The Big Peace March
You’ll remember that two weeks ago, I was eagerly anticipating The Big Peace March scheduled for March 15 in downtown San Rafael. And, indeed, I was in attendance yesterday as a few interested citizens showed up to protest our continued involvement in Iraq.
This morning, the Marin Independent Journal reported…
Several hundred people attended a march and rally in downtown San Rafael on Saturday to protest the continued presence of U.S. troops in Iraq, just days before the five-year anniversary of the invasion…
In my opinion, this is truly a misrepresentation of the event.
I was there. I estimated the crowd at between 100 and 200 during the noon-time rally…after which I left. Unless there was a massive influx of participants for the actual march itself, immediately following the speeches, I believe our local reporter over-reached in doing his crowd estimate.
I found the turnout yesterday to be tremendously disappointing. As you may recall, I was similarly dismayed last year in downtown San Francisco when we gathered to protest the fourth anniversary of the war’s beginning.
My observations are more-or-less validated by a front-page article today in the San Francisco Chronicle, which states that…
The war in Iraq has gone on for five years now, but there is almost no sign of it in the Bay Area, a region where 7 million people live…
The Bay Area has a reputation for being a hotbed of anti-war sentiment, the legendary “Left Coast” where all the politicians are liberals and all the citizens are activists.
It is also the home of Travis Air Force Base, one of the country’s largest with a direct role in Iraq, and a place where anti-war protesters plan to mark the fifth anniversary of the Iraq war with parades and demonstrations.
But mostly, Bay Area people seem to have put the war in the back of their minds. They are not indifferent about the war. They just don't want to think about it.
I agree. People seem to have, mostly, put this war out of their heads: we seem to be in a kind of massive, nationwide, State Of Denial that the U.S. has so royally fucked up.
I ask: What will it take to shake us up? When are we ever going to get off our duffs and demand that this insanity stop?
Soundtrack Suggestion
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Long time passing
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Long time ago
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Gone to graveyards every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
(“Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” – Pete Seeger)
The Monster Bash
With the results of the Wyoming caucuses now in, the difference today between Obama and Clinton is reported to be 142 delegates. The best guess is that neither candidate will garner enough in the remaining contests to go into this summer’s convention with the nomination assured.
So Hillary has recently tended to go maniacally negative. And – I hope you agree with me – Barack is looking more and more “presidential” all the time.
You had probably long-ago guessed that my candidate was John Edwards. Yes, I voted for him here in the California primary, even though by that time he had decided to call it quits. Edwards was the one that I was most drawn to: I want someone in the White House whom I can trust.
I’ll vote Democratic in November. That’s a given. And I so dearly want a candidate to vote for.
Obama is now that person. Regardless of where he stands on the issues, I see a person who is intelligent, articulate, level-headed, and honest-to-god leadership material. In Barack, I believe we have someone who has the potential to actually unite this country.
Obama is against the war. He’ll get us out – somehow. I really don’t care about the fine-print differences in the proposed healthcare plans. I trust that he’ll gather other smart people around him and lead us out of this recession.
And that he’ll inspire a sense of pride in being an American, for a change.
Should Hillary win the nomination, come November I’ll hold my nose and vote (not for her, but) against McCain. I submit that Obama’s recently-departed foreign-policy advisor Samantha Power was correct when she labeled Hillary a “monster.” Too bad she (Power) had to lose her job over such an obvious (though “negative”) truth.
It’s Hillary who is not presidential material. She is not a person to trust. It’s Hillary to watch your back for.
I choose Obama.
Soundtrack Suggestion
I’m a young soul in this very strange world hoping I could learn a bit about what is true and fake.
But why all this hate?
Try to communicate.
Finding trust and love is not always easy to make.
(“New Soul” -- Yael Naim)
The Fifth Anniversary is Nigh
For the last two years I’ve written about, and posted photographs from, the peace demonstrations I’ve attended. As we are all too-well-aware, “W” first lied to us, then took us to war with Iraq in March of 2003. Every year since then we’ve taken to the streets during this month to mark the tragic anniversary.
In 2006, I participated in the event in Portland, OR…the largest gathering of anti-war folk that I’ve ever been a part of. Last year, I traveled from my temporary residence in Roseburg, OR, to march in San Francisco.
As no mass weekend demonstration is apparently taking place in San Fran this year (mid-week activities are planned), I am going to attend the Big Peace March in downtown San Rafael, CA (the county seat of Marin).
Please join me, if you can, on Saturday, March 15.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Now I’ve been happy lately, thinking about the good things to come
And I believe it could be, something good has begun
Oh I’ve been smiling lately, dreaming about the world as one
And I believe it could be, some day it’s going to come
Cause out on the edge of darkness, there rides a peace train
Oh peace train take this country, come take me home again
(“Peace Train” – Cat Stevens)
The Thing About Pain
As I was mulling over options after my visit to the neurologist, and in the context of my entire off-again/on-again relationship with Fibroplex (described in the previous entry), I scheduled another appointment with my primary-care physician. This is a report on that little adventure.
My primary-care guy is the one who has been ordering some tests and making the referrals to the specialists I’ve seen lately. During my initial appointment with him, I, of course, explained the history of my chronic-pain issues, including the opinion of one of my previous doctors that this is likely fibromyalgia I’m dealing with here. He was not exactly receptive to that theory, and suggested that, as much as anything, fibromyalgia is a diagnosis of exclusion. That is to say, before we could justify a fibromyalgia diagnosis, we should rule out a whole bunch of other things that just may be causing my symptoms.
I said, “OK.”
Hence my experiences, reported here previously, with such things as X-rays, bone scans, MRIs, blood and urine tests, physical therapy, and the neurologist consultation. As a result, we have ruled out a whole host of potential issues for me, including: tumors, diabetes, lyme disease, Hashimoto’s disease, lupus, multiple sclerosis, Vitamin-D deficiency, and heavy-metal toxicity (to name just a few).
This has all been quite a relief, of course. It seems as if I’m not going to die anytime soon. At least of what ails me currently.
Of course, I am still in pain. All the while, I continue to take my daily regimen of vitamins and dietary supplements (including, now, a slightly-reduced dose of Fibroplex). And I continue to see my Feldenkrais practitioner, a person who is helping me change some of the personal habits that apparently have contributed to my bodily woes.
So. Back to the story of the doctor’s-office visit.
I related to him my recent experience of stopping Fibroplex, and the negative impact it had on my body in the space of only about four days.
He took a look at the bottle of Fibroplex I had brought along for my show-and-tell and asked me how it was I came to take this supplement at this dose. When I informed him that a naturopathic physician in Oregon had suggested it, he replied that I “might want to hire a lawyer to talk about that,” implying, of course, that I sue my naturopath.
I said, “well, that’s not going to happen.”
Then came the really good part. “There’s just no way that stopping this (as he held the supplement bottle in his hand) could have produced the effect you describe. I think you’re ascribing a great deal of power to these pills to keep you functioning. But that just couldn’t be. I think we have to consider that there’s a significant psychiatric factor at work here.”
Oh, good. How entirely wonderful. My own doctor, instead of saying “how interesting, I wonder how we can figure what’s really going on with your body, given this information,” …. instead chooses to think I’m, well, (to use a technical term) nuts.
Here’s what I believe.
We don’t understand a lot about our bodies. There are many things that just can’t be explained. And, with some of the explanations that do exist, there are many folks out there who don’t, or won’t, accept or believe them. For example, take the recent article in the New York Times entitled “Drug Approved. Is Disease Real?” This piece discusses the recent FDA approval of Lyrica as the first prescription medication for fibromyalgia (a condition “characterized by chronic, widespread pain of unknown origin”). The author contends, not-so-subtly, that fibromyalgia is not a disease and that people who suffer from the constellation of symptoms typically characterized by the condition simply have not learned to live with pain that most people are able to cope with. Further, there is really no benefit of the recently-approved drug, other than for the drug companies to make a lot of money. (Well, of course, this last part is likely accurate.)
I don’t know whether fibromyalgia is “real” or not. Whatever that might mean. And, if it is, I don’t know whether or not I have “it.” For the time being, I continue to have a condition that has no label, except to describe what is actually happening to me: chronic pain.
Yes, I acknowledge that there is quite likely a mind-body connection operative here. I wholeheartedly believe that. Psychoneuroimmunology is an established field in the scientific community, and I have confidently theorized that my long-standing anxieties associated with job loss; rejection and relationship loss; and dramatic life change, have all had a profound impact on my body.
So: let’s explore that. Let’s work with that. Let’s not dismiss my condition as merely “psychiatric” with no plan of action.
Because, the thing about pain is: it always hurts.
Living On The Edge
I thought I’d return, today, to a discussion of health and health care…issues that are constantly on my mind.
Ten days ago I had a second appointment with my neurologist. After my first visit late last year, I had a battery of tests, including brain and spinal MRIs – and more blood and urine work than I had ever had done at one time before. So, during this subsequent appointment, I was prepared to receive the results. After arrival, and hanging out for a few minutes in the waiting room, I was soon called to the back office where the doctor’s nurse practitioner saw me first.
She asked why I was there.
(Huh? Why am I here? You don’t know that?!)
I politely (as I could) informed her that I’d had a lot of tests done since the last time, and I was here for the follow-up. She asked if anything had changed with my condition, and I said, “no, we’ve done no interventions, only tests.”
She looked up my results on the computer in front of her, and quickly found the report from my brain MRI. She read from the screen, noting that the result was “unremarkable – that’s a good thing.” Then she scrolled to the report from the lumbar MRI, and started reading. She was totally winging this, I surmised, and when she got to a certain part that sounded like it might be going into delicate territory, something about an “irregularity” perhaps (I forgot the exact word, I was stunned that she was so obviously unprepared), she abruptly stopped and said, “well, we should probably let the doctor interpret these findings for you.”
I icily agreed. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Why don’t we let her do that.”
And then: I was left to hang out in the office alone for the next 25 minutes as I contemplated my fate, wondering what it could possibly be that we had left unread and unsaid.
Well, it turned out that the waiting was the hardest part. This clueless nurse practitioner had led me to the brink for nothing, really. When the doctor arrived, she stated that the lumbar MRI indicated I have a disc pressing on a nerve in the L5-S1 area, which, if I were symptomatic, should be causing shooting pain down my leg. Well, that’s not an issue I have, so the theory is that my body may have adjusted to this condition – and I may or may not ever experience this as a problem.
The MRI results apparently ruled out a whole host of potential issues for me, though, including MS. Despite the bumpy start with the nurse practitioner, I was now thinking, “this is going well.”
The more interesting result was from the blood work. It seems I have a terrifically high level of Vitamin B6, to the point that I am now diagnosed with “B6 toxicity” – as a possible explanation for my array of bodily aches and pains, especially my peripheral neuropathy. She ordered me to cease all forms of B6 intake immediately (in my ambitious daily regimen of dietary supplements).
When I got home to read the labels of my supplement bottles, I discovered that the major source of Vitamin B6 for me is in the supplement that I attribute to saving my life last year. It’s called Fibroplex, and it’s been nothing short of a wonder drug. So, I wondered, what would happen if I stopped? …might my body have healed enough in the last thirteen months that I don’t really need it any more?
Well, despite my nervousness, last week I eliminated all B6 sources. Cold turkey. Including my beloved Fibroplex.
It didn’t take long to get an answer about the consequences. Within a couple of days, my head started to hurt. My ears clogged up; my hearing diminished. Within three days I had a splitting, mind-blowing headache, and I started to feel a veil of depression descend over me. By the fourth day, the pain from my head was becoming more generalized throughout my body, and I was remembering the awfulness of what my condition (whatever this is, perhaps it’s fibromyalgia, maybe something else entirely) can really bring to my life. And, I was thoroughly depressed. I showed up at work that day, but I was totally worthless. I was in an absolute fog the entire time.
It was during that morning I concluded this particular experiment was an obvious, utter failure. I went home at noon and started taking Fibroplex again. And I took some more that evening, so by the next morning, day number five, I was practically back to normal (for me).
So, what with all my recent doctor appointments in the last few months, and thousand and thousands of dollars of tests later, all I know is that I have a disc/nerve irregularity that appears in an MRI – and likely a case of B6 toxicity. Except: it just so happens that my major source of B6 is actually allowing me to function in this world. With a (mostly) manageable level of pain. And depression-free.
I have had another look at living on the edge. It took me only four days to start a very real journey into a living hell; thankfully I knew how to bring myself back to something resembling health.
This whole journey called life is pretty scary at times.
And, I’m still looking for answers.
Typical TechnoMonk Talk
I have recently written, rather pointedly, about the way technology tends to keep us disconnected – that is, out of touch with each other on a human level – more than ever before. Today I have yet another example of this. To wit, I have recently been on a very frustrating technological mission: one that totally consumed me over the course of an entire weekend.
The story starts ten days ago when I took delivery on my new laptop computer.
(Yes, in addition to my new camera body, I have indulged myself in still another updated piece of technology. And one with a certain, defined learning curve associated with it, of course.)
After spending a few days loading software onto the new machine, and generally trying to acquaint myself with some of the features, I decided I wanted to put together a home network. No sweat, right? Microsoft boasts about how easy this is, and, it seems, everyone is doing it. Plus, I had already purchased a wireless router and installed it (so my laptop could access the internet): my network was practically complete! (Or at least I thought – and was so informed by a techie friend of mine).
Not. Quite. So.
Consider this: I now have two Windows computers, each with a different operating system (the new one has Vista Ultimate installed; of course, the older one has XP Pro), and a different version of Norton Internet Security (the popular firewall and anti-virus software). It just so happens that the way that one sets up a network within these two operating-system environments is totally unique, so one has to learn two ways of doing things…and to deal with the inevitable incompatibility issues (but it’s all Microsoft software! …what’s the problemo?).
Well, let me tell you, there are LOTS of issues here. I spent an entire lost weekend trying to put this all together. During the last two days, I only took time out to eat, sleep, and watch the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl. And it was only just tonight that I finally have a fully functioning home network.
All of this activity kept me in the house, out of touch, and totally frazzled for the days just past. I didn’t even write my usual weekend blog entry yesterday! For the entire time, I gave up both human contact as well as virtual contact – for the sake of technology?
What have I been thinking!?!?
Geek Squad Training
As I mentioned awhile back, I scheduled myself to attend a session of Nikon School this month…and yesterday was the day. It was the epitome of Geekdom (spending the entire day in a darkened hotel conference room with 200+ other photo-nerd types), as we really didn’t talk photography, per se, but rather, all those detailed technical tasks that must be accomplished in the world of digital photography after you snap the shutter. So: we covered the process of downloading the images to the computer; browsing and culling them; organizing them coherently; editing; and, finally, outputting the final product to the web, slideshow, or printer. In case you’re interested, the full set of notes from the day is available here.
Today, I’m feeling like a fully-credentialed Geek. (And I have a Nikon School Certificate to prove it!)
Soundtrack Suggestion
Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day, Oh yeah
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don’t take my Kodachrome away
(“Kodachrome” – Paul Simon)
Live Until You Die
Recently I received one of those “chain-letter-type” emails from a friend in Nevada (I was one of 25 who received the mailing); the message contained a series of silly personal questions, with the request that you delete the friend’s answers, fill in your own responses, and then send them out to a whole new series of contacts. I’m still thinking about whether I’m going to subject anybody I know to this exercise, so I haven’t forwarded the letter as of yet. However, one of the questions that got me thinking was: “what do you want to do before you die?”
My Las Vegas compatriot offered up a very good (and succinct) reply: “live.” Now, this is something I’ve been saying since my 30s: I’m going to live until I die. So, I smiled when I saw this answer.
However, that goal is pretty non-specific. It doesn’t say anything, exactly, about what you’re (I’m) going to do, or how you’re (I’m) going to do it. Or when. Or why.
So, how might I respond to this question? And say something that has a tad more meat? Well, I guess I’d offer: I’d like to take about a zillion more photographs.
For over thirty years now, I’ve been more-or-less obsessed with getting out there in the world, a camera hanging around my neck, and snapping away. Even after this much time, having attempted and then moved on from the life of a professional photographer long ago, and having changed the rest of my life, personally and professionally, over and over (and over yet) again, photography is one thing I just can’t let go of. As much as anything, I’d say this passion defines who I am.
Yes, for sure: I’m an academic. After four college degrees, how could that not be the case? I’m a researcher. A writer. A counselor. An administrator. A TechnoMonk. Yes, there are many different labels I could apply to myself, all of them apt.
The thing is, most days I wake up thinking, not about my day job, nor about my consulting work (the activities that pay the bills), but rather about picture-taking and camera equipment.
Weird.
I admit that even my other preoccupations, namely health and chronic-pain issues, are intimately linked to my thoughts about photography. I often describe my art as “wandering-around photography” – which means that I find a setting and simply walk about with my camera, seeking to discover some image that’s there waiting for me.
Obviously, I can’t really engage in such physical activity without a certain level of health. So, the healthier I am, the more I can wander around, and the more I wander around, the more photographs I can make. All the time and energy I throw into maintaining and improving my physical health are really investments to help me find the time and energy to pursue this one true passion.
I’m mystified by the individuals who, upon retiring, eventually seek to return to their former work because they don’t know what to do with themselves. That would never be the case with me. There are not enough hours in the day, not enough days in a lifetime, to do all the things I can imagine doing. I am a high-performer in my day job, but what that activity is really geared to is allowing me to finance the more interesting parts of life.
Yes, I’m going to live until I die. And during that time I’ll be wandering around: with the camera’s viewfinder glued to my left eyeball.
The National Discourtesy Epidemic
Within these pages, I continue to visit and revisit the themes of our culture’s relationship to cell phones and the general level of noise pollution we’re all subjected to on a daily basis. There are precious few places to go, it seems, to escape and find some peace and quiet.
I suppose part of my personal issue here is that I am a rather quiet guy myself…a quality that happens to go along with my reputation as a good listener. Everyone says so. For example, when we talk, I look you in the eye. And I pay close attention. I don’t interrupt. I strive to really grasp the meaning of what you’re trying to say to me. I ask questions of you to help deepen my understanding. I try not to insert my opinions where they’re inappropriate or unwanted. I really hope I don’t say anything to discount your ideas and/or feelings. And then: I’m just plain silent and attentive while you’re speaking.
Simply put, I’m a highly-skilled active listener. My training as a counselor, years ago now, has served me well in developing and maintaining a healthy set of communication skills. In fact, I have even been characterized as “scary” in this area. A female friend of mine once told me that I likely frighten other women away…since people are generally not very accustomed to being paid attention to so intensely. “Your ability to be present is very rare and actually a little scary,” she said.
Today, in the Sunday edition of the Marin Independent Journal, I found a reprint of an article from the Vallejo Times-Herald. The headline is “Performers Confront Cell Phone Offenders,” and the piece talks about entertainers’ issues with folks who show up to performances (plays, musical events, stand-up comedians, etc.) without turning off their phones. This is, of course, maddening for all concerned. For example, as an actor, how do you continue in your rhythm if a cell phone rings during a dramatic moment of a live on-stage performance?
My question for the day is: how does this very dynamic play out all the time in our own lives? How are we supposed to keep our personal rhythm when all anyone wants to do is pay attention to those electronic devices hanging from their belt, rattling around in their jacket pocket, or buried in their purse?
If we, as human beings, ever had the ability to really pay attention to each other, it seems to have totally evaporated. The article I read today contains a quote from comic Johnny Steele who characterizes this as a “national discourtesy epidemic.”
I absolutely agree. For all our gadgets that supposedly keep us connected, we are, in reality, totally disconnected. I submit that we just do not know how to be present with others: how to be present with just one other person. I believe we’re always paying attention to something else.
I was having dinner the other night with a long-time friend who I hadn’t seen in a few years. I was trying to explain the stresses related to employment changes, and the physical challenges of my life, in recent times. I was unsuccessful in my communication efforts. During the conversation, I needed to halt at one point as the cell phone on his belt apparently vibrated: he held up his finger and then checked a test message that had just come in. And then, while trying to convey my mood and worries about these challenges, the message I got? My feelings don’t really matter: all I need to do is think of all the poor folks in Bangladesh who have it worse than me…and I should perk right up.
Truly, I believe, we’re a disconnected society, unable to care about or pay attention to each other. And I know it’s probably not the fault of cell phones, or TVs or computers. But regarding keeping us connected? They do just the opposite.
In the Aftermath
This mid-winter season has been a time for a lot of non-holiday news. For example, coming out of the Midwestern and the Eastern U. S. are the results of the recent Iowa caucuses and the debates in New Hampshire. Here in the Bay Area we had a tragedy, on Christmas Day, at the San Francisco Zoo, when a tiger escaped and killed a San Jose teenager. And then police killed the tiger.
As the New Year got started, however, the biggest news here was the weather. Last Thursday, we were visited by the first of a series of impressive storms, and on Friday the most violent one hit us. On that day, there were winds that often approached hurricane force…and lots and lots of rain. Here where I live in the North Bay, we got about 4 inches of precipitation in one day, much in the form of blinding, horizontal rain. It was a little scary, especially when the power went out early on Friday morning at my apartment. And then, there were reports of the San Rafael-Richmond Bridge being closed because the winds were flipping semi trucks over in the middle of the span.
I had no idea when my power might return. There were over half a million of us without power here in the Bay Area, and no estimate for how long we would all have to live this way. Happily, my power was restored by the end of the day Friday. Right now, though, on Sunday morning, the San Francisco Chronicle reports that there are still 50,000 without power in the area.
The photo above is of Corte Madera Creek coursing its way through the College of Marin (Kentfield, CA) campus last Friday. This stream is usually a mere trickle but, on this day, it was a muddy, debris-laden, roaring force of nature.
They say the rains are going to continue, although we’re supposed to be getting things cleaned up and back to normal very soon. This morning, in the parking lot outside Starbuck’s, I talked to two PG&E linemen who asked me for directions! They told me they were here from Bakersfield to help with the devastation.
Kudos, Kalifornia
Here we are, the first day of 2008. And the interesting thing is, for a New Year’s Day, I’m feeing modestly well-rested: at least compared to other January Firsts (or July Fifths, for that matter) in recent memory.
You see, for the past however-many years, I’ve been thoroughly bothered (and kept awake) by my neighbors’ New Year’s Eve antics, especially by their seemingly universal preoccupation with fireworks. During the New Year’s Eves of 1995 through 2006, whether it was Eugene, Portland, or Roseburg; irrespective of my type of residence (house or apartment); and no matter the kind of neighborhood; I was always subjected to the inevitable distraction of fireworks and firecrackers going off outside my bedroom window until well past midnight. (I haven’t stayed up to welcome the New Year in for years.)
The noise, omygod my friends, the NOISE!
But: this year was different! One thing that’s changed is the state where I’m living. So, I started to wonder today if, perhaps, California has some wonderful law that prohibits (unlike Oregon) the widespread sale and distribution of these irritating noisemakers?
YES! It appears to be so! (Click here.)
THANK YOU, California!
And, speaking of California laws, I’m reminded, in today’s San Francisco Chronicle, that we’re getting some new ones here. Effective today, it’s now illegal to smoke in a car with a passenger under the age of 18. And, although we have to wait until July 1 for this next one: it’s going to be illegal on that day, and thereafter, to drive while talking on a cell phone without a hands-free device (and prohibits the behavior entirely for anyone under 18 years old).
Way to go, California!
Kids & Kameras
The daughter I never had lives in Eugene; she’s part of my “Oregon family.” I’ve known this young woman since she was a rebellious adolescent, though, in the present day, she’s an incredibly mature and talented, 27-year-old married college graduate who has two delightful kids herself (one of them little Gracie).
The absolute, without-a-doubt, best part of my existence the past two Christmas seasons has been the opportunity I’ve had to support and encourage “B’s” interest in photography. Last year, it took the form of proposing the idea to her (real) parents that we split the cost of purchasing a digital SLR camera for her holiday gift. The proposal was enthusiastically accepted and, incredibly, I was the one lucky enough to accompany her to the store when we picked up the camera. As we exited the store, she was smiling hugely while she gushed, “this is the best Christmas ever!”
She’s now had a full year with that particular piece of equipment, and has reportedly loved every minute of it. Late this year she purchased another lens for her system, indicating that she was ready, perhaps, to move up a notch in the technology hierarchy. So, this holiday season, as we talked about her wants and needs via email, I offered to sell her, at a hugely discounted price, my current digital SLR. It’s a camera body that’s still being manufactured, only nine months old, under warranty, and little-used by me this year due to a scarcity of personal time (what with all the changes I’ve made in my life recently). This year’s proposal also became a reality and she’s had the camera a little over a week now…luckily I was able to get it packed up and shipped out in time for Christmas. She’s currently busily, and happily, snapping away with this more ambitious piece of equipment.
I’ve teased her about her newly-acquired “addiction” and advised her of the dangers of said Nikon Acquisition Syndrome (NAS)…though I suspect she has not, yet, caught on to the full implications of my warnings. Still, I’ve told her, regarding NAS: there are many more dangerous and terrible maladies in this lifetime.
For me, I hope to get “out there” this year and produce many more photographs than I have in the last few months. That is, perhaps, my number-one ambition. (Thank goodness: it appears that I’ll not be engaged in a job search during 2008!) To support my goal, I’ve taken a couple of photographic steps myself lately. First, I’ve placed an order for the newly-introduced Nikon D300 (see the video below), just out in November to rave reviews, and currently in short supply. (I’ll be getting this camera body when my number comes up in the ordering queue.) Second, I’ve signed up for another full-day session at Nikon School. Hence, on January 27, I’ll be over in Berkeley, sitting a dark room with a few hundred other Nikon nuts, learning more about digital photography. And expecting to be inspired.
If this season is thinking about people you love, and making some plans for the future…well, I guess maybe there’s been a little of the holiday cheer for me this year after all.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Ev’ry time i see your face,
It reminds me of the places we used to go.
But all i got is a photograph
And i realise you’re not coming back anymore.
(“Photograph” – Ringo Starr)
Solstice and Aloneness
The Winter Solstice was yesterday.
I’m often in a bit of a funk during this Midwinter time of year. It’s usually cold, cloudy, and rainy outside. Yet, for some strange reason, everyone’s running around projecting this feeling called “holiday cheer.” I always imagine that a lot of the time it actually may be sincere.
Most years, of course, I’m left out of all the activity. Hence my tendency toward the blues. I’ve never been able, much, to insert myself into the holiday season when I’m single and alone. All of that family togetherness stuff is missing for me. And it almost always has been.
But, this year, there’s a bright side.
The winter, so far here in northern California, has been pretty mild. While we had one day last week that subjected us to nearly three inches of rain, and while I’ve been shivering many a morning recently, for the most part, weather-wise, here in my new land, it’s been mostly dry and manageable. Today was not particularly warm, but it was very sunny. And it was in the fifties when I went for a walk along my usual walking path. I had a wonderfully invigorating 39-minute trek, me and my iPod.
I don’t have the sunshine of my life. But I do have some sunshine in my life. And the days: from now on, they do get longer.
This is a good thing.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Time, time, time, see what’s become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
But look around, leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter.
(“Hazy Shade of Winter” – Simon & Garfunkel)
So, Here’s the Kicker
This week’s, perhaps this year’s, winner for the “head-up-your-butt” award is (drum roll, please): the State of Oregon. The evidence to support this distinction is, simply put, overwhelming.
To wit, I received a check in the mail last Wednesday. My dubiously-named “kicker” (tax-refund) arrived because, as you may or may not know, Oregon’s state constitution requires that when there is at least a two percent difference between the final revenue forecast for the biennium and the actual end of the biennium revenue, the surplus must be returned to the taxpayers.
Yes, that’s right, when there’s a difference between the forecast (the amount of revenue that is predicted; calculated in an entirely suspect and error-prone process) and actual revenue, taxpayers get rewarded. They call the refund a “kicker.”
Like a kick in the head, I guess.
This stupid, stupid, insanely-stupid law (!), the only one of its kind in the nation, was created in 1979 and added to the constitution in 2000. And 2007 is now the eighth time Oregonians have received their precious “kicker.” This year, on August 31, when the final revenue forecast was released, there was determined to be a $1.071 billion (yes, billion with a “b”) budget surplus. So, back it all goes to the citizens: to each of us who paid Oregon income tax for 2006, we receive 18.62% of it back.
This means 1.6 million Oregonians will receive checks just as the holidays arrive, with refunds averaging $600. My check, which appeared entirely unexpectedly (since I’ve not been following the news up there), came to $1,066.34.
Huge. Sigh.
Now, don’t get me wrong…really, I’m not totally nuts. I reluctantly admit that I’m going to be cashing it. The deal is, I didn’t want this friggin’ thing in the first place!
Consider this. Oregon’s budget has been in disarray for years. Perhaps forever. The tax structure in the state is a joke with no punchline. (Oregon, along with Alaska, Delaware, Montana, and New Hampshire are the five states with no sales tax.) I believe the anti-tax sentiment in the state to be a contagious, progressive, and ultimately-fatal disease. (Nine sales-tax initiatives have appeared on state ballots; all have been turned down. The most recent one, in 1993, was defeated by a 78 percent majority.) Although much of Bill Clinton’s (“It’s the economy, stupid”) Nineties were relatively stable and prosperous for Oregon (thereby masking the true and inevitable impact of 1990’s Measure 5), certainly since the turn of this century, there have been desperately-difficult financial times. State agencies have been in a state of constant crisis. To issue refund checks instead of creating a robust rainy-day fund (which does not exist), or, say, re-investing some of those dollars in the Oregon University System (or the Community Colleges, or the State Police, or the Oregon Health Plan, or the State Parks, the list goes on and on...), is complete and total folly.
I’m embarrassed for you, Oregon. For your lack of foresight and practicality. For your fiscally-irresponsible and tax-averse ways. For the selfishness and self-centeredness of your citizens.
This law, and this behavior, are a disgrace. You can do better.
Update on December 19, 2007:
Here’s something interesting: an article in today’s (December 18, 2007) Oregonian starts out…
A new group, the Revenue Restructuring Task Force, has been charged by the Legislature with studying Oregon’s tax system and submitting recommended policy changes to the 2009 Legislature.
The task force is the result of a bipartisan bill because many of us believe Oregon has the nation’s worst tax structure. And a few of us are convinced that if we don’t have the courage to radically change it soon, Oregon will be forever relegated to economic mediocrity.
For the full essay, by Scott Bruun (a Republican representing West Linn in the Oregon House), click here.
Feldenkrais and Cherries
I’ve added two elements to my repertoire of health-improvement strategies. The first is a therapy. Sort of. The second is a (totally legal) substance.
First off: I had an appointment yesterday with a Certified Feldenkrais (fell′ – den - krice) Practitioner in yet another attempt to find a way through my chronic-muscular-pain issues. I have a bit of a difficult time describing the whole experience, however. As one website puts it:
The Feldenkrais Method is a little hard to define, because it really isn't quite like anything else. Most simply, Feldenkrais is a sophisticated method of communicating with the unconscious through movement.
And, as the official Feldenkrais website reports:
The Feldenkrais Method is a form of somatic education that uses gentle movement and directed attention to improve movement and enhance human functioning. Through this Method, you can increase your ease and range of motion, improve your flexibility and coordination, and rediscover your innate capacity for graceful, efficient movement. These improvements will often generalize to enhance functioning in other aspects of your life.
The Feldenkrais Method is based on principles of physics, biomechanics and an empirical understanding of learning and human development. By expanding the self-image through movement sequences that bring attention to the parts of the self that are out of awareness, the Method enables you to include more of yourself in your functioning movements. Students become more aware of their habitual neuromuscular patterns and rigidities and expand options for new ways of moving. By increasing sensitivity the Feldenkrais Method assists you to live your life more fully, efficiently and comfortably.
The Method offers two different approaches. I went to an individual session, called a “Functional Integration Lesson.” Group work is done in “Awareness Through Movement Classes.”
Individual work is a hands-on process, with the practitioner providing feedback to the client’s body through gentle touch and verbal instruction. It’s not massage, and it’s not a chiropractic session, though there are superficial similarities. The website compares the Method to massage and chiropractic thusly:
The similarity is that both practices touch people, but beyond that [the Feldenkrais] Method is very different. In massage, the practitioner is working directly with the muscles, in chiropractic, with the bones. These are structural approaches that seek to affect change through changes in structure (muscles and spine). The Feldenkrais Method works with your ability to regulate and coordinate your movement; which means working with the nervous system. We refer to this as a functional approach wherein you can improve your use of self inclusive of whatever structural considerations are present.
I really liked the practitioner I saw. She is an energetic and enthusiastic young woman with an incredibly positive attitude. She has a gentle touch and great communication skills. I experienced her as an educator. Most importantly, she expressed a strong belief that she can help me with my chronic-pain woes (and she has a long list of testimonials to her credit, which tends to support her optimism).
I’m crossing my fingers right now, of course, as I do every time I try something new.
The second strategy I’ve come up with is, of all things, cherry juice!
I can’t remember where I first heard of this substance having possibilities for helping individuals like me, but when I went to the web to research this, information wasn’t hard to find. Here’s a site that claims “Cherry Juice Reduces Muscle Pain.”
So, right now, I’m drinking a little bit in the morning, a little in the evening. What can it hurt?
Sometimes I’m NOT Patient
Mostly, I believe I’m perceived as a patient person. Actually, it’s more than mere perception: I am a patient person.
I know things don’t happen right away. I believe that “all things in their own time” is a good motto to live by. I realize that others have skill levels arranged on a continuum – and that they have various, competing priorities in their lives that don’t coincide with mine. And I know that having low expectations is probably a good strategy to maintain one’s own mental and emotional health.
Yes, being patient is a good thing.
Still, there are some behaviors out there in the world that I have very little use for. For example, it wasn’t long ago that I went on a rant about cell-phone users. I have absolutely zero tolerance for people who believe that shouting out the trivia of their lives to the world is more important than respecting others’ rights (to a little peace and quiet). I was at lunch in a Chinese restaurant two days ago, with a couple of work colleagues, when one of those walkie-talkie-type cell phones sounded off (right next to us). I turned to the (totally-oblivious) guy who was speaking into his mobile device while, at the same time, shoveling fried rice into his pie-hole. I mouthed, in his direction, much to the surprise of my lunch companions, “will you shut the f#*k up?!?!” (This asshole neither saw me nor heard me. Unfortunately.)
Then, yesterday, I was at Kinko’s doing some photocopying, while all the time listening to an embarrassingly-personal conversation between a woman and (apparently) one of her girlfriends. Their discussion of a relationship gone bad was something that really should have been carried out in private. Really.
Ok, enough about cell-phone etiquette (for now). The topic of today’s rant is about punctuality. Or, more specifically, the lack of consideration some people show to other people when they arrive late.
Isn’t this, though, the same kind of thing as the cell-phone issue: lack of sensitivity to, and respect for, others?
Last Wednesday, I had interviews scheduled to start in the early afternoon. I was the leader of a small, three-person hiring committee. We had a few, back-to-back, forty-five-minute interviews on the calendar. Still, one of the other two on the committee didn’t show up until fifteen minutes past the anticipated start time, thereby throwing everyone’s schedule off for the rest of the day. Candidates who had been instructed to arrive fifteen minutes early to review the questions, instead ended up with a thirty-minute wait before I went to fetch them.
The next day I was scheduled into a committee meeting that was to begin at 11:00 a.m. I arrived on time and there were only two others present (of a twelve-member group). The remainder continued to dribble in, until finally at fifteen minutes past the hour, the chairperson arrived and the meeting was called to order.
These are only two examples of the kind of chronic, non-punctual behavior I encounter on a daily basis. And I find it maddening!
Here’s what I think you’re saying when you show up late: you’re the center of the universe. That no one, or nothing, is as important as you and your agenda. That the time of others doesn’t count. That others don’t count.
For the record, let me declare to all you loud cell-phone users and “running-late” people (and I know this will be news): IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU!
(Really, honest-to-god, it isn’t.)
Plan To Be Surprised
Dan Burns (played by Steve Carell) writes a daily newspaper advice column entitled “Dan in Real Life.” He’s a widower and the anxious, overprotective father of three daughters. The wisdom about love and life he offers up to his readers apparently comes from a voice within that he is able to transmit but cannot really hear himself. The morning after he and the kids show up at his parents’ (Dianne Wiest and John Mahoney) beach house for a holiday, family-reunion-type weekend, his mother immediately orders him to go out and “buy the papers” — and take some time away from his daughters who are obviously exasperated with their totally-not-so-cool dad.
It’s in a used-book store, where Dan decides to buy the morning newspaper, that he meets Marie (Juliette Binoche). Marie is obviously in the midst of some kind of minor personal crisis and she “needs a book” to get her through. She asks Dan for some help thinking that he’s an employee there. Although amusing and obliging, he eventually gets busted as just another customer. After asking Marie if he can make it up to her, Dan, in the initial stages of infatuation, spends a good portion of the rest of the morning telling her his life story.
It’s only when she eventually gets called away, and he returns back to the beach house, that he learns this “hottie” he’s found is the new girlfriend of his brother Mitch (Dane Cook). And that this weekend is to be her induction into the family.
The rest of the movie, Dan in Real Life, is spent illustrating the myriad awkward (some hilarious, some touching) moments that arise when, in the middle of this intimate family gathering, Dan and Marie work through their mutual-attraction issues.
This is a romantic comedy, of course, so it’s a happy ending. And while the outcome is entirely predictable, I recommend that you, too, see this movie. Treat yourself: escape for awhile and vicariously experience some of those giddy, beginning-of-a-relationship feelings.
So here’s why I mention any of this…
I believe this film reinforces one of life’s basic truisms. Namely: you just never know. For there you are, completely minding your own business and, wham (!), for better or worse, you turn a corner (or enter a bookstore) and your entire life changes. Further, while you can make plans for your time here on earth, the advice remains: expect the unexpected.
“…the only thing you can truly plan on…is to be surprised.”
Boomers’ Bods
I think you’ll agree that Boomers’ bodies are showing definite signs of wear and tear … and that these fragile shells of ours need more and more attention as time marches on. Of course, those of us attending to such maintenance chores are the fortunate ones: we’re still here.
To help monitor and support my body, I see a primary-care physician; a urologist; a neurologist; a rheumatologist; an opthamologist; a physical therapist; a massage therapist; a bodywork therapist; a naturopath; and a practitioner of Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). I’ve moved three times in the last four years, and every time I’ve done so, I’ve needed to make it a first order of business to assemble a new team.
I am watchful of my cholesterol and blood pressure, and obsess about my PSA. I dread the twice-yearly DRE. I’ve had a colonoscopy and a cystoscopy. At one point, I needed to wait, for eight long days, on the results of a prostate biopsy. During one long emergency-room visit some time ago, I was (mis-) diagnosed with bladder cancer.
But, knock on wood: I have never needed the services of an oncologist. Or a surgeon. And my new physical therapist recently observed that I am “basically healthy.”
Still, when you get to be a sexagenarian, the probability of needing a highly-skilled medical specialist increases virtually every minute. And all of us have family, friends and loved ones who have been very ill or are no longer with us.
To help ensure that I delay the need for extreme intervention as long as possible, I spend (what I believe to be) inordinate amounts of time and energy every day focusing on this old bod. I walk, I stretch, I ice my back and shoulders. I soak in hot Epsom-salt baths. I engage in a rigorous regimen of vitamins, minerals, supplements and TCM herbs. I drink green tea and lots of water. I eat small portions of mostly-healthy foods. I don’t drink or smoke. I avoid sugar, preservatives, red meat and caffeine. I have regular bodywork and physical-therapy appointments. I read, and collect, books on a variety of health issues. I subscribe to an internet newsletter that provides me with regular updates on natural health and healing. And I check in with an online fibromyalgia support group on occasion.
I’ve been thinking that, pretty much, getting old is a full-time job. No wonder there’s such a thing as retirement! Who has time to work when there’s so much other stuff in life to pay attention to?
As I enjoy a leisurely holiday weekend away from my current place of employment, I’m thankful for my basic good health. And that I’m a Boomer. For if there’s anything good about being a member of this generation, it’s that you’re never, really, alone.
Baby Boomers: Citizens Not Seniors
Turning 60 is not an insignificant milestone. It sure has me thinking a lot lately, given that I’m now about three months into my seventh decade.
And it appears that I’m not the only one with the implications of baby-boomer aging on my mind.
Last month, in an op-ed piece entitled “Second Acts,” Boston Globe columnist Ellen Goodman told a small part of the Al Gore story…in essence arguing that, in the aftermath of his loss to George W. Bush, Gore was able to rediscover his true calling. Goodman believes that he “found himself by losing himself – literally losing – and being liberated from ambition.”
Further, Goodman suggests that Gore is blazing a new trail for the baby-boomer generation. “Consider the new sixtysomethings,” she says…
…Next Friday, Hillary Clinton turns 60 and her second act is running for president. And when the new Harvard president, Drew Gilpin Faust, 60, met with her Bryn Mawr classmates last summer? Many were talking about leaving their “extreme jobs” just as she was installed in hers.
Baby boomers are the first generation that can look forward to such a lengthy and (fingers crossed) healthy stage of later life. They are as likely to be talking about what they want to do next as about where they want to retire. Never mind all those declarations that 60 is the new 40. In fact, 60 is the new 60.
For me, at age 60, it’s certainly not the case that I’m talking about retirement. As always, in my life, it’s about what to do next.
Not that the question of “what to do next” is, I hope, going to come up very soon (given that I’ve, just recently, totally changed my life yet again). It’s just that, like Gore, in losing, I seem to have found a new direction. Hopefully one that will sustain me for some time to come.
As I’ve written about before, I was forced to reconsider my life almost from the moment the Governor of Oregon dismissed the entire State Board of Higher Education on November 13, 2003. With that single act, after nine years as a policy-wonk type, I needed to find someplace else to land, something else to do. As with our former Vice President, who found a different ladder to climb after some time in the wilderness (how’s that for mixing metaphors?!), I too spent some years out there in the wild, trying to come to grips with the realities of loss and seeking to find a way to let go. Specifically, my path of soul-searching consisted of three years and two temporary jobs at different dysfunctional institutions. Although they took a high personal toll, the growth-providing experiences I had from 2004 to 2007 laid the foundation for finding my version of the “extreme job” …which ultimately came within a month of my 60th birthday.
Not that my current place is the be-all and end-all. Surely it isn’t. When I was recently providing an outline of my non-linear, wayward life to the young woman who now cuts my hair, she seemed genuinely curious about all those twists and turns. At one point, I disclosed that I had very few regrets, but that “if I had it all to do over again,” I might try to focus my life more on writing and photography. When she suggested that “it’s not too late…”, I balked. I indicated that I can write and do photography and pursue my current professional path: that changing directions entirely, at this point, might just take more energy than I have.
But, who knows? I don’t know how long I’ll live. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned thus far, it’s that you can never know what tomorrow will bring. As Ellen Goodman states, “…under the old compact, sixtysomethings were supposed to get out of the way and out of work. They were encouraged by financial incentives and prodded by discrimination. Now we are drawing blueprints for people who see themselves more as citizens than seniors.”
In all honesty, I don’t have any idea when the next fork in the road will present itself to me. For now, though, despite all those aches and pains, I am a citizen, not a senior.
If you come to a fork in the road, take it.
Yogi Berra
Update(s) on November 24, 2007:
I just thought you might like to know…
Shortly after I posted this article, I received an email asking for permission to reprint it. The request came from Frédéric Serrière, editor of theMatureMarket.com website. I gave the green light, and today I discovered that this piece had, indeed, been published. You may find it by clicking here.
Another note…
I have also been mentioned on The Platinum Years Network blog: first here, then here.
The Society for HandHeld Hushing (SHHH!)
As far back as July 2006 I started talking about my aversion to noise, particularly the annoying cell-phone-user variety. I continually ask myself the question: where do I have to go, what, dear god, do I have to do, to get away from these inconsiderate, loudmouth assholes?
I’m sick. I’m tired. I’m totally frazzled with the “cell-phone voice” that seems to be everywhere. For example, say I’m in the local Starbucks (as I was just today), quietly sipping my cup of tea and reading a book, with the normal background hum of voices and activity. Then, a person a table or two away takes or makes a call, and before I even look up to confirm, I know that voice. Geez, it’s somebody talking on their damn phone. Of course it is. It’s happening all around us! Does she really think I care if she’s running late? Or that he’s hungover? Or that her sister is sick? Or that her husband-boyfriend-significant-other doesn’t “get” her? Or that his college won the big game yesterday? Or that, woe is me, the Dow lost 130 points last week? Or that she thinks “like, you know, whatever…”?
Tell me: how could I possibly give a rat’s ass?!
Well, I don’t.
But, enter: HOPE.
I recently discovered what I think is a “must-have” piece of modern technology: the cell-phone jammer. In a newspaper article last week entitled “Cell-Phone Jammers Can Zap All The Yap,” I learned of these wondrous little (often extremely small and portable) devices. I don’t need to go into how these things actually work, since, if you’re interested, you can read up on that yourself. Suffice it to say that, for not much money, you too can own a gadget that can zap the signal of cell phones in your immediate vicinity.
Think of yourself on a bus or commuter train, in the doctor’s waiting room, in the theatre, or, like me, in the coffee shop: and having actual control over the airspace! You just push a button and, whammo! …instant impotence (technologically speaking) for that useless, harebrained cell-phone user!
HA!
Of course, there happens to be a down side, as use of these miracle tools just happens to be against the law. Alas, cell-phone jamming is covered under the Communications Act of 1934, which prohibits us from “willfully or maliciously interfering with the radio communications of any station licensed or authorized” to operate. In fact, the “manufacture, importation, sale or offer for sale, including advertising, of devices designed to block or jam wireless transmissions is prohibited” as well.
Dang!
So, given this, of course I’m not advocating that you go out and buy one of these things. It just wouldn’t be right, would it? I would never, ever endorse any kind of illegal activity here on my website. That would be terrible of me!
So, how about if I suggest an alternative that IS totally legal?
It just so happens that I’ve discovered another way to start fighting back. I’ve become aware of a method that is neither illegal nor surreptitious, but, rather, totally above-board…and just may win the hearts and minds of those around you.
I suggest you go to the website introducing you to the (unfortunately fictional) Society for HandHeld Hushing (SHHH!). Once there, you will find a pdf file which you can download and print out that will furnish you with some little “business cards” you can cut up and hand to those loudmouths on cell phones.
Imagine yourself, if you will, handing a modestly-sized nicely-printed card to someone stating that:
The Rest of Us DON’T CARE What He Said To You.
or
The World Is A Noisy Place. You Aren’t Helping Things.
or
Just so you know: EVERYONE AROUND YOU IS BEING FORCE TO LISTEN TO YOUR CONVERSATION.
or
Dear Cell Phone User: We are aware that your ongoing conversation with (fill in the blank) is very important to you, but we thought you’d like to know that it doesn’t interest us in the least. In fact, your babbling disregard for others is more than a little annoying.
or, simply: