Becoming a Warrior !

Welcome the Year of the Dragon!

2012-01-22T00:09:00.000-08:00

There is excitement in the air. I feel kind of excited about the upcoming year of the Dragon. Learning what I can about lunar calendars, I realize now that they're not all built the same. The Muslim calendar has around 355 days in it. It's holidays take around thirty-six years to get back to the same time and place that they were before. That means that their holidays can find their way into any one of our four seasons here.

That is a little hard for me to wrap my brain around. I am a solar man. Living in the reality of the Gregorian calendar, I just take it for granted that holidays are going to show up at the same time every year, and occur in the same season every year. So, although I know little about the structure of the Chinese calendar-actually the lunar calendar observed by many Asian cultures-I took comfort finding out that the new year occurred on the second new moon after the Winter solstice, except for the rare instance in which it lands on the third new moon after the Winter solstice.

So, I can find this quiet comfort knowing that even though the Chinese lunar calendar may varyin its length, there will always be a one-to-one correspondence between the Chinese lunar calendar and the Gregorian solar calendar. I'm sure that settles your mind also.

Here, in my neighborhood, I'm already smelling the black powder, hearing these firecrackers going nonstop, watching the festive nature building up the little shopping malls. I walk up and down Grand Century Mall, and watch as the bakeries, the gift shops, and the jewelers enjoy increased business, as we build up to the new year holiday. These gift baskets wrapped in pastel colored cellophane make me feel like it's another Easter. Although approaching the mall today, I was holding my ears as hundreds of firecrackers were going off in rapid succession.

(younger children get to play with these caps that you get to throw on the ground that explode. They are nowhere near as noisy as the firecrackers but they do seem to have a lot of entertainment value for them.

I've always wondered about the arbitrary nature of holidays. I realize that enough people getting excited about any one day, kind of makes that day special, whether there's anything new or special about that day at all. I remember a man I used to work with, a self described Jewish atheist once told me," I do all of my drinking on Rosh Hashanah." I've never been very celebratory about any holiday, yet I always love gathering with my family. I also enjoy getting good night sleeps on New Year's Eve (Gregorian calendar).

By that account, I've always been confused by people who think it's especially important that I get my birthday off from work, or that I should have dinner with my family on Christmas Day, or that I should feel compelled to attend mass on the night of Christmas Eve versus attending the morning of Christmas Day. I believe that what makes these days special has nothing to do with the days themselves, so my family celebrates with me when we can. I just have to smile, and accept that some other people don't understand.

So, should you be celebrating right now, I wish you a Happy New Year!

Thank you for reading.

Striving for Authenticity!

2012-01-12T22:43:00.000-08:00

Every day, I see people (usually marketers), that want to promise me some level of experience that is somehow more genuine than experiences I'm already having.I have to be baffled by this. I cannot understand how any experience I'm having can simply be any more genuine than what I'm experiencing at that very moment. My experience is as genuine as it ever needs to be at any time of the day, under any circumstances. Maybe I'm taking this all a little too seriously.

I don't know when this observation about new experiences, genuine experiences, began to wear on me. But, I think there is a conspiracy to convince us, convince me, that there is something inadequate about the world as I perceive it. This makes me a little sad.

I've been known to eat at Taco Bell from time to time, and I'm not ashamed to say that. Still, I have a roommate who says that the food at Taco Bell is not genuine. I'm perplexed by this. My head starts to spend a little bit, and maybe I am drawn into fits of drama. I know that as I consume my nachos bel grande, or chicken chalupas , covered in cheese and Baja sauce, that fast food is bad for me. The experience however, is still extremely genuine. I do not have to ask if this is authentic Mexican food. I just know that the food is authentic. It is what it is. Taco Bell is genuine Taco Bell food. No further authentication is necessary.

Nowadays, people want to suggest that some sugar is more genuine than others. I see cans of Coke now with the phrase "made with real sugar" and I have to ask myself, why is high fructose corn syrup considered any less real than any other sugar. I guarantee you that if I consume any soda with high fructose corn syrup it will elevate my blood glucose as efficiently as any other sugar. What is more real than that?

Every experience of my life is filled with different layers of authenticity. As I once said it is possible to be satisfied drinking coffee, whether it comes from a can of Folgers crystals, Folgers ground coffee, bagged ground coffee from Starbucks, or whole bean coffee that I roast and grind myself. I could spend my entire life trying to find the truest experiences I can find, or I could delight in the nuances of every new experience I have. I never have to ask whether this experience is authentic or not.

I no longer want my view of the world to be sculpted and shaped by its marketers and salespeople. They do what they do to sell things, and as such, have no useful perspective on what the world is like. They only know how they want the world to be.

I love new experiences. I love to learn from new experiences, and as such I suppose my goal was to find that experience that has not been homogenized for broad appeal. I've been led to believe that experiences as simple as reading a book or taking out the garbage could be plumbed for different levels of understanding. Maybe this is why I celebrate ambiguity. Maybe this is why I should continue writing poetry.

For even in this impecunious existence that is been forged for me, I continue to find delight and wonder in the world.

If still you are looking for the ultimate in authentic experiences (I wonder if it becomes like a contest) we could start with something as simple as coffee drinking. Every experience of your life can be brought down to the barest, grittiest details. So, maybe you feel your coffee experience isn't worthy of bragging. Maybe you want some thing that you could really talk about. You've got to the point in your life paying fifty dollars a pound for Jamaican blue Mountain coffee no longer satisfies you. Today I offer you this coffee experience. I've been thinking about getting myself a chance to to offer this as a travel package.

I'll sell you a flight down to Columbia. I will find the genuine Juan Valdez(or someone who looks like him), and you can walk with him as he picks coffee beans by hand, one at a time. Take pictures. Savor the experience. Remember the moments that you spent scraping donkey excrement off your shoes. Then, after a day of collecting coffee beans, you will process those green beans, scrub them, and roast them yourself. Carefully select the perfect grind, and brew your coffee. If you can keep your eyes open long enough to drink the coffee, you'll have a chance to reflect on your efforts to make this possible. You can sip it is you think, " This is a real cup of coffee".

I savor my own experience of heating up eight ounces of water, and ripping open three packets of Cà phê hòa tan, 3 in 1 instant coffee. Delicious!

Thank you for reading.

the incredible, edible itlog!

2011-12-10T21:52:00.000-08:00

I was out at the grocery store the other day when I saw these trays of eggs. The trays were stacked one by one, in on the top of these trays were some eggs distinguished by the fact that they were purple. this is not a natural process. The eggs were dyed purple. I looked to the men at the register, and asked one of them," are those Filipino eggs?" he said yes.

The craving is not a simple craving. I didn't just look at those eggs and want to buy them. I started out knowing what they were, and realized I hadn't had them in a long time. These purple eggs are cured eggs. The way that they cure these eggs involves covering raw eggs in a mixture. Strangely on the Internet, many people have suggested that this process involves covering eggs in mud, but I found that's not necessary. Thing that makes these things unique, these cured eggs, is that there salty, very salty.

I also know that there is a satisfaction in being able to walk into the store, see the purple eggs, and buy them for my meal. I think the process of making them is more satisfying. I discovered that to make these eggs all I had to do was create a super brine of salts in water, and soak their eggs in the salty water for a long time. The salty water does all the work! I suppose that's why other people use mud. They cannot handle the simplicity of this project. They have to believe the mud is doing some work.

As a side note, I have to say that I'm kind of like these people who came out to watch a building being moved. The building was the old Montgomery hotel in downtown San Jose. It is on the books as being the heaviest structure to ever be moved on rubber wheels; the process was excruciatingly slow. You can't witness the process happening. So, when I take these eggs, and soak them in their brine, I take a quiet satisfaction knowing that I can wait for my salty eggs. This isn't like the Montgomery hotel. That building was moved in three hours! The salty eggs? This process takes two or three weeks at least. I don't have to watch the process happening.

So, to prepare the eggs, get a big container, enough to hold couple quarts of water. Dissolve a couple cups of salt into that water. Most recipes suggest boiling the water to dissolve the salt. Then, dump the raw eggs into the salty water, cover them with the cloth maybe, so is as to make sure the salting covers on all sides. Then wait. Hard boil the eggs after a couple weeks, and refrigerate.

I know. I know you want me to make this more complicated, make it more exciting. I know you don't believe the excitement is in the simplicity of it all. Regardless, I just say, use the eggs as needed.

I hear these eggs can be served with meat. That wasn't my experience. I had them serve with mangoes, tomatoes, onions and other vegetables. I know in my heart there's many ways to use these. I will not direct you this way. Note curing your eggs will extend their lifespan, and will disturb your cardiologist. This food is not advised for salt restricted diets. To this I say, "Serve them up, and enjoy."

Thank you for reading.

Back to the YMCA

2011-12-01T21:09:00.000-08:00

I am now a member of the YMCA in downtown San Jose.I went to the YMCA today, and decided that I would continue this journey physical development. One of the things that's exciting about where I'm going is that at this location I am surrounded by staff that is eager to help me succeed. I spent time last week with a personal trainer, and she introduced me to two other personal trainers who all assured me that they would be working with me to create a plan for success.

Even today, I have a nervousness about transferring from my chair to the many machines inside the gym. I told them I want to work on every muscle that I can exercise. There is no muscle group of my body that hasn't gotten week as a result of my being in a wheelchair. So, I have to be up to the challenge.

The challenge for me begins with learning how to exercise with discipline, and to accept recommendations from the staff here were qualified to give recommendations. The challenge for me is to keep coming back, tracking my progress, then accountable to others about the work I do.

Today I came in, put away my things, and went to work. Right now, free weights are the easiest to work with. I've been showing some exercises with cables. Today, I was able to work on biceps, triceps, lats, and patience. I cannot use the cardio machines; many of the exercises I employed in past workouts are no longer accessible to me. I take comfort knowing that every gain will make way for the next one.

This concept of synergy is one that I have to take to heart when looking at things like this. I realize that every exercise has benefits beyond my initial intentions. I have to know that once two or three muscle groups start exercising together, I will enjoy a new health and greater optimism. For now I'll be satisfied with knowing that.

Thank you for reading.

The Martin Luther King Library, Old and New

2011-11-04T17:39:00.000-07:00

See the old library here
So friend of mine's been posting these pictures online, pictures that are shocking, pictures I really don't want to see. But, I look anyway. The pictures are of the slow, deliberate demolition of the building that once housed the Martin Luther King Library. I have to admit it is a strange building, and I suppose finding a new tenant would be difficult. It's not a building design that would lend itself to many different purposes. I do, however, feel kind of sad watching it go.

I don't remember having much of a love for reading as a child. I do, however, remember my mother tried to encourage meto read often. It doesn't mean that I didn't see a power, and potential in books. I knew something exciting was contained within books. But, whether it was my limited attention span, or maybe I was just hyper focused on something else, I never gave books or school much attention.

But, I did have a family that wanted me to read. I loved exploring bookshelves, and I did enjoy our trips to the library. My earliest recollections of childhood is included trips to this little library in our neighborhood on Pearl Avenue. It was small, but it had a wonderful section for young adults that incorporated books of science fiction and fantasy that I would find myself reading in the coming years. My other great love at the time was fantasy role-playing games, and we had a group that would meet there regularly to discuss and play various games. We even had the opportunity to get indignant when the librarians would ask us to be quiet.

The Martin Luther King Library, the main library, used to be located on San Carlos Street in downtown San Jose. This building was different then our Pearl Avenue library. It was huge. Even with my indifference to reading, I somehow felt there is something exciting about any place that can house that much information at one time. I feel that thought alone makes me an enormous geek, yet I refuse to backtrack or modify that statement. I have to say that the Martin Luther King Library looked a lot bigger probably because I was only about ten years old at the time, and the only frame of reference I had was the small library at Pearl Avenue.

Well, I've developed my passion for reading, and still I read very slowly. It is hard for me to get through books. Now at this time in my life I feel compelled to put this on line, if for no other reason than because people keep giving me lots and lots of books. My world is made greater for all of the knowledge that I acquired through reading, and I'm glad to be in a family that has encouraged me to develop this habit. I suppose it is for that reason that I should feel some small level of sadness watching them tear down the place I spent so many countless hours in my teenage years.

The new Martin Luther King Library is located about six blocks away from the old one. It was built as a collaboration between our local university and our city. Instead of the original three-story building, this new library has an enormous foyer, wide open spaces, and multiple desks with people to help you. It has at least six elevators to take people's from the basement floor, all the way to its eighth floor. It is truly a magnificent building. With this exciting, modern building, it becomes difficult to miss the old library for long. I'm still sad that they have to take it down.

Thank you for reading.

Oak Hill Cemetery

2011-11-02T23:22:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write about my day. And yet I'm not quite sure how significant this day was. I'm getting very grateful for the scan't four hours that I spend teaching every week. despite my insecurities, I find that I'm able to lead a group of people following someone else's lesson plan, and get some small satisfaction out of watching people learn.

Now, teaching English is really not all that complicated, especially when the lessons come out of a book, and I do have some history developing a competency in the subject matter. I do speak English fairly well. But this process- watching people follow a lesson plan, watching people get distracted, in developing strategies to keep focused-helps me to stay entertained while helping people develop a new skill. simply, having never done this before, I do find this to be a clumsy process.

I left Sacred Heart earlier today. I hopped on a bus, and found myself a place to eat. I wandered about Target's aisles with no intention of purchasing anything. I decided to go home. Now target is located in a shopping center called The Plant. When I cross the street I realized that I was at the Oak Hill cemetery . Yesterday was all Saints day, and today is All Souls Day, all blended in with the Dia de Los Muertos.

It just seemed perfectly natural for me to want to go in. I hadn't planned on it. I just decided that on All Souls Day it made sense to visit the cemetery. The people at the cemetery told me that they opened-meaning they started burying dead people there-probably around 1850. In 160 years I got to believe that a lot of people have found there final resting spot at this location. This includes in my case, my grandparents, and a number of friends. So, I do not feel bad when I forget where people are buried. I know several people who visit their relatives on a regular basis and I just don't have the history of doing that.

I found the main office of the cemetery. I told one lady inside that I wanted to locate a grave, and she copied down the names, disappearing down the hall to an office. She eventually came back to me, with a map in hand, and showed me the way to Veterans Park, a section where I guess many veterans are buried. All of the men buried in this section, were buried in 1970. I found the grave, spent some time in quiet, and prepared to leave.

I suppose all this when it just seemed like some silly quiet reflection, but there was an action sequence. I found myself most reflective about the fact that I last visited here on two feet. My exit was prompted not so much by my quiet reflection or prayer; I decided to leave when I realized I needed to go to the bathroom. The motors on my chair whirresd and whined. I I could feel my chair almost sluggish in the loose dirt and grass. I rolled my chair all the way to the meeting point between the the grass and the pavement.

An old cemetery like this has the benefits of having several visitors on a regular basis. when my wheelchair hit that meeting point, I discovered that my chair did not want to move anymore; it was stuck. I quickly surrendered myself to the fates. I knew that I was powerless at that moment. I also knew that I still had to go to the bathroom. My eyes scanned the roads separating the different fields of gravestones. sweat was breaking out of my forehead . I was no longer fixated on anything except finding someone to help me.One-hundred yards away, I saw a woman driving in a car, slowly.

I started waving. I started waving with both hands, and that car slowed down even more. Eventually, the car turned around and drove closer to where I was. The lady began by just staring at me, and I called out to her, explaining that I could not move. She came to my rescue. By leveraging her body against the back of my chair she was able to provide it just enough weight that I was able to force myself back up onto the sidewalk. I thanked her and I thanked her again. I then expedited my exit to the office building where a public restroom is available. (okay so it's not much of an action sequence). Another tragedy avoided.

Thank you for reading.

2011-10-30T21:37:00.000-07:00

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

-Robert A. Heinlein

Ironically, I Love Ambiguity (but what, exactly, do I mean by that?)

2011-10-27T21:13:00.000-07:00

somewhere back in the early 1980s, I seems to have a poetic mind. I don't even know what a poetic mind is. Of course, perhaps, it would depend-as Bill Clinton would say-what your definition of the word is is.

Back in the earlier times of this blog, years ago, I was able to write out a poem. the substance of that poem I don't remember, but I do know that it was fueled by fear, by anger, and by pride. My love of words and my love (ironically) of my own anger gave that one, last poem some substance. I'm not necessarily saying that it was a good poem, only that it was entertaining enough to keep me writing.

I'm not currently in psychotherapy. I can't say if writing poetry would be therapeutically good for me or not. I just know that there's a part of me that wants to be able to tap into that part of my brain again. I think I remember the day that I started to feel the freeze. A chill swept over my brain, and for one fleeting moment, okay, a few hours, I was able to tap out one more poem.

I'm not going to look for the poem, here. It really has little significance for me. If writing is truly that significant in my life, perhaps my last moment of poetry should simply be noteworthy on that account alone. But, I'm too busy thinking about this chill.

Years ago I found myself in a laundromat, and on the door was a note explaining that the laundromat will be closing. I already felt a bond with this place, a closeness to the glass, the tile floors, the quarter devouring machines. I believed that it was perfectly placed right in that part of town. I knew it's quiet times, and I knew it's busy times. This was a relationship I developed over years, and I felt as if a bomb dropped on me. (in the months that followed, I discovered that the laundromat simply changed hands, and never actually closed)

This laundromat operated right near San Jose State University, and right near my little studio apartment on S. 8th St. movement of people, the swirl of energy, mixed well with all of the people from the neighborhoods nearby; parents came in with armfuls of children and station wagons filled to the top with clothing to be washed. I remember well hovering over occupied machines, watching the seconds ticked down on them, and waiting for my opportunity to leap. This was an important part of my week, sad and true.

So, this day I decided to write a poem. I didn't know was going to be an important poem to me. If I had only known I might have found a way to guard it, protect its, and make sure that it would stay available to me in the coming years. But I didn't know, and I didn't protect it. So, almost 10 years later, I can only remember forty syllables of the poem, just enough to keep this sadness alive: forty syllables, four lines, the beginning of my last (my only?) sonnet. Like a meditation it was alive for me in the moment, and I couldn't find a poem more expressive of how I felt, and what I thought at that exact time.

I showed that poem one day months, maybe years, later to a person for whom I cared very much, and she read my thoughts. I knew better than to ask her what I wanted to ask her at a time when it was clear her silence meant something disturbing. Yet, I had to ask her what she thought of what I wrote. Without directly addressing the question, she told me that she does not like poetry, and remarked that it was after years of college that she developed this strong dislike for poetry.

She said that every poem seems to have unnecessary layers of meaning, and is fraught with an ambiguity that makes poetry reading very unpleasant for her. So, here it is for me, eight years later. I've written one substantial poem in all that time, and I never explained to her that there are no layers of meaning in my poem. I'm just not that deep. What I wrote about is what is, and I am still absolutely delighted in the creation of those words. She didn't give my poem a fair shake, because she hated ambiguity. Sad to think that it was on the one poem so simple, and so absent of ambiguity that she failed to see it for what it was.

I'm so tickled by this explanation that I just might start writing again. I'm glad I shared this with you. Wow!

Thank you for reading.

Exercise, a Remedy for Shrinking Clothing

2011-10-26T21:30:00.000-07:00

I'm trying not to take it personal. If I wake up in I see things exactly as they occur, I know if my heart that not everything occurs because of me. Thoughts like these, these words even falling on to this page, serve as sufficient evidence my ego is way out of control. My readers, understand I'm not sad; I just realized that there's changes that need to be made.

I went to Sacred Heart community service today, and assisted at our regular English as a second language class. The instructor asked me to lead the day's dictation. I will reiterate: I know this is not about me. I know in my mind this has nothing to do with me. But, I am affected emotionally, and I must relate this to you.

The teacher tells me that she selects her dictation sentences based on the exercises, the homework from the previous week. She doesn't even seem to understand my concern. She handed me the paper and she said,"Keith, these are the sentences I want you to dictate the class."

1. Too many people in the United States each too much, and they are overweight.
2. Her grandmother was thin, and she needed a small size.
3. He wishes he was taller, but he is just average height.
4. My daughter is short, and she is thin.
5. He needs a big size, because he is fat.
6. I went to the store to buy a large shirt.

If the exercise was just to say the sentences once I would've been fine, but with this class- people totally unaccustomed to writing the English language- I was in the position of having to say the sentences over, and over again. It's like I was having an intervention. The only difference is the person doing intervention was me, while everybody else that is watching does not even know what is happening.

there's a comic irony that I should receive these sentences on this day. The YMCA has just approved a reduced rate for my membership, and I'm thrilled to be able to start working out again. Sometime, many months ago, a friend of mine saw me on WebCam and said," Keith, are your shirts getting a little tighter lately?" I laughed it off, and said it's just a cheap fabrics that keep shrinking on me. My largest of shirts had started to fail on me. So

I still have all my old clothes, some of which I received back in Indonesia. So, this isn't an unpleasant experience that I'm relating. It's just a strange one. The best way that I can celebrate the progresses that I've already made, is to keep them going. The strengths that I've acquired my shoulders and then my arms- as well as the strength, control, and balance- I have developed in my legs, can only properly be appreciated by building upon them. I assure you I will wear these clothes again.

Let it begin with me today. Thank you for reading.

My Best Haircut, Yet

2011-10-23T20:35:00.001-07:00

So today, I have to believe that there is something wonderful, something special, about being alive. I mean here we are, on the twenty-third of October, two days after the world was slated to end (according to the great pastor Harold" I misread my PDA" Camping). The very fact that I can go out and get my haircut is a special thing, indeed.

I will not cry over the lack of recognition-recognition that I am owed- from my ability to predict things. I have precognitive ability that is truly amazing. Year in and year out, day in and day out, I make predictions that come true. Unlike pastor Harold, I have predicted the world not ending, over and over again. I have been right every single time! That's why I feel little sad.

I have not gotten on any talk shows. I do not have a parish. Despite my desire to minister to the masses, I have no flock to which I can preach my good news. Still, I do not cry.

I went and got my haircut today. Feeling the sun in my face,the wind in my hair, as well as a growing warmth of gratitude that builds in my chest, I went out to Walmart, and watched people. Just like you, my readers, they didn't see me for the genius that I possess, and they don't know that when they woke up on October 21 that by me it was predicted, successfully, the day would go on normally.

So today, I felt imbued with this opportunistic spirit. I went and bought something, and I got myself some cash back. I went out, and got my haircut.

The lady who cut my hair didn't know how special it was that the sun came up today. She also wasn't letting on the fact that standing above me, as many people do, she was privy to information that I just didn't have. Scientists, doctors, geologic hipsters that groove off of scientific magazines, the kind of people that understand what's going on with the ozone layer all know what is happening above. In my life we've gotten reports from the news community about what was being said, from the scientific community, about the discoveries to a mate regarding the enormous growth of the hole in the ozone layer.

For me, to have this woman with her big m mirror, walking around my body, after completing was a perfectly acceptable haircut, threw me for a loop. I have to stare at that mirror in shock and dismay as I realized that that whole that into space of useless follicles, fallen into disuse, has become enormous. For years I've watched these growing spaces, these widows peaks, creeping their way up my forehead. I really did not know what happened on top.

Trying not to overreact, I pointed to my God made tonsure, and yelled," what did you do up here!" She smiled, took my money, and sent me on my way. I suppose this day went well enough. Celebrating my newfound life, enjoying another day free from rapture, I can stay grateful. The reality is I don't believe anyone can predict the future. I do not believe in psychic phenomena, I'm not a big fan of divination, and if your a Bible reader how could you ignore that passage that says" you will not know the day or the time" of Jesus's return?

So today, I celebrate a new day. I can enjoy my haircut, and I look forward to reading about more predictions about the imminent demise of planet Earth.

Thank you for reading.

Just One More Chance

2011-10-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I believe I can train myself to like the that I didn't like in the past. I suppose that I probably could do Ithis. But, today is not one of those days. Realizing that here in the midst of Little Saigon I could find all manner of fruit smoothies-with tropical fruits and little black tapioca pearls- I decided on a couple occasions to try different types of fruit smoothies. The last time I went to the Bambu Snack Shop, I endeavored to try the avocado fruit smoothie.

The avocado fruit smoothie did not have much flavor, but it was cold and it was sweet. I love the chewy, tapioca pearls. because these avocado drink seems so popular in so many different countries, I felt challenged by the fact that it never seemed like a natural choice to put sweet frozen drink. So, I tried it out and I enjoyed it. But, even though I felt that I had tried this one fruit enough times to establish that I didn't like it, there was one fruit on the menu I wanted to try.

that fruit is durian. Grown overseas, this fruit grows the enormous balls, green balls, every inch covered with ominous looking spikes. Worse still, even from several feet away, ripe durian gives off this unpleasant, pungent odor. Even people who eat this fruit describe its odor is smelling like something like dirty feet or unclean clothes. I'm not alone in my perception of its smell.

But, someone is found a way to ship enormous quantities of this fruit overseas to America. Now, in the parking lot of Grand Central Mall, two ladies run a fruit stand; there they sell all manner of exotic fruits. This includes mangoes, grown locally, jackfruit, and durian. I decided I was being tempted again, challenged again, being asked if I had truly given this fruit a fair evaluation. After all, many people from all over the world eat this fruit every day.

Would I allow myself to be dominated by my olfactory receptors? After all, what part of my brain determines whether I should like to food are not? I have many friends online, overseas who seemed to think that durian is just a wonderful, wonderful food. So today, I found myself once again at the Bambu snack shop. I I ordered a fruit smoothie, made with durian, black tapioca pearls. The girl who sold it to me asked me if I know what durian is. She was shocked to see ordering this drink. Okay, maybe she was not shocked, but she did seem surprised.

After the fall equinox, we were hit with a cold day, cold winds, and all this occurred with the arrival of the fall season. So, I was surprised to find that the heat is still with us, and I went outside, with my fruit smoothie, and started to drink. I love the black pearls, and the drink was cool and refreshing. I enjoy the way it felt on this hot hot day. Still, there was something that I was bothering me; I realized what it was. The one thing that bothered me about this beverage is that it tasted and smelled like durian.

So I'm not going to make any guesses as to whether it is a genetic thing, a cultural thing, it comes from -environment, proximity, experience. I do note that this stinky fruit is gotten a fair trial from me. I do not like it. I don't believe I'll ever like it, but I tried.

Thank you for reading.

Who's Going to Close the Clubs?

2011-10-04T08:55:00.000-07:00

I'm not much of an activist, and there are certain things on which I failed to have strong opinions. The other day I was walking along downtown San Jose stopped in the local Safeway The Market grocery store downtown. Outside of Safeway, just as are outside about every supermarket in town, was a man promoting some type of special interest, with a portable stand up table a clipboard, and a sign.

His sign said," keep the clubs open." Outside my disinterest -in recreational drugs, loud music, or free-spirited interaction with large groups of strangers-I love the party just as much as the next guy. So, when this man shows me a sign that says" keep the clubs open", I am inclined to access that libertarian part of my soul, and and ask myself, why would anyone want to close the clubs. Of course I had no idea what clubs this man was talking about. I certainly didn't know why they were danger. I had to ask this man what the heck he was trying to defend.

Apparently, he was getting people to sign a petition, a San Jose-only petition, that was aimed at making sure the medicinal marijuana clubs -clubs aimed at providing medicinal marijuana to those that need it-would not be closed by the political establishment that runs San Jose. Newspaper reports in recent months have talked about how San Jose city Council, and its mayor Chuck Reed, are trying to pass regulations that could close down 90% of the medicinal marijuana clubs in this city.

I don't smoke marijuana. I have no medical need for marijuana. I don't particularly like my experiences shared with people who enjoy smoking marijuana. But, looking at the whole libertarian spirited idea, one of few libertarian ideas that I would entertain, I have asked myself what does it hurt. the city of San Jose seems to be strangely schizophrenic for issuing business licenses to the people who opened up 110 marijuana clubs in San Jose, and then just a few years later decided that they could shut 90% of these businesses down just to entertain their constituencies.

Ironically, the groups most likely to want to shut down these marijuana clubs are the very people who are in favor of free markets. I'm sure the vast majority of them join in hand-in-hand singing the praises of 18th-century philosopher Adam Smith, and their belief that unfettered markets alone can sculpt a healthy society.

I am no more opposed to the smoking of marijuana than I am to the drinking of alcohol. If you want to live in a capitalistic, free-market society, why would you not want to encourage these legally formed businesses to thrive in our society?

So, I've met a new friend, Dana, who came down to San Jose just to get my signature and the signature of others onto this petition, in the hopes that we could keep our local pot clubs open. I believe that as a capitalist, I would hate for my local government to be so capricious as to close down a business to which they gave a green light to open.

Thank you for reading.

A New Game... New to Me, I Guess

2011-08-26T22:47:00.000-07:00

Living in the heart of Little Saigon, I actually enjoy exploring the different businesses that we have out here. I went to the grand century shopping mall found all kinds of wonderful businesses. Though when it came time to find food most of their food court was businesses that demanded cash only. That can be kind of limiting at times. As a person who likes to keep track of everything he spends,it's a bad temptation for me to start walking around with cash on me...

I don't know what point you can claim that there is some level of market saturation herein our little neighborhood.I can't count the number of noodle houses, herb shops, or beauty shops that we have in the immediate vicinity got a wonder how much we get out before they start diluting, and knocking each other out of business. I personally love the community here, anything that they can do to pull business away from Target and Walmart is fine by me.

So I look back to Vietnam town. It's grand opening was still on June 18, and now, were at the end of August North Vietnam town still not open yet. Everyday I come pass here I regularly visit the people at powder face coffee shop drinking my Americano coffees, while watching those glass doors and windowws installed as small pieces of evidence that business will eventually wake up inside the complex.
Outside of the occasional workman, all I see at that shopping center are men who set around drinking coffee drinking beer and sit huddled around game boards playing a game I am told is called Chinese chess. I've asked the men their and they told me that businesses here are expected to open probably in September at Vietnam town.

So these moments sits and they play their Chinese chess often with groups of 5 to 10 people each sitting around two or three game boards enjoying the facilities while the rest of us wait for the businesses to open. most of the moon there speak very limited English, and the images on these Chinese chess pieces are not the same from gameboard to game board. But, some of the men of offer to try and teach me how to play this game, and I have a friend overseas insists that his same easy game to learn and it is much much similar to international chess. I remain unconvinced.

I think the saving grace of international chess is the fact that each piece looks like something that you can identify real-life: a knight looks like a horse, a queen looks like a queen, a king looks like a king, bishops typically look like something Freudian, and out of all of it you can piece together some image of which are trying to accomplish. There is this movement of these images across the board each one with a carefully defined pattern of movement. The different gambits have been studied and learned throughout the centuries.

It is not to say that this same isn't true about Chinese chess. But in order for this game to have the same life that international chess has for me I have to be able to look at the Chinese chess board and create the same tactics the same story the same visions that make it possible for me to play international chess. Still, I do like the challenge and I do find it interesting the think that I could play this game along with these gentlemen. Many of these men can play for hours. Maybe ill see if I can learn

Thank you for reading.

Classes Begin Soon!

2011-08-22T22:06:00.000-07:00

A lot of times passed since I detailed my end. In the realm of teaching. Despite the absence of our ESL classes, across San Jose, the people that I like to Sacred Heart community center have informed me that there offering English class for immigrant mothers and children. Even though the structureless classes go be a little different than the one that you excited for the opportunity to help in this capacity, again.

The teacher of the class to me in e-mail a request to come in and set up a schedule with her. I will come in tomorrow. It's a strange thing this wanting to volunteer. I know many people who volunteer who do jobs that they don't particularly like are will say here, give me some work. And they want desperately to just be useful someplace. Maybe there's something wrong with me that I waited for this opportunity.

Still, I get to meet a new teacher, and learned new solid teaching. I get the opportunity to teach English again. I'm seriously looking forward to this class opening, which will be in September. So, I will keep everyone posted see how things are progressing.

Thank you for reading.

As For Tomorrow

2011-08-17T22:11:00.000-07:00

A woman recently sent me an e-mail where she detailed a plan to create a smart phone app or online role-playing game that could be used, I guess, for weight loss,and health related purposes. Her plan sounds smart, seems inventive and if she markets well could be very popular product. I guess for me this is no longer about a game. I don't even think I need to know how to make this health process entertaining. There seems to be a moment in time where an idea just germinates. I'm looking for that idea. I'm looking for that moment, and I'm looking for that time.

So, I look back to things that I've said in my blog in years past, and much of it seems defeatist. I said at one point in time that I would make you guys, my readers,my accountability group. That just seems silly. If I didn't want to do something I would just ignore it or not even talk about it. For now, I guess the one goal I'm going to share with you, is that I will look in my goals. Success speakers across the world have said that the people who make the greatest progress in life have written goals. The people who accomplish most of life have written goals.

One of my friends works in the teaching organization, and in that organization. Everyone is well-versed in the concepts of Stephen Covey's The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. I was not terribly shocked when I found out that Stephen Covey's organization happens to be one of the sponsors of their school. Piece by piece. I listen to the different concepts contained within a book. I've read the book. Now, it's as if many of these ideas are congealing with me, and my need to turn everything into a game just seems to fall away.

The ideas that stick in my mind , the habit that sticks in my mind, is being proactive. In the world of time management, I'm learning how to take care of things that are important but are not urgent. (That's called quadrant two). It took a spark of genius on my part to understand why this stuff is important. Some days I just don't figure things out very well. So I sit here in front of my computer, sipping green tea, my latest beverage of choice, and I tried to cultivate a seriousness, a firmness of mind that would help me complete my plans.

Anyway, the fine people at the YMCA downtown called me and left a message on my answering machine asking me if I was going to follow up on this tour that they gave me throughout their facility. And old ranchero named Manuel talks to me every day in Spanish. (for that reason alone I understand only about half of what he tells me) But he was real clear about one thing: he is thinking that my belly's getting awful big.

Selective attention is the nature of the human animal. I thought of these two events at the same time, because it's time to think about these events, so my plan tomorrow is simple: Return the phone call from the people at the YMCA. Hop on a bus. Get my membership started. Now I can call my mother let her know that the bathing suit she bought me is going to get some use.

Thank you for reading.

Dragon NaturallySpeaking is Serving me Well

2011-08-13T20:53:00.000-07:00

I remember a movie years back. It was a Star Trek movie, and in that film. They traveled back in time so that they could poach a whale and bring it back in the future. But during the time when they're in the 1980s, there's a scene where Scotty asks for permission to use a computer and he stands there talking to it and talking to it, and addressing it, waiting for the computer to respond.

While Dragon NaturallySpeaking is pretty wonderful -saving me the trouble of having to type these little blog posts- I'm very excited that this program also makes it possible for me to navigate my computer with very limited use of my hands. I can command windows to open and close. I can select computer programs to open. But, as I look at the potential of this computer program, there is an eagerness to find out exactly how much I can do with it.

According to Wikipedia, the prototype for Dragon software began in the early 1980s. It just makes me wonder how much headache,how much programming has been done over the last three decades to make this program is useful as it is for me today.

I suppose if I was to look it Maslow's hierarchy of needs, I would probably understand better this this obsession some people have with the buying things when they're new and clunky. I always said that I wanted technology only if it's about five years obsolete. Although I'm a little more progressive now, I still don't see any purpose to buying something that's not had some of the bugs worked out of it.
it seems funny that when a product is at its worst, it's when it costs the most.

So, if I'm going to continue in this journey, I suppose I'll continue to embrace products that are old, still highly functional, enjoy a certain level of practicality that comes from not being very rich.

Thank you for reading.

My Birthday Present

2011-08-09T22:55:00.000-07:00

I think I'm just looking for the proper word. To say that I'm suffering from" writer's block" would seem to be a misnomer. Right now,I am trying to become competent using this program called Nuance's Dragon NaturallySpeaking. with this program I am able to talk to my computer and it will print anything I say. The amount of instruction. I need is very limited.

With this program I am able to talk to my computer very natural, standard pace of speaking, and the only thing that limits me is my ability to put words together in a way that doesn't sound too awkward. It even makes it possible for me to be able to correct the mistakes on the screen without having to use my keyboard. If it types something that I don't want it to, I can just command it to correct itself. Even with all of the stuff that I heard about this program, it never occurred to me that it would work as well as it does, nor that I would find it fun.

The software comes with its own headset and I spent a few hours working with it, so that the program would come to know my voice, know my way of speaking, and after various corrections is even come to learn how to spell my friends names how to spell my web addresses, and I don't have to pull my hair out with mistakes being repeated over and over again. I guess the thing is, I don't know how to give up very easily. My own family offered me this a long time ago, and in some ways, I thought maybe would be a good idea, but I guess for me it is like getting used to having bad eyesight. You just get used to squinting all the time.

Understanding the application that is being offered to me is not the same as seeing how the application can change my life. I finally think I understood when I was listening to a commercial where man was typing very slowly, and it sounds like he is losing his train of thought as he was tapping on the keyboard. it was then that I realize that's exactly what I do, that typing with just two fingers slows me down, and I completely forget what I'm trying to say.

So, my mother encouraged me to accept this gift. I now realize what an incredible program it is, and this July, I had a great birthday. But, I can never say that I have writers block. I do not write anymore. And in conversation, I have no trouble speaking, so I guess you can't even say that I have talkers block. But for now, I'm just starting to get used to talking to my computer and it's amazing how easy it's becoming. I just let this software sit in the box for an entire month before even entertaining downloading it into my computer.

I now see that this will help me express my ideas faster and more easily and more naturally than ever before

Striving for Balance: off to the gym

2011-07-28T21:17:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who has been posting on his Facebook page, his latest efforts to follow a Calorie counting/budgeting program online. More offensive, he continues his efforts to record his exercise regimen, and his interaction with this program, detailing the computer counts. The program them tells him (accurately?) how much weight he will continue to lose. This public posturing is shameless. I will neither celebrate nor endorse these efforts.

But, unlike me, he is off living life on two feet, and I am closing on an anniversary of the time I stopped walking. I grew tired of waiting. I had spinal surgery on May 24, 2010, and while I am not afraid of disappointment, I did expect more progress, much faster. People in my life wanted me to lower my expectations, and even today, I remain resistant.

So, in the year since spinal cord rehab, my life has changed. I get nerve function where I did not have it before. I can move my body with greater strength and agility than in the days prior to my surgery. I continue to regain strength in both my right and left leg, while at times am able to stand upright (for 60 seconds maybe) unassisted, holding onto no rails or devices. I remain grateful, but not complacent.

What other change would seem relevant for me? Like my friend, I have changed my diet. Like him, I do not see this as a proactive measure. Both of us are responding to changes in our health. In my case, it may seem a tad more obvious. Though, perhaps I have not gained much weight, My midsection has expanded, and shirts that fit well six months ago, now have to be rolled on to my body like a pair of stockings. I feel my dignity challenged by this. My body fat index has raised several points, and I have grown intolerant (mostly of my friend losing weight).

Due to my personal success in the past year, I am now able to leave my home for longer trips, and I toured the YMCA near my home. My guide, Joseph, followed my instructions and wrote the date, July 6, 2011 , inside the folder I was given to assist in my rapid application process. Yes, with the fitness trainers they have there, I can make some serious progress health-wise.

I need to get a swim suit. In this place they have an enormous pool, I can use to exercise. The progress I can achieve is unlimited if I fill out the application. It almost makes you wonder why I might hesitate. I quit therapy eighteen years ago, and do not philsophize on my feelings. But, at this pool is a special chair. This is a mechanical chair that can lift me from the water, and lower me back in to the pool. I will get started just because I have not been swimming in a long time. I think I miss it.

Thank you for reading.

Teh hijau dan Jahe (Green Tea with Ginger) and Where to Buy it

2011-07-21T22:48:00.000-07:00

Teh hijau dan Jahe (Green Tea with Ginger)

I am okay with the closure of the last, real grocery in my neighborhood. One of my friends, my dear friend Jo Anne, is one of the finest produce clerks in the valley (I do anticipate her reading this), and has noted I do not visit my old place of employment. Safeway, very often. I will hop on out there if I want to grab some groceries, see old friends.

But in the absence, there is this weird void in my neighborhood, as I wait for a replacement, a counterbalance. Wheeling through my neighborhood, I went past the closed SaveMart, and past the Dynasty Chinese restaurant, a collection of Vietnamese noodle houses, hair-nail shops, French bakeries, and sandwich shops. You can throw a stone in any direction, and hit a store where you can procure a Vietnamese sandwich, a fruit smoothie -with such ingredients as durian, avocado or lychee- or a place where you can buy five gallons of filtered water, asian DVDs , and cheap cigarettes at one time.

Across the parking lot is a huge complex called Vietnam Town, a fitting addition to our neighborhood aside from one small problem. They have not opened. I watched the June 17 closing of SaveMart unceremoniously, and without regret. One block away, were the glorious banners advertising the Grand Opening of Vietnam Town. The storefronts all bear names of stores opening or "coming soon".

The variouss units show signs of life as men pull away the boards and enter the structure with tool belts and ladders. None of this would seem particularly odd if it were not for one detail: the sign outside the building, the festive banner over the entry drive-way to the complex says Grand Opening June 18. I watched the parking loty fill with people. I saw food booths, games, and a general atmosphere of celebration and excitement. But, not a single store opened that day. Today, a month later, nothing has opened.

Still, we lack some products, some services, and I do not view Wal-Mart , on one side of the freeway, and Target on the other, as the answer to those needs. I entered a quiet little shopping mall, also bearing the Dynasty name. I spun around, crossing a whole new group of shops, including some more eateries, some jewelry shops and an herb shop providing a varieties of teas .

I stopped in there, and found boxes of Prince of Peace Green Tea, and Prince of Peace Honey Ginger Crystals. I bought them, remembering these products from my days at Orchard Nutrition in Redding. Having now toured this little mall, I will definitely come back. My only reflection on the products is one from before: what will Jesus say when he returns from Heaven to find "Prince of Peace" is now a registered trademark.

Thank you for reading.

today's exploration...

2011-07-13T21:56:00.000-07:00

"And Sharkey says: All of nature talks to me. If I could just
figure out what it was trying to tell me. Listen!
Trees are swinging in the breeze. They're talking to me.
Insects are rubbing their legs together.
They're all talking. They're talking to me. And short animals-
They're bucking up on their hind legs. Talking. Talking to me.
Hey! Look out! Bugs are crawling up my legs!
(You know? I'd rather see this on TV). Tones it down.
And Sharkey says: I turn around, it's fear.
I turn around again, and it's love.
Nobody knows me. Nobody knows my name."
--Laurie Anderson , "Sharkey's Day"(1984)

Back in high school, one of the artists I thought most exciting was Laurie Anderson. So, when my friend gave me a copy of her album Mr. Heartbreak, I was thrilled listening to her poetry, her music, and her weaving of images and sound. Strangely, it is to her music to find my peace, and recapture hope. I listen to Mr. Heartbreak, and I listen for nature talking to me. I stay hopeful, thinking that nothing can be gained in dwelling in fear for the future.

Just now after listening to Sharkey's Day, I turned on a discussion about President Obama and his ominous statement that Social Security checks may not go out on August 3. Living in a house where everyone's rent and food come from those checks, it is amazing how scary that statement can be. I am not certain if I am the only one here who knows this news. This talk could do little but unsettle my home. I was listening to Laurie Anderson before all this; I feel a tad bit sidetracked.

Back in 2004, a friend in Canada told me she was going to a rally to protest "globalization." Being oblivious, overly proud, or profoundly indifferent, I never got around to asking her the question, what is globalization. Even after six years -of listening to comedians bagging on President Bush, watching countless Michael Moore movies, and insane ideological stonewalling over money in Congress- I still was not sure what this thing called globalization is, what all is encompassed, and what are the two sides to it.

I am grateful for a book my sister brought me in 2010. It was Thomas Friedman's third edition of The World is Flat. I eventually read it, a volume filled with glowing reviews on the blossoming of new life in old economies, an explosion in the movement of products/services across the globe, and how so much of it occurred because of the dot-com bubble burst of 2000. Because of Friedman, I now realize that millions of people losing their life savings in a stock market crash is unfortunate, but a small price to pay when a second generation of telecom investors get to buy up miles of installed fiber optic cable at pennies on the dollar. In fact, I see it is a good thing.

All of Friedman's optimism is exciting. It is good to pull from his forward thinking to capture a sense where all this unbridled market liberalism and full-on privatization of government services can take us. I will be reading his book Hot, Flat and Crowded next to see how his perspective stands since 2008.

But, I also started reading from economist Joseph Stiglitz, and his views on the state of globalization, privatization, market liberalization, and the flatness of the world. Unlike my friend in 2004, I am not under the belief that a global economy is a bad thing. Trying to stop it seems even silly, especially when the very means by which we share this information exists because of that global economy. The question is how do we exert our influence to manage it better.

In 1981, Ronald Reagan popularized the concept of trickle-down economics. Joseph Stiglitz says most economists regard it a failed experiment. Still, across the globe, many are singing the praises of this philosophy: where, if you load up the corporations with enough money, their prosperity will trickle-down to the middle-class, and to the severely impoverished. There is a large amount of information for me to understand, and I feel like I am starting to sort it out. Maybe if I started reading these books when they were written, I would have been able to come out of my cave sooner.

Still, I have Laurie Anderson playing online. "I turn around. It's fear. I turn around again, and it's love."

I will keep sifting through the books, learn in turn what the word aggregate means in the economy world, and wonder why the word profligate gets mentioned so much. But that is all I can share with you for now.

Thank you for reading.

This Group Met on the Lawn at City Hall

2011-06-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

(story on the flash mob can be found here)

"These are the values inspiring those brave workers in Poland … They remind us that where free unions and collective bargaining are forbidden, freedom is lost." -- Ronald Reagan (Labor Day address, 1980)

This is quite an exciting quote from that great friend of labor, Ronald Reagan. An hour after reading the words, I realized a few things. Labor Day is the first Monday in September.Back in 1980, that was September 1, a full two months before the landslide election that made him President.

I do not believe it is healthy to prejudice myself against politicians. I know easy it is to say things to ingratiate myself before others. I will not debase myself by suggesting all politicians are liars. What is possible, likely I believe, is many politicians are horribly forgetful. Luckily for them, many reporters have great resources, and more reliable memories.

In his ninth month on the job, President Ronald Reagan was faced with a crisis when the air traffic controllers union, PATCO, went on strike. It could be argued that such an act is like terrorism, using their weight of 13,000 workers to bring all air traffic to a stop. It does seem almost wicked to realize their jobs are so important, so powerful, that they could demand whatever they want if we want our planes moving safely through the air .

This union action was brought directly to the President, who- without much negotiation, without his care for the "free unions and collective bargaining" of PATCO, took action to squash it like a bug. PATCO was dissolved, and all striking workers were fired.

Now, state and local governments throughout the United States are voting to rob unions' bargaining rights for all levels of public service. Democrats and Republicans are marching, arms akimbo to squash the labor unions of all civil servants; this includes the mayor and city council of my own home, San Jose. It is a heartless endeavor, and it is a radical solution for the many city councils and state legislatures that have decided we can blame our social workers and teachers for our unbalanced budgets.

To the degree we can trace President Reagan's failing commitment to free unions even thirty years later, I think it is immensely sad that we have forgotten what caused our economy to crash a short four years ago. It was not our public employees. It was not our welfare recipients. Nor was it caused by people failing to read their mortgage papers properly. I wonder why no one remembers AIG, or Goldman Sachs and the multi trillion dollar con game they perpetuated to destroy our stability.

I am not a reporter, but I do see that as many local and state governments scramble to pass budgets, many are speaking out trying to get us to believe our problems reside in bad teachers, apathetic civil servants, and cell phone allowances. I believe civil servants are our allies. I believe that once we rob them of their bargaining rights, the numbers of good candidates for those jobs will diminish. All this and more can be ours as we watch television shows chronicling the failures of American education. Crippling our unions may seem reasonable, but it could be irreversible. I think this should be long considered before we move ahead with something so dreadfully extreme.

Our public workers are not much richer than anyone else. Most of them work very hard to provide services to our communities. I will not look at them as my enemy, just because doing so might make it easier for some other bureaucrat to balance a budget.

Thank you for reading.

You've Been Down That Road Before. You Know Where it Ends

2011-06-16T20:05:00.000-07:00

"You could not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you." --Heraclitus

"You know, even though we've watched Pretty Woman like thirty-six times, I never get tired of making fun of it. "--Michelle (Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion)

I suppose if someone wants to escape from frustration or pain, the temptation is always there to grab onto an experience that was fulfilling in the past. I love many things, many experiences, many memories now colored and forever changed by my wants and fears. With that in mind, I may be totally lost about what some remembered nugget from my past gave to me. All I recall, really, are a collection: some images, some smells, and the choice feelings I associate with that time in my life.

I suppose hanging around people with various compulsions, I know my experiences are relatively common. Instead of pursuing a new experience, it is easy to remember, codify, and render in my head an image and feeling from the past that was so gratifying, so thrilling, or so filled with emotion that my desire would be to visit that experience frequently.

So, when Heraclitus was talking about a river, a river that changes and renews itself with each passing of new water, he reminds me that no matter how hard I try to replicate an experience, I will always have the experiences that have changed me. I will always carry every memory I had between the initial experience, and the attempt to resurrect a feeling from it.

Amongst my friends it is often said the alcoholic or drug addict is the extreme example of this. That in addiction the addict had a spark, a feeling of such great intensity when they started using, that every time someone engages in their addiction, he or she is striving to capture a feeling , a precise feeling from the time they first got hooked. But "you could not step twice in the same river", and recreating that feeling is pointless, if not impossible.

I heard a story where Sir Alec Guinness was approached by a child who excitedly told him that he had watched Star Wars over twenty times. The old man bent down, looked the child in the eyes, and told him never to watch it again. I don't know if the child cried, sulked, or perhaps had some epiphany, skipping along with a vision of newfound promise and hope.

Sad to say, I still watch some movies I watched before. I discover shows and movies horrifying in their lack of inspiration, while others seem to recreate themselves with each viewing. I revisit restaurants, and reorder familiar entrees. I listened to a recording of Tony Robbins asking the audience if they rent movies they watched before, and he admonishes them to "Get a fucking life!" (I am reliving my shame as I type )

Of course, there are times for quiet, and even when I pray a Rosary, when I focus on a mantra, a meditation, and every breath opens my mind to a flood of thoughts, I realize even here, especially here, my experience renews itself. Every prayer, every petition becomes an opportunity for a new experience. In fact, that is true for me with each moment of the day.

The one thing that seems to renew reliably for me, is a desire to be useful. If I study and learn- read good books, volunteer, and choose to be fully present- then I can stop looking for fulfillment in reliving the past.

Thank you for reading.

SCI: San Jose ("I Got Shoes")

2011-06-07T21:26:00.000-07:00

These are my legs. Only a small handful of people will note anything unusual here. My legs look about the same. Nothing terribly odd about my preoccupation with me. The legs as photographed have compression stockings, discount bulk package Fruit of the Loom cotton socks, and my most stylish ankle-foot orthotics (leg braces). This is my standard leg dressing from day to day.

As a spinal cord patient, I am thrilled my recovery of nerve function has advanced enough that my neurosurgeon, and therapists have closed my cases. I have experienced great recoveries, and they keep coming! As I have begun my second year of rehabilitation (anniversary May 24, 2011), I continue to grab onto my therapists' recommendations.

Piece by piece, I learn how many things, therapists' suggestions, that I pushed to the back of my mind- or disregarded out of hand- have turned out to be the points on which my greatest developments were founded. So, I realize many of my turn-arounds and breakthroughs came after my body had developed sufficient strength and nerve reprogramming to msake these experiences possible, I also know that following some, or all of my therapists' advice, may have advanced this process even more, and much faster.

So, in the past, my therapist recommended I wear stockings, but then my skin was unhealthy, and that had to wait. I was told long ago to buy shoes, and I told her I did not stand or walk and thus did not need them.

When my skin healed, and I was able to wear stockings, my life improved. Then, one day, I attempted to buy shoes, but only found sandals that fit. My life improved again. She capitulated and said the sandals would be fine for now. With my swollen legs sufficiently managed, I received my okay to get my legs cast for my ankle-foot orthotics. I discovered new abilities and new recoveries with each change.

So, with the eventual acquisition of my orthotics, I continued my therapy, my hours in my standing frame, my expectation of greater freedom, of eventually walking again. I realized recently that I had not worn shoes in over eighteen months, maybe even two years time. The sandals I bought over a year ago were falling apart; the velcro fasteners no longer fastened, and all my experience led me to one conclusion: it is time to buy shoes.

I attempted to find shoes with my mother once, and failed to find shoes large enough to accommodate my big feet. Then, recently I was near a Red Wing shoe store, and the man inside told me he does not have what I need. But, he knew a store that he assured me could meet my need.

I went to that store with my mother. Thrilled that I could finally find a pair of shoes that would meet my needs. I found shoes that fit, and were easy to put on my feet. Still, I was bothered by the pressure on my feet, and my Mom - still jet-lagged from a vacation overseas- reminded me that I am probably not used to wearing shoes at all.

I was assured enough to take the shoes, even wearing them out, and kissing my Mom good bye. I was out on the road when I needed to get out of my chair, and transfer to another seat. This is when I came to appreciate this one last piece of advice. My therapist's initial suggestion for me to buy shoes was now over a year old. When I lifted out of my chair, I stood temporarily to make my transfer, and had a brand new experience. My legs felt grounded. In fact, it felt like I had steel rods running through the heels of my feet into the earth.

At the same time, I was also able to move my feet with a fluidity and decisiveness I had not known in years. Today is a special day indeed. I am well pleased with these shoes.

Thank you for reading

The Walls Come Tumbling Down

2011-06-02T21:50:00.000-07:00

My great frustration with the imminent closing of our neighborhood Save Mart is that it is the last traditional grocery store in the neighborhood. I stop in periodically to watch the closing down process. Old-timer employees run foot races down the spaces once filled with revenue earning tables of produce and baked goods. They are piece by piece closing down all of the functions of the store.

My room mate, Michael has been riding down to Save Mart daily for years, and his weekly routine has involved knowing the workers, haggling to reduce prices on late date produce, and memorizing the sales in the weekly supplement. Our home has enjoyed many a meal selected from the recipes they include each week.

So, he looks to me, and says, "Save Mart is looking like a ghost town." Of course, as the clock is ticking, I just watch the disassembly, and wait for the good deals. I pull discounted merchandise off the shelf; the employees nearby work quickly to take nonselling items off the shelves and into boxes to ship away. As a retailer, I remember many a manager telling me, "i do not want to see any holes on that wall." I have to believe that for anyone working years in the world of grocery, that nothing is more unnatural than preparing a store to close. Employees have to work in a manner contrary to years of training.

Recently, I watched the movie The Langoliers. In it, people land a plane in an airport where time has passed by. Food lost its taste, and clocks have all stopped, and this mechanical noise increase, as the passengers of this lost plane await the arrival of the Langoliers. No one knows what they are, but by they arrive, it is clear that these machines (or monsters) are the ones that come through, and destroy the past, after that time where the present has lapsed into the past. The plane barely takes off as the Langoliers chew cavernous holes in the tarmac.

I wonder if this closing is not like the Langoliers. These machines are eating everything. and my friend looks to me, and says it looks sad. He hates Wal-Mart, and I don't blame him. Still, our neighborhood continues to provide for all our needs. If I want to go to a real grocery store, I will have to climb on a bus.

It would be silly to get sad. This is a grocery store that opened as a Fry's over 40 years ago. Apparently its time has come. As a union grocer, I was taught the evils of Wal-Mart. I do not believe they are evil. But, entering that box, filled with inadequately paid employees, I just feel the chaos. But, I still comb their aisles, and sometimes, I shop. One day, the Langoliers will come for their store, too.

Class Closing

2011-05-24T22:09:00.000-07:00

So, class ended today. We watched several students receive certificates of achievement, or completion as to their efforts to learn the English language. For a regular volunteer opportunity for me, this has been a chance to learn, to share, and of course, to teach. Here at our little community center, people have been learning to speak, read, and write English for decades.

So, I suppose today is notable. My time coming into this service was a blessing! I have helped here placing clothes on hangers. I have packaged food for the poor, and I remember fondly my chance to single handedly dole out an entire pallet of donated celery to the public, one case at a time! All these efforts have been fun. But, with the impact of nerve problems on my hands, even hanging clothes got to be for me time-consuming, inefficient, and frustrating.

Enter Kathy. Over eighteen months ago, I was chatting with this woman in our break room. Teaching ESL down the hall, she told me my help would definitely be appreciated. So, I said good by to the enormous bins of used clothing, the clip hangers, and the endless mess of decisions. I walked into the classroom, and found instant peace. I feel great gratitude for the invitation. Then, I learned more how to participate, to share, and to listen.

But today, the classes end. Not just here, but in many locations around the valley. These classes were financed by the discretionary funds from a cash-strapped school district. When the decisions were made, the discretionary funds got appropriated elsewhere, and now another set of useful services are lost to our community.

So, I should not have trouble finding another volunteer opportunity. One thing that increases in a poor economy is the pool of volunteer jobs. But, I like to think I will find something that brings me the same chance to grow and develop that I got here. Likewise, I wonder if I will find anyplace where I receive even a portion of the loveand appreciation I find here teaching English.

Today, we had a potluck, and we took pictures, shook hands, smiled and ate. After eating more than I wanted, one lady asked me if I tried the chicken mole'. She quickly brought me an extra plate of mole', pickled onions and carrots. My Spanish is limited, but I understood when she asked if I liked the mole'. Then she smiled, and asked if I am married. Maybe I underestimate how much I am appreciated here.

Thank you for reading.

Bite Your Tongue!

2011-05-18T22:22:00.000-07:00

I love lengua- mixed in with rice, chili, and beans iin a warm, tortilla- nothing can be more satisfying this day Yes, with pollo(chicken), beef, carnitas (pork) to choose, what makes cooked lengua (tongue) so special? Today was a cool day, the sun lay hidden behind a blanket of clouds, and I am under a tarp, devouring tongue , purchased from a road side catering truck, knowing in my heart this burrito was the best choice I could have made.

I enjoyed the cool breeze. I knew I needed to eat, but I rarely would dare eat outside, unprotected from the elements, challenged by my own impulsivity , and realize that this beef tongue was calling out to me on this unique day.
I had just left Sacred Heart, and feel sad knowing our ESL class will soon end. The class year wraps up in days. The class provider, Metro-Ed, had sixty-six per cent of its operational budget cut, and our little class is one ofthe casualties. I love to teach, albeit for free, but now, many oif ther classes our city has provided to immigrant communities have fallen to the side.

I know in a bad economy, there is non end to places I can volunteer to help, but this service- well placed, and well utilized- is one I definitely will miss. People coming here, and learning English, are a delight to help. They are acquiring a skill which adds immediate value to their lives.

So, now I will search out new service to do, maybe another chance to teach, and move on. I thought about language, and about learning, as I devoured my tongue. Indeed this is just one door closing.

Thank you for reading.

Save Mart Closing next Month

2011-05-10T21:42:00.000-07:00

My roommate, Michael, told us in past weeks our neighborhood Save Mart will be closing its doors soon. This is an inconvenience. To the extent many workers may fail to find jobs at neighboring Save Marts, this is even a little sad. Still, it was a predictable closing.

Having worked as a union grocer, I appreciate grocery shelves well-stocked, and quality customer service. I love having an intimate environment where the foods I like are plentiful, and the workers running the store are cared for by their company. Despite meeting those needs, our local Save Mart was ill-equipped to battle when the Wal-Mart down the street remodeled to accommodate their own grocery sections.

I listened as people spoke optimistically about their vision of Save Mart being saved from the chopping block. The declines in business were almost immediate. I love the spirit of a dedicated customer base, but shiny new fridge and freezer cases -filled with Banquet microwave dinners at rock bottom prices- provide an enticement that trumps us hands down.

I suppose my irritation will fall back. I will accept that WalMart (or nearby Target) are the only groceries in the neighborhood. I won't feel too bad about it, either. Now, I cannot speak about the economic values of this. I know the big box on Story Road seems to be a mess of aisles, racks, hurried workers, and clients scrambling to find a fast check-out line. It is just chaos to me. But the chaos is fed daily by one simple fact: people love the savings, and do not mind the craziness.

So, as my neighborhood grocery closes its doors, I will show up, and participate by lending my dollar to purchase perishables at close-out prices. I will then wonder how long the storefront will stay empty before someone else attempts to capture market-share from Wal-Mart.

Duct Tape Heals.

2011-04-29T21:34:00.000-07:00

Years ago, I was told a man only needs two tools, a can of WD-40, and a roll of duct tape. Case-in-point, if something moves and it shouldn't, use duct tape. If something does not move- and you think it should- use WD-40. Recently, I put this advice to work.

A few weeks ago, I boarded a bus, and I found myself wedged in too tight for me to execute a trouble-free exit from the vehicle. I was blissfully unaware of the problem, read a book, and passed time until I reached my destination. Even the arm of my cchair is equipped with a variety of moving parts, including a joystic that retracts and extends easily.

Upon arriving at my stop, I prepared to exit, and waited for the driver to remove the securing straps. I noted my tight placement with my armrest located directly behind a folded up seat. Starting forward with the joystick, the armrest pushed into the seat, instead of rotating awauy from the seat, and the resulting force caused the whole armrest assembly to rotate backwards, making access to the joystick impossible for me.

Three passengers and the busdriver, eager to get back in motion, worked together to help restore access to mmy controller, and expedite my departure. Crazy, embarrassing, and annoying, this trip became more exciting realizing a bolt was missing in my arm rest; looking down at my controller, I noted several wires were exposed that had previously been hidden and protected.

No stress. I would not think about the immanent threat to my mobility, and make the calls to get this fixed. I made calls, and waited. I called my doctor, called the chair repair place, and waited a few days, a few days until...

I noted the absence of my ATM card while away from home. Unable to eat, I boardeds another bus, and rushed home! At home, my wallet was missing, my ATM card still missing, and my head was spinning. Throwing my jacket on my bed in frus3tration, my ATM card fell out. I decided my wallet did not contain anything needing cancellation or immediate replacement. Calm was coming back, and my need for food was growing. I left the house traveling one-half mile, when, the arm fell off my chair.

The next repair was with two unsecured bolts, and duct tape. I scrambled to get some food. Within days, my chair was completely restored, my wallet was recovered, and none of it was hastened by my frustration, distrust, or nagging phone calls. My chair does look much better without duct tape, too. Amazing.

Dinner at the E&O Trading Company

2011-03-01T20:06:00.000-08:00

Last week , my family ass1embled at the E&O Trading Company to celebrate my sister's birthday. Since the 1990's, I am the only member of my family to have lived in downtown San Jose. Still, my family is always aware of all the cool, exciting food establishments in the downtown area. I felt a need to study up if I was to face this new experience without understanding the menu, style of service, so that my liberty will not be lost to my family. God forbid, I should be in a saituation where my mother or sister should take the food selection process from me...

I found the San Jose dinner menu online, and was excited by the mixture of influences brought together to create an exciting culinary experience.

I met with my family, and we sat. I read the menu expertly, as my mother and sister started ordering.The plates arrived one at a time, allowing us to share, and enjoy each selection separately. The Imperial duck rolls with plum sauce, and the`chicken dumplings disappeared so fast no one had tinme to photograph them.

Pictured above is Indian panir cheese flat bread with mango chutney and tomato-chili sambal.

There was crispy shrimp with a sweet chili sambal, and Indonesian corn fritters with a chili spiced ketjap.

We then shared a plate of nasi goreng (fried rice) that was flavorful enough I could have enjoyed it as a meal by itself. Followed by rich, elegant desserts, this was a marvelous meal to have with my family

Pictured here is me as I finish my "flourless chocolate cake with coffee gelato". The dessert pictured above is perhaps too elegant to be called a banana split, shared by my mother and sister.

Anyway, that is my report for today.
Thank you for reading.

So, why do They Call This Powderface?

2011-02-09T19:05:00.000-08:00

Pictured below is Michel Tran, owner of Powderface

With only one other Powderface in existence, I should not feel bad about not hearing about them. All I know is that there were no traditional espresso houses in my neighborhood, and still I was rolling around, hoping I could find a good espresso without having to wheel my chair over the freeway, and give my money to a specific big-name corporate coffee house...

On a stretch of Story Road, near Lucretia, there is a small strip of stores that is just big enough to block from my sight the mega monstrosity that is Wal-Mart. From the back I noticed va banner saying this establishment sells coffee. Be still my heart. An oasis in the desert.

The place is called Powderface. Until I entered the store did I start to comprehend what the name was about.

First, I had to ask what is a beignet

At around $3.50 for three pieces, I ordered a side of plain beignets . The beignet is a treat out of Louisiana, and I did not know what to expect... I looked, however at their wall which is covered with picture after picture of people eating beignet. One thing is true, with the mound of confectioners sugar on the plate, you almost feel wasteful if it did not get all over the place.
With my cafe con panna (espresso with unsweetened whipped cream) the beignet was delightful. With these hot, empty pockets of pastry, I was scooping up powdered sugar with a sense of guilt gnawing at me. I then was able to relax, and read my book, while waiting for the caffeine levels in my blood to stabilize
Click here for Yelp reviews

These Guys are not from the Bay Area

2011-02-04T09:18:00.000-08:00

After my last post, I found some examples of people who would not get cold in San Jose

Groundhog Day!

2011-02-01T21:52:00.000-08:00

On te second of February in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, as many as 40, 000 people have gathered, and may gather again to see if the venerable groundhog Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow. As Groundhog Day tradition holds, Phil will rise from his slumber an will whisper to the master of ceremonies whether or not he has seen his shadow. If he fails to see his shadow this is a predictor of an early spring.

This is an ironic celebration in a time when scientists worldwide are discussing climate change. It is a fun holiday, but today I wonder if people would want to hold, cherish, whatever cold they can find. But I write this from California, where people complain if temperatures drop below fifty degrees Fahrenheit in the daytime. Aside from short trips to the snow as a child I really have no comprehension of cold weather.

When mornings are cool in my hometown of San Jose, my father calls out "Come on June!" I am able to feel a little less delicate when I think of my times chatting on the Internet. One friend from the tropics spied me on webcam wearing a t-shirt under my regular shirt. She looked at me and asked "Is it Cooold over there?"

Astronomically speaking, this whole discussion seems silly. In the tropics, it is always hot. Here, in the Silicon Valley, we experience some mild changes we call the four seasons. In my life I have never traveled north of 42 degrees latitude. There, it seems, are greater extremes than I will ever know here. Near the coast, we have a buffer that moderates our cxoldest and warmest weather. (almost sounds like I am pitching for my upcoming career change asd a travel agent)

If climate change continues, will Phil continue his life as a weather consultant? Will our people north of the 42 degree parallel continue to long for an early Spring? Well, today is still a day for celebration. Groundhog Day the movie, will continue to be impossible to rent on February 2 on Netflix, and I will never fail to live in awe of my fellow Californians as they rise from their beds, race to their thermostat, waking up on yet another "cold morning."

Note: there are mountain dwelling Californians, who experrience plenty of snow every year. My notes refer to people like me that live in the valley, and note with amazement that there was frost on the lawn last night...

Thank you for reading

Volunteering Made Simple

2011-01-12T21:28:00.000-08:00

I suppose I am being called to action. My body is getting stronger, and my ability to leave home for longer periods has increased! Before I left my home in May to have my spinal decompression, I was living on my own, and once in a while I would go down to Sacred Heart Community Service to chat with my friends down there. Every time I went there I asked silly questions like "do you need any help?"

They always say yes. By attending their volunteer orientation, they got this idea that me asking for something to do suggested that I wanted/needed something to do, to help them. They never even felt concerned about taking my time. Never once did they stop to think maybe I should be busy somewhere else.

I was sometimes even uncomfortable stopping to help out. This is not a joke. Whern I am feeling most selfish, the only cure is to become involved in helping others. I get good at disappearing into my own little world, a special place where everyone knows me. So, I walk to the back, and they alwauys have clothing to fold, food to pack. I even get restless helping, have to fight my own desire to break away.

One thing that makes it possible to stay, though, is the realization that someone to help is always missing. Clients keep coming regardless. Amazing how inspirational it is to keep working when the clothing racks keep emptying. So many people love helping, and yet the work never stops coming. They always have work to do.

Still, my hand are challenged, and stocking clothing racks can be difficult for me. One day, while enjoying a coffee and pastry in the break room when I met another worker. This is teacher Kathy who invited me to help her ESL class instead. My fingers were begging for mercy, and I knew this was a line of service I could do without hurting myself. Those little clip pants hangers were more than I could handle.

It has been eight months since I helped there. The supervisor for Metro-Ed said I was in violation! I did not quit because of my surgery. I quit, because they made this process more complicated. To volunteer they want me to apply. They also wanted my fingerprints to make sure I am not a felon!

I decided I need to go back. I called them, and no one called back. Then, in one day, the office of Metro-Ed called me. I had been calling during Christmas break. They enthusiastically told me they want me to come back. The teacher called my home to invite me back, and today, while at Wal-Mart, a young lady approached me and asked me in English if I know her parents. The couple with her were from the class, and were excited to tell me they are still learning English...

Most assuredly I am being called to go back. Hard to stay away knowing I am actually wanted back, by the students as well, as the teacher. The time is right. I just have to get this paperwork started, so I can return to work.

Thank you for reading.

The Opinions Page

2011-01-10T08:37:00.000-08:00

Over the past three years of blogging, I found that when I was free with my opinions, I actually found more readership, and more sharing online. Strangely, the more I shared my opinions, the more I wondered how I truly felt about certain things. It seems to be a way to secure my place, for good or ill, in the hearts of others, if I state my feelings with conviction. I even wonder how many times I have looked at a past posting to as myself, why did I write that.

Even today, I have strong feelings about many things, and now I am finding that absent education, many of my feelings are unfounded. With new knowledge, sometimes my opinions change. My concern today remains with the journey. I no longer have to ally myself with different camps to make a conversation.

I once called myself a passionate fence-sitter, and when my aunt pressured me, I knew in my heart really did pick sides on many things from politics to religion, and global warming to personal responsibility. Relatively uneducated on many social issues, I wonder if I dare have opinions, much less share on them. It frightens me that I should join the many in the world who could become articulate enough to persuade you with my words before I take the time to research what I am discussing.

Having listened to plenty of good thinkers talk about critical thinking, and logic, I feel this is one place I may be qualified to share. The thinkers to whom I have listened, seem to support a baseline integrity, that when having a platform upon which to share, would opt to back up their opinions with facts, before bloating their discussions with passion.
In a day where any hothead with an Internet connection can have his or her feelings shared emailed to Fox News seconds after a topic is introduced, I should feel blessed to have the time it takes to collect myself. I wonder if having computers has cheapened the quality or value of written word. It is possible I reflect on my own laziness, of course.

When I was a child, people owned these bizarre devices called typewriters. When someone felt compelled to share something with the media, he or she had to put paper in a typewriter, remember one of several letter formats, address the letter properly, and type it with limited mistakes to be corrected immediately before continuing, fold it, and place it neatly in an envelope addressed to the newspaper to be considered for publication.

Does it follow to some degree, that with that effort, maybe someone would put more care into the presentation of their opinion, maybe even giving their words some more thought?

Thank you for reading.

The Ring of Fire. (Gunung Merapi gone quiet)

2011-01-05T20:37:00.000-08:00

Note: aside from the title, Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire is hardly relevant to this post, but it is a great song!

I am from California, born and raised. It is funny to me when people talk about their obsession, their concerns, about earthquakes. I was here in 1989 when the Loma Prieta Quake hit, and was not emotionally affected. Still, upon arriving home, I saw a book case overturned, and other extreme damage in my parents' home. I remember bits of that day with clarity, and remember vividly the crowded streets, the parking lots filled with employees evacuated from their buildings at 5:07 in the afternoon.

I know it was not until I turned on th television that I began to realize what a horrible tragedy this quake was. Still, like me, many people remained unscarred by the event, despite my relative proximity to it. It is easy when no one close was hurt. Even in something as great as that quake, it is easy to create distance when most of the pain is on a television screen. As humans, we adapt quickly, and work hard to get everything operating as smoothly as possible.

These are the things which make many people say they would never live in California. Then, I see volcano eruptions across the world, and wonder why anyone would live close to a volcano. Even in the worst of natural disasters, there are many who sustain no damage to their property, to their families, to their health.

Already, two months after the initial explosions of Gunung Merapi, Yogyakarta is looking clean again, and I hear very beautiful. Still, I have read an estimate that as many as 325, 000 people have been displaced as a result of Merapi's month of activity. That is the population of a large city, forced to find new shelter.

So, this past week, a friend told me she would attend a wedding in Yogyakarta.. This was all fine for me, until she told me she was invited to hike Merapi! My jealousy surged. I still have not hiked a volcano, and this gets thrown in my face. It is okay. My day will come.

I am getting sidetracked here. I have heard that the government already has a "Lava Tour", and is charging money to explore areas that were free before.

Also, at the same site were people collecting money to help the people made homeless by the volcano.

I have heard of the resilience of the people that live in this "Ring of Fire", and I am certain that resilience actually is a credit to our whole species. Still, I hope that whatever losses have been suffered, that the people continue to find help, peace, and recovery.

MMXI: Selamat Tahun Baru

2011-01-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

"We close our eyes and the world has turned around again
We close our eyes and dream and another year has come and gone"--Oingo Boingo

I love the Internet, and I love the blogosphere, because I get to share with people all over the world. I rarely get excited about holidays, so I enjoy hearing from friends across the International Date Line. That also means I celebrated a good fifteen hours before the rest of America. But, I do also celebrate here...

Today, I awoke after four hours sleep. I still drifted in and out before someone arrived to help me from bed at seven. Despite my desire to not participate in nightime party activities, I decided to show up in the main room, watch Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve.

Still, waking up today, overtired and uninspired, I saw my general feelings about holidays hold true. Everyone loves parties, and celebration. We love excuses to gather, enjoy companionship and good food.

Outside partiers ate jello shots, drank tequila, and shot pool. I left my room to eat a couple tortilla chips, while watching Jenny McCarthy bent crooked from too much hairspray, and eighty-one year old Dick Clark, no longer hanging out on the street with his trench coat and ear muffs.

I am on of two people I know did not drink alcohol last night, and I felt exhausted, and toasted by night end. Still, I did not hide in my room, and despite all said, I had a good time!

Happy New Year!

I will include this vuideo, because I think accordion playing clowns are a great way to ring in the New Year!

Preparing for Christmas

2010-12-23T21:25:00.000-08:00

read Christmas poem by Ferlinghetti here.

If moving from this house has no other benefit, I am assured to lose weight. Living in a home where good food is plentiful, I am the one forced to make the hard decisions. I have to tell them to make my plates light. Portion control is a necessity when aerobic opportunities are limited. Now in the days before Christmas I recall a friend asking me "Are your shirts fitting tighter lately?" Indeed they have. There is something about how these cheap fabrics shrink, and keep shrinking...

Still, it is exciting to watch the house alive with industry. The holiday effort includes the production of hundreds of tamales. Masa purchased in huge bags have been mixed to coat the insides of corn husk, a filling of chicken, cheese and jalapeño, then wrapped securely for steaming.

Also, on the stove, fresh jalapeños sit on the grill, turned until all sides are black, then tomatoes are roasted similarly. The black skins are discarded, and blended into the finest chili salsa with green onions, cilantro, and fresh garlic.

The kitchen comes alive like this every night under the guidance of my house manager. Paralyzed from the neck down, she guides all the work in her kitchen step-by-step.
Under her guidance many men and women have learned how to cook and manage time in the kitchen. So, in addition to the tamale effort, the kitchen will come alive tomorrow for the Christmas party.

My desire to get well enough to move out again is strong. Every day, I master new skills, and recapture pieces of my previous, independent life. Still, I am not as overly private as before, and my unsocial crust is falling off. I have come top like the people in this home. I guess I can stay a while longer.

Merry Christmas. Thank you for reading.

2010-12-16T11:30:00.001-08:00

From all my past employment, one thing, I never remember is joining a company Christmas party. The one company party I remember involved a circle of crapulous coworkers engaged in cutting loose from the self-imposed rigidity of the work environment. I always believed myself to be much the same person in and out of work. But the workplace Christmas party is a great tradition that happens all throughout the country.

I went to some workplace party years ago, and remember how stifling it seemed, and how uncomfortable I was. Everyone was all dressed up. I worked for a hotel at the time, so I believe the party was held at the Wyndham hotel. In deed, I cannot blame parties for my discomfort attending them. Still, going to the party has all the trappings of the movie From Dusk til Dawn. Do I really want to see this other side of these people I already see from nine to five every day?

Being around ten years ago, I remember going to the party, having found something worth wearing (besides my workj uniform), and looked at this chaotic mass of people, hoping to find someone with whom I could chat. I suppose office parties can be a chance to look inside myself, and ask who here do I really like enough to engage in conversation outside the context of work.

I read the last three paragraphs, and wonder how unsocial I really am. May be this writing is merely one chance to use the word crapulous before losing it in my mental lexicon of words I will never need. Still, company parties are strange.

I was encouraged to dance, so I danced. I watched others dance whom I felt should not have. I remember seeing people with glazed eyes that obviously were not sober enough to have a good time. To this end I have enjoyed seeing pictures of the yearly Christmas party. I never have to k now what my fellow employees are like when drunk. Ironically, the pictures tell me exactly what I am missing.

Perhaps you know about these things as I do. Maybe in your office there is someone hiding in the accounting office. Someone points her out, and say, "that is Yuletide Carol. " Watching the movement, the precision, the complete lack of social interaction, and you ask, "why is she called Yuletide Carol?" and you are told to wait until the party, the Christmas Party in December. Then, you will know...

I ought to get myself clothes appropriate for a good party. I do not have to attend workplace parties though to foster my sense of seasonal joy. In fact, maybe it is through not attending these parties that my sense of Christmas joy seems to get stronger.

Accessible Christmas

2010-12-15T19:32:00.000-08:00

My family's homes are not wheelchair accessible. As much as I wanted to encourage them to build a ramp, widen their hallways, and rebuild their bathrooms to accommodate me, they have been resistant. I say this in jest, of course. With litigation pending, I would do well to not discuss this further...

But, something happened. I would have to ponder the odds that something like this would happen to me, and I believe many homes are not able to accept a person in a power chair. Thanksgiving lasdt year was around the time I stopped using a walker. This year, my sister called me to tell me she wanted me to come to her house, and celebrate Christmas! To accomplish this, she purchased movable ramps that will make it possible to go to her house again!

I am feeling festive, and in my house there has been a flurry of activity. Two of the caregivers workeed together t0o create wreaths. The house is filled with decoration, and even I am reaching into my heart to find evidence of my own Christmas spirit! I will report more on this soon.

Thank you for reading.

addendum: here arre the ramps!

Gunung Merapi Meletus! (Eruption)

2010-11-07T19:02:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine in Redding used to live in a trailer near the southern border of Washington State in the beginning of the 1980's. In 1980, he was in his trailer when Mt. St. Helens decided to wake up after many decades of calm.. Apparently he lived a good distance from the volcano, because on May 18, 1980, the mountain erupted.

I have a hard time trying to comprehend 230 square miles of pyroclastic flow, or plumes of volcanic ash shooting over twelve miles above sea level. Yet, for me, this was a news story that settled on California television screens, and shy of my tenth birthday, I could hardly imagine what devastation was involved. My friend was in his twenties, and much closer to the action. From his trailer, he watched as bricks of hot ash landed outside his home, leaving him stuck inside until the bulk of volcanic fallout stopped.

At the age of ten, I did not realize what hot ash falling from the sky was like. Kids traveling through Washington would bring home- as a souvenir- a small jar of authentic ash from the eruption of St. Helens. Back then, I thought the eruption was an isolated event. Only now, three decades later do I understand that the activity of that mountain continued for months before quieting down.

The only volcanoes I ever experienced have been quiet for decades. For a short three years, I lived in Redding, California, wedged in between two active volcanoes, Mt. Shasta and Mt. Lassen. These two mountains form the southern tip of the Cascade Volcanic Arc. Neither of them have erupted in over a hundred years, so the ever-growing communities within Shasta County feel relatively safe.

So, I get online, and talk of my desire to walk again. I express this by affirming my desire to hike a volcano. I still have the interest. Just in the past weeks, though, I learned of the eruption of Gunung Merapi near Yogyakarta in Indonesia. Just seventeen months ago, I stayed at a hotel in Yogyakarta. I was taken on a tour, where I got to view Gunung Merapi up close. Videos and t-shirts bill it as the world's most deadly volcano. I can't be sure what standard was used to make that statement, but I am sure t-shirts touting a 'reasonably dangerous volcano' could be challenging to sell.
(follow this link for pictures taken after the Mount Merapi explosion)
I have gotten reports of the ongoing eruptions of Merapi. . For me, the eruption would have hastened my exit from the city. But for the people in the nearby areas, Yogyakarta is forced to create shelter for several hundred people. The air quality has declined due to the eruptions, and evacuation of several homes in Yogyakarta has also taken place. While staying in these shelters, many will wonder what to expect when they return home.

I met many beautiful people during my short visit, and it is sad to know that it may be a long time before life in Central Java can return to normal.

Thank you for reading.

All Saints Day 2010

2010-11-01T20:28:00.000-07:00

Last night, we had an enormous party, a Halloween celebration with plenty of food, a lively (though disappointing) game on the screen, and steaming bowls of menudo with hot corn tortillas. The hours that our caregivers spent- cutting tripe and pig's feet, opening up cans of hominy, decorating cookies, and baking cupcakes - culminated in a delightful party. Even then, I took a quiet comfort in believing, knowing, this series would be won by the Giants

I was in Burger King earlier, and opened up a book when I heard the song "God Bless Texas" on the store radio. It occurred to me that some compassionate soul was anticipating tonight's World Series game. I believe whoever it is anticipated the imminent loss of the Texas Rangers, and wants peace for the team and their fans.

Last night's game settled my heart. I am not a sports fan, but when the Giants were playing the Phillies, I wheeled into the living room, stared up at the 52" screen, and discovered baseball. I went to a game many years ago, the only baseball game I ever watched through nine innings. My mother had tickets to watch the Oakland A's. It was a great experience. I watched the people in the stands. I watched the beer purchases of the people in front of us. I truly enjoyed myself at the ball game.

Still, my enjoyment was for being outside, the fresh air, the joy of the fans. Finally, well into the game, a hitter knocked a ball out of the park. I exclaimed quietly in response, and my mother grabbed my arm, and whispered that that is the wrong team. The A's lost that game that night to the Texas Rangers.

Tonight I raised my newfound appreciation for baseball to a fevered pitch. My sister brought pizza, and we watched the game broadcast from Arlington, and my fresh enthusiasm for baseball had elements of bloodlust. Uncultured and immature, I felt devastated by last night's win to Texas.

Friends have told me that they wanted to win here, in the Bay Area. Impatient, and doubting, I wanted a quick kill. I was nott bothered by the silence from the bleachers as the last strike was thrown. I felt a joy, a peace, with waves of exhilaration. I ate pizza and orange soda. I write this to all you, with a quiet satisfaction that my sanity will mediate itself, at least until this time next year.

As for my responsibility to vote, my ballot has already been cast. So, this is my report for now.

Thank you for reading.

For just a while longer...

2010-10-24T16:50:00.000-07:00

I was just listening to a podcast where the panel speaking were mus1ing on the ability of a whale to transfer and release nitrogen into the ocean through their feces. This was a question posed, and the questioner revealed that whales do indeed release enormous amounts of nitrogen into the ocean ecosystem by way of their bowels. These speculations truly appeal to a very juvenile part of my brain. Still, it is exciting to see how animals life functions change their environment. I will not dwell on the scatological aspects of this story any further.

I do love, however, the insights I glean from listening to science-oriented podcasts, and with some patience, I am able top find ones where the podcasters are not speaking from some technical level far above my head. My main interest is neurology, and as such, find myself to be a delightful case study, about which I have much to investigate.

I remember meeting with a doctor, peering down at my file, and she asked me, "You have Tourette's Syndrome, seizure disorder, and Multiple Sclerosis? No one has this many diagnoses..." I stared back at her, shrugged my shoulders, and smiled.

My tic disorder has mellowed out in recent years; through proper medication, my seizures have stopped; the MS symptoms were ascribed to spinal trauma, and the diagnosis was discarded. But, to this day, neurology remains very exciting to me. I love listening to the Brain Science podcast, and my curiosity gets fed. The discussions I find encouraging involve the nature of nerve stimulation.

The woman who manages my house is a quadriplegic who lost all function and sensation from her neck down. Through aggressive therapy, she regained use of her hands that she can direct her chair with the joystick, and feed herself. From her chair she directs all aspects of the house functioning.

With the house caretaker, she guides the preparation of the evening meal. She has taught several men to become competent cooks. Step by step, she instructs her caregiver to prepare an entree, all side dishes, and guides the preparation of each plate to the needs of each resident. Every few nights we run out of salsa, and we have tomatoes and jalapeño peppers roasting on a cast iron skillet, brought to the counter to have the blackened skins removed, and blended into the most flavorful salsa.

With exercise, I am gaining more use of my arms and legs. Problems I had when I moved here are diminishing. Through watching Rose, the house's manager, I am learning how to effectively direct my own care. The environment here has much to offer me. Even as my desire to live independent again grows, this house gives me many reasons to stay.

Thank you for reading.

Saya Bisa Jalan: a goal

2010-09-23T20:05:00.000-07:00

I was looking at my last set of travel photos. Here is a picture of me with my fashion consultant, a guard at the sultan's palace in the city of Yogyakarta on the island of Java. In the year that has passed, I have, only thought fleetingly of my desire to travel again. I have archipelago dreams again. I still want to climb a volcano. So much has changed in the past year.

I look at the picture above, and remember my exercise of the Indonesian language. Besides saying terima kasih (thank you), the phrase I remember using often was "saya bisa jalan" which means "I can walk." Walking was a challenge, enough so that I traded in my travel ready walker for a 140 dollar wheel chair from Century Health Care in Jakarta.

In Indonesia, I never had trouble getting help. But, I always wanted people to know my needs were slight. From a wheelchair, it was not unusual to find someone practically willing to carry me. That is when the importance of "saya bisa jalan" became clear to me. I could walk, and already was getting concerned when people viewed my difficulties as worse than they are. `

I started my vacation being misdiagnosed by a Redding neurologist as having Multiple Sclerosis. I sat with this news from the of my diagnosis in June until my first consult with a neurologist here in Santa Clara County. After my hour long consult, my doctors agreed my case did noit appear to be MS at all. Contrary to any rumors I may have started, he did not say my old doctor was on crack.

This has been my journey. Perhaps I have shared too much. But since my last MRI made spinal decompression surgery possible, I have had dreams, and setbacks. as well as much frustration. Within months of returning to San Jose, I eventually stopped walking. I wonder if that was wise. Still, I have followed direction of my therapists, and believe I will walk again.

My new mantra is "saya bisa jalan", and rising out of each breath is the rise in my determination. In the standing frame, I constantly monitor my breathing and my posture. Each breath I bring in slow, through my abdomen. In the beginning, keeping straight placed a strain on my back. Each day, I feel my back straight with less conscious effort. Each breath solidifies my resolve, and I even smile. This is why this frame is so special. It makes this posture accessible, and I can even disappear into it, as each visit builds upon the gifts of the last one.

Exercise, and muscle development is slow, but since I have started using the standing frame, my body is becoming more limber, and stronger than it has been in months. I have been able to cut my use of muscle relaxant, which leaves me feeling more vibrant. Every day, I find my legs, my back, and my belly stronger than before. I still intend to start walking again. I plan to travel, and I will climb a volcano. My experiences now suggest this is all feasible. I missed visiting Mount Merapi before. I will not miss out again.

Besides, if I want my own pleated batik sarong, it would be cheaper to have it made in Indonesia.

Thank you for reading.

Standing Tall (almost)

2010-09-10T23:03:00.000-07:00

My development in physical therapy should advance quickly with th acquisition of my standing frame. Everyday, sometimes twice a day, caregivers at my house strap me into this contraption, and they let me stand. Amazing it is to have one of these of my own, I am able to experience the benefits of weight bearing exercise in a whole new way.

In physical therapy, therapists had introduced me to weight-bearing, and how it can help me therapeutically. They showed me how, with a rattled nervous system, muscles in my body were working against each other. For example, I walked with a walker, and my foot twisted in so violently, I was risking permanent damage to my ankle and knee by insisting on walking. By taking Baclofen, a muscle relaxant, I was able to almost control this level of spasticity.

Still, I was not walking. Muscles have a strange trait; they want to be used. I believe this spasticity, aside from being a response to spinal injury, is aggravated by lack of use. The spasticity is a revolt of the body against itself. But, it can look funny to see me riding around city streets, in my wheelchair with my legs fully extended for no reason.

So, this is why having this tool in my own home is such a special gift. This is not an exercise where you have to wait to see the benefits. Standing proper, just one time about ten minutes yielded a relaxation in my legs that felt wonderful. The feeling is enough to keep doing the exercise. But, there are effects which are cumulative. This exercise will help to properly develop the muscles in my leg, will encourage greater bone density in my legs, and will help improve trunk strength i my back and abdomen.

I think this is a success.

Thank you for reading.-

SCI: San Jose (weight bearing)

2010-08-27T20:57:00.000-07:00

In a time that predates digicams, the Internet, VHS tape recording, or even color television, a woman made a request of her husband. She wanted a wall removed from their home, and she wanted this passionately. He looked to her lovingly, compassionately, and explained that it simply could not be done.

His reason was that the wall in question was a weight bearing wall, and that the structural integrity of their home rested on leaving that wall in place. She knew her husband was a righteous, discerning man, and she knew that walls were indeed placed in buildings to bear the weight of the structure above. Whether she doubted her husband's honesty, or if she doubted his knowledge is uncertain. But, one day she decided that his claim that this unsightly wall was vital to protecting their home needed to be put to the test.

She waited for her husband to go to work, and she found herself a big hammer; she brought that wall down. Then, she waited to see if the ceiling to collapse, and for her husband to return home. I know that only one of those events came to pass. Jamie Hyneman, Robert Lee, and Adam Savage regularly test ideas like these, and I believe that woman exhibited the same zeal that keeps the weekly show Mythbusters on television season after season.

It can be argued that she did not have a mythbuster passion so much as she had a burning desire to destroy that wall, but over fifty years later there are few people who could reliably testify as to her motives on that day.

I have my own take on weight bearing now. I have only in recent months considered what I want to do to start walking again. I am recovering from a spinal cord injury between cervical spine 5 and 6. Taking muscle relaxant to control spasm, and having close to a year pass since I last walked, there is a lot of work for me to do.

One tool that is invaluable is the standing frame. Last year my therapists showed this to me, and I discovered immediately the value of it. By putting me up into a standing position, i am able to put weight on all the muscles in my legs and back. The frame straps me in, so I can stand for long periods of time without using my own balance, my own strength.

Regular use of the standing frame works on my body in several ways. I works to restore proper circulation in my legs. The weight bearing reduces tone/spasm in my legs. It increases bone density, and decreases my dependence on muscle relaxant. Most spinal cord patients take baclofen, a central nervous system based muscle relaxant. Regular use of weight bearing exercise makes it possible to gradually limit use of the drug as spasticity decreases.

My physical therapist wanted me to attend an adaptive PE class at a nearby college, so I could use a standing frame regularly. But, through the help of my family, and the encouragement of my cousin, my parents found a neighbor who as a great craftsman, built a standing frame which is now in my room, and I can use as often as I want. This is getting to be exciting...

Thank you for reading.

Register to Vote Today!

2010-08-07T20:36:00.001-07:00

When I was shopping the other day, a man asked me if I wanted to register to vote. When I see them, I get to reflect on how current is my information with the voter registration people. In the last five years, I have had several addresses, and in spite of it all, I do remember my last time voting. In front of the store, the man smiled. I smiled back. I realized I do need to update my registration one mnore time.

As I held the clipboard in my hand, I noted there was no place to set the clipboard down. I looked at the thin Papermate pen in my hand, and the small boxes on the form. I noted the cardboard sign behind the man with the registration forms. The sign was written in thick black felt tip pen, the words simple and pure: legalize pot!

My hands are becoming more pliant and cooperative as I heal. Still, I am learning to write again with my more functional right hand. But, I write now with the aid of wide handled ink pens with a cushioned grip. I already was seeing the difficulty I would have trying to fill this out now. Before I decided to take the form home, the man said to me, "you know, I get paid if you register Republican... but, of course you can vote anyway you want."

I love the disparity. This is just a paying gig for this man. I support this man's right to spark up a roach while gathering people to vote for eMeg Whitman. Why not? The 1980's left me memories of marijuana, sitting in normal life situations, terrified for my life. I have known people that tried to convince me I did it wrong.... and I should give THC another chance. Of course this advisement comes from a select group of people who take vitamins, and wait to feel them take effect.

I have the voter registration in my bag. The satisfaction I feel is daily I see how I periodically forget about the difficulties I have. I still see the world through the eyes, my perspective, of years ago. I am also excited by the stories of other spinal cord patients. I listen to the prognosis of my doctor, and piece by piece, I gain through exercise abilities previously lost. The doctor believes I can regain nerve function over time. I look forward to proving him right.

In the meantime, I want to continue in my exercises to maximize my effectiveness today.

Thank you for reading.

Marshmallows and Impulse control

2010-07-13T19:43:00.000-07:00

One day, many years ago, I was sitting in a Starbucks, and I had a coffee with the reading I wanted to do. I saw a beautiful display of a book I wanted to buy a friend as a gift.The book was new, and an instant bestseller. This was ideal timing indeed.

Even as I looked at the display, I knew I would visit the local monster, corporate bookstore in a few days. My knowledge was greater still. I know that hardback bestsellers have a sizeable discount at that store. I knew in a couple days I would most likely be in a place where I could buy the exact same book at a five dollar saving.

I drank my coffee, and I stared peacefully at the book I just bought. I do not want this to be a celebration of impulsiveness I believe my goal is to transcend impulsiveness, and remember whatever it is my mother told me about deferred something or other. I can't remember everthing she says. Buying that book, there and then, felt good. I wanted to do it. That display was there for me. I felt it. I felt as if the stars were aligned. This was my harmonic convergence. Buying that book at that moment felt wonderful.

It feels better than my past choices to use an ATM card at the nearest bank , ignoring the up to five dollars in tolls, when -for th price of a pack of gum- I could stand in line at a grocery store, and claim the same amount of cash back at no penalty. Earlier in my life, impulse control was a much greater problem for me than it is today.

So, now I am thinking about Walter Mischel, a psychologist who while working at Stanford University in the 1960's told children in a controlled study that he will give them a marshmallow. The child was informed that if they do not eat the marshmallow before he returns, the child will get another marshmallow.

Mischel, apparently not an impulsive man, proceeded to follow the children's development over the next fifteen years of their lives. The children that waited the twenty minutes without eating the marshmallow were students who in later life were well adjusted, performed better in school, and scored higher on SAT tests.

I never cared much for marshmallows, but even then I would probably have fallen in the impulsive group. Still, I ask myself what could I accomplish in life if I continue to practice reasonable restraint. So far I am just getting more grateful, and more peaceful each day. I remember a man telling me , "Keith, if you absolutely need to buy something today, wait."

SCI*: San Jose

2010-07-04T22:09:00.000-07:00

*SCI: spinal cord injury

Note: the picture to my right is not my neck, but does show hardware similar to what the doctors gave me...

Since I left the hospital on June 22, I became humbled by the events that followed. I remember the anxiety I felt in the week before I was discharged from the spinal cord rehabilitation unit. For four weeks I enjoyed the finest cuisine, daily therapy, gym sessions, counseling, classes, and stretching. All my care staff was kind and courteous. From my day of spinal decompression May 24, 2010, until I left, my days were all about preparing to go home.

My daily therapies regularly addressed functions I lost as a result of my surgery. Prior to the cutting day, I was still able to stand up to move my bottom from one seating surface to another. Now, I cannot stand up of my own power. Skills therapists tried to teach me in months' past are now a focal point in me regaining my independence. I never wanted to learn how to use a slide-board. This is a slick board placedunder my thigh to help bridge my move from one chair to another.

Also, I am taught by doctors (more convincingly than by my mother) the danger of sitting on my ass all the time. Of course, my mother was always concerned with my inaction. Doctors are now sharing how important it is to move my body to avoid pressure sores. Silly point is I no longer roll my body when sleeping anymore. Shifting my body from time to time is now imperative.

Yes, it is true I have to find my own motivation. But, with good information, I am learning how staying proactive will get me to achieve my goals. I am the one who has to continue to exercise, seek outpatient occupational therapy, and physical therapy. Piece by piece, and day by day, I can continue to progress towards safe transfers, standing, and eventually walking again.

So now I share a house with several men who all have mobility issues. We share care givers who help us with such things as getting out of bed, dressing, and bathing. Now the pressure is on, but I am grateful for all the help I have received along the way. From th social worrkers, to the therapists, the doctors, and the nurse that brought me to this point. The doctors will not promise me anything. I work fome my hope, and the hopes I borrow from others. I am learning from quadriplegic people the miracles that continue to occur in their nervous systems. I can only believe that great recoveries lie ahead for me.

My family has worked hard to help me the entire way. They helped me make phone calls, arrange appointments, collect my mail and set up my room at my new residence. One day at a time, I am adjusting. This is an exciting journey, and it would be terrifying if not for all the people working to help me succeed.

Thank you for reading..

Preparing to go Home

2010-06-15T21:26:00.000-07:00

By the time I return to my home June 22 this month, I will have been gone almost a month. Strange to say, with all I was told before this surgery May 24, I was not prepared emotionally for the effects of the procedure.

The surgery is considered a spinal decompression. My spine between cervical vertebra four and six had become compressed to where its diameter is just a small portion of what it was. It never occurred to me that my symptoms were so precise that a neurologist could successfully determine the points of distress even without looking at an MRI.

When I visited a neurologist last September he spent an enormous amount of time asking me questions, examining the function in my arms and legs, detailing my strengths and weaknesses. He also had a resident physician present who peered through my file, and took copious notes. They ordered blood tests and another MRI before rendering a diagnosis.

The quality of my care has been spectacular if it were not for all the waiting. Every referral means more waiting for appointments. The waiting between referrals was often two months or more. The last referral sent me to see a neurosurgeon who explained to me the nature of my situation. After over two months, and two rescheduled surgery dates, I was finally placed on a table, and cut open.

Despite all I had been told, I was not prepared for the immediate results. I was in a hospital room after one day's recovery. I noted that I could not lift my head from the pillow, and could not move my legs. The man who performed the surgery assured me I had no new symptoms, and was shocked that I did not feel ready to go home.

Today, June 15, I pulled myself into a sitting position unassisted for the first time since May23. I am staying hopeful. They are shooting botox injections in my legs to stop spasms so I can move about more safely. Maybe this will all be okay...

Note: when they were preparing to order me a wheelchair I was noting what
an ugly model they had for their products... Then I realized the pctures were of
me!

Just Say the Word, and I Shall be Healed

2010-05-23T02:08:00.000-07:00

Many years ago I worked as a salesman with my friend Alvin's business, and working with him, he shared with me that a deal is never closed until you are driving away from the bank having deposited the check inside. I can smile today, because that thinking has saved me head aches and heart aches in the years since. Of course, this is just like saying "Don't count your chickens before they hatch."

Today is Sunday morning in California, and sometime today, the operating room from Valley Medical Center will give me instructions to prepare me for surgery. Not posted in the blogosphere, though, is how this surgery has been scheduled twice already. I want to protect my spine. I somewhat resent references to my surgery as being an "elective procedure" like protecting my spine is the same as a tummy tuck face lift.

Anyway, my surgery is to replace a disc in my cervical spine with a space holder that will allow my compressed spine a chance to relax, possibly even allowing some of the previously affected body functions to become more functional again. I have a marvelous nervous system, and would love to regain some of the applications I have lost.

Over a month ago, I was scheduled for this surgery. I had done my blood test, I went to my pre-op appointment. I had met with my doctor, and he showed me all I needed to know about the problems I have, and the solutions he offers. I arrived for my surgery, got called in by the nurse, was wheeled into a room where I changed into a gown, and a catheter was placed in my arm. Drifting off to sleep, while waiting to go to surgery, a man tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "Your surgery has been canceled. We need to prepare you to go home."

My surgery was canceled once more, and this week, they have supposedly bumped up my surgery time to Monday. When will I know the surgery is happening? I suppose that I will be certain when the anesthesiologist says to me "Count back from one hundred." I do not know what to expect from this procedure. I do know I have waited a long time for it.

Many people have offered me their prayers , including an uncle who commented that these canceled surgery dates are adding to his prayer time. So, I have a wealth of friends, and many people offering up good wishes, thoughts, and prayers. I have prayed for willingness, acceptance, and freedom. I would feel selfish to tell God how this one day should end. Still, I remain excited, and anticipate only the best.

Thank you for reading

Prayers, Mysteries, and Hope

2010-05-19T01:41:00.000-07:00

I began my day with a prayer. Many years ago I read that upon awakening I should think about the day ahead, that I should consider my plans for the day, and with this reflection, I should pray. The prayer is that I should ask God to free me from self-pity, dishonest, or self-seeking motives. Of all the prayers I have been offered, I think this one is so very valuable. In the eighteen years since I was given this instruction, I have only now began to say with discipline the prayer.

Perhaps that is a point on which I might gather some piece of humility. I can awake, proud, content with the righteousness of my actions, and secure in the thought I am giving back as much as I am receiving. I learn a lot about myself when I am "too busy" to say the prayer. Maybe I have a vested interest in cultivating my self-pity, dishonesty, or self-seeking motives. That vested interest comes from my own overwhelming selfishness. By asking that these traits be removed, I become willing to see the promise in living more honestly, and less self absorbed.

Ironically, I think it is my selfishness and self-pity that I have not written in my blog for around six months. I have become disappointed in the progress of my physical problems, and was not maintaining my excitement for life. Maintaining excitement can be a choice, and trying to find excuses to write seemed pointless. So, today I am writing, and I hope to continue sharing honestly about my world

When I began this blog in its current form almost wo years ago, I quoted Ken Kesey's discussion on warriors. He wrote:

" The answer is never the answer. What’s really interesting is the mystery. If you seek the mystery instead of the answer, you’ll always be seeking. I’ve never seen anybody really find the answer—they think they have, so they stop thinking. But the job is to seek mystery, evoke mystery, plant a garden in which strange plants grow and mysteries bloom. The need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer."

So, today I am still in a wheelchair. I have a person that comes and helps me with my home concerns. I have seen a picture of my spine, and saw the point where my spine is constricted, limiting the function in my hands and legs. In less than two weeks, gifted neurologists will replace a disc in my neck, in hopes of taking pressure off my nerves. What can I expect?

The doctors cannot say. They will not say. No promises have been made, and thius time becomes even more exciting. I am content not knowing. Still, the idea, the hope that some 0f my nerve function may be restored, is very exciting!

So this is where we can cultivate our mystery. Today we can open doors, and leave them open. Let us wait, and see what comes through .

What Could You do with a Quarter Million Legos?

2009-12-01T16:08:00.001-08:00

legos

Beginning With the End in Mind?

2009-11-08T01:25:00.000-08:00

“From early childhood I had always dreamed of becoming an
explorer. Somehow I had acquired the impression that an
explorer was someone who lived in the jungle with natives
and lots of wild animals, and I couldn’t imagine anything better
than that! Unlike most little boys, most of whom changed
their minds about what they want to be several times as they
grew older, I never wavered from this ambition.”
-John Goddard

Years ago, I remember when a friend of mine talked to me about my personal vision. From the time he spoke to me until much time later, I never knew the idea he shared was from Stephan Covey. He said one idea that was very popular was to "start with the end in mind." I have reworked my own self image, my own personal dream, my own wavering self confidence, and still, I see how this principle has propelled me forward.

Back when I was in multi level marketing, one thing I remembered was that the head of the company talked about mountains. He talked about how the different people react to the climb. He spoke about how many people speak incessantly about the rocks, and about the problems on the path, while the rare group keep their eye on the goal.

Little is spoken about the problems of the second group. They have their eyes on the goal, and it is sure that they make many mistakes, and encounter many problems. They do not dwell on them. The message of this principle was driven home when I read the account of John Goddard. This man had at ba very early age, listed 127 goals.

We all have goals, but Goddard listed his goals to include livng with tribal people in Borneo to climbing the world's highest peaks, and exploring the world's greatest rivers. I m ay not be Goddard, but I do have an appreciation for the end assessment of his goal listing. Most of the sources I checked say he is still alive, and I read he has accomplished 111 of the original goals listed back in 1940.

What is the message in the game Rock, Paper, Scissors? Is it not a constant reminder that no matter how much we have mastered there is always someone who knows more? Is it not true, that no matter how weak we feel there is always someone weaker? My friends have told me for years never compare my insides with other people's outsides.

When I get frustrated, I remember that we are all somewhere in a continuum. I am still getting older, still learning, and still enjoying life. Some people are greatly influenced by the psychological community, want to encourage me, and praise me anytime I do something well.Sigh. I try to encourage myself. I try to find my strength from within. I do not need people clapping their hands for me every time I do something right. I am not listening for some south american sports announcer to yell out "Gooooaalll!" just so I can find the adrenaline to keep going.

Right now, I still want to run a marathon. I believe a doctor who supports the idea I may get better is the best doctor to have. I am pleased with the exercises my therapist gives me as I focus on mastery of my nervous system.

I remember my friends who said "Keith, slow and steady wins the race."
I think of my physical therapist who reminds me that mastery of an exercise is about a steady mind, and attention to details.

But, even as I move slowly, I remain focused on my ultimate goal.
Thank you for reading.

My Time at Lincoln High School...

2009-11-06T21:13:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, computers were a new paradigm in schools, in libraries, out in the world we knew. I recently bought a phone/address book from radio shack for fifteen dollars that boasted an enormous amount of memory compared to the Apple II+ to which I was introduced in 1981. It would be two years before my mother would buy me the Commodore Vic-20. My friend, Howard would get a Commodore 64, and groups with 1200/2400 BAUD modems would be assembling bulletin board services.

Times were fun for people now able to establish relationships with BBS's, and the pre Internet world of online chat was born. But, with this infantile world of information being digitized and sent over phone lines, one man found a computerized machine, and he found an important application for it. With a trunk line installed in his home, and a box attached to his phone with a companion box attached to another phone line in the office of his client.

He says his first client was Abraham Lincoln High School in San Jose, California. They purchased from him a specialized computer that nightly would compile a list of students names and phone numbers. The computer then would call the homes of students, one by one, informing the person answering the phone that their student had missed one or more classes that day, and that the absence needed to be cleared.

He seems like such a nice guy. He spoke to me about all the ADA money that a school loses for every unexcused absence. This business of absences leads us back to the ultimate issue which is money. Every student absence lost the school fifteen dollars in government funding. Considering how many students stay home sick every month, that can add up to a large amount of money, even today.

Still, I am thinking about production loss. I am thinking about how many productive hours are lost across the board by these students that could have been studying, practicing sports, working on a play script, or enjoying quality time with family. Instead, many of these students were put in the position of hovering near the telephone, waiting to intercept that unnecessary phone call.

Anyway, the discussion also involved the technology, this little black box in the attendance office was programmed daily with all the numbers to call. By modem, this information found its way to this man's house, and all the calls were made. It is silly to recall there were times that even mild-mannered, conformist me had opportunity to anticipate such a phone call. I even remember when my mother chose to ignore my lame excuse about the fallibility of computers when she did catch the phone before me.

I am grateful to have not cut class too much in my high school years. I just wonder how many times I could say "it is probably a computer glitch" and not sit in despair over my parents' disapproval. Since I mentioned this, I have heard from many fellow students who relayed their own memories of those calls. I have to ask myself how much anxiety could have been avoided if students just did not cut class.

Well, that is a ridiculous thought!
Thank you for reading.

Halloween Night, 2009

2009-11-01T00:51:00.000-07:00

I am not a party pooper. I think Halloween can be a fun, exciting holiday. It would be fun to attend a costume party, and I can see the fun of passing out candy from a porchstep. I just do not get excvited enough to do anything about it. I remember being a kid, and having the job to pass out candy at the door. One years my sister and I set up the front porch so it looked like my head was sitting on a platter, and I remained there a couple hours while the children roamed door to door calling out "Trick or Treat".

Every year I remember I have an entire year to come up with a costume for the following year. Somewhere in my mind, I know it could be fun. Then The week of October 31 arrives, and I never get around to creating a costume.... Now I live in an enclosed complex with locked front doors.... No kids to Trick or Treat herer. Oh well.

Halloween really is a holiday for the kids. I am not a parent, and I am definitely not a kid. Still, aside of passing out candy at my parent's house, I have not been involved in Halloween since the 1980's. On Facebook, I see pages of my friends from high school dressed up in costumes; most of them are parents, however.

The goal would be to come up with a vision, a dream so fresh that people would stand in awe at my preplanned spontaneity. Well, that is my vision for next year. Meanwhile, I sit at home, grateful I do not have a bag of candy that I should avoid.

So, what joy do I get out of Halloween this year? I showed up a week ago Thursday to Sacred Heart Community Service. They told me that instead of putting clothes on hangers, they wanted me to man the Halloween room. I was disturbed. My routine was being violated this day. I went to the room, and was told I would be the door man.

Clients would walk in the room, and hand me a voucher. The voucher would claim the number of adults and children for which they wanted costumes. People combed the room. I watched the way parents filed in and examined everything, piece by piece, finding costumes for their children. We had bags for kids to collect candy, hair gels, hair spray colors, costumes, fake teeth, fake blood, make ups, wigs, tiaras, swords, and eye patches.

The thing I appreciate, only after watching it, is the details, the cares of the parents. People came to me asking if they could get one extra item to complete a costume.

The room stayed open no more than two hours. By then we had serviced many parents. I had handled a large number of vouchers, and the room had been reworked by other volunteers a few times. There was just no more costumes left. I suppose we did alright. I crawled back int my corner, and went back to examining clothes donations. This was a good day.

Thank you for reading.

What are my Habits

2009-10-26T01:32:00.000-07:00

One of the more enchanting people in my life works as a teacher. She teaches young people, helping them improve their English speaking skills, and has also run many classes where she teaches them basic cooking skills. I always figure, I can do that! The truth is I can. Sigh. I have had troubles from time to time finishing projects. I will discuss more on that some other day.

I am tickled to recall a day when I stood in line at Barnes and Noble bookstore where I filed past all the tables of discounted books. I passed a book on procrastination. The title was Overcoming Procrastination. The book was very exciting with ideas filling my head. I had my purchases in one hand, and this book in the other. I was waiting in line, knowing this book was placed on that table just for me, certain it was there just for my perusal, on that one day. I put it down, my eyes tearing up with hope for change in my heart, and knew I will come back someday to buy that book.

Anyway, my girlfriend teaches, and I listen often to the day to day experiences of this world of teaching. I do not hear about the fights, the noise, the chaos of managing children under the age of ten. One thing I hear about is this thing called a lesson plan. What is a lesson plan? My memories of elementary school involved some time with eating snacks, weekly fluoride treatments, nap time, snack time, recess, and storybook time. I remember walking home with papers of mysterious content pinned to the back of my shirt.

One thing that escapes me is that amidst all the things I remember from my childhood, teachers were constantly following programs of teaching me important skills on a somewhat fixed schedule. Why would I have ever thought that these fine teachers everyday took time out of their day to reflect on what they were going to teach me the following day. I remember how many skill sets, and how many expectations are placed on each child in order for a teacher to recommend that child proceeds to the next grade.

Well, she works at a private school that loves Stephen Covey, and encourages their staff to demonstrate the Seven Habits of Highly Effective People in their planning process, even asking them to model the Seven Habits in written communications (like lesson plans). I am still reeling over the concept of planning what I do before I do it. What expectations would I create in others should I set this precedent in my life? I have been told that what anyone thinks of me is none of my business. Perhaps, then, I can explore these ideas further. Disregarding other people's expectations may be very practical in a time like this.

I have read Covey's book. His is a book about action. Just as I said before "bring the body, and the mind will follow" I will possibly gain more from the indicated actions in these Seven Habits. I will not write more about these habits, unless I am actively applying them in my life. Funny how useless learning a habit seems, unless I engage in the indicated actions discussed in the book.

I will explore some more on Covey the next time I write...

Thank you for reading.

Two Bags of Steer

2009-10-08T00:04:00.000-07:00

Along time ago, a flock of birds traveled south for the winter. One of the weakest birds fell behind. Flying through a low pressure system, feeling the challenge of cyclonic winds, the bird learned his weakness to be possibly fatal. He fell behind, and was forced to crash land in a field. Having never lived long enough to face this experience before, he lay dazed, lost in reflection, preyed upon by waves of self-doubt and indecision.

The weather system had passed, and he basked in the warm sun, until a cow -unaware of him completely- proceeded to have a bowel evacuation atop the small bird. He knew this was to be the end of him. He was denied sunlight. He was lost, unable to breathe, and was certain death was imminent. But his drive to live prevailed. Aiming upward, he struggled, wriggled, and pecked ntil he forced his head out to suck in his first gasp of breath in several moments.

Still encased in cow's dung, he could hardly contain his joy at his seeming salvation. He started chirping, and chirping, and chirping. Along came a cat who heard, and spied the stranded bird, dug him out, and ate him.

Moral:

Not everyone who shits on you is an enemy.
Not everyone who digs you out of the shit is a friend.
Sometimes, when stuck in a pile of shit, you should keep your mouth shut.

A member of the United States Air Force shared that inspired story with me in 1993, and I have remembered it ever since. But, at the peak of my maturity (age 22) I would have no idea that bthe story was not just cute or funny. I now know that remembering that moral can save me much headache. In 1993, I lived with my family, I had no true responsibility, and I was oblivious to any possible needs I had, because everything I needed was provided for.

Now the question arrises as to who is my friend, and who isn't. Or, looking at the story, perhaps the question is actually what actions are helping me, and which are hurting me. Reading the moral of the story, I am assured that people's motives, good and bad, are becoming less and less significant. After a time, I found that listening to people's explanations of their actions - at times insulting, hurtful, misleading or debilitating- did nothing to change a situation.

Perhaps what I am saying is in the end, I have to view an action solely on the merits of what it accomplishes. So much time gets lost listening to people explaining why they chose to lie to me, chose to steal from me, choose to mischaracterize me to others, and I am sure that the explanations that offered the best of intentions for me or for someone else. Try listening to someone elucidating why they tried to screw you over... One man actually stuttered while talking to me: "I never me...me...meant any harm." Perhaps the stutter was not an affectation, and I am insensitive for the disgust I had that day. There is a chance for forgiveness, but I cannot walk around pretending everyone acts with the best of intentions. Human beings just are not like that.

But, if the discerning reader presupposes I have a dung pile of my own, that that is the cause of this little post, they also know the third part of the moral. I have much to gain in keeping my private issues private. I once read from a man who said "nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Maybe I am wrong for expressing public grumpiness, with hints of cynicism. Still, I am smart enough not to throw stones in public. Even simple-minded folk like me can learn from the past.

The hope for forgiveness comes in no longer caring about people's intentions. If someone behaves carelessly I can look for a pattern. If that person cannot stop behaving in a careless fashion, I will simply move away from them. Maybe I did learn something useful from those Al-Anon meetings.

Thank you for reading

This is my home

2009-10-01T19:40:00.001-07:00

After one person viewed this video, I was asked to take my batik hat away from the stove. Amazing the details people notice in this short 90 second view of my little place.

The filming was made possible with my Olympus digital camera, and my electric wheelchair on a slow setting. If I filmed this on foot, I am sure the video would have been more action packed.

(The music selection is the Talking Heads singing Naive Melody(Home, This Must Be The Place))

Doctors: You May be Wrong For all I know, But You May Be Right.

2009-09-30T23:46:00.000-07:00

Today I got to see some old friends again. I had not visited Sacred Heart Community Service. I had not visited them in close to two years. I had not had a chance to help out since the day I left San Jose in 2005. For this day, I knew there was a chance I would be working out in the pantry. I knew that I might be working with food. I knew to visit SHCS I would need to wear regular, close-toed shoes.

My mother bought me some fine shoes in the weeks preceding my trip to the island of Jawa. A pair of Brown Skechers, these shoes look simple, clean, and very stylish. Besides, they are the only close toed shoes I own, and I was actually excited to pull them off the shelf. My memory is not spectacular, but I stand assured I wore those shoes at least once, but no more than three times. Froom the day I prepared to board Cathay Pacific's flight to Hong Kong, I put on a pair of quality sandals, and they remained my footwear of choice until today.

I will say this was a casual decision until I actually attempted to put on the shoes. I pulled the skechers off the shelf, and put on some white socks. I have been in a wheelchair since June, and did not realize the challenges my legs are giving me. I loosened the shoe laces, and (after pulling my left leg onto my right thigh), noted that I di'd not have the strength to force my foot into the shoe. After less than ten minutes of wrestling with myself (think Edward Norton in Fight Club), I wiped the blood from my nose (just kidding) and succeeded in getting both shoes on my feet. I proceeded to bus off to SHCS.

I showed up at the back dock. My friends, Andy and Maureen, had given me a Pronto electric wheelchair.Wheeling to the back dock, I spoke to the supervisors, and they directed me to the clothing closet. Behind rolling petitions, SHCS keeps enormous bins refilled constantly with clothing. My supervisor, a woman named Angela, instructed me to sort the clothing, and place them on hangers.

The enormous bins are filled with donated, un-folded, and unsorted clothing. Actually, some of the clothing is folded. Some of the clothing is actually washed, and some of it is brand new. Some of the clothes are dirty, unfolded, and torn. My instructions are to sort the clothing, and select which clothes that seem to be of greatest quality. I am not to put out clothing that I would never purchase for myself or family . Ignoring the desire of some to have clothes with stains, rips, or tears, we have a standard that such clothes are automatically recycled. Everything from old socks to pristine dress suits make way through the clothes closet.

Standing in line, people are given a time limit to find and select what clothes they want to take for themselves. Once I realized how much quality clothing finds new homes through this service, I developed a deep appreciation for the work. Looking at the bins of outdated, mismatched, and unwanted clothing, I sometimes lose sight of what an enormous amount of clothing gets moved into grateful hands on a daily basis because of this organization.

As an aside: this past week I visited for the first time a neurologist here in San Jose to address the problems I have been having. I have a dragging foot, a loss of balance. I am losing sensation in my hands, leaving myself able to type with only my two index fingers. I am now spending the bulk of my waking hours in a wheelchair, with a walker to help me around my new apartment.

My new doctor has reviewed my file, interviewed me for over an hour with a Stanford trained doctor reviewing my chart,and the two of them told me the same thing. Despite my previous diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, they do not believe my test results, nor my history support conclusively that diagnosis. The possibilities I was told included the hinted suggestion my problems may be reversible. We are awaiting more tests, but I am staying hopeful.

I already have family members worried that I am investing too much in the possibility of even a partial recovery. Even I have to admit that my condition could even be worse than I thought. I smile, because I remain far more productive when I invest in hope. Never once did I see a bumper sticker that read : "Got despair?"

Thank you for reading.

2009-09-24T18:18:00.001-07:00

A long time ago, someone presented me with the concept of a mantra. I realize that many learned people can take the word 'mantra' back to its etymology, or at least find some expert to share an authoritative understanding on what a mantra is. From some traditions the mantra involves using a sound that helps someone focus their body's energy. I was also told that a mantra can help to keep the head clear while sitting, while breathing.

The first mantra many people hear of or learn about is the word "Om." This is a Sanskrit word, and was described to me as be "the primordial sound of the Universe" which sounds mystical enough for me. I see many people walking around with these symbols on their necklaces. I asked a woman, and she told me that it is the symbol for the Sanskrit word "Om". I smiled at her politely, and told her that "Om is where the 'eart is." I am not much of a mystic. I believe my few experiences with meditation proved that -absent any mystical pretexts- it is a very practical endeavour.

When meditation was studied, many aspects were reviewed. Blood pressure was lowered. Chance for stroke was lowered, and heart attack risk dropped. Of course, I have a friend who used to b a boxer. He apparently had issues controlling his temper in the past. He joined a program that got him on a machine to measure his stress levels, and played soothing tones when optimal levels of calm was achieved. Apparently using a basic behaviour modification model, he accomplished levels of calm and peace that others seek out in meditation classes with incense, discussions about energies, and chakras.

Indeed, researchers in biofeedback labs no little if anything about chakras, about extending your energy to flow from the Universe, and filter into the ground. They rarely would suggest the act of burning incense hoping to add to the biofeedback experience. With stated goals and projected results, biofeedback seemed to want to minimize the distractions that these mystical models provided. If I burn incense, perhaps I like the smell. If I put a mandala on my wall, maybe mandalas look nice. If I utilize a mantra, possibly I find focusing -on a sound, word, or sentence- I can stay on track in a meditation. Perhaps the mantra itself provides meaning for me.

Avoiding the primordial sound of the Universe, I came up with my own mantra. Without trying to ascribe any metaphysical significance, I felt inspired by a phrase from the Bible. The mantra I picked -and I used this one about two years ago- was the sentence "The truth shall set you free."
I needed a focusing mantra. I have no chakras to align, no auras to fix. My third eye is best left shut. So, I avoid the lure of Latin. "Veritas Liberabit Vos" sounds very beautiful, and certainly carries the same message as the English sentence. For my purpose, I need my mantra in English. This phrase I would say on every out-breath.
I find this mantra truly focuses me. In time, my perspective on what I believe starts to change. Just like my friend in his biofeedback clinic, I find my calm, and achieve new levels of efficiency. I live well,communicate better, and live to greater purpose.

Many of the books I read in the 1980's suggested that meditating to achieve those things would only sells the act of meditation short. I do not know that. But I do know many folk say to me "bring the body, and the mind will follow." I come to trust the experiences of others as guides. I learn from taking the actions I am shown. I have accomplished little by trying to change my motivations. If meditation has greater rewards, then I will find out by doing it, not by shaming myself for my failed enlightenment.

I thank you for reading.

Scattered Thoughts on Bumper Stickers

2009-09-16T13:22:00.000-07:00

I am listening to Jethro Tull playing "It Was a New Day Yesterday, But it's an Old Day Now." I feel poorly qualified to share anything meaningful about the transitory nature of time. I have spent the last seventeen years listening to people saying things like, "If you have one foot in today, and one foot in tomorrow, you are pissing all over today." What does that mean? I know of other people who say things like ,"Today is a gift, that is why we call it the present." That sounds quaint enough, but still has certain limitations.

I feel sure that there exists truth in both of those thoughts. But just as I know of no law that really states "pedestrians always have the right of way", I know no prevailing wisdom in disregarding the past, or suggesting no chance of a future. Having been both a driver and a pedestrian, I took comfort in my experiences overseas where it became clear that cars, not pedestrians, always have the right of way. Drivers regularly, dispassionately honk horns at pedestrians to remind them to get out of the way. So, when I hear these pithy little sayings, I still smile at the frequent usefulness of such sayings.

I wonder how many asshole pedestrians have gotten killed in traffic, believing this nonexistent right of way would magically engage the braking systems of oncoming vehicles. I ought to ask a police officer if she or he believes pedestrians "always have the right of way." I just like to be careful not to let my life run on quaint generalizations.

But, when I live my life, I hope to know when to keep my reflections to myself. I get tired of people trying to control my thoughts or my words by telling me one of their canned wisdoms. Now, I can think all I want about the past, and I can plan as much as I want about the future. Do we have a message, a caution, in this time preoccupation? Without the guarantee of tomorrow, anytime spent in planning- keeping a calendar, perhaps- becomes useless? Maybe equally silly to reflect on our joys, sadness, successes and failures from the past? Surely we have nothing to gain in that.

I only mention these thoughts, because the people sharing them, often seem intent on changing people's lives with these cutting-edge wisdoms. Do I seem recalcitrant? Does my resistance, my irritation seem unreasonable? I throw these ideas out to the world.... I have bumper sticker wisdoms of my own, I am sure. I continue to smile and placate opinionated busy-bodies, and then I write about them.

You may sense sarcasm in my examples. I think bumper sticker philosophies can work. I still like to keep friends around me who have a collection of life experiences that help iron out, and transcend bumper stickers when I make life decisions for myself. I enjoy having such friends in my life. With such people, I can see the success they have in their life, I can hear how they achieved their success, and I find most of them share about the things they do without needing to advise.

Years ago, I attended a meeting of a group called Al-Anon. Al-Anon groups gather together and works the twelve step program to help themselves learn how to live with alcoholics in their lives. One thing I remember vividly from those groups was every meeting they ended with a fixed statement including the phrase, "Let there be no advice, gossip, or criticism ..." Can human beings grow and develop without those things? Maybe a person can even grow better in the absence of "advice, gossip (and) criticism"? What do I have to gain by learning to leave people alone if they fail to live a standard I hold true for myself?

Of course, maybe I am just being silly.

Thank you for reading.

Oleum Infirmorum

2009-09-05T13:53:00.000-07:00

I have many friends, people who, for whatever reason, have shown more interest in my well-being than they are in trying to change me. My distractibility is high as I write, and I feel like I have to work so hard to adjust my external world to capture my internal peace. Back when I was in high school, I learned how to practice meditation, and only now do I realize what it takes to get that back.

In meditation, I remember being able to overcome my general anxiety to sit for select periods of time. I was not an adept. I did not have some guide. I am saying I sat for ten minutes, fifteen minutes. I learned how to breathe. As I pass through the different changes in my life I realize what I had forgotten. I realize what I lost. I now know what I work to regain.

I do not practice as a Buddhist. I never formally studied Zen. All I know is when I was younger, I needed guidance.I read many books. I needed a reed to grab to keep from drowning emotionally. I was struggling with myself, and one tool i was given was meditation. Many refer to it as "the art of sitting." I ask now why I sit, and I believe that the act of starting to sit is more important than understanding why I do it. I am not a Buddhist indeed. Still, the art of sitting is a useful one. Everyday I remember some piece of something I discussed, something about which I wrote in this blog; I know I was trying to build a bridge to something, to somewhere.

So, the path I started twenty three years ago got distracted. I discovered beer worked faster than meditation. I found my girlfriend was able to bring me to a peaceful place faster than meditation. It really seems- or at least it seemed- that meditation was tedious, and unnecessary. This act of sitting alone, checking my posture, watching my breathing, and -to the degree I understand- clearing my mind, I felt it (the meditation) was all too much work. Sitting still seemed very difficult. With less things in my life about which I needed to worry, I find myself more distracted by this sense of lost time than in times past.

Back then, my thinking was clearer. My heart stayed peaceful. My eyes stayed focused on the horizon of possibility, while I worked to stay grounded in the present. So, today, I am home with my family and friends. I laugh, because as my diet has improved, and my health has gotten better, I find myself less focused than ever before.

Sitting works. Now I am finding that with my challenged nervous system, getting back my patience is a must. Learning to breathe purposefully becomes a great asset. I also find I am learning how to stretch my body, and stretch my mind. I am learning that yoga can improve my functioning in day-to-day activities. I find that my limitations are minimized , and I am freed to maximize what is left. If I am forced to sit, I can at least sit purposefully.

So, today I woke up in time to meet my friend for Mass. Today is Saturday, and his parish offers a special Mass to anoint the sick. Today I joined him. The service was short, and simple. We celebrated the Word, and listened to the priest's homily. After that we all lined up for the anointing. Scented oil was placed on my palms and forehead. I was blessed, and I celebrated as the Eucharist was shared.

Now that I am home, I can capture that part of myself that was drifting. Learning to live a slower life is challenging. I am used to doing things, going places on a moment's notice. Today I am blessed that I can see this world from a new perspective.

Thank you for reading.

Day to Relax at the Library

2009-08-14T15:34:00.000-07:00

I have years of experiences support groups, and help oriented therapies. I have worked with counselors, and now -almost three decades later- I am pleased to say I do not feel more screwed up than when I began. I like to say that I have spent much time in the past twenty years with people that were more interested in my becoming functional than they were in salvaging my delicate feelings. Yesterday I met with a group at the national MS Society. It was a ninety minute meeting, essentially social, but with much good information

I have a host of friends that have a genuine interest in my health and well-being. So, after three years in Redding, my sister invited me to live in San Jose, California. In three years, I developed enough health problems to not ignore them. I continued writing this blog in December 2007 that I could whine about my then failed inter-continental romance. My chronicle of my developing health concerns did, however, make it possible to use my blog to find personal information- dates and locations of services- I needed to fill out medical forms.

Back when I started getting willing to find help, I was working in a job, and many of my coworkers were interrogating me about the difficulties I was having walking. Two coworkers cornered me at Orchard Nutrition to tell me I needed to see a doctor. I regret now saying that what I have is obviously neuro-muscular, and doctors could spend forever trying to find the problem. I did eventually find my way to the HOPE van, and the doctors there sent me to a neurosurgeon.

I went back to the HOPE van, and this time, with my MediCal, was sent to a neurologist. This man ordered a few tests. He ran me through a MRI, and pulled some fluid out of my back. Shortly thereafter, he diagnosed me with multiple sclerosis. Of course, I started asking questions over twenty-two months ago, and started seeing doctors about this problem which included my falling down periodically, and my challenge to stand up when on the floor. I was also getting numbness in two fingers on my left hand.

I suppose this is a lesson in patience. I was blogging two years ago with scarcely a limp. My family started sending me to a chiropractor, and his work did little to make me better. My mother on a later visit told me she thought my walking was getting worse. In the end all they needed was to see my MRI. My doctor told me my spinal fluid indicated there was inflammation in my spine. Later, after my MRI came back, he came to me with the diagnosis. I heard it over the phone on June 10, three days prior to my trip.

The main thing I cultivate is patience. I have friends encouraging me to examine the diet of a woman (an MD...) who claims that based on diet alone was able to cure her own multiple sclerosis. I suppose can lend more credence to that than to the chiropractor whose treatments made me feel better, but did little to improve my functioning. I am just reading about her right now.

I am also checking out the memoir of the great actor David Lander whose story about his experiences with this condition is detailed, compelling, and informative. I have little to say beyond that for now. I added a disorganized picture show on the blog. It will become better as I learn to organize my online pictures better.

Thank you for reading.

2009-07-21T16:23:00.000-07:00

I moved! (the picture may be deceptive.... not taken in San jose.)

I am now living in San Jose, California. This is a move friends and family have been encouraging since I left three years ago. I roder a bicycle to the northern part of California, and encountering the first hills of my journey, lost hope trying to tow a sixty pound trailer up eight percent grades showed me how well I overestimated my tenacity and strength. It also showed me I knew nothing about planning for such a trip.

Weeks before arriving in Redding I passed through the twin cities of Marysville and Linda. There I met the ownerof a local KFC and his daughter who asked me about my bike ride. She said ass I lefrt the store that I was walking with a limp. I told her that it com,es and goes. I assured her it was from riding my bike a lot.
Perhaps as part of my sins, I can add scaring a young person away from bicycling...

So, perhaps that was evidence of the diagnosis I received just two months ago. After visiting a chiropractor, almost getting fired from my job twice, receiving notices from people through my blog, leg tremors, falls, and loss of function in my arms and legs, I finally brought all this full circle. I contacted the social workers, made the appointments, and got the tests which brought me to one phone call over a month ago, telling me I have multiple sclerosis. Shit happens.

Still, now I am bacfk in a valley where the help I need is available in abundance, where services are available to assure my independence, and I can see my family and friends more freely.

Yesterday I went to see a cousin that works as a physical therapist. She did assure me that while I am using a walker and a wheelchair now for mobility, I should be able to walk more freely with the right braces and supports. So, let the healing begin!

Thank you for reading!

The Angklung, traditional instrument of West Java

2009-07-15T13:34:00.001-07:00

The angklung was a delight. I foun many clips of the instrument, but I selected this one, because it is short. The instrument is made of wood, and eight are required for a composition. Each one is designed to deliver one note.

While I was on Java, we visited a presentation of the angklung. It was in Bandung, and people were all given an instrument to play. Each one was marked one through eight, and the lady instructing us started by calling out numbers. She then switched to hand signals, and soon we as a group were playing music under her guidance.

They day was fun and instructive. I am grateful I showed up...

Thank you for reading

A Hole in the Ground, Bandung

2009-07-09T01:21:00.000-07:00

From Jakarta I was able to jump on a train to Jogjakarta, and I was there for over a week. I would say that if I was going to come back here to Java, I would probably want to spend the bulk of my time in Jogjakarta. The city is the original capital for the Republic of Indonesia, and I was able to get to so many places so easily without having to taksi (taxi) all over the place. Jogjakarta had friendlypeople, and much quieter energy.

I spent much time recently talking to my family. It is important that I remember stress has aggravated many of my nhealth problems, and I am taking these moments to relax, and enjoy my days here, back in Jakarta. I have visited museums, markets, department stores, and many dining establishments. I am in Jakarta, seeing my girlfriend more often, and sifting through pages of digital photographs.

I had a few days in a city called Bandung. Bandung, one Malaysian woman told me, was a place of great outlet shopping. Shopping outlets is not a big interestof mine. I did enjoy seeing the historical sites of Bandung. I also enjoyed the visits to two geographic sites, gorgeous craters that many people worked together to get me there.

Traveling by wheelchair often, I found nthe willingness of one man, Samuel, to navigate my chair down manywindy, rocky paths, and turning the chair backwards could get me to my destination .
I assured him I am a lot heavier than his grandmother, and he told me that this was all about technique, not strength. I am grateful for the trips to these sites, but should you ever visit Bandung yourself, know that it is a wildly spread out lkandscape.

Travel in Bandung took hours, and my traveling partners fell asleep in the car. I had no book, and I got very bored waitin g to see the next attraction. Still, if you like the smell of sulfur, the craters are the place for you. Check them out. July 8 is my birthday, and I am looking forward to relaxing. Election day is upon us, and Indonesia shuts down on election days. I will turn 39 quietly, I suppose.

Sop Kambing dan nasi(Goat soup with Rice))

2009-06-28T21:48:00.000-07:00

(reporting from Indraloka Resto and Bayonet Internet Cafe)

Since I have been here in Indonesia, I have gotten used to many things. Ironiocally, I have a friend from nearby Malaysia who is visiting the United States. She told me that she actually misses the humidity. As an American, I am very used to listening to friends telling me that the one thing they cannot handle in tropical climates is the humidity.

I am used to new diets. Despite my previous comments, I am actually enjoying some better health here. I am eating less, and not eating my old fast food diet from California. With the diagnosis of MS, I have become more accepting of these changes in my body. The heat and humidity here are harder on me than in times past. I am grateful, however, I have rooms with air conditioning, and still believe copious perspiration to be cleansing.( but here in Jogja there is a per item charge on laundry, so my sweating does have a dollar amount attached).

I remember in months past, I joked about eating burgers as a way to improve the myelin production in my body. Ironic, or perhaps intuitive that I should discover that myelin is the chief culprit in my challenged nervous system. My family has joined me in this process of discovery, as we hope to minimize the problems I will experience.

Today was a wonderful day here in Jogjakarta. I went shopping in local markets, looking at all kinds of crafts, and cloths. The process of batik is wonderful. These cloths are painstakingly drawn, painted on with colored waxes, followed by more wax detail, and then plunged in a chemical dye bath to finish the coloring. After drying, the fabric is then dipped in boiling water(gasoline is used for silk batik) to remove the waxes.

The market trip was exhausting. Getting in and out of my chair, I feel blessed I am not bound to it. Still, all the market is filled with people, and thin aisles forced m,e on my feet to get some exercise. The whole process of touring the market was exciting, though stressful. So after the market was lunch in a restaurant where we sat on mats on the floor, and ate rice, chicken and jackfruit off plates with our hands. Ricka ate a chicken's head, an d then ordered another one because she was still hungry. Chickens head can only be appreciated b y soeone willing to suck, chew and scrape the bones, to get a full experience. If you are not willing to eat the eyeballs and brain, perhaps this is not the selection for you.

Following evening Mass at a Catholic hospital chapel (delivered in English), we traveled across the str5eet to a sidewalk diner where we sat on mats on the sidewalk and devoured bowls of sop kabing (goat soup) served with sambal (chili based condiment), cut limes, and bowls of rice. The food was exquiusite, and I went to the hotel wholly satisfied with the day.

Thank you for reading.

2009-06-28T21:16:00.000-07:00

I always wonder how suggestive my mind is. Upon arriving in Indonesia, I was told by Ricka that many travelers suffer from diarrhea. I never thought about this before, until I ended up in the restroom the past day. The angst I felt was minor, but I was already thinking of the implications:

Could this be the symptom of a greater problem?

What did I eat?

Will I end up at the doctors office again?

Indeed the implications are much scarier than the moment by moment reality. My vacation is not ruined. I even went on a city wide tour of Jogjakarta with a paid driver that loaded and unloaded my wheelchair everywhere I went. His name is Marmin. He does not speak any Engliush, but traveling with him he found many folk that were able to show me the sites, and explain to me Javanese culture, historical and religious significance of each place we traveled.

The first plaec we stopped I saw myself enveloped in trees, as we had climbed to great heights to find the viewing point of Mt. Merapi. Mt. Merapi is an active volcano, and draws many visitors. I bought one Tshirt, and one dvd. I enjoyed the view. Still, I watched several people climbing to a better viewing place while I saw enormous cloud cover, and no mountain.

The whole day I was focused on relaxing, seeing the sites, and waving off aggressive vendors. Upon purchasing a hat (USD 5) the lady looked into my money pouch as I opened it, and very confidently pointed to a set of bills, and said “It's the blue one!” I really appreciate her helpfulness in getting my money.

This was all done while my girlfriend stranded me to be in a remote village, and attend to family things. She then told me how concerned she was I was here in Jogja where there are so few English speakers. My experience having no problems getting what I need has done nothing to stop her worrying. Also, Jogjakarta is a small college town, and has a greater number of English speakers. This place is wonderful, and I also am pleased at its cooler weather, and the ready accessibility of malls, cafes , and restaurants.

In my trip today I saw batik fabric factory, Indonesian silver workers, the palace of an Indonesian sultan, and a building from 1758 where another sultzn had built with a huge pool to where he could watch, bathe, and house his many wives and concubines. Dining was delightful. I ate in one rumah makan (restaurant) where all my food was arranged on small plates at my table, and I selected and ate what I wanted.

In my time here, I still refuse to eat fish eyeballs and brains. I ate a chicken's brain, and thought it seemed gross. Chicken's hearts feel icky when I chew them, and I do not always enjoy my food as much when someone explains its origin. This is my report for now.

Thank you for reading.

2009-06-26T23:57:00.000-07:00

I am having a hard time finding reliable WiFi hot spots, and still own a flash card sufficient to store pictures and writing files. I will have to change my modus operandi. I can get online, but Hot Spots are unrelable at best. I would hate to pay for meals, and settle down with my computer to find I cannot access my mail...

I am still n Jogjakarta, and having a great time. I will reprt mre later

Waiting For MyToe to Heal...

2009-06-22T00:44:00.000-07:00

I am typing now from Pizza Hut, a central location where you can indulge in the finest in traditional Indonesian dining. I am not able to get online, as the router here in Pizza Hut is apparently connected to a challenged DSL line. So, I get a sterling connection to the router in Pizza Hut, but no connection to the Internet. I just finished an ice cream topped with whipped cream and peanuts. I delight in them as peanuts are practically becoming outlawed in the United States. Yes, we can buy them. Nowhere in Indonesia will you find peanuts referred to as “potential allergens.” Here they are content to call them peanuts, or the word in Indonesian that means 'peanuts.

Still, I am going to be off to Mass celebration where the service will be given in English, and I will be catching a cab in a few minutes to dress for that. I did have surgery on my toe the first couple days here, and my limitations walking became more exacerbated by my sore toe, which does feel much better thanks to a doctor who speaks English confidently, but incomprehensibly.

In the days to come, I will be traveling to a smaller province called Jogjakarta, about which I will have much to report. Asking for a second coffee is a challenge. Though I ought to relax, as my taxi will arrive soon.

(later on)

I arrived too late at the apartment to make it out to Mass. So, after reading the Mass readings, an engaging in appropriate solemnity, I went out in search of a good buy on a wheelchair. My sister pitched the idea to my girlfriend, Ricka, and she pitched the idea to me.

I love walking. I love the freedom it gives me. But, when all is said and done, walking Indonesian streets with bum legs is a killer. When I get tired my foot starts curling inward, and walking becomes impossible. Determined to enjoy my visit here, as well as my upcoming trips to Jogjakarta and Bandung, I am thrilled at having this new accessory.

This trip I was able to enjoy a meal at an outdoor diner, manned by several men with pushcarts that will all be gone by tomorrow morning. I had sate ayam (skewered barbecue chicken), nasi goreng gila (crazy Indonesian fried rice), dim sum, and a plate of very spicy fried tofu pieces,served cold in a sauce with big chunks of raw chili peppers. I am self-conscious, though, since leaving Redding weeks ago,my belly is noticeably bigger. At 24 Hour Fitness Center in San Jose I weighed in at 203 pounds. I am terrified to think what has shifted in the week since

I have to find a way to exercise while I am here, because I do not want to fill out all the extra space on this wheelchair. I now know how easy it is to lose my edge by moving away from the regular gym workouts, and my hours spent on the job. I am amazed, truly bothered by this. I will find a way, some way to burn some extra calories everyday. I will enjoy Jogjakarta more if I am working to stay in shape.

So, as I continue my tropical adventure, I reflect on my life history, following diet trends in America. I remember the Scarsdale Diet, the Grapefruit Diet (lousy if you are on many medications), the Atkin's Diet (and I know you Atkin's converts are still out there, the water diet, and many, many others. I can still watch the parade of spokespeople lined up for Jenny Craig, and the giant corporations built out from Weight Watchers, and Nutrisystem. I also have met many people that have lost weight participating in the 12-step group Overeaters Anonymous (which asks no money from participants).

I think about all these things as I remember this beautiful woman walking through Safeway years ago. I stopped her to comment on her shirt. She was working as a dietitian, and was wearing the message that changes my world today:

“It's the Calories, Stupid!”

Thank you for reading.

my first three days...

2009-06-18T23:59:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in a room, content in that I have my computer, a loaf of chocolate marbled sweet bread. I just finished taking a shower, sitting in a chair, with a plastic bag on my foot, scrubbing my leg with a loofah, and a bar of soap. I have moment to pause, and think how this evening is perfect, and I am thrilled to be where I am.

I had my girlfriend assist me by going to the nearby ACE Hardware on her motorcycle, and retrieve for me a transformer that makes it possible to plug in electrical devices designed to operate off 110 volt sockets, when the room I am in has nothing but 220 volt sockets. She also retrieved for me a surge protector that has sockets designed to accept either 220 or 110 volt electrical devices.

Until now, I have been unable to use my computer or recharge my camera battery. When I was with my sister three days ago, I did not think today was going to be how it is. My sister offered to take me to the airport, and now I am on the island of Java, sipping coffee in a beautiful room, back in my technology once again, enjoying my camera, and my computer. Three days ago my neurologist confirmed my MS diagnosis, and that did nothing to stop my travel.

So, after two full days here on Java, I have finally retrieved the gear I need to make my computer ready to use here. It is wild that with all this time I had to wait until now to get my techno gear intact. Of course,it is obvious that I was probably preoccupied with juice drunk by a straw from a cut coconut, endless beaches, and meals of rice and fish served wrapped in banana leaves.

While still in San Jose, my family in all their frivolity, bought me not one, but two walkers. They argued with me as to my need to take them (instead of my handy, high-utility cane), and then equipped one with two brand new Wilson tennis balls on the back posts. It is quite a leap for me to accept my health has come to this. But, before I left San Jose, my mother helped dress a wound where one of my toenails was ripped off, and I did not notice it.

So, now I will discuss why I was bathing with a bag on my foot. With the nerve problems I have experienced so far, I do accept that things can happen, like a toenail ripping off my foot with no pain. Still, that was cleaned up, and secured days ago. Yesterday, walking along with my girlfriend in Jakarta, I as aware of pain in my foot, and my big toe swelling up. I remember my mother talking to me foreboding of Indonesian doctors cutting off my foot in the event of a rampant infectiuon.

I decided to go to the doctor. So, my first full day on the road, and I am acutely aware of an ingrown toenail, and enormous pain from it. So, with little cash, and no insurance, I went to the hospital. The doctor confirmed my analysis, and told me he wanted to operate. Operate? No! I am thousands of miles away from home, and I asked him what such a procedure would cost. He looked at me, and told me it would be two million rupiah. Two million rupiah? (approximately two hundred United States dollars). In five minutes I was wheeled into a procedure room, and my foot was being swabbed down with iodine.

I did take issue with the doctor telling me that "some pain was acceptable. This was, of course after he pinched my big toe, and asked me if this was the right one. I let out a piercing yell, and he cheerily set about shooting my toe with Novocaine. The man raised an enormous chunk of toenail up, and showed me h fruits of his labour, and then quickly sewed my toe back together. All fear mongering aside, I am grateful no one needed to chop off my toe. I was given drugs, and sent happily on my way home.

So, my tropical vacation begins a bit rocky, but with all that is going on in my life, I am pleased that so far, this is not that bad. I love the smell of the humid, island air. I love the time I am spending here. I am very happy I have the Internet to share all this with you. More on my trip forthcoming.

Thank you for reading.

I am back home again...

2009-06-07T22:48:00.000-07:00

Sigh. I am back at home with my family in San Jose. I was on a train all night, and getting sleep was a lost cause.

I was grateful that the train was on time. Trying to get to San Jose is a challenge to my patience, bcause the train only passes through Redding once a day, and has to take a backseat to nearby freight trains that may be using the same tracks. For this reason, the Amtrack will regularly be late 30 minutes to three hours late for its 2: 20 AM schedule.

The train caught me off guard. I was coming out of the bathroo when I saw no one in the waiting area. I quickly gathered up my stuff, and hustled out to the train loading area where conductors were already calling off names for passengers with reservations. Hustling has become more challenging with my balancing issues. I gathered my bags, and hobbled out to the front door, where I was shown where to sit.

My seating reminded me why I like to travel with Vicks VapoRub. Vicks is indispensible when traveling with people who for religious or perhaps medical reasons do not bathe. A little Vicks goes a long way to making such situations more bearable. The man I was seated with was outrageously smelly.

He was confused, and was not sure where he wanted to depart. He leaned forward, and made deep sighs, and smacked his gums a lot I closed my eyes, and tried to sleep. After Sacramento, though, he departed, and a couple arrived with a walker. The husband had walking difficulties and mentioned MS. I was amazed at how many of his symptoms matched mine. Him and his wife shared much information withj me. I do not still know if my diagnosis is MS, but I do at least know what resources are available to me if that is the case.

I moved my seat after Sacramento, trying to get away from the stinky man's seat. I curled up, and was able to use my night shades to get a couple hour's sleep. I arrived back in San Jose, where I await my trip to see Jakarta, Indonesia. Pictures are forthcoming...

Thank you for reading!

One day at a Time

2009-05-29T16:31:00.000-07:00

My last roommate had an eclectic, but fleeting array of interests. He had books that covered a wild range of subjects. One book that I recall was a small book on finding invertebrate fossils. I told him the thing that consistently turned me against invertebrates was that they have no backbone. Spineless creatures all of them. Their only fossils, most of the time, come in the fossilized tunnels they created. Despite their seeming lack of substance, though, invertebrates do show how even they can leave a lasting mark on the world.

I do have a spine. I do have a backbone. There is nothing of jellyfish or worm in my day-to-day existence. I did get uncomfortable when the doctor told me he wanted me to get a spinal tap (lumbar puncture). This procedure would show different proteins in my cerebral spinal fluid that could serve as markers for multiple sclerosis. Apparently the fluid that cushions my brain and spine can carry markers for many problems in my central nervous system. I already discussed my old CT scans which revealed that my ventricles had closed up as slits in my head. I think maybe this fact may have implications for the problems I experienced yesterday.

As the day of my well anticipated lumbar puncture, I was assured that this is an apparently straight forward procedure. This is very true, except when it is not. I climbed on the table, and the doctor told me to curl up in a fetal position. I did as he told me. He started prepping my back. I felt as he lay covers across my back from the special, disposable lumbar puncture kit on the table. I could feel as he covered my back with Betadine.

The instructions were simple. I was told to curl up in a ball, so as to separate my vertebrae. I was then asked to tuck in my chin. The warning came before he started poking my back, loading it up with Novocaine. Then he started exploring. I felt the pressure as he poked, and poked my back again and again. It was clear that no spinal fluid came forth. Nothing whatsoever to indicate the health of my myelin sheath, the health of my nervous function as a whole.

The doctor gave up. He told the nurse that he needed to send me to people that could do what he could not do, divine spinal fluid. The people in question are the fine people in radiology with an exciting technology called fluoroscopy. With the fluoroscope, they were able to find with assurance the source of the fluid, and still the flow was slow. They tilted my table, until I was almost standing up, and still the flow was slow. It took minutes longer than the radiologist had predicted.

The spine is a low pressure system, and the one idea my mother suggested, is that possibly with my ventricles all shut up, the reserve of CSF was relatively small, and therefore making the downward pressure very small. This is only a theory, but after that I was sent to a room with a band aid on my back, and the orders to lie flat for two hours.

My doctor conducted electric nerve conduction tests, and sent me home. Still, after all that, walking was very difficult, and I went to bed to lie on a cold pack, and let my back rest. So, maybe there is an advantage to being an invertebrate. Grateful the tests are done, I await the news on what the results are.

Perhaps there are advantages to having no backbone.

I thank you for reading.

It is just a needle...

2009-05-27T16:53:00.001-07:00

I called Northern California Catholic Social Services, and was assisted by someone who I met back when I was in San Jose. It is nice to know the people who are helping you. I am looking for an apartment, and I hope that with the people Im am calling are able to get me a place that is best suited for my personal disability. I am getting an application for one place, and I will be calling another organization to see what they offer.

But, in my search to find what is wrong, my neurologist has scheduled me two tests in one day, a lumbar puncture (spinal tap), and a nerve conduction test. I have to get out of bed early for this one. They want me in the hospital at seven-thirty in the morning. My mother assured me I am ridiculous in my anxiety over the spinal tap. Being mocked does give me enough irritation to ease me into the doctor's office tomorrow at Mercy Hospital.

So, the doctor might have information to share about my condition... Stay tuned.

Today's Jungle Reflections

2009-05-21T17:07:00.000-07:00

Wow! Now I have had my brain scanned, I have the quiet comfort of knowing there is still one in my brain case. It is Thursday, and I have scheduled my nerve scan so I can get all these things done before my vacation. I want a diagnosis, but I hope what is learned does not mess with my mood too much. Sigh. I am saying that I know that maybe the news will not be all to uplifting. Still, I am excited about my upcoming trip.

I am headed to a tropical destination and will be thrilled to hang where I have to change my shirt three times a day. I live in Redding, California, a small city (or a large town?) where many people living lives of leisure talk about “hanging out in the Tropics.” I would hear that, and was amazed at how many people here were into tropical vacations. Of course then I saw the Tropics with my own eyes.

I did not have to go to SFO. No 12 hour plane trips. Walking a short distance from the Good News Rescue Mission, I looked up and saw The Tropics.

I now know that the Tropics is a very popular dive bar in town, and I had my moment of clarity. I also noted that The Tropics is a short walk from the club where most of the Redding area Alcoholics Anonymous meetings are held. So, I read from my friend Anastasia who was sharing about the imminent extinction of Sumatra's people of the forest, the orangutan (Bahasa Indonesia: orang = people, utan= forest). So close to where I am headed, and so much of it is already gone.

Welcome to the jungle, indeed. The jungle God created is being destroyed daily to make way for palm plantations, and the poor orangutan is fast disappearing. I will not dwell on this small point. I am looking at teaching, and perhaps studying overseas. This trip will be a fine chance to explore this plan, and see what I have to do to make it a reality.

So, despite the fact that I can barely walk, I am sure I will find a way to hike a volcano, and reflect on the faux pas of American movie makers who named the film Krakatoa, East of Java. Krakatoa is a volcano, but it is not east of Java, and that mistake did cause countless dollars to be spent renaming the movie Volcano.

This time of reflection will be had while exploring Buddhist temples, and consuming fish with plates of nasi goreng topped with sambal (fried rice with hot sauce).

As for the brain scan, I have been scheduled for a nerve conduction test, and have heard nothing about a spinal tap (did I dodge this one?) I will find out.

In the meantime, I thank you all for reading.

Grey Matter

2009-05-16T15:22:00.000-07:00

Today's selection is Grey Matter, by Danny Elfman. I am comforted to think my brain will be scanned again, this time on the MRI, Monday morning. I just hope they find what they need to make a diagnosis on me. This is a point of exhaustion. I started asking questions about my declining coordination over a year ago, and have experienced many problems since. I am tired of falling down.

So, today I listen to Grey Matter, and take comfort thinking maybe this investigation may reveal something. I can only guess what the doctor could find, but I suck at guesses. I am asking them to take the test, and determine quickly if I do need to have that spinal tap done.

So, I look to Monday, and I am staying patient. Thank you for reading.

This Is Spinal Tap

2009-05-13T13:03:00.000-07:00

I am still in Redding, California, and have not yet found myself a new home. Soon, I will be leaving Redding, and am excited to see Jakarta. I will have a good camera, and promise to take many pictures when I visit Indonesia. I will get used to downloading pictures, because my friends in Indonesia, Philippines, and Malaysia take copious pictures, and set a standard I will meet.

After being here in Redding for the past eighteen months, I am thrilled to visit Asia from a point where I will be centrally located near the Philippines, Malaysia, and Australia. At two thousand kilometers, I will not be able to see Davao or Cagayan de Oro, but I will take comfortable knowing I am close to areas I recognize...

It is wild to embark on this trip, when, now I am functionally homeless, still working in a grocery store, still looking for answers in my health concerns. But in a month, I will come back to California to continue the rest of these investigations..

By the first of June, my neurologist will have my brain and cervical spine scanned on an MRI. They will do a spinal tap on me to test my spinal fluid for multiple sclerosis, and I will have nerve conduction tests to see how much the nerves in my arms are functioning. I have to admit that I look to my mother and the advice of the nurse at my doctor's office to stay ready for the spinal tap. It is not a comforting image the idea of anyone placing a needle in my tailbone.

Still, it is not the first time someone has done this to me. I just have to buck up and show up for the test.

The approval from MediCal came in, and now I get to see what the doctor can figure out after this line of tests comes in. So, though I do not have much to report, I remain excited.

Thank you for reading.

2009-04-29T14:58:00.000-07:00

When the still sea conspires an armor
And her sullen and aborted
Currents breed tiny monsters,
True sailing is dead.

Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned,
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallop,
And heads bob up
Poise, Delicate,
Pause, Consent
In mute, nostril agony
Carefully refined
And sealed over.

-Jim Morrison

When I first heard the poem above, I had no idea what it was talking about. It took me years to find out that on our globe between thirty and thirty-five degrees (north and south), the subtropics, are known for their lack of winds. There can be much activity in these latitudes, but for sailors, these areas are unreliable. Sailors are men who rely on the wind to take them tom their destination, and getting stuck in the wrong areas can lead to weeks at sea with little progress to their destination.

The horse latitudes receive their name, because in travel, sailors in despair would be forced to throw their horses overboard. The horses would be slaughtered, because their stewards are unable to feed them. The horses become a burden, and thus lose their life. Amazing that I could speak so casually of these ideas long before I learned what they meant. Jim Morrison penned the poem above, and many times I hav e heard people speak of their “doldrums”, the Doldrums refers to that same oceanic space of emptiness, that deadly calm, that makes progress impossible.

I stay cautious of the calm in my life. I see myself getting lost in my own “doldrums”, only to see periods of my life in a deadly calm. I listen to many people who talk about how “maybe you needed this time” or “this happened for a reason”; I know that when I am uncomfortable, I am inspired to make changes. This past couple years have been filled with many changes. I do not have to inspect these past years for “meaning.” It is exciting that I have enjoyed so much, and did not lose myself in overly calm waters of my life.

So, I am looking at the things with much hope. I have no horses to throw overboard. I am inspired by the love of my family and friends. I am thrilled that I am above ground one more day.

I moved from the apartment, and have a place to stay, but still am functionally homeless. One thing certain, and that is there is very little time to lose in doldrums. My groceries still need attending, and my blog still needs writing. So, the journey continues...

Thank you for reading...

Plastic Man

2009-04-14T15:19:00.000-07:00

Tom Brokaw made a request. He said I should go to my web browser and type “neuroplasticity.” I was not with him at the time, so I could not tell him that I already did that. In fact, that is why I was listening to him that moment. From Youtube.com, I found one hour's worth of discussion on neuroplasticity, and learned about the current researchers learning about it. Scientists can rock my world, and I plan to include a couple science classes in my studies in addition to my major, because I have an obligation to know, understand, and appreciate the intricacies of this world of continuous exploration

Neuroplasticity refers to the versatility of nerve cells to learn, adapt, and change. Up to recent times we thought this plasticity , this versatility only existed in young brains. People with hydrocephalis were shown to be highly functional despite the loss of enormous parts of their brains. Specifically, a man with sections destroyed that were reserved for eyesight function was shown to see with great acuity. Portions of the brain are determined to have specific function, consistent from one person to another. Yet, when brain tissues are lost in formative years, apparently other portions of the brain take on the functions of the damaged, and impacted areas.

As a non scientist I am interested in knowing how to take these observations, and use them to elevate my hope, start new therapy, and let go of old ideas that when my legs stop working, I ought to start saving for a wheelchair.

When I was in science classes in high school around fifteen years ago (class of 1988? do the math!), I was taught that neurogenesis(creation of nerve cells) was something that came to an end after the formative years stopped. Nerve cells were of a fixed number, and when they died, there would be no replacements. For most of the nerve cells in the body this is still the truth. But, in a few cases, researchers were able to use functional magnetic resonant imaging (FMRI) to show that in parts of the brain, neurogenesis continues on into adulthood.

Still the issue I am thinking about, involves the brain cells remaining, and all the nerve cells they command. I am watching this stuff, do my reading, and listening to podcasts out of pure self-interest. I have symptoms being reviewed by a neurologist right now. My foot is dragging, and that is not a metaphor. My foot drags when I walk, and I am excited to realize I am empowered. What do I do? I listen to a coworker who, with chronic back pain, says he goes to the gym at college every day at six in the morning. He says he is stronger, and healthier than he has I a long time.

One thing he told me was that the six AM crowd is the winner's circle. He works out in the gym with seniors, and he tells me how motivated they are. I also know that the studies Tom Brokaw discussed involved evidence that neurogenesis is most active in people who exercise at least one hour a day. four times a week.

So, today a man walks up to me in a coffee shop, and he tells me about how he had lost massive brain tissue in the right hemisphere of his brain in an accident. He was told that coming out of a coma he would never walk again. Paralyzed from the neck down, he was told he would be confined to a wheelchair for life. Still, this man can and does, walk several miles a day. I am not missing major chunks of my brain, but I still know my improvement is my responsibility.

Today, I am learning how to balance myself. I am learning how to raise my leg. I am learning how to train my mind through exercising my body. So, after weeks in circuit training, I understand what my instructor means when she tells me I will get out of it what I put into it. Old words they are, and still for me they have new significance. My hope today rests on many things. I take muscle relaxants to reduce spasm in my legs. But, I also am now trusting my doctors. I am exercising more. I now see my returns will come from precisely what I discussed weeks ago, the elliptical cross-trainer. My resistance to using the machine comes from it being difficult, being awkward, and being exhausting. My hope comes from knowing that regardless the causes of my problem, this exercise can help.

Thank you for reading.

Easter Vigil

2009-04-12T15:17:00.000-07:00

What's the good news? I enjoyed the Vigil service last night. My friends picked me up, and took me to St Joseph Church in Redding, and we joined in quiet prayer for a night in celebration of renewal. My friends have been helping me get to service, and I think this is truly about renewal. I love the time spent in church. The night's service was three hours long.

I got to sit in the church lit entirely by candle light. What a night! Easter Vigil shared in prayer with my friends became great as we listened to Bible passages, and watched as several people finishing their time in RCIA, got to experience the sacraments of Confirmation and first Communion.

After this service, I went to my home, and looked at the apartment, and settled in my thought that this is the last time I will sleep here. I am moving off this hill here in Redding. My destination is indeterminate, but I hope to find a long term room or apartment soon. I woke up, packed up the remainder of my stuff, and rode my bike away.

Of course, I reported many months back that I was being kicked out.... That did not happen. Then, after an argument in March, I decided to move out. Days later, before mentioning this to my roommate, he asked me to move. What a wacky month. So, with all set this way, I resolved to find a home with my own phone line, and my own Internet. Hopping from Internet cafe to library gets tiring. It is amazing how with my best planning, I set my departure for Easter Sunday.

As I plan on leaving the country soon, I am grateful to move somewhere that expenses wil be less, and comfort will be more. Well, we see what happens...

Thank you for reading.

2009-04-07T15:41:00.000-07:00

Question: How many Californians does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Answer: Five. One to screw in the light bulb after the other four complete a n environmental impact report

I heard a reference recently to Yucca Mountain. It is not a tragedy. It is not even a sad note. Still, I am listening to what, at one time, seemed a good idea. Yucca Mountain is a monument to abandoned projects. A mountain that was unknown to most of America, it sits alone, a desert hole. This mountain was dug into when many in America had it marked as a great future depository for the waste we produce in efforts to surplus low-cost, low-pollution energy.

Before this project was stopped, we had, as a nation, become embroiled in a wild discussion in the nature of nuclear waste, and whether the heart of a mountain can safely contain the waste, and keep Americans at peace as we try to reconcile new ideas in energy production.

I am nt an engineer, and I am poorly equipped to argue any side of such a controversy. I do know many scientists have convinced me that this was a great idea, and their ability to convince is noted. Several billion United States dollars were spent digging a hole in the core of this mountain. Still, at the end, doubt reared its ugly head, and controversy won in this battle. When doubt prevails, groups descend upon the decision makers to preach the doctrine of controversy. Science often takes a back seat when the controversy preachers come out of their churches to lobby the decision makers of the world.

Well, the controversy lobbyists that worry me exist within my head. The unfinished projects of which I am concerned are not as conspicuous as this eight billion dollar hole in a mountain. I want to do so much in my life, and it is amazing what happens when I open my mouth about my projects, my dreams, or my actions. People actually listen in bits and pieces when I talk of what I am doing. It is daunting to have people ask about the Yucca Mountains of my life, many of which seem at the outset neither big nor complicated .

When faced with controversy, these questions prevail:

1.Do you really have the resources to finish this project?
2.Do you have the backers to support the project?
3.Is this project one which looks good on paper, but may disappear once outside interest/support declines?
The fact is I heard about Yucca mountain many times in the past, but the passages were quiet, and I was shocked to find that with all the controversy, it progressed as far as it did. I hope that when I bring a bill before my own private legislature, I will have the ability to see exactly what I want to accomplish, and present my case with conviction, while still being able to stop; consider all arguments against what I want to do before taking radical action.

I offer this simplistic discussion to ask: what are the Yucca mountains in your life? I told my sister that I need to look at my goals list. I need to look at them fearlessly and ask myself why my projects are sitting on a shelf, or why I have kept goals which perhaps should have been scrapped long ago.

While waiting for AAA...

2009-04-01T13:15:00.000-07:00

Tonight, outside Raley's Supermarket in Redding, California, my friend Doug did something unusual for him. He went to get his truck, and after setting my bike in the back, discovered that he left the truck runnin g with both doors locked. Because we then were at the grocery store, and this blog is called Fat Grocer, I decided then to share with him- and share now, with you- this true grocery store story.

One day, a young man was in a Safeway bagging a customer's groceries. He never saw this customer before in his life. The customer was in bright spirits when he told the cashier, “you ever hear how this man set his car on fire?” He was motioning to the clerk who was disturbed by this line of discussion and he could not help responding, “That never happened.”

The customer assured them the story had happened, and cited the bagger's mother as the source for the story. He claimed he heard the tale told on a commuter light rail in the early 1990's. The only question haunting our clerk then was: who is this man, and why is he haunting me? He looked closer at his antagonist. He looked at the man's eyes, past his glasses, and stared long at this man whose smirk seemed to widen with this surprise disclosure. Then, his face began to look more familiar.

He recalled a girl he visited in 1986, a very beautiful girl, who was very gracious to him. It was the day before his sixteenth birthday, and she was sure to do her best to offer him a birthday present worth remembering. She looked into his eyes, and smiled. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed?” She smiled, and he felt led. Indeed, what could this memory have to do with the story I started to tell?

Looking at the disturbing man forking over money for his groceries, the recognition took place. This man looked older, but his identity was indeed clear. That girl that enchanted him fifteen years before has a father, and on this day her father was right there buying groceries, causing trouble.

As for the flaming car:

One day, back in 1989, a young man was driving a 1980 Oldsmobile in San Jose when he looked down to his side he saw a paper bag catch fire on the seat. This was a shock to him, and with little thought, he took his jacket and smothered out the developing flames. He then plowed his car, a Delta 88 diesel into the back of a Jeep, coming to a sudden stop. He looked through the windshield, and saw the torn up fiberglass and started to freak out. This was his parent's car after all, and he knew the discussion at home would be challenging. He did something then that my friend Doug can appreciate. He stepped out of his car to talk to the driver he hit.

Closing the door, he sealed his fate. The keys were in the ignition, the car was on, and the doors were locked. This is a bad day. Right? What did he do when he walked to the window, saw his car was the only one damaged, and realized he was locked out of his car? He freaked out! His panic level elevated when looked in to see smoke rising up from the seat. He did not notice the crowd developing. He did not see the Cadillac parked across the street, a woman vaguely resembling his mother walking across the street to investigate this car with smoke coming out of it.

With much hesitation, an older couple from a nearby apartment complex surrendered to him their fire extinguisher. With a two inch gap in the window, the nozzle barely fit. Depressing the handle, he released a powder into the cab of the car, finally extinguishing the fire, a fire which had already burnt the roof of the car, and melted much of the dash. He then drove the car home to face his parents.

My friend Doug was quite placid after I told him this story. He decided that locking his keys in the car is not so bad after all. To my satisfaction, he never asked me how I could relate this story with so much intimate detail. He never asked who the eighteen year old was, or how I knew him.

Thank you for reading.

More about Letting go

2009-03-26T16:45:00.000-07:00

I remember that a friend of mine said my problem is that I am a codependent. I still am not sure what that means, but I have read some on this. Sadly, my control obsessions prevent me from reading other opinions on this subject with an open mind. It is funny how many people write about this, and my personal frustration with the therapeutic/recovery community makes me perhaps more critical than I need to be.

So, am I a codependent? Well, I do not know. I do know that many folks ask me questions about my relations with others. The key question I found today is “Do you feel a need to compromise your values to avoid conflicts with someone else?” So.... that question brings me back to my conversation with TG over fifteen years ago. He felt I was too obsessed with other people's feelings. Looking at my latest reading, I am convinced I am getting better. One person who read tons of books on these things diagnosed me as a “codependent”, and worked to convince me what a problem it is in my life.

To my credit, I believe I am getting healthier. I have not tried to diagnose anyone's problems in quite a while. In fact, there is a degree to which I am feeling more peaceful by not analyzing other people's problems. But, I was feeling a little out of balance, so buying that book (Language of Letting Go) is helping me recoup my peace.

Whereas my neurologist has my permission to diagnose my neurological problems, I am sure not in a hurry to give myself some kind of name to my emotional issues. I am gaining a little peace from avoiding limiting names to things. When my friend told me that she thinks I am “very codependent”, I assured her I could stop it if that would make her feel better. I am not making fun of codependency as an idea. I am startled by the people who are struggling mto help others with this problem. I think there is something scary about people who are trying to find problems with others.

I will not get started with the ubiquitous question, “Are you sick?”, or “Are you coming down with a cold?” What can I accomplish by buying into the questioner's reality? Still, we are living in a time when a disturbing number of people are self-diagnosing with emotional problems, as if there is something useful in identifying with the labels of ADD, OCD, ADHD and today's label of discussion, codependency. I do not believe I gain any freedom from applying a label onto me that could actually cause me to acquire more symptoms than it will alleviate.

There is nothing cool about being obsessive-compulsive. People with attention deficit disorder have serious problems that go beyond being entertained by two things at one time or keeping a messy desk. Understanding this, I know that most of these diagnoses are serious problems that can only be rendered meaningless by my fighting to get a diagnosis I can call my own.

Since 1992, I have read many books and articles on alcoholism, codependency, mental health, attention deficit disorder, and obsessive-compulsive disorder. I loved exploring these worlds, loved working to glean something to help me feel more comfortable in my own skin. I noticed my life started getting better when I stopped reading all these books. Peace by peace, I learn what books help me, and now I am able to limit my time lost to gratuitous self-reflection.

This is why I am learning to write about things that do not deal so much with me.

Thank you for reading.

Ever Have a 2000 Year Old Date?

2009-03-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

"The fact that seeds can survive for so long under the right conditions says a lot about conservation and ways to preserve seeds for future generations. Thank god some seeds can survive, because the way we're busily cutting down everything on the planet, we're sure going to need them." – Sarah Sallon

I get thrilled when I hear that a two thousand year old seed of a palm date tree was not only sprouted, but was successfully grown into a viable tree. This is a wonderful thing, because I work in a health food store, and listen to question s every day that ask me if seed is viable. They ask whether or not the seed product they want to buy will sprout. Not knowing enough about genetics or horticulture, I was shocked to hear that thew scientists do not know whether or not the palm tree is male or female. Apparently, the ability to recreate the tree is limited based on the gender of the tree.

Still, the excitement of this tree, reported four years ago, was somewhat significant, in that the palm plant is listed as extinct. I guess that this becomes the vegetarian version of Jurassic Park. I need to try to find the story follow up to find out if this plant, reported on in late 2005, had persisted in its growth and has continued to develop since the positive reports three and a half years ago.

I was listening to some 2005 podcast when I heard this as a short science notice that piqued my interest. I was sitting at my computer and found an update from last year saying that the tree was still alive and growing well. The claim that the seeds came from a place that was supposedly the palace of King Herod arouses my curiosity. But archaeologists tend to be smarter than me.

They have carbon dated the seed, and verified its age. For this reason alone, I do not care if the seed was found at King Herod's palace, or buried under Herod's in Las Vegas.

I love dates. I am thrilled to know that when I package dates in my cubbyhole at Orchard Nutrition, I know these dates are highly formidable foods. On the island of Java one beautiful woman assured me that she does not like dates. I asked her why, and she told me, “That is what we eat when we are fasting.” I suppose that under those conditions, I would be less than excited about them.

My prevailing fascination with this discovery comes from the fact I work in a health food store. The people that walk into my bulk foods section often are experimenting, venturing into the world of sprouting for nutrition. One question I get asked is whether or not some seed or nut is apt to sprout. I can still not answer with assurance, but at least now I can say, “Maybe if a 2000 year old date stone can grow into a tree, than you should have a decent chance of sprouting those right there.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/science/2008/jun/12/ancient.seed

How I Remember to Let Go...

2009-03-02T17:46:00.000-08:00

Years ago, I started a dialog with a friend of mine, TG. TG was many years older than me. He knew what crazy thoughts I had,stayed patient with me, and he knew a little about my history drinking. He shared with me many times for a hours. In reality, things seemed to change so fast, small periods of time actually seemed longer than they were. I decided I wanted change in my life. Perhaps I was not a hard core drunk, but by the 1990's I was feeling crazy enough to need some guidance, and quitting drinking was a good choice. That idea came to me in 1992 at the age of twenty-two.

But, many of my friends, some of them in Al-anon, were talking about wacky psychological stuff. Popular ideas around that time were talks about inner child therapy and codependency. I would be afraid to start my rant about all the other stuff that filtered into my world. But, as time passed, I decided that entertaining multiple models of healing tended to make me feel crazier than saner. I do not think recovery meetings are extensions of “group”. I now am able to look back and realize what I was writing about months ago.

I was discussing people in crisis. People in crisis can fall prey to anyone with enthusiasm, and they do develop quickly the desire to share these ideas with the world. These ideas incubate quickly in the warm, fertile bodies of people in crisis, because it is these people that always describe their experience as “Having an emptiness inside them that needs filling.” So when you pack hundreds of these people into rooms to discuss their problems, their own acquired ideas on healing start to grow and infect others that try to proselyte and infect even more.

It was during such a time that I developed my enthusiasm for multilevel marketing, for inner child work, past-life regression, healing herbs, mystical rocks, Carlos Castaneda books, and the pursuit of time with anyone who seemed more stable and happier than me. I also loved learning about Rational Emotive Therapy, the John Birch Society, and anything else that showed any promise of positive returns. So, I was a man in need of guidance.

But, today, life is much, much simpler. I do not spend countless hours finding new books on improving my life and world. Also, today, I remember my friend TG who talked to me that day back in 1995, and told me to find a book. The book is called The Language of Letting Go, by Melody Beattie. I bought that book, and read it page by page for months. I bought it, because my friend was so insistent.

His voice was paced, deep, and resonant as he enunciated every syllable : The Lang-uage of Let-ting Go... By Mel-o-dy Bea-ttie... TG died one day after disappearing for a while. Despite his youthful demeanor, he had a number of strokes, and one day, years later, I noticed his name on a clubhouse wall with a time to visit a church. He is remembered, and I am glad I met him.

One man once said, “if you open your mind too much, your brain will fall out.” I am grateful for my selectively open mind. I am grateful that what works for me, may only work for me, and I am pleased I can share this story with you without having to convince anyone of anything.

As for the book, I saw a copy on discount at a major corporate bookstore, and have started reading it again.

I thank you for reading.

Training on an ellipsis

2009-02-26T15:42:00.000-08:00

I am making great strides in my physical fitness. I have to focus on my abdominal exercises. With the standard goals I have developed in my physical development . I never had any wild, or expansive visions for myself in health, but now, I find myself propelled into this world of exercise again. It is humbling, and it is exciting.

Maybe it seems a little strange, but the positive effects I have experienced in just a short ten workouts- approximately an additional fifteen hours of workout in the past six weeks- have resulted in big changes in the way my body functions. Many people have noted that I am walking better. I am walking with more energy, and greater balance.

I am sure if I was paying more attention to my body, I would have seen that the reduction in activity was reducing stress, it was also furthering my difficulties. I am thrilled that I am choosing to use my cane less. I am thrilled that I am getting more work done. I see how this very basic circuit training is not static. I have an instructor that works with me, sees what my difficulties are, and addressses my own specific physical needs.

I have not spoken to many folk with neurological problems, but in my class, I am introduced to many people. I see the accident survivors, the stroke survivors, people with other problems related to neuro-muscular conditions. Now, I understand how much of my improvement is reliant upon me. I have lost some weight, gained some muscle, and am seeing the whole world with new eyes. Still, the goal for me is to retrain my nervous system as best I can. I saw the most annoying machine in our little gym at school.

The machine is called an elliptical cross-trainer. It wants to train my whole body on an ellipsis. I have used these machines before. Back in the mid 1990's these machines seemed pretty new, and were the rage. I used them. I learned how to secure a book to it, and read while cross training myself to better living. This post for me is about my coordination. I have my Adidas athletic pants, my Adidas athletic shorts, and my Adidas hat worn with the bill in back. I am starting my way to coordination.

But now, I have viewed this machine as the key to my training. I will have doctors prodding and probing me. They will shoot electricity to check my nerve function. I will have enormous magnets working to scan every cell in my body. I will be tested for anything and everything that could grant clarity for the true nature of this situation. But, regardless their findings, I am faced with the fact my healing and increased productivity rest on me alone.

I now know better than ever how training the muscle groups in my body work together towards a unified fitness. Now I can see how the principles of neuro plasticity apply to even me. The principles of neuro-plasticity suggest that neurons are flexible. These flexible neurons can be trained to do different things. It is this point upon I rest my success.

I have worked on the treadmill. I have ridden the bicycle, and I have worked on the elliptical cross trainer. The cross trainer challenges me in that I see how moving all four of my limbs at one time requires thought. Thought? To work on a machine that supposedly matches the fluidity of the human body? Yes. And yes, I do manufacture dialogs when no one else engages me.

My instructor says I need to train on this machine. This ellipsis. This machine which keeps my whole body moving in a fluid motion while regularly beeping and pausing, because I do not ride it at the basic minimum speed.By using this machine I can train my body and brain to work together. By watching myself in the mirror, I noted that I could coordinate myself better. I was able to keep the machine moving better without falling off it. I think this is amazing

Thank you for reading.

On the issue of My Coordination (coordination on discount!)

2009-02-18T14:21:00.000-08:00

To get my coordination going well, I decided to take advantage of the gym facilities at my college. Twice a week I go to an adaptive physical education class where I follow a predetermined exercise program. I am not an overly prideful man. It is amazing how when I walked into the gym, I looked at the man with a clipboard, and told him I was looking for a gym class. He looked at me, saw my cane, and said, “She can help you right there.”

I walked over to this woman, surrounded by cubbyholes, and several college students working out. She looked at me, and told me to fill out a paper, and handed me a slip to take to the administration building. This statrted my journey. I learned I am now locked in. I have committed myself to this program. Still, I am asking myself what I expect. I do not know what I wanted from this, except perhaps a greater grasp on reality.

Stepping in the gym that first day I met many people in this class. I was bothered by one thing. This class had one model. I was told that I would follow this course of exercise and abide by the dictates of whatever person was picked to follow me around with a clipboard. My file folder tracks every exercise I do for ninety minutes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The program makes me follow over twelve exercises dealing with various muscle groups in the body.

The beginning sets were so light, and hobbling around to the machines was irritating when I felt like they were doing nothing for me. In already had my ideas on what I could do, and no thought to what I cannot do. The lady following me around smiled, and agreed that maybe I can accept more weights on the leg curls. She added one plate on, and I quickly told her to go ahead and put it back to the lower weight. What am I to do? I decided to accept these pathetically light workouts, and came back. With circuit training there seems to be a wisdom in this.

I am rickety. I did not start this off with the muscle mass I had a year ago. I am not the dynamic powerhouse I envision. So, I come back. The exercises become more extreme. I seee how exercising different muscle groups are starting to make my functioning better. So, the issue is one of coordination. I have said my balance walking was a problem.

So, I am now reaping the rewards. My strength already is improving. My walking is getting better. My balance is improving, and already I am walking more without the aid of my cane. I am very excited about this. My life is getting so much better.

About the coordination, though. I went shopping at Shopko days ago. I went in to by things I needed to improve my rider home. With the rain, I decided to buy a hat and gloves. I also was feeling a tiny bit lazy, and did not want to do laundry. I bought a pair of gym shorts. I would be able to attend the class, and would be wearing clean clothes. Splendid!

As I walked out of the store I was pleased everything I bought was on discount or clearance. I then noticed something else: everything I bought was from Adidas. I think it marginally scary to imagine the implications should I start showing up in gym with intentionally coordinated workout gear. I took some deep breaths, and continued to congratulate myself on the well orchestrated purchases.

Thank you for reading.

Another Holiday Greeting

2009-02-15T17:17:00.000-08:00

I have little regard for holidays in general. I have always felt that maybe the Jehovah's Witnesses maybe have something going on here. I am not making fun of them. I really wonder why we have special days of celebration. My teacher did note, however that it was the anniversary for Darwin's birthday. I told him that it was the two hundredth anniversary, specifically. My feelings on this does have little to do with religion, or lack of religious conviction. I do know that other people get excited about holidays, though.

Perhaps it comes from not having much money. Maybe it comes from years of working in the service sector. For decades, I found most Christmases, most Thanksgiving, most birthdays caused more headache than joy. When I worked in restaurants, hotels, and retail places, I came to accept most holidays were just extra days to serve consumers' needs. My girlfriend asked me once if I was going to be able to see my family on Christmas Day. I reiterated that I was visiting them on the week before. My family lives several hundred miles away from me, and I was confused why anyone would care what exact day I was visiting my family home.

So, outside the schedules of people I am seeing, I do not understand why anyone would care when I came to them. There are times when many people have their own plans. I know through my experiences that ill-planned trips have resulted in me not seeing people I want to see, and challenged my ability to do what I want to do.

I suppose that I write this to find out if anyone else out there shares in my indifference. I love that others remember me on the holidays that they celebrate.

Anyway, I remember one day, several years ago, that I decided to go to the movies. I decided that I like Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, so went to the movie You've Got Mail. It is hardly an earth shattering, thought-provoking film. Still, I enjoyed the movie. I thought as a romantic comedy it left me feeling a little warmer, a little lighter than I was entering the theatre.

It was a twilight showing, and with the sun dropping down upon entering the theatre, the parking lot was dark. I watched the people leaving the film. I watched the couples crossing the parking lot after this film showing. Many of these people were holding each other, and I saw kissing, hand holding. I realized that I was exiting the theatre alone. This was not a big deal, except I had many choices of films to watch. I could have watched a violent film. I could have watched a thoughtful film. I could have watched some movie that could have emboldened, edified my manhood. There was a point where I saw how something that night something was frightfully wrong.

That day I stopped to reflect on the calendar. That day was February 14, 1999. My heart sank in my chest. Something sickening that I should randomly choose to watch a romantic comedy alone on Valentine's Day. I can only guess how I managed myself that night, but ten years later, I asm grateful to say I survived that day.

Thank you for reading.

Down the River

2009-02-08T18:31:00.000-08:00

“Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. died today at the age of ninety. The exact cause of death has not been determined.” --radio news broadcast, May 7, 2000

"The consequent improvement in health and increase of longevity is one of the most remarkable and admirable characteristics of our age. Even if science had done nothing else for human happiness, it would deserve our gratitude on this account.” --Bertrand Russell

I was just reading a blog post where the author wrote about the sensitivity people have to their aging. I remember two references I made in the past year to women who died in their thirty-ninth year of life. Perhaps this sensitivity is bizarre, especially at a time when octogenarians receive little note for their longevity. But, shouldn't someone die in their seventies, we still speak of their relatively long life. We do not wonder why they died.

Why do some people feel insecure when pondering their movement into their late twenties, their thirties, or their fortieth birthday? Why does a book about the last third of life shake up someone in their sixties? The presumption, if optimistic, is one that the receiver of the book will live to ninety. I think that is most ambitious, even if the recipient is forced, somehow to accept, or face his own mortality for the first time in a while.

“I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it through not dying.”-- Woody Allen

I write this, maybe because at thirty-eight, I have many thoughts on this subject. I mean, after having all this time available, I tend to ask how I account for the last thirty-eight years. It is why I am back in school. It is why I am back with my doctors. It is why I am reading more about positive attitudes, and taking more positive actions. This is why I am learning how, through my inactivity alone, I have lost considerable muscle mass since this time, last year.

Reading that blog post challenged me. Do people feel insecure because they are sad about being older? Do they mourn the loss of physical agility, of physical beauty, of lost business opportunities, or is this about the reaper? I laugh when I hear stories of people's lives, and when interviewed, almost all of them answer the interviewer's stock question with an erroneous claim that could they go back in life and do something over they “would not change a thing.” Am I alone in thinking this is patent bullshit?

Maybe we are not creative. Maybe we are so lost in imagination, or so distrusting of our judgment, that we deny that maybe one or more of the disasters in our life would have been best left undone. Perhaps the idea -that we could avert, divert, or redirect our actions and make a better path for ourselves- is so threatening we dare not admit it to the man with the camera. To make such an admission could open a door where we would have to admit some mistake long forgotten, a mistake that caused more pain than it solved.

Of course, allowing myself the fancy of giving a positive answer to the question would show how honest I can be. This is a moment of truth. It is not like any man will catch me off guard. What would I say if I can say it? How much of my underbelly would I dare show?

“Well, Barbara, I always thought not getting my teeth capped was a major mistake. It is hard to admit this in front of you. I believe that was the worst decision of my life.”

2009-01-26T19:42:00.000-08:00

LITIGATION - A case, controversy, or lawsuit. A contest authorized by law, in a court of justice, for the purpose of enforcing a right. Participants (plaintiffs and defendants) in lawsuits are called litigants.

LITIGIOUS - Litigious signifies a disposition to sue; a fondness for pursuit of litigation or lawsuits. It also refers to that which is the subject of a suit or action; that which is contested in a court of justice.

I was riding my bicycle on a cold day, and in the parking lot I turned into a parking space, just as I had done many times before. But, this was no ordinary parking lot, nor an ordinary day, apparently. As I turned the wheel at a leisurely speed, I heard the wheel sliding on the ice on the ground. Soon afterward I was on the ground.

I climbed out from under my bike, moved it back into the upright position, and went into a fast food restaurant to eat. At some point that day I was recounting the fall. I told someone how I felt bad falling like that. The person looked at me, and the first words out of their mouth were, "You know, you can sue them for that." I then told the person the name of the fast food place, and he said, "They are loaded! You should sue them instead."

Am I crazy? Is this the value I| need to develop? I wonder wnhat would happen to me if I felt like filing suit every time something bad happened to me. I looked at the person, and said calmly, "But nothing happened to me." Apparently that is a non-issue as a supporter of our litigious society.

The temptation is strong for many, I guess. I see how courtrooms has become for many a way to get something for nothing. This is a judgment on an idea. I cannot judge individual cases. The system of litigation is a wonderful place for people who have serious problems, and have to look to our court system to mediate for them. But, now that so much is happening in the economic scene, I wonder if caseloads in the court system will see a rise.

One man asked me how far I will get in life feeling entitled. He said, "How far will you be if you felt grateful?" I believe that gratitude gets me further. I am grateful foir so much in my life. I live in the heart of litigation central. I know now that many things I took for granted are already feeling the pinch.

I am accepting assistance to go to school. I am on MediCal to cover my m ajor medical expenses, and California is having its own money problems. One man I know is sweating over a rumour that Social Security checks will not be derlivered in early February. He is sweating, because his MediCal is threatened by the questionably balanced California budget. We act like we are in the know. We think listening to the news we can predict the future.

No, suing McDonalds is not enticing to me. I am not thrilled at the concept of selling my soul in a court room, just because I feel entitled to money that is not mine. Of course, my legs are wobbly, so I will climb off my soapbox.

Today, I received a call from a neurologist. Of the three neurologists in Redding, CA, I have scheduled an appointment for an initial consultation. This is the start of a balancing act. To effect the best treatment with minimal costy to me, I have to work with this man to get all my testing in one month...

Do you think we can do it? I have my fingers crossed. But, after all this, I have then to wait to see if my doctor can find something wrong. My spastic gait is quite entertaining, I am sure. But, my desire is to see a moment where these people have searched enough of my brain and body, to say "Mr. Stahr, we have a diagnosis. Here is what we have to do next..."

Hari ini yang istimewa (This is a special day)

2009-01-21T19:54:00.000-08:00

Today is a special day. I am seeing my efforts to move on in school bear fruit. I just received my first envelope from Chico State saying they need more information from me in\ order for me to be a student there. I am thrilled at this. I have no idea where this path should lead me. I do know that I am anxiously waiting for change often blind to the changes occurring all around me.

Starting a year ago, December, I trashed, and nrestarted this blog. I started it with crazy ideas, with anger, with a transparent bad attitude,a dn I still ended up making many friends online. I am thrilled to say that I continue to write often.. I am not as pleased with some developments in my life, but the world always changes in relation to my focus.

So, where is my focus today?

I am set on a plan to finish my bachelor's degree. I want to teach. I want a future now where I can say I have escaped the mess that has evolved from living in service work for the past twenty years. Maybe my health problems were necessary to m ake this evolution come about. I have a chance to move into a world where my work will no longer be contingent on the functionality of my body.

I am with the support of family and friends able to address problems I have had, and largely ignored for close to two years now. My walking ability has declined to where I was falling down regularly. Now, though I am walking with a cane, I have the comfort of knowing my family and fridends are behind me.

It is not that I would ever doubt their support, but as I shared more about my life with them, I saw how willing, how eager people were to help me. Sadly, arranging to see a neurologist has been a challenge. I need to see one if I am ever to move ahead knowing at long last what my diagnosis is. Strange it is that look on people's eyes when th]ey ask me what my problem is, and I tell them “I do not know”

So, today I see how my regular sharing has evolved my mind. I see how this sharing has facilitated my healing. I see how I have become more proactive in the seeking out of answers. Likewise I am able to feel the excitement of being willing to travel again. I wanted to stay angry in 2008. I now know that anger has damaged my body and spirit.

On January 21, 2008, I crossed the blog of a beautiful soul. That is a special thing for me. That person spoke to me this morning, and has shared with me much in the last three hundred sixty-five days. This day I get to see how much of my irrational anger has subsided through the help of people like you reading me today. I see how much of my healing has come through my interactions with people who -through this portal- has chosen to enter my life.

Many of you have told me to take care of myself. Some even told me to listen to my mother. I received comments from readers who told me to grow up. I have shared with many who said my writing seems a confused jumble, and many who told me they have enjoyed joining me in this journey.
I listened to comments of numerous people who wondered if I woulkd ever get baround to doing the things I said I would. This has been a fine year.

Thank you for reading

So do you have a problem with sarcasm? No... the other person behind you

2009-01-14T20:29:00.000-08:00

January, 12, 2009: Classes begin again

2009-01-13T10:29:00.000-08:00

(This is an aerial view of nearby Mount Shasta... Gorgeous mountain, just one of the marvelous geologic features we can study locally in our earth sciences class)

I am sitting in the opening lecture of my Earth Sciences class. We are being lectured on the primary difference between us as a “web-enhanced” science class, and my previous effort to attempt this very class as a “hybrid” course where all lecture would be handled online. The class environment of times past have disappeared for me.

I promised the world I would remain in a technology environment that is at least five years old (I used to say five years obsolete). Slowly I capitulate, and am starting to accept the more rapid tracks of technology into my life. Yes, I can revise my guidelines.

My science instructor is using the bulk of this time explaining to us how to use the web site. When I started this class last semester (I dropped it), this was a hybrid course, and with my newness in the college scene, was not ready to handle the new concept of the Internet course. In my defense, I will say that my computer broke last semester, and managing became difficult.

This semester I am pleased to see that the new class design will have the lectures in class. If I am a good student, and follow carefully in my reading, I should be able to manage better in this class. I promised to become a better student, but I do realize the whole game is different from when I was a student before. Never before have I had a chance to take notes with a laptop. But also never before have I had to learn how to organize my time without class hours.

This class is now more lecture oriented. But, this semester I have to face the demon of the class that nis entirely Internet run. This semester I have two classes where there is no classroom time. This is a weird thing for me, but b y the time I dropped my Internet classes, I was actually starting to understand the class. It is amazing how I did not see the challenge right away. I never had to take Internet classes before, but, historically I have done better with much outside encouragement. It is a blessing that I get to learn more about how to handle classes online. This time I have a model on how to do them.

If that is not enough, my school finally realized that onlin e clases is a new paradigm for some of us.

Shasta College sent me the following invitation in my email:

Dear Student,

You have been identified as a student that has enrolled in an online
class here at Shasta College for the Spring 2009 semester; because of
this, we wanted to bring to your attention a free workshop that we
are offering called "Introduction to the Shasta College Online
System." Get the skills you need to successfully complete an online
class. This workshop will be a hands-on exercise in logging-on,
communicating and submitting assignments in the new Shasta College
Online System. You will also learn where to go when you need help
with the system or with your class work. Don't get left behind the
curve, come learn with us, hands-on!

The workshop will be held on Wednesday, January 21st from 12 noon to
1:00pm in Room 2206. We hope to see you there!

Thank you,
Shasta College

What is the Meatrix?

2009-01-11T18:38:00.000-08:00

I just at a sandwich, made with some chicken breast. It was quite delicious with some lettuce, some mayonnaise, and served up warm. Once again I am rethinking my food choices. I was a vegetarian at least twice in the past. I had mindless rationales to justify my choice. But, I knew my decision was good for my body. I knew it was good for the environment. I knew it is good for the animal. Still, when the time arrived, I found I had no drive. My own motives lacked their own meat. I bore no commitment to live differently than society as a whole. Each reason to live mindful of the values I espoused drifted away in a haze as I was faced with the joy and comfort of joining the mainstream.

Still, I read from people who help me to think. Author Peter Singer has lectured on ethics for close to four decades. As a professor of philosophy, he was faced with an idea that animals are possessed of rights long since ignored or denied by society as a whole. His writing is vivid, and he is able to present a wealth of information dispassionately, but with a directness that makes indifference difficult for me. His most powerful work thus far, is a book called Animal Liberation. In it, he makes his case for the rights of animals.

The book opens with a discussion of the writing of Mary Wollstonecraft. It was her book in the late eighteenth century which set off a firestorm of criticism. She wrote a Vindication of the Rights of Woman. A powerful writing, it now stands as one of the most powerful writings predating the feminist movement in America by two centuries. Her efforts were not without notice. Criticism was widespread, and it was not long before an Oxford professor of philosophy, Thomas Taylor, wrote his satirical rebuttal Vindication of the Rights of Brutes.

Peter Singer writes of this piece with one point in mind. Taylor was writing to make humor of Wollstonecraft's book. Singer also wanted to clarify that as the rights of woman, the equality of woman is much more accepted fact today than it was in the late eighteenth century, when Wollstonecraft died. Now, he adds, while we accept the wrongness of Thomas to mock equal consideration for women it is likewise ridiculous to suggest animals are any less worthy of consideration or respect than human beings.

Eating on my chicken sandwich, I am not as easily inclined to accept the logic. But, when faced with basic ideas of my humanity, I have ask myself what is my job as a steward of this planet. How am I responsible to behave with regards non-human animals?

The question is not an easy one. I am part of a group that persists in eating meat. Singer, a vegetarian, has not compelled me to stop consuming flesh in my diet. Still, the argument I was given did not rest solely on whether or not to eat meat. More so, it was about how responsible am I in my individual decisions regarding meat. Each purchase of meat and animal products holds the weight of my lack of knowledge. I have to accept that with each purchase I am ignoring the bad behavior of an industry

Working in a health food store, I am asked many questions.

Many questions deal with social responsibility. People are interested in knowing if animals are harmed, if products came from a country with good trade policies, whether or not workers involved in harvesting crops are protected by fair trade. Each day people become more interested in the ethical handling of animals.

In this post I will not discuss the information I received on animal handling. Suffice to say, if you read Animal Liberation, you will learn plenty about the raising of animals for food. But, you will also be exposed to the world of animal experimentation. Having read the data I am provided there, I am able to say most animal testing is useless, and we can dispense with most or even all animal experimentation at no cost to science, medicine or humanity. So, I will finish my sandwich, and think about this a little more.

Thank you for reading.

As For Observation Wheels...

2009-01-06T13:49:00.000-08:00

"Hey! have you heard that June Allyson gave a concert downtown? I heard there was not a dry seat in the house" -anonymous

If anyone has ever had trouble getting to a bathroom when nature could not wait, you could see the true challenge of the incident that occurred a few weeks ago at the Singapore Flyer. The world's largest observation wheel- standing tall at over 164 meters- came to a stop, leaving 173 people stranded for over seven hours. Granted, there are worse things that can happen, but even then, the unexpected can become hazardous.

As one of those cannisters curls aroung the highest point on the wheel, the occupants are standing more than one and one-half football fields' length above ground. Here is a description of these observation rooms:

Singapore Flyer capsules are fitted with the latest cooling system, supported by a back-up air conditioning system and a solid roof. Passengers need not suffer from the heat when the capsule is 165 metres above the ground, for the capsules are fitted with UV protection to shield them from the blazing Singapore sun. The precision wind engineering also allows passengers to sit back, relax, and enjoy the spectacular skyline without worrying about any movements or vibrations.

Ergonomically designed, each capsule measures 4 metres by 7 metres and has an interior space of 28 square metres, comfortably accommodating a maximum of 28 passengers. The flyer also has elderly and wheelchair friendly synchronised double door entry/exit systems.

But, once again, I assert that when something unlikely happens, like last month's fire in the control room, and the wheel has to shut down for over seven hours, what comforts do we have then? I figure: sure, I could stay on this ride for half an hour longer than the standard ride (each revolution takes approximately thirty minutes). But ideally, I know that wherever I am in the course of a day, I like to know that if I am in this capsule with family or friends for longer than half an hour, I want to know a bathroom will be available. Biology can be an ikssue if the riders had just finished eating. One person discussing this with me said , “well, they can just hold it!”

Time with family and friends can become more intimate, and more intense if that last bowl of rice with sambal, or that last cup of tea wants liberation before you do.

These are the memories of a lifetime, and I am grateful no one got hurt seriously when operations of the Flyer stopped. Of the people on board, two ended up in thje hospital for extended stays, and I have heard of no one seriously injured.

I am an epileptic. I am thinking how forgetting to take my medicine could affect me under those conditions. I suppose I have to be ready for anything. I am thinking how the views of Malaysia and Indonesia will seem most unimportant after such an experience. I am thinking how I would manage such a day now that my own neurology is under investigation.

As an aside:

I, like this machine, am being checked out for system failures. Sigh. My system is becoming irritating. Walking is a drag. But, my aggression is increasing. I now know that I have to come up with some answers on this physical stuff, and make my decisions based on the information my doctors provide.

Once again, the doctors at Shasta Community Health Center's HOPE van have forwarded me to another neurologist. Now, there is a new twist. I have been qualified for MediCal coverage with a payment portion of close to eight hundred dollars. At this point in my life, it is startling to think how I have to take charge of this. Each month I have to maximize the services of which I take advantage, because I am responsible out of pocket for close to half my take home income.

So, we forge on. I am forced to ask questions, and make decisions. I am forced to do many things, because every dollar counts. I pray we find some answers soon.

Thank you for reading.

So, What are Your Resolutions This Year?

2009-01-01T14:33:00.000-08:00

I was pondering my New Year resolve. I was thinking how do I take my resolve, and spread it out manageably across 365 days, so that I can have a positive report this time next year. This is no small concern. In twelve step meetings across the world, in many different languages, people say “Easy Does It.” This, in some circles is followed by the informal addendum: “But do it.” That is the part that seems so stifling, so intimidating. (It is often best to keep the more practical aspects of action in the theoretical). So, 2008 I had more practice being active, and getting things done.

I just watched a talk by a Darwinian philosopher named Dan Dennet, and he spoke eloquently about dangerous memes. What memes, what infectious ideas are we willing to die for? What ideas can I share today that may infect your mind, and pass on like a virus to be planted indiscriminately in someone else's world? I have exchanges with people from many different cultures. I know that just asn western Europeans had immunities to parasites against which indigenous populations were totally defenseless. Am I so bold and ethnocentric to think the culture that spawned me has a lock on truth?

When I go out in the world, I try to be respectful of other worlds, other cultures. My opinions are not so cherished that I would hoist them on the unprepared. I know many people try to check me for my opinions on things. There is a process of testing. In the virus world, this is akin to testing for antibodies. I know that when people want to share their ideas, they want to see how open, how vulnerable to infection I am. I have been examined for my attitudes on religion, politics, sexual orientation, abortion rights, attitudes on real science, pseudo-science, skepticism, open-mindedness, and the list goes on ad nauseam.

I will share freely on what I find interesting. By mentioning relative dating techniques, I can watch a person's face to see what they believe is the age of the planet. Before carbon and uranium dating techniques, one unbiased researcher in the 1800's proved conclusively the planet is only about six thousand years old.

So, with this being one year later, I might want to get to the point of this discussion.

I bought a book recently called Animal Liberation by Peter Singer. This man, an accomplished philosopher, made a case for the ethical treatment of animals that makes me rethink my carnivorous ways. This man makes me rethink animal treatment with a philosophical, but wholly dispassionate analysis of the relationship of humanity to the animal world.

I sit and eat my pastrami Reuben sandwich as I read in detail why supporting the factory farm industry is wrong. This book helps me to see the fractures in my own thinking. It is easier to talk about integrity when I believe it some attainable ideal. I know my soul always suffers fractures. It will always know some disparity between what I want to do, and what I end up doing. There will always be some disparity between what I say I do, and what I end up doing. So, what is this renewal of which I speak? Perhaps with these admissions alone, I will move myself more into alignment with who I want to be.

In these admissions I hope to get closer to meeting the ideals I set for myself in 2008. With my health, with my money, with my dreams of social advancement, and my hopes of spiritual balance, I have to make small changes in my life, many of them. One day at a time, I believe this year will be spectacular!

My friends in recovery warn me against planning outcomes. Still, my most wise and prudent friends assure me planning my actions, and mapping out my wants, my goals, is a must. So, Today, at least here in California, it is still January 1. Today, I still have 364 days to see how close to the mark I can get. I have my body, my spirit, and my mind. By taking little steps (“Baby steps, Dr. Marvin”) I can achieve great things this year.

Thank you for reading.

2008-12-31T19:37:00.000-08:00

It is seven in the evening, and I know after talking on the phone with a most beautiful woman in Jakarta at nine in the morning, California time, my New Year had already started. It is silly for me to think the new year begins with my area-centric perspectives on time. If that was truly significant, then I should probably start reading my horoscope again. Yikes! What a horrifying thought that is.

It is for me already 2009. I have spoken to people across the world that have assured me this is indeed true. My day is quiet, and with no desire to lose sleep, no desire to get drunk, and no desire to have some dissociative disorder develop from celebrating the same event twice in one day, I think it is fine to go to bed at ten o'clock tonight.

Maybe there will be firecrackers tonight. Maybe there will be people getting drunk. Perhaps many folk will be banging pots, and kissing loved ones, or sipping sparkling wines from plastic fluted cups. Maybe Dick Clark still has a Rocking New Year's Celebration broadcasting fr4om New York. Then others will be watching old movies, eating good food with friends while watching old mo0vies on television. This day is a special day.

This day is my day to understand in my heart why resolutions are important. My chance to see why I want to affirm changes in my life today. So many people talked of the failures of New Year's resolutions, and I wonder why I lost the point. I now know my own renewal, my own time for reflection must always remain personal. Do I have resolutions this year? Of course I do. But amazingly, I have to look at this year as a time to think back on what changes occurred in 2008.

2008 was a time for me to make many changes, and it was conversations today that remind me how much has happened in my life this year. I am working towards a change in the way I work. I am affirming my acceptance I can no longer rely on my body as the vehicle to work. I have had twenty years in service jobs. Now, it is truly time for a change.

Just as quitting smoking was a failure until I got sick enough I could not do it anymore, I now am at a point where I can no longer use my body as a device to make money reliably. So, finally, I am making changes, many changes. It is a part of my makeup that I must acknowledge these positive things, because it is funny how when the work is being done, sometimes it is hard to see where it is getting me.

Change for me is inevitable. I do have a say in how it manifests in my life. So with this I welcome the year 2009. I welcome the changes in my life. I welcome the new challenges. I am grateful for this day to move forward. Still, I am quite content to be asleep when the clock strikes midnight. God bless you all.

Thank you for reading.

Selamat datang! Tahun Baru 2009

2008-12-29T15:39:00.000-08:00

The Christmas Season is coming to an end... Theyear is wrapping up, and I am getting ready to start another semestern at school.... Stay tuned. Here is my last dose of Christmas cheer for 2008. Enjoy the music!

Coming Back Home...

2008-12-15T23:53:00.000-08:00

Wacky folk in San Jose descended on me today. Visiting with some friends, I had to tell them I am not so good at taking care of myself. San Jose has been my base of operations for thirty-five years, and many people here have known my idiosyncrasies for the bulk of time since 1992. My mother and other family will claim knowledge going back much further than that. I am always feeling a sense of love and renewal every time I come here.

Of my friends, they sit and patiently listen to me explain all my reasons why I do not take care of myself. I have a new phone list with many phone numbers I have had in times past. I know many of them say they miss me, and am glad I came to our little gathering in a church here in the Blossom Valley. Few people know where the Blossom Valley is any more. Covered mostly in concrete, it is wild to think that the name reflected the nature of this valley, that we had many orchards, and bountiful harvests.

I grew up in a time after the development of Apple computers. Once the compute age was upon us, all the orchards started disappearing. This is the Silicon Valley in a time past its boom. As I come here, I reflect on what a gorgeous place this county still is. I am grateful t see my family and friends in this period before Christmas.

As rude as my friends are, many of them remind me of the wonderful work I do, and have do0ne to get better. Many of them remind me what a wonderful thing it is to call on a regular basis. I am clear that as I get lost in my minor depressions, I do disassociate from many of the folk that care about me most. So, what have I really shared in this blog? Last May I shared that I had abstained from booze since 1999. Gratefully, I can still claim that.

Now, in lieu of my health problems, my bad attitude, my movement to disability, and my effort to learn a new way to make money, I now have people looking through this window, and asking me “What really, are you doing to take care of yourself?” In this holiday period, I am grateful, immensely grateful to see who my true friends are. I am able to see my family. I am able to pray, clear my head, and remember what actions moved me forward, brought me relief, and settled my heart.

Now, once again, I can move back home, and act like a man with some purpose in his life. That is all I want to report for now.

Thank you for reading.