Remembering the Answering Machine

After being away for over eight hours,

Hubby steers the car into our driveway. 

To our delight two bucks are grazing in the backyard.

They look up momentarily to check us out,

then return to their grazing. 

Some ten minutes later, Hubby and I enter our home.

As we ascend the short staircase I say,

"Remember when we used to come home 

and check the answering machine?"

We both chuckle.

But immediately, I feel a longing ...

For more simplicity

Less information overload

More spaciousness

Less constant-contact ability

I think we humans and other creatures

are not designed for these intrusions.

Oh Carol, you're just too negative

regarding progress.

I guess it depends on how one defines "progress." 

As I read from a book,

my smart phone sits nearby.

Sometimes I need to look up a definition.

So Carol, why not pull out a dictionary?

Dictionaries are quite heavy

for my weakened arms and hands.

So, I web search a word on my phone.

But five to ten minutes later I catch myself

down a digital rabbit hole.

At least I catch myself and am able to climb out

into the open, into spaciousness, into the senses.

My phone is not the problem.

In and of itself, it is innocent.

Its designers, however, design it to catch us.

I choose to open the gate. 

And then, I get caught in a thicket,

like Br'er Rabbit.

Eventually, I accepted the answering machine.

Eventually, I accepted email.

Eventually, I purchased a smart phone.

Eventually, I checked out the Pattern Engine, 

also known as Artificial Intelligence.

I named my smart phone Uhuru,

in honor of the communications officer in the original Star Trek.

Each night, I power her down with a thank you

and tuck her into a glove which I place in a drawer

down the hall from the bedroom.

She likes it there.

~*~

Here's a poem I wrote 27 years ago, in 1999...

Please note, that I now check my email most every day...

Ode to Email

Twas a middle-aged lady who lived in a house.
Her functions were many; she wasn't a souse.
She was secretary, cook, cab driver too,
activities planner, home maintenance guru.
Doctor, nurse, janitorial clerk,
counselor, teacher, overseer of work.
Just a few of the functions for which she stayed perked.

Then to add to her list? The computer pimple.
Pop ups and ads, wrinkles and dimples!
Upgrade! Upgrade! It makes your life simple!
But beware of viruses; you need that program too!
And identity theft; so your name is who?
Got too much spam? Pay more and it's through!

First there was junk mail to take up her time
and now more info to boggle the mind.
This middle-aged woman stepped back and breathed deep,
"It's time to make simple this communication heap."

She decided, yes, her email to keep
but now only checks it every two weeks.
So, if her attention you immediately need

please call her by phone to get sooner heed.

Grit in a can...

The week of April 27th contained significant personal anniversaries: 

My 67th birthday.

My 15-year anniversary since the onset of polyradiculitis. 

My 4-year anniversary since the deadly blood clots that forced me to give up my epidurals, which coincided with the onset of chronic insomnia.

Now it is May, which marks the 13th anniversary of receiving the correct diagnosis of polyradiculitis.

This upcoming June will mark the 10th anniversary of discovering an underlying cause--a cobalt-leaching, defective hip implant. 

And August will mark the 10th year since my revision, explant-and-implant, replacement surgery. 

What have a I learned? 

Too much to list. 

But to sum it up in six words:

Loss. Grief.

Accept. Adapt.

Gratitude. Grit.

Not that I hadn't experienced these states of reality before, but I've grown to know them on a much deeper level. And the learning continues...

What have I progressively had to give up due to Poly Rad?

The activities of cooking, cleaning, changing linens, cutting my finger-and-toe nails, caring for a pet, regularly shopping or socializing, working in the yard, decorating my home, holding employment, caring for my newborn and toddler grandchildren, regularly giving gifts and sending cards, backpacking, long-distance hiking, and the list goes on. I rarely get visitors. I do have a few friends who still check in via phone or text.

One could say I've lost my identity. But deep in my heart, I don't believe that. My identity remains alive in a seed, or perhaps a seed pod. No matter my limitations, I am still Carol with all the changes that life brings...

That said, it was (and sometimes still is) hard to accept that I can no longer do much of what I once did.

Back in 2015, a long-distance friend requested information on what I do to help with the weakness and pain in my arms. My answer included a powdered food supplement that I buy at distributor cost. I didn't have the energy and wherewithal to help my friend try the product, but I couldn't bring myself to say, "I can't." (The saying, "Can't never could," echoed in my brain.) Instead, I said, "I'm not willing," which sounded harsh. I just couldn't say the word "can't." 

I struggled with this continually--the fact that I "can't." When I talked it over with Hubby, he helped me see that I'm simply not able to do certain things without consequences, compromising my already compromised wellbeing. Therefore, I "can't" do those things.

And he was right.

Eventually I was able to accept the "can't" word (though it can still cause me to wobble and feel that I need to explain, which feels overwhelming). Can the "can'ts" someday change? I'd gladly accept any changes to "can." And I have received a few "cans" in the last couple years. 

Grief continues, and I still sometimes drown in it. I wail and cry and shut down. Then when I replay scenarios in my head of what I go through on a daily basis, I again realize how very overwhelming it all is. And I am well aware that others struggle with similar disabilities, isolation, loneliness, grief, and processing through it all to get up and breathe another day. 

And that is where accept and adapt come in...

Then, gratitude and grit...

Gratitude for breath, for a husband who (even though he works fulltime) chops my celery and apples and peppers for my salads, does the laundry, grocery shops, and knobbles my back. He used to regularly help me bathe and dress, but I'm now able to do those things without supervision. (A "can!") And I'm thankful for my family and the few close friends I'm still in touch with. I'm thankful I can still drive, and (drum roll) that I can again ride my bicycle. (More "cans!")

The grit comes with living and navigating through all the above...

Like with cycling. It's hard work. The hardest part is the prep and the post-ride tasks. The actual cycling itself usually brings me a feeling of freedom--freedom from the concentrated effort required for more complex motor movement and detailed decisions in a sea of minutiae. 

I never have a day off; my self-care duties are not negotiable if I want to continue to function and maybe even receive more "cans," however small they may seem. 

One of my favorite movies as a youth was the 1969 film True Grit. I was 10, and horses were my life. When I first saw the movie, my companion was a black Welsh pony whom I named Black Eagle. Mattie named her horse Little Blackie; I felt a kinship. 

~*~

Addendum: 

Previously the sixth paragraph of this post began, "What have I progressively lost due to Poly Rad?

The abilities to [the list of things]." 

A few days later I changed it to its current wording:

"What have I progressively had to give up due to Poly Rad?

The activities of [the list of thing.]"

When I thought I had the "final" draft, I still wasn't settled with the word "abilities." But I couldn't think of another word at the time. A few days later the word "activities" came to mind, which feels more succinct. 

Why? 

I may still have partial ability to do some things; but the effort, drain, recovery time, and possible injury risk outweigh any benefit of taking on a given activity. Which was my husband's point--that means I "can't" do those things...

I also changed the word "lost" to "had to give up." 

Why? 

They aren't "lost." Even if I never gain normal functional ability, the activities live on in my memory. So, in my memory, they are not lost. And if they ever are, I still may find them again...

~*~

True Grit(1969) Part 1, Part 7, and Part 9

Images...

In March 2025, two Trump supporters and a Trump voter and I sat at the dinner table. One of the supporters said something derogatory about Biden. 

I thought, Do I say anything? 

And then I responded with something like, "What about Trump? He's worse..." 

The dialog went downhill from there. I was angered at (among other things) how anyone could support the tactics of ICE and Trump's constant dehumanizing rhetoric--such as labeling all or most undocumented/illegal immigrants as rapists, murderers, scum, and whatever other derogatory labels Trump regularly throws out from his keyboard or tongue.  

Another thing I stated was that I wouldn't be surprised if Trump leads us into a Depression and/or WWIII.  

[Please note that "I wouldn't be surprised" does not equal "I believe."]

I also shared that the bottom-line reason I voted for Harris, instead of either not voting or voting for a third-party candidate whom I figured would lose, was because I'd rather navigate the censorship of the Left than what I saw coming as the censorship of MAGA. 

[I later realized that the word "censorship" may be better stated as "government overreach."] 

One of the supporters was quite surprised at my bottom-line reason and said, "That's a new one. I haven't heard that before." 

That supporter and I later discussed our previous heated back-and-forth. Yes, we disagree on Trump and now stick mainly to subjects we have in common, though our opinions on the common sometimes also differ.  

Almost a year later on February 5, 2026, I wrote in my journal:

Carol, what do you mean by or can you describe what you saw coming from MAGA?

MAGA is fundamentalist. Fundamentalism provides easy answers. Example: 'We don't like you, so we'll get rid of you.' And MAGA uses the Bible, the major religious book of authority in US history, to back its fundamentalism. 

Versus the Left; example: 'We don't like you, but we will tolerate you, to a point.'

The Left uses so-called science to determine when their tolerance reaches a stopping point. But how and where do they get that "science?" Hmm, follow the money. I'm thinking of pharmaceutical companies. 

Today is April 19, 2026, and we are at war with Iran, and prices for goods and gasoline are up. 

Will we end up in a Depression or WWIII? 

I hope not.

(Personally, due to the current war causing a shortage of a specific poly-foam, Hubby and I are having to delay much needed foundation work on our home. But at least we have a brick-and-mortar, physical home. *gratitude*)

As I've read and watched MAGA pundits, Old Testament Bible verses are often used to justify the Iran war. The only New Testament verses I've read or heard from them come from the Book of Revelation. I've also seen folks use the account of Jesus throwing the money changers out of the temple.

Justifying by using the Old Testament and Book of Revelation makes complete sense; both are ripe with stories of war and annihilation of the unbeliever. 

But what of the gospels? What of the Pauline epistles? 

Both seem to be absent from these pundits.

I recently reread the Book of Romans and wondered if these claiming-to-be-Christian pundits had ever read it.

Personally, I believe The Way International's interpretation of scripture is more accurate than most other interpretations.

"Omg, Carol! How can you say that!?!"

I chuckle at that response. 

My answer is layered and complex. 

And it includes my time as an agnostic; a Methodist; a Baptist; a Charismatic; a Way believer; a serious student of Biblical word studies; a quasi-Christian Universalist; a reader about and of various religions, beliefs, and myths... 

One thing The Way taught that I believe is more accurate than tradition is that Jesus died on a Wednesday and was raised on a Saturday--thus fulfilling 3 days and 3 nights in the grave--and that he was crucified right as the Judeans were sacrificing their Passover lambs; Jesus was the literal Passover. When I shared this with someone the Wednesday before Easter this year, they responded, "That makes much more sense!'

I also want to note that Wierwille did plagiarize. 

And much of Way interpretation comes from other sources; E.W. Bullinger comes to mind.

~*~

As I lay in bed this past week before drifting off, I was thinking about Hegseth's Pulp Fiction prayer and about MAGA pundits using OT scripture as a justification for war. 

And I thought of the Jesus I learned of through the decades... 

The Jesus I loved as a brother...

The Jesus who was not God but fully human and understood human doubts and hardships and longings...

The Jesus who stood up for the poor and marginalized...

The Jesus who was falsely accused and executed and prayed while hanging on the stake, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Then some visuals came to mind...

An image of Jesus being repulsed by the current political administration and the people as whited sepulchers. 

Then an image of Jesus feeling his repulse, recognizing it as a normal human reaction, and recognizing that misuse of scripture is what power-hungry humans do. It is to be expected; it's no surprise. 

The next image was of Jesus, peaceful and calm, steadily going about his calling of John 3:16.

~*~

So does the above mean I've reconverted back to being a Bible believer? 

No.

I'm still a CU-leaning agnostic, sprinkled with mysticism. 

These days I feel a deep resonance with the principles of Daoism. 

~*~

Into the Mystic by Van Morrison