Somewhere Over The Rainbow

"Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me..."

"Well... if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with! Is that right?"


Buckaroo Bonzai:"Wherever you go, there you are."

Well, it's been three weeks since my last post. We finally entered a more typical summer weather pattern here in the U.P. which meant that the dreadful heat finally went away taking the humidity with it. Today, however, is about as miserable as it's been all summer. It started up again yesterday and will quit, hopefully, in just another day or so. I simply loathe hot weather and it contributes heavily to my state of mind.

A number of readers/friends commented on my last post to see if I was "ok." The warmth and friendship were greatly appreciated, even when there appeared to be a genuine lack of understanding of depression. I am happy to report that the cloud is lifting a bit.

This, despite the fact that my employer has once again stripped us of yet another benefit that made putting up with no raises tolerable. Which in turn lead to another evening of checking out property listings in Fairbanks, Alaska, and the job board at Banner Health who operate the hospital up there.

In the end, the facts brought me down to earth. This is not the time to be trying to sell a house - even if it is a lovely log cabin in the woods. My present state of health prevents me from working as a nurse in most situations (my hands are far from functional). I would be sacrificing my local friendships and contacts to start over in a place where I know no one at a time when I am clearly not in the mood to be social. Most of what I would be looking for in a new home I already have in this home. Finally, wherever you go, there you are.

That last bit is the kicker. If I have learned anything in my 47 years it would have to be that drifting into grass-is-always-greener thinking is a delusion. My friend Maria strongly asserted that she thinks I still have a few great leaps in me yet (see previous post and comments). Perhaps she's right, but I am thinking those leaps will have to be more internal leaps right here where I am.

Anyway, signs that I am feeling better. Despite all the usual reservations I create before a gathering, I drove 50 miles yesterday to Tom and Dave's "camp" and had a lovely visit with friends I don't see very often. A number of those sweet people gave me an extra hug or hand squeeze to let me know how I am valued. Tom in particular made a point to tell me that it's always wonderful when I show given how often I tend to hermit instead (I paraphrase, of course).

There was a young man there who stirred a bit of interest--got me thinking. I may never take it further or pursue it - the point is that taking notice is an indicator that I'm pulling out of the nose dive.

I continue to have problems with my hands. The burning aches and stiffness in my joints continues to plague me. The doctors still don't seem to really know what is going on. Yet I had a good appointment today with a neurologist who has some ideas and is starting me on a new medication. This, of course, will be $40.00 more dollars a month out of my pocket since we have no real drug coverage in any traditional sense at work. However, if I do follow through and cancel my wireless service with Verizon I will be saving $60 a month and so will still come out ahead. Of course, the pills may not make any difference either and won't end up an expense.

And yet I received a telephone call from a woman from the Diocese who, though not a regular blog reader, read my last post and wanted to check in with me. She shared some good information about her congregation and I may finally take her up on the invite to join them for church. Despite enjoying my Sunday mornings in bed, I think reconnecting with my faith and celebrating the Eucharist would be a good thing right about now. I think I miss it more than I let myself realize.

Lastly, and this is a bit odd, but I watched the final episode of Winds of War last night. I got weepy (as I usually do) during the Pearl Harbor attack sequence. I don't quite understand why visual representations of December 7, 1941, affect me that way, but they do. It must be the sailor in me after all these years. In any case, experiencing the emotion in that way was also an indicator that the depression is lessening a bit. I was moved. Three weeks ago I was numb.

Me. Me. Me. I really hate the personal quality of all this. In the past I have tried to flip my personal experiences into something more universal so that other folks may be able to take something away from them. I loathe the quality exemplified by Bette Midler's character in Beaches: "Enough of me talking about myself, what do YOU think of me?"

Given the state of my hands and that typing tends to aggravate the condition, I won't say how often I will post here. Thank you for staying with me though.

As Robert DeNiro as Harry Tuttle in Brazil said, "Listen, kid, we're all in it together." Peace.

One Reason I Have My Animals...

For those of you who have checked in over the past few weeks, you will have no doubt wondered why there has been nothing forthcoming. To put it simply, I've been in a funk. In fact, I continue to be in a funk. Of course, as someone who has been on an anti-depressant medication for a number of years now, my funks are a tad more serious than just feeling blue.

I had my six month check in with my doctor. We did not feel the need to adjust my medication and he is content with seeing me again in six months. Our understanding is that I will contact him if things get particularly bleak.

The following is a bit of a post that I put up at a private blog: "I wish I knew why, but I have been slowly sinking into something much worse than a black pit of despair - it is more like a black hole of nothingness - where layer upon layer of my life loses its value and meaning for me. The result being the strongest desire yet to just simply vanish - evaporate - fade into the ether. I lay in bed with the dogs yesterday for hours. The dogs are the last layer."

I've never been one to have grand ambitions. In school, my abilities carried me along with little or no work needed. I bounced from one thing to the next continually landing on my feet. I joined the Navy to get myself out in the world. I applied for a scholarship while in the Navy and got out of my enlistment. Junior year my sexuality got me out of my Naval commitment. I moved to Florida to get myself out of a dead end job. I entered nursing school to get out of poor employment. I got out of Chicago to get out of my broken heart. I got out of Marquette and into the woods to get out of town...

My whole adult life has been a series of shrewd choices to escape something else. I was always moving away from something rather than moving towards something. Granted there were accidental benefits. Via the Navy and my scholarship, I was able to attend Northwestern University. Nursing is a rather solid if deteriorating career. (there's a reason that so many nurses continue to leave the field and it is tied closely to the unraveling of health care) I live in a beautiful log home in the woods.

Along the way I was able to count on the support of my parents, who put me up twice in the midst of all that chaos.

However, now at mid life I feel as though I've made this long journey to a destination that is empty and void. It's a bit like the ending of The Graduate...or for that matter like the apparently "happy ending" of most movies. The action has ended and now what?

Perhaps this is a continuation of my own personal "mid life crisis" to the strains of Miss Peggy Lee singing "Is That All There Is?" (of course, without the boozing and dancing)

My youngest brother who is attempting to craft the perfect life would scornfully snort and tell me to "stop being a drama queen and get over it." If it were only that simple, eh? I can look back at the root cause of so much of my brokenness and play what if? games with myself. However, those games are dangerous and they lead to a denial of key aspects of who I am.

What is one to do then? Climb in bed with the dogs and sleep.

The dogs really are what have kept me going over the past few years. Folks that feared I was becoming an animal hoarder...little did they realize. They provide me with a family to care for that does not have all the complications and needs that a human family would require - complications and needs that I don't think I would be able to manage emotionally. They provide unconditional canine love and respect. The canine qualifier is very important.

They are not little four legged human substitutes; rather I am a big two legged Alpha substitute. By keeping the canine in our relationship, I am reminded to live as the dogs live -- in the moment. All of this emotional baggage that weighs me down is not a part of their lives. Lola doesn't have what if moments over her bum leg - she just runs as fast and as hard as she can and every week she makes progress in her recovery. Thirteen year old Frankie just keeps plugging along without thoughts about getting old.

I tend to write mainly about the dogs, but the cats are working their way into all of this as well.

I had hoped this post would work it's way around into something useful for folks, but I fear it is just my own personal stuff.

Peace.

Calgon, Take Me Away...

Many people do not care for the movies of David Lynch. What makes a movie "good," after all? Consider all the elements: the cast, the story, the cinematography, the sound track, the art direction, the costuming... What kind of movies do you enjoy?

I myself am partial to costume dramas - Sense and Sensibility, Indocine, Dr. Zhivago...take me away to a different time period, preferably the 19th century. For me then, art direction and costuming are rather important.

David Lynch's movies are often obtuse. One wonders what the bloody hell is going on anyway? I would argue that it is because he is most concerned with creating a mileau--setting and emotional response is primary. His art direction borrows heavily from noir. His stories, however, are surreal and nightmarish when they make sense at all.

I appreciate his movies because it is how I tend to create my living space. I have a very cinematic approach to my environmental aesthetics--when I can control my environment.

For example, I recently visited my good friend, Lisa, in Minnesota. When it came time to leave, I decided I wanted to have an adventure on my way home and take a completely different route back to the Upper Peninsula. I drove most of the way home on two lane highway through rural Minnesota, Wisconsin & Michigan. The day was beautiful, the scenery was beautiful. I found this awesome radio station in northern Wisconsin playing big band/swing. I stopped at a diner for brunch and visited with some locals just chewing the fat. I could almost imagine that I had gone back in time about 50-60 years.

My favorite moments at home are when the combination of weather and music, in combination with my log home, artwork, books, and animals creates a particular mood and ambiance. More often than not those are the moments when I truly miss not having someone there to share the scene and experience the full effect.

It may be a snowy winter day with Shostakovitch's string quartets playing and a fire in the wood stove and flannel pj's and mom's knitted throws wrapped around my shoulders. Perhaps it's a rainy day in October with that intense autumnal greyness contrasted by the bright orange and yellow maples; I have Dexter Gordan on the stereo blowing mellow sax-Darn That Dream or some such jazz standard.

These times when they happen are dream like - they speak to my inner Blanche DuBois - who tries to create magic with a paper oriental lamp shade amidst the squalor. Yet they are also very much a part of my reality.

Marilyn Monroe had a mentally unstable mother who died in an institution. She was often very worried about her own mental health. She often questioned her perceptions of her reality. In one of the many fictionalized versions of her life, the writer had her talking about remembering her dreams and sometimes not being able to differentiate between when she dreamt something and when she actually experienced it. The confusion frightened her as apparent evidence of her own mental instability.

I often remember my dreams vividly, often experiencing the emotional state of the dream well into the morning after. I also have very strong memories of situations across the many years of my life. We joke about my intense memory in my family. In my mind I can often see and replay moments from 20-30 years ago. It is as if a have a photographic memory for place and scene.

Perhaps it is because I remember my life as a collection of tableaux that I am so captivated by creating emotional space to spend a few hours within. Of course, it is particularly because I live alone that I am able to do this. My animals are most cooperative and happy to play along with my moments of fantasy. Children and spouses I imagine are much more reluctant to play the game. I'm thinking of Diane Weist in Bullets Over Broadway - "Don't speak!"

You'll have to excuse me now. I feel the need to pull out a movie or turn on the stereo and drift pleasantly away from July 2010 for awhile. Peace.

My Favorite Anthem...

For Erika...

"You know, as a 21 year old gay person that's very active in the church, watching this video, all I can say is that from my perspective, its just... ick... gross and disturbing, I guess would be the most accurate words to describe it. I mean, It makes it seem as though the only way I'd like something, being gay, is if a gross stereotype of myself were to tell me it likes me. In my opinion, you might as well have had the episcopal church go to a black rights parade with a black man dressed up in overalls, a straw hat, bare feet, and carrying a bucket of chicken and a slice of watermelon saying, "Thems Episcopals church shaw dooos luvs us!!" Would that make the average black person want to go? Perhaps it's a generational thing. When I came out, I had the support of my family, my friends, and my church, which is of course, this one, and I'm very thankful for that. Yet, because I was never really berated once in my life for being gay, I never got into the whole, "Gay Pride" movement. Honestly, i've never been to one, yet from what I've seen, they serve no purpose to further gay rights. If anything they hinder them. Coming from a small conservative southern town, and going to a rather conservative college, I can tell you that I've changed more hearts and minds on the subject of homosexuality and Christianity just by being myself, and not changing who I am once I came out. That in itself was a great witness it turned out, as everyones opinions of gay people here, even the ones who were questioning there own sexuality, were that gay people had to have a lisp, love gucci, and wear neon green short-shorts and hot pink tank tops with glitter. I can tell you that at the church I go to now, which is part of the episcopal church yet divided on the issue of homosexuality, that is exactly the type of picture the people who are against homosexuality think of when they think of it. They know no other than what they've been shown, and that's what they've been shown. Those are the people we need to change. I can tell you right now, from great experience and knowing the culture quite well, there is an old conservative southern episcopalian women in her house right now. Shes probably gone to the same church for 70 something years. She's vaguely confused at all the changes in her church thats sort of just swept around her without her really understanding them, but she goes anyways. Shes heard about the some people leaving the church about the gays, and about how some bishop in new hampshire is one, but it doesn't really effect her, so its just rumors she hears at ECW meetings. Somehow, just the way life works, she will see this video. Every single opinion shes ever had of the gays, will be confirmed. All the rumors shes heard about the church, however untrue they might be, must be true. From being slightly opposed simply because her friends are, she is now vehemently against the gays, seeing what they are really like, and in the church, no less! Disgusted at how her church has somehow turned into the video she saw, she'll stop going to that church. (Trust me, people I know have stopped going for less.) She'll move down the street to First Baptist, or perhaps Mt. Carmel Tabernacle. Later, lets say 2-3 years down the road, her grandson tells her that hes gay, but it's ok, because he still the same person he was, and hes still a Christian. She'll remember the video, look at her grandson, and then think of the man in a dress and wig swinging a thurible. How do you think she'll respond?"

COMMENT: The above comment appeared at a post on Episcopal Cafe in response to a video showing Diocese of New York participation in the 40th Annual Pride Parade. Although I read this comment after my post below - it certainly helps expand what I was trying to say.

Same Versus Equal

"We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal..."

I am the oldest of four kids. When I was growing up, my mom was extremely concerned about being fair. She was determined to treat her kids equally, and so a box of cookies was parceled out accordingly to ensure we each received the same number of cookies. To this day we have a family joke that when ever something happens with my one brother, we chalk it up to the fact that he "didn't get to have braces like the other kids." My mom wanted to be sure she treated us equally, but she didn't treat us as if we were the same.

I've been thinking lately how in our culture we have really started to confuse the two concepts. In the aim of wanting to establish equality we often tend to push sameness.

Perhaps one of the touchiest areas concerns gender. Do individuals deserve to be treated equally regardless of whether they are male or female? Absolutely. Does that mean that men and women are the same - not at all. I believe there are inherently different qualities that differentiate between masculine and feminine and that the tendency biologically is that we find a larger share of the feminine in biologically female humans and a larger share of the masculine in biologically male.

If you see, I am laying the groundwork for some over lap and variation. I myself am a gay man who enjoyed dress up and playing with dolls as a kid. It was what I was drawn to do. I was fortunate that my parents didn't challenge me and try and force me into more appropriate play. I, therefore, have a larger than usual portion of feminine in my biologically male body.

From a distance I have watched as my niece and nephew grow. My nephew has developed a strong love of trains and trucks. My niece loves pink girly stuff and dolls and baby buggies. In the past I would have argued that such behavior is strictly socialized. However, my brother and his wife have treated their kids like my mom treated me. They let the kids follow their own desires in play.

So what does this mean in terms of the fight for equality for women? This is where the same vs. equal confusion arises. We should continue to work towards providing equal opportunity, but we should back away from arguments of sameness.

Business, politics, science...those arenas are dependent on intellectual strengths. Diversity of opinion and thought is important. There should be a healthy balance in filling these positions between the genders. Differences between men and women do not come into play.

Firefighters, combat soldiers, construction workers...these jobs also have physical demands placed upon them and it is right and proper that only individuals who can meet the criteria be allowed to serve in those roles. Does that mean that women should be banned from these jobs? No. However, given the physical differences between men and women generally, we have to accept that a larger portion of men will qualify then women. We should not look at a fire department that consists of 60 men and 8 women as being inherently unfair and discriminatory.

Same vs. equal.

When I came of age, being gay was no where near as accepted as it is today. We were a decided sub-culture living in the demimonde. Thirty or forty years ago there was a much stronger view in the sub-culture that we were experimenting with new ways of living - we were demanding equality, but we were not arguing that we were the same. The free love lifestyle that is often recast as a gay lifestyle by our detractors was anything but respectable.

The AIDS epidemic came along, however, and changed the arrangements.

Today many cities are celebrating 40 years of Pride with parades around the country. Folks are arguing about legalization of gay marriage. The whole dynamic has shifted to a primary focus on "We demand equality because we are just the same." I can't help thinking that by confusing sameness with equality, we are losing something.

Finally, I would like to talk about immigration, heritage, nationality. What is occurring in Arizona is ugly. The laws being put forth in the name of stemming out of control illegal border crossings are simply racist at worst and politically opportunistic at best.

This country has traditionally demanded of its immigrants that if they want equality they must make themselves the same. For the Irish and the Italians and the Poles and the Germans this was simply a question of a name change and the passing of a generation or two in the family before the language of the old country was lost - along with the traditions and history. For our Asian, Hispanic, Native, or African citizens though achieving sameness is physically impossible.

Culturally we now challenge the melting pot assumption and fight for equality without sameness. The backlash ends up looking like Arizona legislation. English only laws. Racial profiling. The emphasis of Christianity (alright and Judaism) against Islam.

We hold these truths to be self evident, that all humanity is created equal...and different. Get over it.

How Do We Know...

Florence Nightingale is known the world round as a founder of the modern concept of nursing. What is less known is that from 1857 on she essentially took to her bed and stayed there. There are many theories and speculations about why she did this. It is merely a spring board for my post tonight.

I have had a very strange day. Once again I have effectively taken to my bed for the bulk of the day and only now in the evening am I feeling sufficiently rested to tackle some chores and blog. At least three different times during the day I felt so exhausted I simply curled up in bed and fell back asleep with the dogs.

At first glance one might simply assume that this is depression. I know depression and I don't believe that is the case. Lately it seems I simply cannot get enough rest. However, my lack of a firm diagnosis along with cultural norms regarding sloth and laziness tend to make me a bit hard on myself. I tend to question what is occurring instead of simply listening to my body and being satisfied.

My arthritic condition, I should just start calling it my "rheumatism," is aggravating and the likely culprit for my lack of energy. Rest and sleep would be therapeutic then, so why do I feel so guilty and out of sorts?

It is so hard to recognize what it is we need in this world and then harder still to allow ourselves to have what we need. We are constantly told what we are supposed to be and what we are supposed to do and how we are supposed to do it. I am surrounded by a number of individuals who seem incapable of just sitting and being still. They never seem to stop moving. One of them uses the term "lazy" for every moment that she does manage to sit and just relax.

Next to them I am a downright slothful libertine. I just don't see the point in all that busy-ness. It seems like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Better to simply our lives and just be. If that means sleeping when one feels sleepy or letting the dirty dishes pile up, so be it.

Simple Gifts

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

I almost started this post out as "Little Gifts," but then this tune entered my consciousness. Following the lead of the Spirit, I changed gears and here you have the end result.

Today has not been the greatest of days. For all the myriad reasons we find ourselves having just a mediocre day, the reasons matter not. Suffice to say I've been in a blah kind of mood.

Georgie and Mary are coming round tomorrow to help me rescreen my porch. I loathe flying bloodsucking insects, and, with all the holes currently in the screening, I have not been able to sit in my hammock chair and enjoy the woods.

This necessitated a trip to Lowe's to purchase materials. I loaded up one of those fancy two tiered carts with what we will need and proceeded through the check out. When she rung up one of the items the price caught me by surprise. It was twice what I had thought it would be. Truth be told, I hadn't paid much attention as I put the roll into the cart. All the choices and tags--I find it a bit overwhelming.

I paid my bill and pushed the cart out to the car. As I unloaded I saw the three smaller items lying there at the bottom of the cart. $3.98 each - $12.00 unaccounted for. I knew right away that she had neglected to charge me for them. With only the briefest pause, I knew what I had to do. I finished unloading the car and then pushed the cart back into the store.

I went to the registers, but the cashier was gone. A guy who was probably the front end manager came up and I explained to him what had happened. My simple gift was in that interaction. Sadly they were truly surprised that I had come back in to pay.

"Most people would have just kept on going." I told them that if we give up our honesty what do we have left -- not much.

As I drove away, I felt my foggy mood lifting. The Holy Spirit had found a way for me to cut through the groggy layers and see what kind of person I am.

When Jesus talks of not being of this world, the tendency is to think physical world - that he is of the spiritual plane over the physical. I read this article many years ago in which the author explained that the Greek word translated as "world" might better be translated as "world system." Jesus chooses not to live according to the world system.

It's a dog eat dog world. We are encouraged to get the other guy before they get us. We are reminded to grab our share at every opportunity. Fight to get ahead. I try to be like Jesus and not be of this world system. Peace.

Perfection-ISM

ISM's...they're a complicated lot. They often seem to be linked to some extreme ways of thinking--racISM, sexISM, nationalISM, CommunISM, capitalISM, fundamentalISM, atheISM... What is it with ISM's anyway? They seem to often end up as dogmatISM.

Interestingly ISM's seem to usually be linked to a belief system. Although one may not agree with a particular belief system, at least those ISM's make a bit of sense. Believe in the superiority of your race? racism Believe in the literal truth of the Bible? fundamentalism

However, perfectionism is exceedingly problematic. What is it anyway? A belief in perfection? Better to say a belief that one can achieve perfection. Where does that come from anyway?

ISM's seem to spring from fear...fear of another race, fear of powerful women, fear of other countries...so what are perfectionists afraid of?

In the 1950's our culture via the new medium of television presented America with images of families - Ozzie and Harriet, Father Knows Best, Leave It To Beaver. These families were held up as the role models against which we measured our own families and everyone pretended that their families were as perfect as these television families. The end result was a significant feeling of alienation - what's wrong with me? Why am I not normal?

Thankfully the 1960's came along and television evolved and society began to speak to truth more openly. What a relief! It turned out that nobody's family was like those sterile black and white perfectly starched only one dry martini families. Unfortunately though it hasn't stopped some from still trying to achieve perfection.

Thankfully perfection doesn't exist. One can do his darnedest to control all aspects of his life in the false belief that one can have the perfect marriage, the perfect home, the perfect job, the perfect family. It is a false belief because that perfect marriage must involve a spouse, that perfect home must involve neighors, that perfect job - co-workers, bosses, and employees, the perfect family - children, parents, siblings. And darned if all those extra folks just won't cooperate! This can lead hopefully to an epiphany and a relinquishing of the need for control and perfection or it can lead sadly to pain and heartache.

The Serenity Prayer teaches us to ask for the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the strength to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. I keep it on my refrigerator as a reminder. Most of what we encounter in life falls under the first statement - accepting the multitude of things we cannot change.

If one thinks about water in the stories of the Bible - which stories come to mind? I think of the breathe of God blowing over the deep in creation, Noah and the flood, Moses parting the Red Sea, Jesus's baptism, or the storm that Jesus calms. There aren't many stories of still water. God is in the turbulent water--that's when the important things happen.

God is in the turbulent water - God is in the chaos. Perfection is sterile. Perfection is dead. Perfection is devoid of color or emotion or life. Why would we seek perfection? Be not afraid - dive in and enjoy the turbulence. Peace.

BP: The Sorcerer's Apprentice

My thoughts are a bit all over the place today, so please bear with me. While checking in on Facebook, I learned that BP has admitted to purchasing key search terms on Yahoo and Google in an attempt to control the spin on this disaster. My comment attached as a shared the item in order to pass it along was, "Like oil the evil begins to float to the surface."

I followed a "Boycott BP" thread yesterday that ended in comments. There were folks who were actually defending BP, saying they're paying the price for this as well in the cost of all that lost oil and the lost rig, etc. I wonder how folks can be so clueless.

Others have posted philosophical pieces that remind us to search ourselves before we point fingers at BP--the idea being that our huge consumption needs have created BP and are therefore somehow responsible for this spill as well.

However, while all the philosophizing, all the finger pointing, all the analysis continues so does the gusher. Gallon upon gallon, barrel upon barrel, in numbers that are beginning to be too large to adequately comprehend, this spill, this meltdown, this monstrous leak is spreading death to the Gulf of Mexico. I came across the widget that is now placed at the top of this blog. It will remain there while the gusher continues.

Here in the Upper Peninsula folks have been fighting what I believe to be a futile battle to keep Kennincott from building a sulfide nickel mine. The company has put forth all kinds of assurances how this will not destroy the Yellow Dog River watershed. Pictures from other sulfide mines tell a different story.

Here too there are those that support and defend the mine in the name of job creation. They blind themselves to the short term job gains - this mine is not expected to produce for decades, but rather is having its estimates measured in years only. As such, I can't help thinking that this is a gross form of prostitution.

Why should we be against prostitution after all? Shouldn't we defend it in the name of jobs creation? Will we allow anything so long as we can justify some slim economic gain?

I suppose this brings me back to Deepwater Horizon/BP. In the months prior to this catastrophe, President Obama had begun a call to expand off shore drilling. No surprise that he has quieted down about that for now. Scattered over the internet are numerous calls to end off shore drilling, using this incident as proof that this practice must be stopped.

I am decidedly pro-environment. However, when I consider the situation honestly. The problem in the Gulf is not "off shore drilling." The problem was/is lax regulation. The problem continues to be inadequate means for holding corporations responsible for clean up.

Here in the Upper Peninsula - the actual surface disruption to be caused by the sulfide mine is very minor. The presence of the mine itself is not the problem. The problem is potential contamination. We fear the destruction of an ecosystem by contamination and we fear that the company will be long gone leaving us to foot the bill.

British Petroleum (we will continue to learn) cut corners to increase profits. They were able to do this because of incredibly weak government regulation. They were able to justify the risks because the current legislation regarding financial responsibility for clean up is so inadequate.

I am reminded of an urban legend I was told about speed limits and enforcement in the state of Montana. At the time of the federal mandate to implement a 55 m.p.h. speed limit or lose highway funding, Montana lowered the bar on their fines...down to $5. Apparently folks would simply keep a stack of $5's on the dash so they could pay their fine for speeding and be back on their way. In other words, the fine was inadequate to incite the correct behavior. Speeding continued so that folks could drive as fast as they wanted.

We have no idea of the long term ramifications of this disaster. It is not a stretch to say that BP's response will be inadequate. Whatever settlement they reach, we will be paying for the clean up and there will continue to be inadequate funding for education, for health care, for the aged, for the poor. The wars for oil will continue - no one talks about how Iraq is really about the oil any more - in fact, we hardly talk about Iraq anymore at all. Lest you forget, Afghanistan is to be home to an important natural gas pipeline so we have access to the massive natural gas reserves in Turkmenistan.

Finaly, our consumption will not abate one drop. The calls are to boycott BP as punishment. The best boycott would be to park our cars and stop buying the gasoline completely. The best boycott would be to not purchase airline tickets. The best boycott would be to stop the massive consumption of plastic waste. Sadly that will not happen.

What Mafia Wars Has Taught Me...

Jack AKA Doorman Priest likes to rib me about playing these Facebook games. He often feels the need to remind me to get a life. I in turn remind him that unlike most other American households, I do not have television. So rather than spending countless hours watching so called "reality" shows, I spend some time every day playing Mafia Wars, FarmVille, and a couple other Facebook games.

What I've realized though is that playing these games has had an impact in my life. At first glance they are simply silly busy-work kind of activities - really just a short level up from playing solitaire. They do have the added feature of interactivity through gifting and assisting on "jobs" etc. However, in reality they really are variations on moving a pile of rocks across the prison yard and then being instructed to move it back.

That said, I have found what I think is an unintended benefit of these games.

We live in a culture of instant gratification - feel uncomfortable, take a pill; feel hungry, drive through garbage; feeling horny, cyber porn. When my mom gets frustrated with the speed of her computer, I remind her of an old Joan Rivers joke..."Elizabeth Taylor is so fat she stands in front of the microwave and yells 'Faster! Faster!'" Instant gratification...you want something, buy it on credit. Out of credit? Here's more credit. We are not encouraged to wait for anything anymore.

Concepts such as "lay away" would be unheard of nowadays for most people.

So what has this to do with Mafia Wars et al.? These games have taught me patience. They have reintroduced the concept of achievement by baby steps. They have showed me the pleasure of working for something over time and then relishing the payoff.

The irony here is that the makers of these games hope to hook you and tap into that instant gratification need and spend real currency to purchase pretend game currency. They probably have a name for players like me - something akin to "deadbeat." By the way, the banks to big to fail now consider credit card holders who always pay of their balances and always on time "deadbeats." That's how broken our capitalist/consumerist economy really is.

Their strategy has not worked on players like me. I think the idea of spending money for pretend money so I can have pretend "good" and extra game points now is patently ridiculous--call it a bridge too far. As a result, the unintended benefit is a rather important life lesson in patience and hard work as I chip away on the various tasks the different games offer their players.

Are they otherwise silly and mindless games? Absolutely. There is much in this life that is frivolous. This frivolity (for me) comes at no real cost. Peace.

What Exactly Are We Memorializing?

Last night I was watching a movie. At the climax the villain is about to get shot by one of the heroes when he reaches behind him and grabs the hero's kid to use as a shield. Keep that image in mind.

I struggle with this holiday - Memorial Day - and Facebook only makes it more difficult for me. Lot's of slogans are bandied about - "Defending Our Freedom" probably tops the list. There are also a lot of images of American flags posted everywhere. The history of how the day got to be a holiday is a bit murky.

Before the end of the Civil War, organizations of Southern (Confederate) women were decorating the graves of the honored dead. It was officially proclaimed in 1868 by the head of the Army and celebrated that year by laying flowers on the graves at Arlington National Cemetery. Individual states began to officially sign on and by 1890 all Northern states were recognizing the day - not, however, the Southern States refused to participate, choosing to honor their war dead on a different day.

It wasn't until after the War To End All Wars (WWI) that the holiday was expanded from a Civil War holiday to honor the military dead of all wars. Good thing that, because the wars have kept on coming.

I fear we are drifting towards American Fascism as our Empire begins to crumble. The National World War II monument was dedicated in 2004. Commentators at the time pointed out the irony of the design---more than anything, we fought that war to stop the spread of fascism and we ended up designing a monument that Hitler himself would have appreciated.


Mind you I am not criticizing the spirit behind this monument only the style which is very much "Grand Empire" style. This is what I fear - that these monuments are shifting away from remembrance to celebrating empire--that they are being coopted, being taken hostage, if you will. I fear that the Memorial Day holiday has also been taken hostage, like the child in the movie. "We celebrate those who have died defending our freedom." Oh, really? I have yet to hear an adequate explanation of how the current wars are protecting our freedom.

The only thing that has jeopardized our freedom since 9/11 has been the "Patriot Act."

How too has the invasion of Panama, the invasion of Grenada, Vietnam, Korea - how have any of those actions defended our freedom? Think about it. I am not discussing whether or not they were justified actions - I am simply questioning that buzz phrase as a justification for war.

"Support the Troops" is another such buzz phrase - used often to shut down criticism of the war. "We can't be critical because we have to support the troops." Our soldiers, sailors, and marines are being held up as hostages to justify wars of empire and commerce. Memorial Day is dangerously close to being just another propaganda tool, and that truly is a dishonor to the men and women who died while serving in the military.

In closing I would like to return to the photo I posted at the beginning of this entry. This is the famous Buna Beach photo. It is the first photo that was allowed to be published that showed our war dead. We have been conditioned by so many subsequent images of our war dead that we no longer understand the power of that first image.

Look closely at the body in the foreground. Those white specks are maggots. This dead G.I., probably from some small town in America, died on a Pacific beach half way around the world from his home. This is the true cost of war and we remember that on Memorial Day. The rest of the year we have an obligation then to ensure that men and women who give up their lives do so in the name of a just cause.

The justice MUST come first--before the blood is spilled. Otherwise the blood is spilled sacrificially to coat an unjust war with false honor. "We will keep fighting so that they will not have died in vain." As before, the fallen dead become hostages.

Today I remember and mourn the many young men and women who have died while serving in the military--the ongoing tragedy of sacrifice not to freedom but to empire. End the wars now and bring our kids home! Peace.

The Only Thing We Have To Fear...

In 1938, Orson Welles' Mercury Theater On The Air broadcast their infamous War of The Worlds Halloween episode that left many, many people scrambling for safety, believing that we were under attack. At the time Hitler was expanding Germany, the fear of war was hovering in the backs of many minds. In it's presentation as live news reporting it was in essence a form of a con job.

Cons work by preying on human emotion and frailty. I see four main categories: those that play on greed, those that play on empathy, those that play on desperation, and those that play on fear. Any number of those e-mails we receive from over seas promising rich rewards if we help them - oh, yeah, and all we have to do is make a small monetary transfer...those fall under the greed category. Empathy? Apparently homeless man with a sign that he hasn't eaten if a few days...I once told a guy that approached me at an ATM that I would be happy to go around the corner and buy him a sandwich...suddenly he wasn't as hungry as he thought he had been. On a grander scale, numerous scams popped up following the earthquake in Haiti, for example.

The cons that prey on desperation anger me the most. In my opinion "Quick Cash" store front loan operations are a legal con that preys on desperation. Others, especially in this period of high unemployment, promise new careers or job opportunities. What is really occurring though is a manipulative attempt at getting folks to part with their dwindling remaining dollars. They are conned into buying the book or audio course or kit that will get them back onto the road to financial security.

Lastly and my topic for today are the cons that play on fear.

I have often touted Michael Moore's Bowling For Columbine as a must see film. When I first watched it I expected a diatribe against guns. I was intrigued to find that his real point is to hammer at our culture of fear. We are constantly kept in a state of fear - it sells products, it rallies political support, it keeps us in our place.

Recently on Facebook a number of my "friends" began passing on a link to a website ReclaimPrivacy.org which claims to scan your Facebook privacy settings for your benefit. I put up a post asking if anyone had validated the claims made to ensure that this was legit. This in turn triggered more fear in those who had followed the instructions blindly without question, as well as a snarky response from one of the individuals pushing the site, "If you're too paranoid to use a tool that checks Facebook, you should be too paranoid to use Facebook in the first place."

Both responses missed my point. I simply was asking if anyone had verified the claims made. Cons work by making all kinds of promises. Cyber cons in particular play on computer fears about privacy or viruses or identity theft. Many worms are downloaded by gullible folks who are responding to ads for FREE (just a bit of the greed factor) software that will scan your system for spyware...oops there goes your hard drive.

On the one hand, most of the "personal" information is freely available...has been freely available for years. There's this thing called a "Phone Book," for example. Furthermore, nearly every action we take that involves electronics is being tracked by someone. Your cell phone calls, your credit card purchases, your library selections, your web surfing, your e-mail (if you use a work account)...all of it.

At some point you need to stop and question whether you are really that interesting that someone would want to know what your likes and interests are and then decide how having that personal knowledge would be used against you.

On the other hand, if you are frequently giving out your social security number and/or credit card number, if you use overly simplistic passwords like 1234 or your name, if you download everything your friends send to you in e-mail, if you don't maintain good and current security software on your computer...maybe you SHOULD be a little bit afraid...but the problem isn't Facebook.

I make the following suggestions to achieve a sense of balance in protecting yourself and/or worrying about your privacy.

1. Eyeball your store receipts when you make a credit card/debit card purchase. Does the slip still include your entire account number? Consider paying cash at any stores that still generate copies of credit receipts that have your full number on them.

2. Stop using multiple credit cards. Combine your accounts to a single card and review your statements.

3. Only purchase on line from reputable stores. If you followed some link to Joe's Cheap Merchandise...remember you get what you pay for.

4. Stop downloading all the cute photos, power point slide shows, video, etc. that are spread by friends via e-mail. The key word here is "downloading." My own rule is if I can't enjoy the e-mail up on the web, it's not worth dragging the unknown file down into my system (even with following rule 5 below).

5. Maintain a good, reliable security software system on your computer. Ensure that it is updated frequently. Once again, you get what you pay for...if you rely on cheap or free downloads, well...good luck and God bless.

6. Avoid giving out your phone number whenever possible. If a website demands your e-mail and your phone, use a fake phone number.

7. Have a set aside e-mail account that you can plug in to the box when a website demands an e-mail address. I only use my main e-mail address from sites that I know for certain I want to receive info from and that have some reassurance that they won't pass it along to spammers.

8. Fight the urge to believe that everything you see or read on the Internet is true because it's on the Internet. This will help you develop a healthy skepticism and proper sense of caution.

I welcome any other ideas or suggestions that folks may offer up in the comments. There is much about Facebook that irritates the hell out of me. However, it remains an amazing tool for connection, enjoyment, and the sharing of information. One simply has to learn how to Play Safe. Peace.

Are We What We Do Or Is It The Other Way Round

The other day a new housekeeper came into our office to clean. She was clearly new to the job and we pointed out what needed to be addressed. As we chatted, she was only too eager to share her story. She bitterly recounted how in the final days of her medical leave she was informed that her job had been eliminated. She had to scramble to find something else, and in desperation took a night shift housekeeping position then switched to the day shift position when it became available. She clearly took the entire affair personally.

Not too many days later, the area where she had previously worked was given the Pulse Award for achievement in making important and vital changes to their area. The hospital where I work was hemorrhaging red ink only a few years ago and the current administration that came in has reversed many decades of weak management and turned things around--not without a price. In this context, it was clear that the housekeeper's eliminated position was part of the restructuring. Although the timing was unfortunate, it was not personal. She described what her responsibilites had been and it clearly was a redundant position.

When I started in home health nine years ago, they had two administrators, a branch manger, three supervisor/managers, and another half dozen support staff positions. They now make due with less than half those numbers. My position was one that was eliminated. I didn't wait for them to push me out; I saw the writing on the wall and moved on.

One can look at any number of arenas and see similar down-sizing occurring. I'm sorry, but I can't bring myself to use the management buzzword "right-sizing." One only need look to our unemployment figures in these dire economic times to understand the vast scope of the problem. Most everyone knows of a friend or family member who has lost their position.

The husband of a good friend lost his management job a few years back within a year or two of qualifying for his pension. He was devastated. However, he chose not to see the writing on the wall - denial can be very powerful. In the year or so of unemployment that followed, he became increasingly morose. I wasn't certain if their marriage would survive.

A key element of the problem lay in his definition of self. He had worked in retail management for close to 30 years. That was his career. Without even considering the lost income and the lost pension and benefits, his sense of self was shattered. My father and my uncle went through similar situations in their fifties as well.

Once he began to climb out of his emotional hole, he struggled to redefine himself and find another career. I gently questioned his need for a career at this stage of his life. His son was grown and out of the house. He was about a decade from retirement. Why not simply find something to bring money in and stop worrying about career? In the end, he did just that. He took a retail job where he could apply his years of experience, and, at the same time, not have to worry about all the responsibility that comes with a management, "career-type" position.

My paternal grandmother struggled in a similar fashion. She only worked outside the home briefly when she was young. Her entire sense of self hung on her role as mother and housewife. Over time, she was able to modify that role to grandmother. However, once the grandchildren were adults, or the last couple nearly so, she began to lose her sense of self. To make matters worse, she also began to lose her vision, making many of her hobbies and interests exceedingly difficult. She could no longer garden. She could no longer read. She could no longer watch baseball. She began to simply disappear and gradually a form of dementia began to take hold.

How do we define ourselves? Is that definition static? Can it change? Some of us are very tied to labels...doctor, lawyer, teacher, priest, nurse. Each of those positions comes with years of training and also develops out of significant personality traits that we bring to the table. I am a nurse. However, in many ways I was a nurse long before I ever was licensed by the state.

My current job actually does not have a hands on direct care component. Does this mean that I am not really a nurse? Much of my patient care is now done via phone communication with our IV patients. About a month or so ago I was sitting at home talking on the phone when one of the neighbor kids burst in saying "We can't get my dad up and my mom said to come and get you..." before she burst into tears. On the way over to their house I had her call for an ambulance and then checked on him to see what was needed until the paramedics arrived. (In the end he was simply very dehydrated and after receiving IV fluids in the Emergency Room, was sent back home that same night).

I am a nurse and will always be a nurse. It is what I bring to whatever I do.

Similarly I am a Deacon. It matters not that I am no longer active in the Episcopal church. When my name was put forward a number of years ago in the midst of St. Paul's formation of a Mutual Ministry Team, I was required to meet with the bishop. I had many concerns that by accepting this title, I would then be taking on yet another stack of responsibilities and I wasn't sure that I could manage more drains on my time and energy. My bishop, the late Jim Kelsey, said something very important to me that day. "When I lay my hands on you at the ordination, I will not be making you a deacon. You are already a deacon--that is why you have been discerned for this role. I will merely be formally acknowledging what is already there."

Change is often very painful. A mother's heart breaks just a wee bit that first time their little one says, "NO! Mommy, I can do it MYSELF!" When the younger guys push the older guy aside and finish the job quicker, the proud man mourns a bit. I myself wax nostalgic whenever I see a naval vessel up close and personal.

The illusion of individuality is so tenuous, so easily shattered, so fragile. When our hearts break, we want the world to see and know our pain...but the world tends to respond, "Oh, I know what you're feeling..." In truth, they are correct. Not one of us has escaped losing key portions of our self definitions. Who among us has not had to grieve the passing of youth? Who among us has not cried over a lost love? We all have had to endure the fading of a dream as we realize it will not come to pass after all.

Yet we endure. I believe we endure because we are not what we do, but rather what we do is a reflection of who we are. Peace.

Acceptance...

On this Mother's Day I find myself thinking about many things. Mother/daughter relationships, mid-life crisis, and that expression there at the left..."It is what it is."

My neighbor, friend, and sauna buddy is preparing to send her daughter off to the Army on Tuesday. I was somewhat surprised to find that they were not planning any kind of special event as a send off.

Nearly 20 years ago when my time for departing to the Navy was approaching, my mom made sure to plan a wonderful family event as a send off. The whole family ventured into Chicago where we had dinner at Italian Village and then we all went to see A Chorus Line--this despite the fact that my mother was very much against my entering the service. In my family this event warranted a ritual gathering--a marking of the event, a recognition of the separation.

My friend's daughter has often joined us for our weekly sauna. In fact, on some occasions, both of her daughters join us, so I have an avuncular relationship with both of the girls. There doesn't appear to be an abnormal amount of the tension that exists as the first born hits 19 and starts to spread her/his wings. They just don't do ritual the way we did.

Mother/daughter relationships - they seem so much more complicated than mother/son relationships or father/child relationships. I imagine it has much to do with the expectations that our culture dumps onto mothers. The last few generations of women have been able to tear down much of the oppression that in previous generations left them as an adjunct to a husband's property, an unmarried drain on their own family's resources, or an indigent spinster.

Yet as each generation expanded the boundaries of what women could do or accomplish, the traditional role of motherhood hovered over it all. Tension was bound to occur between mothers and daughters as all of this was negotiated.

So I organized a simple going away party for her daughter. Friday night we planned to light up the sauna, walk the dogs, sauna, and then have a build-your-own-pizza party. I scrubbed the walk as it was only 35 degrees and snowing/sleeting/raining. My neighbor, who is rather driven and controlling in many ways, went for a run rather than forgo exercise.

Her youngest daughter brought along a friend. During our dog walks and saunas, we have had a number of discussion about this young woman. In short, we believe for a number of reasons that she has an eating disorder. She too has a very driven and controlling mother. I did not miss that she had slipped most of her one piece of pizza into the trash.

I pointed out to my neighbor yesterday when we were discussing all this again that, unlike this other young woman, she has raised two very well adjusted confident girls, despite being a rather driven and controlling woman. We wondered what was different between the two households. My neighbor also pointed out that it was interesting that this girl's mother had major issues with her own mother. I decided not to remind my neighbor of her own issues with her own mother.

Mothers and daughters...my aunt and my late grandmother, my mom and her sister and their 92-year-old mother, my sister and my mom, my cousin and her adoptive mother...many varied relationships there. Also, much cross pollination between generations when one woman sought someone else for maternal love when their own mothers had disappointed them...

Which, I suppose, leads me to the rest of what's on my mind--namely, acceptance.

I believe I am right smack in the middle of the typical mid-life-crisis age. There all all kinds of stereotypical images that come to mind--unnecessary red sports cars, hair pieces, divorce/remarriage to a trophy wife, taking up some ridiculous adventure sport... I've come to believe that what is really occurring is the realization that it's time to stop anticipating our lives, recreating our lives in fantasy, or dreaming our lives, and just live them. It is what it is. For most of us that's a thought that takes some getting used to.

My mom gave me the perfect gift for my 30th birthday (17 years ago). It's a coffee mug that I cherish that says, "I'm 30 - it seems like I should have money by now." The sentiment captured on that mug is the essence of what begins to evaporate in mid life. It is what it is.

I have prided myself on my ability to reinvent my life. I unexpectedly left home at 18 to join the Navy, which ultimately lead to a scholarship and a degree from a prestigious university. I up and left Chicago for Florida, which gave me breathing space and got me out of a bad job situation. I went back to school and got my nursing degree. I packed up my life and moved from the third largest city in the country to the Upper Peninsula. In between, there were other lesser risks in which I was not afraid to take a chance and jump.

I always had the knowledge that I could jump to get me through the bad days. Now, at 47, that concept - "jumping" or turning my life inside out and trying something new - is much less of a practical option. Losing that option, for me, is what my mid life crisis is all about--waking up to the fact that it is what it is, that "I'm 47 and it feels like I should have money by now," but I probably will never have money like the way the mug states it. Acceptance.

There is a peace that comes with learning to say "It is what it is," and stop the wishing, stop the ruminating, stop the looking forward and backward, and simply focus on the now. There is also peace that comes with learning to say "She is what she is" in regards to our mothers or our daughters or our fathers or our siblings or our co-workers and friends. Acceptance.

My mother and I have not been without our issues over the years. She literally cried for four and a half hours the day I told her I was joining the Navy. Yet throughout my childhood she made sure I knew that I was loved and cared for. She tried very hard to be a different kind of mother than her mother had been. She was the kind of mother that kept huge memory boxes of every scrap of artwork or homework that we brought home from school. She plastered the refrigerator with same. She took us to the zoo. She took us to museums. Vacations were about all of us going somewhere as a family. She made sure that each one of us always felt special.

She is who she is. That is my Mother's Day present for her. Acceptance. She is my friend.

Wishing For Snow

On my own, on the inside, all by my self - I know that I am barely keeping it together most days. In the company of others, on the outside, in my circle - I know that I am rather grounded and admired. This tension that I live every day - must be universal.

One of my acquaintances last year said that I was one of the most honest individuals he had ever met - meaning he sensed no dissembling, no manipulation - just me. I try to live simply and honestly, I try to say what I mean and mean what I say. I find it tiring and I often need to retreat from the world.

When I am at my worst, when all the responsibilities, deadlines, bills, expectations, demands are winning...I don't feel I have the energy to deal with anything. Like one of my little fish, I seek out that dark crevice in my aquarium to hide - recharge, regroup.

At my old house in town, the bathroom was perfect for this. It was in the exact center of the house. There were no windows. I'd run the shower and curl up on the floor and just breathe. You can see this as madness or you can see this as meditation...it makes no difference.

When I was younger and still living at my parents' home, I would bring a book and go down in the basement to the laundry room. The rhythm of the washing machine, the warmth, the smells were very comforting.

Perhaps my difficulty with this time of year stems from this deep seated need of mine - the need to retreat, to hibernate, to recharge in private. The sun is now rising earlier and earlier. In addition to all the chores waiting for action IN the house can be added the chores needed for OUTSIDE the house. I continue to struggle with guilt over not having filled the bird feeders; yet I just can't deal with the squirrels this year - or I should say how my dogs are when there are squirrels prowling for food on the porch.

This is a time of year of expansion of possibilities. The days are longer. The outdoors beckons. I find having too many choices overwhelming. (Think Robin Williams in the coffee aisle in Moscow On The Hudson.) When I am stressed I want to shrink my world. Summertime cracks the world open like a pinata.

And so I find myself wishing for snow today. The current combination of stressors is triggering my curl up and hide instinct. Nothing major is happening - I ended up having to work at the hospital yesterday, I've spent most of my tax return on the dogs (Lola is doing fine), the porch screens need to be repaired, the dirty dishes and laundry continue to reproduce at an alarming rate, there's clutter everywhere that needs straightening, my "poly arthralgia" is back, it's tick season, there's a monster oil spill in the gulf, the list goes on and on, but you catch my meaning...

However, if there were ten inches of hard pack snow on the ground...if there was a winter storm warning in effect, if Lake Superior was blowing in big beautiful flakes of snow, if the sun had only arisen a mere two hours ago, if I was in flannel and had a roaring fire in the wood stove...if all of this described my day, I would be better able to unknot the anxiety and comb it out back into something resembling strength and calm and peace.

But there isn't a chance of snow - not even here in the Upper Peninsula - and so I must find a different way to persevere. I'm on my second cup of coffee. I will pick my tasks accordingly. I will not focus on what is undone. I will make time to read. I will take a nap. I will breathe. I will be.

Peace.

Would That It Was All Due To A Wood Tick

If only all my troubles could be ascribed to one of these beasts...

First off, I have to say that I don't find whiny blog posts particularly engaging, so I will try to keep this on the up and up...stiff upper lip and all.

For nigh on a year now I have had to deal with my vague, undiagnosed, chronic "poly arthralgia." After the involved me of SIX different physicians from various specialties, I still have no real answer as to where this is coming from.

I continue to have stiffness and pain in my hands and feet. The pain in my ankles, knees, hips, elbows and shoulders has backed off - more on that in a bit.

The pain is a very low grade burning, arthritic pain. However, early on the blood work did not indicate inflammation and the x-ray panel (head to toe) was unremarkable. I did, however, experience a minor Easter miracle (albeit short lived). On Easter Monday my neighbor Heidi and I took the dogs for a walk. We have been regularly (2-3 times a week) walking the dogs (and my sorry fat a$$) up to two miles at a time now that the weather is nice.

On this particular Monday, we lit the sauna and then went for our walk. We followed up with a fairly typical sauna - I have since learned that my thermometer is not reliable and previous claims of really hot saunas were probably not correct. After this particular sauna I felt funny (that's a medical term). I went over to some friends' house though and by bed time felt very good.

During the next two nights I experienced night sweats. My flannel sheets were cold and damp when I would awaken to use the facilities. Finally on Easter Wednesday morning I realized that the arthritis was GONE! Overnight it was gone - BAM - like that. I could lay my hands flat on the table and fully extend my fingers. No lingering achiness in my joints. It felt like a true miracle.

This is where the picture of our friend up there comes into play. I called up Maria and she reiterated her belief that all of this has been due to the bite of a tick. Apparently before the advent of antibiotics, spirochete infections were treated with heat. She saw a connection between my regular saunas and the sudden departure of the symptoms.

Alas after but a week and a half I began to feel the sudden flashes of pain in my knuckle joints. This was followed by a gradual return of stiffness in my finger joints. I am now also having some pains in my toes and feet. I am not back where I was a month ago even though, so for now I will still take this as an improvement.

The recurrent pain motivated me to have the Infectious Disease doc run some blood work in the hopes that I would find titers for a tick borne illness. Unfortunately, the three labs we had done, including Lymes, have all come back negative.

And so I carry on...stiff upper lip don't you know? Oh, and that is a nice picture of a wood tick. "Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close up..."

Ozymandias, Pastel Mints and Robert Penn Warren...

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Well, I am back after a long hiatus. (Much thanks to the gentle prodding of Jack AKA Doorman Priest and the poetry inspiration from P.J.) Spring is springing and I have much to tell, but decided to start with some thoughts that have been forming over the past few days.

Yesterday I was in the grocery store and as I passed along the candy aisle I had an unexpected flash of nostalgia. Mind you, I have reverted back to shopping at the big supermarket from the co-op and have passed through this aisle many, many times. Without realizing consciously that yesterday would have been my grandfather's 97th birthday, I saw the pastel mints and had a grandparent flash back. This was one of the candies that always seemed to be sitting in a candy dish at their house. The candy triggered an emotional memory. I grabbed a box and tossed it into the cart. Only later did I realize the connection to the birthday.

So what has this to do with the poem? Well, not too long ago I had a conversation with my mom. She was in a sad mood looking around her home and seeing items that carry significant emotional memory for her. In particular, a watercolor painting of my other grandfather (who's birthday would have been next month) and his baby sister. They are maybe five and three in the portrait, the frame of which is darkened from the house fire ten years ago. In fact, my aunt and her mom (the little girl in the portrait) were very afraid to call after the fire had occurred for fear that the painting had been destroyed.

This painting among other items were very much on my mom's mind. She was projecting into the future to a time when these items would no longer have meaning to anyone living and that thought made her intensely sad. I assured her that I would treasure them if no one else. However, I am childless and who would I pass them on to when I was frail and old?

So the topic today is mortality. On Ash Wednesday we are reminded that we are dust and to dust we shall return. Does that thought frighten you or comfort you? There are those who desperately want to believe that we gather in the after life, a continuation of who we are in this life - the individual. However, rational thought often interferes with this idea, and the result is a fear of nothingness. This nothingness is what the atheists are determined to believe, if you can even use that word appropriately in that context. Perhaps rather it would be better to say that atheists understand that this is it, a limited existence followed by nothing. I do find that thought frightening.

That fear is pervasive. It is what drives humanity towards "lasting achievement" as if there really was such a thing. Nothing cured my rather juvenile desire for celebrity quicker than the VH1 "Where Are They Now?" shows. All is transient for even the great ones among us. You don't believe me? ...then let's start with our own families.

How far back are you able to go in your family tree and have some genuine knowledge of the individuals you are descended from beyond being able to simply name them? How far back can you name them? Alex Haley and Kunta Kinte are an extreme example and even that was only like 6 generations back. I think that anyone of us who can tell stories about someone further back than a great-grandparent is exceptional.

Well, what about famous people you might say? Surely artists achieve a sense of immortality? Of course, who can forget Maude Adams, famous actress of the early 20th century? Or Edward Taylor, the poet, famous enough to be anthologized? Or King Ethelred, remember him? No, all is dust in the end.

But surely books and art endure which in turn keep those individuals alive in the collective memory? Have you ever been to a book sale when the library is making room for new titles? What movies have not yet made it to DVD, let alone Blu-Ray? As we move to digital, which books will disappear?

And there is the oblivion created by volume and multitude. My blog may exist in digital form for close to eternity. However, given the millions of similar blogs all existing out there in digital tombs, what does that really mean? We are dust and to dust we shall return. All of us.

During Holy Week the thought that kept creeping into my daily thoughts was, "Whatsoever you do for the least of my brothers, that you do unto me." In particular this thought would occur as I sat before my new 55 gallon aquarium, meditating on the tiny little fish and the world I had created.

For me the secret is that we are all integral parts of something bigger. This individual life is an illusion and it passes very quickly, yet the energy that is God that is us that is love endures. It is life itself.

There's a Grandfather's Clock in the Hall by Robert Penn Warren

There's a grandfather's clock in the hall, watch it closely. The minute
hand stands still, then it jumps, and in between jumps there is
no-Time,
And you are a child again watching the reflection of early morning
sunlight on the ceiling above your bed,

Or perhaps you are fifteen feet under water and holding your breath as
you struggle with a rock-snagged anchor, or holding your breath
just long enough for one more long, slow thrust to make the orgasm
really intolerable,
Or you are wondering why you really do not give a damn, as they trundle
you off to the operating room,

Or your mother is standing up to get married and is very pretty, and
excited and is a virgin, and your heart overflows, and you watch her
with tears in your eyes, or
She is the one in the hospital room and she is really dying.

They have taken out her false teeth, which are now in a tumbler on the
bedside table, and you know that only the undertaker will ever put
them back in.
You stand there and wonder if you will ever have to wear false teeth.

She is lying on her back, and God, is she ugly, and
With gum-flabby lips and each word a special problem, she is asking if it is
a new suit that you are wearing.

You say yes and hate her uremic guts, for she has no right to make you
hurt the way that question hurts.
You do not know why that question makes your heart hurt like a kick in
the scrotum,

For you do not yet know that the question, in its murderous triviality, is
the last thing she will ever say to you.
Nor know what baptism is occurring in a sod-roofed hut or hole on the
night-swept steppes of Asia, and a million mouths, like ruined stars in
darkness, makes a rejoicing that howls like wind, or wolves,

Nor do you know the truth, which is: Seize the nettle of innocence in
both your hands, for this is the only way, and every
Ulcer in love's lazaret may, like a dawn-stung gem, sing--or even burst
into whoops of, perhaps, holiness.

But, in any case, watch the clock closely. Hold your breath and wait.
Nothing happens, nothing happens, then suddenly, quick as a wink, and
slick as a mink's prick, Time thrusts through the time of no-Time.

A True Story For PJ...

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Renz was a college freshman. Having served two years in the Navy up till this point, he was a tad older than the other freshmen and had friends living around the country. For his winter break he decided to go see one of his Navy buddies who was back living in New York - New City to be exact.

One of his college friends lived on Long Island and had a "single" in the dorm - he had brought his massive stereo with him and decided it was too much so he agreed to drive to New York with Renz, share the cost of gas and the driving and get his huge stereo home. They decided to set out after their last finals which put them on the road at about 1PM as I recall.

They made fairly good time and by the middle of the night they were about 2/3 of the way across Pennsylvania. Renz was driving and Mike was dozing in the passenger seat. This was the 1982 Blue Ford Escort that Renz had purchased while serving in the Navy, by the way. The interstate was marked out with cones for construction and the highway had narrowed to a single eastbound lane.

Up ahead, Renz thought he saw something in the road, but there didn't appear to be enough room to maneuver around it so he decided to drive right over it. The noise made as he drove over the wheel rim was enough to wake up Mike who leapt awake. "What the f*#k was that?!?"

The single lane continued and the highway began a long slow incline down into a valley with a gradual curve to the left. As the Escort began to glide down the hill, Renz went to brake to slow a bit...the pedal easily went to the floorboard. "Damn, I must really be tired, I hit the clutch by mistake." But it wasn't the clutch...it WAS the brake pedal. There were no brakes!

Downshifting to keep the car to a reasonable speed, Renz kept driving until they got to the next rest area. It was about 3AM somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Pennsylvania. An 18-year-old and a 20-year-old far from home with hardly any cash between them. The small amount possessed by Renz being his vacation money.

They paused and tried to decide what to do. Mike said that if only they were at his folks' house in Long Island, his dad's mechanic could fix the car and be trusted. As they had no idea where they were and as Renz figured what mechanic they would find - this may even have been a Friday night into Saturday morning - would likely rake them over the coals - they did what any young, dumb, and stupid American males would do - they decided to press on and hope for the best.

Renz did the rest of the driving - using a combination of down shifting and the parking brake when the car needed to slow - and they hit New York City about 6AM. In the entire trip to Mike's house in Long Island they only missed one turn off due to going to fast. As I recall it was the exit to the Long Island expressway and Renz simply turned around at the next exit.

Once at Mike's folks' house, they got the car to the mechanic's and went to bed. As it happened it was a crushed brake line on one side and a ruptured brake line on the other. With long distance negotiations with the parents, somehow the repairs were covered and the vacation was able to continue on without any further incidents.

Oh, yeah, one other small thing - the fuse for the the horn was blown so there was no horn either...

Unite 4 Human Rights In Iran

Late last week I saw the Facebook update from Amnesty International that included this picture. I proceeded to switch my profile picture on Facebook as well as my picture on Twitter, and included an appropriate Tweet and Status Update to try and get the word out.

I remember the days following the election, where folks had changed their pics to green and we were following closely what was occurring in Iran. The viral video of the woman who was shot and died.

I knew I would blog about Human Rights today. In addition, I posted a number of YouTube video links of appropriate music (e.g., Peter Gabriel singing "Biko," the Neville Brothers singing about Rosa Parks, et al.). I posted information about movies. I linked to a couple news updates from CNN.

#Iran never even made it into the top list of topics on Twitter today. There were scattered folks on Facebook putting up info related to the Human Rights theme. I received a few "Likes." Overall there was very little.

Ironically there's been more posting and commenting on the Facebook changes this week. Perhaps in our right-here-in-front-of-us lives that IS more important. Iran is abstract. Iran is far away. The revolution isn't happening rapidly enough to hold our attention so we have moved on. The same could be true of Haiti.

I should stop here and clearly state that I am not passing judgment on us collectively. I felt motivated to be clever today. It's not clear to me how my actions helped the people of Iran what bit. It just has me thinking, that's all.

Once again I am pondering what all this cyber stuff really means. Barak Obama's campaign used the internet very successfully, building on Howard Dean's success from the previous election cycle. However, I am feeling of late rather used and manipulated in hind site.

I fear that all this chatter on blogs, social networks, web site commentary, etc. is merely adding to the growing isolation the sociologists are seeing or that it is creating the illusion of participation in our democracy. For example, I have contacted my Senators and my representative many more times in recent years via their web pages and e-mail. Yet every response I receive back, via e-mail, is merely a canned response to the generic topic at hand. More often than not these "responses" reveal that the senders clearly did not read the body of my message.

We all furiously post status updates, sign cyber petitions, hit the "Like" buttons, bitch and complain and feel like we've accomplished a lot when we are disturbed by political events. We don't seem terribly moved to get out of our houses though and actually protest. Last weekend I drove past the post office where protesters have been picketing the war for years now - there was one lonely guy, bundled up against the cold, carrying a simple sign that said, "Peace Now."

I assume that in my self induced hermit state I am unique. However, when I finally do manage to connect with friends - face to face over coffee, for example - I discover that most of us are just sitting at home over work, not seeing anyone.

In addition to my personal drama over unfriending a bunch of non-participatory Facebook "Friends," I listened to a piece on NPR that focused on the difficulties people are finding unraveling these "connections." One of my high school classmates up and announced she is leaving Facebook this week. Privately she acknowledged that there was too much nastiness occurring, yet she felt it was easier to pull the plug then try to negotiate unfriending or blocking. My good friend Lisa (who has always felt there was something very wrong about Facebook etc.) reported to me on the phone that two people at her work did just the same thing - pulled the plug.

I called the one friend who had questioned being unfriended. I commented to her about the recent nasty e-mail I had received. She wasn't surprised. Apparently she's been having discussion with some of my other local friends who got purged. According to her, they are in a snit, making statements like, "Well, if he just wants to cut himself off from us..."

None of the locals who were unfriended have called me in months. None of the locals who were unfriended have sent me e-mails, commented on my blog, or even connected with me on Facebook. By some strange stretch of the imagination, they have come to the conclusion that being able to follow little cyber postings as I interact with others on Facebook constitutes on ongoing friendship between us--a friendship that is now in jeopardy because if have unfriended them.

Does this frighten you even a little bit? I don't believe Facebook is to blame. Clearly there is a major shift occurring in how we live our lives. New houses our constructed in gated communities with the garage up front with the house hiding behind. Our public space revolved around consumerism and spending money, yet the internet makes it simpler to shop from home. Our televisions have gotten bigger with clearer pictures - why bother going to the movies any more? The vast majority of people walking down the street either have a cell phone/blue tooth strapped to their ear or are wearing ear buds listening to their iPods. As I said, everyone seems to be disconnected, doing the revolving work/home/sleep/work/home/sleep routine.

Facebook came along and offered up an apparent solution to this growing isolation. I have indeed reconnected with old school mates and friends who now live all over the country. I have made new friends who live all around the globe. However, this has made it easier for me to neglect my local friends. It has made the physical isolation more tempting.

I really don't know what the answer is.