Life comes in focus as the day approaches

It’s odd how a man facing heart surgery hears from friends who seem to have more on their minds than they’re willing to say. “How are you?” they say and, “Thinking about you”, in a way that suggests maybe they asked me months ago for a blurb for their new novel (“Recklessly absurd, but lyrically sensitive”) or I promised to talk to their creative writing class – and I want to say, “Get to the point,” but these are Minnesotans and we are point-avoiders.

The elephant in the room is mortality, of course, and if they’re calling to wish me well, OK, but the novel is unimpressive (“Where confusion collides with revulsion at over-writing”) and my advice to young writers is, “Get a life, then think about writing” and that’s enough about that. 

My London family is visiting as I prepare for surgery. They are eager to talk about English medieval history, the murderous conspiracies and bizarre assassinations that make current American history seem like a playground scuffle. It’s an excellent distraction for a soon-to-be-incised man, hearing about the grisly murder of Edward II in 1327 at the hands of barons and clergy, so much better than sympathy. I’m a leaning tower of good fortune, especially compared to Edward. 

I like being old and am looking forward to a meeting with my surgeon, an interesting social occasion, shaking the hand that will cut my chest open. Should I make a joke about it? I haven’t decided yet. Open-heart surgery didn’t exist when I was a kid. They trundled you off to the Old Soldiers Home and gave you a stiff drink, but now the fact that they imagine a guy of 80 deserves a battery jump is very inspiring. I intend to accomplish something with my additional time that will justify all the trouble.