Renz In The Woods

Will It Succeed?

2011-11-03T17:15:00.000-04:00

WARNING! The following post will be deemed overtly negative and cynical by a majority of readers.

I was reading a transcription of the speech of Oct 6 made by Naoimi Klein to the Occupy Wall Street protest in this week’s Nation magazine when I was once again struck by waves of despair. OK, not anywhere near that dramatic. If you have been following reports on the OWS protests, you may know that electronic sound amplification equipment is forbidden (more on that later). In response, the protesters have been utilizing what they call the Human Microphone - the speaker shouts out their speech in small bits and the crowd repeats them in unison so that all might hear.

That said, Ms. Klein opens her speech with, “I love you.” She goes on to praise the protest, highlighting what she feels that have gotten right this time, separating it from the many “failed” protests of the past. She ends with, “Let’s treat this beautiful movement as if it is the most important thing in the world. Because it is. It really is.” (gag)

I really want to believe that we still have a chance to save this republic. I am highly doubtful that we can. What we are witnessing is a return to business as usual. After a post World War II aberration in which our economy flourished as we rebuilt the rest of world that was destroyed, we are returning to a capitalist status quo. For a generation or two there was enough trickle down cash to make significant improvements in the lives of the middle class. It didn’t take long, however, for the other nations to catch up and surpass us.

We are left now with no real manufacturing base which means no real employment for our shrinking middle class. A friend of mine recently posted a pic on Facebook (she is a small business owner): “We offer three kinds of service: Good - Cheap - Fast You can pick any two. Good service Cheap won’t be Fast. Good service Fast won’t be Cheap. Fast service Cheap won’t be Good. Of course, we want it all - good, cheap, and fast. Corporations took their manufacturing overseas where labor is good, cheap, and fast, leaving our unemployed, formerly middle class workers in the dust - but, hey, we can still buy our stuff dirt cheap at WalMart et al.

This is why consumer capitalism has been so successful. It has allowed enough of the working class to rise up to the middle class and buy enough frills that we have turned a blind eye and allowed the rich to rob the system…truly trickle down economics at its best. Now we are starting to grumble and moan as we are forced to give up more and more of the frills and we see more and more of us sinking back down to a lower rung on the economic ladder.

Madpriest commented on a thread on his blog about wanting a society in which everyone is provided enough income to maintain a reasonable standard of living. However, that’s the rub. We in the West, even at our worst, are so far beyond where most of the Third World poor exist. I look at the people in my life - large homes, relatively cheap resources (water, electricity, etc.), multiple vehicles, multiple televisions, multiple computers, multiple bathrooms with indoor plumbing…

For all the good intentions of the OWS protesters, they are still demanding a Western reasonable standard of living - something that has to be denied to the vast majority of the rest of the planet in order to continue. I don’t believe that we are really ready to redistribute wealth on a global scale. The lives of the middle class and much of the lower class would have to become much simpler.

In blog posts and articles about the protests, writers repeatedly feel the need to emphasize that they are not protesting success or luxury…one writer wrote (and I paraphrase) “It’s not like they expect us to live like the Amish.” Yet, that is exactly what needs to happen (IMHO).

Am I suggesting that they should all pack it up and go home? No. I am glad to see the 98% finally waking up from their slumber and calling for change. It is a beginning.

However, Naomi Klein also links the protests to Climate Change and this is another kettle of fish. She says, “The point is, today everyone can see that the system is deeply unjust and careening out of control. Unfettered greed has trashed the global economy. And it is trashing the natural world as well…What climate change means is that we have to do this on a deadline.” I am one of a quiet minority of people who upon reading the science has come to the conclusion that we’ve already missed the deadline.

Nothing we can do can reverse what has been set into motion. Nothing. The negative feedback loops are already in play. The arctic tundra is no longer frozen and is releasing thousands of years of built up green house gases into the atmosphere. The melting of the ice sheet is allowing direct sunlight to warm up the oceans - dark water absorbs the solar heat whereas the ice reflected it.

Studies have suggested that even if we cut our carbon footprint down to zero it would take over fifty years for the planet to begin to recover. We can’t even get ourselves to a significant reduction in our carbon output, let alone bring it to zero.

Rather our politicians continue to argue over the cause of the climate change. We argue over what kind of light bulbs we should be using in our homes. We complain about expensive gasoline and high heating bills. We think that if we recycle all our Western consumer waste all will be well. Folks, we’re rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic (I LOVE that expression).

I don’t believe that we will necessarily suffer the consequences in the near future. Perhaps we won’t begin to really experience Baghdad in the Midwest until I’m old enough to miss the Social Security checks I used to think I’d have. The real beneficiaries of this will be our children and grandchildren. They will be the ones who have to grow old in the age of Soylent Green.

Folks will argue no doubt that “but we have to do something!” That is so classically liberal. We love nothing more than good theater to keep our denial going strong so we can get up in the morning and get out of bed. And so we slog our way through “airport security” when we travel believing that it is really keeping us safe. We carefully recycle the tons of garbage we generate purchasing are prepackaged, processed, so-called “food.” We dutifully buy those atrocious fluorescent bulbs. We do all those things so we don’t have to face the fact that the party is over.

And so I follow the protests and dream. For now the Corporate Powerbrokers will allow these protests to continue under carefully controlled conditions. Should they ever really begin to threaten the status quo they’ll be shut down right quick.

One Of These Things...

2011-10-20T17:24:00.003-04:00

As I sat down to write this post, my mind wandered a bit and reminded me of a completely unrelated episode that seems to fit hand and glove with what I intended to write. A few weeks back I was in Chicago for my 30th High School Class Reunion. I expanded the weekend into a full week so that I could visit with friends I haven't seen in quite awhile.

A few weeks prior I contacted Carolyn with whom I've been friends for about twenty-three years. As it happened, one of the days I suggested we spend together was Rosh Hashana, so she nixed it up front. I thought about it, and in light of my recent reading and in recognition of the many years of our friendship, I suggested that I attend services with her if she didn't mind.

She pointed out that it wouldn't be like a regular Friday night service. I asked how it would be different and she indicated it would be longer and with more singing. Sounded good to me. I explained how our Easter Vigil service can go on for hours.

I was struck by the similarities more than the differences. This being one of the "big days" - like Christmas and Easter for Christian churches - they have to plan for three to four times the regular attendance. The members who had planned the service were watching to see that people were in the right places at the right time. Key readings from the Torah were shared. All in all I can say I enjoyed myself.

I must admit that I thought about the Holocaust. I looked around me at the hugh space filled with American Jews and wondered about their families, thought how in a different place and time they would be targeted for who they were. I sat there, quite possibly the lone goy, and thought about being the outsider. Much of the service was in Hebrew and the folks around me knew enought to at least be able to sing along regardless of whether or not they understood the exact meaning of the words. Later at the brunch afterwards one of Carolyn's friends explained, "It's just like for you when the church used Latin." I chose not to point out to her that in recent times only the Roman Church had used Latin in there service, but being raised Roman Catholic I figured she was close enough and I understood the point she was making.

The folks that had gathered for brunch were all members of this congregation. It was like sitting in on a Coffee Hour conversation where the movers and the shakers are gathered. They began to discuss ways in which to engage these extra folks who show up for the High Holy Days, get them to come around more often the rest of the year. They began joking about having special material for when both of the spouses were actually Jewish..."No, not to worry, your Jewish-Jewish marriage is welcome here...we're not all mixed marriages." Apparently they have a significant number of couples in which one of the couple is not Jewish. Perhaps then I was far from being the only Christian in the service earlier.

The other episode from my past that came to mind involved a day I spent on the far South Side of Chicago. I was working with this woman who had never ventured as far north in the city as she had to come to work at Children's Memorial Hospital in Lincoln Park. She had planned a barbecue at her house and I agreed to come on down. In fact, I agreed to come down early and help her get ready.

I took the train down from the Loop. She met me at the station and we ran some errands. The entire time I was the only caucasian. For the first time in my life I experienced how it felt to be the other, the outsider. It was an important experience that I have not forgotten.

I pause before typing this next bit...I feel the need to explain that it was a perfectly normal experience. I did not feel threatened. The folks around me were not hostile. Yet the very fact that I feel the need to explain this belies the subtle racism that permeates the dominant culture. Perhaps you think I'm being overly sensititve or overly politically correct.

When my mother was working on her PsyD she took a class on racial issues and psychotherapy. The course was taught by this awesome woman, Samella Abdullah. Early on in the quarter she announced a practical assignment. Each student was to go to a community event where they would be the outsider. They would then be expected to write about their experience.

My mother ended up talking to me about this assignment. I said, "Yeah? So what? She's not telling you to go to a Housing Project at midnight on a Saturday. Go to a church service or something."

What we didn't realize then was that she expected the students to bring news of this assignment back to their friends and families. In the days that followed, she questioned the students to see who had done this and every last one of them had. She then asked about the responses they got from their friends and families. My mother was the only student in the class who reported that her family member wasn't shocked and thought it was no big deal. All the rest had horrified friends and family - "How can she make you do that? How can she put you in danger like that?"

And so I pause as I acknowledge my need to explain that I was treated just like everyone else that day I visited the South Side. As if you wouldn't assume that that was exactly how things would be. I'm not sure how much of that is my own latent racism that I struggle with or an assumption of the same on the part of some of my readers.

Samella also once said that she would take an outspoken, bigoted conservative any day over a typical white liberal. She felt that at least with the one she knew where she stood fromt he get go, whereas the liberal truly believes that he is not racist, unaware of all the subtle racism that permeates.

Wanting desperately to not be racist, understanding the evil of racism, doesn't cleanse us of it completely.

Jesus and Mo

2011-10-19T17:07:00.005-04:00

Click here to go to Jesus and Mo web site...

I had the pleasure of actually sitting down and visiting with a cyber friend who I only knew tangentially in high school. We visited for a bit at our 30th reunion a few weeks back. He asked what I was up to and I mentioned that I was reading The Source by James Michener. He then said, "Why?!?" Russ is a Political Scientist who specializes in the Middle East. He was clearly not impressed that I would be reading this less than scholarly work of historical fiction. I was quick to respond with the other related titles I was also reading and explained that Michener's book was like an outline to point me in other directions.

The Source tells the history of this small local in northern Israel. For once he doesn't start with dinosaurs and early animals, but begins the ancient history (9000 BCE) with human characters. The book then follows this locale in typical Michener fashion through many eras where descendents of the original characters live out their lives. What follows is a nicely laid out history of the various battles for the land - Asyrians, Babylonians, Romans, Byzantines, Crusaders, Islamic Turks, etc. The town is rebuilt and destroyed over and over again. The residents are butchered or exiled or sold into slavery time and again.

Recently on OCICBW, Jonathan AKA Mad Priest made some strong statements about Islam. It is clear from his argument that he sees a strong historical connection with war fare that is inherent in Islam from the beginning. In particular, he cites the devastation of the Eastern Christians as an essential example of this connection.

To what extent I will ultimately agree or disagree with Jonathan will be dependent on further reading. However, what I have seen so far tells me that all the major powers wrought significant destruction upon the residents of what ultimately became the State of Israel as they sought control of the territory.

Each group dragged its religion along with its army and imposed this religion to varying degrees on the local survivors. Quite often the Hebrews paid the stiffest price. This alone indicates that the warfaring violence of Islam is not unique for this period of history.

Both Michener's book and The First Crusade by Thomas Asbridge show in graphic detail the horror of what became known as the First Holocaust as tens of thousands of European Jews were butchered by the Crusaders heading off to the Holy Lands to fight the infidels. Once in Islamic territory the crusaders frequently murdered other Christians because of how they were dressed and their physical characteristics - they assumed they were Muslims.

If we are to condemn Islam for the actions of it's Holy Armies, it would seem that we should also condemn Christianity - both Western and Eastern. However, as I said, I have much reading to do before I come to a more solid conclusion.

Yes, Mohammed began to gather up converts to his new understanding of the monotheistic faith in Mecca, and once he was exiled to the city that became Medina, he fought valiantly with his growing army to centralize his power and the power of what was to become Islam.

Jesus had no army. I understand that.

However, neither man sought to invent a new religion. Jesus of Nazareth sought to introduce Judaism 2.0. It was only after his death that it was eventually rebranded as Christianity 1.0. Similary, Mohammed thought he was selling folks on Monotheism 3.0 initially - for in Islam both Jews and Christians are held in higher esteem than mere pagans as being Children of the Book and descended from Abraham. Mohammed believed that they had gone astray and his revelations were to purify the traditional, historic monotheistic faith.

Of course, Christianity was not a significant political power in the Mediterranean region until Constantine decided to name it the offical religion of the Empire. Christianity went from persecuted and powerless to top dog overnight. Yet that power shrunk significantly with the collapse of the Roman Empire and the invasion of the barbarian (pagan) hordes. Over time those peoples were converted to Christianity.

As Pope Urban II sought to consolidate power in Rome with the Papacy, he responded to a request for help from Byzantium with the call for the first Crusade. The ruling class, knights and such, existed in a political reality that called for repeated violations of their Christian faith. The near constant warring and killing and fighting created a powerful dilemna for these men. The Pope's call in which the act of crusading would grant them penance and allow them to go straight to heaven. An entire generation of nobility stopped their internecine European conflict and channeled all that violent energy on the Holy Lands and the infidel. Political power and religion finally merged for Christianity.

Mohammed, on the other hand, needed to carve out territory from the beginning so the presence of stories of conquest and military victory in Islamic history is not surprising. There was no Emperor ready to convert his Empire over with the single stroke of a pen.

As Islam flourished as a political power, the role of Caliph served as head of state. This is not that different from the Orthodox Church where the Emperor of Byzantium was the head of the church. Even in the Roman West, the struggle between kings and the Pope for ultimate power was played out over and over.

Jonathan has made it a key point that "Islam" depended on violent conquest from the beginning. I find it hard not to separate the church from the state... My reading so far has also shown that overall Islamic Overlords were much more tolerant of the existance of other faith traditions in their lands than were the Chrisians.

Just last night as I read a few more chapters in A Case for God by Karen Armstrong, I learned about the forced conversions of the Jews by Isabella and Ferdinand. Many chose exile to Portugal, until Isabella and Ferdinand forced Portugal to do the same. Then, with the creation of the Spanish Inquisition, those same converted Jews were suspect because they were forced...nice logic that.

All this is not to deny that there is a dangerous, fundamentalist form of Islam out there. I am not willing, however, to condemn the entire faith until I have done my homework. Peace.

Wrong Way?

2011-10-18T17:40:00.000-04:00

I felt like I had so much to say yesterday after not blogging for so long. I want to spend a bit more time on this wrong worship vs. wrong God idea. I briefly reference the Nicene Creed in which we state the "We believe in one God..." It is quite common amongst many Christians to acknowledge that we are all talking about the same God, particularly amongst the Children of the Book - the three main Abrahamic faiths, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. A goodly number of us would argue that even the other faiths of the world are all pointing to the same divine essense - the words we use, the traditions we follow, the way we pray, may seem different but that "all roads lead to God."

Yes, there are some fundamentalist and evangelical folk who take a very literal only through Christ hard line. It is likely that there are fundamentalists in most faiths who believe that they alone are right. These are the folks who would argue WRONG GOD over what I am calling Wrong Worship.

I am not suggesting that Wrong Worship means "incorrect worship." Perhaps it might be better to think of it as wrong for us...or in the case of the Ancient Hebrews, wrong for the Jews of YHWH.

Those Canaanite Gods, Ba'al in particular, were still a group of humanity trying to understand the divine - the great, all encompassing Being - and how that Being interacted with them where they were. Even the Canaanites though, imagined a greater, more removed abstract God, the Prime Mover, the Creator - they called this God "El." Ba'al was the God who was closer to home as it were. Not exactly an "Incarnation" but God reaching out and touching them. The God who lived in the place with them.

The Ancient Hebrews also struggled with this - understanding the greater Being (YHWH) and understanding how that Being comes down to interact with us in our limited physical lives. The Exodus reading this past Sunday concerned Moses arguing with God about staying with the Hebrews and making his presence known. YHWH agrees to stay close but essentially tells Moses that at best humanity will only see the vapor trail of God's presence...his backside as it were...that will be the closest they will be to seeing God. Besides he tells them that to look on the face of God would be more than their frail human bodies could handle.

Even in Christianity, as we struggle to understand the Trinity, we are essentially struggling with understanding the divine Being (God the Father) and how God interacts with us here in the mere physical realm (God the Son)...however, rather than a monolith housed pagan God or a vapor trail of YHWH we got Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ and the Holy Spirit.

The chapter I am currently working through in Karen Armstrong's book, The Case for God, has opened my eyes. We are not meant to understand the Trinity, it is a paradox to meditate upon. As we sit in church and say our communal prayers, we are to remind ourselves continuously of the inability of mere human words to adequately express what God is. All those times we trip up on phrases where we feel need to cross our fingers or simply stop and let others say the words because we slip into a too literal mode of thinking. Those are the very moments when we can remind ourselves of the inadequacy of our words...and the silence that follows is a recognition of the divine within us.

In fact, that one tricky word in the Nicene Creed -- Believe -- didn't used to mean what we say it means. I believe the Latin word is credere and "believe" is a weak translation. A more appropriate definition that doesn't appear to mean "take as the literal Truth" is apparently along the lines of trust or put myself in trust of...we trust that their is one God, we put ourselves in the the trust that there is one Lord, Jesus Christ... This wording isn't about swearing on the Bible that this is the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth...it's a subtle difference, and, remember, we're not meant to understand the Trinity...it's a paradox that reminds us of our inability to adequately express in mere words what we are not able to understand.

Just like the God of Exodus telling Moses that we mere humans cannot survive looking onto the face of God, (to quote Jack Nicholson/Tom Cruise: You want answers?/I want the truth/You can't handle the truth!) Or as a posted on Facebook as a status update, quoting from The Case for God, "...get beyond simplistically anthropomorphic ideas of God and experience the divine as a transcendent presence within." Peace.

A New Beginning

2011-10-17T14:09:00.000-04:00

If you are at all familiar with the Old Testament, I want you to think a moment about the various tribes of people encountered by the Ancient Hebrews. This is my question…when you think about these other tribes do you think they have the wrong God or the wrong way of worshiping God? This is what you, living in the 21st Century, think - not what they or the Ancient Hebrews thought, nor what the writers of the Old Testament thought.

Mad Priest posted the following at OCICBW regarding the Jews and YHWH. I started seeing these comments from liberal minded folks who leapt right into criticism of how God “WAS” back then. I realized that otherwise sensible, progressive minded folk were taking a rather literal view of things. How do we get from understanding that much of Genesis is better understood as mythology than as history to judging God by how YHWH is presented in later Old Testament stories? --stories composed and eventually written down and then revised by divinely inspired men trying to understand their relationship to YHWH and express that relationship with the limitation of human words.

It was while thinking about this that I formulated my question. I believe we have been encouraged to think that they had the wrong God. For example, remember the “Golden Calf” from The Ten Commandments with Charlton Heston? Most of us would describe that scene, and the portion of the story it represents, as follows: Moses is gone up on the mountain for a long time and the wandering Hebrews begin to get twitchy, eventually losing control, gathering up their gold and forging a sacred cow to worship in place of YHWH (I.e., the wrong God). This cow god allows for them to act like they’re at a frat party - at least in the movie. In the end, there’s Hell to pay…

However, I believe that those confused Hebrews as well as the other tribes were not following the wrong God but, rather, were wrong in their style of worship.

I am working my way through a Great Courses series on the “Old Testament,” taught by Professor A.J. Levine. She explains that all the other religions of the time saw their Gods as being very much connected to place. They believed strongly in monoliths that marked sacred mountains or locations where their Gods resided. The Ancient Hebrews, however, believed that YHWH was always everywhere with them.

Professor Levine suggests that what really occurs while Moses is up the mountain is that the people begin to get anxious and question this new way of thinking about the presence of God. In creating the Golden Calf they are not making up some new deity so they can have a big drunken orgy and to hell with Moses and YHWY. Rather they are reverting to an older way of worship - they lose faith in what they have been doing and create an idol in which their God can be satisfied and come down and live with them in a physical place like the other tribes’ Gods.

Once I heard it expressed this way, the entire Golden Calf episode made much more sense to me. Further, I believe the issue is wrong worship, not wrong God. After all, every Sunday we recite, "We believe in one God..."

And with that thought, I reintroduce my blog. I have hinted over the past few months that I want to use my blog as a tool to mark my spiritual journey. To that end I have been reading and gathering up future reading (fancy way of saying “bought more unread books”). I am inspired by cyber friends who blog with a spiritual focus. I also have a desire to flesh out this secular monasticm - this hermit lifestyle - I value so much. Part of my future studies will include a better understanding of The Rule of St. Benedict in the hope of writing my own “Rule” for my Hermitage.

Brother John up in British Columbia is a brother with the Community of St. Aidan of Lindisfarne and his new home in a more rural section of Vancouver Island has been named St. Cuthbert’s Cottage by his Order. Perhaps some day I will christen my log home with a similar new name.

I purchased The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century by Joan Chittister as a promising introduction to the Rule.

Late in the Summer I read Mary Called Magdalene by Margaret George. I had picked up this copy from the $2 rack at my local bookstore. They wheel out this old style library cart in front of the shop every day and it holds what can be called “less than remaindered homeless” books. Yet two of the more interesting books I’ve read recently came off that rack, and now too my cyber sistah Maria has picked up a copy of God Among The Shakers upon my recommendation (it speaks to our mutual secular monasticm).

Margaret George’s book, more than anything, forced me to think about how all the main characters from the Gospels were Jews. We get so caught up in our Christianity sometimes that we minimize or forget about Jesus’ Jewish faith. We have blamed the Jews for crucifying Christ - as if he was this Christian outsider.

There was significant overlap between Judaism and the early church - for many years Christianity was looked about as a sect of Judaism. All this ruminating over our deep connection guided my reading. I finally dusted off my copy of The Source by Michener, as well as cracked open a few other titles that have been patiently waiting on my shelves for a number of years now: The Gift of the Jews by Thomas Cahill, The First Crusade, and The Oxford History of Byzantium in particular.

Well, I suppose this is long enough, and it has sat on my computer waiting for me to find some wireless zone to actually post. I look forward to reading your comments. Peace.

UPDATE: It's so much harder to edit on the fly. My apologies to Brother John, but now the post reflects the correct info.

Last Day

2011-08-04T22:17:00.002-04:00

I had my follow up appointment with the doctor today to review the lab work and x-ray. The other testing was negative - no Lupus, no Rheumatoid. I have the genetic marker B27 which is consistent with the Spondylitis diseases. My brother also has this marker. My diagnosis is Undifferentiated Spondyloarthropathy. After two plus years of questions, I finally have a diagnosis and a treatment plan.

Prayers can continue as I now need to wean off the prednisone over the next six weeks. If all goes well, the pain will not recur and will be controlled with my new medication - methotrexate. All the swelling and moon faced crap should recede. My blood glucose should improve and I should be able to get off the mega amounts of insulin I am presently requiring. Hopefully some of the weight I've gained back will also drop off. The doctor even indicated that I may not need to remain on the methotrexate if the pain eventually goes into a remission, but that would likely be some time down the road.

Fortunately methotrexate is relatively inexpensive and has a generic version. I do not have good drug benefits even though I work in health care.

The rest of the day was wonderful. Just got back from a messy cheeseburger dinner at Outback Steakhouse. Packing up my belongings for an early start to head home in the morning. Peace.

Day Of Rest II

2011-08-03T18:52:00.002-04:00

As I do not have to return to the doc until tomorrow, today ended up being another day of rest. Once I realized that I had been up from 4AM until past midnight, it made sense. The humidity was down significantly and Lisa had a plumber coming to fix the water problem so it was just as well. I spent the day reading and relaxing. I managed to take Frankie for a short walk.

I started on the new medication today - methotrexate. I will take it once a week. As of now, I am feeling a bit "off" but it could just be that I am very relaxed and a bit hungry waiting for Lisa to get back from an errand so we can go to dinner.

Indian food again tonight - would be so nice if we had a restaurant in Marquette - it's my favorite ethnic food. After dinner, off to see the final Harry Potter in a nice big, modern theater - also something lacking at home.

Tomorrow's appointment is at 3PM. My visit will wind down to a close and I will gladly head home on Friday. It is a nice break to deal with a single dog instead of the whole pack but I do miss the girls. Peace.

And It Looks Like We Have A Winner...

2011-08-02T14:10:00.002-04:00

So the day started out very strangely... I awoke to use the bathroom for the third time at around 4AM local time (I've been waking up between 5 and 6 AM at home lately so no big surprise). I figured I relieve myself and go lay down again for another hour or so only to find Lisa up on the sofa in a panic because she had water pouring from the ceiling in the basement.

Careful assessment of the situation lead me to believe that something was up with her central air. I got on line and learned all about evaporators and such and once we had some idea of what was likely occurring she began to calm down but we were up for the duration at that point.

So we hung out until about quarter to seven before heading over to Mayo for my "7:30 AM check in." While waiting the gal at the desk went over to talk with this lady. All HIPPA regs aside, we were able to eavesdrop and I'm hearing her tell the lady that she could come back on Thursday but they were all full today. Both Lisa and I were worried that I'd get the same spiel as an add on to the schedule. However, my situation proved to be very different than hers.

The gal explained to me that I needed to just sit tight and see if there were any cancellations and that there was a physician ready to see me this morning if there were no cancellations. I settled in to complete the information they needed and then began to read. I was actually called back within the hour.

The doctor was a very nice, clearly knowledgeable, older American doctor (truth be told, he could have been Canadian). Nothing against foreign trained doctors, but culturally it was comforting to be able to just be myself and be understood. He reviewed my medical records, listened to my history, asked some pointed questions and essentially came to a diagnosis there on the spot.

My one younger brother has been living with an auto immune disease for many years now. He has Ankylosing spondylitis. I'm not going to do any fancy links on this post so you will have to Google it yourself. This particular brother and I over the years have often been mistaken for twins despite a six year age difference so it comes as no surprise that we are having similar medical issues.

In any case, his illness tends to focus more on his spine. According the the doctor, he believes that I have a variant of spondylitis though in my case it is affecting the extremities and the connective tissue at the joints rather than the joints themselves. Apparently there is a genetic marker for the AS and we are testing to see if I have that. We are also testing once again for Rheumatoid and Lupus. Apparently most Lupus testing in the country right now is fairly worthless, so there is a small chance that my previous tests were false negatives. However, he thinks that with my brother's illness his first diagnosis is likely the correct one.

Those of you who have asked if this is good news or bad, with the presence of hand and foot pain, there were three likely major illnesses that I could have been stricken with - Lupus, Rheumatoid, or Scleroderma. None of these illnesses were a good match to my symptoms and none would have been very nice to have to deal with long term.

The present treatment plan he is prescribing will involve a rapid wean off the prednisone over the next six weeks and begin on weekly methotrexate tomorrow. The long term issues with methotrexate therapy have included liver issues. However, they have apparently learned that the real issue is fatty liver issues in conjunction with the med. Monitoring the fatty liver situation apparently is addressing the traditional complications. This is not a bad long term prognosis considering some of the other illnesses.

Lisa and I were living the premises by noon. After two plus years of this, I had an answer within three hours more or less. He indicated I could head home today. I explained that I was prepared to stay the week so he scheduled me in for a follow up on Thursday so we could go over the results of the lab work. I should be heading home to Michigan then early on Friday.

I am feeling a profound sense of relief. For over two years the doctors all wanted to lump this on the doorstep of the diabetes. For over two years I put up with chronic low grade pain and loss of function in my hands because the local rheumatologist agreed with this assessent. To his credit the Mayo physician explained that their response was not completely out of line given that men who present with a sudden high out of range glucose level can have significant pain issues with their hands similar to my symptoms. Where he breaks with them is that those symptoms do not respond to steroids and I had two episodes where the symptoms had completely resolved with steroids over the past two summers. For him that would have indicated something else was going on.

Thank you all for your prayers and concerns. I will still need them now as I wean off the prednisone, something that I fear will be a bit of an emotional roller coaster as my adrenal glands are dragged kicking and screaming back into play. I will be so glad to have my sugar levels get back under control so I can eat the occasional ice cream. If I am brave I will take and post a photo that shows just how puffed up I am right now so as it disperses I can see the difference.

Tomorrow will be another day of rest. Lisa and I have plans still to see the final Harry Potter movie, go have a good steak dinner, eat Indian at least one more time, and now just enjoy our visit. The A/C repair man will be here either later today or tomorrow but in the mean time she has a window unit in that is keeping the house cool. Peace and love to you all.

Day Of Rest

2011-08-01T23:25:00.002-04:00

Given the change in time zones I was awake at 4:30 AM. Crept around until Lisa woke up - thankfully she leaves for work before 6AM. Eventually made it back to bed and slept in for a few hours. That essentially set the tone for the day. Heat index here above 100. No real desire to prowl, shop, etc. so I essentially stayed in bed all day. I would get up and nibble in the kitchen, read and doze. I think I needed the rest. The house has been nice and cool and Frankie has been good company.

I would take him out to the back yard and just feel wiped out from 10 minutes of this humidity. I am simply not used to it anymore having lived up north for thirteen years. Late in the day a front passed through and lessened the heat and humidity. Hopefully, it will stay milder now. My appointment begins at 7:30 in Rheumatology where I will pick up a pager.

Dinner tonight was sushi! The joys of a bigger city mainly involve food. Now I'm just relaxing - all those naps will probably keep me up for awhile. Peace.

Safe Arrivals...

2011-07-31T23:25:00.003-04:00

Travel day went off with only some minor hitches. Up at 6AM and started packing - remembered everything but the baby gate. Dropped the girls off at the Pet Sitters Kennel - they have their own "suite" and will be allowed to run around the office space as well as their time out in the yard. I hope Skittles wasn't too traumatized being dropped off like this so soon after her arrival (she's only been with me now for four months).

Met my friend Kim from Jr High/High School for lunch in Wisconsin. We haven't seen each other in over 30 years and had a lovely two hour lunch. We could have talked even longer. I look forward to visiting with her again soon. This was a nice way to break up an eight hour drive and make me rest.

The worst of the trip was the car air conditioning kept fading in and out - both temperature and fan speed. I must get that looked at one of these days. As a result it was back and forth between wide open windows blowing warm air and bouts of nice cold air.

On arrival we rested for a bit and then zipped off to my favorite Indian restaurant for a bite. Now I'm just relaxing and getting ready for bed. Tomorrow will be a day of rest. My appointments don't begin until Tues. Peace.

And The Adventure Begins...

2011-07-30T14:00:00.002-04:00

I haven't blogged much this summer. Back before Memorial Day, I suffered what can only be called an auto immune crisis of some kind. I was in the Emergency Room twice with severe difficulty walking and using my hands due to escalating pain. I have been dealing with this pain on a low grade, chronic level for over two years, since just before my blood sugars went out of whack as well.

My physician was able to get me a referral to the Mayo Clinic with an expedited appointment. They would see me in 8 weeks which is much quicker than the usual 4-6 months or no referral at all (a year and a half ago they wouldn't even give me an appointment).

The time has finally come for my appointment. I will leave in the morning and head off to Rochester, Minnesota, where I will stay with my good friend Lisa who happens to work there. My actual appointment will be some time on Tuesday. I will receive a beeper at 7:30 AM and they will page me when they can squeeze me in and get me started on their intensive assessment treadmill.

I have survived the summer thus far on very large doses of prednisone which has kept the pain away and allowed me to be functional and keep working. I finally bloated up and look a bit like John Candy - all jowly and swollen - "moon faced" is the technical term for this condition from steroids. I have been fortunate in that my overall mood has been one of peace. Prednisone can really mess you up emotionally - make you act crazy - whereas I have been exceedingly calm.

I hope to post regularly from Minnesota to keep anyone who is interested informed of what is happening. Prayers will be welcome as always. Peace.

The Name Of The Rose...

2011-06-20T13:36:00.003-04:00

Alright. This post will be my attempt to explain the concept of Trinity in my own humble way as we move into the week past Trinity Sunday. Now I am no theologian and perhaps there will be serious flaws discovered in what I have to say, so please be kind.

To get started I want to introduce a few concepts in order to make my point. Let's start with the image with which I opened this post. I did a search on "three atom molecule" and as it happens that is an illustration of ozone. Let's call it it a God molecule though, shall we? The molecule is God - the three atoms are the Trinity - one and three at the same time.

Next I would direct you back to the title of this post, borrowed from the Umberto Eco's first novel. Apparently the true meaning of this title is not known. The book is a mystery set in the middle ages at a monastery in Italy. What I recall from Professor Elizabeth Dipple's class in college was that title might refer to the debate over universal concepts vs. physical objects. My philosophy is a bit weak, but the idea is that a universal rose exists in the ether and that all roses are but reflections of the universal rose and that if I ask you to imagine a rose, you are tapping into that universal rose.

Borrowing from that idea then, I want you to think about the various ways in which that rose might be "real." There would be that universal perfect rose. Next there are the roses that we imagine in our minds - can we think of them as being real (regardless of them being physically present?). Are not our thoughts real? These imagined roses may be a form of memory of physical roses. Finally there are the physical roses that you can see, touch, and smell.

So this is my thought on trying to explain the Trinity. Imagine that there is a universal Larry out there - this universal, perfect Larry is the equivalent of "God" as it relates to the Trinity. Now let's break down Larry into the components of the Trinity. There is my physical being sitting here typing away at my computer. Those folks around me can see me. They can touch my flesh. They can engage me in conversation. Yet these people around me do not understand the entire me through this physical being. They do not fully grasp the universal, perfect Larry. This is the God the Son third of the Trinity. Even my family and friends who have known me for years, those who would recognize this physical being in their presence instantly, do not fully know the God/me - the complete me.

Now let's consider the Larry that exists in the minds eye of all the folks who know me. In my mother's mind there is an image of her eldest son. Is not her image a real image? Now living hundreds of miles apart - this Larry is a more real Larry for her than my physical body. Or consider the many cyber friends I have who have never seen my physical body, never stood in my presence. I am a disembodied voice, words on a computer screen, digital images only. Am I no less real in their minds? Yet these mind images of me scattered around the globe are distinct in many ways from the physical me. Let's think of this as Larry/God the Spirit.

Finally, I myself carry an image of myself in my own mind. This is the me that lives in my head and never quite translates to the physical world. It is the part of my that always stands alone. The part of me that cannot be completely revealed for we can never really know what it feels like to be another person. This "head" translates to Larry/God the Father.

Each of these three Larry's compliments the others. The physical Larry can try and relate the "Father" Larry to the world either in person or through the Spirit Larry. All are pieces, however, of that three atomed molecule - "the universal Larry."

This is how I came to have a slightly better understanding of the Trinity. What do you think?

I Is A Freecycle Convert...

2011-06-10T15:39:00.002-04:00

Freecycle...have you heard of it? What an amazing idea. I'm simply hooked.

The concept behind Freecycle is that rather than toss away usable goods, you log into your local freecycle network and let folks know what you have to give away. Similarly if you are looking for stuff, before you run out to your local box store and buy some cheaply made Chinese-kill-the-environment-made-with-toxic-crap item, someone in your network may have what you need sitting in the back of their garage or basement.

I have done an amazing job over the past decade of shedding my pack rat tendencies. However, there are items that clearly have value that I simply do not need, but to throw them out hasn't seemed right either. Case in point, my dad bought a new smoke a number of years ago and brought me his old one which has sat in my porch for years now.

I joined my local group - set up as a Yahoo group - and posted a "TGA: smoker." This lovely young couple was so excited. I'm sure they don't have a pot to piss in. As they were leaving, they saw my beat up old Weber grill on the junk pile and asked if they could have that as well.

Then I saw someone looking for a pet rabbit. In the heat of my illness, the animal care was beginning to be overwhelming. Thelma and Louise are beautiful creatures, but I wasn't getting much rabbit love back for all the work I was putting into them. I have been thinking about finding them a new home for months, but was afraid if I simply put up a notice at the feed store, some kid would talk her parents into them and they'd end up killed by the family dog or escape or simply get sick and die (rabbits are tricky as prey animals - they are near death before you notice they are sick).

So I contacted this guy and asked him if he has had experience with rabbits and he started to list about four different breed types that he'd raised over the years. I found them a new home. When he came to pick them up, he arrived with his boyfriend who nearly wet himself using the "we" pronoun to emphasize the nature of their relationship. I so wanted to look him in the eye and say, "Cool it, sister, you're preaching to the choir..." I hope to make friends with them. They are little babies at the university - or at least Austen is. Older mentors are important in my humble opinion. Relationships need lots of potting soil to spread their roots. But I digress.

I have a few other things up for claiming right now and hope to empty my basement by the end of the summer. Should my mother be reading this, "Not to worry, mom, not giving away and family heirlooms."

I highly recommend you check it out. Anything we can do to begin tearing down this consumer culture that is destroying us and our environment. Peace.

From St. Laika's...

2011-06-10T15:11:00.003-04:00

A Reading from the commentary of St. Ephraem on the Diatessaron

The Word of God is an inexhaustible fountain

Lord, who can grasp all the wealth of just one of your words? What we understand is much less than what we leave behind, like thirsty people who drink from a fountain. For your word, Lord, has many shades of meaning just as those who study it have many different points of view. The Lord has colored his words with many hues so that each person who studies it can see in it what he loves. He has hidden many treasures in his word so that each of us is enriched as we meditate on it.

The word of God is a tree of life that from all its parts offers you fruits that are blessed. It is like that rock opened in the desert that from all its parts gave forth a spiritual drink. As the Apostle says, "All ate the same supernatural food and all drank the same supernatural drink."

He who comes into contact with some share of its treasure should not think that the only thing contained in the word is what he himself has found. He should realize that he has only been able to find that one thing from among many others. Nor because only that one part has become his, should he say that the word is void and empty and look down on it; but because he could not exhaust it he should give thanks for its riches. Be glad that you were overcome and do not be sad that it overcame you. The thirsty man rejoices when he drinks and he is not downcast because he cannot empty the fountain. Rather let the fountain quench your thirst than have your thirst quench the fountain. Because if your thirst is quenched and the fountain is not exhausted you can drink from it again whenever you are thirsty. But if when your thirst is quenched the fountain also is dried up your victory will bode evil for you.

Be grateful for what you have received and do not grumble about the abundance left behind. What you have received and what you have reached is your share, what remains is your heritage. What, at one time, you are not able to receive because of your weakness, you will be able to receive at other times if you persevere. Do not have the presumption to try and take in one draught what cannot be taken in one draught, and do not abandon out of laziness what you may only consume little by little.

(Click on the title to be taken to the St. Laika's page to hear this reading in the service)

...Got Some 'Splainin To Do

2011-06-04T11:38:00.003-04:00

On a lighter note, I mentioned in the previous post that I had to lock Zoe in the bedroom during my first trip to the Emergency Department. I said that I knew I would suffer the consequences or some such statement. What follows is the latest "I Love Lucy" episode in my life with my neighbor and friend Heidi.

As I said, I managed to get down into the basement to lock up the dogs, but in the confusion, Zoe snuck back upstairs. I wasn't going to be able to do another round trip so I simply locked her in the bedroom. Now Zoe is a bit of a piddler and hysterical pooper. I was fairly sure I would come home to some kind of minimal mess in my bedroom. She didn't disappoint me.

After traipsing back and forth across the hospital campus in order to retrieve my new meds, I finally made it back home Monday evening. I managed to get the dogs outside and even managed to get down to the basement to feed them (they would not have let me rest until their bellies were full). Sure enough, Zoe had left some turdlets on the floor by the bed and had piddled on some dirty laundry. I figured I would deal with it when I could. The window had been left open all day so there was no obnoxious smell in the room and bending down to clean it up was not an option.

At the last minute, Frankie decided to take off and I thought, "Well, dog, you're on your own, I have to go lay down." I struggled to my bedroom, phone and urinal in hand, and collapsed. After catching my breathe I zipped off a text to Heidi (Ethel to my Lucy). Oh, yeah, in the midst of all this I was watching her airedale and had to bring him home that morning before heading to the hospital. So I texted her, "Please help. When will you be home?"

She called me back immediately and said she had just gotten home and would be over shortly. I told her Frankie was outside and to see if she could round him up when she got here and to use the kitchen door. I then just tried to relax and wait.

Abby the Cat was perched on top of The Kitteh Tower and I had thought nothing of it. However, once Heidi arrived all Hell broke loose. I had not believed that the cats would be more afraid of other humans than of Skittles-the-Mighty-(almost)-Cat-Killer... I was very wrong.

All I could hear was extreme chaos as Heidi and her daughter inadvertently spooked Abby sending her flying off the tower to an awaiting Skittles below. A rapid chase around the great room apparently ensued. Would Abby simply make a break for the safety zone of the basement? NO! She decides to head for Papa's bed and dives beneath under the headboard.

Now up until that moment I had a wooden bar stool at the headboard on which was a nice halogen reading lamp. Skittles comes flying around the corner and proceeds to launch herself through the legs of the bar stool and wedge herself half way under the bed, sending stool and lamp flying through the air and crashing to the floor. Minus one reading lamp.

Heidi and her daughter try to get the dog out of the room. Of course, I already realize that I will have to get up again because I will need to get the cat out of the bedroom if I will have any rest. I'm lying there, glasses over on the dresser and so blind as a bat. The constant struggle to remove Skit from the room is occurring just out of arms reach.

First I tell Heidi that there are two pill bottles on the bathroom counter that I need - antibiotics and pain pills. She goes to retrieve them amidst the insanity and comes back with three bottles and begins to hand them to me (remember I am without glasses and blind). Unfortunately the lid was not on my pain pills and as she hands the bottle it slips and my pain pills go flying all over the bedroom.

Now Heidi is scrambling to pick up all the pills so the dogs don't nab them. Tylenol is very bad for dogs and the narcotic portion isn't much better. I am stuck in bed trying not to lose my temper. Heidi stands up and declares she's recovered them all - ten. Ten? I had already taken one and thought they had only given me ten. I hold the bottle up close to my blind eyes and see that they have given me twelve. One is still missing. Heidi looks again and declares that she cannot find it.

She asks what else needs to be done. As I realize that I will have to get up now anyway to remove the cat AND find the missing pill, I suggest that there's really nothing more, but she does manage to remember the dog food downstairs (thank god). So I have her go down and bring up all the dog food and dog dishes so that I will not have to do the stairs again in the near future. She also puts out cat food for the cats.

While she is doing this, I manage to get Skittles locked in the bathroom and other dogs out of the bedroom and close the door. I begin to try and coax Abby out from under the bed. No luck. Heidi comes back upstairs and I thank her and send her on her way.

I begin to realize that I will have to get down closer to the floor. I pause and gulp slightly. OK, pillow onto the hard tile and slowly ease myself to my knees and then down to my elbows. Knees and elbows are still relatively pain free at this point. Sure enough, Abby is sitting pretty and I eventually manage to ease her out.

Once she is out I see the missing pill back behind where she was hiding. No way to reach the pill in my current position. Without thinking that my phone is across the room, I ease off the pillow and stretch out onto the floor. I end up having to use the pillow to swipe the pill out from under the bed. Now I have the pill and I am lying flat out on the floor with hands and feet/legs that are not really functional and only then wonder how I am supposed to get up.

I imagine myself lying there for hours in my own urine and figure out a way to gradual breathe through the pain and get back up on my knees. Funny thing as I do, I start to smell dog poop. Remember there was no odor in the room when I got home. This could only mean one thing. Yes, I had laid down and squished the little turdlets. In fact, as I manage to get completely up off the floor I have one smeared across my thigh. Using more dirty laundry I wipe off my leg, carefully put the pill into the bottle, recover the dogs, and, once again, collapse in bed.

At this point, and this is the really important point, I am faced with a choice. I can burst into tears in pain, frustration, and anger and curse my fate or I can get Kate on the phone and tell her the story and have a good laugh at the total ridiculous nature of life. I choose the latter.

And the appropriate coda to this story is that on Thursday I once again had to lock the dogs in the bedroom when I took off for the hospital via ambulance. Once again, Zoe did not disappoint and there were two small piddle puddles on the floor. I called Kate and said that at least this time I would not end up rolling around in dog shit. After getting off the phone, I took care of running/feeding the dogs, gathered them up into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. As I rolled over, I could feel something cold and hard under my back. Yes, it would appear I ended up rolling in it one more time as Zoe had left a little present for me in bed. ::sigh::

Ending Radio Silence

2011-06-03T16:34:00.003-04:00

It has been a very long couple weeks and I have been rather quiet about what has been going on. My parents left for vacation while the crisis hit and I did not want to spoil their vacation, so I kept quiet but for a few select friends. My folks have been regularly on Facebook while they've been gone, so the decision to maintain radio silence, as it were, has been a good one. They return tomorrow and will know what has been occurring by tomorrow afternoon.

You all may know that my health has been messed up for a good two years now. I started with pain in my hands followed very closely by a skyrocketing blood glucose. Not long after that the pain in my hands spread to my wrists and upper arm joints and began in my feet and spread up my legs. Not long after that I began having carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists.

Over the past two years I have been seen or followed by a rehab doc, a rheumatologist, a neurologist and his NP, an endocrinologist, a neurosurgeon, and an infectious disease doc. I finally changed primary care physicians last February to a gal who is much more on top of things than my previous doc. This was prompted by an abnormal thyroid lab.

I leapt at the possibility that maybe my whole problem was thyroid related (pain, that is). The Mayo Clinic site listed joint pain and stiffness, as well as carpal tunnel syndrome, as possible symptomology of hypothyroidism. However, my new doc concurred that, though I am heavy and sedentary, my diabetes didn't seem to fit the pattern and that both the thryoid and diabetes were part of a bigger autoimmune picture.

Mind you every last one of those docs I listed wanted nothing more than to declare me an overweight American with diabetes and lump the chronic pain at diabetes' door, ignoring a strong family history of autoimmune disorder in the male line in my family and the fact that I had an unusual syndrome (Sweets' syndrome) about 8 years ago, which usually hits women over 50. As that didn't fit me, one of the other categories of Sweets' patient did, namely that it can be a precursor to autoimmune disease.

Everything changed very quickly the weekend of May 21st and 22nd. My pain had seemed to be incrementally worsening in the days leading up to this weekend. By Sunday, I was having severe difficulty walking due to the extreme pain in my feet and legs. My hands were also beginning to curl up again. I nearly went to the Emergency Department that afternoon, but talked myself out of it, preferring to wait until speaking with my docs in the morning.

By Monday morning I was in fairly bad shape. My primary care doctor's office wasn't helpful. I couldn't get past the phalanx of front desk help to ask my doc a question. In the end, this was beneficial (because I was going to try and get a script for steroids out of her). I called the neurology office next hoping to speak to the NP when she came in at 9AM. Two hours later at 11AM I gave up.

I managed to get Skittles and Lola downstairs, but Zoe snuck back upstairs. By this point, doing stairs was exceedingly painful and probably unsafe, so I simply locked her in the bedroom knowing I'd suffer the consequences later. Frankie, of course, continued to have free reign of the place.

I hobbled into the Emergency Department and was offered a wheel chair, but as I was already at the desk, I declined. The receptionist than instructed me to go sit down and wait until the triage nurse came to get me. I took one look at the chairs over there and decided I wasn't sure I would be able to get up out of the chair once seated. I turned to the gal at the desk and said, "I think I'll take that wheelchair now."

Long story short, I had a raging bladder infection and an Emergency Room doctor once again willing to suggest my pain was simply due to the diabetes and would improve as the infection improved. They handed me my prescriptions and sent me on my way, forcing me to "walk" across the entire hospital campus to the pharmacy and then walk back to the emergency parking lot.

I spent the better part of the next few days in bed with a urinal by my side, avoiding transferring out of bed as much as possible because standing/walking was horrible. I had been unaware of my bladder infection, assuming the frequency symptoms were due to a new neurology medication I was frantincally trying to titrate up (I could no longer take the neurology medication that was working as it was non-formularly and the "drug benefit" ::snort:: people finally turned down the doctor's request for authorization). The bladder symtoms were improving but the pain was not.

By Thursday, May 26th I returned to the Emergency Department by ambulance no longer able to do stairs at all and barely able to get out of bed and that with excruciating pain. Further my hands/arms were getting bad and I was beginning to have pain up my back/neck and into my right jaw. The PA in the Emergency Department ran some repeat labs and declared my problem was obviously autoimmune. I had skyrocketing C-reactive protein levels even as my infection was clearing. I received some IV steroids and then was sent home with some pain meds and some prednisone.

By midnight Friday, the prednisone was not controlling the pain. I took my Saturday dose at 4AM and waited until daylight to start making calls. In the end I had to apply my own medical knowledge to make it through the holiday weekend until my follow up appointment on Tuesday of this week. It was requiring 120 mg a day of prednisone (divided into two doses) in order to function.

I have had tremendous support from friends - my long distance friend Kate was on the phone with me multiple times a day to ensure I was hanging in there and coaching me along with regard to finding help etc. My neighbor and friend Heidi, picked up dog food for me, carried all the dog stuff upstairs from the basement, and brought me dinner every night. My friend Barb picked up groceries for me. Georgie and Mary came over to make sure all was well with the cats and the fish. I even managed to find a home for the bunnies in the midst of this (I'll blog more on that later).

My doctor obtained a referral for me to Mayo Clinic in Minnesota for 8/2/11. This occurred in a single day and, believe it or not, they are expediting things to get me in (8 weeks is actually fast apparently). I am relieved and scared and grateful and frustrated and everything else in between. Please keep me in your prayers.

Skittles particularly has been a blessing. It is her nature to be always by my side (except when she is in kill the kitteh mode). She is very affectionate despite her agressive nature. Fran is aware of how much I have appreciated her doggy kisses and her cuddles. More in a bit. Peace.

Where The Wild Things Are...

2011-03-29T09:52:00.004-04:00

Sorry for the delay in blogging again. Things have been rather hectic of late. Skittles safely arrived ten days ago. The integration plan my dad and I put together worked like a charm. After a peaceful few weeks in the suburbs of Chicago, Skittles had adjusted to the real world again and made a good friend in my folks' Airedale, Winston. In fact she had gotten so well adjusted she was starting to guard their house against workmen and squirrels. She slept most nights in bed with my folks and Winston. When they went out, she had free reign of the house and didn't get into any mischief.

On Saturday, March 19th, she traveled from Chicago to the Upper Peninsula. There is a lone official rest area on this trip just south of Green Bay. All the Shell dogs have visited this rest stop and left their offerings and so Skittles continued the tradition. Upon arrival, my dad put her on the leash and walked her around the road for a bit. Eventually we let out the other dogs so the sniffing ritual could begin. There was no tension between them at all.

During my dad's visit, she slept with him, but almost immediately I began to feed her with the other dogs. When it came time for him to head home, she handled the transition without any problems at all.

She is extremely obsessed with the cats. As I posted on Facebook the other day, I am learning that it is not so much when will Skittles get bored as when will the cats remember that they are in charge. I make sure they have ample room to escape the canine frenzy. We are making slow progress.

In the midst of all this, Frankie got rather ill. He started to vomit that Saturday night and wasn't right for a few days. By Monday night, something was clearly wrong and I brought him to the vet first thing Tuesday morning. He was very dehydrated. He ended up spending the night and the next day there. My concern was the similarity between his symptoms and Cosmo's symptoms just before he died. In the end, the vet decided that Frankie must have eaten something that has floated to the surface courtesy of the Spring snow melt. He's doing much better now.

Not long after Skittles made it to the U.P., her Olga past away in New York. To what extent she was holding on to see her safely here, we will never know. Her spirit watches over us all now and I'm sure she approves. Peace.

A Bigot Is A Bigot Is A Bigot...

2011-03-19T15:38:00.003-04:00

There is a news item being shared on the social networks regarding yet another tragic murder. In this case an elderly man was murdered by his younger companion. The companion placed some stones and batteries in a sock and beat his friend to death. When questioned, he stated that the man had made a sexual advance and so he stoned him to death like it says to do in the Bible. The progressive religion haters have latched onto this one, cleansed the story of some important details, and posted it as further evidence of the evil nature of religion.

The hatred and vitriol of these anti-theists - their rabid fundamentalist attitude - their bigotry is as bad as the extremists from the opposing side. Yet, we progressives and liberals just smile and nod while these very angry individuals spew their rhetoric. I find it so ironic that folks who would otherwise savage someone for their racism or sexism see no problems with their own bigotry.

They either make blatant, sweeping generalizations about "religion" that apparently lump us all together from Gandhi to David Koresh. If not, then they make broad statements about Catholics, Baptists, or whichever denomination is the target of their ire.

Imagine if individuals from around the world thought this way about the United States... Let's see...the United States is evil, therefore all it's citizens are evil. Hmmmm, starts to sound a bit like how the terrorist organizations think. Another approach would be the leadership of the United States is evil and what Americans believe about themselves and the role they play in the world is evil and filled with hate, therefore all it's citizens are evil. Once again, smacks of how the terrorist organizations see us.

In the sad case above, if one searches out the facts of the story beyond say the glib little piece put forth on AlterNet, one would learn that the victim has fought a lifetime battle with developmental issues that had initially left him institutionalized. He was determined to live an independent life and had done so. His companion, the murderer, was a younger man that he met when he was hospitalized in a psychiatric facility and invited him to be his companion.

In all likelihood this individual is schizophrenic with religious delusions and paranoia. When placed in a proper context, it doesn't work quite as well as another proof against religion or the Bible.

Atheists show such a total lack of history and understanding when they stand up and shout out their attack on religion in all its varied forms and practices. I particularly love it when they apply the rules of science to relgion to "prove" that religion is false, ignoring the fact the religion and faith ISN'T science. It's like faulting your grandmother for not being your grandfather because she doesn't have balls.

I stayed out of one rather hateful conversational thread today on Facebook only to stumble into another. ::sigh:: Peace.

Are They Giving Skittles Coffee?

2011-03-06T22:46:00.001-05:00

Too Much Of A Good Thing?

2011-03-06T21:40:00.003-05:00

This was the spokesman for the Heart Attack Grill in Arizona, Blair River. He recently died at the age of 29. He tried to capitalize on his size in a manner similar to the way Jared of Subway fame has capitalized on his weight loss. In either case, our cultural obsession with indulgence was the engine driving their popularity.

We often think of our Puritan roots in terms of our warped approach to sexuality. As I thought about this young man's death, I began to ponder how our puritan roots have shaped our attitudes to all manner of indulgence.

For example, the state with the highest per capita of on line subscriptions for pornography is Utah. In other words, the state most under the influence of the Church of Latter Day Saints, which takes a very restrictive and limiting view on sexuality, harbors this guilty secret.

Those are the operative words - guilty secret - I believe that is the key to the titillation that factors into so many of our indulgences.

I followed a link suggested by a Facebook friend to a NY Times article that referenced a 2007 study in which they found that feeling ok about indulging oneself lead to less of a binge. The participants were told this was a taste test survey and were instructed to eat donuts. One group was told that they shouldn't feel bad about eating the donuts as all the participants were doing so. They were all then asked to participate in an additional taste survey involving a large bowl of candy. Those who were encouraged not to feel bad actually ate less of the candy than those who were not.

Of course, the whole conclusion of this study was that the secret to losing weight was to cut yourself some slack and give yourself permission to indulge. I mildly objected to the implication that big was still equated as bad. However, the overall conclusion was rather interesting and contributed to my thoughts tonight.

Think about binge drinking. I look back and cannot reasonably explain why I drank that way when I was younger. It makes no sense. However, I think that when we consider the behavior in light of Mormon porn, maybe we are onto something, namely that when something is forbidden or "sinful" and we are likely to harbor guilty feelings, we indulge all the more.

Think about how we relate to food. How much of our enjoyment is tied up with the guilty pleasure tango? Perhaps we dive into that box of cookies all the more because we felt guilty putting into our shopping cart, felt guilty again as we placed at the checkout, more guilt as we unpacked it (maybe even hid it up in a cabinet for later), and finally once we ripped into that box, boy were we ready to indulge!

Let’s consider the seven deadly sins…not sure of the list? Think of that rather frightening movie, Seven, in which individuals are murdered by a serial killer because of their guilt. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Vanity. Lust. Envy. Anger.

Essentially no indulgence is to be tolerated. If you enjoy your food, your money, your relaxation,
or your sexual activity too much, you are committing a deadly sin. And just how much is too much? There is no answer and so deep down we question ourselves…do I have the right to enjoy this?

If you’re liberal, the script is easy - with so much suffering in the world, how dare I…with so much hunger in the world, how dare I…with so much trouble in the world, how dare I…

If you’re conservative you see it all as sin anyway, so you already see it all as forbidden fun.

So where I am going with all this? Well, let’s go back and look at our spokesman, Blair. Being completely honest, on some level, for even a split second only, did you not think “well, of course, he died, just look at him…” I know I did. Inherent in that thought is a judgment - he was guilty of a sin - he got what he had coming to him.

Yet that very manner of thinking reminds me of something I read recently after Charlie Sheen made an anti-Semitic rant about his shows producer. There was a joke from the 1930's, "Hitler was making a passionate speech in Nuremberg and shouted to the crowd, "Who is the reason for all of Germany's problems? The Jews and the bicycle riders!" To which, one man turned to the other and said, "Why the bicycle riders?" We make similar responses when we pass judgment on individuals over their health issues.

We have been taught that corporations can sell us the answer to any problem we may face. We have been taught that if you do everything exactly the right way, you can avoid all health problems. If you maintain your weight at the right level, if you exercise the right amount, if you eat the right foods in the right portions...you can live forever! This feeds right into our Puritan way of thinking - if you live the right way you can go to Heaven!

The problem, of course, is that we really cannot control our biological destiny. Science continues to prove that more and more of what we face is due to the genetics we have inherited. A friend of mine was recently diagnosed with osteoporosis and she was devastated. In her mind, she was doing everything correctly - she is nearly an ascetic when it comes to food and portion size - she is militant about her approach to exercise. So how could SHE develop osteoporosis?

I see people that are so adamant in their belief that they will diet and exercise their way to perfect health - they are so pious about it. God forbid they indulge. When they do, the penance they assign themselves would make the Holy Father proud.

Which gets back to my whole point about indulgence. What if a wizard came along and said to you - "I can guarantee you live to be 150! All you need do is give up all physical contact with other humans and eat nothing but plain oatmeal" Would it really be worth it then to live to 150? I hope that every last one of you says "No."

Is it really worth giving up all delicious treats, by which I mean abstaining or feeling so guilty when you do indulge, in the hope of adding a few years to your life? Is it really worth sacrificing hours every week with endless exercise rather than lounging a bit on your sofa, watching some completely silly television show, having a pillow fight with your children, because you believe it will make you live longer?

By the way, studies have repeatedly shown that all this healthy living and exercise doesn't improve life expectancy. "Based on available information, physicians' recommendations about exercise should not include the possibility of increased life expectancy." Here's just one example.

I'm not suggesting we should give up trying to maintain a reasonable weight or that we should superglue ourselves to our couches. What healthy living does affect is quality of life. However, we all have our own ideas about what gives a life quality - in my case, I need a healthy amount of peace and quiet to just think and ponder, to read books and journals, to watch movies. I'm a big boy. I have health issues. Has my weight and activity level given me diabetes? Perhaps on top of a genetic trigger, yes. However, my dad is an equally big and equally sedentary man and he does not have diabetes.

I struggle with our Puritan heritage all the time. I drift into feelings of self recrimination. However, more often than not I allow myself to indulge and I am mostly successful at keeping the negative thoughts at bay. Peace.

Speaking To The Dogs...

2011-02-28T17:37:00.009-05:00

Alright. I admit that I fancy myself somewhat of a dog whisperer. My secret is to remember to think like a dog and not assume the dog is thinking like a person. It sounds simple, but those little critters are so dang smart it is easy to start assuming they think like you and I do. What we forget is that we think within a very broad cultural human context. We react to our environment and process things according to our past, our expected future, and all the meanings that we have ascribed to things along the way. Dogs are much more simple in how they think.

I am blogging on this topic tonight because there is an interesting drama unfolding on Facebook concerning Skittles and her temporary stay at my parents' house. In the end, my dad offered to meet Marci and her family in Battle Creek and bring her home until he can bring her up here himself. We discussed the benefits of this plan - primarily it saved me from a long twelve hour drive late at night last weekend - but we also decided it would be good for Ms. Skittles. She could decompress in a nice quiet home with only one other dog, a very quiet and gentle Airedale, also a rescue.

Skittles has responded very well to this plan. Once in my dad's vehicle, he let her roam free as she chose. She migrated back and forth between her crate and the area between the seats sniffing my dad's dangling hand. Eventually she jumped up on the passenger seat.

Once in Western Springs, my mom met them in the front yard with Winston. The neighbor across the street came running over - mind you this was around midnight - she was so excited to see Skittles. All went well and they moved into the house. They placed Skittles' crate in their bedroom and settled in to sleep. It wasn't long before Skittles decided to join them all in their kingsized bed where she slept at my dad's side.

I will let my dad words speak for himself:

"As I sat on the edge of the bed, Skit jumped up onto the bed behind me. As I lay down and put my hands behind my head, she cuddled into my right arm pit and made herself comfortable. She then burrowed under the covers until only her butt was out. I think I need to get her North soon before she steals our hearts." (Facebook Status Update 2/28/11 07:00 AM EST)

"At about 5:45 am, I headed down to the garage door to leave for my bus routes. Skit followed me down to the door as if she were going with me. I told her to stay, that she couldn't come along. When Lee got up around 8:15 am, she began to look for Skit. She found her patiently sitting by the garage door. I REALLY think I need to get her North soon before she steals our hearts." (Facebook Status Update 2/28/11 12:00 PM EST)

I shared those posts a little while ago and the comments have been very interesting. Some people are saying it's too late, she's bonded with my dad and clearly loves him and she must stay down there. My dad called me all worried too and suggested he meet me in Green Bay tomorrow to hand her off - he too was worried that she was getting too attached.

All of this is evidence of projecting human ways of thinking onto a smart and well adjusted dog. I told my dad that I wanted them to keep her down there a little while if it was ok with my mom and him both. I also requested that when he does bring her up, either as planned in three weeks or sooner, that he be able to stay for a few days.

Olga and Fran were forced to board Skittles at her vet's for about two weeks before her rescue. No doubt she was well cared for physically, but emotionally it had to be a challenge. She was separated from her Olga and placed in a restricted area for most of the time. I'm sure they let her run around when they could, but it was all very chaotic with no one person that Skittles could look to as Olga-substitute.

Dogs are happiest when they can please their caregiver/Alpha. They also thrive on routine. Bill Maher who I normally love went off on dogs and dog owners one night. His comment was that we think our dogs love us so much but if you took a dog away and gave it to someone else the dog would bond to that next person - thereby disproving the love we claim. Once again, this is ascribing human values and thoughts to a dog.

I have heard that the average German Shepherd has the intelligence of a human five year old minus the language skills. Think about how intelligent that is - so I drop it down a notch and say most dogs are as intelligent as a human three year old minus the verbal skills. If we took a three year old away from his or her parents and gave him or her to a new set of parents who met all the child's needs guess what? He or she would transfer her love to the new parents. So, Bill, does that mean that a toddler's love isn't valid?

Anyway. Skittles' behavior with my dad is very normal. She has been starved for her Olga and my dad is serving that role for now. My mom commented on how much she has bonded and I suggested that perhaps Olga was a large woman with a mustache (sorry, Dad). Honestly though, my mom and Winston have the primary bond in the house so it is very appropriate that Skittles would gravitate to my dad - as her first contact to the family and logically where she senses there's an open slot in the household.

She needs this time with my dad to decompress from her weeks in the vet without her Alpha. Winston will be a lovely playmate to get her used to not being the only dog in the house. They have a nice back yard to chase squirrels and rabbits together. My dad told me she has found the basket of dog toys and is starting to play.

In three weeks, they will travel together to her forever home and meet her new siblings. It is important that my dad bring her and stay for awhile to make the best transition. Yes, we could do a quick hand off in Green Bay and she would do fine no doubt. However, the best answer is to have a gradual transition where she can sleep with my pop and get to know me and the pack.

I have no doubt she will whine and be confused when he leaves. This will last as long as it takes her to understand that I am her new Alpha and I will make sure she is fed and warm and safe and loved.

For me the bond that exists between our two species is as close to God love as I am able to get, so you can imagine how ecstatic I get when I'm lying in bed with the dogs AND the cats and they are "kissing" each other and taking turns getting love and cuddles from me. Three species all trusting and being with each other!

The love that has been heaped upon this little dog over the past week and throughout the day on Saturday - literally global in scope - is astounding. More than one person commented on how it was such a bad news week that Skittles' story was uplifting.

I decided to post information about White Paws German Shepherd Rescue so that those of you who had desired to help but were hampered geographically can make a small donation of thanks. According to Kathy S. who coordinated the GSR chain that Skittles was able to piggy back onto, there is a rescue shepherd in need of surgery and she suggested that donations could be made to that fund. Here is the link.

I will also attempt to post a few photos below this post of Skittles' adventure. Many, many thanks to Annette, Marci, Mark, Riley, Evan, and my mom and dad. Peace.

Skittles And Her Heroes...

2011-02-28T16:59:00.000-05:00

These are pictures of Skittles with her heroes. The top two are my friend Marci's awesome boys - Evan and Riley. Thanks guys - you rock! I can't wait to meet you soon downstate. The other picture is Annette who was the person who got Skittles from Binghamton to the Rescue Ride in Pennsylvania. Annette - you are the best!

Skittles' Amazing Journey

2011-02-28T16:52:00.000-05:00

Introducing, Skittles The Wonder Dog!

2011-02-26T18:07:00.002-05:00

This is my new baby. Grandpa should be picking up the latest grandpuppy in about 3 1/2 hours from now in Battle Creek, MI. She started out the day a bit on the grumpy side (read: WTF is going on here!!!) but eventually calmed down and enjoyed her ride across Pennsylvania and Ohio. As I write this I believe she is somewhere between Sandusky and Toledo. I am so excited! She looks like an absolute love bug and those of you who know my Frankie can see that this one will be a kissing cousin to him (he's a Welsh Terrier down there on the left at the side bar). Thanks again to all. I will be posting information where individuals who weren't able to help today because they were geographically hampered can make a small monetary donation to the White Paws German Shepherd Rescue that played a major role in the transport today. According to Kathy who coordinated the GSR portion of the day, there is a rescue dog in need of surgery and our donations will help pay defray the costs. Peace!

Man's Best Friend

2011-02-25T18:23:00.003-05:00

In a little over twelve hours, the rescue operation will begin. Skittles will be picked up at her home of many years that she has shared with her human companion, Olga, tomorrow morning. Fortunately dogs see and understand things very differently than we do. We understand how sad her leaving will be. In the coming months, when she dreams - yes, dogs dream, ask anyone who has a dog - I believe she will continue to romp with Olga in her dreams.

As the day progresses she will no doubt have moments of anxiety. However, she will be traveling in her own crate, lying on a blanket that is saturated with smells of Olga and home. She will be in the company of loving human companions and another lucky dog, Max, on his way to his forever home.

In Ypsilanti she will say goodbye to Max, but will be blessed with the company of Marci's two boys, Riley and Evan, who are so excited to be involved in this rescue. They will keep her company on the drive to Battle Creek.

The earlier plan was for them to bring Skittles to Saginaw. However, that would have required me to drive six hours, pick up the dog, and drive six more hours back - across the Upper Peninsula, exhausted, on two lane in the middle of no where. Not to mention the incredible frustration of finally getting to see one of my best friends from high school for the first time in nearly thirty years, as well as her family, for only a matter of minutes. (I hope to get myself down state for a proper visit in the coming months.)

I was fully prepared to do this when my dad suggested that he and my mom get involved. Not only did this save me the potentially dangerous twelve hour drive, but it allowed for Skittles to interact with another rescue dog in a nice quiet home with a large yard to romp in before coming up north to join my pack. Skittles will say good bye to the boys then in Battle Creek and say hello to Winston, my folks' beautiful rescued Airedale terrier for the last leg of Saturday's journey ending outside of Chicago.

Fran just posted a comment below in which she learned that Annette went to high school with another blogger friend of hers. She comments eloquently on how small the world is in many ways when we begin to look for the connections. The miracle of Skittles is working it's power. I posted a few weeks ago about joy and commented on how long it had been since I experienced true joy - well, I'm experiencing it now, all for the love heaped upon one little dog.

As I say every day at the top of the blog, the world is not a place but the vastness of the soul.

Peace.

I Believe In Angels...

2011-02-22T16:35:00.005-05:00

These are my paternal grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Stanley Shell. He was orphaned along with an infant brother in Poland around 1920 and brought to this country to live with a bachelor uncle. She was best friends with his cousin. They met and married in 1937. He passed away in 1995 and she passed away in 1999. Most of the furniture in my home is their furniture. I sleep in the bed that they bought when they were married. Perhaps they are the angels in this story.

If you have been following my activities on Facebook or have read the post below you know that I am involved in a rescue operation. My friend, Fran, who's blog is linked there on the left, There Will Be Bread, put up a post this past weekend and I knew I had to act.

It is no big secret that I love my critters, especially my dogs. Fran's sister-in-law is dying from cancer. I believe she was initially diagnosed in 2006 and almost gave up her dog back then, but for encouragement from Fran. In the end, she was very glad she kept her and it gave her motivation to fight back these past few years. Now, however, her time has come and one of Fran's responsibilities was to find a home for Skittles, the 8 year old Jack Russell terrier.

As it happens this woman's name is Olga and she is Ukrainian, an immigrant like my grandfather and, yes, my grandmother's name was Olga. Fran reports that in her delirium she had reverted back to the language of her youth and old country home. Fran has been spending many hours at her bedside and she had no idea how she would find this lovely little dog a good home.

Fran and I have met through a church focused blogging network. We have had discussions. We partied together on line on New Year's Eve at another long distance friend's Virtual New Year's Eve party, Maria plays a part in this story too. Fran and I have never spoken directly to each other until today, yet we know each other enough via social networking/internet to consider each other friends.

I contacted Fran and suggested I could take in the little dog if there weren't other options. As I waited for her reply I began to piece together a rescue plan. My parents are active participants in Airedale rescue. They frequently volunteer to transport rescued dogs to help get them to their "forever homes." I modeled my plan on this.

Through the help of volunteers I had pieced together a fairly good train of folks with some gaps in Ohio. We hadn't yet set on a day when I contacted Jack Russell rescue as suggested by my dad and my friend Kate. Within an hour or so of sending my e-mail, I learned of a German Shepherd rescue occurring this weekend that would take the dogs from Pennsylvania all the way to Ypsilanti, MI.

Unfortunately, Fran wasn't able to do this on Saturday morning so we needed to find someone who could pick up Skittles in New York and meet up with the rescue run in Pennsylvania. Once again the crew started putting the word out. As it happens a rather new cyber friend of mine, Annette, announced she could do this important initial leg.

See that pic of my grandfather, Stanley Shell? When he came to this country as a boy he still had the family name, Skorupa. When he turned 21 he decided to translate it to Shell. A few months ago I noticed this gal who had commented on another old friend of mine's facebook page. Her name was Annette Skorupa and I wanted to see if we were related. We're not, but we stayed connected. Do you see my point about angels?

The final stretch of the transport will involve one of my bestest friends from high school. We moved to Michigan and ended up great friends with this wild and crazy gal, Marci. Through Facebook we have reconnected and when I put out the initial request for help Marci was there volunteering herself and her husband.

I feel so much God Spirit in all of this my heart is ready to burst. Peace.

Help Me Rescue Skittles

2011-02-21T16:13:00.003-05:00

This is not Skittles. It is simply a representative picture of a Jack Russell. My cyber friend, Fran, has posted the following at her blog and she and I have been in communication about this.

On her blog she posts:

"One of my tasks is to find a home for Skittles, Olga's Jack Russell Terrier. Skittles is 8 and very cute, but she is also a Jack Russell Terrier. Read: She is highly energetic. In the good days, she had Olga out and walking, getting regular exercise. When Olga had her first bout with the stupid cancer in 2009, she wanted Skittles to go. I persuaded her otherwise and she was later grateful. That dog helped fuel a recovery.

Now I know that persuasion has no point. If you live within 3 hours of Albany or Binghamton and you even remotely think that you know someone who would consider this dog, it would be a mercy that is much required."

I have agreed to adopt the dog if we can find a way to get her from Albany to the U.P. I am looking for drivers in a sort of "underground railroad" between there and here. If you would be able to take a leg please contact me and let me know.

We need drivers in the following areas and in between: Albany, Ithica, Erie, Cleveland, Toledo, Detroit, and along the I75 interstate up to the Mackinac Bridge where I can retrieve her and bring her to her new home. Peace.

PS - Someone has already "helpfully" suggested to Fran that they simply euthanize the dog as "that will happen anyway." grrrrrrrrrr!

Weekend Company

2011-02-21T15:32:00.003-05:00

This past weekend was the annual U.P. 200 & Midnight Run sled dog races. Teams take off from downtown Marquette and follow the Lake Superior shoreline east to Grand Marais, Michigan, and back over the three day weekend.

My sister and my friend, Lisa, both came to town to watch this wonderful event. Sadly our weather hit sixty degrees last Wednesday so we had an enormous melt off of the snow. In the end, the organizers cut the race short due to a lack of snow on the trail.

Fortunately we were able to view the start on Friday night and had a front window table at the Irish pub where we chowed down on some great food and watched the teams go by.

The picture at right is of my vet, Tim Hunt, from a number of years ago. He raced again this year but I don't know how he did. He has also raced in the Iditarod and served as a race vet as well.

The remainder of the weekend was spent hanging out in front of a raging fire in the wood stove/fireplace. Eating lots and lots of local good food and getting caught up on rest.

Today I went to the neurology appointment ready to push for a referral to Mayo Clinic. I was heard and for starters will be having a large battery of blood tests this week and we will take it from there. They are not against the idea of referring me though, which is good.

I continue to have incrementally worsening neuropathy symptoms in my hands/arms & feet/legs. The NP started talking about aqua therapy but then said she'd like to know what was going on first before initiating that. My response was "exactly." I don't know if I should be pushing aggressive exercise or what. When I walk, the stiffness and pain worsens.

I am continuing to look for a change in jobs and think I have made a decision. I will share more when and if it becomes official. Eliminating job stress can only help my overall health.

"There Are Places I Remember..."

2011-02-08T16:57:00.003-05:00

(taken from my porch today)

I have blogged before in my belief that we are constantly creating our image. That the various consumer choices we make are mainly concerned with an image we hold in our mind’s eye of who we are, who we wish to be, how we wish to be seen by the world. I have suggested that even in an attempt to not be brand conscious or image conscious we are still polishing a projected image.

And so I sit here sipping my coffee in my home on a sunny cold February day, pondering the image that I cherish and wondering what it says about my self.

It is a glorious day. The sun is shining brightly casting a new look on the snow worn landscape. This is a second day of rest following a rather grueling week at work. I actually feel rested. I sit here on the sleeper loveseat in my back parlor, sunshine lounging over my shoulder. Abby Cat has taken up residence in my Lazy Boy recliner thus forcing this new perspective on the room.

I am wearing lounge pants, a gift from my mom for Christmas, a t-shirt, and my Mr. Rogers, smoky blue, lambs wool cardigan with missing button and cat fur. My pain isn’t so bad today - it really seems to correlate with how damp it is outside and today must be rather dry at 9 degrees F. The computer is on my lap and I examine my foot resting across my knee. The foot is calloused with numerous small varicose veins between the ankle bone and heel. It is no longer the foot of a young man, looking more and more like my father’s worn aged feet. The skin on my hands is clearly losing its youthful elasticity, liver spots are forming.

The house itself, this log cabin in the woods, is very quiet. The dogs make their grunts and whines, their nails clicking on the tile. The furnace fan quietly whirs in the background. The silence is medicinal.

This is an image that I craft for myself. Portly middle aged intellectual wannabe. Mussed hair. Tortoise shell glasses with a retro feel. Books everywhere. Animals in abundance. Sipping coffee and catching up on my back issues of The Nation. Unvacuumed carpet. Unwashed dishes. Unmade bed. Undusted furniture. As I putter today I feel nothing so much as contentment.

I will have company in another week or so for the U.P. 200 Sled Dog Race weekend. That requires me to periodically interject chores into my routine. Wash some dishes, clean the toilet, sweep the floor. With a purpose to motivate me these chores are also part of the contentment. I will have visitors to my milieu, witnesses to my carefully crafted image, an acknowledgement by the world of who I am.

In the midst of all this was a recognition that I might lose it all one day and that thought gave me a moment’s pause. Like most of middle America I am but a few paychecks away from financial ruin. As a single individual, a devastating illness will leave me homeless. I have no spouse’s income to fall back on. In this brave new world we live in even a hospital will terminate you after you have used up your twelve weeks of protected medical leave. At that point we are “protected” by COBRA - yet how is an unemployed individual to make those payments? And so in a matter of months, all this could disappear.

For many of us it already has disappeared. Millions more are facing foreclosure. I fear that what we are calling a “Recession” as if eventually we will get back to normal, is in fact a “Correction” and The Corporate States of America has just cut out a large chunk of us saying, “We don’t need you any more as cash cows - we’re looking to China. Good luck.” For many Americans, their images have been permanently shattered and destroyed.

I do not know if I will be able to afford this log home when I retire, if I am able to retire. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to sell for a profit if I wait long enough and move myself into a small bungalow in town and my image will alter slightly rather than catastrophically. One can hope. Peace.

And What About A Triangle?

2011-02-07T13:07:00.010-05:00

If I say to you, “A rectangle is not always a square.” do you understand the logic in that statement? One can say that a square is always a rectangle. However, it is wrong to flip the logic and make the claim that a rectangle is always a square. It is imperative you understand this bit of logic before moving on.

This is a picture of me dressed to the nines for Halloween in third or fourth grade, I believe. That would make me eight or nine years old. I was always very envious of my sister’s chest of dress up clothes. I loved that black dress. It was a cocktail dress of my grandmother’s and had a silky lining and lots of crinolines. The wig was one of my mother’s from an age where women wore wigs in order to have different looks. I remember thinking that this would be an awesome excuse to dress up and show off.

Studies have shown that a significant percentage of gay men incorporate cross dressing into their play as children. However, just as with the squares and rectangles, one should not flip the concepts and assume the logic holds. There isn’t a similar strong link showing that boys who’s play includes cross dressing grow up to be gay men-not that there’s anything wrong with that. (sorry, Seinfeld humor)

Mad Priest shared a link on his blog today concerning this little boy who last Halloween chose to dress up as Daphne from Scooby Doo. I encourage you to follow the links and read this kid’s story before continuing.

For the moment I am most concerned with the reactions of the mothers.

I have no memory of my mom’s reaction to my decision to dress up for Halloween that year. I do have a wonderful memory of her greatly enjoying helping me get dressed up. If she had any reservations or concerns up front, she did a wonderful job of keeping them to herself and helping her little boy with his costume.

I don’t recollect how it happened that my sister and I ended up trick or treating with my friend John. Some how or other we ended up back at his house and there was a delay in getting picked up to go home. I have a vivid memory of goofing around in the living room of their house doing somersaults in that black dress. I also have a very vivid memory of the intense disapproval radiating from John’s parents. They never said a word as far as I can remember, but I will never forget that feeling and the shame it generated in me.

This was not long after we had moved a mile or so away and it seems that my friendship to John waned about the same time. In hindsight I wonder now if he was soon forbidden to play with me after the Halloween incident. If that is what happened, such was the intense fear of any expression of effeminate behavior expressed in boys at that time.

However, as Boo’s story shows, such feelings are still very much alive even now.

There are important exceptions, however. I live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Hockey is the sport of choice over Little League. Many, many of the residents own guns and look forward to hunting season. Our stereotypes of rural America would lead you to believe that gender roles are strictly enforced here.

Yet I worked with this wonderful nurse at the hospital. She has two daughters and her youngest is the only boy. This little guy grew up emulating his sisters and went through a very long dress up period in which he was fascinated with princess costumes, dresses, tutus, sparkly tiaras, etc. Michelle just let him play and did her best to keep her husband from freaking out entirely. We would have conversations about this at work and I strongly commended her on her instincts as a mother.

Now he is older and his fascination with girly attire has subsided. He plays hockey with the best of them. It would seem that once he entered school and expanded his social network to include other boys he transitioned to more conventional boy play. Is he gay? Only he will know the answer to that question for the present time. If he is, than it is likely that the cross dressing was an early expression of his sexuality. In any case, it most certainly was not the cause.

I am also reminded of a story about another nurse I worked with. She was moving and came to the house to collect some boxes. She had with her in the car her two boys and a nephew. Not long after leaving my house, she heard one of the boys call someone a fag. She stopped their conversation and challenged them with the question, “Do you know what that word means?” The boys were taken aback and replied rather quietly that it meant someone was gay. She pointed out to them that the friend of hers they had just met was gay so what was their point in using that word? It was an awesome teaching moment for those boys.

It’s not an easy job being a mom. Starting with Dr. Spock, we began to lump all the responsibility for how children turn out at the mother’s feet. That’s quite a load to carry. The truth is we are already very much shaped by the genetic code we carry. More and more we are finding that major aspects of our personalities are as much due to our genetics as to our environment. Further, our mothers are only one portion of our environment.

These moms - Boo’s mom, my mom, Michelle, and Lydia - represent to me the best of motherhood. Examples of mom’s who by their acceptance and love have shaped their children’s lives and guided them towards a better way of being. Kudos are likely due to the silent partners in these stories, the dad’s, who by keeping their reservations about their kids to themselves also played an important role in our development.

Peace.

I Am A Slav

2011-02-05T15:30:00.007-05:00

This post is about joy. However, at the risk of sounding like a Bergman film, I will put out that I miss feeling joy and today I cannot remember the last time that I experienced unadulterated joy. This makes me sound like a depressed person in seek of a medication boost. We are, as a culture, getting to be far too dependent on happy pills. Further, there is a significant difference between joyful and happy.

In any case, I come from Slavs. I have that Eastern European blood (possibly spiced with Mongolian genes courtesy of the descendants of Genghis Khan) roaring through my body. My genetic soul traces itself back to a land of long cold winters. I am already having mixed emotions over the longer days as we pass midwinter. I crave the cold, dark nights and will no doubt mourn their passing, even as I delight in the coming Spring.

All of this is to try and cut off now the tsk tsk tongue clicking that will only read this post as more depressive moaning. In my work, as a nurse, I read many many History & Physicals. This is a dictated document by physicians so that there is a summary in a patient's chart for all who are providing care. Essential to a complete H&P is a list of current diagnoses. The percentage of these which list the diagnosis "depression" is astounding.

Why do you suppose there is so much depression all around us? I bristle when I read articles that suggest we are over prescribing medication, no doubt because in my case I feel the medication truly works and keeps my "depression" at bay. For me, however, that does not mean that the pills make me happy. Without my medication, my life would deteriorate into a frayed ball of jangled nerves and out of control anxiety. This would also lead to the profound sadness that is most often associated with depression. However, it is not about eliminating sadness.

I would suggest that sadness is the flip side of joy. Well, perhaps "flip side" is not the right image, suggesting the presence of one or the other emotion. Better to think of the too as a continuum with emotional dysfunction at the far extremes of either end - out of control joy becoming mania, for example.

A healthy life swings back and forth over this continuum. Perhaps it is natural even this time of year to hover more towards the sadness end of the spectrum. This should not be classified as depression.

It seems to me that so many of us desire a constant fix of whatever we are lacking. Let's start with climate, for example. Why do so many of us desire to live in a non-stop warm climate - perfect 80 degree weather, day in and day out? Think about that. What so many of us is wishing for is a kind of stasis. This has lead to massive shifts in the population to places that do not have the water resources to support that population.

Appetite is another area where we have trouble. We have a constant desire to be satiated. We want that piece of pie and we want it now. However, halfway through the pie we are wanting something else. We have learned to hate feeling hungry. We reject the sensation and reach for whatever we can put into our mouths. Our waistlines are testament to this one.

I could think of other examples to what I am trying to say, but the key one concerns sadness and joy. In our craving for a non-stop feeling of joy, first off we confuse happy with joyful, and then we completely reject anything remotely resembling sadness. When we see it in others, we immediately label it depression.

Sadness is such a key emotion to our humanity. Just as our conscious mind is dependent on dream sleep to remain functional, our emotional mind, I believe, is dependent on a varied palette of emotions. It is unhealthy to bury sadness.

I'll leave you with a musical clip.

. . . . .

I Think They May Be Trying To Kill Us

2011-01-31T17:13:00.004-05:00

So I go to get some lunch downstairs today. This rather confused woman is on the elevator and has pushed most all of the buttons because she's not sure where she needs to go. As we work our way to the ground floor, I explain that she needs to get off on G in order to leave the building.

The doors open on Ground and as I step out of the elevator my nose begins to burn, followed by what feels like a mild asthma attack. The woman, who happened to be blonde, also starts coughing - just a little tickle like cough mind you. I can't smell anything noticeable in the air but my nose continues to burn. I glance around and it seems like every third person seems to be coughing or sneezing but no one is acting like anything is wrong.

Once in the cafeteria it seems to calm down. I get my lunch, a veggie burger, and proceed to head back upstairs. Once back in the hall, the symptoms come right back until I am safely in the elevator heading back upstairs.

Apparently someone in the kitchen attempted to dispose of a large container of cayenne pepper. I believe they placed the unopened container into some form of trash compactor which caused the cannister to "explode." I am awaiting word from my contact in dietary to verify this story.

If, however, I mysteriously sicken in the next few days, please be sure OSHA is notified, eh?

Haven't heard how the poor soul in the kitchen is fairing either. My nose and lungs are just now finally starting to calm down. Peace.

Yadda, Yadda, Yadda

2011-01-29T14:35:00.009-05:00

I'm thinking once again about the Tower of Babel. Do you remember the story in Genesis? Mankind is getting a bit cocky and decides to build this immense tower in order to reach heaven. The Old Testament God is a bit perturbed by this hubris and smashes the tower to bits and then to ensure that humanity is unable to cooperate and try it again this God creates multiple and various languages and scatters us around the globe.

There are folks, often atheist types, like to point to this story as an example of the mean spirited and petty nature of God, apparently ignoring that it is yet another Judeo-Christian myth that is explaining how we got to be human in all our diversity.

The New Testament "flip side" story would be, of course, Pentecost in which the Holy Spirit descends and the disciples begin to preach in different languages and so everyone hearing is able to understand. At the Episcopal churches I have attended, the tradition has been to have the gospel reading on Pentecost be presented in as many different languages as the congregation can comfortably speak.

With the Pentecost story, the language barrier created in Genesis is transcended and we can all understand each other...or can we...really.

I am a person who lives by my alleged ability to communicate. I tell long winded anecdotes to make incredibly trivial little points in conversation. I write my blog. I get wonderfully snarky at times on Facebook. Yet, not a day seems to go by where no matter how hard I try and explain something, the other person simply does not comprehend my meaning.

My friend Maria commented the other day on one of my posts below. My response was "Was that really what I was saying?" The subsequent comments waxed philosophical about how we put out our thoughts and they are always reinterpreted by the recipients. The discussion in this case was in regards to blog posts, sermons, and the like. I often wonder if in reality very little of what we say is ever interpreted and received in a manner that really creates true understanding between two people.

Fresh out of college I worked for the Japanese government at their Consulate office in Chicago. Not long after I started, we were joined by a man who was part of the Hiroshima Prefecture government bureaucracy. All of the others were part of their State department and had received extensive English language training. Mr. Kono and I worked side by side for a number of months before finally he said, "My English is really not so good." I asked him about how much of what I say he understands and he replied, "About 10 percent."

For all this time I had been operating under the false assumption that we were communicating. The longer I live on this linguistically confused planet, the more I think that even in English, most people understand only about 50-60% of what I am trying to express.

The most obvious moments occur on Facebook where space is limited and verbosity is not welcomed. The same is true with blog comment pages. Tempers often flare and it is often when we least had intended to be snarky that we ignite the biggest fire storms. However, even in our day to day interactions with people our random comments seem to be misinterpreted, misunderstood, and mistaken for something else entirely.

How many of us simply give up and stop trying to share the really important thoughts and feelings? How many spouses can no longer communicate beyond, "Pass the salt, please."? How many relationships wither and die for a lack of understanding between the individuals?

Are you familiar at all with the movie Love Actually? There a number of story lines running simultaneously throughout the film. I find the plot involving Colin Firth the most heart warming. Early in the film he comes home to find his girlfriend in bed with his brother. He leaves London and goes to the coast (which coast I don't remember). He engages the services of a beautiful Portuguese woman who speaks no English. Through out the film, we the audience watch as they try to communicate with each other. The scene towards the end where he proposes to her in broken Portuguese is one of the most romantic scenes in the movies IMHO.

Perhaps when we remember the fallibility of our common tongue, how easily our words are misinterpreted, when we remember to shut up and really try and listen to what the other is saying, then maybe we can begin to understand each other and move forward. Peace.

. . . . .

Running Away To Join The Circus?

2011-01-27T17:20:00.008-05:00

Job frustration...big time. The raving inner Roman Catholic says, "Shut up, you bastard, at least you have a job...you're not allowed to complain." Bravely I blog ahead...

The number of folks I learn about who are unemployed without any apparent job opportunities continues to grow. This post is in no way to dismiss them and their own personal hell currently. Yet, their very existence makes folks in my situation all the more stressful. We look around us, listen to the news reports, watch the parade of economic indicators and it keeps us afraid.

We don't speak up when we are assigned yet more responsibility without any additional compensation. We don't speak up when we are stripped of more of our dwindling benefit package. By the way, how do they get away with calling them benefits if we are paying more and more of the cost? We don't speak up when our bosses are completely unreasonable. So we continue to muddle along in our own little versions of The Devil Wears Prada.

I have job frustration and I don't see much in the way of solving what I feel are the issues. They all stem from weak, absent management. As a previous manager, I see what needs to be done. As an organized, control freak, I am skilled at creating systems to ensure it gets done. As a typical "oldest child" I end up having to do it all to get it done. My boss sits back and lets it all fall on my shoulders.

As much as I have enjoyed aspects of this job, as much as I believe I am very good at this job, I think I am very close to being done -- put a fork in me and see.

I am fortunate that I am a college educated, RN. With those credentials, I should be able to find something else. However, I am living in a region of the country where this hospital is essentially it for nursing employment. This severely limits my opportunities.

For the past 6-8 weeks I have been working a contact that I met purely by chance. I'm not getting to hopeful in that it's quite possible the position is "wishful thinking" on the part of my contact. She is a case manager for a company that follows patients in the Upper Peninsula. There are currently two full time nurses and a part time nurse and they are all maxed out with their patient loads. Any future with this company is currently dependent on how successful she may be in requesting an additional position for the region.

I have been monitoring the jobs listing here at the hospital as well. I avoided posting for a position in the Education Department initially because I wasn't sure where the position above stood. I should add that I was less than enthusiastic about the Education job, but I am near the point of taking something else - something without a pager, something with a limit to my hours, something with an involved manager.

Which leads me now to consider a PM shift position on the Adult Psych Unit. I have pretty much decided that I no longer want to do bed side nursing. However, I'm thinking that the milieu would be different enough that I might consider making an exception. At the same time it scares the bejeezus out of me.

In the way back when I was in nursing school during my Psych Rotation, I chose to work on the unit with the more functional patients - Bi-Polar, Depression, etc. I am such a communicator that I'm not sure how well I would do with the psychotic patients. Yet there was a time during nursing school where I thought I might consider this route.

A former supervisor liked the expression, "The devil you know is better than the devil you don't know." Fear. It is helping to keep me in my place. I am struggling to transcend the fear of the unknown in making this decision.

I have always liked the "frog in the pot" metaphor. You know, you place a frog into a pot of boiling water and he will jump right out. You place in a pot of warm water and put a slow flame underneath and he will sit there and boil to death, never realizing he needs to jump.

Then there's that lovely expression, "out of the frying pan and into the fire."

The worst thing about that last expression is there is no escape. There was an experiment done with dogs. They were placed into a wire bottomed cage with a divider down the middle. They would shock the floor on one side to condition the dog to jump to the other side. Yet eventually they began to shock both sides to see what the dog would do (yes, sadistic I know). The dogs gave up jumping and whimpered in the corner no matter how much shock they received, having learned that there is no escape.

I fear that more than anything else right now, that when I jump there will only be more pain on the other side. Peace.

Sure of You

2011-01-25T16:44:00.004-05:00

I'm finding it a challenge to blog with my new set up. I am still so much into writing in the moment. I drove into town this afternoon to run errands and have a bite to eat at a place I know has wireless. I managed some of the blogs I've been following via Google Reader and my Smartphone.

Finally now I am going to blog out what I have been pondering lately, especially as an image came to me just now of Christopher Robin.

When I was little, I was a very quiet and shy kid. I had my school friends, but I don't recall lots of socializing with those kids outside of school. It seemed that I always had one or two neighborhood friends that I socialized with. Not until we moved to Michigan my sophomore year of highschool to I begin to have a circle of friends with whom I regularly got together and got into trouble.

Prior to this I lived in my head reading everything I could get my hands on. When I was in junior high I worked my way through John Jakes' Bicentennial Series, a number of very fat novels of historical fiction following the Kent family through pre-Revolution on up to the near present day.

Well, what has been on my mind lately is that my life seems to be reverting back to my Christopher Robin days. Lately the number of local folk that I regularly socialize with continues to disappear. I do get together for saunas with my neighbor, Heidi. Otherwise it is me, the animals and my books and movies.

I have blogged before on my secular hermit status. What I'm thinking about now is why this doesn't seem to bother me. First off, I have a small group of folks with whom I maintain a telephone/text/cyber friendship. Beyond them is my Facebook/blog network of cyber friends around the globe - literally - Lindy is in China, Jack is in the UK, PJ is in New York, Goren is in Sweden, Maria is in Missouri, Robert is in Alaska...the list goes on. I don't feel isolated in the least (well, most of the time).

I come across articles that are bemoaning the way that social networks are taking over our lives. I myself have been frustrated in the past with my siblings' relying on a simple Facebook friendship link without any regular interactions even on the network as an apparent acceptable substitute for them to an actual live connection, mainly via the telephone.

An acquaintance just had their third child last weekend. Rather than call the grandparents, they made the initial announcement on Facebook. Some in their family struggled with that decision.

Yet, there is something genuine and good in these connections. We are all struggling with frustrations and sadness and a poor economy and disappointment. There's a connection there that is in many ways more immediate and liberated than relying on the formality of phone calls. I can roll over in bed and grab my phone and see who's commented on Facebook, who's sent me a message, etc.

I have argued in the past that the seeming superficiality of these connections is in truth no less superficial than the majority of our day to day relationships. We put a significant weight on the physical presence of the other, yet what we truly value is the spirit of that other. We transcend the physical with our miraculous technical methods of connecting.

This past weekend I was actually in a mood to watch the Packer/Bears game and thought I'd sit and watch it with Heidi's husband. She messaged me on Saturday "not to feel bad" but Steven didn't want me to come over. She made an excuse about him preferring to watch the game alone. I didn't exactly buy the excuse and still suspect that he was not comfortable having me over with no one else home. My point in bringing this up is simply to reinforce my argument that these "real" relationships are just as superficial or more correctly that my cyber relationships have as much depth.

So why Christopher Robin? Well, the entire Winnie the Pooh world is essentially in the head of one little boy. As I sat down to think about my evolving life pattern of socialization, I realized that my entire social network is essentially in my head (with the help of technology) and if Christopher Robin can do it, why not me?

That picture at at the top of the post? The text is as follows:

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."”

I have many such moments with my cyber friends. I reach out and they are there, just so I can be sure of them. It's remarkably easier to do than with the folks in my physical life. Peace.

A Bit About Abby

2011-01-20T18:06:00.004-05:00

Here's one of the best snaps I've gotten in recent months. The guy on the left is Frankie and the girl on the right is Abby. I was sitting in my Lazy Boy recliner watching some DVD or other when I looked over and saw this adorable site.

Let me back up a bit. As you can see by the pic at the top of the blog, I live in a log home in the woods. I've lived here for over five years now. The first autumn right after moving in I began to notice that I had a mouse. I believed it was A mouse. As it happens in the woods, every year in the fall the deer mice begin to seek out a nice cozy safe place to winter in. It took me until the next season to realize that it wasn't A mouse. I had long given up the whole live trap ideal and had resorted to snap traps. I was regularly catching/killing up to 2-3 dozen mice a season.

Needless to say I longed for a feline solution. My problem, however, were my trusty canine pals. I was very reluctant to introduce a tiny little kitten into the house with the four dogs. Cosmo, may he rest in peace, would always over react in the presence of a cat, as though he was shouting out, "Stand back, don't panic, it's an evil cat. I'll protect you!" Frankie, on the other hand, would probably kill the poor thing with rambunctious play.

Yet to bring an adult cat into the picture, fully clawed, might mean harm to the dogs.

So a year ago last fall, I had gone next door to the neighbors to see their son recently home from the hospital and Abby goes scooting by the sliding glass door. After a brief case of mistaken identity, I learn that their cat had had a pair of kitten sisters that summer and they were now five months old. Unfortunately there was already another litter upstairs so the girls had been pushed out of the house to fend for themselves as outdoor cats.

Along come my dogs and I watch as the kittens assume defensive postures and defend themselves and a light bulb goes off over my head. Needless to say, the girls soon were mine. Abby who was being called "Johnny Five Fingers" because of her opposable thumbs was quickly given a more appropriate and dignified name. You may recall that ABBy is short for Anne Boleyn Boadicea. Her sister who was essentially nameless was christened Catherine of Aragon Latipha or Cal for short.

It took a number of months to work out the in house logistics. For awhile the cats had the basement and the dogs stayed upstairs. However, around the time I moved my t.v. room to the main floor I began to feel that the cats were being slighted and began to introduce them to the house at large.

Frankie got whapped a few times but quickly learned to respect the girls who had grown significantly by then. There were other clues that we were moving beyond detente to tolerance to acceptance, but this photo was my first clue that we had family bonding occurring.

You can see Abby's little thumb in the picture there. If you haven't read my post below, then you don't know that she is terminally ill. I just discovered Sunday night that she has Feline Leukemia Virus and is likely to have less than an a year or two to live.

In addition to her thumbs, she has the most beautiful eyes. They are a bright green with a small ring of pea green around her pupils. There is a very small chance that as she fights this current episode of leukemia (she's on steroids and her blood counts are responding) that she will go into remission and live a more normal life). Keep the prayers coming. Peace.

Keeping IT Under Control?

2011-01-20T17:12:00.004-05:00

When you are raised Roman Catholic you are always on the lookout for the other shoe to drop. Something good happening in your life? There’ll be a negative just around the corner. So it seems is the case once again in my life.

In recent weeks I was forced to work an ungodly number of hours at work. What got me through was the knowledge that I would have extra cash to put towards paying down debt. Sure enough the paycheck was padded and I intended to make an extra payment on the credit card. I looked over my financial plan (if you can deem to call it that) and was at least satisfied that I was making slow progress.

Well, just as the house seems able to sniff out my tax return, life took a bite out of those plans. The car needs a new part - $300-400 gone. Worse yet, one of my cats is now seriously ill and the emergency vet bill and the vet bill today - $350 gone. All the extra money and a bit more - into the debt vacuum. Did I mention it was time to order another fill on the propane tank?

Well, despite all this whining, there is a more philosophical point here.

I struggle with control. No matter how laid back I think I have become I am still by nature a control freak. At work for the most part this is a good thing. It has allowed me to organize the hell out of Home Infusion, while driving my work partner a bit crazy. She, however, is mildly dyslexic and not exactly organized. We have butted heads over the years, but in the end she sees the purpose of most of my system changes.

In my personal life it gets to be a bit more complicated. I struggle most days with my messy house. The control freak thinks there should be order, but the body is just too damn tired. The result is a constant low grade feeling of guilt - I am a bad person because my house is messy.

Of course, then I am really hit with a bombshell. One of my adorable cats - Abby - has Feline Leukemia.

She had been spending a greater amount of time in the basement lately, but by Sunday I could see that something was clearly wrong. She was very lethargic and dopey. After the emergency vet visit and the visit today, I now know and expect that she will die in the not too distant future. Her illness is not treatable and it is simply a question of keeping her comfortable. The steroid therapy is helping boost her bone marrow, but it is likely to be temporary only.

Her sister is likely to test positive for FLV, but may or may not ever develop illness from it.

The words of sympathy and prayers are abundant on Facebook and I am grateful for them all. However, I am facing this crisis with a relatively calm spirit. This is beyond my control.

Yes, it is very sad that I will lose this beautiful cat so soon. However, in all likelihood she got this virus from her mother - in other words it was going to happen. When I adopted her I adopted a cat with a short life span. The alternative would be that she simply didn’t exist. That is not an option I would choose.

How does the song go from Rent? “There’s only this, there’s only now…” I will love, cherish and care for her with the time we have together and accept that for what it is. It would be wrong to waste any of our time together wishing for something else.

The life of one cat is so meaningless against the larger tragedies of this world. However, with this illness, I have been granted the opportunity to adjust my attitude once again. I have been reminded that life for all of us fleeting. Death is beyond our control. We must all live in the moment and cherish the beings that we are walking with along the path.

UPDATE: Sister Cal has tested negative for the virus! This means either she was lucky and didn't catch the virus from mom or she did and her body successfully fought it off. Either way she has been started on the FLV vaccination regimen. Abby's blood work on Wednesday was an improvement from Sunday night so she is showing a strong ability to fight. There's a very small possibility that she could go into remission and surprise us all, so please keep the prayers coming. Peace.

Trying To Get Back Into The Groove

2011-01-11T13:36:00.005-05:00

Here I sit at the Irish Rover waiting for my "Irish Breakfast." In the past my blogging was always rather spontaneous. I would get an idea; log onto the computer; and type away with minimal editing. Now I have to plan.

Well, now that my breakfast/lunch is tucked snugly into my gut...eggs, deep fried bread, bangers and champ, ham, beans...YUM.

OK, so here we go. The obvious topic at hand would be the recent tragedy in Tucson. However, I've already said plenty on Facebook--most of it angry.

I think I would rather discuss what I heard on NPR the other night. I was driving home and they were discussing smart phones, apps, etc. The one guy actually said that he preferred "the old fashioned internet." Wow. I nearly had a mild panic attack.

I was only beginning to wrap my poor old brain around the idea that e-mail will soon be going the way of typewriters. I can grasp that we are witnessing the death throes of commercial scheduled television as we know it. However, "old fashioned" is not a term I would think to apply to the net.

It would seem I have purchased my smart phone just in the nick of time. My rationale for that was the complete lack of internet connection at home in the woods. After calling up my mom and asking her to look something up for me, I realized I had to do something.

My smartphone, a Galaxy S by Samsung with Droid technology, is wonderful. I am actually reading blogs more via Google Reader. I am able to check mail and comment regularly on Facebook. The speed is acceptable and the cost is half what I was paying for my wireless card.

I am happy with how I am keeping up with technology. I never used to fancy myself a "computer geek" and maybe by geek standards I am fooling myself. However, I look around me and see many many folks who are slowly being left in the dust.

Ironically, though, one of the innovations I am not interested in is the Readers. I commented just yesterday on a status update in which my friend was wishing for a Kindle. My response was that I would never give up real books, and magazines and journals printed on paper.

Perhaps it's because the printed word is more a part of my physical environment. One of the best compliments I have received regarding my house is that "the whole house is like a library." I have stacks of back issues of the Nation and Harpers in the basement. There is a permanence with the tangible items that seems so lacking in digital form. If I lose power for 24 hours, I can still read my book by oil burning lamp. They cannot take them away from me except by the extreme - as in Nazi Germany or Fahrenheit 451.

Yes, I realize I am drifting a bit into my paranoid delusions of total collapse of society. I also realize that my books are not permanent - they are only permanent for me. They will eventually disappear - either tossed into the trash after I am gone or allowed to slowly crumble to dust if my siblings' offspring continue to pass them on from generation to generation.

Much as I think I want to loosen my grip on things, books will always be things that will be hard to relinquish. I can't believe I am thinking of Charlton Heston and "prying my cold dead hands" from my books. OK, maybe I'm getting a bit carried away.

In any case, my life is a strange combination of near off grid living in the woods and current technology. Folks from either side would likely scoff at the combination, but it works for me.

I Think The Picture Says It All

2011-01-10T15:58:00.003-05:00

Yes, I am alive and well, for those of you have been wondering. I have been active on Facebook. I gave up the Internet at home last year and that has cut me off a bit. However, I have succumbed to the temptation of smart phones and now, with the help of my Droid, am able to do most things at home on the net via my phone.

I am finally taking full advantage of my Google Reader and am gradually increasing my subscriptions. This allows to me to regularly read posts, although I am not able to comment, which may be a good thing.

I have had surgeries on both wrists to alleviate carpal tunnel symptoms and am now on a new drug via the neurologist which is helping with what he calls "micro neuropathy" as the cause for my joint pain throughout my body.

Work continues to be a challenge, but I am thankful that I am employed when so many are not. My bills are getting paid and my debt is slowly decreasing. I am blest.

More to come...

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

2010-08-30T16:12:00.005-04:00

"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...

2010-08-09T13:50:00.002-04:00

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...

2010-07-20T15:54:00.003-04:00

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...

2010-07-03T15:56:00.000-04:00

For Erika...

2010-07-02T23:47:00.002-04:00

"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

2010-06-27T14:01:00.002-04:00

"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...

2010-06-15T21:38:00.002-04:00

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

2010-06-13T18:11:00.005-04:00

'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

2010-06-10T19:24:00.004-04:00

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

2010-06-07T10:31:00.004-04:00

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...

2010-05-31T17:13:00.003-04:00

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?

2010-05-31T10:48:00.003-04:00

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...

2010-05-18T10:31:00.002-04:00

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

2010-05-17T13:54:00.007-04:00

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...

2010-05-09T10:32:00.005-04:00

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

2010-05-03T09:26:00.004-04:00

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

2010-04-27T20:04:00.005-04:00

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...

2010-04-20T11:46:00.007-04:00

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...

2010-02-23T14:50:00.003-05:00

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

2010-02-11T21:50:00.004-05:00

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.

from 1991

2010-02-08T22:37:00.002-05:00

at two thirty in the morning

from the window I see him
sitting at the counter before a
cup of coffee

average joe, salt and pepper, bristly forearms, twisting on a
toothpick, scratching his chin with his thumb
staring off into yesterday

one by one men sit like that
all night as the bus goes on down
Belmont and just like the straight guys I only
go for the young and pretty ones and wonder why

at two thirty in the morning

My Thoughts On The Recent Spat Of Nastigrams

2010-02-08T19:27:00.005-05:00

"Don't be such a drama queen!!!"

Yes, in the last love note I received over the Facebook downsize, the above was an accusation hurled my way by the angry party.

Ironically, NPR had a bit today on All Things Considered about Facebook and other social networking sites and the complications involved in trying to undo some of the built up connections.

Thank you all who spoke up to offer support. I personally think the issue must be much larger than Facebook, but attempts at engaging were thwarted with a final batch of name calling and the command cited above. I ended my response with the statement, "Sometimes a delete button is the only answer."

Singing The Birth Order Blues...

2010-02-02T19:31:00.005-05:00

Have you ever read some of the theory behind how Birth Order can affect your personality? If you look at the traits, in some ways I am a classic first born child and in other ways I am a recovering first born child. Tonight I want to focus on the "mover and shaker" tendencies of being a first born.

I recently purged a number of contacts from my Facebook Friend list. The majority were either real live folks from here in Marquette or members of my family. A couple of the individuals were a direct result of my previous post on rabid anti-theists - those individuals who insist on tearing down faith and religion. However, the bulk of those who were de-listed came off the list because we rarely if ever had any direct communication with each other.

For example, a good friend of mine here in town made a very big point about not wanting to receive any of the game stuff on Facebook, that she wasn't interested in that aspect of the network. As it happens, playing the games is a big part of my FB experience and many of the folks I chat with with involve game play. I removed her from the list with the others and she is the only individual who contacted me to ask what happened.

So what has this to do with birth order? I am a hermit. I haven't always been this way. There was one period in my life back in Chicago where I sat down and looked at my weekly schedule and saw about a 2 hour window on Sunday afternoons that was free. I had a very full list of friends with whom I socialized regularly.

I also started to see that if I didn't organize or initiate the social exchange it started to go away.

I am the oldest of four kids. As we were growing up I was the designated baby sitter after a certain age. By junior high, I was often in charge after school until my mom got home. Within the neighborhood where we were growing up, I was one of the older kids. I was conditioned to be the organizer.

So I stopped being the organizer--more and more I became the hermit instead. As time wore on I paid attention to communication patterns with friends. More often than not, if I didn't call - we didn't speak. If I didn't try to arrange a get together - we didn't get together. I began to contemplate the value of friendships that were so out of balance. These were not bad people. However, I began to lose faith in friendships where I did the work.

Now I am very comfortably living the hermit life style. I am not quite a complete misanthrope - yet. My circle of friends - people I know I can count on in a crisis - is very small. I have many, many friend/acquaintances though - people with which I could carry on a lively conversation if we bumped into each other at the grocery store, for example. As a rule, however, people don't call.

Ironically, I get more phone calls from my cyber sistah/friend Maria who I have never met face to face, then I get from any of my local friends. Maria has randomly called me every other week or so since we exchanged phone numbers - to give this some perspective. I have randomly called her as well. There is a mutuality to the exchange.

I have two other long term friends - both of the formerly close geographically but now far away type - Carolyn and Lisa will periodically call me out of the blue to see how I am and to chit chat. Similarly I will do the same. They are also the only ones who have come to visit and with whom I have visited as well.

Perhaps the biggest challenge for me has been within my own family. For a long time, I carried the water. I tried to make the regular phone calls. I tried to remember the birthdays and anniversaries. However, the more I appreciated the silence of my hermitage, the more I scaled back on my friendships, the more I began to test my familial relationships as well.

As a rule, my siblings don't call. To be completely fair, my youngest brother called me last summer when he learned about my diabetes to see how I was doing. My sister sent me an e-card when she learned I had put Cosmo down in November. My sister-in-law religiously sends out thank you cards and makes sure she invites me to the kids' parties even though odds are I am not going to be able to make it in. Overall though, this is pretty slim pickings.

Facebook has been a wonderful tool. I have a very active cyber community with whom I am friends. Given the distance, they fall somewhere between friends and acquaintances as I could not rely on them to be able to pitch in here in the U.P. in an emergency. I have no doubt that they would in a heart beat if they were able.

I have decided though that Facebook is not going to enable poor communication between me and the individuals that should matter in my life or rather individuals for which I should matter more. Facebook must either supplement a strong real life friendship/relationship or create a cyber foundation for a future real life friendship/relationship. I will not allow it to be a half-assed substitute for the real thing.

As a first born, getting to this point has been challenging. I have been raised to believe that carrying on relationships is on my shoulders. I have worked very hard at untwining the guilt from backing away from out of balance relationships. I have to remind myself that it is not my fault that we are not closer. That, my friends, is what I mean when I say I'm singing the birth order blues...

When Our Senses Overwhelm Us

2010-01-31T15:29:00.002-05:00

"The canine sense of smell and his repertoire of scents is, after all, at least hundreds of times and perhaps more than a million times more acute and more expansive than mine." Randy Kidd, DMV, PhD

It is said that for us, our sense of smell is most closely tied to memory, but our sense of vision tends to take priority over the other senses. I have read that when we lose our vision, our sense of hearing becomes more acute, for example.

When teaching phlebotomy skills to nurses not used to performing that task (blood drawing for labs), they would blindly run their fingers up and down the patients arm in a mild panic if they couldn't see the vein with their eyes. I would encourage them to take a deep breathe and close their eyes, let their fingers begin to work without the distraction of the eyes.

The inspiration for this post are my little furry critters over there on the left sidebar. For a few months now the canines and the felines have been working on detente with the door to the basement stairs serving as the Iron Curtain and the work room downstairs (where the dogs are fed) as West Berlin. (now that I have beaten THAT metaphor to death...)

Frankie, my Welsh terrier, most of all has yet to give up on full investigation of the kittens. He will not let an opportunity pass to sniff their butts, nip at their rumps, and try to get them to play. Needless to say the kittens are not amused. Lola will only get into the fray if Frankie is there already stirring the pot--otherwise she pretty much leaves well enough alone. However, when she is the first dog to venture into cat space she will scout out the terrain to see where those alien beasts are lurking.

The fable in all this is that often times with their sense of smell in overload they will run right past the cats while searching for them - literally within inches of them. True the cats are "hiding" - akin to a 200 pound man hiding behind a lamppost. The entire basement now must be this massive olfactory zone of tempting feline scent. In their excitement, the dogs run around, "KITTY! KITTY! I SMELL KITTY! MUST FIND KITTY!" They are lead by their awesome sense of smell and blinded as a result.

It has me thinking about ways in which we too zip right past the answers we are looking for because we have allowed the dominant way of perceiving a situation to take control.

A very common example of this for me would be "presumed heterosexuality." Folks who are not in tune to the full spectrum of human sexuality - "Well, I don't mind homosexuals I suppose, as long as they stay down there in the big cities...it's not like we have any of their sort HERE..." -- only see their world through a heterosexual lens.

I don't mean to limit this concept to the manner in which we deal in stereotypes. I believe it is much bigger than that. The above was just a simple example to make my point. I believe what I am getting at has to do with breaking out of our respective paradigms.

I love to smash paradigms. I love to ask - "But WHY do we have to do it that way?" When I first switched to day shift on the ortho/neuro/peds floor at the hospital many years ago, I drove the Old Doll nurses crazy. I know this because my manager told me so at my 90 day evaluation. She told me that she likes that I think outside the box, but that the other nurses just don't get me. For example, the established routine was that all the bathes must be completed by 10AM. They would kill themselves some days to make this happen. I chose not to worry about this though - we had the entire 8 hour day shift to achieve this goal. It made the girls crazy.

This is not to say that, like my little canine friends, I don't let my sense of smell get the better of me and rush right past the cats that I know must be there. I do my best. I try to remember to be aware of this tendency. When I do, I close my eyes and let the other senses guide me.

Peace.

Citizens United vs. FEC

2010-01-30T20:20:00.009-05:00

No.08-205. Argued March 24, 2009---Re-argued September 9, 2009---Decided January 21, 2010

...As amended by...the Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act of 2002, federal law prohibits corporations...from using their general treasury funds to make independent expenditures for speech that is an "electioneering communication" or for speech that expressly advocates the election or defeat of a candidate...

...The Court has recognized that the First Amendment applies to corporations...and extended this protection to the context of political speech...

...The First Amendment prohibits Congress from fining or jailing citizens, or associations of citizens, for engaging in political speech... ...The judgment of the District Court is reversed...It is so ordered.

The following is from The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck:

"The owners of the land came onto the land, or more often a spokesman for the owners came. ...Some of the owner men were kind because they hated what they had to do, and some of them were angry because they hated to be cruel, and some of them were cold because they had long ago found that one could not be an owner unless one were cold. And all of them were caught in something larger than themselves...If a bank or a finance company owned the land, the owner man said, The Bank -- or the Company -- needs -- wants -- insists -- must have -- as though the Bank or the Company were a monster, with thought and feeling, which had ensnared them. These last would take no responsibility for the banks or the companies because they were men and slaves, while the banks were machines and masters all at the same time...The owner men sat in the cars and explained. You know the land is poor. You've scrabbled at it long enough, God knows.

The squatting tenant men nodded and wondered and drew figures in the dust, and yes, they knew, God knows. If the dust only wouldn't fly. If the top would only stay on the soil, it might not be so bad...

Well, it's too late. And the owner men explained the workings and the thinkings of the monster that was stronger than they were....You see, a bank or a company...those creatures don't breathe air, don't eat side-meat. They breathe profits; they eat the interest on money....We have to do it. We don't like to do it. But the monster's sick....

Sure, cried the tenant men, but it's our land. We measured it and broke it up. We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it's no good, it's still ours...

We're sorry. It's not us. It's the monster. The bank isn't like a man.

Yes, but the bank is only made of men.

No, you're wrong there--quite wrong there. The bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it. The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It's the monster. Men made it, but they can't control it."

And the Supreme Court has further enshrined that the monster is entitled to all the rights of a citizen.

I have long ago altered Lincoln's famous words to more properly reflect what has happened to this failed Democracy known as the United States of America. What we have now is Government of the Corporations, by the Corporations, and for the Corporations.

Thankfully, full disclosure is still required. In his opinion, Justice Clarence "pubic hair on my Pepsi" Thomas rails against not protecting anonymous speech. As his examples he cites the occurrences in California where individuals who donated to the Pro Proposition 8 cause were subject to calls for boycotts and resignations. Justice Thomas would prefer that the money be hidden and secret.

I recall an incident here in Marquette in which the very Republican owner of a popular local business decided to put large political signs up in front of his business in support of the Republican candidate for Congress. He was outraged when a boycott was organized against his business. He wrongly (IMHO) felt that somehow his freedom of speech was being taken away from him. Clarence Thomas apparently would have agreed.

However, he chose to politicize his business and the consumers of this heavily Democratic and unionized county chose to vote with their dollars. What could be more American than that? Therefore, disappointed as I am in the decision, the disclosure of donated money will trigger all kinds of boycotts and calls for support in coming years by political consumers. I am thankful for the internet and for the social networking sites that will make instant boycotts our only weapon against corporate money.

In Chicago in the late 80's, the boys in Boys Town decided to stop drinking Miller products because of Philip Morris' support of right wing anti-gay politicians. Although some whined that we were only punishing the local distributor, Miller/Phillip Morris eventually figured out that the boys of Boys Town drink a lot of beer. I haven't been to a Pride Parade in a number of years now, but I recall fondly watching the big Miller truck take it's place among the other floats and groups.

Be aware Corporate America, we will be watching where every penny goes so choose how you spend wisely or suffer the consequences. This might be a great spot to remind you all to switch your money to local community banks and credit unions and out of the pockets of Wall Street Banks. Peace.

A Mile Wide And An Inch Deep

2010-01-30T17:00:00.004-05:00

I remember when John Edwards came onto the national scene. I wanted very much to like him. This would have been back in 2004 when he was running for president and then selected as John Kerry's running mate. Of course, as I did a bit of quick fact checking for this post I discovered his real name - Johnny Reid Edwards - somehow much more appropriate for this slick operator, don't you think?

As I said, I wanted to like him - he is very good looking - has this kind of Bobby Sherman thing going. Remember him, Bobby Sherman? Here Come The Brides? Am I that old? Oh, never mind. However, I've always felt there was this shallow frat boy quality to his looks - a lights are on but nobody's home kind of quality behind the eyes - and I don't mean stupidity. I couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that was triggering that character alert alarm in my head.

A moment at the Democratic convention sealed it for me. This dude was not to be trusted. The moment was he was announced as the official running mate. I can't recall if his wife gave the speech or how it all occurred. The gyst of it was that John Kerry and his rich catsup queen wife Thereza were already on stage as was Mrs. Edwards.

He enters stage right - charming smile on high beams. Elizabeth Edwards approaches him, I'm assuming to give him a big hug. Apparently this wasn't part of the scripted moment. Without dropping a megawatt from his pearly white grin, he grabbed his wife by the shoulders without hugging or kissing her and shoved her out of the way as he passed so he could get to his mark.

The camera shot was of most of the stage and this little action occurred at the far left side of the screen with the podium and the Kerry's off to the right. I remember my jaw hit the floor. Did I just see him do that? The man was such a player he couldn't break from the staged moment and give his wife a spontaneous hug and kiss? I felt this cold pit open up in my gut for the briefest moment. What kind of man would do that?

Well, now we all know. The kind of man who would cheat on his cancer stricken wife and have a baby with another woman. The kind of man who thought he could get away with the affair. The kind of man who cons the woman and another campaign staffer to take the credit for the child. It just keeps getting better and better.

By any chance have your read the Stephen King novel The Dead Zone? The protagonist has this ability to see into the future when he touches people. He shakes hands with this political candidate and has all kinds of horrible premonitions about the man. He decides he has to take him out. Part of his premonitions involve seeing the man through a blue tigerstripe gauzy fabric and he cannot make out what that means.

As the novel procedes this politician is gaining in the polls and looks to be a shoe in in the election. The protagonist's last chance is a small New England church where he hides in the choir loft with a rifle to assassinate this man who he has come to believe is truly evil. The man has finished his speech and is working his way through the crowed doing the hand shake and kiss the baby thing. As the protagonist leaps up to shoot the man, he has just patted the head of a small baby who is wearing a blue tiger striped snowsuit. When the politician sees what is about to happen, he grabs the baby and uses him as a shield to run down the aisle.

The protagonist is fatally shot by the secret service men. I can't recall exactly how, but he manages to grab ahold of the nasty politician as he passes and now all he sees is the destroyed political career and he can die content that he has saved the country. Classic King.

R.I.P Political Career of Johnny Edwards - I think we dodged a bullet on that one.

Theme From MAS*H...

2010-01-29T12:36:00.006-05:00

I am telling you now, upfront, this post is in no way a cry for help. As you read this post, be aware of your reactions to what I am discussing and share your comments accordingly. We have a very dysfunctional relationship to death in this culture. I am seeking to tear down some of that dysfunction here.

I want to talk about suicide, euthanasia, and death. Please note your reaction. Is it "how morbid!" Is it, "Oh, I hope he's ok." Is it, "I don't want to hear about this."

I have been on medication for anxiety/depression for about eight years now and probably could have used it much earlier than that. My mood ebbs and flows--at times with enough caffeine on board I have some clearly manic episodes. I also have times where I am down. This isn't one of them.

As a single person in America, I am constantly subjected to the cultural expectations that people are to be coupled and the silent and not so silent questioning of what is wrong when someone remains single. When I am down it almost never has to do with being "alone." (cue the dramatic music)

About two years ago I was meeting with my psychiatrist. I basically have a 15 minute appointment every six months to touch base and get my prescriptions refilled. I had finally felt brave enough to bring up my thoughts of suicidal ideation--fancy words for contemplating suicide.

What he said that day has stuck with me more than anything else he has said. Essentially he said that part of depression - part of being neurotic - is having experiencing those emotional states as our comfort zones. Our brains - our subconscious - works then to keep us in those emotional states because that is where we are comfortable.

Think, for example, of someone you know who always seems to be in a crisis. You might even say they spend their lives bouncing from crisis to crisis. That person essentially only knows how to function when they are on high alert/crisis mode. That is his or her comfort zone. Some will go so far as to create crises in order to maintain that zone.

In my case though, the regular punitive sh*t we feed ourselves doesn't work. This would be the "I'm a bad person because..." kind of thoughts. I'm a bad person because my house isn't clean, I'm a bad person because I yelled at my kids. I'm a bad person because I didn't recycle. Think of that as a first line of attack by our sub-conscience to keep us in that comfort zone of feeling bad. As I said, in my case that stuff doesn't carry water any more. I am able with the help of my medication to shut that voice down most of the time.

This is where Dr. Miller's thoughts really hit home. He suggested that in my case, my brain has had to be more creative to try and push me back into that zone, and it does so by having these taboo thoughts creep into my daily musings. They can be musings on suicide or sexual perversity or violence. Once I have those thoughts, the punitive voice kicks back in. "I'm a bad person because I'm thinking about..." Thankfully, I am mastering control of this strategy as well in my fight to battle depression.

I believe it is a zen concept to remember that our thoughts do not define us. They are like a monkey in a cage, rattling the bars, trying to escape. This in conjunction with Dr. Miller's advise keeps me out of the dark place.

However, clearly suicidal ideation is a cultural taboo. We don't want to hear about it. We don't want to talk about it. We start to panic when someone does.

I am fairly certain that when the appropriate time comes, I will choose to die at my own hands. Once again, please note your reaction. Is it, "Oh my God!" Is it, "You lie!" Is it, "Oh, you're just being dramatic." Is it, "Are you sure you're ok?"

I have mixed feelings with how Hollywood has dealt with the subject over the years. There is the tragic end to The Children's Hour in which Shirley MacLaine's character hangs herself after admitting that she is a lesbian. There is Ruth Gordan's character in Harold and Maude, who takes her own life on her 80th birthday. Having survived the concentration camps of Germany, she simply decided she would enjoy life to the fullest and check out on her 80th. In both of these films, the suicide comes at the end as an essential moment in the film's climax.

On rare occasions, the suicide is a central theme of the film. For example, Javier Bardem portrays the real life struggle with assisted suicide of Ramon Sampedro in The Sea Inside. Ramon Sampedro lived for many years as a quadriplegic, fighting unsuccessfully for the right to end his life.

Lastly, is the Robin Williams' movie What Dreams May Come. This movie is mostly set in heaven after a series of tragedies befall one family. First they parents lose their children in a car accident. Then, months later, Robin Williams is also killed in an accident, leaving the bereft mother all alone. The remainder of the film centers on Robin Williams' experiences in heaven where he learns that his wife has committed suicide.

I remember discussing the movie with my mom and she was very troubled by the message put forth. The wife is ironically trapped in a hell-like prison of her own creation because she chose to end her own life. Robin Williams' eventually manages to free her from this purgatory. However, the message is that you will be punished in the afterlife for your action if you choose suicide.

This, of course, is the Christian tradition. Suicides were not to be buried in sacred ground. The grieving families were instructed that their loved one was now beyond reach in hell for their mortal sin. Even today, the Roman Catholic church still forbids the removal of feeding tubes and the withdrawing of life support.

I have worked in health care for nearly twenty years now. I have seen up close what it looks like when death wins over medical intervention. Too, too often we - the patient, the family, the doctors - cling to life at all costs...to what end?

Perhaps I will choose hospice over aggressive treatment of cancer. Perhaps I will find a way to end things on my own if faced with a diagnosis of Alzheimers. Perhaps I will live into my nineties and all my friends will be gone and I will decide that it is time. It is my hope that long before I reach that point, society will have improved on how we deal with death and end of life issues and there will be a formal process I can follow. Rest assured that when the time comes, it will not be an emotional, rash decision.

However, it will be my choice and my decision...unless a wayward logging truck gets me first.

Mad As Hell, Not Gonna Take It Anymore...

2010-01-27T19:58:00.007-05:00

Any idea what this lovely collection of humanity has in common? They were all participants at a "Holocaust Denial" Conference. I cannot fathom the level of hate and bigotry that it must take to come to this belief. I sometimes wonder if they truly don't believe or if they are merely taking a pose for political reasons. Regardless they are very proud and public with this stance. How would you feel if these very vocal deniers were gaining ground in their beliefs - encouraging other Holocaust Deniers to come forward, join them in discrediting this "enormous fraud?"

In light of how I began this post, what follows may seem to some to be overly harsh and an unfair comparison.

I posted the following quote from The Passion of the Western Mind: Understanding the Ideas That Have Shaped Our World View by Richard Tarnas:

"On the intellectual level, religion no longer tends to be understood reductively as a psychologically or culturally determined belief in nonexistent realities, or explained away as an accident of biology, but is recognized as a fundamental human activity in which every society and individual symbolically interprets and engages the ultimate nature of being."

When I came across that quote last night while finishing the book, I stopped mid-page to post it as a Facebook status update. It seemed to sum up my thoughts on religion - not "organized religion," not "church," not "faith" - but pure religion, and why it continues to be essential to humanity in all it's forms. In turn, it clicked for me why I am so bothered by fundamentalist atheists or rabid anti-theists as I prefer to call them (in the hopes of separating them from the more tolerant atheists and agnostics).

With greater frequency and louder and more shrill voices, the growing mob of anti-theists out there are making their voices heard. The first batch of comments posted were all incredibly bigoted, negative comments about religion from otherwise intelligent friendly people. This vocal fundamentalism that believes religion must be destroyed and eliminated is dangerous and should no longer be tolerated.

As I sat there reading these angry, hate filled comments on my Facebook wall, I realized that I was finished with allowing these individuals to pollute my space with their horrid rhetoric. If I learned that a friend was a Holocaust denier, would I bite my tongue and pretend that what they were saying was just a matter of opinion?

I had decided to read Tarnas' book to get a better handle on how we got to where we are in the 21st century. The relationship between the metaphysical and the empirical is a dance that has been going on for two millenia and the music is still playing. These rabid anti-theists who so vocally seek to destroy religion are chained to the biblical literalism and Christian fundamentalism they so vociferously hate.

Karen Armstrong said it best in the introduction to her new book, "Atheism is...parasitically dependent on the form of theism it seeks to eliminate and becomes its reverse mirror image."

When I was in boot camp many years ago, an ordained Baptist minister in my company took time one Sunday afternoon to explain why Roman Catholicism was evil and why I would be going to Hell. That is religious intolerance. Muslims and Christians continue to kill each other in Nigeria. That is religious intolerance. Anti-theists fund public media campaigns to attack the beliefs of the faithful. That is religious intolerance.

From this day forward, this blog will no longer provide space for rabid anti-theists. I will no longer enable what is a violent, determined bigotry - no different in spirit than the Klan. I deny them the right to wear the mantle of Rationalism. They are using Rationalism in their own fundamentalist culture war.

As Tarnas says,

"Science too, while no longer enjoying the same degree of sovereignty it possessed during the modern era, continues to retain allegiance for the unrivaled pragmatic power of its conceptions and the penetrating rigor of its method. Because the earlier knowledge claims of modern science have been relativized by both philosophy of science and the concrete consequences of scientific and technological advance, that allegiance is no longer uncritical, yet in these new circumstances science itself has seemingly been freed up to explore new and less-constricted approaches to understanding the world. It is true that individuals who subscribe to an allegedly unified and self-evident "scientific world view" of the modern type are seen as having failed to engage the larger intellectual challenge of the age--thereby receiving the same judgment in the postmodern era that the ingenuous religious person received from science in the modern era. In virtually all contemporary disciplines, it is recognized that the prodigious complexity, subtlety, and multivalence of reality far transcend the grasp of any one intellectual approach, and that only a committed openness to the interplay of many perspectives can meet the extraordinary challenges of the postmodern era."

Far too many of these atheists are as blind in their faith in science as biblical literalists are in their faith in the Bible. Waving a copy of Darwin's Origin of the Species and thumping on its cover for good effect is no different than doing the same with the Bible. Putting a fish with legs logo on your car is no different than the original fish logo. If your beliefs only have weight by railing against someone else's beliefs, then you have no belief. You are empty. You are a fraud.

It's A Dog's Life...

2010-01-24T11:36:00.007-05:00

All week I had been listening for my Muse and...nothing...silence. I tend to write these posts off the cuff when a particular bit of news triggers something, and what I have to say comes pouring forth. I do a tiny bit of editing, mostly for typos, but in the end this is writing on the fly.

This intro comes as a nod towards Mr. Z, my 6th grade teacher, who recently found me on Facebook some 35+ years later. I would credit him as the first teacher who really encouraged my writing, so in a way you have him to blame. The next teacher after him would be Grace Chamberlain with whom he is friends, so I hope to be able to get word to her as well that they are remembered fondly.

Mad Priest posted the triggering item today on his blog. I have borrowed the image above from his post. It is a report on Russians and stray dogs and a subway murder...so go now and read.

This comes on the tail (pun intended) of a piece I read the other day via AlterNet from the Washington Post. It tells the tale of a little dog left abandoned on a tanker and the public outcry to rescue her...so go now and read that...I'll wait.

Finally, a Facebook/college friend posted a status update on Facebook today about "having a bit of a sad" over the death of a friend's dog.

Right or wrong, I was one of those people following Katrina. I found myself more moved by the plight of the animals than the plight of the people. I readily admit that by all human logic there seems to be something very wrong about that. Thankfully the world isn't guided by logic alone. I still carry around in my head the image of the dog trapped on the bit of overpass surrounded by flood waters--terrified, thirsty, alone. I admit to worrying about the dogs in Haiti as well.

At the root of this, I believe, is a cultural understanding of a little bit of Old Testament scripture that traditionally was read as have dominion over and is often now read as stewardship of...God's creation and other creatures. Essentially it is a question of humanity's role within or above nature. Are we part of nature or above nature?

I for one believe we are very much a part of nature...that we are a species among many. We may be blessed (or cursed) with possessing the most powerful intellect of the species, but we remain part of the animal kingdom none the less. Therefore, I also believe in animal intelligence...which brings us ultimately to suffering.

I think the Washington Post piece is onto something. Our brains are simply not programmed to truly process suffering on such a massive scale as the death and destruction in Haiti. I played the comparative math game yesterday. "Let's see...200,000 dead in Haiti would be about ten Marquette, Michigans, dead and gone...about seven Marquette Counties...or about 2/3 of the entire Upper Peninsula. I still tended to stare at those figures blankly.

Yet when I read the report on the eighty-eight nursing home residents, lying in the street with only two care aides desperately trying to comfort them., I was horrified. The report that rats were seen chewing at the diapers...

Yesterday on NPR they interviewed a musician who's school collapsed in the quake ten years to the day that a fire had destroyed it before. He was pulled alive from the rubble after only eighteen hours. His pregnant wife who was with him in the building was killed.

These individual stories moved me, and when I saw the video footage of the young boy pulled from the building I had a physical reaction as well...that sort of over-the-top-of-the-hill belly flip-butterfly feeling.

I believe that our animals experience suffering too. The difference lies in how they cope with their suffering. They may lack the cognitive ability to understand their suffering-to remember a time without suffering-or look to a time beyond their suffering. They stoically accept it as the now and do their best to continue living.

Nothing raises my hackles more than to hear someone exclaim, "Oh, please, it was just a dog..." As a believer in stewardship and the continuum of animal species that includes us rather than excludes us, to make such as statement is to be on a slippery slope to logic that can include the statement, "Oh, please, it's just a Jew...or a fag...or a Haitian."

To simply negate the being and suffering of a creature is to deny the creator in that creature. This is not the same as establishing an equivalency in which the value of a cat's life is the same as the value of a child's life. Such comparisons seem pointless in their attempt to defend the negation of value in animals' lives.

Of course, if I somehow found myself in a burning house and could only rescue either the little child or my beloved dog, I would rescue the child. That though in itself is meaningless. Life does not present itself in such simplistic black and white choices.

Life tends to present us with situations much more akin to Sophie's Choice, where upon arrival at Auschwitz, Meryl Streep's character must choose which of her children is to live and which to die. In the years that follow, Sophie experiences a particularly human form of suffering; a suffering to which animals are immune, survivor's guilt.

Yesterday the UN announced that the search and rescue phase of the operation in Haiti is over. I read of a mother's emotional response to the news; her three children are buried in the rubble. For the first two to three days following the quake, she heard their cries and could do nothing. She refuses to give up. I fear her suffering will never end.

So as you see, I am not heartless. I am not blind to human suffering. However, do not ask me to sacrifice my compassion for animals as a way to prove myself. We cannot truly process and understand suffering on the scale of the Haiti disaster. Writing off the suffering of animals in light of human suffering does not bring us any closer to doing so - it is perhaps one way of coping with our own survivor's guilt. However, I see holding onto a sense of compassion for animals as a better way of battling that guilt.

I choose to battle the horror of unexplainable death with a fierce determination to protect life - ALL life - "all creatures, great and small." Peace.

Devil Incarnate?

2010-01-18T11:27:00.005-05:00

The Rev. Pat Robertson once again stirred the pot, this time with his comments regarding possible causes of the Haiti earthquake. As he has done before, he has made a pronouncement about the cause for a natural disaster--namely that sin has triggered punishment.

I found myself struck by the anger directed back at him across the blogosphere, however. In most cases, when an individual makes a ridiculous or bizarre statement, we may gape a bit and then turn our heads making some form of "screw loose" gesture, so why the vitriol here?

Of course, in the midst of this horrific tragedy there is a decided "blame the victim" quality to his comments. For those with lost loved ones in the rubble, his comments are beyond appalling--like standing at the casket with the parents of a deceased adolescent and commenting on his lack of judgment and poor driving skills.

I also wonder if there is something deeper occurring though. Many without a personal connection to the tragedy are equally enraged. I am thinking that it boils down to problems with our Christian theology and his comments drift too close to our own theological confusion and doubt. We, therefore, want to punish him for making us uncomfortable. Our anger will vindicate our own faith. "See how not gay I am by beating up this fag?"

Pat Robertson clearly believes in an all powerful deity who regularly and consistently intervenes with life on the planet. If one is righteous and good with God, then one can pray for divine intervention into the chaos of our lives and be answered. If one is not righteous, if one is sinful, than one can expect punishment.

His faith allows for no doubt whatsoever. Something horrible has happened, there must be a reason for it. God's decision to stand back and let the suffering occur or (worse yet) send down the divine power that destroys cities in a single blow must be the fault of the victims.

Many of us were raised on this kind of God or a very similar God. Most of us were taught to pray to God for assistance, intervention. Many of us were taught to believe in God's creation.

Suffering of any scale is problematic - whether suffering a migraine all the way up to the devastation in Port-au-Prince. "What have I done to deserve this?" "Why is God allowing this to happen?" I think that emotionally many of us drift into this line of thinking against the best efforts of our rational brains.

The disconnect between the metaphysical and the empirical. We try to maintain a sense of balance between our belief in God and our trust in Science. Suffering throws us off balance. Pat Robertson reminds us that we are off balance and we hate him for it.

In our anger and hurt we want to shake our fists and curse God and that is uncomfortable. We want to blame someone, something for the pain and our rational/empirical sides - our left brain - keeps matter-of-factly stating, in best Spock Vulcan - "Don't be illogical, it was merely a shift in tectonic plates of the Earth in combination with shoddy building construction as a result of a devastated economy." But our right brain still insists on assigning blame and the only being left then is God...and that hurts.

Pat Robertson's ridiculous pronouncement refuses to blame God and so he must blame the victim. In his sad theology we see glimpses of our own doubt and we want to eradicate that doubt and so we angrily denounce him. We tell him to Shut The F*ck Up! We call him names - decry his ignorance and his cruelty. Perhaps, though, as has been suggested, the best response to him and his ilk is to ignore them - gape a bit, turn our heads, and make some sort of "screw loose" gesture.

Peace.

2010-01-17T12:02:00.008-05:00

Lao Tzu - Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.

Luke 18:22 - When Jesus heard this, he said to him, "There is still one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me."

The Koran - Prayer carries us halfway to God, fasting brings us to the door of His palace, alms-giving procures us admission.

Henry Ford - It is easy to give alms; it is better to work to make the giving of alms unnecessary.

John Acton - There is not a soul who does not have to beg alms of another, either a smile, a handshake, or a fond eye.

I have been thinking about the devastation in Haiti and the scramble in the aftermath to get resources to the survivors. In the days that followed, Pat Robertson made some rather unhelpful explanations of the cause of the earthquake, triggering another batch of thinking and pondering.

Yesterday, Maria made an offhand, otherwise innocuous Facebook status update that evolved into a 30+ comment discussion about shopping at Wal-Mart.

In the end I am now thinking about little gestures that we make in the face of suffering and the value of those gestures. Do they say more about our own needs or are they truly about the needs of the afflicted? Do they really make any difference in the end?

Let's start with the Wal-Mart situation. I am one of those who feel that Wal-Mart is destroying the fabric of this country. Their policies and price warfare amongst competitors and suppliers is contributing to the corporatization of the economy - they are becoming like one large "company store" for the country.

I avoid shopping there as much as possible, and in recent memory have not been inside their doors in well over a year. By choosing to shop elsewhere am I really affecting change? Or am I simply doing a "feel good" action that allows me to feel superior?

Maria lives in a rural part of the Mid West and she has few other options yet she still tries to limit how often and how much she spends at Wal-Mart. Interestingly though she knows a number of people that work there and this complicates a genuine personal boycott. When she shops there she knows that she is supporting their income which in turn contributes indirectly to the local community. There are very few alternatives for employment.

The hypothetical question is how many retail jobs would exist in her region if the big box store giant wasn't in town? Even if the answer is that there are fewer net jobs now in the region as all those other stores were forced to close up shop, the reality is what it is. As a result of this I have come to see that my personal boycott of Wal-Mart really is accomplishing very little beyond what personal satisfaction I receive.

What then about acts of charity? (hence all the quotes at the beginning of this post) As I said in a recent Facebook status update, "...if you give a homeless person some change...have you done your good deed for the day?...for the week? Is the action more about you and your need or the homeless person and his need? Ultimately what has been accomplished with this gesture?"

There was a time when there were no safety nets - no Medicaid, no social security, no Red Cross, no OxFam...there was only the church and charitable giving of alms from the "have's" to the "have not's." The context of the giving was very much person to person - meeting the gaze of the poor. There was also a power dynamic - the poor were expected to be properly respectful and appreciative for the crumbs thrown their way.

We now live in a time of better (though it seems disappearing) safety nets. There are an abundance of organizations dedicated with varying levels of success at alleviating the suffering of the poor. Further, the development of nation states and post-colonialism in combination with modern technology has lead to bringing the suffering of the world into our living rooms and lap tops.

I am struck by an odd parallel here. In the game of warfare, we now have weaponry that can reach around the globe and obliterate our enemies. Combatants need not look each other in the eye any longer. Pilots of drone aircraft our hundreds of miles away. Bomber pilots are miles up in the atmosphere. Warships fire their missiles from over the horizon.

Similarly, we no longer have any need of meeting the gaze of the poor as we dish out our alms. Disaster strikes around the globe and through our agencies relief is sent off. Like our weaponry, our dollars can reach around the globe from hundreds of miles away over the horizon.

I think in both cases the lack of human to human contact is detrimental.

I continue to struggle over the tragedy unfolding in Haiti. Earthquake hits a relentlessly poor nation with next to no infrastructure. There's a huge outcry for donations to alleviate the suffering. Now with modern technology we are shown snippets of video and sound bites and told to text a code and voila! a $10.00 donation has been made. There is something very surreal about the whole thing that leaves me unsettled.

When I was attending St. Paul's in Marquette, we had a member of the congregation who made regular mission trips to Haiti. He has personal contacts in country. He can tell stories of individual children that he has helped. I will likely find a way to track him down and make a contribution to his Haiti fund as my gesture of charity - my reaction to this tragedy. I need more of a personal connection. I don't want to be merely throwing some coins at the beggar.

There's also this pay-as-you-go aspect of all this in combination with the news item du jour. I am willing to bet that if I did my internet research I could identify dozens of locales around the globe where there are children existing in abject poverty not far removed from the destruction in Port au Prince with the exception only of scale.

No one is texting messages for them.

It would seem that some disasters are sexier than others. We also have an exceedingly short cultural attention span - in another week we will have moved on, I am certain. Until the next big news story/tragedy demands our attention. Peace.

Appearances Are Deceiving

2010-01-16T12:34:00.005-05:00

I am continuing to work my way through The Passion of the Western Mind. I must admit that the last few chapters were rather disheartening in their discussion of the decline of the metaphysical and the ascendancy of the empirical. However, finally I reached the point in which the 20th century came along and yanked the rug out from under the empirical. Einstein et al. with the discoveries of relativity and sub-atomic particles etc. have brought about a greater sense of balance between the metaphysical and the empirical.

I think glass is as good a place as any to show why I mean. Glass is, in reality, a liquid - not a true solid...as if true solids really exist thanks to our knowledge of sub-atomic particles. Here in Marquette, in the Peter White Library, on the second floor of the old section, the windows still have their original panes of glass. If you stand back from the windows and look out onto the lower harbor you can see the thickening of the lower portions of each pain and the thinning of the upper portions - the glass is slowly "melting" downward - because it is a liquid. The picture above is from some other building somewhere else, but it gives a sense of what I am describing.

Appearances are very deceiving - they often reflect what the culture wants them to reflect. We continue to live in an age that places an inordinate amount of stock into the heterosexually based nuclear family. That is our standard of measurement - good or bad. To hear tell, this has been the standard of measurement from time immemorial - though that is simply not true.

We look back on the tradition of large families, for example. Married women often spent most of their adult lives pregnant and nursing children and dying young, either in childbirth or soon thereafter. We tend to forget that part of the motivation behind having so many children was the expectation that a fair number of those children would die and not survive to adulthood. The overarching goal of the family was survival of the lineage. In order to ensure a healthy number of heirs, you had to plan on burying a number of children as well.

I can't even wrap my brain around that. The infamous "choice" Meryl Streep's character must make in Sophie's Choice, which of her two children to keep with her in the concentration camp and which to hand over to the Nazi guard for extermination, for example, would have no emotional grounding in this environment. One doesn't get too emotionally attached to one's children until you are certain they will survive.

I struggle with the loss of one of my beloved dogs. I cannot fathom the loss of a child.

Good or bad this is evidence of our sense of individualism in this culture. We value our independent unique selves as much as as or more as our community. We place great importance on the rugged individual, but here too, appearances are deceiving.

Using the metaphor of light or water...we are all part of a greater being. Take water, for example. Step out of ourselves briefly and consider the species of homo sapiens. Like a multitude of raindrops falling onto an elevated plain, our individual lives have gathered to form a stream that has evolved into a mighty river.

If you measure the length of time (a man made concept) of a human life, generous at 75 years, and compare that to the length of time of the life of the planet, billions of years, each individual life is but a spark in the darkness - a flash and then it is gone. Yet as those lives began flashing thousands of years ago, the combined flashes now glow with a holy continuous light.

When our individual lives are over, we return to the source, yet we remain a part of the river or a particle of the light.

Over at Mad Priest's blog, we recently had a cyber discussion on theories that believe that GLBT folk may be part of the plan - part of what has strengthened our species. I made the point that in a paradigm that overemphasizes the individual and passing along one's genetics to one's offspring, the homosexual, the single person, the childless are all aberrations.

Yet if we think in terms of the species and not simply the individual, having a set population of adults who are removed from the rigors of rearing children has allowed for greater creativity, greater security, and better care of community. Over thousands of generations, our species evolved to live in tribal groupings in which a percentage of individuals chose different paths from the others, becoming holy men, shamans, nuns, healers, warriors - what have you.

Modern humanity has found an inordinate number of homosexuals in the priesthood and nunneries, in the military, in the healing professions, in the arts. All of these roles have contributed to the benefit of the tribe.

I can't recall the gospel reading about the various gifts of the members of Christ's body the Church. Some are called to healing, others to prophecy... Perhaps someone can add the reference in the comments section.

We appear to be alone and isolated individuals. Appearances are deceiving. Peace.

My Booteeful Kittehs...

2010-01-10T12:36:00.004-05:00

The girlz continue to get bigger and bigger. They are not quite six and a half months old now. They take great pleasure in pulling books off the shelves, DVDs off the rack, and assorted other games. I look forward to the day when I can begin to let them roam throughout the house. However, step-brother, Frankie, continues to get carried away in his desire to "play" and I want to be certain that no one (Frankie included) will get hurt.

They continue to display all the Maine Coon traits folks have shared - they drink tons of water, they have this strange purr-y quality to their meows, they are big and getting bigger, they are by far the friendliest cats I have ever come across...

I luvs me mah kittehs...

Rubbing Salt In The Wound

2010-01-09T19:41:00.009-05:00

There has been a spate of posts and comments recently on gender politics or something to that effect. I would point to a post at Mad Priest's blog in which he danced once again along a thin line between satire and facile provocation.

In a seemingly indirect response, Elizabeth Kaeton has posted a very passionate piece on what she calls The Unholy War On Women. Cyber friends of mine have also posted some very worthwhile comments, and I encourage you to peruse them all. Elizabeth et al. challenge us to make a stand against these horrible crimes - something beyond writing checks to organizations.

I find myself at a loss as to how to proceed. It's not that I disagree with her passionate cry to end the horror. However, I am not convinced that the heart of the issue is gender. In reporting on the outrages occurring in Darfur, South Africa and other places, she emphasizes the plight of women and children. I am not denying that what is occurring is without a doubt monstrous and horrible. I can't help wondering about the men.

As I read and reread her posting, the following words kept buzzing around in my head: gender, race, class, gender, race, class...which of the legs of the stool is really at the heart of the issue? Behind these words lurked an even more abstract concept: power.

We have been told that rape is not a sexual act. Rapists rarely if ever are raping to achieve purely sexual gratification. Power and anger and impotence are braided together - the violent act an expression of rage. This is the true issue occurring in the Genesis story of Sodom. Lot welcomes the messengers of God, but the others want to glory in their dominance and sodomize the strangers, humiliate them and demonstrate their power over them.

And Lot offers up his virginal daughters to the angry mob. (a bit problematic that, don't you think?)

They reject this sexual offering and turn on him as outsider as well. Rape is not about sex, it's about power.

We know the rest of the story. Although God has bargained with Abraham to spare Sodom if ten good souls can be found, only Lot, his wife, and daughters are spared. As they are fleeing down the road, Lot's wife cannot help herself and in defiance of God's order, turns back and is transformed into a pillar of salt...the last victim of Sodom. So the use of the penis as a weapon has been with us since the beginning.

Lord Acton said it well: "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." What are we to do if this tendency towards violence and domination is inherent to our being? In 1998, researchers in Uganda witnessed a group of chimpanzees beating on and swaggering around another male chimp's freshly killed body. The victims windpipe, fingernails and testicles were torn out. Further research has revealed that "lethal coalitionary aggression" is part of the "normal behavioral repertoire" of the species (David Watts, Yale University).

So back to my three words - gender, race, class - if we are hardwired towards violent confrontation, and a balanced power dynamic is knocked askew, then the powerful begin to be corrupted and act out their violence on any one of the three legs of this stool. In fact, one might say that the most likely victims will be those who have all three strikes against them - the wrong class, the wrong race, and the wrong gender.

This does not always equate to poor, black women. Think of the situation in Zimbabwe. Rich, white farmers ended up being the wrong class, the wrong race, the wrong gender.

Elizabeth and her commenters have called us to action. How, I ask, do we eliminate power from humanity? That, I believe, is the source of this violence.

I am reminded of the words of Jesus regarding the poor always being with us. At first glance it may seem that I am taking that bit out of context. Yet, the woman who broke open the expensive oil to anoint Jesus was criticized because that money might have been better spent on the poor. Jesus's comment is not a denial of the plight of the poor and a justification for doing nothing. Rather he is acknowledging that there will always be the poor in need of assistance and that not doing other equally important tasks focusing solely on the poor is a futile task.

There are those who seem to take the butterfly effect to heart. In their minds, it is important to call out evidence of misogyny wherever they see, hear, or read it. They believe, they seem to have to believe, that such actions will eventually create change in the world. I admire their courage and spirit. I understand the intent.

I myself put great stock in the words of Maya Angelou who refuses to allow an individual to remain in her home if he utters a racist remark because she believes words have energy and existence and power - and she refuses to contaminate her home with that negative energy.

However, like the woman and the expensive oil, perhaps there will be times to let someone else fight the battle--to not spend all one's energy on anger in defiance of the world's misogyny. Mad Priest can be a bit of a prick sometimes, but I for one will only tilt at his windmill on occasion.

Peace.