but informed us that he wouldn't be able to do the followup surgeries, so that put the cabosh on further aid there.  And frankly, she is relieved.  She is perfectly happy with and trusts Dr. Traub - they have a nice relationship, warm and respectful on both sides - and the date is set for August 18, which makes her feel stable, steady and relaxed,  She continues her good spirits, sometimes frustrated and afraid, but for the most part she is a stellar soul and everyone admires and loves her.

We are trying to concentrate on the happy things that life brings, mainly laughing a lot and making jokes whenever we can.  It's amazing how you can make light of difficult situations, but if we couldn't laugh, what would we do?  Also, Carrie has begun her gardening endeavors for the year.  While Cliff was here, we hired a tiller who came out and tilled the bejabers out of the back backyard, so it'll be easier this year to manuver out there.  Herbs, tomatoes, peppers, cukes, and lots of flowers are on the list so far.  It'll be nice; gardening is her passion.

Meanwhile, I have been encouraged to write more - I have been in a too familiar slump lately - so I am digging around in my past treasures to remember things; have emailed them to family and will see what I can come up with.

Weather here in Albuquerque in April is as unpredictable as it is everywhere these days: cold at night, sweater weather in the day, with wind coming up at night.  My kind of weather, but I'm afraid it'll change, like overnight, and we'll be sweating and nattering on about the heat!

We'll see!

New Addition

A cold nose on my ankle,

A quick lick and she's gone;

She's about her early business,

Before my coffee's done.

Tussling with a shaggy toy,

Or lunging at a spot,

Her imagination, joy, and energy

Bring laughs to all, a lot.

Didn't think I'd like a dog

Underfoot all day,

But she, of course, is not a dog,

As Carrie will often say.

She's a blessing, it is muttered,

While baskets shoes, and purses

Find their higher, quickly hidden,

And, much safer, perches!

Music of Spain

My heart is breaking tonight as I listen

To the music of Spain so profound

Evoking my passionate dreams

Of those mild summer nights unbound.

The music of Spain so profound:

The loud street noises and laughter below;

Late night moon high in the sky,

Gaily lit plaza, dusty all day,

Romantically dim as couples pass by.

Evoking my passionate dreams:

Small, strong coffee, rolls in the morning,

Cubes of brown sugar, marmalade and silver,

Late lunches, tapas at six, naps until nine,

Then the world comes alive, prepares to deliver.

One of those mild summer nights unbound:

Perspiring, clapping flamencos, feet tapping,

Fast fingers slapping against a guitar;

Seductive light, excitement, colors blending,

All caught in time, of those days so sublime.

Ed

Ed

Ed appeared at the back of our home one cold November morning in 1938.  He was a hobo riding the rails; had seen our house from a train while it slowed down to enter the rail yards in town.  Or maybe our place had been 'marked' by fellow hobos as a likely place of welcome.  Since it was cold, Mother invited him into the kitchen and while she prepared eggs, bacon, biscuits, and lots of black coffee, she and my uncle Paul heard his story.  They agreed to offer Ed room and board if he would help clean up the two side yards, do carpentry work, and cut and stack wood.  (Because our family had grown to include Mama and Papa, George F. and Paul, we had recently moved into an eight bedroom farmhouse in the country and needed help).  Ed was quietly grateful, a graceful attitude that he constantly held.

Not much for talking, he was happy to eat  his meals after everyone left for work in the morning, and after our dinner at night, preferring to be alone.  I remember his breakfasts mainly because I had never seen such a small person consume such large amounts of food!  Twelve pancakes were normal, or twelve French toasts, which suited Mother fine as they were economical for her to prepare.  After breakfast he would sit and read the newspaper, is left hand shading his eyes, whose eyeglass lenses made his dark eyes appear outrageously large for his face. 

Without his hat, his head was pale white with wisps of grey hair plastered in uneven stripes across his scalp.  His large, calloused hands seemed too rough to handle the newspaper, but to my surprise he could flip through the pages without even licking his fingers, which I could never do!

I remember that he was a small man, rather stooped; he was alert, clean, and very shy, anxious to get work done.  And work he did, fast and organized with no wasted motions.  He chopped and stacked wood for the fire place and put it within

easy reach of the back door; he cleared two side yards of a huge greenhouse, a dilapidated fence, and many years' worth of accumulated debris.  He was a good carpenter, building bookcases, repairing porches, installing a ramp for my grandmother.  As one of his many construction jobs, and at Mother's request, he secretly made me a baby carriage for my ninth Christmas (I believed in Santa Claus until I was 10!).  Out of an apple box, wheels made of plywood, dowel for handle, and all painted bright and shiny white and blue - it was my pride and joy!

And, he was able to enjoy my reaction on Christmas  morning as he joined us in opening presents, reveling in his new socks and work clothes, especially enjoying the sumptuous breakfast Mother made that day.

My 80-year old grandfather had suffered a stroke that year and was bedridden.  It fell to Paul and Ed to move him about, bathe him and see to his daily needs.  Ed and Papa became friends, speaking brokenly and quietly, usually when no one else was around.  As irascible as Papa would become, Ed was calmly patient and helpful, often after others had become frustrated and couldn't reach out to him. One morning Mother came out of Papa's bedroom to announce that Papa had gently passed on.  Ed quietly left the kitchen, went to his room, packed his meagre belongings, and left.  Mother happened to glance out the window, commenting that Ed was walking toward town with his bundle.  We  thought he would be back, and engrossed in funeral plans for Papa, we didn't notice until much later that he hadn't.  We waited for awhile, but he never reappeared.

I Remember the Feel of:

I remember the feel of the soft velvety smoothness of Honey's nose and my surprise when she crinkled her lips and its changed texture;

I remember the feel of roughness of the long straight rigid hairs in her ears;

I remember the feel of her stiff roached black mane clipped level by my scissors;

I remember the earthy smell of her lathered sweat after a hard ride;

I remember the feel of soapy water as I squeezed it through her short brown hair;

I remember the feel of her hair, left squeaky clean after I rinsed her off with cold 

water;

I remember the feel of the long hard muscle of her flank and its awesome potential power;

I remember the feel of the rippling veins that stood out on her belly as I ran my hands over them;

I remember the feel of her long mane, its coarse hairs that I braided while she patiently stood and waited;

I remember the feel of her friendship and snickering affection in response to my presence;

I remember the feeling of loss and despair as I watched her follow her new owner

down our dusty road and around the corner.  

Friendships

Friendships are like puzzles,

Each piece a big surprise.

Some edges in a friendship

Are rough, antagonize.

While other pieces, sure enough,

Are smooth, predictable,

Fit easily, and unite the part

That help make up the whole.

Some friendships are eternal, 

Stretch like rubber bands,

While others snap like crackers,

Crisply shatter in your hands.

Good friendships are like slippers,

Fuzzy, comfy, warm

Bu some of the best, I really feel,

Are those that are yet to come!

My Nights

Sleep slips through the night,

Silent and suspicious - 

She gently taps those she fancies

And slides beneath the drapes.

The clock ticks on into the dark.

Motors, unheard all day

Hum at a heightened pace,

And break the eerie silence of the house.

My sleepless eyes smart from tired reflections -

I hear ringing echoes in my ears  -

Words in books swim and run together;

I watch the dark corners of my room.

Will sleep grace me at all tonight,

Or will she wait 'til dawn,

Awaken her rested and peaceful chosen,

And spurn me once again?

11/06

Bilingual

Words tumble in my ears

All irregular and fuzzy;

It's hard to utter el ingles,

So what make el espanol so buzzy?

Both languages, it appears,

Are beautiful when spoken slowly;

But what is this cacophony

When each is garbled and made so lowly?

Cuerpo seems to mean a body,

While puerco is a pig, or dirty.

Maybe this is somehow similar

With words like heir and hair?

Meanwhile I do ponder

While I write poetry in English:

Will I ever get to wonder

In English, while I write in Spanish?

My Skin

My Skin

Yesterday, out of not-so-quiet desperation, I ordered all manner of unguents, salves, and balms from DHC, an on-line dispenser of comfort and support for the modern woman.  My face has become a 'before' picture of effects of desert wind, sun, and glare; it resembles a papier-mache puppet before it's been sanded and lacquered, peeling and shedding like a snake.  

The weather here in New Mexico is taking a toll on my 80-year old body, notably my face.  I have tried Oil of Olay, Eucerin sun block, assorted aloes and oils, but to no avail.  When Shannon recently visited us, she seemed to sense - perhaps by her first glance in my direction - that I needed help, so she broke out some samples of items she has used for several years, her glowing skin a testament of success, I'd say.  I have been assiduously applying her samples of pure olive oil, before and after creams, lathering them on morning, noon, and night.  My skin is soaking it up like a weathered board soaks up sealer; you can almost hear the sucking sound, and the feeling of satisfaction it emits!

My budget under Personal Care has sustained a terrible hit, stretched this month beyond its usual limit of a hair cut and nail fill once a month.  But IF I have to rationalize, I figure it's for a good cause, ME!

I COME FROM

Am currently reading Writing to Change the World by Mary Pipher, author of Reviving Ophelia; one of her exercises has you start with I Come From...  here's what I came up with.

I come from Irish, Catholic, middle class, laborers

I come from my mother, Hazel Tobin born in Denison TX, oldest of 5

I come from my father, George Ryan born in Caldwell KA, youngest of 10

I come from my grandfather George Frances Tobin, born in Plattsburg MO

I come from my grandmother Margaret McNamara born in Prinston KA

I come from my grandfather John Joseph Ryan born in Pittsburgh PA

I come from my grandmother Catherine Connors born in County Westmeath IR

I come from Kansas wheat fields, glaring hot sun, winter storms, sweeping plains, steak and potatoes, Democrats, working men, homemaker mothers, apple pie, the flag, holidays, post offices in small towns, soda fountains, ukuleles, ice cream parties, strung lights

I come from California red geraniums, palm trees, deserts, redwood forests, earthquakes, ocean beaches, fogs and mists, tans, exotic foods, wine, fruits, nuts, sunlight, lakes, tall mountains, new ideas

I come from Atlantic crossings, Catholic priests and nuns prayers, guilt and shame, potato famines red hair and green eyes, alabaster skin, shot folks, ale

I come from wit, self-effacing humor, aching belly laughs, ludicrous sarcasm, endless jokes, long talks, arguments, jokes, fun

I come from melancholy, dark thoughts, grave concerns, doubt, distrust, self- doubt, poverty, shyness, sadness, regret

I come from dreams, wanderlust, searching, adventure, learning, church, rebellion, revolution, swearing, expectations, disappointment

I come from waiting, pausing, questioning, apprehension, fear of God, postponement

I come from success, joy, happiness, hope, optimism, fulfillment

HEALING

Each of 64 consecutive days beginning Jan. 31 and ending April 4 has a topic specifically to promote one's self-reflection, growth and tolerance - first personally, then globally - to help rid the world of violence.  Since the pamphlet didn't arrive until today, I am several days behind.  Today's subject:  Healing.  "Choose a painful incident in your life and find the 'gift' it has given you.  Consciously, share this gift with others."

There have been several very painful incidents in my life that have caused me great distress: the death of my infant daughter (of infant death syndrome) which left me with guilt grief, and insecurity; the sudden and unexpected death of my second husband (heart attack); the expected death of my third husband esophageal cancer); the prolonged death of my best friend (multiple myloma). These losses were agonizingly hurtful, the residue of grief still lingering in my psyche.  They forced me to contemplate:  that life is very tenuous and anything I may place too much reliance on can disappear in a heartbeat; the universe is not ganging up on me to see how much grief I can take nor how abandoned I can feel;

everyone has his own journey to take and the best way I can support him on his to step back, show him dignity and love, trusting that some power is directing him as well as it is directing me; I am a strong woman - a fact I had known before; that in the future I could help others manage their grief and loss without giving up on life.  Many times life can be a bummer, but I have had to remember:  something or someone else always comes along to fill the vacuum, improving and adding dimension to my life.  New thoughts, new friends, new perspectives - these are the gifts that have been given me.

Writing

I am in a time warp; the only activity that really relieves me is reading.  Today I finished Michael Tobias' gripping fiction novel, Chateau Beyond Time.  Similar to The Da Vinci Code in that there is frantic searching, much digging about in ancient, secret monasteries and their libraries; racing from one European city to another via SUV, taxi, train, plane; Interpol, secret police, local gendarmes.  As one would expect, it takes place, as Da Vinci did, in France.  he search is for a lost book that if found will be the Future Testament, after of course, the New and Old.  It held my uninterrupted interest for two days and I put it down with a sigh, relieved at the ending, glad it didn't continue.  Instead of a search for the grail, this book reminds me of Jurassic Park.  If pretty implausible, the author is a wonderfully marvelous researcher.

I attended the monthly Southwest Writers meeting today; coincidentally, the guest speaker talked of research, especially when writing historically: how much to do, when to stop; how to incorporate your hard-fought-for findings into your story without making your research the book!  As an extra bonus, I got in on the New Members' potluck.  The meeting inspired me so much that I signed up for an all-day writers conference later this month, complete with famous speakers who've made the 'big-time' and will share their expertise with us. They are screenwriters who will guide those interested in how to convert their novels into screen plays or vice versa.  I hope to participate in more events this year.

Last night two friends and I attended a Fractal show held at the Planetarium, within the Natural Science Museum.  A fractal, we discovered, is a mathematical equation entered into a computer resulting in mesmerizing formations, projected onto the overhead dome.  With much zooming in and out, the presenter told us that each piece of a fractal is exactly like every other part, from the large center to the tiniest particle, into infinity, a definite mind-enhancing evening, for sure.  It reminded me of being inside a kaleidoscope as it was being rotated; also of reading about the holographic universe several years ago; stem cell research, et al.  The audience, mostly young people, was spellbound, breaking into applause

several times.  The information man revealed that he takes a portable plastic dome into schools so that children can see what we saw last night.  He was so excited that the city of Albuquerque has agreed to his painting fractals on some of the high-rise buildings in town, to spread the word around!  Kids are learning geometry and having fun doing it!  Wonders never cease!

Albuquerque is unique in that it abounds in diversity on all levels: cultures, art, science, music, senior citizens' programs, sports, changing weather patterns.  It also has diversity on other levels:  crime, neglect, racism, violence, drinking, drugs - but this is the way of things, isn't it?  Which project to invest money and time in, what nurtures one's soul, which cause to volunteer to stop, which to leave to others.

A time warp, indeed.  I must read, and write.

Blank Page

1/29/09

The blank page stares at me again; some strange urge tells me daily to sit down and write something memorable, noteworthy of the experiences I am having.  There must be some sage wisdom I can impart, a fleeting thought that came to me of the middle of the night to bolster and inspire me and others.

I settle down to write and find my mind a muddle of numbness.  I remind myself that this is nothing new - when I was in a fever writing my memoirs, essays and poetry ( which I remind myself I should get back to) the old blank page syndrome would rear up, leaving me immobilized - that persistence,  patience, and pausing usually will bring results.

I am grateful for my life and all it encompasses; that's always a good beginning, and it is especially true at this crucial point in my life.  I have joined two singing groups of welcoming people, eager to extend friendship; I have a good clear  voice that can still project and be in tune; a warm house the envelopes and comforts me; books of all kinds to savor and devour; a mind that responds with reason, self-determination, and compassion; money enough to be comfortable and giving; children who love and encourage me; a loving man who admires and respects my being; friends who await my call to support my mood.  I am even grateful for my intestinal tract which reminds me, as it has in the last few days, that I must keep stress at bay as much as I possibly can.

Yet the nagging at the back of my head remains:  Am I doing enough?  And what could I do more?  It is late in life to be running that tape in myself; I am more than aware that enough situations will present themselves in the coming months for me to realize that this experience with Carrie and all involved will be more than enough to prove my mettle.  All I must do/be is already in place.  I sometimes feel as a warrior must, preparing for battle, steadfast and wary, ready with all he can muster; trusting and hoping it is enough.

My blank page has suddenly filled, for now!

Commonalities 1 21 09

We have a new President and there is joy in the land, justifiably so after the long fight.

As I watched all the proceedings yesterday I was struck by the commonalities of his struggle and ours, Carrie's and mine.  We share an immense, unknown, scary future; we must depend entirely on the cooperation, talent, dependability, and expertise of others or we won't get the job done.  Other factors we have going for us, and they are I believe most important, are hope, trust, faith that this ungainly and incomprehensible challenge can and will be surmounted.

There will be healing and wellness at the end.  That is my daily meditation and vision.

Inauguration Eve 2009

Today is the eve of inauguration day for President-elect Obama and the national excitement is building to a crescendo. I watched some of the festivities in cold Washington DC last night; it is uplifting to realize that outside our tumultuous private world, there is hope in the nation, and joy for the future, as rough as it might prove to be; seems strangely familiar, not knowing what the future holds, but willing to accept the outcome with as much tenacity as we can muster. Pete Seeger and friends leading thousands in the singing of This Land is Your Land at the Lincoln Memorial was truly inspired; miles upon miles of ardent fans bearing the cold and dismal weather to proclaim unity.

I also feel strangely removed from the world and its problems; almost trancelike somedays I manage to cope, sometimes deeply saddened, other times bordering on euphoria. Carrie and I have made a pact: we'll be honest and forthcoming with our feelings while realizing, for now, that we cannot both 'go south' at the same time!

Shannon emailed the other day to give us her input on what she thinks of our postponing the operation for six months to gain time to acquire health insurance that will cover after that time; the possibility of a faster growth of the tumor than is expected; the intrusion into the sinuses; the kind of monitoring to be done between now and the surgery, etc. I answered her honestly: that Carrie and I go through this litany of possibilities almost daily, either aloud or privately, and I am trying to support her in every way that I can; she has to make the decisions, a daunting task, which may change momentarily. We will be in constant contact with the doctor who is available every evening to consult with or talk with individually; CT scans are planned, and whatever is deemed necessary.

We have come to realize, also, that the possibility exists that we will have to proceed sooner, insurance or not. So we are left with questions and fears, but we cannot stay in fear; it is non-productive and energy-depleting. While trying to establish a positive and permanent attitude, we are also willing to be as open and flexible as possible. It is a difficult tight-rope dance we are experiencing and a horrifically emotional time for us both. She is fragile in her emotions and the very fears that she has quietly professed over the years - resistance to drugs into her body, non-fat and careful eating, pain and intrusion to her body - have manifested in this manner somehow. A humbling experience for her, yet she is very strong in many ways, and upon those strengths we must rely. Shannon will support our decisions, whatever they may be. I assured her that she not hesitate to express them; one more emotional roller-coaster ride won't kill us!

Carrie's friends are very supportive; a small cadre of them are meeting soon to plan several benefits for her huge expenses; in the coming warmer months they will be held in different locations in the city and environs. She is constantly dismayed by what unknown people and her friends think of her; their immediate offers of help and support. She has not been aware of her impact on others has been: her uplifting spirit, her shoulder to cry on, her heartfelt advice, her home-cooked meals, her beautiful smile. She is a treasure beyond measure, and I am daily more proud of her. Another 'daily' to add to my others.

Me, Abroad

When my daughter Shannon recently asked me what I wanted to name my blog, the first title I chose was "My Dailies." (One of my story titles was "Our Days, Eleanor's and Mine," a small tribute to both Eleanor Roosevelt and me for our shy beginnings, our warrior-like attitudes toward life, its challenges, our fortitude in facing them. Her daily newspaper article, "My Day," inspired me.) However, when my daughter checked, she found that "My Dailies" had been taken, so we had to decide on another title. I have also written several essays under "Me, Abroad," but that also was being used, so we segued into "Phyllis, Abroad" as the name of my blog.

But "My Dailies" refers to Melody Beattie's The Language of Letting Go and Iyanla Van Zant's Until Today!, the two inspirational paperback books that have aided me for more years than I care to count; have become my ritual each day to remember that I am a recovering person and need a regular shot of grounding. In my case, "Recovery" meant reinventing myself after many years of being someone's daughter, sister, wife, mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, widow (twice), friend, lover, etc. My particular drug-of-choice was not a substance, by my knee-reaction to the woes of my children; I took on their troubles as if they were my own, worried them like a dog with a bone, plunged in with both feet to keep the bad world from their doors. I finally realized that my pain was far worse than theirs, that I needn't take that first dip into their lives, that my influence was over. All I could offer was my support and love.

So it is all the more intriguing today that I face my daughter Carrie's surgeries in a far healthier state of mind than I could have in 1986, when I first started on my inner quest, a daily one, as it has turned out. I cannot imagine what tools I could have gathered then to help me through this test, or what support I could have offered.

We are in the 39th day since her diagnostic surgery to discover what the odd growth was that had appeared in her upper gum line. It is a desmoplastic ameloblastoma, a very rare (less than 100 cases worldwide are known), non-malignant, but spreadable tumor. We are still reeling, after 39 days, from the emotional, physical, and potential financial blows to our psyches! The one one-two to the gut is what we experience every time we keep another appointment with Dr. Traub; we leave his office doubled over with, and clutching tight to the grim reality that we somehow manage to keep hidden somewhere in the folds of our brains, between visits.

Each day we die and are reborn; literally, in some manner we are not the same people as yesterday. Our own private resurrections occur every day. Our other, and unfamiliar, "Dailies."