Two years in remission

Today, October 15, 2011, I celebrate two years in remission from my stage four throat cancer. Yes, two years. My life is again full and busy and my energy is back. I taste food again, though perhaps a little less intensely. I've regained 15 of the 30 pounds I lost and I am now at a perfect weight for me. (All things considered, I'd have rather done weight watchers to lose that stubborn 15 pounds). I have a few lingering issues - I am hypothyroid (and on meds for that) and my salivary glands forgot to come back (I drink more water than my lawn). These are small things in the grand scheme of my life.

Here is what I want to say:

Cancer is such a hard journey. I have not the adjectives to describe the emotional, physical and spiritual difficulty of it. It leaves a hole in your body, your life. Rather, I should say, it left a hole in my body, my life. But looking back, I see that God was and is there...and in some mystical way, the ruins and ravages of cancer left more space for Him to fill and inhabit. I didn't always experience that filling in the moment... quite the contrary, in the moment of suffering, I was aware of little else but my pain and self-pity. I was so miserable (and, dare I say, cowardly) in my suffering. Nonetheless, I believe that it happened. I know it. And I believe I am on a journey home. If I am to linger here, I'm blessed. And if He makes a shortcut for me, I am blessed again. I may not always be so joyously positive; I know I was awfully depressed in the darkest days of radiation and chemotherapy... But this is where I am today.

There is much about suffering, there is much about gratitude, there is much about compassion that I have yet to understand, but I am still growing... there are vast oceans of growth yet to cross.

If anyone stumbles here and is on that hard journey, I am honored by your presence. If I can pray, encourage, listen... send me an e-mail: steveblum77@gmail.com. We are strengthened when we walk together. I am strengthened when I listen. And more than ever, I am learning to listen.

blessings!
steve

Goodbye again... happy day... a good year

So... as I indicated somewhere, I think the profile page... I intended for this to be a year long blog, and here we are, exactly one year later. In a way... I must say... it's definitely time to bring this to an end. I'll tell you why soon.

But for now, let me comment with a restating of a phrase I quoted in my initial post to this blog on June 8, 2010.

My barn having burned to the ground, I can now see the moon.
(Chinese, Japanese or Taoist saying/proverb/poem, depending on who is quoting it.)

Here is why I chose to use that saying... to me, my life BC (before cancer) was the barn... that life is gone...in that life, I felt immortal and Peter Panish. The mirror said I was getting older, but I never FELT it. "The moon" represented to me what I wanted to make of my new life that took it's place. And I think I'm still reclaiming and discovering new life here. I've recently begun having more days than not of feeling well again... really, it's taken that long... in the past week I went for two one-hour bike rides, early morning, on a peaceful bike trail, and I was cognizant of feeling very much alive and full of life. I feel good often... I love my job (sometimes it doesn't feel like work anymore, it just flows with my day, and though I think about future retirement from time to time, when I really think about it, I think I'd prefer to just keep doing what I'm doing while I can... that's an awesome good feeling.) I feel I am still growing spiritually, still on a journey that I have much to yet learn and grow in. Oh, God knows, I am far from "mature" spiritually, but I sense His patience and grace with me more than His disappointment. In November, I will complete my Novitiate status and formally become a Benedictine Oblate... it brings a meaningful set of spiritual disciplines into my life, that ultimately, I find, brings me into closer relationship with God. I still struggle at times with some treatment related side effects, primarily the loss of a good deal of salivary function, but I think I am not as hampered by it as I was even a few months ago. I was told that after two years, what I got back is what I will get, and I still have four more months before that two year mark. I can live with this.

But, back to the blog. I don't think it's particularly meaningful right now, and so, I think I need to stop.

Here's several reasons why:

1. There has been no direction or "purpose" to whisper salad, and unlike the first blog I did, this one just seemed to be aimless... I felt it going nowhere. Truthfully, I am giving this blog a C- grade at best. When I read the posts on the Deeper than Cancer blog, particularly the five months of August-December 2009, when I wrote about the cancer treatment journey I was going through and the fears/depression/pain and finally early steps of recovery I traversed, it seemed there was a flow and a purpose and a connection happening. Not so much here. I'm disappointed with myself.

2. I'd like to work on being a better writer, but I can't seem to do that publicly; I am too aware that people (even if only a few people) are tuning in and reading. I think I need to spend some time writing in a more private fashion so I can focus solely on that.

3. After a break, perhaps for the summer... I may try this again, only this time... there will be some direction and cohesiveness. I've had several thoughts, but nothing definitive. I've thought about either keeping it related to the Benedictine Oblate journey I am taking, or keeping it focused on poetry, or, hell, maybe something related to turning 60 (this November) and trying to transform my 60th year into a year of creative purposeful living. I don't know. And I am not sure it's the right thing to do.

4. I have a website now for my Private Practice ( www.stevenblum.net ) and I have tried to keep this blogging separate and not accessible to clients (it's a little too personal), but Google has a way of linking things up... so if I do another blog, I might do it under an assumed name and identity...

5. Which brings me to this... if you are reading this, and want to be aware if I do start another blog in the fall... e-mail me and let me know (my e-mail address: steve@stevenblum.net or, the e-mail address this blog is linked to : steveblum77@gmail.com, that will work as well)... I will keep your name/address confidential, and will send you an e-mail if and when I start another blog... that way... I need not link it to this blog and can keep it generally anonymous, yet let you know where to find me.

Finally, let me say this... God Bless you for taking time to read... I really appreciate the comments and the number counter which says there have been quite a few "hits" to this blog... I hope to find you again down the road... or should I say... I hope you find me. In the meantime, to the friends I have and the friends I have made here, and the friends I have yet to "meet"... keep in touch via e-mail, and I will do likewise. Keep reading... there are some really good writers blogging and it's fun to find them. Every now and then... hit the "next blog" link at the top of the page... you never know when you will stumble upon a gem.

Have a fantastic, fun and meaningful summer... fill it with joy!

God Bless,
Steve

Music and emotion

A song heard at the right moment can change your day, your night, your week. Isn't it something that one's whole mood can be lifted or dropped by a combination of melody, voice and lyric? It's true for me anyway. But it's not so simple. There are other variables operating, because that very same song can, under different circumstances, be just background noise. A song might bring out a variety of feelings depending on the context and mood one enters into the listening with, as well as the context and mood of the memories triggered back to when that song was first heard. Here is a song that never fails to brings out a complexity of emotions in me. Nostalgia, longing, sadness, hope, grief, excitement, despair, joy... how is that possible? If I want to know how I'm doing these days, I think I can play this song and the emotions elicited will inform me. Good grief...who needs the MMPI or Rorschach when there has been music like this out there? I know there is good music here and there coming out these days, but it takes so much time wading through all the crap to get to it... and with all the good ol'stuff reincarnated and uploaded on YouTube... it's nice now and then to drift back to those days. Some music ages like fine wine... some turns rancid. How could Leonard Cohen write so haunting a song? It's too much... It's almost unbearable! And his zombie-like delivery just makes it all the more intense. (Caution...if you are too young to be acquainted with this song... there were times in years past when I was on the edge emotionally that this song was just too dangerous to listen to... hmmmm... perhaps that's a reflection of my past angst and not the song...nevermind...)

Night prayer

I recently discovered that a small chapel about a mile from our house has "night prayer" every night at 8:00 PM. Truth be told, at 8:00PM on weeknights, I am more likely to be sitting in front of my TV than anywhere else... and a mile down the road, in a beautiful and peaceful chapel that holds no more than about 40 people, and generally has an attendance of 15-20 people, a Compline service is being quietly conducted. I have made it a goal that this month, more days than not, I will be there for the service.

As I have mentioned before, I am in the Novitiate stage of becoming a Benedictine Oblate. One of the reasons I am drawn to Monastic spirituality is the intentional way that those in Monastic communities live with a certain rhythym and flow in the presence of God. With all the habits we develop, (being "present" for our favorite TV show - not so necessary anymore now that we have Tivo/DVR - having dessert after dinner, morning coffee, reading the Newspaper, etc.), there is no point to raging against the reality that we are creatures of habit. Even our pets have habits. Simcha, our last cat, had evening rituals... in many ways she was a creature of habit. Not so much our new cat Mishu, who is a creature of impulse. But Simcha had a certain order to her life that fascinated me.
But I digress. So, I've had enough of feeding bad habits, and I feel a certain desire to incorporate "habits" that acknowledge and honor God, and habits that feed my "higher" self with the time that I have left. And, I find that when I attend the Compline service, I enter the evening with much greater peace. Also, I am less concerned than ever about "denomination." I am not a Catholic, yet, I find a reverence and beauty in the Divine office. It is like poetry to God. I don't care what denominational language is spoken, if I am making music to God and honoring Jesus...

...it's good stuff!

Protect us, Lord, as we stay awake; watch over us as we sleep, that awake, we may keep watch with Christ, and asleep, rest in his peace. Alleluia.

It's allright ma, I'm only bleedin

How many times must a man..... hear that Bob Dylan has turned 70?

If he is that old, what happened to time? Why do I still see him in my mind as about 25? I was 13 when I first heard Dylan thanks to my 15 year old step-brother, who hung out with an older crowd of New York City kids. I was quite early to the show. Dylan was not yet a household name. I took my stepbrother's Dylan album to my room to listen on my pathetic little record player and wore the grooves off the record. I had many dark moods as an adolescent, and listening to songs like "In my time of dyin" and "Baby let me follow you down" just resonated, as eventually did his protest songs several years later. For the next ten years Dylan was my main hero. Then, his music seemed to lose it's magic for me. He seemed to have sunk into mediocrity. In the mid 70's he released "Blood on the Tracks" which restored for me some of my admiration for him, but then he seemed to drift again. In 1979 I had a remarkable, overwhelming born-again experience, and became a Christian; and within a month, I heard that Dylan had converted to Christianity as well. I felt like I was right there with him again when he put out his next two "Christian" albums..."Slow train coming" and "Saved." My conversian happened independent of any "church" connection, so I was hungry for anyone who could relate to what was happening in my life, and he was speaking the language of my experience again. I have no idea where Dylan is spiritually today, and I haven't enjoyed any of his albums in the last decade or so.

One thing I give him credit for is that he has always said he is not a hero or out to change the world. He is right about that. I think Dylan the man is far more human, fallible, and perhaps materialistic than the ideals we held him and his music to in the 60's. He had some great songs and lyrics and some awful albums as well. I didn't bother getting tickets to the last concert he did here, as I was totally disappointed the last two times I saw him.

Oh, well, that's the way it goes with heros. They have nowhere to go but down. As Dylan himself wrote...

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their marks
Made everything from toy guns that sparks
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.


Oh, but he wrote some awesome songs. Happy 70th!

warm your heart

It's been a beautiful weekend and I've been warmed by being outdoors for much of it and playing with my crazy cat and spending time with my wife and eating lots of good food. So warm your heart with this video clip. It gets better as it goes! Take four minutes and enjoy!

and this is living

Since I am living, it serves me well to pay attention

to wake up...to stay aware...

and always stay open to God's presence.



"Be still, and know that I am God" Psalm 46:10

Yes, it is a good thing to be still. Not just good...I find it to be a necessary thing. I lose my way otherwise. Really. I went for my usual early morning walk a few days ago. It broke my heart... this cute little terrier dog started following me. Normally, dogs do that for awhile and then go home. Not this dog... I kept trying to get it to stop following me and return to whence it came, but it kept running ahead of me. After about two miles, it ran off and I didn't see it again. I'm sure it was lost. That just breaks my heart. I'm like that dog when I forget to be still. Chasing this and that like a fool until I am totally lost.

I value stillness and I value the "still small voice" of God that can be found in that stillness. As well as the awareness that comes in slowing down. All of it...the awful sadness of life as well as the awesome joy.

There is so much to experience and learn in being still before God.


Anyway, here's a poem... a nice perspective on what paying attention can be like. Notice how paying attention in the poem gets smaller and smaller and more detailed... from the world to a bear to the movement of a specific gracehopper's jaw... it's great stuff!

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down,
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?


~ Mary Oliver ~

and that is dying

My wife's mom passed away at 3AM this morning....cancer... which she has been battling in one form or another for the past three years.

She spent the last few months of her life in our home, and I am happy that Kathy had the chance to care for her mother in that way. She is very brave. Kathy lost her sister to cancer in 2009...she was there for her, and what with my ordeal that same year, she has been through the wringer. When my mom died five years ago I was 1,400 miles away and not at her bedside. It's very different.

-----------------

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, " There she goes! "

Gone where?

Gone from my sight . . . that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, " There she goes! " there are other eyes watching her coming . . and other voices ready to take up the glad shout . . . " Here she comes! "

And that is dying.

---Henry Van Dyke

deep in a life is another life

Think about the title of this post. It is a line from the poem below by Marianne Boruch. To be honest, I am not at all sure about the meaning of that line in the context of the poem; I'd rather think about it's meaning in the context of my life...

"deep in a life is another life"


There are a few ways to take that line. I want to consider one...

Here's what I am thinking... I am "known" by people to the degree that I present "myself" to them. To a few perceptive people, I am known even beyond my presentation. Deeper still, I know myself. In one sense, that is me, or rather...that is my "life." But that knowledge is by no means complete, nor is it necessarily accurate. And it is certainly not a static thing... it changes, it's fluid, and it's evolving. Even now, as I am approaching adulthood (well, let's say...middle age... umm...OK...maybe even beyond middle age)... (Maybe I had it right to begin with...maybe I am just approaching adulthood.) Where was I?... OK... this life deep inside this life of mine is coming to fruition... it is a unique and precious thing... stripped of distortions and delusions and protections and fears, (especially fears) I have this "life" this "essence" deep within. This life within is quite possibly where I am in union with God. Could it be the place where, as Paul says, "I no longer live, but Christ lives in me"? I am just scratching the surface here. I am and have always been so full of fear and self-protection that this essence of "self" has been barely, if at all, visible... When I went through my ordeal with cancer, there was a moment or two when maybe I got a little closer... there were also times when I was most certainly far from it... but, I really want to hook-up with that place... there is a sense of urgency... I am more aware than ever that my days are numbered. There is a longing... for what? Maybe it is a longing to be "home" and maybe that is where ultimately that life deep within fully emerges. In the meantime, I sometimes feel it's presence and it's call. And it's "intricate pleasure." And it's peace.


Nest

I walked out, and the nest
was already there by the step. Woven basket
of a saint
sent back to life as a bird
who proceeded to make
a mess of things. Wind
right through it, and any eggs
long vanished. But in my hand it was
intricate pleasure, even the thorny reeds
softened in the weave. And the fading
leaf mold, hardly
itself anymore, merely a trick
of light, if light
can be tricked. Deep in a life
is another life. I walked out, the nest
already by the step.


Marianne Boruch

life flows on...

"...life flows on within you and without you"

All right, I need to get this Beatle stuff out of my system and then move on. George Harrison. I believe he was a "seeker" and that is why I am fond of him. I believe that John was more into the peace movement, i.e. "Give peace a chance," and I think that is why I liked him. I think George was looking within, and looking for some spiritual truth, or else just simply striving to be more loving in relationships. But what do I know... I am basing this on nothing but the lyrics to their songs. Maybe they were totally different than my perceptions. (I don't think so.)

Here is a George Harrison song that flew under the radar, as his music often did. While John was doing "Strawberry Fields Forever," a brilliant piece of music, and Paul was doing "Penny Lane" (not bad as far as Paul's songs went) George was doing this... of course, it didn't get the airplay that either John or Paul got with their songs.

Just listen to the first minute or so... it makes me happy to hear this music. Way more interesting than any love song Paul ever wrote, me thinks... I've read that this was a love song to Patti Boyd... who am I to disagree...maybe it was, especially the last line about "your long blond hair and your eyes of blue," but I think George was seeking something much deeper than long blond hair and blue eyes!


Here is another George song that ignited a spark in me... while I was sitting in my dorm room reading Ram Dass "Be Here Now" and listening to this, and getting high.. it just opened me up... my spiritual journey was beginning... I never expected it would eventually lead me to Jesus, but I believe He was at work in me even then, slowly bringing me to a place where this Jewish agnostic hippie wannabe could receive Him.

nowhere you can be

Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be

it's easy...

Ah, yes, John had it right...as much as I may disagree or feel sad about some of John's blindness in regard to spiritual matters, I must admit, he got a few things right. (I must admit also to a deep fondness for George Harrison, but that's for another post...) Listen to this verse at 2:02 into this song. I tell you it is true. From the midst of this "bad" day I am having I know it is true. I know it is true. What trials we endure and what incredible powerful ways we grow if we are open to learn from them. What we can learn through our pain! Perhaps I am a bit of a fatalist, but it is actually a very courageous and optimistic way of being. I am at this very moment where I'm meant to be... and the lessons that this place (i.e. God?) will teach me, if I receive them, will take me where I need to go, as I act with intention and love.

What are we learning, you and I, as we are getting collectively older? We are learning about being mindful of the very present moment we are living, accepting that moment without judging it; receiving it graciously as from the hand of God, and living it fully. Yes, it's a better way of living and a better way of dying.

Happy Day... it is marvelous in our eyes

Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
His steadfast love endures forever.
The Lord is my strength and my song
And he has become my salvation.

The right hand of the Lord has triumphed,
The right hand of the Lord is exalted!
The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone;
This is the Lord’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes.

This very day the Lord has acted:
Let us rejoice!
God’s name be praised!

From Psalm 118

tremble

'twas I

I have experienced only four incidents of outright anti-semitism in my life. (not counting the variety of times I've heard the phrase "jew'em down"... when I hear someone use this phrase, I generally confront them; the response is often something like ... "it's not anti-semitic; it's just a saying.")

I was thinking today about the first incident... I was in elementary school... I went into the boys room, and there were two older, bully type kids (I was probably in the 5th grade, they were "older" probably 6th graders.) I was wearing a ring with a Star of David on it...I think it was probably plastic, I don't remember where I got it or who gave it to me. Maybe Hebrew School, maybe my parents. One of the kids asked to see my ring... I raised my hand to show him... he then grabbed me and pinned my arms while the other kid took the ring off my hand and flushed it down the toilet. The one who grabbed me told me I was a "Christ killer" and said I was going to go to hell when I died.

Now... that memory came back to me today... I decided it was time to forgive those two bullies... after all, they had it half right!

We all had a hand in this, didn't we? Those bully kids...their parents... you... and I. This is a verse of a hymn sung today...

Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee.
'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee:
I crucified thee.

Kerouac

I have had a love affair with Jack Kerouac's On the Road since I first read it in 1975. I read it on a Greyhound bus traveling from Nebraska to Los Angeles to visit a friend, then from L.A. to New York to see my family, and then back to Nebraska where I was a depressed graduate student. On a whim, over winter break, I bought a 30 day unlimited travel Greyhound bus pass that I took full advantage of. Traveling across the country on a bus that stopped every hour or so at every podunk town we drove through, sitting in the smoking section in the back of the bus with assorted characters and not sleeping for three or four days was one of the great experiences of my life. At one point, some drunk sat next to me and he insisted we take turns having a swig from his whiskey flask as he talked to me all through the night. I was never much of a drinker, and the whiskey made me nauseated and dizzy. The smokey bus added to the ambiance. He rambled on and made little sense at all. I felt a little like I was in a twilight zone episode in which I was dropped down into the pages of the book I was reading. I didn't realize at the time how great the experience was. But it was. I was so tired, I was hallucinating by the time I got to L.A., and that wasn't even the long cross country leg of the journey. At another point, we stopped for an hour or two in Las Vegas, and I had my first encounter with that city. I bought a bag of apples and then lost all the money I had left for the trip to NY in my "Introduction to a downtown casino in Vegas at 2AM" module. (about $40...I was a poor student - why else would I be traveling by bus?) As I sat in the bus station at around 3:00AM with my bag of apples, I did feel somewhat like the homeless people I was sitting with. When one came over and asked me if he could have one of my apples, I felt justified in saying "no." However, I also felt really guilty and tried to explain that this would be all I had to eat for the next few days and I really was completely and hopelessly broke and I would probably run out of apples before New Jersey.

So... that was how I discovered the wondrous Jack Kerouac book. I read it on the road as it was meant to be read.

Since I am no longer riding Greyhound buses, no longer hitch-hiking, and sad to say, I have never hopped a freight train... the next best thing has been listening to the audio-book while I am driving in my car. It's not quite the same twilight zone experience as reading on a cross country Greyhound bus, but Matt Dillon does a great job reading the book, and at least in a car, it's a little closer than reading the book in my warm comfy bed. Every few years, I listen to the book while I drive. I am listening to it right now. It never gets old.

Kerouac died at age 47 in 1969... he was a bad alcoholic and died of cirrhosis of the liver...he started vomitting blood and they couldn't stop the bleeding. Yes, 47.

If you've never read the book, go to the library and see if they have the audiobook... check it out and listen on a long road trip. It's best listened to if you've been up for two or three days. Here are a few quotes from the first few chapters:

"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn..."
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Ch. 1

"And as I sat there listening to that sound of the night which bop has come to represent for all of us, I thought of my friends from one end of the country to the other and how they were really all in the same vast backyard doing something so frantic and rushing-about.
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Ch. 3

"I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was — I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds."
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Ch. 3

"I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion."
- Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Ch. 4

It's trivial

I found myself really being annoyed by a trivial thing yesterday. Trivial. Nonetheless, ruminating annoyance ate up about an hour of my life. Last evening, I was reading something by a Benedictine writer... I was struck by a simple bit of advice made by the writer. The advice was aimed at those who live in a monastery. If you are living with other monks in a monastery "don't let the trivial get to you."

That seems like an obvious statement. But, as I watch myself, I see that much of the annoyances and frustrations in my life stem from triviality... particularly as my ego gets involved. If I am not careful, I'll get all caught up in entitlements, feel slighted, have my sense of pride wounded, etc.

Here is my addition to that wise statement... "If you let something trivial get to you, you become as trivial as the thing itself!"

Listen to this: Every year 10,000 girls as young as 7 years old are sold into the sex slave traffic in Nepal. These girls are often promised jobs, placements with loving families, or they are simply sold by their own families to sex traffickers. They are smuggled across the border into India and taken to brothels where they are raped, brutalized, and kept locked up, often in cages. THIS IS NOT TRIVIAL ... this is something to be outraged by. And if you want to help rescue a child... the cost of rescuing a child is about $23.00 Yes, $23 can rescue a girl from a life of unbearable trauma. By the way...here's the link for a rescue organization. I know one of the founders of the organization; just a local guy who wanted to do something with his life to make a difference.

www.tinyhandsinternational.org

Now, what was so frustrating to me yesterday? Being kept on hold and listening to the statement "please hold, your call is important to us" several dozen times. Get over yourself Steven... you can hang up and call again later if your time is so precious. Really... is it that bad that I need to get all annoyed and act all snooty and sarcastic when the call was finally answered? How about spending 10 minutes inside the life of one of those innocent girls in Nepal...

If you are a sensitive person, there is this danger always lurking... to let the trivial get to you. To feel hurt, ignored, neglected, slighted, by something trivial. We can use our sensitivity to love others, but we must be careful when that same sensitivity gets turned inward. It can eat us up! We can act like spoiled children...or...we can do so much good, we can be light to the world... we can take a few minutes and turn for good the entire life of another human being for $23.00...

True enough, true enough.

Eighteen month check-up

A brief note. My 18 month post cancer treatment check-up with the ENT went well...no indication of cancer... there is one sort of mysterious cut on the side of my tongue that is bothersome, but he said it did not look like anything that he would need to biopsy... and that it could be related to the saliva issues (dry mouth) and my tongue rubbing against my back teeth when I talk... if it gets worse... then he'll take a more serious look at it... the other small pains I reported are just random lingering radiation related after effects. The pains themselves are completely manageable, it is always what they might mean that concerns me. He said... not to worry - everything looks good.

So... it never is quite perfect... but I am happy and grateful (with a tiny pocket of small concern)

It has been a beautiful spring and I am walking and doing a bit of biking, and loving it. It seems the older I get, the more the weather can impact my mood. These days... that's a good thing!

An appropriate Chinese proverb to ponder:

A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses.


A cyber-rose to you all.

We are not helpless

Today was one of those synchronistic days... everything built on everything else and I felt really inspired by God, people, poetry, music, and on and on. I felt high. I've been thinking about the idea of the neuroplasticity of the brain and how incredibly exciting the implications are of this. I am thinking about undertaking some re-wiring of my own brain in an intentional manner... through meditation, and through being intentional about what I think, read, ponder, pray, create... days like today, I think I am on the verge of something... I also wonder on days like today if I have a touch of mania operating... my mind gets to racing a bit. Anyway... I felt like hugging everyone today and blessing them (truth is, I didn't hug anyone, but I felt like it). I hope in some way I blessed everyone I spoke with ... You know, we are not helpless to change, and it is never too late to renew our minds... it is NEVER too late... imagine that... we get "do-overs" all through our life... if only we could more fully engage that truth! We have such a merciful God! We get do-overs in body, mind, and soul...we are forgiven...we are renewable...and we are so NOT helpless!

Tomorrow, I go for my year and half check-up with the ENT... then in two weeks with the oncologist. I still have these phantom pains, and I will be very relieved to get a good report, should that be the case. Should it not be the case... I'll cross that bridge when the time comes.

Speaking of helpless...here is a wonderful musical moment...I wish the title of the song were different, maybe something like "All my Changes." but nonetheless... wow... Neil Young and the Band. Could it get any better?

My desire

I've been thoroughly enjoying reading some Thomas Merton recently. Here is a famous prayer of his:

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.” (from Thoughts in Solitude)

I've mentioned some character flaws... I wonder sometimes if and how I will ever be able to please God... but then, I realize, a la Merton, that simply the sincere desire to please Him is pleasing to Him. If I think about the heart of a loving father, this makes perfect sense. I am full of flaws, defects, and well, sin. But I am also full of desire for Him. And that desire may be the only thing I can offer Him. And even as I offer this desire to Him, I realize it came from Him... I just offer it back. I think there is some eternal rhythm here, the awareness of which I've just scratched the surface.

I had a thought today that all these weaknesses, defects of character and flaws in some meaningful ways... have left me hungry with desire for God ... so, then, how thankful I am for these, my flaws! Poorly stated... let me try again... how thankful I am for where these flaws have brought me... I didn't get here pounding my chest and bellowing... I got here more crawling and scratching my way along. And, dare I think, God is somehow pleased with that?

By and through my imperfections I come to Him, entirely empty handed, with just this simple desire, and, He, being who He is, receives me. This is too magnificent!

April Fool

Since I have no early clients scheduled this morning, I either get to do paperwork or waste time. I choose the latter, and thus, I give myself a little time to contemplate... Since my cancer diagnosis and hellish treatment/recovery, I have thought more about certain life "issues." And...this morning my thoughts drift toward a few of these issues, thanks to a quote I received in an e-mail, and something I heard on the radio on my 2 mile drive to my office. I was thinking about two things this morning... (1) whether I would consider my life a "success." (2) what exactly gives my life meaning and value in the present "now" I am living. I am certainly not alone in reflecting on these issues now that cancer has invaded my life. I think it's virtually a universal phenomena that when one brushes with death, after a certain age and modest degree of maturity... whatever time one has left, there is a tendency to ponder a little more about the meaning of one's life.

Here's the quote I got in an e-mail:

The spiritual journey is not a career or a success story. It is a series of humiliations of the false self that become more and more profound.
Fr. Thomas Keating

WHAT??? "a series of humiliations of the false self" Again this morning,I am slapped in the face (for the thousandth time) that I still tend to use the wrong template for a sense of success. I am fully responsible for creating that monster, but dear ol' dad sure pounded that distorted (false) idea of "success" into my head... or was it just my lifetime unreachable ambition to hear him say "I am proud of you." that kept (keeps) me pursuing that false self. Just last night, I was rumninating about my career and career "accomplishments." I have given such weight to that false self! It's really a ghost...

AND IT IS HUMILIATING WHEN I REALIZE THAT SO MUCH OF MY LIFE I'VE CHASED GHOSTS AT THE EXPENSE OF SUBSTANCE. I am talking about money, ... I am talking about "image"... I am talking about "approval" and I am talking about vanity. (I once saw Woody Allen say that everything he ever did in his life was done in order to meet girls!)

Listen...you can't get to the real promised land without having to walk away from what you always thought the promised land was...

The other statement that impacted me this morning was listening to something on the radio about what happens at funerals. Often, someone recites details in the life of the deceased. While the litany of "accomplishments" (degrees, jobs, titles,etc.) is being recited, the room is cold and bored. It only comes alive when the discussion turns to what that person loved... the homemade telescope, the outings with the grandkids, etc. THEN, there is warmth in the room.

What people lose when someone dies is what that person loved! NOT what that person accomplished... no one really cares about degrees, titles, bank balances, number of hours worked... they will think more about the juicy hamburger they ate on Sunday than they will about the Ph.D. that Uncle Steve got. REALLY. I know that....

There's a hint in there about the real measure of success... What do I love and how do I show it????????????????????

Here's a great poem... I highlighted one line... the "you only" in that line ... there's the rub... she makes it sound so simple... Tell me, Mary...how long will it take to get all these tapes out of my head so that I could get to that place?

---WILD GEESE---

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

-----------Mary Oliver

lenten poem

With One Word Missing

Mid-March in the country,
that late night the thawed world
slept, patchy grasses still,
while inside we curled
in our own breaths and outside
shut blinds, the surprising snow
came on silently, spreading
over everything with its sudden
coat of heavy quiet. Now
we discover morning's usual
brightness piled right up to
our eyes at the window,
the sky seeming like
sun could shine behind
but wouldn't. Instead
the lightest flakes are falling
all coming down
to the only color left, its
feathery close cover not
closing, but holding us too
and we open the door and our
hands and faces, even
our eyes, to know that slight touch
able to change everything, so
much waiting, finally slowed
by this steadiness,
simple,
but of such deep mind.

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

Flu - and a Revelation

This past weekend, my wife and I went to Kansas City to celebrate our anniversary. We ate some good food, went to a museum, some galleries, and did a little shopping. A very good trip.

I came home and became really sick. My temperature on Sunday evening was 102.4. I felt lousy for most of this week.

Here's what I thought, when I was feverish, nauseous, coughing, aching, etc... "I have learned how to be really sick, and so now, I will do it with more gracefulness and detachment." Crap. I couldn't. I just felt miserable. I wanted to take all those good lessons I wrote about last year and put them in the dumpster... I just felt lousy.

Actually, I did have one small bit of success. Here it is:

I had a single thought that lifted my spirits immensely. The thought was...

God has the flu.

Let me explain, please. I am NOT God. I am NOT crazy. I apologize for the graphic nature of this... But a few weeks ago, I was in Church... Normally, I bring with me a water bottle because when it comes time for the Eucharist...i.e. Communion, I often can not swallow the bread without a swig of water. Bread is dry, and without much saliva, it sticks in my throat, and doesn't go down, and a sip of wine doesn't get the job done. I'd rather not choke in front of the church, so I just hold off on the swallowing part till I get back to my seat and have a drink of H20. OKAY... TMI.

This particular Sunday, as I knelt at the altar, I realized I forgot my water bottle that day. So, here is what I did... I took a LARGE swallow of wine, enough to completely turn the bread in my mouth to mush... and I swallowed. But as the bread and wine mixed...I had a revelation... I realized I could swallow because the bread and the wine became one, and I could no longer tell where one left off and the other began. THEY WERE COMPLETELY INSEPARABLE... and at that moment...POW... the revelation... It was Jesus saying... "THAT'S ME AND YOU!!!" Did I hear His voice? Not exactly... Did the thought seem to just POP in my head out of nowhere...YES! What did I feel? LOVED!

I AM NO LONGER SEPARABLE FROM HIM... IT CAN'T BE UNDONE!

If I endure suffering, He endures it with me. That reality went from my head to my heart kneeling at the altar. We are One as He and the Father are One. Oh, how that makes the flu seem bearable!

Words rarely do justice to a revelation, so I suppose it sounds a bit silly to read this... but...trust me... it is like Him to stoop to my level to make a point. At least that's how He works in me.


Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me...I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them, even as you have loved me.

John 17: 21-23

another step forward

Today marks 17 months post treatment. As far as I know, I am cancer free today. I frequently have neck or throat pain, and I can not help but get a twinge of fear when that happens...but the pain doesn't persist beyond a day or two, and then, I breathe a sigh of relief. The dry mouth is a constant bothersome issue, but that's not too much trouble. I am now on hypothyroid meds for life, thank you radiation, but again, I am happy to have the medicine to keep my thyroid functioning within normal limits. My post treatment neuropathy is gone, my taste is about 75% restored, and my energy is enough to get me through the day.

Here is a victory I had today: I went back and read some of the Sept.-December 2009 posts and comments on the Deeper than Cancer blog. For the first time, I was able to read what I wrote without having some difficult or painful reconnections to the experience. I read with interest and a healthy detachment. I read the comments that were posted and felt gratitude. In the same way, I can re-visit some painful childhood memories today without the emotional baggage. I have moved on. I do not think I have a day where the thought of cancer doesn't cross my mind, probably because of the small lingering treatment side-effects, but at least I think I have put most of the experience to rest.

I'm glad. I spent many months talking about it. I was way too self-absorbed by my own trials. How boring I became!

I saw Ted Kooser at the poetry reading I attended last week. He is about to have his 13th anniversary of being cancer free after his throat cancer was treated... he is an amazing poet (the August 1, 2010 post on this blog has a video of his reading one of his poems). He told me he would like to have a lunch get together with a number of throat cancer survivors that he knows. I would be the newbie to the bunch. I hope he follows through.

Speaking of revisiting the past...here's Ted reciting a poem about his grandmother's kitchen...

Repentance - looking at the man in the mirror

Penance.... definitely a word associated with Lent.
Repentance...an even better word.

Too often, I twist and turn the ideas of penance and/or repentence into some kind of self-loathing and condemnation. And if I am not condemning myself, then I am blaming others. I know that this is not from the heart of God.

Every day, I talk with couples who are quick to lay blame on their partners for the failures of their marriage. It seems universal. If only he/she would STOP doing what they are doing and START doing something else, the marriage would stand a chance.

Every day, I live with a certain sense of inadequacy. I think, "if these people only knew that their therapist is prone to wild bouts of anxiety, panic attacks, guilt, shame, and a visit now and then to the wasteland of depression, they would think... get me out of here!"

Guilt and shame and anxiety and fear... I've got 'em all.

But that's not it! It's not it. I lack a penitent heart. I lack humility. In spite of that neurotic self condemnation, I think I am so SMART that I know better than anyone else in the world; even God Himself doesn't have much to teach me. I am IN CONTROL. I REALLY believe I know just about everything one needs to know, and I really believe I can read EVERYONE I encounter like a book. I will help you with your anxiety, even though there are times I am crawling out of my skin and my heart is ticking like a bomb ready to explode inside of me. I'm so darn smart!

How many people, smugly talking about the hypocrisy of the church, or the scandal of Priests/Ministers molesting children, etc., judge the whole of Christendom as foolish or worse. We look down our specific and mighty noses and scoff at everyone who doesn't share our perspective... "fundamentalists" "evangelicals" "liberals" "tea-party conservatives" "pagans" and on and on; we attach labels and vilify children of God. And I, from my haughty perch, stand in judgment of all those judgmental people, ready to remove the speck from my brother's eye and not seeing the plank in my own eye.

Here's a snippet from an old poem...

The humble soul compos'd of love and fear
Begins at home, and lays the burden there,
When doctrines disagree,
He says, in things which use hath justly got,
I am a scandal to the Church, and not
The Church is so to me.
---George Herbert

OK...HERE IS WHAT I KNOW TO BE TRUE. TRUE REPENTANCE IS LIFE CHANGING AND LIFE GIVING. IT IS RECOGNIZING THAT THERE IS A PATH THAT LEADS TO PEACE AND LIFE AND JOY, AND ACKNOWLEDGING THAT I HAVE WANDERED OFF IT, AND BECOMING WILLING THROUGH PRAYER, THOUGHT AND DEED TO GET BACK ON THAT PATH AND CONTINUE MY JOURNEY THUSLY.

From the book of Psalms:

You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.
Psalm 16:11

There it is! There is a path, and we have One who desires to make it known to us... how many of us truly get humble enough to stand at the door and knock... and simply receive as children of our true Father. Hey, I can fake humility before man, and look awfully good, but not before God.

OK...so make fun of Michael Jackson...and me, for posting this... I can handle it. It is not a Lenten hymn, and MJ was no saint... I was never a huge fan, but I saw in his tormented life something of a gentle and good heart buried under trauma and distortion. He was full of flaws and who knows, he may have been full of evil. But, you know, there were two sides to MJ. They both were apparent. Anyway, I like this song for it's content, and I must confess... I like his performance. So if you just want to watch a touching video, watch the first... if you want to watch MJ perform it...watch the second.

Lent is helping bring a little more life to my life this year! No kidding!

Ash Wednesday

Remember

that you are dust

and unto dust


you shall return.

So many good poets

There are so many... and the truth is...there are so many poets that write so far over my head that I can't begin to understand their complexity. I'm not that devoted to poetry to plumb the depths of a poem that is like reading Greek. But I love reading a poem that I "get." Some call that type of poetry "accessible." Apparently, that is not a compliment for some. Sometimes, upon further reflection, I "get" something more from the poem. So, I like to post poems as a reminder to myself. I only post poems that grab me; poems that I want to read and re-read. If I post a poem, I feel compelled to read it a few times. A good habit.

Alicia Ostriker is giving a reading of her poems next week in Lincoln, and I plan on being there. I must say, I am as drawn to poems that capture moments of despair and darkness as those that capture joy and light. I suppose I relate because I read this poem and say to myself... "yes, yes, I've been there, I know" and it's a comfort (I love the line about comforters)to realize others have known and can so well convey an emotion or state that I've been familiar with. And it lightens something heavy inside. So, in anticipation of next week, here's a poem... Isn't it powerful?

Insomnia
Alicia Suskin Ostriker

But it's really fear you want to talk about
and cannot find the words
so you jeer at yourself

you call yourself a coward
you wake at 2 a.m. thinking failure,
fool, unable to sleep, unable to sleep

buzzing away on your mattress with two pillows
and a quilt, they call them comforters,
which implies that comfort can be bought

and paid for, to help with the fear, the failure
your two walnut chests of drawers snicker, the bookshelves mourn
the art on the walls pities you, the man himself beside you

asleep smelling like mushrooms and moss is a comfort
but never enough, never, the ceiling fixture lightless
velvet drapes hiding the window

traffic noise like a vicious animal
on the loose somewhere out there—
you brag to friends you won't mind death only dying

what a liar you are—
all the other fears, of rejection, of physical pain,
of losing your mind, of losing your eyes,

they are all part of this!
Pawprints of this! Hair snarls in your comb
this glowing clock the single light in the room

Oatmeal volcano on the prairie

My oatmeal boiled over
in the microwave this morning, creating
a cement like substance which fused with the
paper towel beneath the bowl.
There's a name for that...decoupage.
In addition, there is now a permanent coating on the outside of the bowl
with a slightly bumpy
and gritty texture.
This is good...
The bowl will no longer slip from my hands,
and the rough feel triggers from deep within
a collective unconscious memory of cowboy breakfasts
on the wind swept prairie.
Ah, those days...
The smell of burnt coffee, the dented tin cup,
the whistling of a lonely cowboy refrain.

Plea bargaining with my career

I forget sometimes how fortunate I am to "own" my own business.

It's amazing. I am the president and sole employee of Steven B. Blum, Ph.D., Inc. One of the annual obligations I have is to have a corporate board meeting and submit "minutes" of that meeting. (I remember this duty around this time of year, because I need to see my accountant to do my taxes, and my accountant holds me "accountable;" he always asks me if I've done the minutes from the annual meeting.) The Board of Directors of the corporation are... me (President and Treasurer), and my wife (Vice-President and Secretary). Hmmm, somehow, my wife turned over the responsibility of keeping minutes to me... WAIT A MINUTE... I thought I was President! Oh, well, don't sweat the small stuff! Since I write the minutes, it is not surprising that once again, I have been named employee of the year. But, what is surprising is that I decided this past year to cut my hours... So instead of being "open for business" at 8:00AM, I have been going to work at 9:00AM. I still work three nights a week till 7:00PM, and two nights till 5:00PM. But I get a whole extra hour every morning to sleep, walk, sleepwalk, read the paper, pray, etc.

Here's the thing...I get just as much work done, and see just as many clients each week as I did before I cut my hours. So, I'm wondering... maybe I've stumbled onto something. Perhaps every year, I should trim a few more hours off my schedule. Maybe once or twice a week for the rest of 2011, I shouldn't be "open for business" until 10AM...

That's being proactive...at that rate...by the time I'm 65, I'll only be working 3 1/2 days a week... and I'll have 3 1/2 days a week off. Who needs to retire? At seventy...two days of work a week. Eventually, I'll just show up at my office, have a cup of coffee, and go home. Priceless!

I think I will submit this proposal at the upcoming annual Board Meeting for consideration. I wonder what the Vice-President will say...

How to store homemade bagels

Yes...this can be a problem. You must protect them from bagel-vandels. You just never know. You may feel safe in your home, but one must not minimize the dangerous possibility that unbeknownst to you, you are sharing your house with a carb junkie sneaking around in the middle of the night. Besides, you may decide to take a homemade bagel to work... Talk about an invitation to bagel-burglary!

So, if you are going to go to all the trouble of making your own bagels, I highly recommend the following... for a mere $19.99 (plus shipping and handling) you can protect your investment!

Mishu, again

I always was a dog person. My last dog, an American Eskimo named Nanook, kept me company for 15 years... throughout grad school, internship and my early career. Nanook was special and very intelligent. She had a way of crinkling her nose into a smile when she was happy. It made her sneeze. Somehow, after Nanook, I couldn't think about owning another dog. Then, my eyes were opened to the joys of cats after a rather unusually interesting calico cat named Simcha (pronounced...Sim-ka) shared our home from 2002-2010. Sadly, Simcha had to be put down after getting a blood clot at age 8. She had, at age 6, spent a week in intensive care at Kansas State Vet School clinic after contracting a rare opportunistic fungus that generally only happened to dogs. She was only the third cat on record to be so afflicted... She nearly died, but valiantly pulled through, and the experience made her wiser for the next two years. It seemed that Simcha just kept getting smarter, to the point that she seemed to take on an almost human-like persona, with her own possessions, habits, spaces, games, sense of humor, eccentricities and sensitivities. Simcha pretty much had an equal say in what went down in the house. At times, it seemed she was in charge. She had her own plastic drinking cups, and wouldn't stoop to drinking out of a common cat bowl. She got ready for bed with numerous rituals, and had her nighttime companion...a green rubber ball that she would get out only at bedtime to sleep with. She had certain postures to indicate what game she wished to play, and one way or the other, the human involved was going to stop what they were doing to play the game. Sometimes, she was dangerous...if the game was her hunting game, she showed no mercy. In that game, we often had to freeze in our tracks, or risk a lunging, leaping attack from a crazed lunatic cat. Simcha was neat, clean, precise, strategic, loyal and thoughtful. She was gentle and nurturing during my cancer treatment and recovery and would sleep on top of me to keep me company.

If Simcha was in advanced placement classes, Mishu is in special education. He knows how to jump, and enjoys jumping, but doesn't particularly care what he jumps into... be it a clothes dryer, a toilet, a dishwasher, a refrigerator, a cabinet, etc. He jumps with little finesse...he misses his target frequently, and crash lands back onto the ground. He does like to be around people, and hates it when we leave...he sits in front of the door in the morning and tries his best to keep us from leaving the house, batting at us with his paw in a brave, but futile attempt at keeping us captive.

Mishu, (pronounced mee-shu) a Ragdoll kitten, is clumsy, sweet, wreckless, confused, impulsive and hasn't quite figured out his place in the family. He's not quite a year old, and maybe I have forgotten that Simcha was once not so bright as well.

I am slowly learning to appreciate Mishu for who he is, rather than comparing him to Simcha. I think Mishu is slowly learning to appreciate us as well. It's taken awhile for us each to adapt...

Baking Blum's bodacious, bo-licious bagels

I did it!!!! Mix, knead, rise, rest, shape, rest, rise, boil, glaze, sprinkle toppings, bake and BAGELS!

For all those years I waited for Lincoln to open a bagel shop, I could have been baking my own! Who knew? I thought you HAD to buy them at a bagel shop.

Here is some photographic proof:

Picture one

The bagels shaped, not yet ready to boil...not yet done rising. If you look carefully, you can see a baggie of lox thawing lovingly right behind these babies.

Now, for further evidence, take a gander at:

Picture two

Some of the finished product, just minutes out of the oven... Yes, these bad boys are not just plain bagels, but some have sesame seeds, some onion flakes, along with some plain bagels. The first one I ate, still warm, with cream cheese and lox was quite a taste treat! I tried to take a cell phone picture of myself eating my bagel, but it was too scary to post; trying to photograph oneself at arms length, without being able to see the frame of the picture you are about to snap is a fool's mission! Take my word for it...the bagel was good!

If I could bake bagels, maybe I could...I could... I could do just about anything!

bagels and lox

Thanks to alert reader, Diane, I am now aware that today is National Bagels and Lox day. So, why is this worthy of a post? I'll tell you. First,I grew up eating bagels and lox from the crib. When I was between the ages of 9-12, I spent my summers in the Catskill mountains at a Jewish summer camp; Camp Kewanee. Every Sunday morning, we were served fresh bagels and cream cheese and lox. I think because everyone made such a big deal out of what was such an everyday breakfast item, bagels became special to me at that point. When I was 21, I left New York for the plains of Nebraska and graduate school at the University of NE in Lincoln. To my horror, one could not buy fresh bagels (other than pitiful grocery store excuses for bagels) in Lincoln. How could this be??? For many years, my annual visits to New York meant filling half my suitcase with bagels to bring back to Lincoln. After about a decade in Lincoln, oh, blessed relief, a Brueggers bagel shop opened up here. Life has been more tolerable in the midwest since.

The other thing you need to know, to make this story more poignant, is that twice a year I buy one pound of lox and carefully divy it up into 26 individual portions, each placed lovingly into a baggy and placed in the freezer. I eat one bagel a week... on Sunday morning. (hmmm...I wonder why?) Every Saturday night, I take one baggy of lox and one bagel out of the freezer to thaw (the lox goes into the frig, the bagel, in its own baggy, onto the counter). Voila! My Sunday morning treat is ready to greet me upon awakening.

Finally...one last comment... I bought a pound of lox during my cancer treatment right before I could no longer eat food... that frozen lox sat waiting for a good six months until my ability to eat and my tastebuds were restored to some level of dignity. In some of my darkest hours of radiation/chemo misery, I would fantasize about eating New York Pizza and bagels, cream cheese and lox. Yes, indeed. I really did. I remember lying in bed and thinking on and on about how much I would enjoy those culinary delights again if and when my throat healed and my taste buds would finally awaken again. I will never take either for granted again. My favorite bagel? Poppy seed. My favorite Pizza? Veggie. (or just plain cheese if I'm in NY).

Don't take any of it for granted... what a wonderful blessing tastebuds are! You don't know till you completely lose them for awhile, (along with saliva), just how special they are.

So...forget the glycemic index for a day, and have yourself a doughy, chewy, tasty treat... celebrate with an "everything" bagel with cream cheese and lox! Mmmmmmmmm!

This video makes it look so simple that I might try my hand at making my own this weekend.

Super bowl...and God

Yah, it's that day... and I will watch with delight and root for the Packers since my team didn't make it... (the Jets).

I'll give myself permission to stuff my face (why?) and abandon myself to the enjoyment of the game.

But, lest I forget... we sang this hymn this morning, (a morbid thought, but if this can be sung at my funeral I'll be smiling down from heaven, even if the Pastor forgets my name.)

There's so many poignant phrases in this hymn, but the one I like best is

"...thou my best thought."


To paraphrase Paul, when I think of knowing Christ, everything else is just rubbish... I went to worship this morning with a blank and bland heart and mind. I thought, "today is going to be one of those going through the motions days." And I confessed my feelings of indifference to God, along with the notion that I had more interest in football than in Him today.

And then we sang this Hymn...

I wish I could put into words the way my heart is transformed in a moment, but I can't. I wish I could put into words the way my life was transformed in a moment some 30 years ago, but I can't. You just have to know. As the hymn was sung this morning, everything was put back into perspective, and that unsurpassable joy that I only have in knowing Him filled me again.

So, I'll watch the Super bowl tonight, and, unless it's a blowout, I'll be engrossed in the game. But right now I remember again, that it's in Him that I live and breathe...now and forever. And everything else... just fluff.

Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best thought, by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

perfect possibility

A photo of Mishu our 10 month old ragdoll kitten in front of flowers and a barely visible fireplace

Yes...here is something perfect that only those who live in inhospitable environments know: There is something special about a frigid snowy afternoon and the solitude of a quiet house with cats and plants...especially when there is not a single good reason to go outside, and there is a fireplace and a good book to read. So...there you have it...Nebraska is indeed the good life!

I have a feeling that this poet was not writing about a snowy afternoon in Nebraska, but let's not be so picky!



AFTERNOON IN THE HOUSE
by Jane Kenyon

It's quiet here. The cats
sprawl, each
in a favored place.
The geranium leans this way
to see if I'm writing about her:
head all petals, brown
stalks, and those green fans.
So you see,
I am writing about you.

I turn on the radio. Wrong.
Let's not have any noise
in this room, except
the sound of a voice reading a poem.
The cat's request
The Meadow Mouse, by Theodore Roethke.

The house settles down on its haunches
for a doze.
I know you are with me, plants,
and cats - and even so, I'm frightened,
sitting in the middle of perfect
possibility.

not sunshine

not pleasant
not fun
not warm
not calm
no signs of life.

Snow. Ice. Cold. Wind.

...forty eight days till spring. I'll make it.
I think I can
I think I can
I think I can.

a poem, a feeling

I am always amazed by poets who capture a feeling or a perception with such exact precision that I feel as if I am living it as I read. Here's a poem, for example, that captures a feeling I've experienced, but have never been able to put into words. How many times in my life have I known the electricity of a momentary physical brush with another person? A simple accidental touch doesn't always do it, but there are times when it's like every fiber of one's being gets connected to that momentary and ever so slight contact... do you know what I mean? I remember as far back as 9th grade, sitting next to Diane Fenech in biology class... the assigned seating was two people to a sort of lab table that required us to sit fairly close. I had a terrible overwhelming crush on this girl. From time to time, our forearms would touch or brush, and my entire universe would be centered on that briefest of connections. I spent an entire year trying to get up the nerve to say something to her other than a weak "hi"... it wouldn't have mattered... I was far too self-conscious at the time to sustain any sort of meaningful conversation with a pretty girl. Besides, I think I later found out she was dating a college guy. Maybe not...maybe it's just something I think I remember to reduce the dissonance of not trying to at least interact with her while we dissected a frog together. On the opposite extreme... this, too, is the absolute truth...I once had the experience that this poet writes about in complete reverse... i.e. I thought I was tapping my foot against the leg of a table, and, in fact, unbeknownst to me at that moment, I was playing "footsie" with a guy (and not just any guy, but the very guy whom the people who invited me and others to dinner mentioned to me as having invited a gay friend....yes...who happened to sit next to me at dinner, and, yes, happened to not move his foot at all whilst I played "footsie" with him. Yes, I swear I thought I was tapping one of the table legs. And then...I glanced at him and he slightly smiled at me and then I had this slowly dawning awareness that while we made eye contact, I was also tapping his foot. OK...you get the picture. What does one do in that situation?...I did nothing other than cease and desist my tapping, and spent the rest of the evening avoiding any eye contact or interaction with him and staying as far away from him as the house would allow. I didn't have an issue with him being gay, I just was mortified that I might have sent such a message myself... So I guess the electricity can be positively charged, or positively embarrassing.

Anyway, I love this poem... here it is:


On the Metro

BY C. K. WILLIAMS

On the metro, I have to ask a young woman to move the packages beside her to make room for me;
she’s reading, her foot propped on the seat in front of her, and barely looks up as she pulls them to her.
I sit, take out my own book—Cioran, The Temptation to Exist—and notice her glancing up from hers
to take in the title of mine, and then, as Gombrowicz puts it, she “affirms herself physically,” that is,
becomes present in a way she hadn’t been before: though she hasn’t moved, she’s allowed herself
to come more sharply into focus, be more accessible to my sensual perception, so I can’t help but remark
her strong figure and very tan skin—(how literally golden young women can look at the end of summer.)
She leans back now, and as the train rocks and her arm brushes mine she doesn’t pull it away;
she seems to be allowing our surfaces to unite: the fine hairs on both our forearms, sensitive, alive,
achingly alive, bring news of someone touched, someone sensed, and thus acknowledged, known.

I understand that in no way is she offering more than this, and in truth I have no desire for more,
but it’s still enough for me to be taken by a surge, first of warmth then of something like its opposite:
a memory—a girl I’d mooned for from afar, across the table from me in the library in school now,
our feet I thought touching, touching even again, and then, with all I craved that touch to mean,
my having to realize it wasn’t her flesh my flesh for that gleaming time had pressed, but a table leg.
The young woman today removes her arm now, stands, swaying against the lurch of the slowing train,
and crossing before me brushes my knee and does that thing again, asserts her bodily being again,
(Gombrowicz again), then quickly moves to the door of the car and descends, not once looking back,
(to my relief not looking back), and I allow myself the thought that though I must be to her again
as senseless as that table of my youth, as wooden, as unfeeling, perhaps there was a moment I was not.

snow

We are having our first significant snow of the year... the forecast is calling for 7-10 inches. Last year by this time, we had already had 30 inches of snow. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed shoveling the sidewalk last evening (though there were only a few inches at that point) and how much I enjoyed driving this morning. I ran some errands this morning as I had no early clients. It wasn't just tolerable...it was genuinely pleasant to drive slowly through the snow and see everything blanketed.

I was dreading this day because a year ago my experience of snow and winter was so different. I had dropped 30 pounds from treatment, and the cold was not just unpleasant, it penetrated to the bones...my throat was as dry as a desert, and my energy level was so low, I had this awful anxiety that I'd be stuck in the snow and perish due to not having enough energy to dig/walk/scratch my way out of a ditch. I was starting to work again (3 or 4 hours a day), but my mental status was impaired on a number of counts.

Now...I realize I am no longer that person that I was last year... on the other hand, I am not walking around my neighborhood with a shovel knocking on doors trying to make some extra money shoveling neighbors driveways, either, like I did when I was 12. Nor am I leaping for joy at today's school closing. (being self employed utilizes a different reward formula... no clients = no pay)

I am just pleasantly going through my Monday, watching the plows from my office window, and giving thanks for the health I have right now. Cool. I've had more and more moments of effortlessness and ease in going through the day...and it's really been a long time coming. For many months, I had to "try" to have a good day, and it took effort and concentration to keep my state of mind optimistic and pleasant and focused. Now...there are days I almost forget (the dry throat doesn't quite let me forget) the past year and a half, and I have that nice (yet delusional) sense of immortality that comes from good health and feeling fit.

Tomorrow, who knows. But today... this winter snow and cold is no match for me! Forget Arizona, Southern California, Florida...I'm staying right here in Lincoln Nebraska, and enjoying the good life!