Friday, January 27, 2012
Insta-thought.
Do I believe in God? I do not believe in any god defined by man. Gandhi, Mohammad, Buddha - these were gods of a type. But beyond human I have no answer for you.
Pheromone failures.
I went to a doctor a couple of days ago to get my medical marijuana license renewed. Before I saw the doc, an attractive young nurse took me to a room to take my vitals. (I hate that phrase, "take my vitals" - it sounds like an execution.) She weighed me and read my blood pressure. Then she sat in a chair a bit below where I was sitting on that crinkly-paper-covered table they make you sit on and put her hand on her thigh. She said, "Please put your hand like this so I can take your pulse."
I immediately thought of a brilliant joke. "If I put my hand on your leg like that, my pulse will be 220!" Fortunately, I put my hand on my own thigh and said nothing - a rare act of restraint.
When I got home, though, I told Twila that I'd had such a funny line and was sorry I didn't say it. She said, "That sounds like an old man's joke."
I was like, BOINK! She was right! It's the kind of thing my 112-year-old dad might have said. Was I turning into HIM???? Was I an old man???? I resolved to keep my guard up.
Yesterday I was in a grocery store buying fruit. I saw that blackberries were 4 packages for $5, a great price. I was picking my packages when a young woman stepped up next to me. I looked at her and said, "4 for $5! What a great price!" I wasn't flirting, I was just saying. She looked at me like I'd just landed from Mars.
A moment later I pushed my cart away as she was leaving. Her cart almost hit mine and she said, "Sorry, SIR."
SIR?????????
And I'd thought that losing my good vision was the worst part of this getting older thing.
I immediately thought of a brilliant joke. "If I put my hand on your leg like that, my pulse will be 220!" Fortunately, I put my hand on my own thigh and said nothing - a rare act of restraint.
When I got home, though, I told Twila that I'd had such a funny line and was sorry I didn't say it. She said, "That sounds like an old man's joke."
I was like, BOINK! She was right! It's the kind of thing my 112-year-old dad might have said. Was I turning into HIM???? Was I an old man???? I resolved to keep my guard up.
Yesterday I was in a grocery store buying fruit. I saw that blackberries were 4 packages for $5, a great price. I was picking my packages when a young woman stepped up next to me. I looked at her and said, "4 for $5! What a great price!" I wasn't flirting, I was just saying. She looked at me like I'd just landed from Mars.
A moment later I pushed my cart away as she was leaving. Her cart almost hit mine and she said, "Sorry, SIR."
SIR?????????
And I'd thought that losing my good vision was the worst part of this getting older thing.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Odder Days: Thinking without words.
A few years ago Twila and I traveled somewhere north of San Francisco to participate in a retreat where we learned and practiced meditation. Two impressions stood out: meditation is very difficult; it is also extremely rewarding.
There are different forms of meditation, but it is, basically, thinking about nothing. We were taught to make ourselves comfortable, such as sitting on a cushion, keep our eyes open (usually), and empty our minds of all thoughts. It isn't as easy as it might sound, because the devil thoughts pop in from all angles. When they do, you push them out and keep going. Eventually, they say, it becomes easier. After the retreat Twila and I invested in pillows and cushions and books, but for the most part meditating rather quickly slipped through the cracks as a regular activity.
A couple of weeks ago I was feeling tense and decided that a bit of mediation might help. I sat in a comfortable chair and emptied my mind.
OHMMMMM... OHMMMMM... OHMMMMM....
But I was out of practice, and I wasn't really very good at it when I was in practice. Then I had an idea.
My brain is always full of chatter, and getting rid of it takes real effort. But I remembered that people read more effectively if they don't form the words in their heads. Maybe, I thought, thinking works the same way. I decided to try meditation not by ridding my mind of thoughts, but by thinking without words.
I started by telling myself that I could think about anything as long as words weren't forming. To my surprise, it was much easier than simply trying not to think. If a verbal thought began to intrude, I just reminded myself to think without words and my mind was quiet again.
The only problem was… if it could be called a problem… that I didn't know if I was really thinking. Maybe I was just focusing on keeping words out. So I decided to try a test. I picked something to think about… Newt Gingrich… and a few moments later I got up and shot myself.
KIDDING!
Actually, I don't remember what I thought about that first time, but I was surprised when I stopped that I had actually made progress on whatever it was. A truer test came later.
A few days ago Twila posted a picture of herself wearing a mask before we went out for a walk. I had a similar mask, but couldn't find it. It isn't headline news when I can't find something, but not being able to find the mask was particularly frustrating. I'd shown it to Twila in our dining area, and I was sure it had to be between there and my office. We didn't want to delay our walk, but I resolved to find the mask the next day.
After a cursory search turned up nothing, I bore down. I started on one side of my office door and worked my way around the office searching everything. I went in all my desk drawers and looked on all my shelves. Then I went out of the office and continued following the walls. I searched the bathroom, the living room, the dining area, the kitchen, the pantry. Nada. I went into the garage and downstairs. Then I searched our bedroom, even though I really doubted the mask would be there. And when all of that proved fruitless, I did it again. And then Twila searched.
No mask.
A couple of days later I decided to try thinking without words again, and I chose as my subject places where I might find the mask. Then I went into the meditation-like state, not knowing whether I was really thinking about anything. When I stopped, though, three ideas of places of where the mask might be popped into my head. And one of them was correct.
I still have a lot to learn about "thinking without words", but it has been very interesting so far.
There are different forms of meditation, but it is, basically, thinking about nothing. We were taught to make ourselves comfortable, such as sitting on a cushion, keep our eyes open (usually), and empty our minds of all thoughts. It isn't as easy as it might sound, because the devil thoughts pop in from all angles. When they do, you push them out and keep going. Eventually, they say, it becomes easier. After the retreat Twila and I invested in pillows and cushions and books, but for the most part meditating rather quickly slipped through the cracks as a regular activity.
A couple of weeks ago I was feeling tense and decided that a bit of mediation might help. I sat in a comfortable chair and emptied my mind.
OHMMMMM... OHMMMMM... OHMMMMM....
But I was out of practice, and I wasn't really very good at it when I was in practice. Then I had an idea.
My brain is always full of chatter, and getting rid of it takes real effort. But I remembered that people read more effectively if they don't form the words in their heads. Maybe, I thought, thinking works the same way. I decided to try meditation not by ridding my mind of thoughts, but by thinking without words.
I started by telling myself that I could think about anything as long as words weren't forming. To my surprise, it was much easier than simply trying not to think. If a verbal thought began to intrude, I just reminded myself to think without words and my mind was quiet again.
The only problem was… if it could be called a problem… that I didn't know if I was really thinking. Maybe I was just focusing on keeping words out. So I decided to try a test. I picked something to think about… Newt Gingrich… and a few moments later I got up and shot myself.
KIDDING!
Actually, I don't remember what I thought about that first time, but I was surprised when I stopped that I had actually made progress on whatever it was. A truer test came later.
A few days ago Twila posted a picture of herself wearing a mask before we went out for a walk. I had a similar mask, but couldn't find it. It isn't headline news when I can't find something, but not being able to find the mask was particularly frustrating. I'd shown it to Twila in our dining area, and I was sure it had to be between there and my office. We didn't want to delay our walk, but I resolved to find the mask the next day.
After a cursory search turned up nothing, I bore down. I started on one side of my office door and worked my way around the office searching everything. I went in all my desk drawers and looked on all my shelves. Then I went out of the office and continued following the walls. I searched the bathroom, the living room, the dining area, the kitchen, the pantry. Nada. I went into the garage and downstairs. Then I searched our bedroom, even though I really doubted the mask would be there. And when all of that proved fruitless, I did it again. And then Twila searched.
No mask.
A couple of days later I decided to try thinking without words again, and I chose as my subject places where I might find the mask. Then I went into the meditation-like state, not knowing whether I was really thinking about anything. When I stopped, though, three ideas of places of where the mask might be popped into my head. And one of them was correct.
I still have a lot to learn about "thinking without words", but it has been very interesting so far.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Odd Days: Vegas Anyone?
My father wants to go to Vegas. And he wants to take the whole fam damily with him. Never mind that he can't walk, can't stay awake for more than two hours at a stretch, and requires dialysis every other day. While the blood in his veins is moving, he's going to have some fun or die trying.
So why am I bringing this up? Because my dad called me on his new handy dandy phone and asked me to help arrange the trip. First he wanted me to call all of his kids and find out if they would sign on to this adventure. That part was easy.
Then he urged me to find a *good* hotel in Vegas. Good enough that any reluctant travelers in the family would have a hard time turning down his invitation.
Next he wanted me to circulate some proposed dates for the trip. "So what do you think," he asks cheerfully, "next week, or maybe the week after?"
What he blithely ignored was how he might get to Vegas (medi-vac?), whether or not the Vegas dialysis center could squeeze him in to their schedule, and whether his doctor would sign off on the travel. I broached the doctor, first, knowing how much my dad likes and respects him. "I guess I'd better call Dr. L and get his permission to whisk you away for a few days."
He replied, "Dr. L? Why would you call him?"
"Shouldn't we check with him to see if it's ok for you to travel?" I asked timidly.
"No," he said.
Long pause. No conversation.
Finally he said, "I decide."
Am I actually related to this person? I surely hope so.
So why am I bringing this up? Because my dad called me on his new handy dandy phone and asked me to help arrange the trip. First he wanted me to call all of his kids and find out if they would sign on to this adventure. That part was easy.
Then he urged me to find a *good* hotel in Vegas. Good enough that any reluctant travelers in the family would have a hard time turning down his invitation.
Next he wanted me to circulate some proposed dates for the trip. "So what do you think," he asks cheerfully, "next week, or maybe the week after?"
What he blithely ignored was how he might get to Vegas (medi-vac?), whether or not the Vegas dialysis center could squeeze him in to their schedule, and whether his doctor would sign off on the travel. I broached the doctor, first, knowing how much my dad likes and respects him. "I guess I'd better call Dr. L and get his permission to whisk you away for a few days."
He replied, "Dr. L? Why would you call him?"
"Shouldn't we check with him to see if it's ok for you to travel?" I asked timidly.
"No," he said.
Long pause. No conversation.
Finally he said, "I decide."
Am I actually related to this person? I surely hope so.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Odd Days: Alternative Disguise
Yesterday when Durf and I began to contemplate venturing out for our evening constitutional, I knew I didn't want to walk around the neighborhood in my chemo head. And because wind gusts had hit 60 mph (as measured by our very own anemometer), the wig disguise was definitely out. It was damn cold, too!
By the time I finished dressing, I looked like this:
I was pretty sure nobody would recognize me, but I had some concerns that one of the neighbors might call the Fringe Division.
By the time I finished dressing, I looked like this:
I was pretty sure nobody would recognize me, but I had some concerns that one of the neighbors might call the Fringe Division.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Bleeding reading.
This is a set-up post for my next post, because it would have been awkward to combine them.
When I was a freshman at Christian Brothers Academy in Syracuse I was required to take a developmental reading course. The teacher was Mr. Molessa, a layman. Naturally, we called him The Mole. He was kind of nerdy, but a nice guy. Unfortunately, he diminished my reading skills forever.
We took some tests and I was able to read at 2200 wpm with 90% comprehension. That probably sounds more impressive than it was. I was a good test taker, and I had a technique. I'd read the first and last sentences only of a paragraph, and usually I then knew what the paragraph was about. If I didn't, I skimmed the rest of it.
One day we were doing some exercise and The Mole said, "Class, look at how quickly Mr. Freund's eyes go back and forth." And I was like, "What?! My eyes go back and forth?"
SCREEECH!
That put the brakes on. From that moment on whenever I try to read fast I can feel my eyes creaking back and forth in their sockets. Fortunately, most of the time I am content to read slowly and savor the writing.
All I wanted to say for the next post is that you can read faster with no loss of comprehension... and maybe better comprehension... if you don't speak the words in your mind as you read them.
When I was a freshman at Christian Brothers Academy in Syracuse I was required to take a developmental reading course. The teacher was Mr. Molessa, a layman. Naturally, we called him The Mole. He was kind of nerdy, but a nice guy. Unfortunately, he diminished my reading skills forever.
We took some tests and I was able to read at 2200 wpm with 90% comprehension. That probably sounds more impressive than it was. I was a good test taker, and I had a technique. I'd read the first and last sentences only of a paragraph, and usually I then knew what the paragraph was about. If I didn't, I skimmed the rest of it.
One day we were doing some exercise and The Mole said, "Class, look at how quickly Mr. Freund's eyes go back and forth." And I was like, "What?! My eyes go back and forth?"
SCREEECH!
That put the brakes on. From that moment on whenever I try to read fast I can feel my eyes creaking back and forth in their sockets. Fortunately, most of the time I am content to read slowly and savor the writing.
All I wanted to say for the next post is that you can read faster with no loss of comprehension... and maybe better comprehension... if you don't speak the words in your mind as you read them.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Odd Days: Hair shmair!
In response to overwhelming demand (three people) for a photo of me in my wig, I am posting two such photos.
My sister has managed to perfect the sexy mussed-hair look while wearing her long luxurious blond wig. I attempted to duplicate that sexy look. Here is the result:
That is exactly what I feared I would look like after dropping my roller bag on my head.
On the other hand, if I stand in front of the mirror and spend 20 minutes positioning the damn thing, then comb it, then refrain from moving my head (let alone going outside where there might be a breeze), I can get it to look like this:
I *really* hope you are not tired of the hair theme, because I will soon have more hair adventures to blog about.
My sister has managed to perfect the sexy mussed-hair look while wearing her long luxurious blond wig. I attempted to duplicate that sexy look. Here is the result:
That is exactly what I feared I would look like after dropping my roller bag on my head.
On the other hand, if I stand in front of the mirror and spend 20 minutes positioning the damn thing, then comb it, then refrain from moving my head (let alone going outside where there might be a breeze), I can get it to look like this:
I *really* hope you are not tired of the hair theme, because I will soon have more hair adventures to blog about.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Rejecting success.
Several days ago I stumbled on this quote:
When I first read the quote I wondered what kind of jibber-jabber it was. But after a while I thought, "Hey, I did that."
When I was 20 or a bit south, I spent quite a bit of time thinking about how I wanted to live my life. I'd pretty much screwed it up to that point and thought that having clear goals would help. I made two decisions that informed my life.
One was that I didn't want to do what everyone else was doing; e.g., woodenly get degrees, get a job and climb the ladder, get married and have children, retire, die. It was, and is, easy enough to see how that goes since so many people do it. Besides that, I've never felt like being one of the cogs.
The other and more difficult question, though related, was whether I wanted to succeed in a traditional way - make money, be famous, whatever - or concentrate on enjoying my life, whichever way it went. I chose the latter.
So I guess I rejected success as it is implied in the quote, but, even considering the miseries, failures, and embarrassments, I have greatly enjoyed my life.
Maybe there is some truth in the quote.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
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