This is an inspiring story for anyone -- Ron
Article from the Houston Chronicle...
"On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an unforgettable sight. He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward.Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play. By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play. But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap - it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do. People who were there that night thought to themselves: "We figured that he would
have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin or else find another string for this one." But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before. Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before. When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone, "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left." What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that is the [way] of life -- not just for artists, but for all
of us."
Today's blog event was a visit by a respiratory therapist. She measured my ability to hold oxygen and observe my frantic breathing evertime I exhibit any modest amount of exercise. My oxygen levels during exertion fall to about 87, 88 per cent and they should be up around 97 per cent so I'll be getting oxygen. It's amazing that there are all these people out there with specialities who go around helping people in their homes. Our home care system here is so good. Yesterday was my last day of chemo (Tues. night) and blessed it is, if it is in there killing things. I haven't had much nausea through all this, so more blessings. Even my hiccups are less. -- Ron
There are some new entries on
my column web page. The most recent one is about doctors and communication and another one about what I have coined the "Duck Mountain Massacre."
After yesterday's golf expedition, which involved no actual golfing on my part, I'm feeling well today. I realize now how much easier it is to follow a televised golf tournament than it is the real thing. My stomach held up remarkably well considering three hours in a golf cart, three hours of regular driving, and so on. I'm grateful for that.
Last night another chemo treatment - it's hump day in a series of five, so only two to go.
The "competitors", Morgan, Kevin, Erin, and Morgan's friend Josh, were very very close, within one or two strokes of one another. All were right around 100 except for Kevin - he golfed a 90! We're going to pick up a cheap trophy and make it the first annual Graham open - cash price, $100. This won't turn them into professionals, will it? -- Ron
