Of Man-no-grams and Flight Delays

Yeah, it's been a while in the blog-posting department and while no one other than me may care, I am not one for loose ends, so a bit of catching up is in order.

This is an "interesting" time for me, and, I think, others.  Note that I used the word "interesting" and not "good", although there is plenty of good to go around.  But before anything else, I'm going to deal with the crappy stuff first.

As a country we are lost, but there are signs of hope.  Now I understand that many of us can and do differ when it comes to issues of politics and such, but there is a kind of line in the sand that separates mere differences of opinion about policy and basic, functioning human decency.  The current president is not a decent human being, by any functional definition, and his leadership of this country screams of the worst of our collective instincts and history.  Don't take my word for it; see HERE, HERE, and HERE.  Just to pick three.  I would be lying if I said that I could pass off the daily insanity of Washington DC as being just background noise in my life, but I can't.  It impacts us all, and not in a good way.  Instead, I'll just say that, like many, I just try to deal with it, knowing that nothing lasts forever.

Also in the "less than ideal" department, I will note that my professional life has its share of ups and downs.  I try to be...and to do...good, and I think I make a positive impact on those I work with most days.  Or so they tell me.  But on many occasions I am doing it in an environment that is not always well suited to who I am.  That's not a criticism of who I work with, both directly above and around, but more so an acknowledgement that my personal values aren't always in sync with my working world.  I know, "circumspect much?" as I try to thread the needle here.  In the end, I try to balance who I am with what I do to earn a living.  See above though..."knowing that nothing lasts forever".

One recent and noteworthy event, at least for me, was the first of a now-annual mammogram (or, as I told Ms. Rivers, a "Mannogram").  This comes courtesy of genetic testing and a resulting BRCA2 mutation.  In a more perfect universe I would have a cool genetic mutation, like tail that could pick things up from the floor, but alas, I did not get to vote on the issue.  The actual experience for me was fine/uneventful, but I can appreciate how that's not necessarily true for women.  What helped was the wonderful technician at Geisinger Mt. Pleasant, who told me she typically has a about 1 male patient a week.  I will also note that I have two other related health screenings scheduled for later this year.  

On a final note, I am writing this from a hotel near the Philadelphia International Airport.  I am not supposed to be here, by the way.  Ms. Rivers and I are supposed to be on a cruise ship at this very moment on the St. Lawrence River, leaving Montreal and heading to Quebec City.  Two flight cancellations for today later, and we are going to meet our ship in Quebec City tomorrow.  This will be a flight west to Chicago to then go east to get into Quebec City, hopefully in time to meet the ship at port.  It has been a bumpy ride so far, and we haven't yet gotten onto a plane.  However we are nothing if not resilient, and Ms. Rivers (and I) have some traveling skills, so we are going to make an honest effort to catch up to our ship.    Some good luck might be helpful too.

On that note...

2025: A View from the Gutter

I am coming up, in about 4 months, to my 62nd rotation around the sun.  That's a lot of years, and I am both thankful and blessed to be here typing at this very moment (make that "moments", as this will no doubt get written in pieces).  There have been good years...such as any year when any of my daughters were born...and there have been bad years.  I think that, when all is said and done, the dust is settled, and the ink is dry, 2025 will turn out to be far more on the negative side of life's ledger (and not just for me).

While I don't talk about it much, losing my brother Joe was tough.  It's kind of like losing a part of your own body...a part where the loss doesn't physically harm you...but you still feel a tiny bit less complete.  It's also a realization that there is one fewer person on the planet who sort of understood things about our growing up, one less witness.  I've already told my brother Rich he's not allowed to die.

On the national front, I think we, as a nation, are suffering from a kind of chaos fatigue.  It's as if the current president is in a continual race to the bottom, except for the fact that there is no bottom to be reached.  We collectively just sit and watch while another cruel act is ordained, another late-night social media tirade is launched, and another group is maligned for no real reason other than being different.  The specific group doesn't matter by the way, as yesterday's Somali will be tomorrow's other marginalized group.  The fact that we have 3 more years of this is enough to make someone want to just crawl into a cave and wait it out.  In the end, and regardless of politics, no country or leader was "great" because of who they hated.  Let that one sink in for a bit.

Another loss in 2025 was that of my father-in-law, the Rev. David Rivers.  There are times when you meet people who are just so diametrically different than what you've experienced before in your life that you end up being changed in ways that can be equal parts subtle and yet profound.  That was David.  The world is now smaller, a bit less fun, and certainly not nearly as wise with him gone.  The only real consolation is the fact that some of his best traits are manifest in his children, especially his oldest daughter Christine.

As a relatively crappy year, I naturally decided to deal with a long-standing health issue, resulting in a late November surgery.  I am glad that it's over, but as I creep into my early 60's, I'm reminded that every machine wears over time...both the mechanical and physiological ones.  I need to take better care of my own machinery.  That's far easier said than done. 

On the professional front, I am at a sunset, if you will, of my working career.  That's equal parts relieving and terrifying.  I continue to push myself a bit too far, a point that others have made on more than one occasion.  I was raised, if you will, in a working world where there was a kind of constant competition.  That kind of ethos doesn't actually depend on specific circumstances...it just exists in whatever reality I work in...whether it makes sense or not.  Some things just don't come with an off switch.  Yet the lack of such an off switch meant that, in 2025, I did far, far less of the things outside of work that I enjoy, basically just hopping between stressful work assignments.  As I stare down the time off days I am losing, it's pretty clear that I have been far crueler to myself than I would ever tolerate in someone else.  None of the above is to claim that I don't find myself in a working environment that may be more demanding than it should be, but in the end, the only real resource and decision-making powers I actually have are over myself.

So goodbye 2025.  Don't let the door hit you in the tuchus on the way out.

As for 2026, the beauty of a new year is just that...it is new.  While I know I'll probably make mistakes (I/we always do) there is also promise and potential.  Here's to going into the new year a bit smarter for the wear, and a bit more kind...to ourselves and to each other.  I think our nation needs it, desperately.

(Fun facts:  This song paraphrases the quote reference in the title and the late Brigitte Bardot)

Glittering Prizes and Endless Compromises

I love the song "Spirit of Radio" by Rush.  

Mind you that this has nothing really to do with the posting, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a great song.

By way of actual intention, consider this to be something of an update of sorts to my last posting.  To that point, I can report that a week + from the surgery that I am pretty close to being back to normal, with a few exceptions noted.  These include the fact that I will continue to be under lifting restrictions for a while to come and not being able to wear pants that have a belt is something of a challenge. I can live with both, by the way, thanks in part to my having stocked up on sweat and parachute pants.  Ms. Rivers also continues to ground me in reality every time I propose to do something stupid.  Which is often.

In hindsight, this has been more difficult than I imagined.  While I expected some pain after the main event, it ended up being more significant than I thought.  Not unmanageable, by any stretch, but more than I expected.  I'm talking about three nights sleeping in a chair, uncomfortable as it was.  And I hate sleeping in a chair, for the record.  The Hillbilly Heroin prescribed for the first three nights (well enough to cover three nights...) was helpful, but doing even the most basic things was a chore.  Now, the baseline level of pain is more like a mild discomfort, and I more or less don't get the throbbing pain from strenuous acrobatic activities such as "getting up" and "standing".  As I told someone at work, it feels like I have been getting better at a rate of about 5% per day.

Ms. Rivers and I, both being older than younger, still remember a time when these types of things resulted in overnight hospital stays.  To be honest, and fully in hindsight, I don't know that being in a hospital overnight or longer would have sped up my recovery.  This is in part due to the fact that your average hospital is in fact one of the least restful places you can find yourself at any given time.  This is out of necessity, which I get, but while sleeping in a chair at home I don't have to hear a buzzer coming from another room (for example).  And the lights are off.  What the same day surgery thing does require is a bit of diligence and reading comprehension, which makes me wonder why it apparently is as successful as it appears to be, but who am I to argue with success?  I just know that I am a rule-follower by design, so if the instructions say "don't peel your wound-glue like Elmers off your finger tips" then I gladly obey.

Productivity is down.

I have not been nearly as productive as I would normally be, which seems equal parts realistic and a non-event to everyone but me.  Being a rule-follower (as noted above), I have been pretty good at not exceeding the lifting limit placed on me, although I also confess to actually weighing a few things to see if I could get it to slide under the limit.  This is an example in action of the guilt I feel at not always being able to do things, to pull my weight, if you will.  In the far, dark corners of my head I can hear my mother yelling about my just laying around.  In my case now though I would have Ms. Rivers yelling about my doing too much (she actually doesn't yell...she doesn't have to...but it is a kind of motivational equivalency).  

As to what I have been up to, well, I finished watching all 17 seasons of "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia".  Great show, by the way.  

And yesterday I picked up leaves from the front of the house (all while not lifting more than 10 pounds).  And I've done some online shopping.  That's about it.  That's about enough as well.

Lastly, thank you to all who wished me well, checked in on me or otherwise sent good vibes my way.  Every word or comment has been deeply appreciated.  

"Useless, Useless"

Source:  HERE.

As I was in the recovery area at Geisinger Wyoming Valley surgery center, coming off 4+ hours under anesthesia, the first words out of my mouth, as I was looking at the IVs in both hands was "Useless, Useless".  Nurse Brittany, who was equal parts kind and exceptionally competent, wasn't sure what to make of it, other than to tell me "You still have them" (as in my hands, I think).

Edit:  I should have mentioned that I have no idea why, while waking up, I was thinking about John Wilkes Booth on his deathbed.  Welcome to my brain.

Note that going into surgery I just had one IV inserted.  In my preferred choice for such things, the top of my right hand.  Sure sign you are getting older:  You have a preferred IV location.  Anyway, I never got a good explanation as to why I ended up with two hands pierced, although it was clear that the second IV needle was about the size of something used for knitting, based on what I saw coming out and the pressure that needed to be applied to get the bleeding to stop.

Where does this all start?  Well one needs to go back to 2009 when I started to have some discomfort in my gut.  Over time said discomfort manifests itself in the form of a hernia, a type of which didn't require any immediate treatment (as noted by the passing of about 16 years).  My agreement with my doctors over the years was this would be treated if it caused me any problems.  Well, much like small squeaks in an older car eventually become loud squeaks, my gut issue got slowly worse over time.  While I could have tolerated the minor discomfort for longer, I also realized that I wasn't going to have an easier recovery from surgery if I waited longer, so I decided that this was the year.  Also not lost on me is the fact that I know two older people who waited too long to get hernias repaired.  Plans were made over the summer to do the deed on Wednesday, November 19th.

By the way, what I believed to be a single hernia ended up being three hernias.  Two of one type, the third being the largest and the original.

So yesterday was surgery day.  Everyone was prompt and the staff were exceptional, including my surgeon and the above-referenced Nurse Brittany.  Now I just need to heal and make some better life choices.  Fortunately, I have Ms. Rivers to help take care of me, which basically translates into preventing me from doing something stupid.  This is actually more time-consuming than one would think.

Speaking of healing, I am early into the process, so some on-going discomfort is to be expected.  By "discomfort" I mean something that ranges from a mild annoyance to it feeling like my abdomen is being used as Rocky's punching bag.  Not being able to cough is a bit of a drag as well.  

There are other gruesome details, but the point has been made.

This was, by the way, my 5th surgery (three as a child, one to fix my hand a few years ago and this).  Not having the need for a 6th would be pretty good in my book.

All things considered, I will be glad at some point in the not-too-distant future that I had this done now.  A sad fact of adulthood, as opposed to childhood, is that in the former, things almost never get better if you ignore them.  While I didn't ignore my little problem, well 3 little problems, now was the time.  I do have some time off from work, so I plan on not doing too much over the next few days.  Sometimes that's easier said than done, at least for me.

A final note:  As I was brought into the operating room, I saw the robotic device that was going to be intimate with my gut muscles.  My first question to the staff was "Do they call that the Hernia-nator 5000?"  I did get a laugh.  Speaking of laughter, that would hurt right about now, so I am going to quit while I am ahead.

Dr. My Eyes

Among the things I did on my birthday was going to the eye doctor for a much needed check-up and even more needed new pair of glasses.  By way of context, there is a posting titled "Life With Walleye Vision" that provides something of a backstory.  Anyway, my old glasses were really old and it was a time for a change.  Vision checked and new glasses ordered/delivered.  In fact, I'm actually wearing the new specs as I type this screed.

There is, of course, more to this current version of the story.  

Books.

For well over a year now, I've had trouble reading books.  And I love reading books.  The trouble part isn't a lack of books...I have plenty, thank you very much.  No, the trouble is a combination of glasses that were old and kept sliding down my nose, which caused some issues with how I see things, amplified by the near constant staring at computer text all day, and sometimes into the evening.  Most of the latter relates to work (as in what I do for a living) stuff.  The net effect of it all has been the fact that, by the time I could take some time to read a book, well, my eyes were as fried as a corndog at an Iowa state fair.

I've know the above has been an issue for this entire time, so why didn't I do anything about it?  That's a damn good question, and I can't think of a conclusively good answer.  My running theory though is that much of the proceeding months, going well back into 2023, have been difficult for me professionally.  Not difficult as in "I am worried I will get fired", but actually quite the opposite:  I know I am doing good stuff and I have a habit of becoming almost fanatical about getting that good stuff done.  This sets in motion a kind of spiral of work taking over more and more of my life.  Before too long, anything that doesn't fit into the work world...and my eyes were working more or less just fine for the work stuff...became less and less important.  This includes books, and even more important other things.

I don't blame the above on my employer or anything related to my professional work for that matter.  No, I own this, 100%.  Part of what I think is getting lost in the overly litigious, entitled world of today is the fact that freedom comes with consequences, especially for doing stupid things.  In retrospect, not having a greater sense of balance in my life is probably even more stupid than wearing 4 year old glasses (when I have Walleye Vision).

I could dig deeper into this, thinking about how I was summarily retired after nearly 28 years at one employer, laid off post a corporate acquisition by an incredibly incompetent VP of learning at another, and becoming a work casualty of COVID.  Losing 3 jobs in a row, when I look back on things, is an adult-sized portion of crap to unpack.  Maybe my hyper-focus at work has something to do with an unspoken fear of yet again falling into some employment chopping block.  This, by the way, is highly unlikely at my present employer.  Logic though rarely is the driving force behind deeply emotional reactions to life events.

Focusing* back on the present, I've had these disassociated thoughts in my head now for a while, but writing this down is the first time they've actually come together into anything that remotely seems coherent.  Writing...like reading books...is good for the soul.

In the here and now, simply knowing a thing is a bit like being good at bar trivia, as in it really doesn't matter.  The truly important part is what one does when having learned a thing.  For me, that means getting some balance back into my life.  This is my work in progress.

(*) Obligatory eye pun.

Old

[11:15am, April 27, 2024]

Friday marked what a local Northeastern PA weatherman calls "another trip around the sun" for me.  Specifically, it was my 60th such trip. This is a monumental achievement, well, if this were the 1400's. As it stands, April 26, 2024, was pretty much another day, all be it in a rather bumpy week.  More on that in a moment.

Regarding the above-mentioned trip around the sun, Ms. Rivers had asked me if I wanted to do anything special for the big day.  (not) Shockingly, I said no.  I did, however, request coconut cream pie. And pizza. Both wishes were honored.  

Now is where I am supposed to offer some road apple of older-person wisdom, but I won't. Well, I won't other than this:  At age 60 I am still learning new stuff...both about myself and the world around me...and this is a good thing.  On a related note, a valid question to ask at this kind of occasion is "what does it feel like to be 60?", and based on this past week, my answer is a solid "I hope not like this".  Let me count the ways.

The week started with me trying to deal with the remnants of a cold I acquired the weekend before. Now I don't get colds very often; something like every other year sounds about right. When I do though there is about a 25% chance that it will cause some asthma-related issues. That was this case, and I am pecking this out now while sitting at a local DMV office, getting my driver's license renewal, with what feels like a feather duster stuck between the back of my nose and my throat. Interesting analogy, I know, but also a practical pain in the rear-end. 

Speaking of pain, coughing, at this stage, feels like an Olympic sport. Literally, my very diaphragm feels like it has run a marathon and now is being asked to swim 49 laps.  I want to cough, but it doesn't feel all that great plus it's also not that productive (from a "getting crap out of my system" perspective).  

[later in the day...]

Driver's license in hand, it's now the evening.  In totality, I was at the above referenced DMV office for less than an hour, which is nothing short of remarkable.  The staff was friendly and efficient, something one doesn't always associate with such places.  

Side Note:  Is complaining about one's health a stereotypical thing that "old people" do?  I may be skating on thin ice with this posting.

Anyway, back to the week that was.  Cold and asthma issues noted, I ended up going to a local urgent care, as breathing was becoming a bit of a problem by the time Monday afternoon came about.  After about a 20 minute wait, I saw an outstanding nurse practitioner, who was very, very helpful.  Some blood was drawn, nebulizer treatment performed and 'roids prescribed.  Also required was a chest x-ray, which necessitated a trip of about 3 miles to another health facility.  That was done in short order, as were the x-ray results: No pneumonia, arthritis in my spine and some kind of lump in my lungs.

Not the best of news.

Fast forward to Thursday and I ended up getting a CT Scan.  The good news is that lump really wasn't there...curse those two-dimensional x-rays...although there were other things of a lessor-but-still-sucky nature.  Still, it took a lot off my chest (figuratively speaking), and now I'm "just" dealing with dry coughs and the occasional wheeze.  I am also nearly done with the 'roids treatment, which has helped a bit, but not a lot.  I will say this though...I am feeling better, all be it at a pace that seems all too slow.  

There is something of a cosmic/karmic lesson in all of this stuff, what with getting older, health scares, etc. all coming together in a week.  I absolutely know that I have not been a friend to my physical body over the past few years, with it subjugated to a lessor importance as I try to navigate the murky waters of being late in my professional life, with all the stress that entails.  There is lots of irony to go around, including the notion that I have the potential for a long and fulfilling retirement in a few years, complete with a reasonable amount of financial stability, but yet I seem to be subversively doing things that might impede that from happening.  For someone who prides himself on being logical (me), it's all so very illogical.  

Difficult times though offer dramatic opportunities for clarity in life.  This is a kind of true-ism that is easier to write than to actually experience, but here I am, and I know where I need to go.

******

Post Script

I know the above reads to be pretty dark for something that should be a bit more uplifting, namely a "milestone" birthday.  The week, by the way, was not all terrible; for example, I had a chance to attend a half-day workshop on A.I. in Philadelphia on Tuesday that was very interesting.  I also had my pizza and coconut cream pie Friday, complete with candles, after a work-day full of birthday wishes from co-workers and friends.  There was much gratitude to be had.

I also received two thoughtful birthday cards, a bag of treasured circus peanuts (the candy that tastes like bananas, not actual peanuts), and Ms. Rivers and I went for a nice drive after dinner.  I wanted a simple day and that's what I got.  While a lunkhead at heart, I am learning that, as I do grow older, there is a kind of "seen but still unseen" beauty in simplicity.  My more intellectual view of the universe, complete with near constant analysis of anything and everything, makes this harder at times, but the ultimate importance of simplicity...such as taking care of your physical self...is not to be trifled or diminished.

Here's to growing older and always trying to grow smarter at the same time.

All this, and a bag of chips

It's been an eventful few weeks.

First, my right hand went from this...

...to this......to this....

The actual healing process continues.  This was an entirely self-inflicted wound, in the truest sense of the word, resulting from my failure to wear work gloves while handling lumber.  Whatever my co-pay ends up being from the surgery will be worth it.  I will note that Dr. Culp and his staff at Geisinger in Pittston were nothing short of terrific.  My only complaint, if you want to call it that?  Getting the stitches out was a bit of a trial, but again, I basically did this to myself.

Second, there was COVID-19, where I went from this...

...to this... .

...over the course of about 3 weeks.  The ironic part was that I had an updated vaccination the Sunday before I actually got sick.  The actual sick part wasn't all that terrible and maybe lasted about 5 days.  As someone with asthma, I was a bit worried about having this negatively impacting my breathing, but all things considered, I did okay.  It didn't actually impact my sense of taste either.  Ditto for Ms. Rivers, who got sick around the same time I did.  As to where/how we got sick, well, we think it happened around Thanksgiving.  

Lastly, we had my taking a bit of a tumble down some steps last Wednesday.  Where "little tumble"
actually means landing on my hip, then my elbow, and then my head.  I now have the honor of having the largest bruise I have ever actually seen on a human being.  It's literally bigger than two of my hands put together (and I have giant lobster-claw-sized hands).  The brush burn on my head actually hurt more than my hip, and if I were a betting man, I'd say there was a mild concussion at work.  Again though, I consider myself lucky in that it could have been worse...and my bruised hip deserves credit for breaking my fall.  

All of the above though is trivia when you think about it.  Life is the ultimate contact sport, and I'd rather suffer some of the inconveniences of trying to live life to some degree of fullness and getting hurt (once in a while) than the alternative, namely sitting around and turning into some kind of gelatinous pile of physical, mental and emotional goo.  I sadly see that alternative all too often, and it truly makes me sad.  All of us have reasons to live, all of us have talents to offer the world, and all of us have important work to do.  If that results in a scrape, a bump, or a bruise the size of Rhode Island, well so be it.  

In the sum total of our lives, the actuality of getting hurt (physically or otherwise) is always less dangerous than what happens when we take no chances.  

Close-Up Time

This space has a long, rich history as it relates to posts about October, and while I'm not going to re-hash what has already been written about before, I can't help myself but write something appropriately themed for this current month. 

Moving on...

I usually "close up" the backyard at the end of October, but for some reason, it just seems to make sense to do that earlier this year.  And so it goes, with this weekend being filled with a lot of colder weather preparations.  I still have some of the front flowers in the ground, but they are definitely on borrowed time.  My marigolds have already made their way to the yard waste container, but in all fairness, their fate was sealed while we were on vacation in Maine, having been halfway water starved.  There are still things yet to do, such as closing up the gas grill, but that will come.  My only real deadline is November 17th.

Segue to the hand story.

After two doctor visits, with the second being to a hand specialist, it's been decided that I need to have surgery on my right hand to remove a cyst that apparently isn't going anywhere on its own.  This is truly a self-inflicted wound, as it comes after I managed to spear the palm of my hand with an inch-long shard of pressure-treated lumber.  I will note that I own about 5 pairs of work gloves, none of which were in use when said shard speared my hand.  Anyway, while I took out the shard, either part of the wound did not heal properly or there is some small piece of lumber still in my hand.  Or both.  Regardless, I either get this cyst removed or kick the can down the road a bit until it gets worse.  The former seems like the smarter move, which is pretty ironic given the fact that this whole mess is the result of a dumb move.  Either way, on November 18th the cyst and me part ways.

Looking back over the years, I can point to maybe a dozen other battle scars (figurative and actually) resulting from my home improvement and other (mis)adventures.  One of my "Greatest Hits" included the time I managed to filet my leg, which I was using as a makeshift table to trim ceiling tiles with a boxcutter.  Most people would have regrets over such things, but me?  Nahhh...I think of them as souvenirs.

Road Trip.

Call me crazy (see above for a good reason), but I've wanted to take a trip down the area of the southern anthracite coal fields for a while now.  See THIS POSTING from 2015.  That trip happened last Sunday, with my brother Rich.  The weather was pretty terrible for a trip, so I didn't take much in the way of photographs, although we did have a great lunch at the Lost Mined Brewing Company and Restaurant in Shamokin.   You can link the place HERE.  Of course, no trip to Shamokin would be complete without a visit to the town's most important place, Dunkin Donuts.

That clip, and especially the outstanding contribution of Mr. Dutch Smith (skip to 1:30 in the video) is nothing short of a classic.  No legal work was performed during the trip.

It was nice to spend time with my brother, and I was left thinking about how it would have been fun to have Chris (as in my late brother) come with us.  That's the thing that is hard to explain to someone who has not lost a sibling...namely, the times when, just out of the blue, you really and truly miss that person.

And finally...

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the following about this corner of the Internet: Sometime in September, I went over 1 million page views.  You can link to my very first posting, from October 27, 2008, HERE.  I'm not going to claim this as any kind of accomplishment, but I will take this opportunity to thank those who have taken the time to read what I've written over these past 14 years.  While my output has dropped pretty significantly over the years, I still enjoy this, and who knows what the future holds.

"...her face is a map of the world..."

The title comes from the song "Suddenly I See" by K.T. Tunstall.  You can find the full song lyrics HERE.  In the aftermath of last week's medical stuff (see THIS posting) I'm left thinking about some of the bigger things in life.  That's where the song lyric comes in:  It's this idea that somehow you can see in someone's very face the life that they have lived, the world they have been in (or, in some cases survived).  When I think about the life I've lived and the world I have been in, well, at times it's not always a pleasant sight.  Kind of just like my face.

Now I'll say right off the bat that I am far, far luckier than many.  Heck, I am only here by the graces of modern (well, at least late 1960s modern) medical technology, courtesy of a removed but-formerly-ruptured appendix when I was about 5 years old.  Lessor versions with that same story theme have played out over the years, and there have been a few occasions over the recent past as well.  There have also been plenty of occasions where, rather than somehow being able to celebrate the fact that I, unlike some others, didn't fall prey to some terrible thing, I've been left with a kind of pit-in-the-stomach form of survivor's guilt.  It's as if there is this thing inside of me that refuses to accept the positive side of just about anything.  

I am, according to some learned folks, hard-wired for adversity.  My mental machinery is designed to seek out and survive all that the world throws at me.  I am in a perpetual state of looking for threats and preparing for the worst.  Is this a good thing?  I don't know.  When I think though about what happens after literally decades of having that kind of constant tension in my life, I'm left wondering if there is a kind of physical toll to it all, a kin to a rubber band that has been stretched too far for too long.  Time, as they say, will tell.

Where does all this lead?  I don't really know.  What I do know is that I've been thinking a lot lately about the costs of survival.  I'm also wondering what more I need to do in order to get off the built-for-survival train that has carried me throughout these past 5 or so decades.  At some point, I should run out of threats, real or imaginary.  Then, in what could best be described as an adult-sized portion of irony, perhaps the final threat to me is the toll that decades of stress, anxiety, and surviving have taken.  Yes, the final threat may very well be me.

Finally, I know in my very gut that all of us, me included, are always capable of changing, learning, and growing.  I also know that part of the drive I describe above has helped me do some good things in my life as well.  Like most tools though, the trick is to use it as intended.  After all, you can use a $150 DeWalt drill to bang a nail into a wall (and break it in the process) or you can use a $20 hammer for that same purpose.  Life, it seems, always comes down to some kind of choice.

Tube Time

An actual joke I told the nurses who wheeled me into the procedure room for a recent combination endoscopy and colonoscopy...

Q:  What's the difference between the tubes used for a colonoscopy and an endoscopy?

A:  The taste.

I know, that's pretty horrible, but consider the fact that it's pretty darn hard to come up with an "endoscopy/colonoscopy" joke.  And yes, I actually came up with that all on my own.

What's definitely not a joke is the fact that I had been trying to get this procedure done since early 2000, and have endured more reschedules than Walmart has endured employee class-action lawsuits (I know, HR humor isn't very funny either).  Up until the actual event, my last procedure date was supposed to be July 29th, which got rescheduled a week beforehand to today.  For the record, anyone who thinks that COVID is no longer an issue in this country needs their head examined.

So what have I learned from this whole experience, outside of the fact that COVID is alive and well, still wreaking havoc with healthcare?

First, I shouldn't give driving directions while still under the lingering effects of sedation.  I actually had Ms. Rivers driving in circles around Scranton for a bit on the way home.

Second, I need to think long and hard about what happens next.  For example, they want to do another colonoscopy in a year, mostly because, in their estimation, my prep wasn't very good this time around.  I will note that following the rules was burned into me from an early age.  I followed the prep instructions to the letter.  Upon hearing this, one of the staff at the hospital suggested that I may need to do two days of prep for "2022 Colonoscopy 2.0".  This is where the "think long and hard" part comes into play.  At this stage, I am unwilling to do that; while my opinion could change, I doubt it will.  If you've ever been through colonoscopy prep you will know why.  I'll certainly consider other options, such as maybe different prep potions, but two days of broth, Gatorade, and orange jello?  I don't think so.

Third, the older you get, the more you think about the mortal coil.  My test results were not great, but, I am sure they could be much, much worse.  For example, the newly decreed lifetime forever ban on all things Advil (and its various cousins) will be a pain in my head, but if it stops some degree of gut rot, well, it's probably worth it.  Other things will not be quite so simple, such as potentially altering my diet away from that of an average 12-year-old boy and more towards that of a 58-year-old boy.

Finally, it's all so very, very tiring.  As noted above, I have been trying to get these tests done since 2000.  Now that it's over, well, I am just fatigued, both physically (from the IV joy juice they gave me) and mentally (all that time spent beforehand thinking about this, and the prospect of having other things to think about after the fact).  In the final analysis, though, this is life, which reminds me of the fact that the older I get, the more the John Mellencamp song Minutes to Memories makes sense.  

"There are no free rides, no one said it'd be easy"...

Florider, Days 2 & 3

Yesterday's time in the town of St. Augustine did not disappoint, and for anyone with even a passing interest in architecture, this is quite a place.  I didn't bring my DSLR camera for this trip, mostly because I didn't want to end up dealing with it at the airport, but I was able to grab a few great photos using the Pixel 6 Pro.  Here's an example...

(Flagler College, St. Augustine)

The limits of transferring cellphone pictures to my laptop mean that it's just too impractical to share a ton of photos now, but I will include this...the most ornate Presbyterian church in the known galaxy, one that would give any Roman Catholic cathedral a run for its money:

Yesterday's walk-about included some time at the Castillo de San Marcos National Monument, which is genuinely a treasure and a must-see for anyone visiting the part of Florida.

Yesterday ended with dinner at a small chain restaurant called "Willie Jewells Old School Bar-B-Q".  I'd have to go back to visits to Texas in the 1990s to remember brisket that was as good as what I had at this place.  As a kind of post-script, the brisket I had was actually too good...as in I ended up visiting GERDland twice last night.  Not fun, but then again we are probably going back tomorrow.  I am nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

Today's events included an earlier morning trip to the beach at Anastasia Island, which was wonderful.  There weren't a ton of people on the beach, but I don't think swimming was either allowed or advisable due to surf conditions.

(hanging with the locals at the beach)

After the beach, there was some time with an old friend of Ms. Rivers and her husband, followed by a last-minute visit to a place called Buc-ee's, which can best be described as the Jerry Springer of mega-gas stations.  Mega as in you could probably fit 3 or 4 Sheetz inside of it, with room to spare for additional beaver-themed merchandise.

Yes, the company logo is a cartoon beaver wearing a baseball cap.  And yes, I got a teeshirt of said cartoon beaver wearing a baseball cap.  Think of this place as being somewhere you probably want to visit at least once, if for no other reason than the sheer experience of it all.

And that was the day.  Tomorrow is our last full day in Florider, so there will be more hiking, more brisket and likely another GERD attack tomorrow night.  It's all for a good cause though.

Florider*, Day 1

(*) I love regional accents.  One of the most fascinating is that of people from Long Island, NY.  Sometimes these folks will pronounce an "a" as an "er" when it comes at the end of a noun.  For example, "Aruba" becomes "Aruber" and "Florida" becomes "Florider".  Don't get me started about how people from the Philadelphia area pronounce "water" as a word that rhymes with "udder".

* * * * * *

The next few days are what I consider my first real vacation since 2019, and my first time flying since August 2018.  Actually, and maybe to make up for a lost time, this is my first of two vacations this year, with the second being a week in Maine during July.  For this extended weekend, the place to go is St. Augustine, Florida, where a good friend of Ms. Rivers spends the winter months.  I've never been to this part of Florida, and I've always wanted to see the old Spanish architecture of St. Augustine, so I was all in for this trip from the very beginning.  I will note that this same trip had been rescheduled I think more than once due to various, sundry issues.  In any event, we're here.

(vultures...hopefully not an omen)

I'll confess right off the bat that Florida isn't necessarily my favorite place to be.  I've been here about a half-dozen or more times, going back decades.  For me, it's one of those places where the promise is always 1000% better sounding than the delivery.  That's not a reflection of the people here, who are almost always exceedingly friendly, but rather more about other things, including the weather.  Yes, for example, it's nice to not have to deal with 20 degree days in the winter, but then the trade-off is jungle-esque conditions in the summer when you don't want to go outside anyway.  As they say, life is about trade-offs.  

I also have this image that every other person down here is carrying a gun.  Not my thing.  If it's yours, well, that's good, and I hope it works for you.  As for me, well, seeing someone other than a police officer packing heat in a Cracker Barrell restaurant seems just oddly immature, and it makes me feel far less safe.  Just what is that person trying to prove by side-holstering a 9mm pistol while eating pancakes?  Is that some kind of warning to the kitchen staff, along the lines of "these pancakes better be good, or Mr. Glock might get upset..."?

Here's one other oddity about Florida:  I was reminded this morning that sometimes the water stinks.  As in smells.  As in it smells like what I expect of a salt marsh during a breeze-free 90-degree day in July.  It smells so bad that I feel like I need a shower after my shower.  Thank God for deodorant.

Not to be outdone, the actual trip down here was mostly uneventful, but I did learn something important:  I breathe differently when I am falling asleep.  I discovered this while almost dozing off on the flights yesterday (we got up a 4am to catch a 6:15 am flight out of Scranton) with a mask on my face.  I literally could not breathe, so much so that I ended up having to go to the restroom on the flights not to meet a biological imperative, but rather just to have a few minutes to catch a deep breath.  I'd be more bothered by the whole thing if it weren't for the fact that having everyone wear a mask while flying in a contained tube tightly packed with other humans actually does seem like the right thing to do during (hopefully) the waning days of a pandemic.

Anyway, I am here and it's about time to start the day.  I'll do my best to stay out of trouble.

2022: Let's Just Get Through It

(looking down the road at 2022)

Most of the time when I think about the new year, my thoughts gravitate towards what I want to do, what plans I need to make, and how I somehow want to re-engineer my life in small and big ways.  Not so much for 2022.  If recent years have taught us anything, it’s that we are not always masters of our own destiny.

Like many, I think I am decidedly in the camp of “just get through it” when I think about 2022.  “Get through it” as in trying to stay healthy and hope that others are able to do the same.  That’s equal parts sad and realistic as we collectively stare down another year of COVID and the prospect that this disease may never really leave us, in spite of our best efforts.

Side note here:  “…in spite of our best efforts” is a bit of a misnomer on many different levels.  All you need to do is go into any store in most parts of Pennsylvania, for example, and you will see that “best efforts” when it comes to COVID are basically non-existent.  Some folks simply stopped trying.  Some folks never tried in the first place.  Trying would include the highly difficult and complex tasks of wearing a mask in public, getting vaccinated, and avoiding large crowds.  I was being sarcastic with that last sentence by the way, as none of those things are actually complex or difficult; rather they require compassion and thought, two things that tend to be in short supply among some stressed humans.

Looking at 2022, it’s pretty realistic for us to admit that our lives may be in a kind of holding pattern, waiting for something to give.  As noted above though, this may never give.  We may have to collectively change some fundamental things about what and how we do things.  For some, that’s thought-provoking.  For others, it is a nightmare.  Squarely in the nightmare camp are all of those individuals who already have been put in a state of dismay because of changing national (and world) demographics and culture.  I can easily see why, for example, someone who feels that two men who love each other and want to get married are somehow a threat to them also views wearing a mask in a grocery store as some form of capitulation to Satan.  These are the same people who parrot anti-vaccine rhetoric from some dark corner of the Internet but then are in shock and distraught when a loved one spends 30+ days in a hospital, clinging to life via a ventilator.  As noted in the prior paragraph, sometimes compassion and thought are scarce qualities.

It’s worth remembering that every generation is full of people who want to deny change, who want to “go back to the way it was”.  We have an entire region of the country that, for more than 150 years, tried to deny the outcome of the American Civil War.  These days are different though, as we have social media with a global reach, so the most ridiculous voices among us have basically the same megaphone as the most rational.  This is the world that has given us Alex Jones, and we are much worse for it.  The challenge of 2022 is whether or not the loudest voices belong to the compassionate or the compassionless.  The added burden here is the fact that the compassionless are sometimes adept at painting villains as heroes, empathy as a sin, facts as fiction, and TV reality.  This includes every single televangelist who spreads an America-first prosperity “gospel”. 

Getting back to me, (well, technically we never left me), I do have some goals, but they are a bit down the road.  COVID or not, I want to get through the year, maybe pick up a few better habits, and not manage to screw anything up in the process.  Finding some peace at work would be nice too.  Not repeating any mistakes would be a plus.  Five or six years down the road there will be some more monumental changes, so 2022 can be just okay.  And sometimes “just okay” is good enough.  My standards may be low, but these are challenging times.

Here’s to everyone having a happy and (hopefully healthy) New Year.

2021: Keeping Stuff Together

My glasses are a kind of avatar for 2021.

They are, for all intense and purposes, broken.  Yet with the help of some tape, a hot glue gun, and some patience, they manage to soldier on.  As do many of us I think.

Just as a side note, I do have another, newer pair of glasses, but I prefer not to wear them.  That's for both practical and stubborn reasons...

...practically speaking, I just prefer my old glasses.  They weigh next to nothing, and the reality is that I just don't see well.

...the stubborn part of me is still not happy that I was talked (yet again) into buying my new glasses in the first place.

To that second point, that's been something of an ongoing theme with my eye care provider.  That's on my list of things to work on in 2022.

Anyway, 2021 was a difficult year (thank you Captain Obvious), something that many of us can say with some surety.  I wrote that last sentence without having had anyone I know succumbing to COVID, and my heart goes out to those who did lose loved ones in 2021.  COVID has been particularly cruel in 2021, if for no other reason than the fact that it seemed like we collectively were starting to get past it.  COVID had different ideas though, and in the end, I think this linear flow of "beginning...middle...end" isn't going to apply here.  We may never end this, and as frustrating as that sounds, it's a reality we need to be prepared to face.  

For me, and for many others, there has been plenty of collateral damage coming from COVID in 2019.  Physically I just don't feel as well.  I've gained too much weight, and I am not nearly active enough.  If I were a car, I'd be running at about 110,000 miles, and that comes with all the required maintenance and things to repair that just happen when the years miles begin to pile up.  The good news is that I can make some changes in that department.  Of course, things would be easier if there was a bit more stability in one key part of my life.

That last sentence is my professional life, and the signs are hopeful.  I confess that I've been trying to unlearn a few things over this past year.  Things like...

...the need to be in charge

...defining success based on other people's measures

...blaming myself for not being successful enough (something that I can't actually define)

...comparing myself to others & engaging in countless "what if's"

This sounds so simple, but yet it is so very, very hard.  A lot of it boils down to the simple to say, but hard to actually define (and make happen) idea of "I just want to be happy".  At 57 years one would think that I would have a better handle on that, but I readily confess that I don't.  And I may never will.  But I'll keep trying.

It's Been A Long Road, Getting From There To Here

I don't think I have ever gone this long without posting something before, but February was a long month, even though it is actually the shortest month.  As for why it has been so long, I wish I had a good answer other than, maybe, "tired".   That can be tired as in physically, mentally, emotionally, etc.  While it may not seem like much on the outside, writing this stuff can be taxing on me.  Granted that I enjoy this...I would be doing it for going on 13 years if I didn't...but sometimes things just get in the way.  

Work has been taxing, and I readily admit that I am needing to learn new skills to make it work.  The skills, by the way, have nothing to do with strategic job stuff.  More like the skills associated with balancing my needs to do everything right, self-flagellation when I get it wrong, and better understanding my boundaries.  There is a kind of moral here, namely that getting older doesn't mean you have all the answers.  It also makes me question how well I have served my own needs by having stayed at the same employer for so long.  Was I ultimately too isolated from the "real world"?  No sense expending too many mental calories on that one, as the rear-view mirror examination is best used in very small doses.  

For the record, trying to mentally back out of certain thought patterns is very, very difficult for me.  For example, where I should be in life right now, I think, is working towards an eventual retirement.  That's the big goal.  I should be viewing what I do now through that lens, not the one where I over-examine in microscopic detail what I do every day.

Then there are the reminders every once in a while where the universe tries to re-focus your head.  Recently, in my case, part of that has been a friend who is going through cancer treatment.  Here I am wallowing in whether I cheesed someone off at work and this person is dealing with "the Big C".  I readily confess, in a brief moment at work that I nearly broke down thinking about it.  Sometimes "...universe tries to re-focus..." is just a fancy way to say "...dramatically unfair $hit..." (with apologies for the quasi-swear word).

I do sometimes wonder if I have reached a kind of existential moment in my life, with more questions about "why" than there are actual answers.

In any event, I am moving along.  Part of that moving along involves my doing a better job at work of just focusing on task achievement...in other words, just trying to get some stuff done.  Part of that, in turn, involves being less emotionally invested in things.  I need to come to work, do my best, and leave work.  I am learning (make that trying to learn) that I need to save the emotional investment for things where an actual emotional investment is more appropriate.

Re-reading the above, it seems like I have spent a few hundred words trying to say something that could easily be described in a single sentence.  So I'll give that a try now:

"I am re-examining just how important my professional experience should be in the context of my larger life."

How's that?  I know, all of the above is an incredible exercise in over-thinking.  Maybe that's the point...and also the problem.

* * * * * *

On a more practical, non-internal dialogue note, I am officially fully vaccinated against the COVID-19 virus.  I should probably feel more relieved than I actually do, but in all fairness personal worry about the pandemic hasn't been much of a driver for me over the past year.  If anything, I worry more for others, including those who are more vulnerable to infection because of their health or what they do for a living.  Here's to hoping that we, as a nation, have turned a corner in the fight against the virus.

Better Days

"Well my soul checked out missing as I sat listening to the hours and minutes ticking away

Yeah just sitting around waiting for my life to begin while it was all just slipping away

And I'm tired of waiting for tomorrow to come or that train to come roaring 'round the bend

I got a new set of clothes and a pretty red rose and a woman I can call my friend"

-Bruce Springsteen

In some respects, it's gotten even more difficult these days for me to describe the world around me and how I feel about living in it.  Not good for someone with a casual commitment to writing that spans over 12 years.  We have a global pandemic that seems to be creeping within everyone's six degrees of separation.  We also have a president who, instead of dealing with the pandemic, is instead holed up in the White House, pouting over an election loss he still will not publicly acknowledge.  And conniving...lots of conniving.  Could we maybe take, say, 40% of that energy spent conniving and re-deploy it towards helping people instead?

I know the above sounds very gloom-n-doom.  I do, however, remind myself of what Oscar Wilde wrote many years ago...

...and one of the things that the pandemic has taught us is that we really are all in the same gutter.  

Another consequence of these days is the fact that many of us, including me, are robbed of the ability to see family members over the holidays.  With two of my three daughters living in other states, the opportunities to actually get together are normally few and far between; for the 2020 holidays that changes from "few" to "non-existent".  That's part though of the larger paradox of parenthood though, namely that we raise our children with the intent of them being able to be independent and successful on their own, but yet achieving that goal comes at a cost.  COVID is a kind of rapid inflation of that cost.  Luckily I have a daughter who lives locally, a loving and understanding wife, two stepsons, and a few cats.

I get the fact though that some people have virtually no one.  And among the cruelties of life, being alone during a pandemic is probably near the top of the list.  That very fact is probably one of the better arguments for an after-life though:  There should some be some kind of cosmic recompense for those who suffer in that kind of way in this life.

Technical note:  This posting is already full of typos.  More are probably lying in wait, and my 4.5 hours of sleep last night probably isn't going to be of much help in ferreting them out.

In any event, we have no choice but to be here where we are now.  I also am reminded that nothing in life is permanent, including petulant man-child presidents and pandemics.  Maybe Thanksgiving is even more important in 2020 than ever before, serving as a reminder that even in the seemingly worst of times there are always things to be thankful for, even if we do have to look really hard.

 

Voting By Mail & Social Media Flamethrowers

You've probably seen this little ditty floating around social media:

Personally, I think it's a great example of the kinds of things foreign agitators are doing in order to sow seeds of doubt in our political system.  The fact that the president has "mail-in vote fraud" as a standard talking point doesn't help either.  

Personally, I think the very idea of comparing voting to shopping is a load of rubbish.  Here's why:

• Civil Responsibility - I don't have a civic responsibility to go shopping.  I do have a civic responsibility to vote.  In fact, I'd call it a civic obligation.  Comparing voting to shopping is simply ridiculous.
• Choice - I can get toilet paper at any number of places.  If Walmart happens to be unusually wackadoodle on a particular day, I can go to Walmart light, a.k.a. "nameless __________ Dollar store".  I have no choice come election day.  I have to go to the one and only place where the government says I need to cast my ballot if I am to vote in person.
• One Day of the Year - I can go shopping at Walmart 7 days a week if I so desire.  In fact, if I go into Walmart and see that it's too crowded, I can simply come back the next day.  No harm is done.  Primary election voting however is only one day during the year.  The powers that be have also seen fit to make it on a work-day for most.  This means that, for many folks, they may not be able to come back to a polling place if it is crowded.  None of us can come back the next day and vote.
• Health & Safety - Walmart, for example, makes some kind of effort (laughable as it may seem at times) to keep their stores clean and to enforce mask and social distancing rules.  I have no idea though whether local poll and government workers will do the same on election day.  If the enforcement of mask-wearing by local governments is any indicator, we could be in for some trouble come election day at polling places.

The final point is the most important one for me.  I am, generally speaking, a pretty healthy guy, all things considered, & high-milage noted.  However, I did develop asthma in my 40's.  Among other things, this means that on those rare occurrences when I do get a cold (for example...which occurs about once every 18 months or so), I get really sick.  Sick as in I end up having to take steroids for a few weeks.  Trust me when I say that two weeks of feeling greasy and bloated is not all that much fun, but it's better than hospitalization.  What's more, COVID-19 is no Cold, and I'm not about to throw months of being extraordinarily careful about hand-washing, mask-wearing, and avoiding crowds away just because of some Russian troll farm-produced and widely circulated a social media piece.

By all means, vote in person if you are moved to do so.  That's your right, and honestly what's most important here is that you simply do vote.  However, an entire state (Oregon) has been voting by mail for years now without any issues.  In fact, the president himself and, as I understand it, all of the senior members of his administration, have regularly voted by mail without issue.  A mail-in ballot goes through the exact same United States Postal Service channels whether it is an absentee ballot or a mail-in ballot.  

The bottom line is this:  The arguments against voting by mail don't stand up when you think about it logically, which is precisely why these kinds of things are designed by Ivan and his comrades to elicit an emotional response.  I'm voting by mail in the November election because it's simply safer for me to do so and because it is proven to be a secure way for me to exercise my civil obligation.  

Don't be so willing to take social media bait.  

Think about these things logically, not emotionally.  

What we should be passionate about here is encourage everyone we know to vote in November, be it in person or via the mail.

Johnny Thunders May Have Had A Substance Abuse Issue (Half Summer Check-In 2020)

A few things I've learned and have had confirmed over the half of the summer(1) that technically isn't really a "half-summer". 

• Adrift:  As a nation, we are sadly adrift morally, ethically, and politically.  We have a good third of voters who basically feel that there is no set of standards by which to hold elected officials.  None.  These folks will continue to blindly follow a leader no matter what he tweets.  Many also view needless cruelty as now being somehow a virtue (along with serial marriage, vanity, and business bankruptcy), to be emulated.  If we don't hold a president to a basic set of standards of conduct (i.e., no rage tweeting, no name-calling, no bearing false witness against others, no pushing conspiracy theories as facts), then how can we hold anyone else accountable?  We're currently in a race to the bottom, and there will be no winner.
• Conduct:  I don't want police officers killing people needlessly and with no accountability.  I don't want protesters to burn down businesses within their own communities. The solution to the former is actually pretty simple in my book...the police must never be in a position whereby they have sole authority to investigate themselves.  There needs to be a non-partisan, non-political, non-labor focused vehicle for civilian police oversight.  Going back to my first sentence, the good cops deserve this, and if we do the former well, it's likely that it will help the latter.
• Re-Fund the Police:  I don't want the police de-funded.  Instead, I want their funding moved away from military purposes and towards helping people.  I think that's actually what the vast majority of police officers actually want to do as well, by the way...namely to actually help others.  As an example, many police forces have military-style "SWAT" teams; maybe we need less of that and more people & training designed to help those in a mental health crisis.
• Racism:  There is systemic racism in this country, and I am not sure that will ever change.  You can see this in the many Confederate tropes are still glorified in the United States (ref. HERE).  This noted, the solution to it is to not deny its existence, as the Attorney General recently did during Congressional testimony (ref. HERE).  I view racism as being a blanket problem that can probably only be solved one person at a time.
• Economy:  Nowhere is the out-of-touch nature of our federal government more on display than when it comes to current economic conditions.  The current debate about how some folks may be making more money by not working (between unemployment compensation & a temporary federal subsidy) than actually having a job is a great example.  If you take that idea at face value, does it not beg the following question - Doesn't this mean that we don't economically value work enough?  Maybe the solution here isn't to reduce the helping hand provided during the time of a crisis but instead focus on actually increasing the economic value of work in our economy.  Put another way, it's not that the subsidies are too high...it's that the pay is too low.

These are not fun times, by any stretch.  Maybe, ten years from now when I look back at this posting(2), this will be the bottom of a kind of curve that will start swinging upward in the not too distant future.

We are all in the world, by the way, so none us escape the kinds of things that are noted above.  In fact, they are a kind of background for our main gig, namely our lives.  Here's where my "main gig" stands.

• Writing...is surprisingly hard for me these days, much more so than at any other point in my life.
• Reading...ditto on reading, at least as it applies to books.  I think it's a case of over-compensation in my own head, whereby I feel the need to be constantly "productive", and I don't always value reading for pleasure through that lens.
• Job...I'm still in job search mode, and saying that this is a "difficult time to be looking for a job" is like saying "Johnny Thunders(3) may have had a substance abuse issue".   

• Health...physically I'm doing okay, although spending 2 hours a day during 90-degree weather working outside probably isn't always the best of ideas.  My personal goal is to fight the very idea of getting physically older for as long as possible.  Mentally?  Not working creates a mental conflict for me in the sense that I feel a need to always be productive.  As it stands, I'm still too young to retire, and I've personally invested so much in my professional life to date (for example, the time, effort and money required to earn a Masters degree) that it doesn't make sense to just say "to heck with it, I'm going to work in a QuickieMart"...not that there is anything inherently wrong with working in a QuickieMart.  My choice...my only choice...is to just persevere on, knowing that something will happen career-wise.  

On that note, it's time to wrap this posting up.  Here's to the balance of the summer of 2020 being a bit less dramatic for all of us.

* * * * * *


(1) As kids, we all experienced this:  Summer started when schools let out, and by the time late August came around, it was more or less time to start thinking about the school year starting again.  Hence, mid/late July = Half Summer.

(2) Not so far fetched, as I've been writing this blog since October, 2008.

(3) Former lead guitarist for the punk bank The New York Dolls.

Life with Walleye Vision

I've always been this way.

(Guess which one is me, pre-eye surgery)

The comment "Walleye Vision" came in jest from a co-worker in the early '90s.  I didn't actually mind.  In fact, though, Walleye Vision is a real medical term that refers to something called "exotropia".  More on that in a moment.

I speak, of course, about my eyes.  My peepers.  Make that my "admittedly malfunctioning" eyes.  I was born with a condition that basically prevents me from focusing both eyes at the same time.  The diagnosis of it all breaks down something like this, from general to specific:

Strabismus 

(literally "to squint")

Amblyopia 

("lazy eye")

Exotropia 

("eyes pointing outward")

Just to make things even more interesting, one of my eyes is near-sighted and the other is far-sighted, which I understand is not uncommon in cases such as mine.

So, how is my vision anyway?

Well first the bad:  I really can't see out of both eyes at the same time, and as a result, I have poor depth perception.  Where "bad" means that, for example, as a kid, I would occasionally walk into parking meters in downtown Scranton.  3D movies?  They just look dark and blurry, even with the glasses on.  Suffice to say, having a backup camera on my truck is a godsend.  If you want to get a sense as to how I actually see the world, this is something of an approximation:

(from https://www.nvisioncenters.com/conditions/amblyopia/)

The not so bad?  My eyes, individually, have fairly good corrected vision.  As in they work individually well when I am wearing my glasses.  They just don't work well together.  Kind of like the Beatles, circa 1969.

Music references aside, I can sense that my non-focusing (at the moment) eye sees things, but that visual is almost not there.  It's easy to tell which eye is the "working" one, by the way, as it will be the eye focusing forward; the other eye will have moved off to the side somewhere.  It may appear that I am looking sideways, but the reality is that the sideways looking eye can't see (much of) anything.

There are some additional things that go with this whole hot mess, including:

• A strong propensity towards vision-induced headaches*
• Near constant eyestrain (see the first bullet)
• Chronic bloodshot eyes (no, I have not been drinking)
• Not the best nighttime vision (I'm not sure why)
• Blurry vision when I am tired (not all that uncommon)
• A complete and utter inability to draw a straight line (I have a lot of company)
• On rare occasion, double-vision (not fun when you are 5 years old; see below)

(*) Basically, I take enough in the way of painkillers that it's a small wonder my blood clots at all. 

Growing up I knew my eyes were different.  Having had two surgeries (at about ages 5 & 6) and occasionally having to wear an eye patch provided me with that clue.  There was also the time when I was pretty sick with a fever and a bad case of double vision, with objects being distorted, seeming to move towards me, and then fall into the background.  That particular episode was horror-movie quality, at least for a 5-year-old.  For the most part though, I didn't catch much in the way of grief from other kids.  Oddly enough, as someone who was self-conscious about almost everything, my eyes didn't cause me all that much stress.

As I got older, it wasn't until my 30's that I actually began to find out what was medically wrong with my eyes.  Not that it mattered all that much by that point.  My main concern was that my vision not get any worse, which thankfully has not been the case.  Technically speaking, my vision has gotten better over the years.  Individually.  In each eye.  These days, my primary vision concern is the fact that I have a freckle inside my left eyeball (a Choroidal Nevus) that needs to be monitored.  Worst case...to the tune of about a less than 1% chance...is that I end up with eyeball cancer, but there's a silver lining with that one:  I'd lose the eye, but gain a really cool pirate eye-patch or, even better, a glass eyeball that I could take out and amaze grandchildren with when that time comes.  Needless to say, I've already had plenty of practice when it comes to only looking out of one eye.

   

In the end, well, we all have these little (and not so little) idiosyncrasies that make us unique.  There's no sense wishing that we were somehow not so different because the wisdom of getting older teaches us that we're all the same in being different anyway.  And that's okay.