Category: Sharon Duckman

Best Date Ever Still

So, we went to the Norton Museum to see the Rembrandt show. One Vermeer, one Franz Hals and several Rembrandts, including one self-portrait by a young Rembrandt. Show was more about the Golden Age of Dutch Art than just Rembrandt. Had a great time, especially when we remembered a Hals show at the Getty Modern and the Vermeer show at the Rijksmuseum (including Night Watch, of course). Lots of memories.

One the way out, we stopped at several exhibits, including this one in the Photography gallery on tone, light, and form. Sharon posed in front of one piece, after questioning, “…, why is this art?” It’s a long story, not about what I said in response, but the general question, what is art and how it this art. We don’t have the same amount of Museum Speak in our vocabularies, but we know enough to have a conversation.

How great is that?

Look of Love

Sharon would not remove her “Soup Kitchen” volunteer hat. SHE doesn’t want thanks or commendations. She is so happy to help to make a difference. And she raised $1,ooo dollars, too.

But here at Morikami, she’s at rest, smiling, looking at the trees, walking in our wooded paradise.

As a photog, all I can do is frame the shot and push the shutter. The camera and the model do the rest.

Jonathan Levy, Bone Doctor

So, we went to the bone doctor today for a fix to Sharon’s broken shoulder. He was supportive and kind. No cure for the pain, just adapt. Pleasure to deal with a doctor who is competent. He advised that there was no guarantee her movement would improve [it could get worse], just that the pain might go away. True to his hippocratic oath, he recommended against surgery. And he loved the pic I shot of him.

Lorin Duckman at 78

So, I made it. A year ago, I sat in a hospital bed, didn’t know if it was my birthday or death day. Have regained my spirit, if not my endurance, memory and flexibility. Blood perfect for CLL/lymphoma, but not for humans with good blood. Hard not to reflect on my failed existence. I’ll pass.

Still have Sharon, a few friends and a passion for photographic art.

Perfect Pour

So, you and I aren’t bartenders whose tip depends on filling the glass, dramatically. She doesn’t use built in measurers or shot glasses. She just pours. Sometimes the martini juice reaches above the rim, held together by capillary action. And, her martinis always come with no fruit, vegetable and only a sniff of vermouth (almost bone dry). But the best thing is that I have to go to the glass for the first sip. The martini is undeliverable. Drink it where you find it.

Sharon Turns 76

Sharon. Never be afraid of your lines or sagging. Don’t fear wrinkles or varicose veins. Don’t lose that spirit to live that looms so large that there is enough for you and still a little left over for me. Without you, life would be so empty and not worth living. You make me want to get up in the morning.

Our dear friend Howard Kane sent this orchid arrangement to Sharon. Lovely. Just lovely.

No Thanksgiving

Not that Thanksgiving was ever one of my favorite holidays, but today’s Thanksgiving hurts more than any and means less. The deaths in Israel and Gaza of innocent people, old and young alike, leaves me bereft. I grieve mightily for the losses on both sides and the absence of dignity and purpose in the entire affair.

My heart breaks for the living, as well as the dead, parents, siblings, friends, associates. I cannot imagine what it feels like to have lost someone or not to know if someone was lost. The sorrow and sadness keeps me awake at night, despite feeling personally safe and despite not personally knowing anyone who died. I see the destruction in my dreams and hear the cries. I can smell the fetid air and taste the pollution on my tongue. No one feels safe and everyone knows it.

I know the pain of isolation and aloneness, the despair of not having family or friends, of being hated. I never learned to hate, though I did learn to be hated. I learned love through my wife. No god ever shined countenance on me or gave me peace and no hater ever said they were sorry or tried to renew a friendship or family relationship. My life was destroyed, but I got to leave with my head up, some trinkets and a spouse. Where do they go and with whom.

Stripped of my career, legacy and heritage, I was left only with my self-esteem and a loving, caring wife. At least I had that. What will they have: more fear of annihalition, complete destruction, obliteration. Who will care for them in sickness and in health? Who will they trust to protect them?

No one will come to our table to share a harvest feast. We don’t eat turkey or tell the story of the Native American Wampanoag people. There will be no arguments about who made the best stuffing or gravy and no collapses on the couch to watch football games. Just some Osso Bucco and a glass or two of red “whine”.

I can only hope that tomorrow some hostages on both sides are released.

Neurosurgery Counter Service

So, as we age, so does our back, maybe faster than our brains. Pain, pain, pain from every step. Stairs always a challenge. Getting up. Sitting down. X-rays. Rolling over in bed. Putting on pants. Wiping my ass.

CAT Scans. MRIs (a real joy for those of us with claustrophobia). How about an epidural? And there is always a surgical option. Want some pills. No, I drink for pain relief.


Every step of the way, Sharon sat next to me. It was as if she was the patient, asking questions, feeling the pain, sharing my emotions. Even though she has her own problems, nothing would make her happier than knowing I wasn’t as disabled as I am.

Dr. Brett Schlifka informed her, as if she was the patient. And, she did her own independent research. Great teammate.Great doctor. Smart. Caring. Talented. Likes his patients.

I learned what I could learn, rejecting the shots and surgery, accepting the suggestion to do physical therapy. Rejecting the opioids; living with the pain. So far, so good. Call me back, Brett said the other day. “Call when you need me.”

A back is a back. I have spinal stenosis. Have to be careful. Don’t fall. Maintain my posture. Respect my limitations. The only good thing about living in FL is the pool. And my life, not worth living without Sharon.