The Chess Match
Last week I was on vacation with my wife and friends when we happened upon this place that is crazy about chess. Our friends’ son is into chess, so they wanted to check out the business, which was a chess store and club. Inside, numerous chess matches were taking place, involving both the young and the old. I wasn’t surprised such places existed, I knew in my head they did, but I’d never really seen them before.
A day later, I read a tribute to Bobby Fischer, the brilliant but troubled American chess champion who had recently died. Fischer, who reportedly had a higher IQ than Einstein, had frequented these same chess clubs when he 13, on his way to becoming a Grand Master of chess at age 15.
This got me thinking about cancer, natch–the way it is like a chess match between the patient (me) and Death. And the problem is that it’s my first time to play, while Death has been sitting at the board for thousands of years.
Death made the first pawn move almost eight years ago, when a tiny tumor developed on the triceps muscle of my right arm. I responded aggressively with surgery and radiation, the equivalent of bringing out one of my knights. Death yawned and moved another pawn, one more small tumor 11 months later. I brought out a pawn of my own, and then a rook, another surgery another radiation procedure.
Back and forth. Move after move. And then, at some point, I began to realize how formidable this opponent was. Cancer had wrapped around the nerve in my right arm. The only option? To surrender it. This was like losing a knight or a castle. The game’s not over, but it’s going to be much more difficult to win.
And then, a surprise, something I hadn’t seen coming. Death made a few innocuous moves, and I captured several of his pieces. For three years I was cancer free. But Death, like Bobby Fischer, was trading important pieces for position. He suddenly swept in and captured my queen. Another form of cancer had inexplicably developed in my colon and moved from there to my liver.
Now, it’s like Death is toying with me. As I make defensive moves in an attempt to save my King, he is smiling and patiently picking off pawn after pawn.
The latest pawn? My hair. For some reason, my wild, curly hair has held on for 15 months of chemo. But it has been weakening. The black has been turning a dull grey. The thick, coarse texture now feels like silk. And this week, it is falling out like crazy. My legs have almost no hair on them anymore. My lone hand has only a few hairs. And the hair on the top of my head? When I scratch my head, 20 or 30 hairs show up in my hand. The shower drain is covered with hairs that have given up the ghost.
I know. It’s only hair. Guys commonly go with the bald look these days, so it’s not so big of a deal. In fact it’s rather commonplace. But most of the people who tell you that have a full head of hair or lost theirs many years ago and have “perspective.”
I like my hair. After a weird period of wearing it short, “corporate” as one friend put it, I grew it out several years ago. This was the way I wore it in college. “Yes,” my hair stylist said. “The mad scientist look works for you.”
“Chess is war on a board,” Fischer once said. “The object is to crush the other man’s mind.”
My mind is still intact, thankfully. But Death is sure messing with it.
To Read or Not To Read, That’s Not the Question
It’s the new year, which means it’s time to log the books I read in 2008 into my computer.
I like to keep track of the books I read each year so I can stay on track of my reading goal: three books a month, thirty-six a year. There’s nothing magic about that number. I just found it was a reasonable number for me, one I could attain if I stay focused. (If you’re a writer, you must first be a reader, they say. So that’s a minimum number, not a maximum.)
My yearly reading plan includes a good mixture of fiction and nonfiction, classics and popular current titles, with a few poetry books too. I’m not married to any particular ratio, and I don’t beat myself up if I’m too heavy in one category. But I think it is good to stay balanced in one’s reading.
Anyway, I read thirty-one books in 2008, which means I came up a little shy. But that’s okay. With all the chemo I had, all the days I felt miserable, a tough surgery in August, work, family, a new book released, and a lot of writing, thirty-one isn’t all that bad. I’ll try to do better this year.
But as I embark on a new year of reading, my dilemma is not how much I should be reading, but what I should be reading. With my days supposedly numbered, the titles I’m willing to consider are, quite frankly, not that many. I mean when someone comes up to me these days and tells me that I “have to read” the latest bestseller, I think, uh, no I don’t. Why would I want to waste what little time I have on crap like that?
I’m not being a book snob here (that’s a title my wife gives me every now and then). I’m just saying that I want to read the best books possible in all categories and absolutely nothing else. I don’t have time to read a book that’s pretty good or even one that’s good. I want to read the world’s greatest books, ones that will make an impact on my life.
So I’m asking for your help. (This is a blog, after all; give-and-take is the name of the game.) What are the five greatest books you’ve read, books that impacted your life, made you think, changed you? They can be classics or brand new fiction. They can be how-to books, spiritual books, science books, or memoirs. They can be contemporary poetry or something from one of the masters. I don’t care, so long as it’s wonderful.
To put it another way, what are the five books you would take with you to a deserted island? Or, what five books would you recommend to be launched into outer space with hopes that some alien out there would get a glimpse of who and what humans are?
In case you’re wondering what I’ve read before you make your suggestions, you can find a list of my favorites of all time in the books section of my website. (I’ve also read the Bible at least five times, so don’t worry about whether or not to include it.)
I’m serious about this. I want your help. And I may even ask to borrow one of your copies when your suggestions come rolling in.
A New Calendar
I bought a new calendar last week, the 2009 month at a glance version. I prefer this version because I’m a month at a glance type of guy. I tend to get so focused on the tasks staring me directly in the face that I need a bigger picture to remind me visually of the road ahead. Even a week at a glance won’t do the trick.
Anyway, as I open the new calendar, I admit having mixed feelings, most of them falling on the negative side. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a particular day with my name on it, the day my body gives up what has been, I think, a good fight. There’s a time and a place for every purpose under heaven, it has been said, so I find myself thinking about certain months and seasons. Will I see another spring or summer? Will I make it past April to see Maddye’s 18th birthday or to May to see her graduate high school?
Plus, the new calendar is too open-ended. If I were to show you my last calendar, you’d see my chicken-scratch written all over it–notations about upcoming trips to Houston, poetry readings, writing deadlines, lunch and breakfast meetings, concerts by my son, vacations, etc. But the new calendar is strangely free of writing. Why? Well, because of the holidays and uncertainties regarding my health, I’ve done very little planning beyond this point. For two months now I’ve been saying, “I’ll decide that after the holidays.” So guess what? As of today, the holidays have officially ended.
On the other hand, in some ways I’m glad to say goodbye to the old calendar, for I can’t in all honesty say I’m sorry to see 2008 go. I’ve made it this far, which is good, but 2008 was in so many ways an awful year. Gas prices soared. Our economy tanked. Home values plunged. Many people lost their life savings due to banking blunders and sheer greed. My family was hit by bad news numerous times.
Yes, 2008 was tough, but it wasn’t all bad. Our country had an incredible presidential election, one that gives me hope. I celebrated my 21st wedding anniversary and published a new collection of poems. LeAnn and I went on some incredible vacations with friends and family. Ford finished a terrific six-song CD and played for his third time at Opening Night. Maddye became a high school senior. I gave two dozen public readings, saw some great plays and shows (Spamalot, Jersey Boys, Billy Elliot, Tom Waits, Beatles Love, and Jerry Seinfeld), read some great books (The Brothers Karamazov, Death Be Not Proud), and even saw a few good films (Frost/Nixon, Doubt, Slumdog Millionaire). I deepened old friendships and made some new ones. Plus we embarked on this series, with hopes that it would be helpful to others.
So I close the 2008 calendar and open the new one with relief and regret. Thank you for your prayers and may you all have a happy new year.
