As I squinted beneath the eyes of the sun at the shimmering rooftops forming lines into the distance before me, there were trucks and more trucks as far as I could see.

Søren

Lola at the Vet

I got out my macro lens and took a walk through the garden with it.

While John was in our office in the late afternoon, he asked what the fan assembly sitting on our desk was. I told him it was a whiny fan I replaced in Bruce's old computer. John said "Like all Cubs fans?"  Bruce said "Good one!" and put his Cubs cap on the fan. We cleared the junk from around the fan, set Bruce's model of Wrigley Field behind it, and I got a photo of a "whiny Cubs fan."

However, the Cubs became the champions of the National League Central Division last night even though they lost their game against the Brewers, because the Cardinals also lost to the Giants; therefore two losses made the Cubs a winner and the Division Champions, if I have it all straight. So even though the Cubs lost, the fans have nothing to whine about, because they are now the division champs, which is deserving of the simple title — "Cubs Fan".

Monarch

Pearl Crescent

Buckeye

Buckeye

Buckeye

This series of photos finishes out the stretch of Central Ave. from 1st Street and Central in Downtown Albuquerque to Coors Boulevard and Central on the west side of town I photographed in 2010 as part of a small photo book I put together titled Route 66 Albuquerque’s Central Avenue After Dark. You can see the first series of photos from Nob Hill to Central and I-40 at Route 66 After Dark — Satellite Coffee to the Route 66 Diner.

Six years ago, I dropped Laurie off at her book group on a Sunday evening, drove over to Nob Hill on Central Ave (Old Route 66), parked and walked the mostly abandoned sidewalks the length of Nob Hill photographing the shop windows and neon signs from the Satellite Coffee shop to Girard Blvd. at UNM. Then I walked back to my car, drove to UNM, photographed the Frontier Restaurant and the school of Architecture, and then I drove several blocks down to the 66 Diner, and photographed the last neon clad restaurant before you cross under I-25 and head into Downtown Albuquerque. By the time I finished up at the 66 Diner, I had to pick up Laurie, but over the next few nights I photographed downtown and then out to West Central  and Coors Blvd, eventually putting a small photo book together titled Route 66 Albuquerque’s Central Avenue After Dark that contains 26 photos from Nob Hill to West Central at Coors Blvd.

Teagan Geneviene, who is a faithful follower of this blog, has a current series titled The Guitar Mancer on Teagan's Books. Her story has a lot of references to Route 66, and it reminded me that while I had posted some photos over the years from my original series of photos I selected to go into the picture book, I had never posted the complete series of photos on my blog.  

Today Old Route 66 on a Sunday evening reminds me of Edward Hopper's painting Nighthawks, and the spoof of the painting by Gottfried Hemnwein's titled Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Like Green Day's song of the same title, I walked alone along the lonely street on a Sunday evening. I walked alone along "the boulevard of broken dreams." 

This series of 32 photographs is a snapshot from 2010 starting at the Satellite Coffee Shop on the eastern edge of Nob Hill, running past UNM to the 66 Diner near Central Ave. and I-25. Some of the businesses have closed their doors, the shops have long changed their window displays, yet much of the architecture and neon lights remain the same, unchanged over the years as symbols to the durability of Old Route 66 in a world of uncertainty and constant change.

Basil is one of Laurie's parent's cats. I got a few good shots of him before he decided the camera was too intimidating and scary.

I could have been in a weird dream.  As we followed the nurse into the prep-area of Interventional Radiology, we passed the hall lined with curtains, concealing beds used to prep patents and then roll them into surgery we normally went to. Instead we headed down a hallway with a right turn then a left turn to the last room on the right — a wildly painted room, the walls lined with toys. "I get the children's suite today?" I asked the nurse. "Yes! You can sit on the bed or in the chair while we wait for the surgeon" she replied. "I'll be prepping you in here."  She left and I sat down next to the book bin on the wall and noticed "The Cat In The Hat" in French, pulled it out and started reading it. I had not read "The Cat In The Hat" in many years, and this was the first time in French. The French was long and didn't have the same meter or rhyme as the English, but it was fun to read in French, all the same.

The surgeon came in and looked at my port. He took one look and said "Man! They said it was a little red, that is a really red. We need to get that port out of there!"  We had a discussion about the risks, and just how infected in might be. He was afraid there was pus along the line, and that the redness was advancing toward my neck. Since the port goes into the heart, if the infection got into the vein, my heart would pump the infection all through my body and I would become septic very quickly. So the port had to go. But he said we have to get the infection cleared up before he will put in another port. After our brief consultation, the surgeon left to do another surgery while the nurse prepped me to be deported.

As it turns out, I stayed in the kid's room for the deportation, so while I waited for the nurse to gather up all the necessary prep material, I photographed the room, and then settled back into a chair and read "The Cat In The Hat" until she was ready for me to lie on the gurney so she could start the prep. Not long after she finished the prep, the surgeon came in, took off a lead filled gown he used for an x-ray guided surgery, threw it on the chair I was sitting on, complained about incompetent people in ER, and started giving me shots of 1% lidocaine with epinephrine to numb the area around my port. 

The surgeon had warned me that infected tissue didn't numb as well because the acidity of the infection cancelled out the base of the lidocaine, making it less effective in the area with infected tissue. While the deportation was not very painful, per se, I felt most everything he did through dulled sensations. Fortunately, he did not find any signs of pus where the line had been, so he felt the infection had not become as advanced as the redness might have indicated. The surgeon drew and circle around the infected area on my chest, so I could monitor the redness, and call in if the redness advanced outside the lines. The surgeon and nurse gave me instructions and numbers to call if I had any problems, and the surgeon was off to perform another surgery. We are very short on doctors in New Mexico, and he told me that I was in the kid's room because that was the only space they had to fit me between surgeries. 

I put my shirt on, photographed the table of surgical tools and bloodied swabs used to deport me, walked out to where Laurie was waiting for me, and we walked to the car — the weird dream ended with me deported, and memories of reading "The Cat In The Hat" in French in a blue room.

As a newly deported man, I was feeling pretty well, so after the surgery, I dropped Laurie off at UNM to go to class while I drove over to Camera & Darkroom to pick up some color film I had developed. After picking up the film, talking to Art for a few minutes, and checking out some of the cool equipment I would like to have, I drove back to UNM, picked up Laurie and drove home. I went to the bank in the late afternoon to take care of some business, and then we went to an art opening. While I can do most anything that doesn't involve manual labor, or much exertion, the things I really need to do require both. Therefore, I'm not very excited about having to spend another weekend recovering from surgery when I have lots of yard work to do, and I would also like to get out and photograph the beautiful New Mexico landscapes and sites outside our property.

I'm feeling a bit rattled and out of sorts — I will probably be deported tomorrow. I thought I was going to have a month of no doctors, Cancer Center or surgeries before I go in for the stem cell transplant in October. But no. My port had to act up, become infected, so they will probably have to remove it. But then they will need to put in another port for the chemo they will give me before the stem cell transplant. I hoping they can put a new port in on the left side of my chest tomorrow if they take out the problem port, but I don't know what they are going to do — It's like I'm blowing in the wind.