L is for Lines

Lines in my face
Seem most unkind
Cause I'm still 33
In the back of my mind.

But there they are now
As clear as can be
They began to appear
When I turned 43.

It's really not bad -
They're a map of my life
Without all those miles
I'd have not met my wife.

K is for Knees - ABCs for the Aging

K is for knees.

I miss them alot -
they served me quite well.
Now they ache and they pop
and sure feel like hell.

Public Radio Listeners - Smart and Cool

I helped answer phones yesterday at our local public radio station (WGLT News, Blues and All That Jazz @ www.wglt.org). After a conversation with one of the staff, I drew the following diagram. Thanks to Jessica Hagy (www.thisisindexed.com) and Aaron Wissmiller for the inspiration.

J is for Joints

Seems all of a sudden
the damn things now ache
Some_times late at night
they keep me awake.

None are artificial
but the day is surely coming;
when I'm finally all bionic
I hope to resume running.

Credit for this one primarily goes to my spouse.

I is for Irritable - a bonus rhyme

I is for Irritable.

What is wrong with these drivers?
Some too slow, some too fast.
Being patient, it seems,
is a thing of the past.

I is for Ice

The bar has been raised. My sweetie contributed most of the first multi-stanza rhyme:

I is for Ice.

Cold packs in my freezer
I use day and night
On parts of my body
That don't feel quite right.

They ache and they swell
When I use them a lot.
So much inflammation -
And then they feel hot.

So now at day's end
Ice and I are good friends -
While it does me no harm,
Now I cannot get warm.

H is for Humor

H is for humor.

While at times it looks bleak
as we crest that old hill
we must laugh at ourselves
for others sure will.

G is for Grey

It's coming in faster
More and more I can see
Should I cover it up
Or leave my hair be?

(OK, I know - not my best.)

F is for Fuzzy

My eyesight and my brain
both leave me feeling vexed
It's sad to not remember
what I planned on doing next.

E is for Energy

I'm thinking I had pep,
sometime back when.
Now I'm wiped out and in bed
10 minutes past 10.

D is for Doctors

Which ones are good
and which ones are slugs?
We swap their names
like tips on good drugs.

C is for Crabby

Whether hormones or aging,
My patience is short.
It seems I've become the cranky old sort.

B is for Bottles

Blood pressure, iron
Each week a new set
I know that I'm aging;
I'm not Grandma yet.

A is for Aches - ABCs for the Aging

Stayed tuned (or follow me on Twitter) for ABCs for the Aging - An Alphabet for Boomers.

A is for Aches

They're everywhere now;
so many - who knew?
Our bodies are failing;
our memories are too.

How the Health Care Debate Became a Debacle - An Org Change Management Cautionary Tale

If the Obama Administration had used Organizational Change Management principles, the health care debate would look very different now. The lead strategists didn't anticipate the resistance. If they had started with Town Hall Meetings and an address to Congress, they could have started to develop awareness of the need for change and desire to change, the way a successful organizational management strategy would lay out. Has there ever been a better example of how not to handle change? What a mess. Once more, Democrats didn't plan well. We have squandered the chance to change this country in wonderful ways. Will we ever learn?

Can Someone Explain the Appeal of Twitter to Me?

I joined and am following a couple folks, but I think I'm missing some essential understanding of Twitter. Can anyone explain this to me?

If He Can Do It....

I decided I wanted to run. I've always wanted to be a runner, but had bad knees that I've finally outgrown. So I decided it was time. I was motivated by watching my neighbor die of congestive heart failure. He reached a point, not long before his death, where he could not walk across the room and breathe. My other motivation is seeing some absolutely enormous people walking the halls at work. Waddling is more like it. It is such a visual representation of all that is decadent and overindulgent and unhealthy about Americans lives. I never, ever want to look like that.

So about a year ago, I started moving towards being physically fit. I've never been athletic and never been in good shape. I know the fibromyalgia makes physical activity painful, but that's just how it is for me. I'm not going to let it stop me. The Steamboat Classic race in Peoria - the world's fastest four mile race - has a training program for beginning runners. I did it as a walker a few years ago and at the end was in better shape than I'd ever been in. This year I decided it was time to run it.

The first night of the training was Wednesday. Everyone walks a mile out from the Riverplex, then runs (or walks) back. Based on your time running the mile, you put yourself in groups according to speed. I've been walking and running on my own - walking a few minutes, jogging a few - so I hoped I could jog the whole mile, I didn't really think I'd be able to.

I jogged almost the whole mile! About three quarters of the way through I stopped jogging and walked - quickly - for two or three minutes, but then I started jogging again. On the one hand, I am pretty proud of myself. On the other, it's pretty pathetic that after jogging less than a mile I could hardly walk the next day.

And the best part? I get to the end, having run/walked a 14 minute mile. I get with the slowest group, which would be the 13 minute mile group - they don't even have one for my speed (if you can call it that). Of the four trainers working with the group, the one clearly in charge is an older man. As he's telling us how the program works, Sal, the guy who runs the program, comes up and says he wants to tell us two things about the older man. One is that he's available and the other is that...he's 78 years old.

Sal adds that if a 78-year-old can do it, so can we. Sal should know. When he did the training program many years ago he couldn't run a quarter of a mile. So there's hope for me yet. The trainers made a point to say that by June 20th, we'll be able to run 4 miles, though one of the non-runners said she wanted that in writing. I'll let you know how things progress.

Revising My Self Image

I had a nice visit with my dad. It felt good to be able to help both him and his partner. It was also was a relief to see that he's still his funny, loving, occasionally obnoxious self. He's doing his schtick with the nurses and loves entertaining them. He also seems to be adjusting to his vision limitations and not running into things as often. While I was there a couple of my brother's friends (who have met my dad) sent a package of food from Russ and Daughters deli in NY - 4 different kinds of smoked fish, bagels and bialys, two kinds of cream cheese and two kinds of herring. My dad was very moved - and I may have to try their chopped liver.

The most remarkable part of the visit was what I learned about my family - and my role in it. I have always seen myself as the difficult child. The "identified problem" in family systems theory. According to my dad, however, I was just a normal teenager, but my brother was "truly a pain in the ass." What?!? He described my brother as demanding and arrogant and again called him a pain in the ass. I had NO IDEA, and once again need to revise my view of myself.

God (?) is Good

My dad started radiation this week; I'll go visit at the end of the month. He sounds fine and, except for listing slightly to the left (he doesn't see well out of his left eye), is getting around without any problems. I was sick, then my spouse was. My spouse's mom was in hospice care and then died last week - L. is the executor so she's been dealing with all kinds of not-very-fun stuff. It's been a strange journey the past few weeks.

Love - in the form of food - has poured into this house and been awe-inspiring. I had a weird conversation with my mom about spirituality (any conversation with my mom about spirituality is bound to be weird). Today I was listening to Christian radio (yes - hang in here with me) - it is inspirational, even having to do the translating. I do believe that I've been healed by god (read: love). I found myself crying this morning while listening to songs about having faith and knowing I'm loved during times of pain. Crying in joy, pain, sorrow, awe and everything.

Years ago I heard an episode of Prairie Home Companion about a guy who went out ice fishing. He broke his leg and lay on the ice, knowing he would die if no one found him soon. He wasn't expected anywhere so no one would miss him for awhile. But his wife came looking for him. When she found him lying there, all he could say was "God is good. God is good."

However you spell or define god - amen.


On a different note - but related through the idea of the wonderment of the world - is feedback I received from an ebay seller (warning: a little bragging. But the point is the originality of the feedback, not my behavior.) "I'm more likely to drink tea with Bigfoot than to find another buyer this good." If there were awards for most creative feedback (maybe there are?) that would be my pick for winner.

The World Has Stopped Turning

The world has stopped turning.

My father couldn't figure out where to put a spoon in the dishwasher today.

How can this have happened? A week ago he was diagnosed with brain cancer with a little more than a year to live. Now he can't navigate his kitchen.

I have stepped into the Twilight Zone - a show I always hated precisely because it made me feel crazy and disoriented like I'd entered a Fun House at a small town fair - and I never understood why anyone thought those were fun. They were horrible and disconcerting, with an sharp edge of menace, like clowns. Disorienting like when you look up suddenly and everything familiar seems foreign just for a second or two. But much, much worse, because this is real. Unspeakably real.

The Death of Discomfort

I heard a story about local politics on the radio this evening that interested me. I may not be getting the details right, but I think the gist of the story was that a county board member has called for a review of job qualifications for county employees. He did this because one county employee equated homosexuality with pedophilia in explaining why he thought the county shouldn't adopt a non-discrimination policy.

The part that struck me was the comment by the county employee. He referred to sensitivity training by saying (I'm paraphrasing) "People have to sit in these workshops and hear things they don't agree with."

At first I was appalled - actually I still am. How did we arrive at a place where people think they should only have to listen to information that is comfortable or that they agree with? But here's the rub - haven't we (lesbians/liberals/allies/social work-type people) helped create that belief? By insisting that people not say things that offend us? By screaming until things like sensitivity training developed?

So we've said "Don't say things that offend us" and we insist that people go to workshops so so they can learn what they shouldn't say because it will offend us - but the workshops offend those people. Does anyone else see the conundrum here? More importantly, I'd love to hear ideas about how one could possibly resolve the seeming contradiction.

Grace

This is the breath-giving video, The Sky in Motion, I referred to in my January 10 blog entry. You can also see it in on youtube, or in a bigger format at theskyinmotion.com



túrána hott kurdís by hasta la otra méxico! from Till Credner on Vimeo.

Breathing Again

My dad is home after the neurosurgery and I've talked to him briefly a couple times.

The radiologist who consulted with Dad before he left the hospital was hopeful that Dad could be around for a couple of years. We won't know more about his health until he goes in - a couple weeks from now - to look at options (what balance of chemo and radiation to do).

My uncle and my brother are there now, then my stepbrother will visit, then my brother again (he's in SF, which is 3 hours from Reno). There are lots of logistics to figure out - Dad can't see much out of his left eye. He apparently is crashing around because he's unsteady, which would be funny except it's not. He will probably never drive again, though alive and not driving is OK by me. They will have to figure out how to get him out of the house so he's not totally dependent on his partner to go everywhere.

Dad said I should not fly out in March("the weather's lousy here in March") as I planned to. I'm waiting for an opinion from my brother about whether it would be helpful if I was there, regardless of the weather. He said he'll know more after he goes back there next week.

He's just as ornery as ever - he had a friend bring Kentucky Fried Chicken to the hospital. I can breathe again.

"That's what carbon-based life forms do."

or Mindfulness By Any Other Name....

On the phone after asking how my post-surgical dog is, my dad told me he was going to ruin my day. He has a brain tumor.

We talked for awhile about symptoms - his vision is not good, which he realized after he had cataracts removed. Later in the conversation he said, "People ask why these things happen. Why? Because that's what carbon-based life forms do. They break down after awhile."

After the second opinion, which brought a poor prognosis, he called again and at one point said, "Look, it's better than Alzheimer's. It's better than watching your kid die."

He's a fatalist but somehow that becomes faith. Grounded, tethered to reason and sanity, and spiritual all at the same time. His cynical atheism, which should in theory lead to despair, somehow creates grace.

Speaking of grace, I realized tonight that I don't feel punished or sorry for myself. It just is. The focus of my spirituality isn't how pain is created. Whatever love there is in the universe can whisper quietly or hold me in its arms.

A song with the cadence of a waltz came on my car radio - and I realized I have been dancing with sorrow. In and out, forward and back in some primordial rhythm - gently. Oddly comforting.

The Option to Suffer

I've been thinking a lot about suffering. I was told by a therapist that suffering for me is like breathing. I hated hearing it, and she's right. Since then I've let go of some of it, and I continue to work. I've been unhappy with myself lately, though, and suffering because of it. I'm a jackass in my car. I'm impatient and rude and obnoxious. I hate admitting that. Not all the time, but often. It's a great indicator of my spiritual condition. I used to take pride in letting folks in front of me because I didn't care to get there sooner. I was going to a lot more meetings then - reading spiritual literature often. Hmmm - not rocket science. But knowing what I need to do to make my life better doesn't mean I do it.

I've just started working with a personal coach (check out www.candyspitz.com). She and I talked last week and came up with a great plan of all these things I was going to do - I did a couple of them, but not consistently. I have been working on being more physically active. I did some fitness walking in the concourse yesterday, ran up three flights of stairs and a couple times this week did the Walk at Home video by Leslie Sansome. (I like it because there aren't any complicated moves for those of us who are coordination-challenged - you mostly just...walk. It's not a bad workout as I'm getting into shape.) Other than that, I didn't do much to come closer to the life I want to create. And I'm trying to let that be OK.

But I was still suffering. Until a friend emailed me a link to a video of time lapse video of the sky. Watching it and listening to the sweet music - I realized I was breathing deeply for the first time since I don't know when. So why doesn't being outdoors here - or the surrounding areas - make me feel that connected? Is it because I'm usually out in nature with my wife, so I'm not focused on being spiritual and introspective? I want to blame it on the city I live in, which is not pretty. But I know how false blame is. So what's it about? Do I need to set a different tone when we're out walking in the woods?

I sometimes mess with my own mind with thoughts like, "The sun'll burn out in a billion years - it's so far away it's not worth worrying about. But what will the people who are here (if there are any) do?" Then I think about human beings becoming extinct - as we almost certainly will - and that feels disconcerting too. What will it be like as we die off? Like some science fiction story. So it's odd that looking at the sky - which triggers scary, disorienting thoughts like those - made me feel calm, but it did. In the end there is always the sky and the earth, and not much else matters. I'm part of the universe. That's enough.