You are currently browsing the monthly archive for August, 2007.
Doctors and therapists are not supposed to receive gifts from patients. In the old school of psychoanalysis, any attempts to give such a gift were processed via analysis, rather than received. In the ‘new school’ you don’t get that far; gifts are verboten.
In contrast to the rules I suspect every shrink has received a few gifts over time from people on the grounds to refuse such things on technical terms would do more harm than good.
Gifts, even small items, give me the willies. I worry the APA secret police are going to come and haul me away for not following standard of practice.
The first gift I received was in residency. A therapy patient wanted me to share his talent for making sushi. So my first gift was a pile of raw fish. We were supposed to bring all gifts to supervision, so I brought the plate home for the morrow’s appointment with the supervisor – but that night my housemate ate it.
One patient, pleased I was helping him get in touch with his warrior archetype, gave me a piece of rock stolen from some ancient Inca building where warriors made sacrifices. Having this rock spooked me to no end. Either a curse was going to happen or the authorities from Peru were going to come after me for pillaging ancient monuments. (one supervisor, of pagan persuasion, literally took it off me hands to have the stone”cleansed” with a salt bath). I asked Brother #3, the world traveler, to return the damn thing its former place when he went to Machu Pichu. It is recorded on videotape, as ‘The return of the cursed rock’.
On my office wall is a charm to ward off the evil eye. It is a large blue circle shaped glass object with a white ring painted on it. My patient from Morocco was fearful other patients would be sending me negative vibes and curses, so insisted it get pegged up. It is there still – staring at me.
Next to it is a collage made by an patient upon completion of his analysis. It may be the most personal gift I have ever received from somebody. It would have been downright wrong to refuse such a matter.
Speaking of rocks my last name has the word ‘rock’ in it, so many patients try to give me rocks and stones. A large amethyst sits on my desk. The Greeks thought amethyst absorbed melancholia and negative air, sort of a mineral ‘air freshener’. If so, I could use a boulder’s worth.
And finally - on my desk is a button. I don’t remember who gave this to me;
‘Accepting reality is the first step to insanity’.
In my most recent phone call to the parents, they reminded me University of Michigan football starts this weekend.
Fall has officially arrived at my parent’s house.
I grew up with U of M football. My family members are avid U of M alumni. “Avid U of M alumni” is a redundancy in words. Father is one of the bigger fans. My U of M exposure started early with father playing “Hail to the Victors” at top volume to wake up the house on Saturdays for the road trip to the football games. I started going to tail gate parties at an early age. I was – and still am – clueless as to what the hell are they doing on the football field. The game itself never interested me, but I enjoyed the nonsense around it.
Ever go to a tail gate party? A University of Michigan tail-gate party? Even as a kid I thought they had an element of the absurd. I would see lavish banquets out of the back of station wagons. Men ran bezerk, throwing footballs. Alumni wear maize and blue ties, shirts, or caps with little frou-frou fuzzy balls on the top of the beret. Lots of people played loud music or radio commentary. Some were even painted up like clowns or had bare chests with blue and yellow, looking like savages. There were flags and banners for days.
As a boy I thought it great nonsense to get so wound up over a silly game. But I recognized it meant a great deal to my parents, and the relatives, and the other 100,000 people around me. But the food was good. My mother always made chocolate chip cookies. During the early 80s ‘cold duck’ was the drink of choice. And it was always autumn; the fall colours were brilliant.
And I learned early about the evil upstarts from the south, hillbillies called Buckeyes, led by Satan’s little nephew, Woody Hayes.
Later, I attended U of M myself. I would meet my parents for the same tail gate parties at the same Yost Field House parking lot where my relatives have been going for decades. I didn’t like the student section compared to the alumni section. The student section was a free for all, people were drunk and rowdy. In contrast, in my parent’s alumni section, people were just as noisy but at least they were in their right seats. The men wear ties – to a football game! – and they act like clowns and shout a lot. The women tended to talk with themselves, not having seen each other since last season (these seats are never given out of family it seems).
In 2000, I moved back to Ann Arbor and lived a few miles from the Stadium – walking distance really. U of M football took on another meaning then – get the hell out of town the weekends there are home games, otherwise risk being homebound from all the traffic. I would still meet my parents at the same spot – this time arriving by bicycle.
Unlike most U of M alumni I don’t follow football – but it remains enjoyable to ‘follow’ via my father’s excited reports.
In a world of change, the continual attendance of my father at the same tail gate parking space every autumn is a comfort.
Go Blue!
Thank you everybody who gave well wishes about the cat. The vet came; diagnosed ‘old age’ and we wait……
I am meeting with the personal trainer twice a week now. Someone and I are going on a long weekend cruise in early November and I want people to be mad-jealous to be in shape. We are doing machines and weight and all sorts of things but so far I don’t see any obvious changes. I am told I have ‘good form’ and getting much stronger, but she may be buttering me up for further appointments.
Work has a war theme going on this week. I recently had a patient at work, a woman, who lived in Yugoslavia. In the early 90s all her ethnic group was rounded up, put in a building and the house lit on fire. Her parents and 100 people, including old people and children, were burned. She was outdoors in the woods when this happened – so came home just in time to not be part of the round up but witness the burning. She then went to Europe for some years, and is now here.
For 15 years she has had nightmares, flashbacks and still smells the fire. She has never had treatment for such until now.
Another patient called all the way from Afghanistan! Deployed last year, he called impromptu to discuss that the medications were not working for depression/anxiety. I ask the usual question ‘is there anything going on that would throw him off in mood?” He apparently held up the phone to let me hear the booming of guns in the background. How the hell am I supposed to treat this?
There is nothing scheduled for Labor Day weekend or for the month of September. This sounds wonderfully quiet. Gads I am getting old when I am looking forward to nothing.
I managed to grow a tomato!! For all my time and energy and fights to keep the heat of Arizona from burning them up, I got one tiny tom. Still, it is ‘one’. For this much work to produce this little fruit is a disappointment. I will stop trying to grow them, although I will dream still when the January seed catalog arrives.
I am so tired of the Arizona summer. Every day it is over 100 degrees. This is ok in itself but nowadays we have humidity too. And there is no end in sight until early October.
My IPOD gives interesting titles to the CD. For example; 3 discs for the opera ‘Rigoletto’ are titled “Rigoletto’, and “Verdi: Rigoletto” and finally, “Joan Sutherland, Pavoratti; Rigoletto’. This is a nuisance trying to locate things. I tried to rename some but now some things are all out of synch. Stinko.
Our last cat, the white cat is in the process of dying; it is sorrowful to watch him go.
Claudius is now an old cat, being 17 years old, so he has lived a long full life. In the past months, we’ve watched him loose all his weight and become very frail. What makes it exceptionally difficult is the withdrawal. He no longer wants company or attention. He prefers to be by himself. I don’t think he is in pain, but he isn’t interested in anything, including us. He no longer comes looking for petting. Can he sense he is dying?
Spo-fans may recall our other cat, the black cat, Tiberius, died last year in the autumn. I have not had a cat die on me before; and his death was sudden and horrific. I thought I would be ‘better prepared’ for Claudius but all my defenses are doing no good. It is hard to sleep or go to work, knowing we may be coming home or waking up to find him dead. He was my first cat – and really my first pet as my own. I remember him picking me out at the animal shelter, and he has been a good companion.
He wasn’t the best cat. At times he was neurotic. He was a bitch to take to the vet. He was afraid of a lot of people, having been rescued from the streets of Chicago. I was disappointed he never bonded well with Someone. My partner’s feelings were hurt this way, which saddened me greatly too.
Geez-louise, tears are streaming down my face as I type this and he isn’t yet dead.
So we wait; simultaneously hoping he won’t go, and hoping he will go as soon as possible to end the sorrows.
What burns my bacon -
1) smokers who throw their butts out the window or anywhere but an ashtray
2) human cruelty
3) seeing rudeness ‘rewarded’ with results rather than being put in place
4) rampant ignorance coming across as conviction.
What drives me bats –
1) plastic bottles and cans not being recycled
2) automatic telephone machine mazes I must go through to get to a real person
3) clerks and strangers who immediately address me by the first name.
4) multitasking.
What spooks me out –
1) crazy/paranoid statements made by people said in dead earnest.
2) Tarantulas
3) Angry patients; what will the do next?
4) swimming in large open bodies of water, like the ocean.
What evokes anxiety -
1) the sensation there isn’t enough time left to catch the plane.
2) Mountain Dew
3) Being the centre of attention in a group.
4) Car warning lights coming on
And to end on a positive note;
What makes me smile -
1) the expression ‘Sooner I’d eat rats in Tewksbury than (fill in the disdainful action)
2) Marx brothers movies
3) The warmth and aroma of a cup of tea just before sipping
4) Seeing children excited about learning something.
Mark Twain wrote that no man finishes his life without a sense that some how or other it had been wasted.
I think a lot about wasted lives – I see lots of people who are either wasting their lives, or state they are unhappy as they feel their lives are wasting away. I see mostly middle aged people and older, so the ‘mid life crisis’ is a frequent phenomena.
Mid-life crisis is about is taking inventory of who you are and what you have done and where you want to go next. It is the Psyche’s way of getting you to look inward after decades of being focused outwards. Time to work on the Self.
During a mid-life crisis, hardly anyone focuses on their accomplishments or strengths. Rather, they focus on the ‘should have dones’ and the ‘what might have beens’. It is an easy trap to fall into; dwelling on the disappointments of life – they are as plentiful as weeds.
Still, I don’t put stock in the notion that if someone 30 years ago turned left rather than turned right, their present life would somehow be so much better. Also, focusing on “the roads not taken” drives one to madness.
What advice do I give under these circumstances? First, acknowledge the losses and the screw ups and allow for some grievance. Then bury the dead as it were. Time to take stock of where you want to next go/do – and don’t accept ‘it is too late for me’ as an excuse. Rather than saying ‘what did I do to deserve all this?” say “What strengths do I need to gather up to get me on my journey?”
When an inner voice says ‘This relationship is wrong; get out’ or ‘This job is killing me, I need to go’ or ‘Move to Boise Idaho, there is something there for you. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out what to do’. – it is never run by a person’s strengths, but by the two bogeys ‘fear of the unknown’ and ‘what will they think of me?’
I greatly admire people who are courageous enough to listen to the ‘mid life crisis’ and actually transform themselves. Often people just implode or act out or do superficial remedies – no real work on themselves.
I hope that I have the courage to change when intuition tells me it is time to do so.
It would be nice for all of us to get to the end with a sensation of ‘what a marvelous tale. Well done’.
Why I Have A Crush On You, UPS Man
- by Alice Persons
you bring me all the things I order
are never in a bad mood
always have a jaunty wave as you drive away
look good in your brown shorts
we have an ideal uncomplicated relationship
you’re like a cute boyfriend with great legs
who always brings the perfect present
(why, it’s just what I’ve always wanted!)
and then is considerate enough to go away
oh, UPS Man, let’s hop in your clean brown truck and elope !
ditch your job, I’ll ditch mine
let’s hit the road for Brownsville
and tempt each other
with all the luscious brown foods —
roast beef, dark chocolate,
brownies, Guinness, homemade pumpernickel, molasses cookies
I’ll make you my mama’s bourbon pecan pie
we’ll give all the packages to kind looking strangers
live in a cozy wood cabin
with a brown dog or two
and a black and brown tabby
I’m serious, UPS Man. Let’s do it.
Where do I sign?
I collect cookbooks.
Many of them fall into a category I call “The Church Women Organization’ cookbooks.
Usually type written and spiral bound, they are the pooled recipes of Midwest church women. I find them nostalgic, charming and at times humorous. The books reveal the diet and tastes of these women. The books also reflect the attitudes of the church and the times the cookbook was published.
Reading between the lines is fun; sometimes I sense one or two women are either very good cooks or perhaps they are ‘in charge’, as their names and recipes pop up frequently.
There always seems to be at least one awful sounding recipe that I sense someone included for church political reasons.
Despite the differences in time, location, and denomination most of the cook books have the same recipes. I suppose this is from networking, women talking to other women sharing recipes. An anthropologist might add Midwest cooking isn’t various to begin with.
There are casseroles made with cream of mushroom soup; ambrosia salad; ‘easy hot dish’ recipes; potatoes au gratin; ham and pineapple combinations; and cookie and bar recipes for days. They seem nostalgic as this is indeed what my mother made.
The irony is just about everything I enjoy eating today no way resembles these recipes; both the styles of food I like now and in the food preparation. For instance, not one of the church cookbooks mentions a wok or a food processor.
Here’s an example of a church woman’s cookbook recipe. Nothing captures the Ur-text of these things as:
TUNA FISH CASSEROLE -from the Wesley United Methodist Church’s “Sharing Family Favorites” from Oshkosh, WI.
3c. egg noodles 1 c. drained peas. 1 can cream of mushroom soup 1 can tuna fish
1 small onion 1 T butter 1 1/2 c. cracker crumbs.
Pour can of soup over cooked egg noodles. Mix in peas and onions. Drain tuna, separate and flake. Mix with noodles. Sprinkle cracker crumbs over the top of the casserole and dot generously with butter. Bake in 350 degree oven for 35 minutes.
Every third cookbook has that dreadful ‘recipe for a good marriage’or ‘how to preserve a husband’.
One old cookbook has a section titled ‘From foreign lands’. The recipes include chop suey and spanish rice and enchiladas.
One cookbook from the 1930s tells the reader (presumed to be another woman) that if her cooking is good her man will stay at home i.e. not stray from the marriage. (translation; if you were a good cook he would not be unfaithful).
I think my favorite is the Lutheran Church Basement Women Cookbook, which gives me the recipe for;
Everday Jello
1 small box Jello 1C hot water 1 C cold water
Dissolve Jello in hot water. Add cold water and set. This recipe can be doubled.
Try to tell as many people as you can!
Canada did a dirty deed that they no longer give back a certain tax called GST. It used to be we would stop at the border, turn in our receipts, and get some cash back. Now all we have is the purchases.
(Maggie, Joel, or Michael, can you work on this please?)
I have a new teapot. Just before going on holiday I dropped the brown (large) teapot onto the green (small) teapot. This cracked the former and smashed the later, thus depriving me of both of my ‘work’ teapots. So, in Stratford I purchased a new stainless steel two-cupper. Let’s hope I don’t find a way to bungle it.
Purchased in Toronto was a CD recording of The Odyssey. It is 19 CDs long. The Odyssey was a oral tale, meant to be heard, so I want to ‘hear” this book rather than reread it. Ian McKellen is the reader.
When this is done, I start the other purchase; James Joyce’s Ulysses.
It is 40 CDs long. And yes I said yes I will yes.
As is the wont, books were also purchased.
“Stone Orchard” by Timothy Findley is a set of essays on his life in rural Ontario. He had the type of life I would enjoy; a house out in the woods with plenty of gardens and home crafts and cooking going on. It reminds me of Rodger and Mark in Oregon.
I found a reprint of an old medical textbook titled ‘Curious Cures of Medieval England”. It is a hoot; and I plan to blog some of the remedies and recommendations. Be on the look out for a new category of entry titled ‘Curious Cures”.
I did NOT get my annual calendar; that was a disappointment. Every year I get the same calendar, Pacific Northwest Native American masks. Apparently the printers were behind deadline. Stinko.
I may have to break down and get the “Fireman” calendar.
After all, it is for charity.
Last week’s holiday to Ontario was pleasant for a lot of reasons, but one of them was feeling ‘the twilight of summer’. “Summer’s end” for 25 years has been a trip to Ontario, to see the theatre. Being a creature of habit, this excursion ends at the Shaw Festival, at Niagara on the Lake.
When I see the fields and wineries outside of the Festival Theatre I know autumn is on its way.
Back ‘home’ in the Midwest, the last 10 days of August have its own character. There is just a hint of coolness in the evening time; in Canada a few maple leaves were already turning red. A couple of nights I wished I had brought a sweater.
Grasshoppers start to sing their autumn song. Even the vegetable gardens seem to be peaking and starting to fade. Nothing much happens in the later days of August. Sometimes there is anticipation of a Labor Day weekend, but we have no plans this year. The only excitement now is hurricane watching - jolly good fun for us Weather Channel nuts.
The end of August is a time of thinking and reflection. 16 years ago a nasty event occurred at the end of August, so with each August passing I recognize the passing of another year. (This event is worth its own entry; but not today).I think about Time, and the approach of All Hallow’s Eve, which some of you Spo-fans know is a marvelous time for me.
At the end of August I need to be watchful as I have a variety of seasonal affective disorder (SAD). This is a variety of depression that hits a person during a particular season. Most people get SAD in the winter months – tired, depressed, no motivation etc. I tend to get my SAD starting in later August, and (in a bad year) it can run up to Hallowe’en. Some years are mild; some years are major doses of the dreary stuff.
It hasn’t been much active since I moved to Arizona. Perhaps because I don’t have the usual seasonal cues and events to trigger it; a benefit I suppose for living where there is hardly any real change in flora and fauna.
I suspect I will do a lot more writing in the next two months as a means to keep away the SAD.
I am home; it feels good to be back home.
I have missed everyone.
For the past week I have been in a little cabin motel by a small lake outside of Stratford, Ontario. I heard on the CBC ‘today is the anniversary of the great Black Out and where were you?” By coincidence I was right where I was this year; at the Forest Motel in Stratford. It is very peaceful here; there is a paddle boat and a canoe for the more adventuresome. By lakeside are a couple of chairs that look out onto the lake. At times I can hear a train go by. It is very quiet. Last night there was an outside fire; my first ‘real fire’ in ages.
I hope everyone has a few ‘getaway spots’ where they can go from time to time to have some quiet. This is more important for me as I age. It is getting more and more important to call back energy that went off into future worries or past haunts. If people can’t ‘get away’ than I hope they can make some quiet time in their daily lives.
We saw plays and enjoyed the down time and eating and shopping. The best play so far is “Pentecost’. Pentecost is about a newly discovered fresco in a Balkan church during a time of civil war and upheaval. The play was very powerful and very depressing. It had for its theme everyone is displaced from somewhere else thus we are all alike that way. Yet, everyone is so frightened of the other. The play ends on a depressing note and doesn’t give much hope that we all will do much better at resolving our ‘other kind’ issues
Every year at this time I go to a certain restaurant here in town for the bruschetta. I don’t know how they do it but it is the best bruchetta I have ever had. I look forward to a plate of this the way some people look forward to thanksgiving dinner. This annual treat has the richness of locally grown tomatoes at the height of August. I savor every bite.
And of course there is shopping – I allowed myself two purchases of CDs; an unabridgedrecording of Odysseus by Homer, and an unabridged reading of Ulysses by Joyce. The Joyce CD set consists of 40 CDs!
I am too pooped to write much.
No doubt I will post a lot this week.
I plan to drop by my blog-buddies as soon as possible.
Every year I go for a week’s holiday in Ontario. This year we go to both the Stratford Festival and the Shaw Festival. I already went over the Fourth of July Weekend, but there is enough we wanted to see this year to go a second time.
I am going to share a cabin lodge/motel with friends Martin and Dale. Imagine! Being in a cabin in the woods for a week, with nothing to do but read and write and talk. In the evening we will dine and see theatre.
We will see the following shows;
An Ideal Husband - by Oscar Wilde. It is one of my favorite plays.
A Delicate Balance – by Edward Albee
Pentecost – by David Edgar
Shakespeare’s Will – by Vern Thiessen. The Festival gives a ‘meet the actors’ lecture series: we met the playwright last time we were last in Canada.
Of Mice and Men – by John Steinbeck.
Then, off to Shaw Festival, in Niagra-on-the-Lake;
St. Joan – by George Bernard Shaw (another of my favorites!)
Mack and Mabel – by Jerry Herman
I don’t know if I will have internet access out in the woods of Ontario.
So I may not be back until 19 August.
If that is the case; I will be back in a week.
I will be thinking of you !
This week has been tough.
There were far too many negative, draining, demanding people coming at me.
I feel like Harry Potter with a troop of Dementors – only my Expecto Patronum spell isn’t very efficacious.
My wand must be on the fritz.
So I am drained and quite listless.
I need cheering up.
Please leave me a comment with something cheery and positive and uplifting about your week.
Or something full of good vibes and warm fuzzies.
Or send some gin.
When I was in medical school, I was in charge of the task force on “Non-Western Medicine’. The objective was to get alternative healers to come in and talk about their ideas. I wanted to learn about these things – and what had truth to them.
What Western medicine calls ‘alternative’ is a bit of a misnomer – the majority of the world uses ‘alternative’ medicine as their main type of healing - herbals, acupuncture etc.People find comfort in ‘non-western medicine’, perhaps because the TLC now missing from modern Western Medicine can be obtained in complementary medicine settings.
Patients may kvetch about a co-pay but they are willing to pay for someone to touch and rub them – and talk to them for more than 15 minutes.
I still don’t know what is really useful. I try to read reputable sources and journals –and listen carefully to patients for what works for them. Intuition and experience tell me massage, stretching, and yoga are therapeutic for healing and for prophylaxis against illness. Thousands of years of people doing polarity and acupuncture means they can’t be bogus – or can they? I don’t know for sure.
My trouble is I am trained to evaluate things from a scientific ‘prove it’ approach. Touch therapies and acupuncture can’t be easily done in a double blind study. And no one is interested in testing herbs and things ‘already on the market’ as they can no longer make a profit from them. I have to rely on European and Asian data, which often doesn’t translate well for American use.
An example is SAMe. SAMe is a substance made the body, and there is some data (I think good data) that it is has antidepressant properties. The Germans prescribe it for depression. My German is not that good, and what the Germans call ‘depression’ is also not quite clear at times anyway. Converting their prescription SAMe over to our over the counter 200mg tablets, it looks like SAMe has to be dosed relatively high. No one is sure how much. Perhaps over 800mg/day. Most people can’t afford taking the probably necessary 4 tablets. On the dark side;
I see lots of people taking home remedies and spending small fortunes on over the counter herbals and supplements that are not regulated. Worse, patients take thing but they don’t know what is in them. I recently saw a young man on ‘something for anxiety’ – this homeopathic remedy contained both Kava and Monkshood. There are certain parts of the Kava plant that cause liver damage, and greedy unregulated amounts of ground whole plant flooded the market with ‘bad Kava’ thus spoiling it all. And Monkshood (aconitum) is just plain toxic, and it can be lethal – how the hell does it get in an herbal supplement? That is the Shadow side of complementary medicine; anyone can claim things; no one regulates them and no one is liable for them – as they don’t officially treat anything per se.
So, I am curious;
A) Do you take any over the counter or herbal supplements or remedies?
B) Do you benefit from them?
C) Is somebody monitoring them with you?
D) Do you tell your physicians that you take them?
When I do one of those ‘calculate your risk’ health equations, I come with some sort of cardiovascular disease doing me in, or at least bringing me down –“plum stones” aside.
My chances for a long life are slim; I have too many factors against it.
First of all, there are the factors I can not control – I am male, over 40, and I come from a family with history of heart attacks, cholesterol, and high blood pressure. And it is too late to get a refund on the relatives.
Then there are the factors I can control but on which I don’t have a good grasp; regular exercise, sensible diet - with lots of fruits/vegetables, and reduction of stress. Recent labs suggest my cholesterol and weight and should all be improved.
My paternal grandfather died in his early 60s after two heart attacks. He did not take care of his health. His 3 children, in reaction, all became health conscious, exercised, and are well into their 70s without any sign of cardiovascular disease.
The irony is one of them has lived long enough to develop dementia.
Living a long life sounds good, but I see long livers, and the ones I see are not very happy for it. They have chronic, expensive illnesses. They have outlived their friends and their interests. Their funds are limited. They have lost autonomy. Living in Phoenix where everyone drives everywhere, having your license evoked is like losing your legs.
One man told me “When I was a young, I used to get powerful headaches after fraternity parties, so I announced that for religious reasons I would no longer drink wine except at holidays. This helped me to become 90 years old” I ask if he had any life regrets- ‘yes, that I that I did not drink more wine’.
I suppose what I need in my life are some healthy, happy, ‘I am doing well’ people over the age of 60. But I can’t know any.
Still, I am a ‘good boy’, who does what he is told by the doctor. And I am not a hypocrite. I am supposed to role model and set a good example for my own patients to take care of myself and clean up my act. So I will eat better, avoid salt, get more exercise – all things my doctor asked me to do.
And in time, I will see if it made any difference.
We had a pleasant time in Santa Fe.
I got a hot stone massage, where the masseur rubs you all over using smooth hot stones. It gives a new meaning to ‘getting your rocks off’ (Oh! Scandalous!)
The opera “Tea: Mirror of the Soul” was different than any opera I have encountered. I liked it a lot. There were three musicians on stage playing a sort of percussion ostinato; They used bowls of water to make various noises, they pounded stones, they ripped and waved paper. It made fascinating music.
La Boheme was lovely, although Someone was disappointed there was no snow in Act 3. However we did have continuous lightning strikes throughout the opera, seen in the background, on the far off New Mexico mountains.
We saw our friend Martin Katz, who is teaching voice this week at the Santa Fe Opera.
I taught myself more basic blogging skills and updated my blog.
I am pleased as punch to have figured out to post a picture on the widget. I also discovered “the Referrals” section, and how to visit those who visit Spo-Reflections. There are a whole bunch of bloggers I didn’t know that come here. Some of you stop by on a somewhat regular basis! And when I went to visit your blog, you have me in your links1 I thank you; I am honored. I am happy you would drop by, let along put me in your links.
This did make me wonder about all the wonderful blogs out there that I am not aware.
I have a request. Could you please give me the name of one of your favorite blogs that you read regularly? Hopefully it will be a blog I am presently not aware or reading. Please include why you like to read it.
I’ll tell them you sent me.
I am stuck at the Airport in New Mexico. So I thought I would post some nonsense.BEAR IN THERE - Shel Silverstein There's a Polar Bear In our Frigidaire- He likes it 'cause it's cold in there. With his seat in the meat And his face in the fish And his big hairy paws In the buttery dish, He's nibbling the noodles, He's munching the rice, He's slurping the soda, He's licking the ice. And he lets out a roar If you open the door. And it gives me a scare To know he's in there- That Polary Bear In our Fridgitydaire.
I recently read a collection of essays by Robertson Davies. The topic was reading. He calls readers of books ‘The Clerisy’, an important group indeed. I love reading Davies for many reasons but one of them is he stirs up the delight of reading. The passion to read I picked up so early in life is apparently vital to the soul. That is pleasing to know.Another topic in the essays was writing. Mr. Davies is keen that writers should work like hell to do whatever they can to sustain a living so writing can be done with financial ties to it. He is not a supporter of people getting government pensions to give them ‘free time to write’. It seems my day job is necessary to not only pay the pills but allow The Muses in without conditions. They wouldn’t show up otherwise. (By the way, I did get a postcard from Vancouver; the Muses report a lovely time with the Fates, but Northwest lost their luggage.) I don’t have many channels these days for the Unconscious to bubble up; my blog writing has been a marvelous means to keep in touch this way. Writing is a passion now.
I write because I have to write. I write because an idea or thought grabs onto me and won’t let go until I can channel it through my fingers onto the keyboard into the laptop and into the internet. I usually write in the morning, prior to the start of my work day. If I am lucky, the morning paperwork isn’t too bad and I will have half an hour for a pot of tea and writing. If I am really lucky there is a ‘no show’ and I can return to a post and edit it.
I once had an analysand who made a point to get up and write for two hours every morning regardless of his mood or inspiration. I think of him when I write. (He is now a prominent NPR writer, so I feel pleased I was part of his journey.) I think about my fellow bloggers writing their thoughts out there in blog-land.
Dire predictions were made that the world as we knew it would come to an end if the masses were taught how to read and write. In a way The Clerisy did just that. I wonder if the world will transform again when we all become a world of writers. It certainly has transformed my world.
Oh my goodness! I am sitting OUTSIDE, on a porch, in cool pleasant weather, amoung perennials like hollyhocks and Russian sage and yellow yarrow. Our B&B is one of the ‘old style’ Santa Fe houses, with Native American architeture and decor.
This afternoon some nice person is going to rub me all over with scented oil and then scrape me from top to bottom with hot stones. Bliss.
I think tonight’s opera is “La Boheme”. For those that don’t know it, it is about a group of artist/students in Paris. Two fall in love, but Mimi is sick, and eventually dies of consumption. It is a favorite opera for many. If you have seen “Moonstruck”, it is the opera Cher goes hear at the Met. If you know “Rent”, Rent is the modern version of La Boheme.
I am curious to see how they do snow scenes on an open stage with New Mexico mountains in the background.
Now, I am off to find peppers - green, red, chipolte, and various powders and sauces.
This weekend is our annual trek to Santa Fe, Land of Peppers.
The Santa Fe Opera is the most marvelous setting for opera. It is outdoors, and you can see the mountains in the far off distance. Sometimes this adds to the story (this is great for Wagner). Last year, we saw lighting strikes on the horizon.
This year, we hear two operas. The first is an old war-horse, La Boheme. The second is a new opera called “Tea”. How exciting!
I like going to new operas as I don’t have pre-expectations or notions of how it ‘should be done’.
We will visit our friend Martin Katz, who is at the Santa Fe Opera doing some teaching. Martin is a pianist, and often travels in the summer to teach seminars. So our main objective this weekend is to see Martin and have a nice dinner with him.
When you are with Martin you meet musical celebrities. Some of them can be rather intimidating!
I like New Mexico and Santa Fe. They have a lot of art galleries. We’ll see if that Ansel Adams photograph is still for sale - a steal at 750,000$. I doubt we will be doing any buying however.
What we really could use is a professional rub down. Santa Fe has lots of spas, and we both like a good massage. Someone prefers conventional Swedish rub downs, with no nonsense. I like the ‘new age’ types; hot stones all over you, or wrapped up in concoctions of salts and herbs, with subliminal music to balance the chakras.
As we will have some free time during the day, we may hike a bit and see some local sights.
I want to purchase some peppers. I love hot sauces and hot peppers. They often disagree with me but I never keep my vow to lay off them. And Santa Fe has some of the best peppers.
I don’t know if I will have internet access; so perhaps I will see you next this Sunday.
Everyone take care of themselves; hug somebody; and count your blessings.
Today is August 1, or Lammas Day, the traditional first day of autumn in the pagan calendar. 3 months hence autumn ends with Samhain or All Hallow’s Eve. In the Catholic church both days were ‘baptized’ into Christian Holidays. Not much happens on Lammas Day; there are some lovely Mass music written for Lammas Day. I tend to play some on this day, and think of autumn.
As children my brothers and I would start to get excited in August for Hallowe’en and what costumes we would make and what we would do. Nowadays the crafts stores seem to stock Hallowe’en things at August time anyway.
August 1 was the birthday of my grandfather and his twin sister. The family reunion I recently attended usually happened on this day to celebrate their birthdays.
My grandfather liked a dry martini. On this day I make a dry one and toast my ancestors.
August is the traditional month I go to the Stratford Festival and the Shaw Festival, a sort of ‘last hurrah’ of summer. This year is no exception – we will be there for a week.
We will share lodgings with our friends Dale and Martin. I have mentioned Martin before; he is the closest thing I know to a celebrity friend. I will be spending a whole week with him; I am honored.
August is tomato month – most of the main toms would ripen around mid august. A trickle of red fruit would turn into a flood. I would make my sauces for the winter months. I miss picking and saucing toms. I go to Scuff Productions and slobber a lot.
In August, I am make soup. I have a cookbook from a monastery for soups appropriate to the month, and August’s soups seem to be my favorite.
As I see the summer mature, the sunlight going and the herald of autumn, August often evokes a thoughtful melancholy, of time passing, things getting older and about to die off.
And bright blue seems to be the colour of August – the colour of the summer sky.
