Communion Of Dreams

See this post at UTI for details.  As a consequence, I didn’t sleep a whole lot.  But the most annoying part is past, I think, and I may nap this afternoon.

Anyway, via MeFi, here is an amazing site about the restoration of three ceramic vases destroyed in a museum accident.  It is a bit surprising just how many of the techniques used are analogous to what I use in book restoration (though usually I am not doing that level of work for my clients.)  Be sure to click the “interactive” selection.

Jim Downey

This afternoon I was getting ready to take some books back to Special Collections, and since it was still a bit cool out, thought I’d toss on a nice leather vest I have.  This is a vest which was a gift a couple of years ago, designed for concealed carry, and which I find to be very useful for other purposes as well.  Anyway, I put it on, and noticed something . . . it felt a little loose.

Hmm.

Now, I knew I had been shedding weight since Martha Sr had died, as a natural function of getting regular sleep, more exercise, and not eating to excess as a function of stress.  Pants fit better, I’d taken my belt in a couple of notches, all those sorts of things.

But this vest was a new one.  For the first time in a couple of years, I could actually button the thing up, and it felt comfortable.  Excellent.

I have no illusions about getting back into the sort of shape I was twenty years ago, when I was honestly in “fighting trim”.  But in the last three months I’ve probably shed close to thirty pounds.  If I can lose another twenty, I’ll be happy - thirty would be just about ideal, particularly if I can change some of what remains from fat and slack muscle into toned muscle.

Anyway, just a small personal triumph I thought I would share.

Jim Downey

As a book conservator, one of the things I deal with most frequently is problems caused by the embrittlement of paper and other cellulose materials.  This embrittlement is, generally, caused by residual acid content from the manufacturing of those materials.  For a period of about 130 - 140 years (basically from the start of the American Civil War until just before the turn of the 21st century), paper was most widely manufactured using an acid bath to wash away non-cellulose fibers, which left that residual acid content slowly weakening the paper.  This is a process known among conservators and librarians as “slow fire“, since it is essentially an oxidation process akin to the combustion of fire, but on a longer time scale.  Perhaps surprisingly, this mechanism wasn’t understood at all until about the time of my birth some fifty years ago, when research started to show what was actually happening to paper at this very basic level.

Now the majority of paper is made using an alternative process, primarily due to environmental needs (less pollution).  It is a side benefit, but an important one, that this usually results in a much more stable and longer-lasting paper, one which doesn’t have that residual acid content causing problems.  Because paper doesn’t have to become embrittled with age - I have lots of examples of paper made 500 years ago that looks as fresh and supple as paper made last week.  The paper we’re most widely using now has a similar stability.

* * * * * * *

Now, it seems, scientists studying evolution and extinction may have stumbled upon a similar stability issue with regards to humans, and it could portend a medical breakthrough which would save countless lives and extend others.

Writing for Seed Magazine this week, Peter Ward notes that of the five major mass extinction events in Earth’s history, one of them was undoubtedly due to a single chemical:

But now, together with Mark Roth of the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle, I believe we have found a possible biochemical scar, present within living animals, that links Earth’s greatest mass extinction to a single substance: hydrogen sulfide (H₂S). Hydrogen sulfide is a relatively simple molecule that gives rotten eggs their distinctive foul odor and is quite toxic–in high concentrations a single breath can kill. And it looks like that is what happened: Hundreds of millions of years ago, hydrogen sulfide probably saturated our oceans and atmosphere, poisoning nearly every creature on Earth.

Yet some creatures, like our very distant ancestors, must have somehow survived this toxic environment. What Roth has discovered is that H₂S, incredibly, also has the ability to preserve and save lives. In small doses the chemical puts many animals into a state of “suspended animation,” a useful adaptation that would have allowed creatures to, in essence, hibernate through the catastrophe of mass extinction. If this idea is correct, our understanding of the deep past could lead to a dramatic medical revolution very soon.

What kind of dramatic medical revolution?  The Science Fiction dream of suspended animation, allowing people with an illness or injury to be “set aside” for decades until medical science comes up with a cure, or a way of putting their brain in a newly cloned body?

Nope.  Something a lot simpler, and probably a lot more useful.  This:

When we humans are cut or injured, our bodies naturally produce small quantities of hydrogen sulfide. In essence, the body may be trying to put itself into suspended animation to survive the injury, an instinct held over millions of years in our genes. Yet whenever one of us is dying, say from a heart attack, our first instinct is to give that person oxygen. The problem with this “life-saving” first response may be that the oxygenated red blood cells rush to the damaged cells and act like gasoline on a fire. Oxygen is one of the most chemically active substances on Earth, and though we need it to survive, it can ravage our bodies. The oxygen increases the reactions causing the heart attack in the first place; it tears up more cells and overwhelms the virtual suspended animation that the body-produced hydrogen sulfide created. Then it kills you.

Oxygen.  From whence we get the term Oxidation.  As in “burning” or “fire”.  So, what to do?  Here’s the concluding bit from the article:

Perhaps our first instinct in instances of a heart attack should be to cool the body and let hydrogen sulfide do its natural work. To save life, in other words, you may first have to effectively suspend it with hydrogen sulfide. This tactic may just be what got us so far in the first place.

There is no clear understanding yet of why our injured bodies are able to produce hydrogen sulfide or why H₂S puts some mammals into suspended animation. But I believe that Roth has found our body’s own memory of the ancient events that nearly killed our distant ancestors. Some proto-mammals may have been exposed to H₂S, and instead of dying, they were placed into a state of suspended animation that allowed them to survive until the initial hydrogen sulfide levels subsided and they were reanimated. Some lucky evolutionary accident ensured the mammals’ safety through a deep sleep, and that accident may still be dormant within us. That which allowed our ancestors to survive millions of years ago might also be a means of our survival now.

* * * * * * *

Like paper made 50 years ago, I am not as supple or fresh as when I was born.  I too have experienced my own version of embrittlement.  There is only so much my body can do to keep up with the effects of oxidation.  There are plenty of commercial products out there touting their antioxidant effect, just as there are products I use to neutralize acid in paper, but none of these will return me to my youth, just as I cannot reverse the effects of embrittlement in paper.

But it seems that perhaps we have a new insight into some of the mechanisms at work.  I don’t expect to live forever, but I certainly wouldn’t mind having better and more effective medical treatment for what time I have.  As a conservator, my best hope is to preserve what suppleness there is still left in paper.  I’d be willing to settle for the same thing, myself.

Jim Downey

[This post contains mild spoilers about Communion of Dreams, particularly chapter 5.]

As I’ve been doing some conservation work this morning, I’ve been listening again to the audio version of Communion, done by Scot Wilcox of OwnMade AudioBooks, and discussed previously. I just enjoy hearing his interpretation.

Anyway, at the end of chapter five, as the first team of researchers is about halfway to Titan to investigate the alien artifact which has been discovered there, the protagonist has an odd dream which is described in some detail. In the dream Jon (the protagonist) crosses a bridge, and there’s lots of symbolism which is important for how the rest of the book unfolds. For this reason, I worked fairly hard to get the description just right. Scot’s reading of the passage is great, and really brought that scene to life for me.

Which is fairly easy, because it is based on a real scene - a real bridge: this bridge on the campus of the University of Iowa, which I crossed often while in graduate school at the Iowa Center for the Book. And the fun thing about that bridge - which I used for my own purposes in the description in the novel - is that because of the way it is built, it has a kind of spring to it as you walk across.

I enjoy knowing from whence artists and authors draw their inspiration and imagery, and thought I would share this on the off chance that someone else might be curious . (If anyone has better images of the bridge, feel free to post them/a link in comments - those were the best I could find with a quick search, but they are very dated.)

Jim Downey

I have been *really* enjoying the audio version of Communion of Dreams, which I discussed in my last post. And I think you will too, once we work out some additional logistical things on the hosting end (the files are very large, relative to the .pdf files of the text, and necessitate increasing my bandwidth allotment significantly.) With a little luck, we should have that ready to go by this weekend. My friend’s interpretation of the characters is quite interesting - some of them have caught me a bit by surprise, though I cannot object in the slightest to his artistic decisions. And he is very good, really getting into the pacing and mood of the story the further he goes.

In fact, listening to the book, and the need to catch up on book conservation work from the long break last week through this weekend, is responsible for my not posting anything yesterday. And that’s OK, since I would have been tempted to do what just about every other SF blogger on the planet seems to have done: write a tribute to Arthur C. Clarke.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Beyond being one of the best Science Fiction writers of the 20th century, Sir Arthur had an impact on the larger society, changing not only how we see space, but how we actually use it. It is completely understandable that everyone wants to write about him, and how his writing changed their lives (and writing). I did so in some discussion forums. And I have written about him here, and noted on my CoD site just what his influence has been on me as a writer.

But after I heard of his death all I really wanted to do was sit back and enjoy his vast vision. Tuesday night I popped open a beer, popped 2001 into the DVD player, and paid homage to the narrator of Tales from the White Hart.

Then yesterday, as I worked in my bindery, listening to my own story of humanity’s first encounter with an alien artifact, I thought about Clarke. A lot. And in thinking of him, and all that he accomplished, there was a danger, a tendency: to despair, to feel unworthy, to judge my own writing by his measure. Because I fall short, no matter how you look at it.

But that’s not what it’s all about. We all fall short of the best, at least in some areas. That does not negate the good work we do. Even Arthur C. Clarke had his failings. That does not change the fact that the world now is a poorer place for his absence.

Farewell, my old friend and mentor, though we never met.

Jim Downey

A good friend - the one who actually got me started in book conservation (and has written a brilliant book on her time in the UICB program) - was by to visit for the first time in a long while. No discredit to her, we were just unable to have guests for the last year or two of caring for Martha Sr.

Anyway, last night, over a glass of wine and chatting, she handed over a wrapped package. “Your Christmas gift.”

(We’ve always been close enough friends that such things can be done whenever the timing works out, rather than obsessing over calendar pages.)

I unwrapped it. A small CD/DVD travel case. I unzipped it - and saw the first disc labeled “Communion of Dreams by James T. Downey.”

I was stunned. Gobsmacked, the Brits say.

My friend’s husband (also my friend - I’ve known them since they were first married) does custom audio books. He’d read Communion of Dreams last year, and really liked it. And together they conspired to produce the book as an unabridged audio production. 12 CDs worth.

I’m not sure yet just how long that is - I’m guessing about 20 hours. I just listened to the first chapter last night - and it was brilliant! A wonderful adaptation of the text, with some fun interpretations of the characters. Over the next few days I’ll get nothing much else done, I’m guessing, as I listen to the thing. Wow.

And here’s the best part: I have permission to use the MP3 versions that also came along with the gift as podcasts!

My good lady wife is starting to do the work of adapting my CoD site to host the MP3 files, and once we have all the details worked out, those will be available as a free download as well.

This is really cool - and really exciting! Just this past weekend downloads of the text of the book surpassed 7,750. I was just starting to think of contacting agents/publishers again - now having the podcasts of the book available will really help to promote the thing and make it easier to arrange conventional publishing.

Very, very cool!

Jim Downey

Sorry things have been a bit sparse. Monday and Tuesday I was busy wrapping up some conservation work for MU Special Collections’ Adopt-A-Book program (and you can see some of my work results on the ‘adopted’ page). I delivered those Tuesday afternoon, then went and bought a generator.

A generator? Yup. And a chronograph, lots of sandwich items, a couple of sawhorses, some plastic drop cloths, some more bore snakes, and various and sundry items. Because today we’re starting the ballistics testing I have mentioned before. The last several days have been very busy with running around and getting some of the various items we needed, and then yesterday me and my two buddies with whom I am doing this test went out to the site and started setting things up. Everything is coming together very nicely, and it is pretty exciting to finally be starting this project we first conceived of over a year ago.

This morning we have a lot more stuff to load up and lug out to the testing site (private land about 20 minutes south of here). With a little luck, the forecast rain will hold off long enough for us to get set up and settled in (we’re working out of a large cabin tent, which should deal with the weather adequately so long as we’re not facing a deluge). Once we’re set, rain shouldn’t matter.

So, busy here. I’ll try and post a bit each morning before going out to do the day’s testing (we’re doing tests through Saturday), but I won’t have a lot of time to do any real research or extensive contemplation. Not that my usual posts would necessarily make you think I did this anyway, but there you are.

So, later. Whenever.

Jim Downey

Seems a bit ridiculous for someone 6′2″ and pushing 250 pounds to be “feeling small”, but that’s about the best characterization of my emotional state today. Bit of a headache, some intestinal issues - not ’sick’ exactly, but just under the weather.

And what weather. What was mostly sunny and near 70 yesterday and Saturday is cold, grey, wet and very unpleasant today. 35 for the high, sleet/freezing rain this afternoon and snow scheduled for tonight and tomorrow. The kind of day that makes the cats curl up on the radiators and refuse to budge.

Both my good lady wife and I are feeling this. I think it is just part of the natural let-down, the ebb & flow of recovery from being care providers for so long, of grieving. I cross posted this diary (with some additional explanatory material) to Daily Kos yesterday, and it generated some really good discussion. But I think it left me feeling a bit wrung-out. For the longest time I have been able to attribute any mild depression or exhaustion to the stress and demands of care-giving, but the fact remains that I do have a mild bipolar condition. I suspect that for a while things are just going to oscillate before reaching some kind of equilibrium once again.

So, take it a bit easy today. Maybe go watch Blade Runner or something this morning, then see if I can accomplish some more conservation work this afternoon. One step at a time.

Jim Downey

Last night, my wife washed off the blackboard which hangs in the kitchen.

* * * * * * *

I just got back from a quick trip to KC to pick up the first large load of books from the seminary. Simple. Got up this morning, usual routine, jumped in the car and drove to KC. Met with the client. Selected about 60 volumes to start with, wrapped them in cling film, boxed ‘em up. Put the boxes in the car, drove home, pausing to check out a new store just off the highway - and amazing myself that I didn’t have to call home to coordinate the slight delay.

* * * * * * *

I sent this note to a friend:

Mostly I’ve been getting work done, at least in the afternoons. Feels good to be able to focus in and do it - a nice affirmation, and there is that joy that comes with doing something well which most people can’t do. Still struggling to shake off the last effects of the flu, which is annoying, but there is clear progress.

And that has been the real change this week. Each afternoon I’ve been able to just dive in and work. For hours. Very productively. Such a change.

* * * * * * *

It’s the little things. Yes, there are the larger changes: more sleep, no need to go around always listening to a monitor, being able to come and go as I please. Those I expected, even if they have taken some adjustment. But it’s the little things that catch you unprepared.

Last night, my wife washed off the blackboard which hangs in the kitchen.

The blackboard which for years had our contact phone numbers on it. Those were first put there by Martha Sr. years ago, when her memory was becoming undependable and she might need to call someone for help. Then they remained even once we moved in here, since both my wife and I still had our jobs elsewhere during the day. After I closed my gallery and moved home that was no longer the need, but by then they were an institution. More recently, long after Martha Sr had stopped using the phone, the numbers were there as a quick resource for the various respite care workers and whatnot, in the event of an emergency.

Last night, my wife washed it clean. It was time to move on.

* * * * * * *

Jim Downey

Last night we settled down with some dinner to watch a bit of Firefly, settling on Serenity (the episode, not the movie). At one point fairly early on, when plans have gone south at several junctures, the captain of the ship (Mal) is considering options, trying to make the best of a not-great situation. There’s this little bit of dialog:

MAL: We don’t get paid for this, we won’t have enough money to fuel the ship,
let alone keep her in repair. She’ll be dead in the water anyhow.
(Mal turns to the others)
We just gotta keep our heads down and do the job. Pray there ain’t no more surprises.

I looked at my wife, and we just nodded to one another.

* * * * * * *

We did a hard thing. And we did it well.

Caring for my MIL for years somewhat warped my perspective. First and foremost in our consideration was always what her needs were and how best to meet them. I’ve often talked about what that meant in terms of rewards and sacrifices, and I don’t intend to rehash that now.

But a couple of things have changed with her passing. First off, is the odd sense of disorientation. I’ve compared it in discussion with friends with almost having a sense of agoraphobia - a nervousness when out in the world I’ve never felt before. It’s really just a conditioned reflex, and will fade as I adjust to the lack of need to always being worried about Martha Sr.

Another thing which has changed is the need to return to something resembling a ‘normal’ life, with the usual requirements of work. I don’t mind work, never have. My life has never been easy (though it certainly could have been harder), and I’ve never expected it to be otherwise.

But sometimes you wonder if maybe it couldn’t be just a little bit easier.

Caring for Martha Sr those last weeks was more demanding, and lasted longer than anyone expected. Getting hit with the flu so hard following seemed a bit gratuitous, in the sense of the universe having fun at our expense. Both my wife and I are behind on our work, and while our clients understand, that doesn’t help the cash flow situation. I knew these days would come, and things would be a little rough for a while until we got settled again. But we’ll manage.

* * * * * * *

We did a hard thing, and we did it well.

What has come of a bit of surprise has been how some people have responded to that. There’s been some discord in the family about the disposition of Martha Sr’s possessions, borne mostly out of a misguided sense of guilt, from what I can tell. It’s really unfortunate, but everyone has their own way of reacting to death. If we’re lucky, with time the matter will sort itself out with a minimal amount of damage.

I’ve also seen others in different forums who have almost felt like they had to defend their own decisions regarding a loved one who has Alzheimer’s or some other debilitating illness leading to hospice care. I’ve witnessed those who almost seem resentful that we did what we did, because it somehow implies that they did less - that they cared less.

No. We were able to make this work out. Barely. Everyone has a different situation, and each family, each person, must come to their own conclusions, their own solutions. None is better or worse than another. Because my wife and I don’t have kids, we didn’t have to juggle that aspect of life at the same time. Because we live here in the same town as Martha Sr, and have professions which allow a considerable flexibility in terms of work hours, we were better able to adapt to providing care at home than most. Our solution worked for our situation - barely. Those final months were very demanding, and I will admit that I was pushed further than I would have thought was possible, and failed and succeeded in ways I never expected.

I will not judge another - this experience has taught me humility.

Jim Downey