Friday, August 31, 2012
Today's word
inspissate \in-SPISS-ayt\ - to make or become thick or thicker
Oh, yesterday's word was servile, which I didn't bother looking up as it has been in my vocabulary for so long. But apparently not in my spoken vocabulary - as I just noticed in retrieving the more permanent url for inspissate - or someone surely would have corrected my pronunciation by now.
Oh, yesterday's word was servile, which I didn't bother looking up as it has been in my vocabulary for so long. But apparently not in my spoken vocabulary - as I just noticed in retrieving the more permanent url for inspissate - or someone surely would have corrected my pronunciation by now.
The way it feels
I've been starting to prepare Time in a Bottle for this wedding I'm playing for in October, and am playing it better than I ever did before. I always played it more like an acoustic lead guitarist would, even though I never had a band behind me to fill it in. Now I've incorporated a lot of the same riffs within the context of their chords, which makes for a fuller and more fluid piece. I'm enjoying playing it in this new way, and think those who hear it will like it more this way. It's funny, because I was always proud of how I played it before, not even realizing that there was another approach that would be better suited to the opportunities I typically have to play.
But that isn't why I started this post. In the last couple of days I've also found myself thinking of the other Jim Croce hit that has been in my repertoire, even though I haven't played it for years.
But that isn't why I started this post. In the last couple of days I've also found myself thinking of the other Jim Croce hit that has been in my repertoire, even though I haven't played it for years.
She's livin' in L.A. with my best ol' ex-friend Ray -I don't know why these lyrics seem to be resonating with me so oddly right now. I suppose it might be nothing more than nostalgia.
a guy she said she knew well and sometimes hated.
Well, isn't that the way they say it goes . . .
But let's forget all that, and give me the number, if you can find it,
so I can call just to tell her I'm fine and to show
I've overcome the blow,
I've learned to take it well . . .
I only wish my words could just convince myself that it just wasn't real . . . But that's not the way it feels.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Brick wallz
The programming code I carefully developed over months appears to be gone.
The thousands of items that I downloaded for transfer to the new knowledge base don't appear to be pointed to correctly in the spreadsheet that I need to verify them against.
The documents I'm supposed to get out this week all need further editing and the subject matter experts who can approve my revisions are all off for the rest of the week.
Basically, everything looks like it is going to come crashing down at once at work.
The thousands of items that I downloaded for transfer to the new knowledge base don't appear to be pointed to correctly in the spreadsheet that I need to verify them against.
The documents I'm supposed to get out this week all need further editing and the subject matter experts who can approve my revisions are all off for the rest of the week.
Basically, everything looks like it is going to come crashing down at once at work.
Idiot box
Tonight's plan to take Potter to visit his nephew Cain as a precursor to hanging out there for a few days while we go out of town next weekend means that, for at least an hour tonight, I won't feel like a voluntary refugee from my own family room. But come to think of it, I will still be, in a way.
Today's word
granita noun \gruh-NEE-tuh\ - a coarse-textured ice confection typically made from fruit
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
How you get caught matters
I'm convinced that the single most important thing you can do to reduce your punishment risk if you have committed a crime is to report it yourself. Unfortunately, in this day and age you have to be careful how you do that, and that means getting a good lawyer who will support your attempts to come clean and who has good working relationships with the prosecutors.
Once your crime is discovered and reported by someone else, no amount of responsible action you take will ever convince prosecutors that you're doing anything more than trying to make a good impression. And once a crime is reported, prosecutors are often chiefly concerned with getting the maximum possible conviction.
Once your crime is discovered and reported by someone else, no amount of responsible action you take will ever convince prosecutors that you're doing anything more than trying to make a good impression. And once a crime is reported, prosecutors are often chiefly concerned with getting the maximum possible conviction.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
It's *prayer* and fasting
I think it's probably not very effective fasting to keep an eye on the clock and wonder when I'm going to hear something so that I can put something into my stomach . . .
Lord, I lift my beloved friends up to you and trust in your providence for them, not expecting my hunger to add anything to your care for them, but just to serve a reminder to continue to lift them up . . .
Lord, I lift my beloved friends up to you and trust in your providence for them, not expecting my hunger to add anything to your care for them, but just to serve a reminder to continue to lift them up . . .
Monday, August 27, 2012
Doing something wrong
Okay, I got up out of my bed early last night when I realized I wasn't ready to go to sleep yet. I got back to bed at a decent hour, and stayed there all night but for a short bathroom break. Still, I was briefly awake several other times in the course of the night, at least once from a dream that I didn't remember on waking.
I am absolutely exhausted this afternoon.
I am absolutely exhausted this afternoon.
More of today's words
A rare one from one of today's Jumble games (crossword), which took three look-ups to get to the full definition. The first was provided by the game; offered here in order of discovery:
everted (adj.) \ih-VERT-ed\ - turned inside out
evert (v.) \ih-VERT\ - 1. overthrow, upset 2. to subject to eversion
eversion (n.) \ih-VER-zhun, -shun\ - 1. the act of turning inside out : the state of being turned inside out
The Potato Fiasco
This was the title of the presentation on Saturday at our marriage encounter love circle. It was an amusing and purposeful anecdote about the role of apology, of simply earnestly saying "I'm sorry," in restoring relationships, moving them beyond the immediate conflict into reconciliation.
As we dialogued about how we felt when we needed to apologize, I found my thoughts moving beyond that to the dynamics of apologizing in our own family. Teri shared how utterly rare apologizing was in her home growing up, and I could see that. I shared with her in reply that I had observed that when she had done something wrong, something that might have called for her to apologize, she was generally in so much trouble that she was probably too afraid to apologize. She pretty much agreed with that observation.
We also talked about how the dynamic was different for me, though still in a very unhealthy way. My "impossible task" was to please my dad, and since I could never measure up to his standards in the things that mattered to him, I was striving for perfection in every other way. If I needed to apologize for something, that meant that I had been imperfect, unless I could point to something else that caused the whole situation that prompted my reaction. So early in my marriage, for instance, if I flew off the handle it had to be because of something someone else did, to which I perceived my response as being appropriate. It couldn't be because there was any imperfection in me. Of course, this entire dynamic was unconscious, but still very real. Now I have the humility to recognize that I screw up all the time, and an emotional balance such that I don't need to be overly defensive about it when I do. I'm not perfect, and that's okay. As a result, I'm a lot quicker to apologize for my mistakes.
I suspect that many adults are still running around trying to carry out the impossible task of their childhood, screwing up their adult relationships - and likely their children - in the process.
As we dialogued about how we felt when we needed to apologize, I found my thoughts moving beyond that to the dynamics of apologizing in our own family. Teri shared how utterly rare apologizing was in her home growing up, and I could see that. I shared with her in reply that I had observed that when she had done something wrong, something that might have called for her to apologize, she was generally in so much trouble that she was probably too afraid to apologize. She pretty much agreed with that observation.
We also talked about how the dynamic was different for me, though still in a very unhealthy way. My "impossible task" was to please my dad, and since I could never measure up to his standards in the things that mattered to him, I was striving for perfection in every other way. If I needed to apologize for something, that meant that I had been imperfect, unless I could point to something else that caused the whole situation that prompted my reaction. So early in my marriage, for instance, if I flew off the handle it had to be because of something someone else did, to which I perceived my response as being appropriate. It couldn't be because there was any imperfection in me. Of course, this entire dynamic was unconscious, but still very real. Now I have the humility to recognize that I screw up all the time, and an emotional balance such that I don't need to be overly defensive about it when I do. I'm not perfect, and that's okay. As a result, I'm a lot quicker to apologize for my mistakes.
I suspect that many adults are still running around trying to carry out the impossible task of their childhood, screwing up their adult relationships - and likely their children - in the process.
Today's words
belaud \bih-LAWD\ - to praise, usually to excess
I'd never run across this one before, but recognized it and inferred its meaning on sightsansculotte \sanz-koo-LAHT\ - 1. an extreme radical republican in France at the time of the Revolution 2. a radical or violent extremist in politics
I'd likewise never encountered this one, but while I knew its etymology on sight - culottes having been part of the girls' uniform at my high school - I didn't know the political climate that led to its definition until I read on. Then it made perfect sense.sedulous \SEJ-uh-lus\ - 1. involving or accomplished with careful perseverance 2. diligent in application or pursuit
I suppose it could be said that I'm sedulously working on the music for my friends' wedding in October.
Clingman's dome
My riding buddies want to go down and ride up this mountain one weekend this fall, then continue on to Cherokee, NC, and back to Tennessee for about a 70-mile total. I have a couple concerns, starting with the 20 mile climb and ending with having driven to Cherokee before and not being much at ease with the width of the roads. At least, while the elevations are high, the climbs don't seem excessively steep. I'll have to talk with Marty some more about this one.
Meanwhile, yesterday morning's ride was a nice hilly one, though nothing local can prepare you for the Appalachians, as we learned by painful experience when we did the Cheat Mountain century.
Meanwhile, yesterday morning's ride was a nice hilly one, though nothing local can prepare you for the Appalachians, as we learned by painful experience when we did the Cheat Mountain century.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
The King of dusters
How great does a microfiber duster have to be before I'd be willing to spend almost $30 on it? (In 2012 US$?) The world may never know.
Please send that thing back. I'd way rather pay the shipping both ways than have it pissing me off every time I see it in the closet.
Please send that thing back. I'd way rather pay the shipping both ways than have it pissing me off every time I see it in the closet.
A non-drinking problem
One problem with having been awake since 5 a.m., attended a meeting this morning, cooked breakfast and watched a parade pass down my street is that I feel as if it must already be time for it to be okay for me to have a beer . . .
Maybe I'll just take a nap instead.
Maybe I'll just take a nap instead.
Note to self:
If you go to bed early, turn off the light and go to sleep. Stop training your mind and body to associate the bed as a place for the wakeful activities of thinking, playing Words with the wife, brooding and the like.
Friday, August 24, 2012
What I didn't say about Lance in my FB comment
When someone confides in you that they were sexually abused, and then you interpret some set of circumstances in your life so as to conclude that you should make the contents of that conversation public - and especially for the purpose of somehow undermining the credibility of the confider - you deserve whatever bad karma you generate.
Lance Armstrong's work with and support of his fellow cancer victims is remarkable and inspiring. And he may be the most remarkable athlete in history. If he indeed cleanly won 7 consecutive Tours de France against a field loaded with cheaters - even if he did so with the help of cheaters on his own team that he didn't know about (and this is what he has alleged when you couple his own denials with the admissions of his fellow riders) - all after his well-known battle against cancer, then he has been unjustly vilified by the anti-doping authorities and slandered by his fellow riders.
But even if all that is true, even if he is the most wrongfully maligned person since they crucified Jesus of Nazareth: Lance Armstrong will never be my confidant.
Lance Armstrong's work with and support of his fellow cancer victims is remarkable and inspiring. And he may be the most remarkable athlete in history. If he indeed cleanly won 7 consecutive Tours de France against a field loaded with cheaters - even if he did so with the help of cheaters on his own team that he didn't know about (and this is what he has alleged when you couple his own denials with the admissions of his fellow riders) - all after his well-known battle against cancer, then he has been unjustly vilified by the anti-doping authorities and slandered by his fellow riders.
But even if all that is true, even if he is the most wrongfully maligned person since they crucified Jesus of Nazareth: Lance Armstrong will never be my confidant.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
A song I probably shouldn't like as much as I do!
I just love their sense of humor.
One More Day Above the Roses - Gaelic Storm
I'm done with you begrudgers!
You pushers and you shovers!
The scurrying, the worrying,
I'm goin’ to have some fun!
Well I was born very young, I grew up in me cradle,
Chances are, that when I die, it will be of something fatal.
So if you see me running, keep up by my side,
That hurricane’s a coming, and there ain't no place to hide!
Get your own life this one’s mine,
and stuff it, where, the sun don’t shine!
I'm done with you begrudgers!
You pushers and you shovers!
The scurrying, the worrying,
I'm goin' to have some fun!
So, give it over, take a break.
Shut yer hole! You're causing my poor heart to ache.
To all you saints and sinners, you losers and you winners;
Here's to one more day above the roses!
All that shmoozin' and the boozin', will catch up with you they say,
At least that's what them old ones, they told me everyday.
So I quit just like they said, stopped everything that’s bad,
‘Twas the worst twenty minutes that I’ve ever had!
It's not the cough that carries you off,
It's the coffin, they, carry you off in!
I'm done with all the snitching!
The balling and the bitching!
The striving and conniving,
I’m heading for the pub!
So, give it over, take a break.
Shut yer hole! You're causing my poor heart to ache.
To all you saints and sinners, you losers and you winners;
Here's to one more day above the roses!
Work like you don't need money, don't know how much things cost.
Love like you've never been hurt, love like you've never lost.
Dance like no one’s watching, as often as you can,
And when you drink, drink like, you're a true-blood Irishman!
Live every day like it's your last,
They're going by, way too fast!
You langers and you loons!
You bankers and buffoons!
The liars, the pariahs,
You can keep the bloody lot!
So, give it over, take a break.
Shut yer hole! You're causing my poor heart to ache.
To all you saints and sinners, you losers and you winners;
Here's to one more day above the roses!
Here's to one more day above the roses!
Here's to one more day above the roses!
One More Day Above the Roses - Gaelic Storm
I'm done with you begrudgers!
You pushers and you shovers!
The scurrying, the worrying,
I'm goin’ to have some fun!
Well I was born very young, I grew up in me cradle,
Chances are, that when I die, it will be of something fatal.
So if you see me running, keep up by my side,
That hurricane’s a coming, and there ain't no place to hide!
Get your own life this one’s mine,
and stuff it, where, the sun don’t shine!
I'm done with you begrudgers!
You pushers and you shovers!
The scurrying, the worrying,
I'm goin' to have some fun!
So, give it over, take a break.
Shut yer hole! You're causing my poor heart to ache.
To all you saints and sinners, you losers and you winners;
Here's to one more day above the roses!
All that shmoozin' and the boozin', will catch up with you they say,
At least that's what them old ones, they told me everyday.
So I quit just like they said, stopped everything that’s bad,
‘Twas the worst twenty minutes that I’ve ever had!
It's not the cough that carries you off,
It's the coffin, they, carry you off in!
I'm done with all the snitching!
The balling and the bitching!
The striving and conniving,
I’m heading for the pub!
So, give it over, take a break.
Shut yer hole! You're causing my poor heart to ache.
To all you saints and sinners, you losers and you winners;
Here's to one more day above the roses!
Work like you don't need money, don't know how much things cost.
Love like you've never been hurt, love like you've never lost.
Dance like no one’s watching, as often as you can,
And when you drink, drink like, you're a true-blood Irishman!
Live every day like it's your last,
They're going by, way too fast!
You langers and you loons!
You bankers and buffoons!
The liars, the pariahs,
You can keep the bloody lot!
So, give it over, take a break.
Shut yer hole! You're causing my poor heart to ache.
To all you saints and sinners, you losers and you winners;
Here's to one more day above the roses!
Here's to one more day above the roses!
Here's to one more day above the roses!
Favorite lyrics from songs for October wedding
Just Breathe - Pearl Jam
Thank You - Led Zeppelin
Did I say that I need you?Orange Sky - Alexi Murdoch
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see;
No one knows this more than me
As I come clean.
But when I'm alone,Over the Rainbow/Wonderful World - Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
When I've thrown off the weight of this crazy stone,
When I've lost all care for the things I own,
That's when I miss you, you who are my home.
At first, the way he changed the third phrase of each verse to some variation of "And the dreams" really bugged me, but it has grown on me.Grace is Gone - Dave Matthews Band
My absolute favorite part of this song is how he has made a simple riff sound so much more complex than it is. Lyrically:
One drink to remember,This Year's Love - David Gray
Then another to forget.
How could I ever dream to find
Sweet love like you again?
I really don't care so much for this song in general, but here's the best of it, I guess:
So who's to worryI Believe - Stevie Wonder
If our hearts get torn
When that hurt gets thrown.
Don't you know this life goes on?
Without despair we will share,Then there are the pieces I'm pulling out of my existing repertoire:
And the joys of caring will not be replaced.
What has been must never end
And with the strength we have won't be erased.
When the truths of love are planted firm,
They won't be hard to find,
And the words of love I speak to you
Will echo in my mind.
Thank You - Led Zeppelin
If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you.
When mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.
(although it's a little sad when the first couplet is the best.)Time in a Bottle - Jim Croce
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true,
The box would be empty except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you.
(So many to choose from!)The Wedding Song - Paul Stookey
Well then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?I Will Be Here - Steven Curtis Chapman
Is it love that brings you here or love that brings you life?
For if loving is the answer, then who's the giving for?
Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?
Oh there is Love.
I will be here when you feel like bein' quiet.(Oh, and three of these pieces make reference to the sun not shining, though the context seems a little different in the Matthews number.)
When you need to speak your mind I will listen.
Today's word
dundrearies \dun-DREER-eez\ - long flowing sideburns
From a character in Our American Cousin, a play now best known for being performed at Ford's Theater the night Booth assassinated Lincoln there.
From a character in Our American Cousin, a play now best known for being performed at Ford's Theater the night Booth assassinated Lincoln there.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Feeling cast off . . .
. . . by a friend who goes back a couple decades. I'm sure it's just circumstantial, but it still . . . well . . . hurts.
Today's words
ramose \RAY-mohss\ - consisting of or having branches
(I like yesterday's better. Oh, here's one my wife stumbled across by trial and error in Words with Friends last weekend, when what she was going for was "joust" but got it confused with "jowl":)
jou·al \zhoo-AL, -ALL\ - spoken Canadian French; especially : the local forms of the spoken French of Quebec that differ the most from prescribed forms
(This piece of blind luck cost me a 111 point word. I didn't so much resent the one that cost me 108 points on the next turn, as at least it was actually in her vocabulary!)
(I like yesterday's better. Oh, here's one my wife stumbled across by trial and error in Words with Friends last weekend, when what she was going for was "joust" but got it confused with "jowl":)
jou·al \zhoo-AL, -ALL\ - spoken Canadian French; especially : the local forms of the spoken French of Quebec that differ the most from prescribed forms
(This piece of blind luck cost me a 111 point word. I didn't so much resent the one that cost me 108 points on the next turn, as at least it was actually in her vocabulary!)
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Today's word
dyslogistic \diss-luh-JISS-tik\ - uncomplimentary
Logic would lead one to believe that "dyslogistic" is somehow related to the Greek word "logos," from which the words "logic" and "logistics" are derived. In actuality, however, "dyslogistic" is a 19th-century merger of the prefix "dys-," meaning "bad," and "eulogy," referring to an expression of praise. English jurist and philosopher Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) often used "dyslogistic" in his writings as an adjective to convey dispraise or opprobrium. And even today the word is likely to be encountered in judicial and intellectual writings.I'm thinking the roots of "eulogy" run closer to "logos" than the author is giving credit for.
And I really love this word.
Still helpless
I've always felt this way when my girls have been sick, and I feel it even more for Teri's sake now. We felt as if we'd gotten her turned around with this bout of pancreatitis, with as great as she was feeling on Sunday. Yesterday her pain was back, and shows no sign of abating. It isn't as severe as before she was admitted, but it's clear that she's not well. The weird thing is that the indicator in the past, for all of them, has always been that when they could tolerate food it meant that they were over it. This time, Teri was never NPO, and was comfortable on a full diet before they released her.
Lord, please heal my bride, and my daughters, from this chronic scourge in their lives.
Am also lifting up a parishioner who is finally having surgery on Friday and a dear friend traveling with her children (who is currently driving through northwestern NY during peak time on the Thruway).
Lord, please heal my bride, and my daughters, from this chronic scourge in their lives.
Am also lifting up a parishioner who is finally having surgery on Friday and a dear friend traveling with her children (who is currently driving through northwestern NY during peak time on the Thruway).
Monday, August 20, 2012
Today's words - revised
Sunday, August 19, 2012
I had a dream I . . .
. . . stood beneath an orange sky.
I'm pretty excited about the new music I'm learning for Ben and 'Becca's wedding in October. He's picked out some really nice stuff, that is right up my alley though not in my repertoire. Besides this Alexi Murdoch piece, I'm playing my first pieces by Pearl Jam (Just Breath), Dave Matthews (Grace is Gone; not exactly a great wedding piece but a cool song with a fabulous guitar part, so we'll stick it early in the pre-service program), David Gray (This Year's Love), Stevie Wonder (I Believe), and Iz Kamakawiwo'ole (Over the Rainbow/Wonderful World, for which I'm going to have to make my guitar sound like a ukulele).
I'm pretty excited about the new music I'm learning for Ben and 'Becca's wedding in October. He's picked out some really nice stuff, that is right up my alley though not in my repertoire. Besides this Alexi Murdoch piece, I'm playing my first pieces by Pearl Jam (Just Breath), Dave Matthews (Grace is Gone; not exactly a great wedding piece but a cool song with a fabulous guitar part, so we'll stick it early in the pre-service program), David Gray (This Year's Love), Stevie Wonder (I Believe), and Iz Kamakawiwo'ole (Over the Rainbow/Wonderful World, for which I'm going to have to make my guitar sound like a ukulele).
Friday, August 17, 2012
Mixed cliches
It's "with a purple passion," not "like the purple plague." Silly man.
I knew that was wrong when I typed it, too.
I knew that was wrong when I typed it, too.
Today's words (revised)
georgic \JOR-jik\ - of or relating to agriculture
Interesting etymology.
Also, rare phobias listed here. The only one I'll specifically mention is
ailurophobia - abnormal fear of cats
which has the related
ailurophile - lover of cats
The latter probably tend to think that the word "abnormal" in the former definition is redundant.
Interesting etymology.
Also, rare phobias listed here. The only one I'll specifically mention is
ailurophobia - abnormal fear of cats
which has the related
ailurophile - lover of cats
The latter probably tend to think that the word "abnormal" in the former definition is redundant.
Getting assertive
I may avoid conflict like the purple plague, but when I engage I seem to have a knack for taking the right approach to get things resolved.
At my wife's follow-up appointment on Tuesday for this stubborn bout of pancreatitis, the doctor upped the ante on her medications for nausea and pain, and restricted her to clear liquids for another two days. Well, the mornings mostly seemed to go a little better, but there was no way she was ingesting as much fluid as she needed to, as she was still experiencing nausea and vomiting, not to mention the pain.
So: when our doctor called back last night, he told Teri to call the office promptly at 8 a.m., and when she started to object that she wouldn't be able to get hold of him, insisted that he would be there in the office, that she should have the staff give him a message and he would call right back.
This morning Teri woke up about 6 with dry heaves, then came back to bed. I got up forty-five minutes later, sent my coworkers an e-mail and briefly messaged this great friend of mine, then got ready for the day. At 8, Teri started calling the doctor's office, but they don't take their phones off of night mode until 8:10. By the time she waited on hold, they told her he'd just gone in with a patient for a physical, and dumped her into his medical assistant's voicemail (for the third consecutive day).
I was fit to be tied. I waited about 20 minutes on the outside chance her message actually got through to him, stewing the whole time. Then I told her I was getting in the car and going to his office. I really didn't know for certain what I was going to do when I got there, just that I was going to make them deal with us face-to-face, where they couldn't get rid of us just by pushing a button.
I went to the desk, gave them my name and very calmly (outwardly, at least) asked what I needed to do to speak to the office manager. When they informed me that she was out of the office today, I asked what I needed to do to make sure that "Jim Derksen" got my wife's message. I wanted them to know this was our personal doctor; after all, we've been seeing him for twenty years. One of his staff looked up Teri's account and didn't see any indication that she'd managed to get through to him this morning. She went to his office, and after a couple minutes came back and told me there was a note on his keyboard. I am absolutely certain, based on the way she worded herself and how long she was gone, that there wasn't one until she wrote it and put it there.
Before I got back home, Teri called to tell me that she'd heard from the doctor, she was admitted, and they'd be calling back to tell us where in the hospital to report.
I'm fairly confident that, had I not gone to the office, we'd have been waiting until at least noon before we heard from them.
At my wife's follow-up appointment on Tuesday for this stubborn bout of pancreatitis, the doctor upped the ante on her medications for nausea and pain, and restricted her to clear liquids for another two days. Well, the mornings mostly seemed to go a little better, but there was no way she was ingesting as much fluid as she needed to, as she was still experiencing nausea and vomiting, not to mention the pain.
So: when our doctor called back last night, he told Teri to call the office promptly at 8 a.m., and when she started to object that she wouldn't be able to get hold of him, insisted that he would be there in the office, that she should have the staff give him a message and he would call right back.
This morning Teri woke up about 6 with dry heaves, then came back to bed. I got up forty-five minutes later, sent my coworkers an e-mail and briefly messaged this great friend of mine, then got ready for the day. At 8, Teri started calling the doctor's office, but they don't take their phones off of night mode until 8:10. By the time she waited on hold, they told her he'd just gone in with a patient for a physical, and dumped her into his medical assistant's voicemail (for the third consecutive day).
I was fit to be tied. I waited about 20 minutes on the outside chance her message actually got through to him, stewing the whole time. Then I told her I was getting in the car and going to his office. I really didn't know for certain what I was going to do when I got there, just that I was going to make them deal with us face-to-face, where they couldn't get rid of us just by pushing a button.
I went to the desk, gave them my name and very calmly (outwardly, at least) asked what I needed to do to speak to the office manager. When they informed me that she was out of the office today, I asked what I needed to do to make sure that "Jim Derksen" got my wife's message. I wanted them to know this was our personal doctor; after all, we've been seeing him for twenty years. One of his staff looked up Teri's account and didn't see any indication that she'd managed to get through to him this morning. She went to his office, and after a couple minutes came back and told me there was a note on his keyboard. I am absolutely certain, based on the way she worded herself and how long she was gone, that there wasn't one until she wrote it and put it there.
Before I got back home, Teri called to tell me that she'd heard from the doctor, she was admitted, and they'd be calling back to tell us where in the hospital to report.
I'm fairly confident that, had I not gone to the office, we'd have been waiting until at least noon before we heard from them.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Now they are all Borg
The reason we have to have a debate about universal health care is the same reason we can't talk to our family doctor (of 20 years) or our GI specialist (of 25) anymore.
Medicine has become strictly business, and there is no way to keep strictly businesses from eating people up.
Our family doctor bravely resisted the trend for as long as he could, then got picked up in a two-physician office by a medical group. A couple years later they closed his office and moved him into a larger one with more physicians and less service.
I think our GI doc tried to fight the process, too, and we can't manage to talk with him anymore, either.
They've been assimilated.
Medicine has become strictly business, and there is no way to keep strictly businesses from eating people up.
Our family doctor bravely resisted the trend for as long as he could, then got picked up in a two-physician office by a medical group. A couple years later they closed his office and moved him into a larger one with more physicians and less service.
I think our GI doc tried to fight the process, too, and we can't manage to talk with him anymore, either.
They've been assimilated.
Today's word
maquette \ma-KET\ - a usually small preliminary model (as of a sculpture or a building)
Never really finished
There are some things in life that, if you do them right, you're never really finished with. Even after our children grow into responsible adults and our relationship with them is transformed, we'll always be their parents, sharing our wisdom and experience with them as appropriate. I'm convinced that a good marriage always needs tending and nurturing, that there's no point at which a spouse can just put it on autopilot and expect the love to just flow on its own. And I'm certain that a person who spends time in therapy with the right attitude learns approaches, insights, and ways of considering their lives that they end up applying to new situations throughout the rest of their lives.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Taking my temperature
At the beginning of each group therapy session, we held hands as we "checked in" with our current feeling/emotion and requested the amount of time each of us expected we'd need to cover whatever agenda we'd prepared to discuss. Even the therapists requested time at the start of the meeting for their agenda. Rarely was all of the session time fully accounted for, but if it was, we'd adjust as we thought we could to accommodate each other's agenda. One night after I'd been meeting with the group for a few weeks, and after I'd been briefly suspended over a misunderstanding of the program rules as they'd been communicated to me via two different channels, I was sitting next to one of the two therapists who ran the group sessions. After everyone had checked in, she observed that my hand was "really cold."
"That's a sign of fear, you know," she said matter-of-factly. The feeling I'd checked in with is lost in the fog of the intervening years, but I certainly hadn't checked in with "afraid." Maybe "calm." At any rate, I was pretty sure I knew what I was feeling and that it wasn't fear. In retrospect, I now recognize that I was always "nervous" (yes, this is one of the terms we use to make our fearful feelings more palatable) going to any of my therapy sessions at that point in my treatment. An important role of the counseling team, indeed of the entire therapy group, was to challenge our misperceptions of reality, but a good therapist knows that there are effective and not-so-much ways of doing that for each patient. Kate was about to give me a giant shove along my journey to emotional health. I don't know how conscious she was of how important this moment would become for me, but I was completely unaware and, as always, utterly convinced of my "rightness."
"Nah, my hands are always cold," I answered dismissively, not realizing that something deeply transformative was about to begin for me.
Being right had been the most important thing in my life for as long as I can remember. It was my defense against an adoptive father who never accepted my athletic shortcomings and a group of peers with whom I never fit in, and was the chief source of my self-image. I was pretty sure that I knew myself, even though I couldn't yet begin to reconcile that self-concept with the reason that I was in this therapy group. I was confident that I was right now, too. Kate was as cautiously non-confrontational as she could be, recognizing that my self-assuredness was more central to me than a mere tool in my arsenal to commit my offenses, yet was also the latter, and had to be dealt with.
She turned slightly toward me. "When we experience fear," she began to explain, "our fight-or-flight reflex kicks in. The body's natural response learned through ages of experience is to prepare for a possible injury to the vital organs, and more blood is directed to them, all located near the center of our bodies, leaving less blood available for our extremities. As a result, our fingers and toes feel cold because of the reduced flow of warming blood to them."
She was as sure of herself as I was.
"But I've had cold hands for as long as I can remember, all the way back to my childhood," I protested, still feeling dismissive. I couldn't figure out what point she was trying to make, nor understand for the life of me why she thought this was so important.
She turned to face me almost directly. "Tom," she said, making sure she had my attention, and speaking with unmistakable sympathy, "I have no doubt that you've been afraid for as long as you can remember."
I still get chills, over sixteen years later, almost as strongly as I did that evening when I immediately recognized the truth of her words. I remember little else from that session, but in that moment I knew something about myself that had always been true and that I had never recognized before.
And thus began my progress toward health. Oh, the journey had started months before, and I'm certain that evening couldn't have happened without the groundwork that had preceded it.
Today I found myself thinking of this key milestone in therapy as I "checked in" with myself concerning an upcoming trip, looking for any physiological signs that I might be deceiving myself or others about my own intentions. They are noticeably absent.
"That's a sign of fear, you know," she said matter-of-factly. The feeling I'd checked in with is lost in the fog of the intervening years, but I certainly hadn't checked in with "afraid." Maybe "calm." At any rate, I was pretty sure I knew what I was feeling and that it wasn't fear. In retrospect, I now recognize that I was always "nervous" (yes, this is one of the terms we use to make our fearful feelings more palatable) going to any of my therapy sessions at that point in my treatment. An important role of the counseling team, indeed of the entire therapy group, was to challenge our misperceptions of reality, but a good therapist knows that there are effective and not-so-much ways of doing that for each patient. Kate was about to give me a giant shove along my journey to emotional health. I don't know how conscious she was of how important this moment would become for me, but I was completely unaware and, as always, utterly convinced of my "rightness."
"Nah, my hands are always cold," I answered dismissively, not realizing that something deeply transformative was about to begin for me.
Being right had been the most important thing in my life for as long as I can remember. It was my defense against an adoptive father who never accepted my athletic shortcomings and a group of peers with whom I never fit in, and was the chief source of my self-image. I was pretty sure that I knew myself, even though I couldn't yet begin to reconcile that self-concept with the reason that I was in this therapy group. I was confident that I was right now, too. Kate was as cautiously non-confrontational as she could be, recognizing that my self-assuredness was more central to me than a mere tool in my arsenal to commit my offenses, yet was also the latter, and had to be dealt with.
She turned slightly toward me. "When we experience fear," she began to explain, "our fight-or-flight reflex kicks in. The body's natural response learned through ages of experience is to prepare for a possible injury to the vital organs, and more blood is directed to them, all located near the center of our bodies, leaving less blood available for our extremities. As a result, our fingers and toes feel cold because of the reduced flow of warming blood to them."
She was as sure of herself as I was.
"But I've had cold hands for as long as I can remember, all the way back to my childhood," I protested, still feeling dismissive. I couldn't figure out what point she was trying to make, nor understand for the life of me why she thought this was so important.
She turned to face me almost directly. "Tom," she said, making sure she had my attention, and speaking with unmistakable sympathy, "I have no doubt that you've been afraid for as long as you can remember."
I still get chills, over sixteen years later, almost as strongly as I did that evening when I immediately recognized the truth of her words. I remember little else from that session, but in that moment I knew something about myself that had always been true and that I had never recognized before.
And thus began my progress toward health. Oh, the journey had started months before, and I'm certain that evening couldn't have happened without the groundwork that had preceded it.
Today I found myself thinking of this key milestone in therapy as I "checked in" with myself concerning an upcoming trip, looking for any physiological signs that I might be deceiving myself or others about my own intentions. They are noticeably absent.
So close and yet so far
How was it that I never dreamed of telling you what he was doing to me? I thought of you as the sort of friend with whom I could share anything, yet I never even considered telling you the one thing that might have made a difference in my life to have shared with you, with anyone.
Of course, at the time, because of his manipulation, I didn't think of it as "what he was doing to me," but rather as what I was doing with him. Even with all my resisting, his physically isolating and sometimes overpowering me, I still thought of myself as a co-conspirator with him in cheating on my mother. My crushing shame confirmed that illusion for me, and it was what kept me silent, indeed from the most fleeting entertainment of any option other than silence.
It isn't for your sake - and especially not for "ours," as we've both long since become fully confident in the decisions we made about the relationships for which we were meant - that I wish I'd told you. But I certainly regret what it ended up meaning for me that I couldn't, and the role that my long-term silence and shame played in what I subsequently became, in part because I never really dealt with this even when I did finally tell someone.
It would be easy to feel that there remains a wrong in my past that I need to fix by filling in my missing pieces for you. That isn't the right way to think about this, for a lot of reasons. One of the biggest is probably what it would mean for me to approach this weekend with such an agenda with you - and our spouses - ignorant of it. It is inexpressibly helpful (healthful) that I don't feel any compulsion to try to recreate an idealized friendship to make up for something lacking in my life. I have a feeling that it will become obvious if the day ever comes to share the missing chapters of my story with you; if so, it will not be something that I will need to be anxious about.
Of course, at the time, because of his manipulation, I didn't think of it as "what he was doing to me," but rather as what I was doing with him. Even with all my resisting, his physically isolating and sometimes overpowering me, I still thought of myself as a co-conspirator with him in cheating on my mother. My crushing shame confirmed that illusion for me, and it was what kept me silent, indeed from the most fleeting entertainment of any option other than silence.
It isn't for your sake - and especially not for "ours," as we've both long since become fully confident in the decisions we made about the relationships for which we were meant - that I wish I'd told you. But I certainly regret what it ended up meaning for me that I couldn't, and the role that my long-term silence and shame played in what I subsequently became, in part because I never really dealt with this even when I did finally tell someone.
It would be easy to feel that there remains a wrong in my past that I need to fix by filling in my missing pieces for you. That isn't the right way to think about this, for a lot of reasons. One of the biggest is probably what it would mean for me to approach this weekend with such an agenda with you - and our spouses - ignorant of it. It is inexpressibly helpful (healthful) that I don't feel any compulsion to try to recreate an idealized friendship to make up for something lacking in my life. I have a feeling that it will become obvious if the day ever comes to share the missing chapters of my story with you; if so, it will not be something that I will need to be anxious about.
Today's words
accidence \AX-i-den(t)s\ - a part of grammar that deals with inflections
palisade \pal-uh-SAYD\ - 1a. a fence of stakes especially for defense b. a long strong stake pointed at the top and set close with others as a defense 2. a line of bold cliffs
palisade \pal-uh-SAYD\ - 1a. a fence of stakes especially for defense b. a long strong stake pointed at the top and set close with others as a defense 2. a line of bold cliffs
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Obsessing over the numbers
I wondered what would happen first, my thousandth published post or an average of 8 views per post. It turns out to be the latter, and if I manage to post this before there is another view that average will be exact. But seeing as so many of my views of late are attributed to Russia, I don't think that's anywhere near a valid number.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Revisiting a resolved issue
In early 2002, I went on retreat to the Abbey of Gethsemani in Trappist, Kentucky. This wonderful monastery is one of my favorite places in the world, and it has been entirely too long since I spent any time there. My mom had passed away just a few months before this visit. It had been nearly seven years since my Darkest Day, and four since I'd finished with therapy, yet I still found myself grappling with the issue of my own acceptability among decent company. I would continue to struggle with this for another seven years before making any real progress, after which I would discuss it further when I reentered therapy to work on some other issues. Yet something that I was told that weekend proved to be both very helpful for me at the time and somewhat vexing over time.
The specific issue I was dealing with was this inward sense I had that I was being dishonest with everyone who considered themselves my friend without knowing my dark history. I was raised to value integrity, and I was convinced that one of the worst violations of it was to present myself as a decent person knowing that I had not been, or to "pretend" I was close to someone who didn't know this dark chapter of my life. I felt that I was accepting people's friendship under false pretenses, which I judged to be like stealing their affection.
In the course of the weekend, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to participate in the sacrament of reconciliation with Fr. Matthew Kelty. Fr. Matthew spoke to the retreatants for five or ten minutes each evening after Compline, or night prayer. This prayer service occurs at 7:30 most evenings, which works well for the monks who arise in time to participate in Vigils at 3:15 a.m., but to most retreatants seems a bit early to retire. Since retreats at the Abbey are mostly self-directed and filled with more silence than many of us are accustomed to on a regular basis, this short session would provide a bit of food for evening reflection if we were so inclined. Fr. Matthew usually shared a couple of spiritual poems, then a reflection of his own, sometimes reading from one of his excellent books, such as My Song is of Mercy. At any rate, I was so pleased to see him at confession, as he seemed like a straight shooter who would help me gain some clarity regarding the distance I felt from everyone who didn't know about the worst part of my past.
He had a very different take on this from what I expected. While affirming my sense of integrity and honesty, and quite the opposite of minimizing the wrong I'd done, he suggested that keeping this part of myself from most people was an act of mercy. It was a very difficult thing to accept, he acknowledged, and I was surrounded by people who would feel obliged to try to accept me anyway, and who would with great effort manage to arrive at a point with regard to their opinion of me very similar to where they already were before I shared with them. It was a burden I shouldn't lay on most people, he said, in nearly those exact words.
In the short term, it was a great load off of me. Years before, my counselors had also suggested that I'd already told everyone I should feel obliged to share this with, yet the intervening years had left me still feeling cautiously distant from everyone who didn't know. "How could you keep something like that from me?" I could imagine them accusing me. Fr. Matthew's reassurance that I had a good reason not to share this readily helped me remove the false burden of obligation with which I'd been struggling.
In the long run, his answer proved problematic. "You're right," he seemed to say, in way, "this is a really big deal." It became an increasing concern for me over the next several years, as I heard friends weigh in with their opinions of people who made the news for things that seemed similar to what I had done.
Then a friend I wasn't expecting entered my life, and helped me learn to cut myself some slack. My subsequent stint in therapy helped with that, too. I now seem to have a better sense of when I should share my past, not out of a sense of obligation or hidden self-judgment, but when sharing might do some tangible good. I've given my testimony in front of a hundred people, and received reconciliation with estranged family members, and seem to know in an instant when I'm in a situation that calls for sharing this part of myself.
Now, after nearly three decades, I'm going to see a friend with whom I was once closer than anyone else in my life. She's the last person I can think of with whom I have a very strong sense of owing the sharing of my story. I don't know that the opportunity will even arise. I don't know that I will take advantage of the chance if it does, and I don't know that I really should. I have so much else to be cautious with; I should never aspire for that "closer than anyone else" status again with her, and I can peacefully and honestly say that I don't.
I'm also trying not to borrow anxiety over this, but I think it will be good to be ready for however it plays out.
The specific issue I was dealing with was this inward sense I had that I was being dishonest with everyone who considered themselves my friend without knowing my dark history. I was raised to value integrity, and I was convinced that one of the worst violations of it was to present myself as a decent person knowing that I had not been, or to "pretend" I was close to someone who didn't know this dark chapter of my life. I felt that I was accepting people's friendship under false pretenses, which I judged to be like stealing their affection.
In the course of the weekend, I was fortunate to have the opportunity to participate in the sacrament of reconciliation with Fr. Matthew Kelty. Fr. Matthew spoke to the retreatants for five or ten minutes each evening after Compline, or night prayer. This prayer service occurs at 7:30 most evenings, which works well for the monks who arise in time to participate in Vigils at 3:15 a.m., but to most retreatants seems a bit early to retire. Since retreats at the Abbey are mostly self-directed and filled with more silence than many of us are accustomed to on a regular basis, this short session would provide a bit of food for evening reflection if we were so inclined. Fr. Matthew usually shared a couple of spiritual poems, then a reflection of his own, sometimes reading from one of his excellent books, such as My Song is of Mercy. At any rate, I was so pleased to see him at confession, as he seemed like a straight shooter who would help me gain some clarity regarding the distance I felt from everyone who didn't know about the worst part of my past.
He had a very different take on this from what I expected. While affirming my sense of integrity and honesty, and quite the opposite of minimizing the wrong I'd done, he suggested that keeping this part of myself from most people was an act of mercy. It was a very difficult thing to accept, he acknowledged, and I was surrounded by people who would feel obliged to try to accept me anyway, and who would with great effort manage to arrive at a point with regard to their opinion of me very similar to where they already were before I shared with them. It was a burden I shouldn't lay on most people, he said, in nearly those exact words.
In the short term, it was a great load off of me. Years before, my counselors had also suggested that I'd already told everyone I should feel obliged to share this with, yet the intervening years had left me still feeling cautiously distant from everyone who didn't know. "How could you keep something like that from me?" I could imagine them accusing me. Fr. Matthew's reassurance that I had a good reason not to share this readily helped me remove the false burden of obligation with which I'd been struggling.
In the long run, his answer proved problematic. "You're right," he seemed to say, in way, "this is a really big deal." It became an increasing concern for me over the next several years, as I heard friends weigh in with their opinions of people who made the news for things that seemed similar to what I had done.
Then a friend I wasn't expecting entered my life, and helped me learn to cut myself some slack. My subsequent stint in therapy helped with that, too. I now seem to have a better sense of when I should share my past, not out of a sense of obligation or hidden self-judgment, but when sharing might do some tangible good. I've given my testimony in front of a hundred people, and received reconciliation with estranged family members, and seem to know in an instant when I'm in a situation that calls for sharing this part of myself.
Now, after nearly three decades, I'm going to see a friend with whom I was once closer than anyone else in my life. She's the last person I can think of with whom I have a very strong sense of owing the sharing of my story. I don't know that the opportunity will even arise. I don't know that I will take advantage of the chance if it does, and I don't know that I really should. I have so much else to be cautious with; I should never aspire for that "closer than anyone else" status again with her, and I can peacefully and honestly say that I don't.
I'm also trying not to borrow anxiety over this, but I think it will be good to be ready for however it plays out.
Growth is good
"So, I'm going to e-mail them about getting together. What do you want me to say?"
I finally brought us back around to our discussion concerning my good friend who lives close to Minneapolis, where we're going to a wedding next month, whom I haven't seen in nearly three decades. We actually fell completely out of touch with her and her husband two different times in the intervening years. Simple geography, not emotional dynamics, is the reason it has been so long, but there were still a few of the latter for my wife and I to work through. But I was so determined to take advantage of this unique opportunity to see her again that I hadn't handled the initial contact with proper consideration of my wife's feelings, e-mailing them that we were coming to town without checking first on how she'd feel about it. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. The thing is, I was certain how she felt about it, but I was not going to miss this chance to see my old friend. Still, the way I'd handled it ensured that she'd react as I feared. At least as she was honest that if I'd asked her she would have responded exactly as I had expected she would in the first place. And really, she was calmer about it than I deserved; resigned and frustrated, but calmly. In fact, I was the one who overreacted, probably from not wanting to acknowledge that I'd handled it badly. We talked about it more the next morning, when I apologized for acting unilaterally and let her know that I'd understand and support her if she didn't want to get together with my friend and her husband. I promised to check with her before making any more specific plans. But I also conveyed, very calmly and supportively, that I needed to take advantage of this opportunity to connect up with my friend. Then I'd left things to percolate for a few days. Now our plans were starting to shape up, and it was time to get in touch again.
"It's okay," she replied with acceptance rather than resignation. I was pleasantly surprised. She went on, "I need to quit being such a baby." It was clear that we'd both had a remarkable shift in attitude since the beginning. I was relieved at her change of attitude, while not agreeing with her analysis. I felt that I needed to bring a more balanced and realistic perspective, that acknowledged a history in which I was not as kind and loving to her as she should have been able to expect from her husband, and that validated and reaffirmed her right to her own feelings.
"I don't think it was a matter 'being a baby.' I gave you good reason to feel the way you do, but that was a long time ago, and we've come a long way since then."
So next month we're going to our dear friends' daughter's wedding, and also to see one of my dearest friends for the first time since 1984, and I think we both feel pretty good about it. I expect my wife is likely to be a little nervous - I am too, actually - and anxious as the visit approaches. I will be sure to be in touch with this in the ensuing weeks.
I can't wait.
And along the way, my wife and I have managed to become much closer friends. We've indeed come far from the days when we used to act more like adversaries competing to get our needs met.
I finally brought us back around to our discussion concerning my good friend who lives close to Minneapolis, where we're going to a wedding next month, whom I haven't seen in nearly three decades. We actually fell completely out of touch with her and her husband two different times in the intervening years. Simple geography, not emotional dynamics, is the reason it has been so long, but there were still a few of the latter for my wife and I to work through. But I was so determined to take advantage of this unique opportunity to see her again that I hadn't handled the initial contact with proper consideration of my wife's feelings, e-mailing them that we were coming to town without checking first on how she'd feel about it. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. The thing is, I was certain how she felt about it, but I was not going to miss this chance to see my old friend. Still, the way I'd handled it ensured that she'd react as I feared. At least as she was honest that if I'd asked her she would have responded exactly as I had expected she would in the first place. And really, she was calmer about it than I deserved; resigned and frustrated, but calmly. In fact, I was the one who overreacted, probably from not wanting to acknowledge that I'd handled it badly. We talked about it more the next morning, when I apologized for acting unilaterally and let her know that I'd understand and support her if she didn't want to get together with my friend and her husband. I promised to check with her before making any more specific plans. But I also conveyed, very calmly and supportively, that I needed to take advantage of this opportunity to connect up with my friend. Then I'd left things to percolate for a few days. Now our plans were starting to shape up, and it was time to get in touch again.
"It's okay," she replied with acceptance rather than resignation. I was pleasantly surprised. She went on, "I need to quit being such a baby." It was clear that we'd both had a remarkable shift in attitude since the beginning. I was relieved at her change of attitude, while not agreeing with her analysis. I felt that I needed to bring a more balanced and realistic perspective, that acknowledged a history in which I was not as kind and loving to her as she should have been able to expect from her husband, and that validated and reaffirmed her right to her own feelings.
"I don't think it was a matter 'being a baby.' I gave you good reason to feel the way you do, but that was a long time ago, and we've come a long way since then."
So next month we're going to our dear friends' daughter's wedding, and also to see one of my dearest friends for the first time since 1984, and I think we both feel pretty good about it. I expect my wife is likely to be a little nervous - I am too, actually - and anxious as the visit approaches. I will be sure to be in touch with this in the ensuing weeks.
I can't wait.
And along the way, my wife and I have managed to become much closer friends. We've indeed come far from the days when we used to act more like adversaries competing to get our needs met.
Thursday, August 09, 2012
Today's word
weald \WEELD\ - 1. a heavily wooded area : forest 2. a wild or uncultivated usually upland region
Thought-behavior
Hmm . . . is it okay to embrace a thought that you know you'll never (and, in fact, don't want to) act on, rather than immediately squelching it, as long as you remain determined to never act on it and put the appropriate safeguards in place to make sure you don't?
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
Challenging prayer group
The prophetic word that was shared last night, concerning the importance of sharing the light of God's love with a dark and desperate world, struck painfully close to home.
How does my right (and, perhaps, responsibility) to avoid people who are toxic to my life - particularly my anti-theist coworker - balance against that?
To put first things first: we must always test a prophetic utterance against holy scripture and the teaching of the Church. This one certainly passes that test.
Secondly, and very importantly, not every directive of God, whether through scripture, church teaching or the word gifts of the Holy Spirit, should be applied to every situation. It isn't even hard to think of a scenario where that guidance applies to this specific example. A recovering alcoholic receiving this message, for instance, shouldn't conclude that he should start going into bars and evangelizing there without very careful discernment from his sponsor and appropriate support. "Environmental control" is an important and specific part of every relapse plan and shouldn't be cast off for the sake of a general principle such as "share the light in the darkness."
Thirdly, and significantly, are how the decisions I made in this case fit with the above. It took me some time to work through how my coworker's disbelieving rationalism intersected with my own. I'd just reached the point at which I felt I could meet his accusation of willful blindness with confident peace in my spirit. I'd figured out that my faith in Jesus Christ is the only answer that works in my life, that helps me know who I should strive to be and why, that helps me even slightly aspire to be such a man. I was finally ready to interact with my disbelieving coworker again, and in fact it was my choice to do so that led to my learning that he had died the day before. That wasn't a matter of my being paralyzed by doubt and failing to share God's love, but of making sure that my house was built on bedrock and would withstand the storm.
I need not feel accused by last night's message, and even if I were, I live by God's grace, not by my own ability to get everything right along the way.
How does my right (and, perhaps, responsibility) to avoid people who are toxic to my life - particularly my anti-theist coworker - balance against that?
To put first things first: we must always test a prophetic utterance against holy scripture and the teaching of the Church. This one certainly passes that test.
Secondly, and very importantly, not every directive of God, whether through scripture, church teaching or the word gifts of the Holy Spirit, should be applied to every situation. It isn't even hard to think of a scenario where that guidance applies to this specific example. A recovering alcoholic receiving this message, for instance, shouldn't conclude that he should start going into bars and evangelizing there without very careful discernment from his sponsor and appropriate support. "Environmental control" is an important and specific part of every relapse plan and shouldn't be cast off for the sake of a general principle such as "share the light in the darkness."
Thirdly, and significantly, are how the decisions I made in this case fit with the above. It took me some time to work through how my coworker's disbelieving rationalism intersected with my own. I'd just reached the point at which I felt I could meet his accusation of willful blindness with confident peace in my spirit. I'd figured out that my faith in Jesus Christ is the only answer that works in my life, that helps me know who I should strive to be and why, that helps me even slightly aspire to be such a man. I was finally ready to interact with my disbelieving coworker again, and in fact it was my choice to do so that led to my learning that he had died the day before. That wasn't a matter of my being paralyzed by doubt and failing to share God's love, but of making sure that my house was built on bedrock and would withstand the storm.
I need not feel accused by last night's message, and even if I were, I live by God's grace, not by my own ability to get everything right along the way.
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Published typos I saw this morning:
Yes, it's entirely possible to have an "early peak," but from the context the author clearly meant the golfer got an "early peek" at the course.
When you can't avoid using mixed numbers, please (please!) - even if you're changing the font size - put a space between the whole number and the fraction, and no spaces around the slash: 7 1/2, or 7 1/2, not 71 / 2.
Thank you.
When you can't avoid using mixed numbers, please (please!) - even if you're changing the font size - put a space between the whole number and the fraction, and no spaces around the slash: 7 1/2, or 7 1/2, not 71 / 2.
Thank you.
missing pieces of my heart
six and a half hours. *sigh* but that's pointless, and perhaps would be mildly toxic.
tomorrow, the crew flies "across the continent and half an ocean," to borrow the beginning of one of my own poems. (i think that was a pretty nice piece of work, actually, appreciating it even though my feelings and perspective are healthier now. maybe i'll dig it up and publish it here sometime.)
tomorrow, the crew flies "across the continent and half an ocean," to borrow the beginning of one of my own poems. (i think that was a pretty nice piece of work, actually, appreciating it even though my feelings and perspective are healthier now. maybe i'll dig it up and publish it here sometime.)
Olympics
I've really been enjoying the Games of the XXX Olympiad. I think I'm going to find an opportunity to watch something more obscure, though, than what has been covered. That said, I'm still a little uncomfortable with idea of pursuing the pinnacle for its own sake that the Olympics often celebrate. No wonder the athlete's village has developed the reputation it has.
On a peripherally related note, I read a quote from an athlete this morning that I think I need to examine in the context of my own life: Talent is one step away from laziness.
I should consider whether/how this applies to me (without the dynamic of being harsh with myself).
On a peripherally related note, I read a quote from an athlete this morning that I think I need to examine in the context of my own life: Talent is one step away from laziness.
I should consider whether/how this applies to me (without the dynamic of being harsh with myself).
Sunday, August 05, 2012
An insight
You have a right (and maybe even a responsibility) to refuse to deal with people who are toxic to your life. - a good friend
Realizing this has helped me be able to be sad for Adam in a more appropriate and healthy way.
Realizing this has helped me be able to be sad for Adam in a more appropriate and healthy way.
Saturday, August 04, 2012
Tough Mass
I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never be hungry; he who believes in me will never thirst. - John 6: 35
This was a hard mass to attend with Adam on my mind.
This was a hard mass to attend with Adam on my mind.
Definitely not an alcoholic
I set out to get drunk last night. I just couldn't make myself take that fourth drink, the one that might have gotten me there.
I don't know why that is, whether it was because I hate the feeling of drunkenness that much or because I'm just healthier than that or if there is some other reason that might be a cause for concern, actually.
I suppose I should feel good about not being able to just disregard limits that I've established for good reason, even when I feel as if I have a good reason to want to set them aside.
I don't know why that is, whether it was because I hate the feeling of drunkenness that much or because I'm just healthier than that or if there is some other reason that might be a cause for concern, actually.
I suppose I should feel good about not being able to just disregard limits that I've established for good reason, even when I feel as if I have a good reason to want to set them aside.
Sing it, Smokey
Outside I'm masqueradin'
Okay, I've pulled from the only couplet of the whole song that fits.
but what a fit.
Okay, I've pulled from the only couplet of the whole song that fits.
but what a fit.
Friday, August 03, 2012
I hurt so much, for his sake
Adam was my coworker, and an adamant atheist. We debated on FB once, not so much about whether God existed as about whether Christianity did more harm than good in the world and how he was too arrogant in expressing his point of view to ever win anyone over to it, even were his argument better. The things that most convinced him were most effective against the fundamentalism of his youth, and I was never a fundamentalist, so he was not very persuasive to me. Still, I resisted another opportunity to engage him on a second occasion when he was opining about how ironic it was that a believer would accuse someone else of denying the truth in contradiction of convincing evidence.
Now he is dead.
Subsequent to our debate, I grappled with what it would mean for me if I was wrong, if Adam were in fact correct that there is no God and no good reason to believe in him given the advances of scientific discovery. I've reflected on how central my faith is to my reasons for living, for my understanding of the person I should be striving to be and my desire to be that person. I considered how empty I would be if I somehow concluded that there is no God, and realized that the mere existence of an other possible explanation would not be enough to cause me to abandon my faith, but that I would cling to it because it is life for me.
I did not for a moment consider that might have a frightening commonality to where he was.
And now he is dead.
I pontificated and wrote and reflected, and didn't reach out to him. Avoided him, in fact, for fear of being further undermined myself. And I know, because of his certainty and his arrogance and his refusal to yield an attometer, that nothing I could have said would have made any difference to him.
No one is saying exactly how he died. They decided not to clean out his desk of his personal belongings because the police might want to look it, but there isn't any information available about any crime he might have died in conjunction with. That all adds up to one conclusion.
Adam, a young man of 32 who should have had most of his life in front of him, died of despair.
Encountering his darkness, I failed to meet it with the only Light.
And now he is dead.
God, whose love is greater than death, (if you are real) please bring Adam home to you.
Now he is dead.
Subsequent to our debate, I grappled with what it would mean for me if I was wrong, if Adam were in fact correct that there is no God and no good reason to believe in him given the advances of scientific discovery. I've reflected on how central my faith is to my reasons for living, for my understanding of the person I should be striving to be and my desire to be that person. I considered how empty I would be if I somehow concluded that there is no God, and realized that the mere existence of an other possible explanation would not be enough to cause me to abandon my faith, but that I would cling to it because it is life for me.
I did not for a moment consider that might have a frightening commonality to where he was.
And now he is dead.
I pontificated and wrote and reflected, and didn't reach out to him. Avoided him, in fact, for fear of being further undermined myself. And I know, because of his certainty and his arrogance and his refusal to yield an attometer, that nothing I could have said would have made any difference to him.
No one is saying exactly how he died. They decided not to clean out his desk of his personal belongings because the police might want to look it, but there isn't any information available about any crime he might have died in conjunction with. That all adds up to one conclusion.
Adam, a young man of 32 who should have had most of his life in front of him, died of despair.
Encountering his darkness, I failed to meet it with the only Light.
And now he is dead.
God, whose love is greater than death, (if you are real) please bring Adam home to you.
My atheist coworker
"When I say to a wicked person, ‘You will surely die, ’ and you do not warn them or speak out to dissuade them from their evil ways in order to save their life, that wicked person will die for[a] their sin, and I will hold you accountable for their blood. But if you do warn the wicked person and they do not turn from their wickedness or from their evil ways, they will die for their sin; but you will have saved yourself." Ez 3, 18-19
I thought I had time to work through things myself and work on him gradually.
I didn't.
I thought I had time to work through things myself and work on him gradually.
I didn't.
Ok. I can't quit.
But I guess I've made a big mistake.
My first really close friendship with a woman grew mysteriously out of a ridiculous crush I had in my freshman year of high school. I made a total fool of myself. But by sophomore year we were in the same circle of friends and learned to enjoy each other's company. She transferred to her local public high school for her last two years, probably a pretty good move as we were not the most academically motivated group for her to hang out with, and she really needed to do better than she was in applying herself to her studies. (So did I, for that matter; the semi-Montessori program in which we were pioneers would be closed down within a few years after we graduated, probably done in mostly by teenagers' insistence on acting like teenagers.) We remained friends, but gradually grew apart, as you'd expect, due to the lack of consistent contact.
When we went to college, we were both surprised to run into a familiar face on the large campus. We soon became good friends in the way that I'd eventually come to think only young people did. I'd be hard pressed to remember the details, or to describe the process, or to do it justice. But by fall semester of our sophomore year we both admitted that we had strong feelings for each other, while acknowledging that our situations - well, mostly hers, but I really did understand - wouldn't allow us to pursue that, so we didn't. We remained friends, and she attended my wedding a little over a year later to my high school sweetheart after we'd reunited.
I can understand why my bride would feel intimidated by my friend. But we've been married for thirty one and a half years, and in that time I've seen my old friend on only one occasion, when we happened to run into each other while I was home for my grandfather's funeral at the same time she was there for a visit. We lost track for a while in between, chiefly due to my inability to correspond - if any reader of this blog can believe that - but have reconnected through mutual friends and modern communication (e-mail, mostly). So when we decided to attend a wedding in the city where my friend and her husband have settled, of course I want for us to get together, and of course I wouldn't consider leaving my wife out.
And of course I knew she wouldn't want to. And of course I sent the e-mail anyway, without talking about it with her first.
The thing is, while my friend and I loved each other, we made the appropriate decisions about it. We were never lovers, always honored and respected each other's relationship status. If she ever had misgivings about my marriage, she never said so.
So I am going to see my friend - for the first time in almost three decades - along with her husband, and there aren't going to be anything like "sparks" between us, and my wife can choose to join me or not. If she does, I will be glad to have her there (so long as she's not going to be able to be described as "sitting there like a gargoyle").
My first really close friendship with a woman grew mysteriously out of a ridiculous crush I had in my freshman year of high school. I made a total fool of myself. But by sophomore year we were in the same circle of friends and learned to enjoy each other's company. She transferred to her local public high school for her last two years, probably a pretty good move as we were not the most academically motivated group for her to hang out with, and she really needed to do better than she was in applying herself to her studies. (So did I, for that matter; the semi-Montessori program in which we were pioneers would be closed down within a few years after we graduated, probably done in mostly by teenagers' insistence on acting like teenagers.) We remained friends, but gradually grew apart, as you'd expect, due to the lack of consistent contact.
When we went to college, we were both surprised to run into a familiar face on the large campus. We soon became good friends in the way that I'd eventually come to think only young people did. I'd be hard pressed to remember the details, or to describe the process, or to do it justice. But by fall semester of our sophomore year we both admitted that we had strong feelings for each other, while acknowledging that our situations - well, mostly hers, but I really did understand - wouldn't allow us to pursue that, so we didn't. We remained friends, and she attended my wedding a little over a year later to my high school sweetheart after we'd reunited.
I can understand why my bride would feel intimidated by my friend. But we've been married for thirty one and a half years, and in that time I've seen my old friend on only one occasion, when we happened to run into each other while I was home for my grandfather's funeral at the same time she was there for a visit. We lost track for a while in between, chiefly due to my inability to correspond - if any reader of this blog can believe that - but have reconnected through mutual friends and modern communication (e-mail, mostly). So when we decided to attend a wedding in the city where my friend and her husband have settled, of course I want for us to get together, and of course I wouldn't consider leaving my wife out.
And of course I knew she wouldn't want to. And of course I sent the e-mail anyway, without talking about it with her first.
The thing is, while my friend and I loved each other, we made the appropriate decisions about it. We were never lovers, always honored and respected each other's relationship status. If she ever had misgivings about my marriage, she never said so.
So I am going to see my friend - for the first time in almost three decades - along with her husband, and there aren't going to be anything like "sparks" between us, and my wife can choose to join me or not. If she does, I will be glad to have her there (so long as she's not going to be able to be described as "sitting there like a gargoyle").
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Internal monologue
(inspired by yesterday's xkcd)
Where did I just put that phone? I hung up from talking with Teri . . . started walking upstairs . . . grabbed the frozen chicken along the way that I got out to thaw while I was talking with her . . . walked into the kitchen . . . unwrapped the chicken and put it on the counter . . . walked into the dining room and realized I didn't take care of the phone . . . Hmm, I don't remember putting it down, but it would have had to have been on one of the counters . . . Nope, not there . . . maybe I left it downstairs, set it down before I shut off the tv she left on? . . . no, no sign of it there, either . . . I remember putting it on the cradle before I called her, but not after . . . let me walk back into the kitchen . . . No, it isn't on the counters . . . Oh, there it is, on the cradle after all . . . that's odd, I don't remember walking over and putting it there . . . I wonder if there are any notifications on my cell phone . . . Nope . . . wait . . .
That's right, I talked to her on my cell!
(elapsed time: 20 seconds)
THIMK
Due to the intersection of last night's query about suicide and today's word, I guess it's Think About Dad Day.
He had a one-(not-quite-)word sign on his desk at work, I presume to remind him to pay attention to detail. It said 'THIMK," and - I presume - served as a reminder to avoid obvious mistakes by looking back over your work. He had a reputation around the workplace for developing circuits that functioned as they were intended to the first time, without any redesign or rebuild required. I'm sure it was this discipline of double-checking himself all the time that resulted in his success there.
He had a one-(not-quite-)word sign on his desk at work, I presume to remind him to pay attention to detail. It said 'THIMK," and - I presume - served as a reminder to avoid obvious mistakes by looking back over your work. He had a reputation around the workplace for developing circuits that functioned as they were intended to the first time, without any redesign or rebuild required. I'm sure it was this discipline of double-checking himself all the time that resulted in his success there.
Today's word
cerebrate \SAIR-uh-brayt\ - to use the mind : think
I love it when I encounter a new word and know what it means on sight.
I love it when I encounter a new word and know what it means on sight.
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
Avoiding an implication
So a FB friend posted in a suicide prevention group a request for people to share their experiences of a loved one committing suicide. I can't believe that to be the right venue to say that my father's suicide was a blessing in my life. The last thing I want to do is suggest to someone who is at all suicidal that, yes, it's rare, but sometimes a survivor just might be better off.
Of course, it also isn't as simple as that. Yes, I was able to emerge from his disapproving influence, but I no longer assume as I used to that the rest of my childhood in his household would have been worse than what came afterward. But I had to conclude that before I dealt with the emotional impact that my stepfather subsequently had.
Of course, it also isn't as simple as that. Yes, I was able to emerge from his disapproving influence, but I no longer assume as I used to that the rest of my childhood in his household would have been worse than what came afterward. But I had to conclude that before I dealt with the emotional impact that my stepfather subsequently had.
Today's (bald) words
tonsorial \tahn-SOR-ee-ul\ - of or relating to a barber or the work of a barber
tonsure \TAHN(t)-shur\ n. - 1. the Roman Catholic or Eastern rite of admission to the clerical state by the clipping or shaving of a portion of the head 2. the shaven crown or patch worn by monks and other clerics 3. a bald spot resembling a tonsure
(I hate when a definition reuses another sense of the word. The third definition makes no sense without the second.)
tonsure \TAHN(t)-shur\ v. - to shave the head of; especially : to confer the tonsure upon
(Did I mention that I hate it when they do that?)
tonsure \TAHN(t)-shur\ n. - 1. the Roman Catholic or Eastern rite of admission to the clerical state by the clipping or shaving of a portion of the head 2. the shaven crown or patch worn by monks and other clerics 3. a bald spot resembling a tonsure
(I hate when a definition reuses another sense of the word. The third definition makes no sense without the second.)
tonsure \TAHN(t)-shur\ v. - to shave the head of; especially : to confer the tonsure upon
(Did I mention that I hate it when they do that?)
Whence our confidence?
Jesus answered them, "This is the work of God: that you believe in him whom he has sent." - Jn 6: 29
Last night we reflected on this verse from this coming Sunday's Gospel. We must trust God to reveal himself, to provide the gift of faith and the grace to walk in it. This is his work, not ours, though we must make the choice to embrace it. I know someone who insists that everything can be explained without God, through science, so there is no reason to believe in God. (He also contends that faith in God has done more harm than any other thing in human history.) I am finding that all my reasons for being the person I believe I should be, and all my limited ability to grow into that person, is wrapped up in this work of God. So even though there may be other explanations (though he hasn't explained where it all came from) for the world, I find I must choose Christ, and I continue believe that this is because of God's work in me.
Now, a few thoughts from a passage I read before going to bed last night (this morning) from Fr. James Martin's book, My Life with the Saints:
It can be especially difficult to accept another's way of discipleship if we are unsure of our own.
I suppose the reason I don't get very upset with friends who hold very different beliefs about how the world works than I do is that I'm pretty sure of my way of discipleship. Indeed, the strident voices we hear propounding their positions in the public square bear witness to this aspect of human nature: defensiveness arises from an inner belief that we may be wrong. More . . .
The resulting misunderstanding can lead to disagreement and strife within the Christian community. But it's good to remember that even the saints disagreed with one another - often strongly. Quarrels between the saints have a venerable tradition in the Christian church, going all the way back to Peter and Paul.
So what holds things together in the midst of this diversity? What keeps the communion of saints in communion?
The unity of the Christian saints rests on their commitment to Jesus Christ. Like the early disciples, who trusted the judgment of their master, we must trust God's reasons for calling people quite different from us, even though those reasons may remain mysterious to us . . .
Perhaps, in fact, all that kept the fractious disciples together was Jesus himself - not so much their reliance on him to settle disagreements, but their fundamental trust in him.
I find this reassuring. I don't feel as if it is my job to bring others around to my point of view. By the power and grace of the Holy Spirit, my job is simply to love with the love of Christ, and to let the Holy Spirit take care of the results, as well.
This Dilbert seems somehow related . . .
Last night we reflected on this verse from this coming Sunday's Gospel. We must trust God to reveal himself, to provide the gift of faith and the grace to walk in it. This is his work, not ours, though we must make the choice to embrace it. I know someone who insists that everything can be explained without God, through science, so there is no reason to believe in God. (He also contends that faith in God has done more harm than any other thing in human history.) I am finding that all my reasons for being the person I believe I should be, and all my limited ability to grow into that person, is wrapped up in this work of God. So even though there may be other explanations (though he hasn't explained where it all came from) for the world, I find I must choose Christ, and I continue believe that this is because of God's work in me.
Now, a few thoughts from a passage I read before going to bed last night (this morning) from Fr. James Martin's book, My Life with the Saints:
It can be especially difficult to accept another's way of discipleship if we are unsure of our own.
I suppose the reason I don't get very upset with friends who hold very different beliefs about how the world works than I do is that I'm pretty sure of my way of discipleship. Indeed, the strident voices we hear propounding their positions in the public square bear witness to this aspect of human nature: defensiveness arises from an inner belief that we may be wrong. More . . .
The resulting misunderstanding can lead to disagreement and strife within the Christian community. But it's good to remember that even the saints disagreed with one another - often strongly. Quarrels between the saints have a venerable tradition in the Christian church, going all the way back to Peter and Paul.
So what holds things together in the midst of this diversity? What keeps the communion of saints in communion?
The unity of the Christian saints rests on their commitment to Jesus Christ. Like the early disciples, who trusted the judgment of their master, we must trust God's reasons for calling people quite different from us, even though those reasons may remain mysterious to us . . .
Perhaps, in fact, all that kept the fractious disciples together was Jesus himself - not so much their reliance on him to settle disagreements, but their fundamental trust in him.
I find this reassuring. I don't feel as if it is my job to bring others around to my point of view. By the power and grace of the Holy Spirit, my job is simply to love with the love of Christ, and to let the Holy Spirit take care of the results, as well.
This Dilbert seems somehow related . . .
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