Friday, April 30, 2010
Virtually Gone
So, maybe it wasn't my Crohn's after all. After bloodtests, a CT scan, and a colonoscopy, the doctor says the only things that look "abnormal" are my blood kreatinin levels (kidney-related) and something on my CT scan that looks like there could be "gallbladder issues." Neither appeal to me. I should have treated my body better over all these years. My fear is that I'll be unable to retire into any kind of leisure, whether I have money or not, because I'll be fighting to stay alive. And that's not what I want to do. At least the pain of the past two weeks is considerably better now...virtually gone.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Food...is my friend
Finally, after resorting to sending a very, very nasty email to a gastroenterologist's office, I have an appointment to see the doctor tomorrow, Tuesday, at 2:00 pm. It's been eight days since my Crohn's disease flared up and eight days since I had a meal...liquid, shakes, and the occasional bowl of mashed potatoes have been my sustenance for this week-plus and I hate it.
My inability to see a doctor is largely my fault. When my previous gastroenterologist decided to give up his practice to teach at UT Southwestern fulltime, I should have immediately found a new doctor. I didn't. I should have found someone who could give me the annual colonoscopy I'm supposed to have been getting. I didn't. I've been putting it off. But now I've finally got an appointment to see someone and I'm sure he'll insist on all the appropriate procedures. And he'll probably put me back on the meds I stopped taking after my doctor moved on...no one to prescribe them for me...which may prevent another recurrence.
I long for a real meal...steak, chicken, squash, peas, beans, tomatoes, cheese...almost anything but shakes and apple juice and popcycles. However, the doc may not permit that until he knows why my gut is in wrenching pain and until he figures out what to do about it. I'm tempted to eat a huge bowl of spaghetti with hot Italian sausage tonight...just so I can have a real meal. Of course that might cause me to explode, which would be an ugly scene that would irritate my wife beyond measure. Where have I heard that before?
My inability to see a doctor is largely my fault. When my previous gastroenterologist decided to give up his practice to teach at UT Southwestern fulltime, I should have immediately found a new doctor. I didn't. I should have found someone who could give me the annual colonoscopy I'm supposed to have been getting. I didn't. I've been putting it off. But now I've finally got an appointment to see someone and I'm sure he'll insist on all the appropriate procedures. And he'll probably put me back on the meds I stopped taking after my doctor moved on...no one to prescribe them for me...which may prevent another recurrence.
I long for a real meal...steak, chicken, squash, peas, beans, tomatoes, cheese...almost anything but shakes and apple juice and popcycles. However, the doc may not permit that until he knows why my gut is in wrenching pain and until he figures out what to do about it. I'm tempted to eat a huge bowl of spaghetti with hot Italian sausage tonight...just so I can have a real meal. Of course that might cause me to explode, which would be an ugly scene that would irritate my wife beyond measure. Where have I heard that before?
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Beyond Measure
I've been dealing with a flare-up of Crohn's since late in the day on April 18...six days ago. I haven't had a full meal since then. Lots of liquids, even some shakes, but almost no substantive food. I'm starving (though you couldn't tell it to look at me). But I dare not eat anything substantive for fear of causing a perforation of my intestines. I loathe Crohn's disease beyond measure.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Eyjafjallajokull
Ay-uh-fya-luh-yoe'-kuul
That's my variant on a an attempt by Al Jazeera to write a phonetic version of the pronunciation of the Icelandic glacier from whence a volcano sprang: Eyjafjallajokull.
That's my variant on a an attempt by Al Jazeera to write a phonetic version of the pronunciation of the Icelandic glacier from whence a volcano sprang: Eyjafjallajokull.
Insolent Misue of Kindness
I am, at my core, a peace-loving man who desires nothing more than witnessing an end to violence.
So, it contradicted my self-image to plan to bludgeon a man to death with an axe handle. Nonetheless, I spent the evening of New Year’s Day, 2010, plotting the murder of a stranger I had grown to hate.
Who would have thought I, a nondescript middle-aged-plus man, owner of a small unprofitable business, would have been so seriously pursuing such a heinous act? But I was.
I wanted the motherfucker dead. I wanted his death to appear to be an accident. I wanted this “accident” to be fool-proof. I wanted this man’s death to be judged by all to be an unfortunate event with no human involvement.
I know, this is full of contradictions. The idea of bludgeoning the stranger while deliberately explaining to him--as he convulsed with every crushing blow--why I was doing it was at odds with my desire to leave no traces of homicide. The sensation of feeling and tasting the splatter of warm blood as I beat relentlessly on his skull with a hard-wood axe handle does not jibe with my desire to leave no evidence of foul play.
Just as importantly, though, I wanted this man to know he was being murdered and why. And I wanted him to suffer slowly in that knowledge, knowing there was no way to avoid his inevitable and quite painful demise. It was important to me that this bastard realize that, had he behaved differently to someone important to me, he never would have met me. He never would have incurred my wrath and my rage and my singular desire to beat him into a bloody, limp corpse.
In an ideal world, my message to him...that had he behaved with respect and had he not taken advantage of the kindnesses shown to him...would have spread like wildfire after his well-deserved death. But that would not be, because only he and I would be privvy to the fact that his death was caused by me in response to his infractions against goodness.
That was my plan, but it did not come to pass. My solutions to the problem of making the crushing blows delivered by an axe handle appear to be accidental never emerged. I've still never seen the man, never spoken to him. He does not even know I exist, as far as I know. Yet he still deserves to experience my solution to his insolent misuse of another human being's kindness.
[Is it real, or is it manufactured?]
So, it contradicted my self-image to plan to bludgeon a man to death with an axe handle. Nonetheless, I spent the evening of New Year’s Day, 2010, plotting the murder of a stranger I had grown to hate.
Who would have thought I, a nondescript middle-aged-plus man, owner of a small unprofitable business, would have been so seriously pursuing such a heinous act? But I was.
I wanted the motherfucker dead. I wanted his death to appear to be an accident. I wanted this “accident” to be fool-proof. I wanted this man’s death to be judged by all to be an unfortunate event with no human involvement.
I know, this is full of contradictions. The idea of bludgeoning the stranger while deliberately explaining to him--as he convulsed with every crushing blow--why I was doing it was at odds with my desire to leave no traces of homicide. The sensation of feeling and tasting the splatter of warm blood as I beat relentlessly on his skull with a hard-wood axe handle does not jibe with my desire to leave no evidence of foul play.
Just as importantly, though, I wanted this man to know he was being murdered and why. And I wanted him to suffer slowly in that knowledge, knowing there was no way to avoid his inevitable and quite painful demise. It was important to me that this bastard realize that, had he behaved differently to someone important to me, he never would have met me. He never would have incurred my wrath and my rage and my singular desire to beat him into a bloody, limp corpse.
In an ideal world, my message to him...that had he behaved with respect and had he not taken advantage of the kindnesses shown to him...would have spread like wildfire after his well-deserved death. But that would not be, because only he and I would be privvy to the fact that his death was caused by me in response to his infractions against goodness.
That was my plan, but it did not come to pass. My solutions to the problem of making the crushing blows delivered by an axe handle appear to be accidental never emerged. I've still never seen the man, never spoken to him. He does not even know I exist, as far as I know. Yet he still deserves to experience my solution to his insolent misuse of another human being's kindness.
[Is it real, or is it manufactured?]
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Trip to CC
This is a snippet of my trip from Dallas to Corpus Christi on April 8, 2010. I was driving fast and listening to XM Radio, The Village, Channel 15.
WanderWords
Yesterday, my wife and I took a long drive, the kind we used to take regularly. I didn't get nearly enough photos to commemorate the event, but I did take a few that I'm willing to share.
The primary purpose of our trip was to view wildflowers, and we saw enormous fields of wildflowers of all sorts...bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, evening primrose, and vast pastures full of yellow and deep red and orange flowers we could not name. But I only took a few photos...and not of the most breathtaking scenes, either, because I was so overwhelmed by them I forgot to get the camera. Instead, I took two photos of little clumps of bluebonnets, close up. (Click on any photo to embiggen.)
We stumbled upon a little town called Teague and my wife noticed an old train depot that had been turned into a museum. We stopped (expecting to be there a few minutes) and were transfixed by the old place. It's a treasure-trove of information about trains in general and trains that used to be the heartbeat of Teague, in particular. Just like the wildflower situation, I failed to take many pictures of the building or the trains and train-related equipment it housed. I did get a photo of a room that portrayed the way "it used to be."
As we were leaving, we noticed the old Teague Hotel right next door and I commented that I'd like to have the money and the time to rehab the old place.
Later, as we were meandering through backroads on our way home, we came across an area that was marked with dozens of signs like this:
I've never seen "Forbidden Zone" signs before, but they gave me shivers, as if I had re-entered the George W. Bush years. The signs were meant to warn people away from the watershed area of an important reservoir. I guess their targets are terrorists who would poison our water supplies. I thought to myself, "That should work. Terrorists wouldn't dare go into an area marked with such ominous, threatening signs."
Then, as we were wending our way back home, we came upon a Tex-Mex restaurant in the middle of nowhere (just outside a tiny town called Grays Prairie)...Tena's Tex-Mex. It looked sufficiently funky and was so "out of the way" that we had to try it. We tend to assume such places will be fantastic "finds" on our travels.
We should have acted on our first impulse when we walked in to see the place had not had its tables cleared from the last patrons. There were dirty tables everywhere; we finally found a cleared table and sat there, but I took a photo of some surrounding tables, which looked just like almost every other table in the place.
The appearance of the place notwithstanding, we decided to stay. The chips and salsa were more than adequate, which often signals what's to come. But when our meals were served, I was deeply disappointed. The only thing on the plates that was even remotely warm was the pork flauta, which had just been fried. Everything else was just under room temperature. Even the beans. I didn't take a picture of the food...it LOOKED alright, it was just cold.
I rarely advise people NOT to eat at any restaurant, because I tend to think of restaurant selections as personal choices as much as selections based on quality of food. Not so with Tena's. Obviously, Tena's Tex-Mex has never had a food inspector visit...otherwise, it either would have been closed down or threatened with same unless their food-handling practices were upgraded.
The primary purpose of our trip was to view wildflowers, and we saw enormous fields of wildflowers of all sorts...bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, evening primrose, and vast pastures full of yellow and deep red and orange flowers we could not name. But I only took a few photos...and not of the most breathtaking scenes, either, because I was so overwhelmed by them I forgot to get the camera. Instead, I took two photos of little clumps of bluebonnets, close up. (Click on any photo to embiggen.)
We stumbled upon a little town called Teague and my wife noticed an old train depot that had been turned into a museum. We stopped (expecting to be there a few minutes) and were transfixed by the old place. It's a treasure-trove of information about trains in general and trains that used to be the heartbeat of Teague, in particular. Just like the wildflower situation, I failed to take many pictures of the building or the trains and train-related equipment it housed. I did get a photo of a room that portrayed the way "it used to be."
As we were leaving, we noticed the old Teague Hotel right next door and I commented that I'd like to have the money and the time to rehab the old place.
Later, as we were meandering through backroads on our way home, we came across an area that was marked with dozens of signs like this:
I've never seen "Forbidden Zone" signs before, but they gave me shivers, as if I had re-entered the George W. Bush years. The signs were meant to warn people away from the watershed area of an important reservoir. I guess their targets are terrorists who would poison our water supplies. I thought to myself, "That should work. Terrorists wouldn't dare go into an area marked with such ominous, threatening signs."Then, as we were wending our way back home, we came upon a Tex-Mex restaurant in the middle of nowhere (just outside a tiny town called Grays Prairie)...Tena's Tex-Mex. It looked sufficiently funky and was so "out of the way" that we had to try it. We tend to assume such places will be fantastic "finds" on our travels.
We should have acted on our first impulse when we walked in to see the place had not had its tables cleared from the last patrons. There were dirty tables everywhere; we finally found a cleared table and sat there, but I took a photo of some surrounding tables, which looked just like almost every other table in the place.
The appearance of the place notwithstanding, we decided to stay. The chips and salsa were more than adequate, which often signals what's to come. But when our meals were served, I was deeply disappointed. The only thing on the plates that was even remotely warm was the pork flauta, which had just been fried. Everything else was just under room temperature. Even the beans. I didn't take a picture of the food...it LOOKED alright, it was just cold.
I rarely advise people NOT to eat at any restaurant, because I tend to think of restaurant selections as personal choices as much as selections based on quality of food. Not so with Tena's. Obviously, Tena's Tex-Mex has never had a food inspector visit...otherwise, it either would have been closed down or threatened with same unless their food-handling practices were upgraded.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Anniversarial Weather
This was the weekend that my favorite wife and I were to celebrate our 30th anniversary that has just passed, but we awoke this morning to a world drenched in wetness. So, instead of initiating a road trip of epic proportions, we're sitting inside wondering whether this weather thing will last. Our plan was to go find wildflowers, the backroads of Texas for which are known repositories. We wanted to find bluebonnets, Indian paintbrushes, wine cups, evening primrose, Mexican hats, and a million other brilliantly colored wild creatures sprouting from the roadside for our viewing pleasure. Instead, we're faced with wetness.
Seeing the disappointment in my eyes, my favorite wife offered to make me coffee (this, alone, is epic...she has rarely, if ever, offered to make me coffee in our entire blissful thirty years), but I was not in the mood. She then offered to make me tea, but that, too, was insufficient to lift my spirits. She then offered me "wotka," which though done in jest was a truly magnanimous jesture. I declined because it is not yet 9:00 am locally.
I have decided to shower and shave, a gift to my favorite wife in return for her generous offerings. Then, we may fight the wetness or, if that remains an unttractive option, we may brave a short trip to a breakfast establishment.
Seeing the disappointment in my eyes, my favorite wife offered to make me coffee (this, alone, is epic...she has rarely, if ever, offered to make me coffee in our entire blissful thirty years), but I was not in the mood. She then offered to make me tea, but that, too, was insufficient to lift my spirits. She then offered me "wotka," which though done in jest was a truly magnanimous jesture. I declined because it is not yet 9:00 am locally.
I have decided to shower and shave, a gift to my favorite wife in return for her generous offerings. Then, we may fight the wetness or, if that remains an unttractive option, we may brave a short trip to a breakfast establishment.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
30 Years
Today is my wife's and my 30th anniversary! And I'm out of town. But, I decided to send her flowers in a big way, so I arranged for a dozen red roses to be delivered between 9 and 11 and a dozen yellow roses to be delivered between 1 and 4. I went through quite a lot of explaining and re-explaining to make sure they understood. But they delivered all the roses at once. So, I called to express my annoyance...and they agreed to send yet another dozen to her. She got the third dozen, pink, this afternoon. So, my wife is swimming in roses!
The celebration wasn't all my doing, though. My wife FedExed an anniversary card to the hotel where I'm staying...it arrived early this morning. It was a wonderful card, a perfect reminder that long years of marriage may not always be "romantic," but the steadfastness of a long commitment is romance, in spades.
So, tonight I took my staff member and her husband (who came along as a "free" helper on this trip) to dinner in celebration of my anniversary.
Thirty years. It's a long time, but time flies very, very fast. I'm looking forward to celebrating the next 30.
The celebration wasn't all my doing, though. My wife FedExed an anniversary card to the hotel where I'm staying...it arrived early this morning. It was a wonderful card, a perfect reminder that long years of marriage may not always be "romantic," but the steadfastness of a long commitment is romance, in spades.
So, tonight I took my staff member and her husband (who came along as a "free" helper on this trip) to dinner in celebration of my anniversary.
Thirty years. It's a long time, but time flies very, very fast. I'm looking forward to celebrating the next 30.
Monday, April 12, 2010
High School
I had breakfast yesterday morning with a woman I'd not seen nor spoken to since I graduated from high school 38 years ago. She was a svelte cheerleader then, a highly popular girl on whom I had a mad crush but told no one about it. I dared not ask her out for fear of certain rejection and ostracism.
I stumbled upon her on Facebook a few months ago and asked to try to get together when I got to Corpus. We've not had many Facebook communications, so I didn't really know much about her or her life since high school. I learned a bit about her.
She spoke of her sense of loneliness when there were dances and proms, because no one would dare ask her out because they, like I, felt she would never accept.
I spoke to her for almost 3 hours and found her to be charming, interesting, and intelligent. I learned lots about people who attended school with me...not terribly exciting, but interesting. I hope I stay in touch with her, simply because she seems like a pleasant person and has memories of some of the same things I do.
I stumbled upon her on Facebook a few months ago and asked to try to get together when I got to Corpus. We've not had many Facebook communications, so I didn't really know much about her or her life since high school. I learned a bit about her.
She spoke of her sense of loneliness when there were dances and proms, because no one would dare ask her out because they, like I, felt she would never accept.
I spoke to her for almost 3 hours and found her to be charming, interesting, and intelligent. I learned lots about people who attended school with me...not terribly exciting, but interesting. I hope I stay in touch with her, simply because she seems like a pleasant person and has memories of some of the same things I do.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Coast
The people who live along the coastal plains of Texas, at least those who understand what they have here, tend to understate the benefits of living where they do. They tend to speak in pejorative terms about life here. They bemoan the fact that the largest city down here is still small and not very cosmopolitan. But they are hiding something.
They are afraid of relinquishing their hold here because they're afraid that development could obliterate what they have here. There's plenty of evidence that over-development is already happening. The people who understand the preciousness of this part of Texas hate that it seems irreversible.
I could enjoy living here again. But I, too, would be fighting over-development. And I'd know I was in a losing battle.
They are afraid of relinquishing their hold here because they're afraid that development could obliterate what they have here. There's plenty of evidence that over-development is already happening. The people who understand the preciousness of this part of Texas hate that it seems irreversible.
I could enjoy living here again. But I, too, would be fighting over-development. And I'd know I was in a losing battle.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Product of Boredom
Today's high in Santiago, Chile is forecast to be 87 degrees, with a low of 51. If that's a bit warm for you, wait a week; beginning next Sunday, the forecast is for a 3-day stretch with highs of 78 and lows of 48.
Contrast Santiago's weather with Woodburn, Oregon, where the forecast is for a high of 54 today and a low of 40. That comes with showers/rain until next Thursday.
What I like about Woodburn is that it's an agricultural center and it's very near Portland and the wineries of the Willamette Valley. Plus, it's considerably cheaper than Portland. Of course, one would expect that, based on what's showing up in the Woodburn Independent.
I've been up for about an hour an a half. While the coffee has been OK, the lack of breakfast has not. So, I'm going to eat some shredded wheat with milk.
Contrast Santiago's weather with Woodburn, Oregon, where the forecast is for a high of 54 today and a low of 40. That comes with showers/rain until next Thursday.
What I like about Woodburn is that it's an agricultural center and it's very near Portland and the wineries of the Willamette Valley. Plus, it's considerably cheaper than Portland. Of course, one would expect that, based on what's showing up in the Woodburn Independent.
I've been up for about an hour an a half. While the coffee has been OK, the lack of breakfast has not. So, I'm going to eat some shredded wheat with milk.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Exactly: Gin & Tonic
Apparently it's gin & tonic season. I'm working on number four or five for the night; I've lost count. I should have stopped after number two, when my wife called me in to her television & paperwork nest in our bedroom to say something was wrong.
Quickly, I went to see what was the problem; she was experiencing an alergic reaction. She had a rash all over her stomach and arms and legs. There were red marks and welts that appeared to me as though they'd be painful, but she said they were not. But she was concerned, as was I.
After determining that she was having no difficulty breathing or swallowing, I went for the computer an asked WedMD to tell me what was wrong. While I'm not 100% sure, it seems pretty obvious: she has developed an instant-onset allergy to either crab or salmon. She bought crabcakes for dinner tonight, but knowing two little crabcakes would not be enough, she bought a smoked salmon spread to serve as an appetizer on some wonderful crisp crackers she'd found someplace not long ago.
At any rate, WebMD told me not to worry unless she had breathing or swallowing problems. So, I advised her to take an antihistimine, like e-doctor said, and tell me if anything changed. And then she went back to read or watch DVRs of her reality shows or whatever it is she records religiously. And I went back to my gin and Food Network and related gluttony-training-programs.
Not long before 10 o'clock, I noticed that the bedroom light was out. Sure enough, she had gone to bed without bothering to let me know. Not unusual, but annoying nonetheless. I kept wandering into the kitchen to assess the extent to which the salmon spread remained fresh and tasty; each time, I was satisfied that it might last a little longer, but I could not judge whether the crackers would last as long or not long enough. So, I had to measure that, too. As I type this, the crackers are holding their own, while the salmon spread has almost left the building.
Anyway, the monstrous rash apparently had been (and, as far as I know, still is) primarily a visual event, lacking the itching and such that e-doctor says is possible but rare.
Back to the television, where that woman whose name I can never remember was talking up San Antonio like it were a glutton's promised land. Rachel Ray, that's it! She and her boyfriend or husband or gigolo were chatting up the wonders of Mexican food in San Antonio and they mentioned Mi Tierra, which was, 25 years ago, my favorite place in town. Either I nodded off or the show ceased to be of interest; the next thing I knew Rachel and boy-toy had left the screen and had been replaced by Guy Fieri, who also was talking Mexican food, but this time in Cleveland. He succeeded in convincing me that I must go to Cleveland to have authentic Cleveland-influenced Mexican food, because Cleveland-influenced Mexican food is nothing short of orgasmic. And if there's anything I need right now, it's an orgasm. Oh, wait, that's not what I meant to say. Well, you know what I mean.
It didn't take long for me to tire of Guy Fieri and friends, so I made G&T number 5 or 6 and attacked the internet, looking for truth and fulfillment. Let me tell you, folks, it's not here. If you, you out on the interwebs, were communicating with me now, maybe I'd find some truth and fulfillment, but you're off doing your thing, being happy and fulfilled without me. Assholes. Sure, just leave me to my own devices, which will lead to the inevitable demise of another half-gallon of Seagram's gin (it was on sale...we bought two half-gallons last time it was cheap).
Completely off-message here: Anonymous stopped by and left a message on my blog during the last day or so (surely you've read the work of Anonymous; he or she is quite well-known in literature). I responded. In my response, I suggested that I might one day elaborate on five (or more) places I'd like to spend 20 years or a few years in each to add up to 20. Or some such thing. And I will. But you see I have to decide what's more important to me: people or environment (or a combination thereof).
Some people might be surprised to see Woodburn, Oregon on my list. "Where the fuck is Woodburn, Oregon?" many may ask. Don't worry, you'll learn more. Or at least you will one-day have the opportunity. For I shall write about that place, and about Dubrovnik and Stockholm and places foreign and domestic where I think I may like to spend some time. The key issue for me is this: how can I pick a city when I know that my heart wants the country? Of course, I may be wrong. But how can I know until I experience the country? Exactly.
"If you love, tell me so, if you don't, then just let go." I believe that is a lyric to a song I once heard or sung.
Quickly, I went to see what was the problem; she was experiencing an alergic reaction. She had a rash all over her stomach and arms and legs. There were red marks and welts that appeared to me as though they'd be painful, but she said they were not. But she was concerned, as was I.
After determining that she was having no difficulty breathing or swallowing, I went for the computer an asked WedMD to tell me what was wrong. While I'm not 100% sure, it seems pretty obvious: she has developed an instant-onset allergy to either crab or salmon. She bought crabcakes for dinner tonight, but knowing two little crabcakes would not be enough, she bought a smoked salmon spread to serve as an appetizer on some wonderful crisp crackers she'd found someplace not long ago.
At any rate, WebMD told me not to worry unless she had breathing or swallowing problems. So, I advised her to take an antihistimine, like e-doctor said, and tell me if anything changed. And then she went back to read or watch DVRs of her reality shows or whatever it is she records religiously. And I went back to my gin and Food Network and related gluttony-training-programs.
Not long before 10 o'clock, I noticed that the bedroom light was out. Sure enough, she had gone to bed without bothering to let me know. Not unusual, but annoying nonetheless. I kept wandering into the kitchen to assess the extent to which the salmon spread remained fresh and tasty; each time, I was satisfied that it might last a little longer, but I could not judge whether the crackers would last as long or not long enough. So, I had to measure that, too. As I type this, the crackers are holding their own, while the salmon spread has almost left the building.
Anyway, the monstrous rash apparently had been (and, as far as I know, still is) primarily a visual event, lacking the itching and such that e-doctor says is possible but rare.
Back to the television, where that woman whose name I can never remember was talking up San Antonio like it were a glutton's promised land. Rachel Ray, that's it! She and her boyfriend or husband or gigolo were chatting up the wonders of Mexican food in San Antonio and they mentioned Mi Tierra, which was, 25 years ago, my favorite place in town. Either I nodded off or the show ceased to be of interest; the next thing I knew Rachel and boy-toy had left the screen and had been replaced by Guy Fieri, who also was talking Mexican food, but this time in Cleveland. He succeeded in convincing me that I must go to Cleveland to have authentic Cleveland-influenced Mexican food, because Cleveland-influenced Mexican food is nothing short of orgasmic. And if there's anything I need right now, it's an orgasm. Oh, wait, that's not what I meant to say. Well, you know what I mean.
It didn't take long for me to tire of Guy Fieri and friends, so I made G&T number 5 or 6 and attacked the internet, looking for truth and fulfillment. Let me tell you, folks, it's not here. If you, you out on the interwebs, were communicating with me now, maybe I'd find some truth and fulfillment, but you're off doing your thing, being happy and fulfilled without me. Assholes. Sure, just leave me to my own devices, which will lead to the inevitable demise of another half-gallon of Seagram's gin (it was on sale...we bought two half-gallons last time it was cheap).
Completely off-message here: Anonymous stopped by and left a message on my blog during the last day or so (surely you've read the work of Anonymous; he or she is quite well-known in literature). I responded. In my response, I suggested that I might one day elaborate on five (or more) places I'd like to spend 20 years or a few years in each to add up to 20. Or some such thing. And I will. But you see I have to decide what's more important to me: people or environment (or a combination thereof).
Some people might be surprised to see Woodburn, Oregon on my list. "Where the fuck is Woodburn, Oregon?" many may ask. Don't worry, you'll learn more. Or at least you will one-day have the opportunity. For I shall write about that place, and about Dubrovnik and Stockholm and places foreign and domestic where I think I may like to spend some time. The key issue for me is this: how can I pick a city when I know that my heart wants the country? Of course, I may be wrong. But how can I know until I experience the country? Exactly.
"If you love, tell me so, if you don't, then just let go." I believe that is a lyric to a song I once heard or sung.
It's April 2
Hot damn. It's the 2nd day of the 4th month of the 2010th year. And it's Friday. Add that all together and what do you have? Approximately nothing worth writing about.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
It just occurred to me. I've lived in the Dallas/Fort Worth area 20 years. I've allowed a bad decision to become my way of life. What the fuck have I been thinking? I moved back to Texas in October 1989. I had escaped the State in 1985, moving to Chicago to follow my wife as she followed her career. But I let my own career eclipse hers and I came back. So, instead of living in a cosmopolitan city that is full of diversity AND appreciation for same, I moved to the seat of ultraconservatism and the upper echelons of class warfare.
I want to live somewhere else for 20 years...or, I should say, I want to live away from here for 20 years. I rather doubt I have anything like that much time left. I would be 76 years old if I were to accomplish that; I suspect I may have 5 to 10 years, if that much. So why am I sitting here on my ass, waiting to die early and unaccomplished? I suppose it's the same reason that I came back to Texas and stayed 20 years. I'm a fucking moron. I'm allowing my financial connections and my fear of poverty dictate my movements. Would I enjoy life more as an impoverished itinerate gypsy sort, or as a tight-assed hater of 1/3+ of every day of my life? I don't know. I've never tried the former. And maybe I never will.
I want to live somewhere else for 20 years...or, I should say, I want to live away from here for 20 years. I rather doubt I have anything like that much time left. I would be 76 years old if I were to accomplish that; I suspect I may have 5 to 10 years, if that much. So why am I sitting here on my ass, waiting to die early and unaccomplished? I suppose it's the same reason that I came back to Texas and stayed 20 years. I'm a fucking moron. I'm allowing my financial connections and my fear of poverty dictate my movements. Would I enjoy life more as an impoverished itinerate gypsy sort, or as a tight-assed hater of 1/3+ of every day of my life? I don't know. I've never tried the former. And maybe I never will.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Choices
I'll spend a "big" wedding anniversary 400 miles from home, wrapped up in a client's annual event. For the client, the event is important; for me, my anniversary is much more so. But I am obliged to be there. I hope I can get my wife to fly in to meet me on our anniversary so I can at least take her to dinner on what will be a celebration of our first 30 years of marriage.
Every passing year, my resentment grows over spending time helping clients celebrate events that are far less meaningful to me than to them, while I sacrifice being able to celebrate things that mean a great deal to me. I almost allowed myself to ask that my sister's memorial service be delayed so I could attend a previous commitment...a client board meeting. Fortunately, I came to my senses and said my client's board meeting didn't merit a second thought. But I keep allowing myself to give priority to business instead of things that really matter.
It's not as straightforward and simple as it sounds. It's easy to say "family always comes first," but when following that principle could lead to the loss of business and, therefore, put the family in financial jeopardy, reality enters the equation.
There's a lot of talk in business circles about how business should always take back seat to important family matters. I think it makes some people feel good to give lip service to the concept. In reality, though, business generally doesn't give a rip about family...not when it comes to the bottom line. People tend to give lip service to family taking precedence only when it's convenient to do so.
OK, I have to look at my skepticism meter and see if I can't make some adjustments...
Every passing year, my resentment grows over spending time helping clients celebrate events that are far less meaningful to me than to them, while I sacrifice being able to celebrate things that mean a great deal to me. I almost allowed myself to ask that my sister's memorial service be delayed so I could attend a previous commitment...a client board meeting. Fortunately, I came to my senses and said my client's board meeting didn't merit a second thought. But I keep allowing myself to give priority to business instead of things that really matter.
It's not as straightforward and simple as it sounds. It's easy to say "family always comes first," but when following that principle could lead to the loss of business and, therefore, put the family in financial jeopardy, reality enters the equation.
There's a lot of talk in business circles about how business should always take back seat to important family matters. I think it makes some people feel good to give lip service to the concept. In reality, though, business generally doesn't give a rip about family...not when it comes to the bottom line. People tend to give lip service to family taking precedence only when it's convenient to do so.
OK, I have to look at my skepticism meter and see if I can't make some adjustments...
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Ansel Adams
Take a look at these Ansel Adams photographs. They were taken in 1941-1942 as part of a project for then Secretary of the Interior, Harold Ickes, but the project got shelved due to the invasion of Pearl Harbor. I wonder if this little girl is still alive and, if so, what she is doing today? What must her life have been like? It would be fascinating to try to find out who she was and to learn more about her and her family and the other people Ansel Adams met during his engagement to take those photos.
This is yet another gem I learned about courtesy of NPR. Who in their right mind really thinks NPR is a left-wing mouthpiece? Oh. Sarah Palin. Now it's all clear to me.
Friday, March 26, 2010
He was Screening at the Bottom of His Lungs
I've decided to share some images from my desktop. I have no particularly good reason except to try out my Jing software to see if its image-capture capabilities are suited to capturing and then displaying screen shots.
This first image is
the home page of my home computer. I created it so I could get quick access to all the places I like to visit frequently (or need to visit frequently) without using "Favorites." I hate favorites. They're a pain in the ass. I like my way better. Plus, I keep my HTML skills from getting too rusty.
This second image is the blog of a guy I've never met, but he shares my birthday so he can't be all bad. He and his wife (also a blogger and a woman who devours books like she's hooked on paper) live in Seattle. He is a kayaker, musician, and consultant who knows more than I do about accounting software and systems. You can visit him here
This a recent post by a blogger who is an incredibly talented naturalist, photographer, and author and who is living my fantasy of roaming at will. She in Arizona (or was last I looked) at the moment, but almost ready to head out to Nova Scotia and a place that will become yet another place I want to visit. You can visit her here
Here is a blog written by three crazy women, one of whom lives (for the moment) in Connecticut and, like the woman who writes the one above, is a free spirit. I like all three of them, but one of them, Ellie, is my favorite. She spends quite alot of time in a tavern and and in her Westy and enjoys libations almost as much as I do. So does her husband. You can visit these crazy people here.
This first image is
the home page of my home computer. I created it so I could get quick access to all the places I like to visit frequently (or need to visit frequently) without using "Favorites." I hate favorites. They're a pain in the ass. I like my way better. Plus, I keep my HTML skills from getting too rusty.
This second image is the blog of a guy I've never met, but he shares my birthday so he can't be all bad. He and his wife (also a blogger and a woman who devours books like she's hooked on paper) live in Seattle. He is a kayaker, musician, and consultant who knows more than I do about accounting software and systems. You can visit him here
This a recent post by a blogger who is an incredibly talented naturalist, photographer, and author and who is living my fantasy of roaming at will. She in Arizona (or was last I looked) at the moment, but almost ready to head out to Nova Scotia and a place that will become yet another place I want to visit. You can visit her here
Here is a blog written by three crazy women, one of whom lives (for the moment) in Connecticut and, like the woman who writes the one above, is a free spirit. I like all three of them, but one of them, Ellie, is my favorite. She spends quite alot of time in a tavern and and in her Westy and enjoys libations almost as much as I do. So does her husband. You can visit these crazy people here.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Kneeblood's Principle
Ultimately, the truth about the universe, the undeniable, fundamental truth, is this: nothing matters. Nothing.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Nuclear Winter?
March 21, 2010. The first day of nuclear winter?
Since I'm being daffy, here's a video I find particularly appealing. I've always liked Hoyt Axton's music.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Luther Mahoney Died Today...That's a Death to Celebrate!
I watched Luther Mahoney die today and it was positively delightful! I've wanted the bastard dead for quite some time. I didn't care how. I just wanted him dead. When I watched him die at the hand of a cop who had other options than to kill him, I was a little concerned...but my concern was for the cop. I didn't want the cop to be punished for killing Luther. While the cop didn't have to do it, it was was for the best. A jury trial for Luther would have been an afront to his many, many victims.
Actually, I would have enjoyed shooting Luther. It would have pleased me no end to have been his killer. I would have felt like I made a contribution to society. But I'm OK with the cop doing it.
If you didn't know Luther Mahoney, let me explain. He was an intelligent drug dealer in Baltimore whose business resulted in many, many innocent deaths. Luther was a character on Homicide: Life on the Street. That is one of the most extraordinary television dramas I've ever watched. It was cancelled years ago, but my wife and I have rented the DVDs and have been watching the entire program...every season. We're near the end now. Next up: The Wire. The Wire also is set in Baltimore and is said to be even better than Homicide: Life on the Street.
Actually, I would have enjoyed shooting Luther. It would have pleased me no end to have been his killer. I would have felt like I made a contribution to society. But I'm OK with the cop doing it.
If you didn't know Luther Mahoney, let me explain. He was an intelligent drug dealer in Baltimore whose business resulted in many, many innocent deaths. Luther was a character on Homicide: Life on the Street. That is one of the most extraordinary television dramas I've ever watched. It was cancelled years ago, but my wife and I have rented the DVDs and have been watching the entire program...every season. We're near the end now. Next up: The Wire. The Wire also is set in Baltimore and is said to be even better than Homicide: Life on the Street.
Epic Laziness
I should go into my attic today to find out what's making the noise and, more importantly, what's causing the horrendous odor. But my bones are creaking and my knees hurt. My eyes itch and ache. My mind can't get off work.
So maybe I'll wait until noon, then drink a very cold beer or two and watch the thermometer. Word is our 70 degree temperatures from yesterday will drop to below freezing today. It's already 38 degrees. They (you know, "them," "the others," "the predictor-people") are predicting snow. OK, maybe not beer. Maybe Scotch...but I'll have to go out to buy the Scotch.
My laziness today is epic. I feel like taking a eight-day nap. This is not good. I need the energy of an 8-year-old, yet I have the energy of an 80-year-old.
So maybe I'll wait until noon, then drink a very cold beer or two and watch the thermometer. Word is our 70 degree temperatures from yesterday will drop to below freezing today. It's already 38 degrees. They (you know, "them," "the others," "the predictor-people") are predicting snow. OK, maybe not beer. Maybe Scotch...but I'll have to go out to buy the Scotch.
My laziness today is epic. I feel like taking a eight-day nap. This is not good. I need the energy of an 8-year-old, yet I have the energy of an 80-year-old.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Partial Reduction of Intellectual Capital
"New Cancun"
Mexican politicians, it seems, are just as stupid and corrupt as their U.S. counterparts. Jalisco Governor Governor Emilio Gonzalez has labeled a massive new developmenet on the southern coast of Mexico a New Cancun, as if Mexico needed any more such playgrounds for American tourists. Jalisco's employee retirement fund, Pensiones del Estado (IPE), has provided more than $90 million to fund the $156 million purchase of 2965 acres in an area known as Estero de Chalacapetec, south of Tomatitlan, which is south of Puerto Vallarta. A private developer called Rasaland provided the remainder of the funds. Like other Mexican playgrounds for rich tourists, the New Cancun will certainly make a few rich Mexicans richer and will provide subsistence wages for Mexicans who will be courted to support the project through the use of lies and false promises of "middle class" incomes. The ecological damage done by such a large project are expected, by some Mexican ecologiests, to be significant.
Guess Who's Benefitting from Rick Perry's Enterprise Fund?
If you guess Rick Perry, you'd be right. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of reasons Rick Perry should not be reelected to another term as Governor of Texas. His Enterprise Fund is a pretty good one, though. A Texas Observer investigation revealed that "20 of the 55 Enterprise Fund companies have either given money directly to Perry’s campaign (through their political action committees or executives) or donated to the Republican Governors Association, a Washington, D.C.-based group that Perry presided over in 2008." Those 20 companies received more than $174 million from the Fund, $2.2 million of which was donated back to Perry and the Republican Governors Association. Tracking the money, which is no small feat, suggests that some of the grants from the Fund wound up in Perry's own pocket, or at least in his campaign fund. I'm voting for "the other guy."
Boston Blackie's Owners Charged with Felony Theft
One of my favorite burger joints while I lived in Chicago was Boston Blackie's. When I was there, the only one (as far as I knew) was on the corner of East Grand and St. Clair, but now they have several locations throughout the city and the suburbs. I read this morning that the owners (father and son) and an employee were charged with felony theft connected with a check kiting scheme. What a shame. I did love their olive burgers.
A $2 Million Demolition
Some people in Syracuse, New York are pissed. See, a crumbling building has forced the closure of some parts of I-81 in the northern part of the city. The building's owner has failed to repair the building. When parts of the building crumbled onto I-81, the city moved to have it demolished. It's still up, but it's days are numbered. I wonder if my Syracuse friend has anything to say about this?
Video Breath
Years ago, when Toys-R-Us was running a horrifically-annoying commercial with an equally-annoying commercial song, I rewrote parts of that song. And here it is, from memory:
I don't want to grow up to be a poisonous pig
'Cause they're ugly and they're hideous and they grow so fucking big
Instead I'll spend my time on hate and death and video breath
And play with my toys alone
I just don't wanna be a poisonous pig.
I was no more of a poet then than I am now.
Mexican politicians, it seems, are just as stupid and corrupt as their U.S. counterparts. Jalisco Governor Governor Emilio Gonzalez has labeled a massive new developmenet on the southern coast of Mexico a New Cancun, as if Mexico needed any more such playgrounds for American tourists. Jalisco's employee retirement fund, Pensiones del Estado (IPE), has provided more than $90 million to fund the $156 million purchase of 2965 acres in an area known as Estero de Chalacapetec, south of Tomatitlan, which is south of Puerto Vallarta. A private developer called Rasaland provided the remainder of the funds. Like other Mexican playgrounds for rich tourists, the New Cancun will certainly make a few rich Mexicans richer and will provide subsistence wages for Mexicans who will be courted to support the project through the use of lies and false promises of "middle class" incomes. The ecological damage done by such a large project are expected, by some Mexican ecologiests, to be significant.
Guess Who's Benefitting from Rick Perry's Enterprise Fund?
If you guess Rick Perry, you'd be right. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of reasons Rick Perry should not be reelected to another term as Governor of Texas. His Enterprise Fund is a pretty good one, though. A Texas Observer investigation revealed that "20 of the 55 Enterprise Fund companies have either given money directly to Perry’s campaign (through their political action committees or executives) or donated to the Republican Governors Association, a Washington, D.C.-based group that Perry presided over in 2008." Those 20 companies received more than $174 million from the Fund, $2.2 million of which was donated back to Perry and the Republican Governors Association. Tracking the money, which is no small feat, suggests that some of the grants from the Fund wound up in Perry's own pocket, or at least in his campaign fund. I'm voting for "the other guy."
Boston Blackie's Owners Charged with Felony Theft
One of my favorite burger joints while I lived in Chicago was Boston Blackie's. When I was there, the only one (as far as I knew) was on the corner of East Grand and St. Clair, but now they have several locations throughout the city and the suburbs. I read this morning that the owners (father and son) and an employee were charged with felony theft connected with a check kiting scheme. What a shame. I did love their olive burgers.
A $2 Million Demolition
Some people in Syracuse, New York are pissed. See, a crumbling building has forced the closure of some parts of I-81 in the northern part of the city. The building's owner has failed to repair the building. When parts of the building crumbled onto I-81, the city moved to have it demolished. It's still up, but it's days are numbered. I wonder if my Syracuse friend has anything to say about this?
Video Breath
Years ago, when Toys-R-Us was running a horrifically-annoying commercial with an equally-annoying commercial song, I rewrote parts of that song. And here it is, from memory:
I don't want to grow up to be a poisonous pig
'Cause they're ugly and they're hideous and they grow so fucking big
Instead I'll spend my time on hate and death and video breath
And play with my toys alone
I just don't wanna be a poisonous pig.
I was no more of a poet then than I am now.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Menacing Moon
Yesterday, I accused (silently) a client board member of being manic-depressive in the way she deals with me. I should have been speaking into the mirror. Last night I was at the nadir. Today, if a full-moon is the zenith and a new moon is the nadir, I'm at the waxing crescent.
It must be hell to live with someone like that. I know it's a horror to work with that sort of person.
This morning, I'm trying to think of things I can do to replace, or partially replace, my worklife. Something that will help pay the bills and preserve my sanity, or what's left of it. But what?
It must be hell to live with someone like that. I know it's a horror to work with that sort of person.
This morning, I'm trying to think of things I can do to replace, or partially replace, my worklife. Something that will help pay the bills and preserve my sanity, or what's left of it. But what?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Being Happy
I can't come to this blog without thinking about my late sister. When I think of writing something, I wonder what she would say to me the next time we spoke; she read the blog, but only very rarely commented online...she reserved her comments for our phone conversations.
Today, I wonder what she'd say about my habit of writing about my perpetual unhappiness with my life in general. Would she tell me to buck up or would she, more likely, express concern that I'm putting myself at risk for stress-related illness. Her solution, of course, probably would be that I should tell my clients to fuck-off, sell the business or its remnants, sell the personal things we don't really need, pack up the rest, sell the house, and follow the road to whereever my dreams take me. She thought that would eliminate my problems. Would that it were so.
My sister never really understood the complexity of my business and how it's really impossible to just up and leave it. Well, I suppose it's possible, but it would haunt me forever if I did. And I think she just wanted me to be happy and hoped that I was right when I suggested, rightly or wrongly, that hitting the road and living an entirely new life would "cure what ails me." My sister was too intelligent to really believe my unhappiness would disappear the moment I became a gypsy. She hoped it would, though, and I think she expected it would move me in the right direction. I'm not so sure whether it would, though.
She was smart enough to recognize that the constancy of my negativity about my worklife was a sign that things weren't right. She knew that I had managed to box myself into a business and a career that were remarkably unsuited the person I am, and probably always have been.
She knew I did not like...almost could not tolerate...anyone being my "boss." Relatively early on in my career, I jetted to the top of some organizations where I worked, becoming the boss. But I was not really the boss. I learned that boards of directors were bosses. And they could take a dislike to me and end my employment. I learned that being in charge of staff was not to my liking. I realized quickly that I had little patience for people who didn't have the same dedication to the job I had, nor did I have much tolerance for people who didn't learn quickly and without provocation.
Yet there I was, the "boss" who was in a position in which I had to hold myself in check when dealing with boards of directors whose members were, in some cases and on their best days, morons. And I had to put up with managing a staff of people who frequently did not measure up to my expectations. Frequently it wasn't the staff's fault; it was the board, which limited my resources so that I was not able to pay people of the caliber I needed and wanted to work with.
When my tolerance of that environment ended and I essentially told one board to either back off or replace me, they replaced me. It didn't take long after that for me to decide that working for a board of directors didn't fit me, nor did serving as "number two" to another Type A. So I started my own business, which put me in the position of reporting to several boards...boards that were my clients. And from there it got progressively worse.
But I tried to overlook the bad side and I hired some staff who could deal with boards instead of having to do it myself. But I couldn't make that a universal situation, so I have had to deal with boards regularly. They're not all bad...not even the majority. But I allow the ones who are to upset me so much that I can barely tolerate making the trip to my office.
My sister would tell me to put my "many talents" as she called them to other uses, things that would take advantage of them but would make me happy. She regularly encouraged me to write, having decided that I was a good writer and knowing that I enjoyed it. But I only enjoy it sometimes...when I'm in the right mood. And that can be a rarity.
I've come to the realization that what I'm after is independence and change. I don't want to do anything for very long. A month or two or three and I'm bored and ready for something new. So, what I am, in fact, is a lazy, self-indulgent complainer who has been unable or unwilling to try to make the best out of situations that are simply requirements of life. I want things that are not NEEDED...they are just wanted. I want. I want. I want. It's so upsetting to realize that I'm just an aging, spoiled brat who's never been happy, despite having been fortunate in so many ways.
I have always had enough money to live a decent life. My wife is wonderful and loves me and puts up with me. My immediate family is composed of people who are good and who I love and who love me. But I'm not satisfied.
I don't want to go to work from 8 to 5 and push paper. I don't want to react to the wishes of people who want things I find offensive or morally corrupt.
I still need to learn from my sister. She adapted to a life of relative poverty and she liked her life. She did things for others and make their lives happier. In her life, she had to adapt to being confined to a wheelchair. She didn't need to feel the freedom to hit the road; she adapted to the constraints life and circumstance placed on her.
My sister tried to teach me that I have what it takes to be happy, that all I have to do is to do what makes me happy. I wish she could have taught me what that is, what makes me happy? Maybe if I just knew what that was, I could be as good a person as she was. Until then, I suppose I'll just complain and bitch about life. What the fuck is it that makes some people like that? I don't like those people. How the hell did I become one?
Today, I wonder what she'd say about my habit of writing about my perpetual unhappiness with my life in general. Would she tell me to buck up or would she, more likely, express concern that I'm putting myself at risk for stress-related illness. Her solution, of course, probably would be that I should tell my clients to fuck-off, sell the business or its remnants, sell the personal things we don't really need, pack up the rest, sell the house, and follow the road to whereever my dreams take me. She thought that would eliminate my problems. Would that it were so.
My sister never really understood the complexity of my business and how it's really impossible to just up and leave it. Well, I suppose it's possible, but it would haunt me forever if I did. And I think she just wanted me to be happy and hoped that I was right when I suggested, rightly or wrongly, that hitting the road and living an entirely new life would "cure what ails me." My sister was too intelligent to really believe my unhappiness would disappear the moment I became a gypsy. She hoped it would, though, and I think she expected it would move me in the right direction. I'm not so sure whether it would, though.
She was smart enough to recognize that the constancy of my negativity about my worklife was a sign that things weren't right. She knew that I had managed to box myself into a business and a career that were remarkably unsuited the person I am, and probably always have been.
She knew I did not like...almost could not tolerate...anyone being my "boss." Relatively early on in my career, I jetted to the top of some organizations where I worked, becoming the boss. But I was not really the boss. I learned that boards of directors were bosses. And they could take a dislike to me and end my employment. I learned that being in charge of staff was not to my liking. I realized quickly that I had little patience for people who didn't have the same dedication to the job I had, nor did I have much tolerance for people who didn't learn quickly and without provocation.
Yet there I was, the "boss" who was in a position in which I had to hold myself in check when dealing with boards of directors whose members were, in some cases and on their best days, morons. And I had to put up with managing a staff of people who frequently did not measure up to my expectations. Frequently it wasn't the staff's fault; it was the board, which limited my resources so that I was not able to pay people of the caliber I needed and wanted to work with.
When my tolerance of that environment ended and I essentially told one board to either back off or replace me, they replaced me. It didn't take long after that for me to decide that working for a board of directors didn't fit me, nor did serving as "number two" to another Type A. So I started my own business, which put me in the position of reporting to several boards...boards that were my clients. And from there it got progressively worse.
But I tried to overlook the bad side and I hired some staff who could deal with boards instead of having to do it myself. But I couldn't make that a universal situation, so I have had to deal with boards regularly. They're not all bad...not even the majority. But I allow the ones who are to upset me so much that I can barely tolerate making the trip to my office.
My sister would tell me to put my "many talents" as she called them to other uses, things that would take advantage of them but would make me happy. She regularly encouraged me to write, having decided that I was a good writer and knowing that I enjoyed it. But I only enjoy it sometimes...when I'm in the right mood. And that can be a rarity.
I've come to the realization that what I'm after is independence and change. I don't want to do anything for very long. A month or two or three and I'm bored and ready for something new. So, what I am, in fact, is a lazy, self-indulgent complainer who has been unable or unwilling to try to make the best out of situations that are simply requirements of life. I want things that are not NEEDED...they are just wanted. I want. I want. I want. It's so upsetting to realize that I'm just an aging, spoiled brat who's never been happy, despite having been fortunate in so many ways.
I have always had enough money to live a decent life. My wife is wonderful and loves me and puts up with me. My immediate family is composed of people who are good and who I love and who love me. But I'm not satisfied.
I don't want to go to work from 8 to 5 and push paper. I don't want to react to the wishes of people who want things I find offensive or morally corrupt.
I still need to learn from my sister. She adapted to a life of relative poverty and she liked her life. She did things for others and make their lives happier. In her life, she had to adapt to being confined to a wheelchair. She didn't need to feel the freedom to hit the road; she adapted to the constraints life and circumstance placed on her.
My sister tried to teach me that I have what it takes to be happy, that all I have to do is to do what makes me happy. I wish she could have taught me what that is, what makes me happy? Maybe if I just knew what that was, I could be as good a person as she was. Until then, I suppose I'll just complain and bitch about life. What the fuck is it that makes some people like that? I don't like those people. How the hell did I become one?
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Remembering
Yesterday morning, we held a memorial service for my sister, who died February 19. I say "we," but my niece is the one who did the lion's share of the work of organizing it. She did a magnificent job. My niece and my nephew, her brother, were two of the many people who reaped the rewards of being dearly loved by my sister. My niece lives in the same city where my sister lived, so was able to see her often and benefitted from being near her aunt. And she dearly loved her aunt, and the work she put in to arrange the memorial service showed it clearly. While she and her brother were deeply affected by my sister's death, they were more deeply affected by her life.
My sister was a Catholic, and so is my niece. So it was fitting and right that my niece arranged a service at the Catholic church, though some of my sister's siblings are like fish out of water in that setting. Despite my atheism, the words and actions of the priest and the religious ceremony of yesterday's service moved me. The music...Ave Maria, Amazing Grace, and How Great Thou Art were exceptionally moving and, remembering how much my sister loved that music, made me cry. Some other things moved me even more.
My ex-sister-in-law, my niece's mother, delivered a eulogy that was nothing short of the perfect remembrance of my sister's life. Despite having split from my brother many years ago, she remained close to my sister and her presence was yet another testament to how my sister affected people.
She spoke of all the thousands of thing my sister did for others, from giving people shelter, to handling income tax preparation for people unable to do (or pay for) their own, to making raggedy-ann dolls for children who desperately needed a bright spot in their otherwise dull and dreary and poverty-ridden lives. She described my sister's love of her brothers and sister, and her niece and nephews, and she spoke of the things my sister did that were natural to her but invisible to most others who never saw all the good she was doing. The eulogy described my sister as someone who just naturally helped people...it was just "what she did." One day I will post that eulogy here.
Something else that moved me was the presence at the service of my sister's doctor, who had been her primary physician for ten years or more. He spoke to several of my siblings about her, describing her as "brilliant" and as someone unlike anyone else he had ever known. He said he could talk to her about things he had never been able to with other patients, personal things outside the doctor-patient relationship. "I don't know if you realize how much she did for people. She got things done," he said, "when no one else could," going on to relate an incident in which he had told her of another financially-strapped patient who needed a motorized wheelchair but apparently did not qualify or could not get through the red-tape of getting one. "She didn't need to do anything about it, but she did." He said she got the wheelchair for the guy in a matter of days. "I don't know how she did it, but she did. She was remarkable." I had heard my sister talk about her doctor before, describing him as someone who was not in the profession for the money but, instead, for the opportunity to serve. His presence at my sister's service was a tribute to her, and a tribute to him as well.
Other people who made their way to the memorial service spoke volumes about my sister, too, though the people did not speak. At least three people confined to wheelchairs were there, people my sister had helped in one way or another. I had met one of the people, a man who's probably in his forties, at my sister's apartment not too many months before. Since I had seen him, he had undergone a leg amputation. I remember him wheeling in to the room when my sister had opened the door, looking sheepish as my sister dressed him down for failing to get tax documentation to her earlier so she could help him file his return. Yesterday, when I spoke to him, he said "I don't know what I'm going to do without her." He meant it; he was lost without the help that my sister regularly gave him just to get by in his daily life.
I don't know just how I'm going to do it, but I'm going to keep my sister's legacy alive by doing something to continue her work helping people, particularly people in the apartment building where she lived. The building is for people over age 62 and the mobility-impaired; all residents pay a significant percentage of their income in rent. I want to do something to carry on my sister's work. I'm not going to replicate it...I won't even try...but perhaps I can honor her memory by honoring what turned out to be, in a very real way, her life's work.
My sister was a Catholic, and so is my niece. So it was fitting and right that my niece arranged a service at the Catholic church, though some of my sister's siblings are like fish out of water in that setting. Despite my atheism, the words and actions of the priest and the religious ceremony of yesterday's service moved me. The music...Ave Maria, Amazing Grace, and How Great Thou Art were exceptionally moving and, remembering how much my sister loved that music, made me cry. Some other things moved me even more.
My ex-sister-in-law, my niece's mother, delivered a eulogy that was nothing short of the perfect remembrance of my sister's life. Despite having split from my brother many years ago, she remained close to my sister and her presence was yet another testament to how my sister affected people.
She spoke of all the thousands of thing my sister did for others, from giving people shelter, to handling income tax preparation for people unable to do (or pay for) their own, to making raggedy-ann dolls for children who desperately needed a bright spot in their otherwise dull and dreary and poverty-ridden lives. She described my sister's love of her brothers and sister, and her niece and nephews, and she spoke of the things my sister did that were natural to her but invisible to most others who never saw all the good she was doing. The eulogy described my sister as someone who just naturally helped people...it was just "what she did." One day I will post that eulogy here.
Something else that moved me was the presence at the service of my sister's doctor, who had been her primary physician for ten years or more. He spoke to several of my siblings about her, describing her as "brilliant" and as someone unlike anyone else he had ever known. He said he could talk to her about things he had never been able to with other patients, personal things outside the doctor-patient relationship. "I don't know if you realize how much she did for people. She got things done," he said, "when no one else could," going on to relate an incident in which he had told her of another financially-strapped patient who needed a motorized wheelchair but apparently did not qualify or could not get through the red-tape of getting one. "She didn't need to do anything about it, but she did." He said she got the wheelchair for the guy in a matter of days. "I don't know how she did it, but she did. She was remarkable." I had heard my sister talk about her doctor before, describing him as someone who was not in the profession for the money but, instead, for the opportunity to serve. His presence at my sister's service was a tribute to her, and a tribute to him as well.
Other people who made their way to the memorial service spoke volumes about my sister, too, though the people did not speak. At least three people confined to wheelchairs were there, people my sister had helped in one way or another. I had met one of the people, a man who's probably in his forties, at my sister's apartment not too many months before. Since I had seen him, he had undergone a leg amputation. I remember him wheeling in to the room when my sister had opened the door, looking sheepish as my sister dressed him down for failing to get tax documentation to her earlier so she could help him file his return. Yesterday, when I spoke to him, he said "I don't know what I'm going to do without her." He meant it; he was lost without the help that my sister regularly gave him just to get by in his daily life.
I don't know just how I'm going to do it, but I'm going to keep my sister's legacy alive by doing something to continue her work helping people, particularly people in the apartment building where she lived. The building is for people over age 62 and the mobility-impaired; all residents pay a significant percentage of their income in rent. I want to do something to carry on my sister's work. I'm not going to replicate it...I won't even try...but perhaps I can honor her memory by honoring what turned out to be, in a very real way, her life's work.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Writing for My Sister
My very first blog post was on another blog, one I have since abandoned, on July 21, 2005. The fifth anniversary of my attempt to share thoughts with the world is approching.
That first blog post was entitled "Geezers and Geezerhood" and attempted to explain why people should be happy to be getting older. I wrote, "The health issues that tend to come with age, of course, are negative aspects of getting older, but on the whole, getting older is a good thing. I intend to keep doing it."
I wrote that as encouragement for one of my sisters, who had been having health issues for a long time and was feeling a little depressed. I don't know whether that first post of mine had any impact on her, but I do know that she regularly read my blog from the very beginning. Often, she read between the lines and knew when I was angry, depressed, or just frustrated with the world around me. She knew that many of my frustrations related to the fact that I loathed the work that I created for myself by starting my own business. She encouraged me to get out of it, to do something different, to retire and see the country on my own terms. From her perspective, all I needed to do was just do it. Her concern was for my health, physical and mental, and she never stopped encouraging me to "give it up" and enjoy life instead of scrambling hard for five or six or ten days straight so I could have a weekend or even an occasional week to do what I wanted.
If I had listened to her, I might have done the impossible and given up being tied to a desk for a life "on the road." She lived on a tiny Social Security check in a tiny subsidized apartment in an building operated for people near the bottom of the economic scale. She was able to see past the "need" for material things. She didn't need a big house, a nice car, or money in the bank. Sure, she would have been more comfortable with those things, but what she needed was to be able to help other people. She needed that as much as she needed air to breathe.
I possess only a fraction of the need to be of service to others that my sister had. I have it, but not the way she did. She was passionate about it, but she did not expect others to share it. She just went about doing it. She occasionally shared what she was doing, but she rarely revealed just how much she was doing for others.
My brothers and my other sister said aloud, from time to time, "I wish she would use the money we give/lend her for herself!" But she rarely would. Instead, if a neighbor needed food or a friend needed money to pay a bill or an acquaintance needed an attorney, she would spend her own money and any we provided on helping that other person. It was rare that she would actually spend money on herself.
Once, recently, I insisted on buying a "doctor's scale" for her that her doctor had been encouraging her to buy. She needed to weigh herself very accurately every day and report any signficant changes to her doctor because certain drugs she was taking could cause water retentino which could, in turn, put additional pressure on her already over-taxed heart. It took me months to get her to accept the money for the scale. It was less than $200, but you would have thought I was mortgaging my house; she did not want me to give up anything just to help her. She was not used to getting anything; she was only used to giving.
In hindsight, I realize that I was looking at situations from a different perspective than she was. I was used to having discretionary money, albeit not a lot. She was used to living week to week, and stretching her money to make ends meet. And I think she felt guilty taking anything for herself because she was spending "needlessly" on a vice: smoking. But I know how hard it is to stop that addiction, having kicked it only six years ago after a 35 years habit. In retrospect, I think she felt guilty that she was not using the money she spent on cigarettes on helping other people; she had another, competing, addiction: service to others.
My sister and I had very different perspectives on religion. She was a believer and had connections with the church, though she had deep divides with core elements of the church. I am not a believer, but I do share her loathing for the hypocracies of organized religion. I can't say with certainty, but I think her support for the church had more to do with the good works done in the name of the church than with its religious formalities. We spoke fairly often about my indignation with organized religion in general and my disbelief in a supreme power. She didn't defend the church except to tell me how a church near where she lived was exceptionally supportive of the community, especially people who were, like her, near the bottom of the economic ladder. She wished I would have believed in a supreme being, but she was satisfied that I appreciated the work the church did. And she had little tolerance for people who use the church in place of their brain; she preferred that people think for themselves and not depend on the church to do it for them.
Many of the people who lived near my sister lived deeply in poverty; she treated everyone the same way, though, regardless of who they were or where they came from. She was just as comfortable telling a wealthy attorney to return usurious fees to a poor client as she was inquiring of a street person when was the last time he had eaten. I know many people who are uncomfortable dealing with the "lowest of the low" strata of society; thanks to learning from my sister, I no longer have that level of discomfort. While she was quite liberal in her views, she was quick to condemn false liberalism in others...like the rich socialite who would give money to the poor, but who wouldn't deign to speak to them or treat them as equals.
My first blog post, which was intended to improve my sister's mood, led to a flood of others, some of which my sister appreciated and many of which she probably did not. But like them or not, she read them; I think she read them because she felt compelled to read them, in case something I said might signal a need to talk something out. And she read those signals well, too.
My sister's death on February 19 brought her reading of my posts to an end. But I will continue to write as if she might read them and I'll try to continue to learn from her as I remember all she taught me, and all she tried to teach me.
That first blog post was entitled "Geezers and Geezerhood" and attempted to explain why people should be happy to be getting older. I wrote, "The health issues that tend to come with age, of course, are negative aspects of getting older, but on the whole, getting older is a good thing. I intend to keep doing it."
I wrote that as encouragement for one of my sisters, who had been having health issues for a long time and was feeling a little depressed. I don't know whether that first post of mine had any impact on her, but I do know that she regularly read my blog from the very beginning. Often, she read between the lines and knew when I was angry, depressed, or just frustrated with the world around me. She knew that many of my frustrations related to the fact that I loathed the work that I created for myself by starting my own business. She encouraged me to get out of it, to do something different, to retire and see the country on my own terms. From her perspective, all I needed to do was just do it. Her concern was for my health, physical and mental, and she never stopped encouraging me to "give it up" and enjoy life instead of scrambling hard for five or six or ten days straight so I could have a weekend or even an occasional week to do what I wanted.
If I had listened to her, I might have done the impossible and given up being tied to a desk for a life "on the road." She lived on a tiny Social Security check in a tiny subsidized apartment in an building operated for people near the bottom of the economic scale. She was able to see past the "need" for material things. She didn't need a big house, a nice car, or money in the bank. Sure, she would have been more comfortable with those things, but what she needed was to be able to help other people. She needed that as much as she needed air to breathe.
I possess only a fraction of the need to be of service to others that my sister had. I have it, but not the way she did. She was passionate about it, but she did not expect others to share it. She just went about doing it. She occasionally shared what she was doing, but she rarely revealed just how much she was doing for others.
My brothers and my other sister said aloud, from time to time, "I wish she would use the money we give/lend her for herself!" But she rarely would. Instead, if a neighbor needed food or a friend needed money to pay a bill or an acquaintance needed an attorney, she would spend her own money and any we provided on helping that other person. It was rare that she would actually spend money on herself.
Once, recently, I insisted on buying a "doctor's scale" for her that her doctor had been encouraging her to buy. She needed to weigh herself very accurately every day and report any signficant changes to her doctor because certain drugs she was taking could cause water retentino which could, in turn, put additional pressure on her already over-taxed heart. It took me months to get her to accept the money for the scale. It was less than $200, but you would have thought I was mortgaging my house; she did not want me to give up anything just to help her. She was not used to getting anything; she was only used to giving.
In hindsight, I realize that I was looking at situations from a different perspective than she was. I was used to having discretionary money, albeit not a lot. She was used to living week to week, and stretching her money to make ends meet. And I think she felt guilty taking anything for herself because she was spending "needlessly" on a vice: smoking. But I know how hard it is to stop that addiction, having kicked it only six years ago after a 35 years habit. In retrospect, I think she felt guilty that she was not using the money she spent on cigarettes on helping other people; she had another, competing, addiction: service to others.
My sister and I had very different perspectives on religion. She was a believer and had connections with the church, though she had deep divides with core elements of the church. I am not a believer, but I do share her loathing for the hypocracies of organized religion. I can't say with certainty, but I think her support for the church had more to do with the good works done in the name of the church than with its religious formalities. We spoke fairly often about my indignation with organized religion in general and my disbelief in a supreme power. She didn't defend the church except to tell me how a church near where she lived was exceptionally supportive of the community, especially people who were, like her, near the bottom of the economic ladder. She wished I would have believed in a supreme being, but she was satisfied that I appreciated the work the church did. And she had little tolerance for people who use the church in place of their brain; she preferred that people think for themselves and not depend on the church to do it for them.
Many of the people who lived near my sister lived deeply in poverty; she treated everyone the same way, though, regardless of who they were or where they came from. She was just as comfortable telling a wealthy attorney to return usurious fees to a poor client as she was inquiring of a street person when was the last time he had eaten. I know many people who are uncomfortable dealing with the "lowest of the low" strata of society; thanks to learning from my sister, I no longer have that level of discomfort. While she was quite liberal in her views, she was quick to condemn false liberalism in others...like the rich socialite who would give money to the poor, but who wouldn't deign to speak to them or treat them as equals.
My first blog post, which was intended to improve my sister's mood, led to a flood of others, some of which my sister appreciated and many of which she probably did not. But like them or not, she read them; I think she read them because she felt compelled to read them, in case something I said might signal a need to talk something out. And she read those signals well, too.
My sister's death on February 19 brought her reading of my posts to an end. But I will continue to write as if she might read them and I'll try to continue to learn from her as I remember all she taught me, and all she tried to teach me.
Friday, February 19, 2010
A Gift is Gone
My sister, my wonderful sister who lived in poverty but shared the few nickels that found their way into her purse, died this morning. I mourn her death out of selfishness that she will no longer be the person to brighten my day when I'm down. But at least I know she won't have to suffer anymore through hellish episodes of chest pain and respiratory distress. I will miss her until death takes me.
Unlike me, she was a believer in a supreme being and she tended to have attachments to the church. If she was right and I am wrong, there are angels singing today in celebration that one of the most generous, giving, caring people who ever walked the earth is in their midst. If I am right, then her passing is simply a jolt to this earth and to the countless people for whom she sacrificed so many material things so that those she called her friends would have just a little something.
She fed people she didn't know, she gave up her bed for people who needed to sleep, she battled the IRS and Social Security Administration for people who couldn't do on their own, but desperately needed an advocate. And they had that advocate in my sister. She was, in many ways, the Molly Ivins of our family; she gave people hell if they deserved it, especially when they had mistreated someone else...the underdog was her pet!
I have lost a very dear friend and a person I loved very, very much. Since learning of her death just two hours ago, it has been damn near impossible for me to keep my composure. After the necessities of dealing with death are behind us, I plan to arrange for a celebration of her life that I wish I'd done while she was alive to see how much she has meant to so very many people.
Goodbye, Mimi. We love you.
Unlike me, she was a believer in a supreme being and she tended to have attachments to the church. If she was right and I am wrong, there are angels singing today in celebration that one of the most generous, giving, caring people who ever walked the earth is in their midst. If I am right, then her passing is simply a jolt to this earth and to the countless people for whom she sacrificed so many material things so that those she called her friends would have just a little something.
She fed people she didn't know, she gave up her bed for people who needed to sleep, she battled the IRS and Social Security Administration for people who couldn't do on their own, but desperately needed an advocate. And they had that advocate in my sister. She was, in many ways, the Molly Ivins of our family; she gave people hell if they deserved it, especially when they had mistreated someone else...the underdog was her pet!
I have lost a very dear friend and a person I loved very, very much. Since learning of her death just two hours ago, it has been damn near impossible for me to keep my composure. After the necessities of dealing with death are behind us, I plan to arrange for a celebration of her life that I wish I'd done while she was alive to see how much she has meant to so very many people.
Goodbye, Mimi. We love you.
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