This is hilarious. What'd we do before videos of wild animals with sound bites....
ANIMAL CRACKERS (The Best of BBC One's Walk On The Wild Side) [Shamrock Edit] (HQ)
January 31, 2014
“Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance.” ― Carl Sandburg
Sometimes I dabble in poetry.
Other times I have been drunk in poetry.
Some dabblings can be read here: Parchment Anthology
Some dabblings can be read here: Nekot's Tokens
Some dabblings can be read nowhere in public view.
Poetry at Nekot's Tokens is arranged in a type of backward chronological order according to seasons of life....at least through 2010. The year of "Emancipation" appears to be the most prolific year, thus far.
I received a bad case of the flu this past Tuesday evening. By the wee hours of Wednesday morning, I was downright scared. Methotrexate and the flu can be a fatal combination. I know, I know; the flu alone can be fatal...so can driving.
I probably read too much...but probably not. (There I go again, writing ambiguously.)
I haven't had a cold or flu since I don't know when.
Because of snow and ice, doctors' offices opened late. Folks weren't able to reach them on non-emergency phone lines until after 10:00 AM, Wednesday morning. I was popping Tamiflu by 1:00 PM. It has helped.
I had to pull out my nebulizer which I haven't needed since July, 2006. The albuterol has given me the jitters and maybe a bit of insomnia. The coughing has given me sore ribs. I'll make sure to not lift anything heavy; I don't want to hear that *pop* *pop* sound of cracking ribs.
Other times I have been drunk in poetry.
Some dabblings can be read here: Parchment Anthology
Some dabblings can be read here: Nekot's Tokens
Some dabblings can be read nowhere in public view.
Poetry at Nekot's Tokens is arranged in a type of backward chronological order according to seasons of life....at least through 2010. The year of "Emancipation" appears to be the most prolific year, thus far.
- Reality: 2010
- Reason & Rhyme: 2009
- Hmmm...: 2008
- Emancipation: 2007
- Emergence: 2004 - 2006
- Awakening: 1999 - 2003
- Suppressformity: 1982 - 1998
- Eureka: 1978 - 1981
I received a bad case of the flu this past Tuesday evening. By the wee hours of Wednesday morning, I was downright scared. Methotrexate and the flu can be a fatal combination. I know, I know; the flu alone can be fatal...so can driving.
I probably read too much...but probably not. (There I go again, writing ambiguously.)
I haven't had a cold or flu since I don't know when.
Because of snow and ice, doctors' offices opened late. Folks weren't able to reach them on non-emergency phone lines until after 10:00 AM, Wednesday morning. I was popping Tamiflu by 1:00 PM. It has helped.
I had to pull out my nebulizer which I haven't needed since July, 2006. The albuterol has given me the jitters and maybe a bit of insomnia. The coughing has given me sore ribs. I'll make sure to not lift anything heavy; I don't want to hear that *pop* *pop* sound of cracking ribs.
January 26, 2014
Lions & Piranhas
Earlier this evening as I pondered blog publishing which allows the world to peek in, I got an image of myself in a cave; in a cave with lions.
I was not protected in my cave; there was no gate at the entrance.
I had allowed the lions access...not by personal invitation, but rather by an open cave door.
The lions were all female; none had the beautiful male manes.
There were about five of them.
They prowled around the cave observing me.
I stood observing them.
It's like they were checking to see if I'd flinch or run; like they were checking my motive or my character.
Was I for real?
Was I genuine?
Did I have integrity?
No words were exchanged between myself and the possible predators.
Then they got bored and left.
Tonight, a few hours after my in-the-cave-with-lions heart-head image, I read the following from a blog post by Marta Szabo.
"...I guess that’s why many people are afraid to write probing memoir. They know the piranhas are out there. Piranhas don’t scare me though. And they certainly do not scare Ingrid Betancourt. That’s one reason why her book is so good."
I guess blogs are like caves with open entrances.
I was not protected in my cave; there was no gate at the entrance.
I had allowed the lions access...not by personal invitation, but rather by an open cave door.
The lions were all female; none had the beautiful male manes.
There were about five of them.
They prowled around the cave observing me.
I stood observing them.
It's like they were checking to see if I'd flinch or run; like they were checking my motive or my character.
Was I for real?
Was I genuine?
Did I have integrity?
No words were exchanged between myself and the possible predators.
Then they got bored and left.
Tonight, a few hours after my in-the-cave-with-lions heart-head image, I read the following from a blog post by Marta Szabo.
"...I guess that’s why many people are afraid to write probing memoir. They know the piranhas are out there. Piranhas don’t scare me though. And they certainly do not scare Ingrid Betancourt. That’s one reason why her book is so good."
I guess blogs are like caves with open entrances.
 |
| Chauvet Cave Painting |
Agnosticism: "no, but it was the starting gate..."
Let me see if my thoughts-to-words will come out legibly.
Recently I've encountered a few conversations where I've shared with some ex-Way believers that I am now an agnostic. Two of these conversations have been online and one face-to-face. I have had similar conversations in the past with other ex-Way and even current Way believers.
My lack-of-belief is not a subject I necessarily volunteer. The information usually comes up when someone asks what I am doing now in regard to my spiritual life or when, due to the topic of conversation, I feel I should clarify my current viewpoint to the person with whom am I communicating.
Sometimes I stumble around trying to clarify. That indicates to me that maybe I'm still coming to terms with my viewpoint or at least how to share it, or that maybe I still care more than I should about what the other person thinks of me, or that I am still "stumbling around" in regard to what I believe or don't believe regarding a creator and possible redeemer.
I think each time this conversation has come up with believers (ex-Way or otherwise), the person I'm communicating with makes a statement related to the reason that they think caused me to now have an agnostic viewpoint.
According to their perspective, I have become agnostic due to religious or spiritual abuse.
Is that the case?
No, but it was the starting gate, so to speak.
I won't say that religious abuse has had no bearing on my current agnosticism. After all, it was abuse with scriptures that (in part) led me down the path of first exiting The Way International, a path I thought I would never take. I was committed to the "integrity and accuracy of God's rightly-divided Word." When I took that path and left The Way, for at least a year afterward I thought the only healthy spiritual alternatives to The Way would be one of the many (and there are many) Way offshoots.
So, logically, I left The Way via Way offshoots. I later branched out to other never-Way Christians which led to broader conversations and possible Biblical interpretations. From there, over the following fiveish years, I began to view the Bible as literature containing some rich history of mankind. And that is where I currently sit.
Could my viewpoint change? Sure. History is clear on that.
I've also found that if I explain (sometimes clumsily) to a believer that my agnostic reasoning is due to studying various interpretations of the Bible and becoming more familiar with religious history in general and that I simply no longer accept the Bible as any more authoritative than other spiritual literature...well, I get the sense that some (many?) really don't believe me. They still seem to hold the view that the real reason I left the authoritative-Bible viewpoint is due to spiritual abuse. I also get the sense that some feel I have a soul-hole that misses the personal "fellowship" with God and his believers that once was so much a part of my life. (But that is a subject for another blog post...sometime...maybe.)
Another aspect to this is that I do still carry a type of ace-in-the-hole. That ace is in a Christian Universalist leaning toward the interpretation of scripture. Will I ever let go of that ace? I do not know. It is one that still intrigues me, not to mention Rene Girard's view of scapegoating and the crucifixion. I've only read one Girard book. It wasn't easy reading, but it was thought provoking. (Online friend Cindi has an interesting blog where she explores and questions the traditional take on atonement. Here is a link to her blog posts with the label Girard: LINK.)
But one question that always lingers is...if the Bible is authoritative truth, why is it so complicated and why are there so many different interpretations? I have a few different answers to that - each one a bit different according to which hat I wear to answer it.
With my current agnostic hat, my answer is that it isn't authoritative truth; it is a book of books compiled by humans from the past trying to come to terms with life and all life entails.
I am not out to convert others to my viewpoint. I hope others give me the same respect.
Recently I've encountered a few conversations where I've shared with some ex-Way believers that I am now an agnostic. Two of these conversations have been online and one face-to-face. I have had similar conversations in the past with other ex-Way and even current Way believers.
My lack-of-belief is not a subject I necessarily volunteer. The information usually comes up when someone asks what I am doing now in regard to my spiritual life or when, due to the topic of conversation, I feel I should clarify my current viewpoint to the person with whom am I communicating.
Sometimes I stumble around trying to clarify. That indicates to me that maybe I'm still coming to terms with my viewpoint or at least how to share it, or that maybe I still care more than I should about what the other person thinks of me, or that I am still "stumbling around" in regard to what I believe or don't believe regarding a creator and possible redeemer.
I think each time this conversation has come up with believers (ex-Way or otherwise), the person I'm communicating with makes a statement related to the reason that they think caused me to now have an agnostic viewpoint.
According to their perspective, I have become agnostic due to religious or spiritual abuse.
Is that the case?
No, but it was the starting gate, so to speak.
I won't say that religious abuse has had no bearing on my current agnosticism. After all, it was abuse with scriptures that (in part) led me down the path of first exiting The Way International, a path I thought I would never take. I was committed to the "integrity and accuracy of God's rightly-divided Word." When I took that path and left The Way, for at least a year afterward I thought the only healthy spiritual alternatives to The Way would be one of the many (and there are many) Way offshoots.
So, logically, I left The Way via Way offshoots. I later branched out to other never-Way Christians which led to broader conversations and possible Biblical interpretations. From there, over the following fiveish years, I began to view the Bible as literature containing some rich history of mankind. And that is where I currently sit.
Could my viewpoint change? Sure. History is clear on that.
I've also found that if I explain (sometimes clumsily) to a believer that my agnostic reasoning is due to studying various interpretations of the Bible and becoming more familiar with religious history in general and that I simply no longer accept the Bible as any more authoritative than other spiritual literature...well, I get the sense that some (many?) really don't believe me. They still seem to hold the view that the real reason I left the authoritative-Bible viewpoint is due to spiritual abuse. I also get the sense that some feel I have a soul-hole that misses the personal "fellowship" with God and his believers that once was so much a part of my life. (But that is a subject for another blog post...sometime...maybe.)
Another aspect to this is that I do still carry a type of ace-in-the-hole. That ace is in a Christian Universalist leaning toward the interpretation of scripture. Will I ever let go of that ace? I do not know. It is one that still intrigues me, not to mention Rene Girard's view of scapegoating and the crucifixion. I've only read one Girard book. It wasn't easy reading, but it was thought provoking. (Online friend Cindi has an interesting blog where she explores and questions the traditional take on atonement. Here is a link to her blog posts with the label Girard: LINK.)
But one question that always lingers is...if the Bible is authoritative truth, why is it so complicated and why are there so many different interpretations? I have a few different answers to that - each one a bit different according to which hat I wear to answer it.
With my current agnostic hat, my answer is that it isn't authoritative truth; it is a book of books compiled by humans from the past trying to come to terms with life and all life entails.
I am not out to convert others to my viewpoint. I hope others give me the same respect.
January 25, 2014
"It's a Fine Life" from the Musical, Oliver ...
Earlier today, I posted a blog piece about a hike from this past week. As I finished arranging the photos of the post and re-reading it for edits, I came to the last line about my 1999 Ford Explorer which my son and I named Edward a few years back. (Every car needs a name.)
As I read the last line, a chorus from the musical Oliver entered my head. I saw the movie musical when I was around 11 years old or so. It's a classic with lessons to not forget. Songs from the musical are on my Pandora playlist. I sing along...sometimes in the Explorer.
It's a Fine Life from Oliver, 1968
It's a Fine Life
....Small pleasures, small pleasures
Who would deny us these?
Gin toddies -- large measures --
No skimpin' if you please!
I rough it, I love it
Life is a game of chance.
I never tire of it --
Leading this merry dance.
If you don't mind having to go without things
It's a fine life.....
As I read the last line, a chorus from the musical Oliver entered my head. I saw the movie musical when I was around 11 years old or so. It's a classic with lessons to not forget. Songs from the musical are on my Pandora playlist. I sing along...sometimes in the Explorer.
It's a Fine Life from Oliver, 1968
It's a Fine Life
....Small pleasures, small pleasures
Who would deny us these?
Gin toddies -- large measures --
No skimpin' if you please!
I rough it, I love it
Life is a game of chance.
I never tire of it --
Leading this merry dance.
If you don't mind having to go without things
It's a fine life.....
It's a Fine Life
It's been almost three weeks since I received the steroid epidural injections and since I started a new medication, methotrexate.
The injections are still working, for how much longer is yet to be known. Though I am now feeling tenderness in my palms and light pricks in my wrists and a bit of pain in my biceps, I am able to perform normal functions (like making fists) that I wasn't able to prior to the shots. I do not yet know the effects of the methotrexate.
On Sunday, January 19, I read the upcoming weather forecast for the next day, Monday.
Oh boy, Monday is supposed to be clear and warmer. Carol...you oughtta take a mountain trek while you are feeling good and without pain. Roan? Nah, that's too far to drive and the weather is more unpredictable there; I may not have any views. Grayson Highlands?
I paused in thought and relished the possibility.
Yes. Grayson it is. If you take care of the one client appointment you have around Noon, you can be on your way by Noon-thirtyish and be at Grayson around 2:30ish. That'd give you a few hours of daylight.
I didn't get to my client's home (two cats, one named Jesus and the other Confucius) until around 1:15. They were awaiting me with leg rubs and meows, politely requesting their bon-appetit from the aluminum can. Jesus is a gray bengal; Confucius wears a tux. They chowed down and then retired to their bay-window cat tree while observing the two-legged me singing a made-up jingle about Jesus and Confucius as I went about my feline-service duties.
Before my good-byes, I reviewed my duties to make sure I had covered all the details to the satisfaction of my four-legged bosses. They were pleased. Then I was out the door and on the road to Grayson.
The sky was clear blue. The drive freeing. I was not in pain.
No pain. No pain. No pain. Wow.
After 1-1/2ish hours, I turned off of NC Hwy. 16 onto Rugby Road. I rounded the top of the hill and was welcomed by one of my favorite views, a barn and dwellings nestled in a valley surrounded by spruces and mountains. I stopped Edward the Explorer, rolled down my electric window, and tasted the brisk, cold air.
After a moment, I closed the window and I drove my way onto Tucker Road and then onto Grayson Highlands Road and then onto the park entrance road. No rangers were in sight; the entrance booth was unmanned. I put my $5 parking fee in the drop-box envelope and journeyed up the winding road.
A few minutes later I parked at Massie Gap in the midst of three other parked vehicles. I saw two groups of hikers crossing the meadow coming off the trail.
I prepared for my hike, layering my torso and donning my hiking shoes. In my hip pack, I made sure I had some snacks and tissue and my head lamp and my whistle. I tucked my two filled water bottles in the bottle carriers on either side of my hip pack.
The other hikers arrived at their vehicles and undonned their layers and then piled into their cars. As I headed across Massie Gap meadow with my trekking poles and feeling the cold wind, the hikers' vehicles pulled away. Now, only Edward the Explorer and one other vehicle watched me cross Massie Gap.
As I hiked, my body warmed and I unlayered my top coat and one pair of my gloves. The brisk cold was invigorating. I paused to drink it in.
No pain. No pain.
As I climbed the first leg of the trek, three hikers and their dog were coming off the mountain. We verbally exchanged howdies along with head nods. They continued trekking north to exit the park; I continued south toward Mt. Rogers.
Now, I was a lone human on the trail....but not alone. There were the trees, the bushes, the rocks, the snow, the trail, the sky, the sun, the wind.
Oh the wind.
As I climbed toward the Mt. Rogers side of Grayson, I eyed a herd of the magical feral ponies of Grayson Highlands. To them I was just another part of the trail.
As I hiked south along the Appalachian Trail, I turned back to get the northwest view. Afternoon was waxing into sunset. I stood listening to the wind. I breathed deeply.
Could it be that maybe I could still hike my dream? I don't know; I don't know.
But for that moment, I tasted that dream and the possibility ... standing alone but not alone as the wind howled lowly with its mystical voice.
I hiked in another half-mile or so. I knew it would be time to head back to Edward soon; the sun was going, going, going. The stars were coming, coming, coming.
Part of my hike back was through the darkness. I exited the trail around 6:30. Edward the Explorer was alone awaiting me. He was glad to see me I think.
(Here's a link to some more photos from that January 20 day hike. Unfortunately,one has to be signed into Facebook to see them. Grayson Highlands Day Hike, 1/20/14.)
The injections are still working, for how much longer is yet to be known. Though I am now feeling tenderness in my palms and light pricks in my wrists and a bit of pain in my biceps, I am able to perform normal functions (like making fists) that I wasn't able to prior to the shots. I do not yet know the effects of the methotrexate.
On Sunday, January 19, I read the upcoming weather forecast for the next day, Monday.
Oh boy, Monday is supposed to be clear and warmer. Carol...you oughtta take a mountain trek while you are feeling good and without pain. Roan? Nah, that's too far to drive and the weather is more unpredictable there; I may not have any views. Grayson Highlands?
I paused in thought and relished the possibility.
Yes. Grayson it is. If you take care of the one client appointment you have around Noon, you can be on your way by Noon-thirtyish and be at Grayson around 2:30ish. That'd give you a few hours of daylight.
I didn't get to my client's home (two cats, one named Jesus and the other Confucius) until around 1:15. They were awaiting me with leg rubs and meows, politely requesting their bon-appetit from the aluminum can. Jesus is a gray bengal; Confucius wears a tux. They chowed down and then retired to their bay-window cat tree while observing the two-legged me singing a made-up jingle about Jesus and Confucius as I went about my feline-service duties.
Before my good-byes, I reviewed my duties to make sure I had covered all the details to the satisfaction of my four-legged bosses. They were pleased. Then I was out the door and on the road to Grayson.
The sky was clear blue. The drive freeing. I was not in pain.
No pain. No pain. No pain. Wow.
 |
| ~view from Rugby Road~ |
After a moment, I closed the window and I drove my way onto Tucker Road and then onto Grayson Highlands Road and then onto the park entrance road. No rangers were in sight; the entrance booth was unmanned. I put my $5 parking fee in the drop-box envelope and journeyed up the winding road.
A few minutes later I parked at Massie Gap in the midst of three other parked vehicles. I saw two groups of hikers crossing the meadow coming off the trail.
I prepared for my hike, layering my torso and donning my hiking shoes. In my hip pack, I made sure I had some snacks and tissue and my head lamp and my whistle. I tucked my two filled water bottles in the bottle carriers on either side of my hip pack.
The other hikers arrived at their vehicles and undonned their layers and then piled into their cars. As I headed across Massie Gap meadow with my trekking poles and feeling the cold wind, the hikers' vehicles pulled away. Now, only Edward the Explorer and one other vehicle watched me cross Massie Gap.
As I hiked, my body warmed and I unlayered my top coat and one pair of my gloves. The brisk cold was invigorating. I paused to drink it in.
No pain. No pain.
 |
| ~Appalachian Trail~ |
Now, I was a lone human on the trail....but not alone. There were the trees, the bushes, the rocks, the snow, the trail, the sky, the sun, the wind.
Oh the wind.
 |
| ~feral ponies of Grayson Highlands~ |
As I climbed toward the Mt. Rogers side of Grayson, I eyed a herd of the magical feral ponies of Grayson Highlands. To them I was just another part of the trail.
 |
| ~January afternoon, Grayson Highlands~ |
Could it be that maybe I could still hike my dream? I don't know; I don't know.
But for that moment, I tasted that dream and the possibility ... standing alone but not alone as the wind howled lowly with its mystical voice.
 |
| ~sun is surely sinking down~ |
Part of my hike back was through the darkness. I exited the trail around 6:30. Edward the Explorer was alone awaiting me. He was glad to see me I think.
 |
| ~Little Big Man~ |
 |
| ~I'll call her Sheila~ |
 |
| ~kiss the sun~ |
 |
| ~pack it in, pack it out~ |
(Here's a link to some more photos from that January 20 day hike. Unfortunately,one has to be signed into Facebook to see them. Grayson Highlands Day Hike, 1/20/14.)
January 20, 2014
I will not forget....
Last Thursday I drove along Interstate-40 through North Carolina. A clear Carolina blue sky day. Sun bright. Air crisp with a bite of wind. Winter clear.
I drove west toward the mountains, but would stop at their eastern edge in Hickory. I looked forward to visiting my friend Barbara; she had back surgery three days prior on Monday and was still in the hospital. After Barbara, I would meet Linda for supper; her 75-year old mom had a nose amputation and reconstruction surgery three days prior on Monday. She had skin cancer gone deep; thankfully the docs got all the cancer.
On Tuesday, two days before my I-40 West Hickory trip, Hubby and I had enjoyed supper with Daughter and our probably-future-Son-in-law. We go on double dates regularly. Always enjoyable they are.
This particular date was in celebration of my daughter's birthday, number 26. Somewhere in the conversation, probably-future-Son-in-law said something like, "Well, twenty-six years ago we know what you were doing and enduring. One of the two most physically painful times in you life."
"Ahh, no," I responded. "I'd have to say that hip-replacement surgery is the most intensely, compact, physically painful thing I've ever experienced."
And it is...as far as compact pain in a time frame that later heals. With pain that heals...there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
As I drove west two days after that birthday dinner date, I pondered Barbara's surgery; Linda's mom surgery; my hip-replacement surgery.
Yet foremost in my mind was the unending pain of peripheral neuropathy over the past two-plus years.
Peripheral neuropathy is a draining pain...drip, drip, drip. Often there is no light at the end of the tunnel; no looking-forward to when the injury heals and the pain eases or ceases. There is only Munch's The Scream and wanting this nightmare to not be reality.
I was pain free as I drove to Hickory last week. The lumbar and cervical epidural steroid shots are still working, though I have a bit of tingling and odd sensations in my hands and feet..and some shooting pain in my ankle. I'm curious as to how things will play out over the next six months. I am still only cautiously hopeful.
Regardless, as I drove in that pain free mode I thought, I felt, I embraced...."I will never, ever forget this torment of the last two-plus years."
It is torment. If anyone thinks otherwise...well...they'd just have to live it to understand it.
To all my fellow journeyers....my deepest respect and love and hope. <3
I drove west toward the mountains, but would stop at their eastern edge in Hickory. I looked forward to visiting my friend Barbara; she had back surgery three days prior on Monday and was still in the hospital. After Barbara, I would meet Linda for supper; her 75-year old mom had a nose amputation and reconstruction surgery three days prior on Monday. She had skin cancer gone deep; thankfully the docs got all the cancer.
On Tuesday, two days before my I-40 West Hickory trip, Hubby and I had enjoyed supper with Daughter and our probably-future-Son-in-law. We go on double dates regularly. Always enjoyable they are.
This particular date was in celebration of my daughter's birthday, number 26. Somewhere in the conversation, probably-future-Son-in-law said something like, "Well, twenty-six years ago we know what you were doing and enduring. One of the two most physically painful times in you life."
"Ahh, no," I responded. "I'd have to say that hip-replacement surgery is the most intensely, compact, physically painful thing I've ever experienced."
And it is...as far as compact pain in a time frame that later heals. With pain that heals...there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
As I drove west two days after that birthday dinner date, I pondered Barbara's surgery; Linda's mom surgery; my hip-replacement surgery.
Yet foremost in my mind was the unending pain of peripheral neuropathy over the past two-plus years.
Peripheral neuropathy is a draining pain...drip, drip, drip. Often there is no light at the end of the tunnel; no looking-forward to when the injury heals and the pain eases or ceases. There is only Munch's The Scream and wanting this nightmare to not be reality.
I was pain free as I drove to Hickory last week. The lumbar and cervical epidural steroid shots are still working, though I have a bit of tingling and odd sensations in my hands and feet..and some shooting pain in my ankle. I'm curious as to how things will play out over the next six months. I am still only cautiously hopeful.
Regardless, as I drove in that pain free mode I thought, I felt, I embraced...."I will never, ever forget this torment of the last two-plus years."
It is torment. If anyone thinks otherwise...well...they'd just have to live it to understand it.
To all my fellow journeyers....my deepest respect and love and hope. <3
January 16, 2014
My kind of "Church"
Beautiful. Great music. Wow..on the riding.
I live vicariously...
"I guess I'm lucky enough to have experienced riding all over the world, and I still prefer riding in western North Carolina."
(a couple quotes from "Church")
o-o o-o o-o
About the video:
"Brandon Blakely, Zach Heaton, and Evan Voss were the motivators behind Church. Our friendship was forged in college through riding bikes, with a mutual interest for multiple sports and the refined skillset that goes hand in hand with mastery of those disciplines. We have traveled distances together for riding but for this trip Brandon and Evan were the bike men and Zach manned the no-fun-gun (camera). With three days of perfect October weather we attempted to capture our mutual appreciation for Fall in North Carolina.
Why Church? It started as a joke, pulled from some kayaking edit. Over a couple months it turned into something more. I would find myself completely winded at the end of a long climb saying “What a fine Church service this mornin” and it would put a gigantic smile on my face. We are certainly not the pioneers of the term but have managed to redefine it and call “Church” our own. Going to Church is leagues beyond riding your bike. It is an appreciation of life expressed through what you are passionate about. For us, it is goofing off while keeping our minds youthful and fresh while at the same time shredding our local trails to the best of our ability. These elements encompass Church for us.
Music:
Seventeen - Youth Lagoon
Viices - MADE IN HEIGHTS"
o-o o-o o-o
I live vicariously...
Church from ZfH Productions on Vimeo.
"Our steeples and choirs are mountains and wooded trails.""I guess I'm lucky enough to have experienced riding all over the world, and I still prefer riding in western North Carolina."
(a couple quotes from "Church")
o-o o-o o-o
About the video:
"Brandon Blakely, Zach Heaton, and Evan Voss were the motivators behind Church. Our friendship was forged in college through riding bikes, with a mutual interest for multiple sports and the refined skillset that goes hand in hand with mastery of those disciplines. We have traveled distances together for riding but for this trip Brandon and Evan were the bike men and Zach manned the no-fun-gun (camera). With three days of perfect October weather we attempted to capture our mutual appreciation for Fall in North Carolina.
Why Church? It started as a joke, pulled from some kayaking edit. Over a couple months it turned into something more. I would find myself completely winded at the end of a long climb saying “What a fine Church service this mornin” and it would put a gigantic smile on my face. We are certainly not the pioneers of the term but have managed to redefine it and call “Church” our own. Going to Church is leagues beyond riding your bike. It is an appreciation of life expressed through what you are passionate about. For us, it is goofing off while keeping our minds youthful and fresh while at the same time shredding our local trails to the best of our ability. These elements encompass Church for us.
Music:
Seventeen - Youth Lagoon
Viices - MADE IN HEIGHTS"
o-o o-o o-o
January 15, 2014
Art...apply as needed. Cannot overdose.
I listened to John Prine's Some Humans Ain't Human over and over this afternoon.
While listening, I walked the hardwood floors, slowly pacing a large, oval loop, over and over.
One step at a time around the white, partial wall that separates the kitchen area from the dining room area.
Three white, carved, wooden scrolls, located on the dining room side of the partial wall, help support the gray-marble-topped bar.
Three tall, white-cushioned, bar stools trimmed in black and chrome, stand on the bar side of the partial wall.
A double sink sits on the other side in the gray-marbled, lower, countertop, on the kitchen side of the partial wall.
I walk.
I listen.
John Prine over and over.
Round and round the partial wall with its bar and sink.
Each step deliberate.
Clockwise.
Yet my mind is not fully conscience of my two sweet dachshund friends quietly observing me.
Their four eyes watching me as I walked round and round.
The walls graced with art, watching.
Glass sculptures, watching.
Round and round I walk for 10, 20, 30 minutes.
As I walk, I sip tap water from a tall, clear acrylic glass decorated with random, turquoise circles.
I let the news from the phone call sink in.
"It" is officially done.
I will announce "it" when I am allowed and when I am ready.
I thought: "Art. Apply as needed. Cannot overdose."
Some Humans Ain't Human....I'll listen until I'm done listening...
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
You open up their hearts
And here's what you'll find
A few frozen pizzas
Some ice cubes with hair
A broken Popsicle
You don't want to go there
Some humans ain't human
Though they walk like we do
They live and they breathe
Just to turn the old screw
They screw you when you're sleeping
They try to screw you blind
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
You might go to church
And sit down in a pew
Those humans who ain't human
Could be sittin' right next to you
They talk about your family
They talk about your clothes
When they don't know their own ass
From their own elbows
Jealousy and stupidity
Don't equal harmony
Jealousy and stupidity
Don't equal harmony
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Have you ever noticed
When you're feeling really good
There's always a pigeon
That'll come shit on your hood
Or you're feeling your freedom
And the world's off your back
Some cowboy from Texas
Starts his own war in Iraq
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
They lie through their teeth
With their head up their behind
You open up their hearts
And here's what you'll find
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
(by John Prine)
While listening, I walked the hardwood floors, slowly pacing a large, oval loop, over and over.
One step at a time around the white, partial wall that separates the kitchen area from the dining room area.
Three white, carved, wooden scrolls, located on the dining room side of the partial wall, help support the gray-marble-topped bar.
Three tall, white-cushioned, bar stools trimmed in black and chrome, stand on the bar side of the partial wall.
A double sink sits on the other side in the gray-marbled, lower, countertop, on the kitchen side of the partial wall.
I walk.
I listen.
John Prine over and over.
Round and round the partial wall with its bar and sink.
Each step deliberate.
Clockwise.
Yet my mind is not fully conscience of my two sweet dachshund friends quietly observing me.
Their four eyes watching me as I walked round and round.
The walls graced with art, watching.
Glass sculptures, watching.
Round and round I walk for 10, 20, 30 minutes.
As I walk, I sip tap water from a tall, clear acrylic glass decorated with random, turquoise circles.
I let the news from the phone call sink in.
"It" is officially done.
I will announce "it" when I am allowed and when I am ready.
I thought: "Art. Apply as needed. Cannot overdose."
Some Humans Ain't Human....I'll listen until I'm done listening...
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
You open up their hearts
And here's what you'll find
A few frozen pizzas
Some ice cubes with hair
A broken Popsicle
You don't want to go there
Some humans ain't human
Though they walk like we do
They live and they breathe
Just to turn the old screw
They screw you when you're sleeping
They try to screw you blind
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
You might go to church
And sit down in a pew
Those humans who ain't human
Could be sittin' right next to you
They talk about your family
They talk about your clothes
When they don't know their own ass
From their own elbows
Jealousy and stupidity
Don't equal harmony
Jealousy and stupidity
Don't equal harmony
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Have you ever noticed
When you're feeling really good
There's always a pigeon
That'll come shit on your hood
Or you're feeling your freedom
And the world's off your back
Some cowboy from Texas
Starts his own war in Iraq
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
They lie through their teeth
With their head up their behind
You open up their hearts
And here's what you'll find
Some humans ain't human
Some people ain't kind
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
Mmmm Mmmm
(by John Prine)
January 14, 2014
Oozing Goodness, in spite of poison
Instead of "trying to write"...I "shall write."
"Oozing goodness." That was my thought along my Weewalk-about today. Sun was shining after rain last night and this morning. The air was crisp. I walked a covered-bridge thinking of blood-soil, history, people who founded these parts...Old Salem. I thought of the indigenous inhabitants, before the founding. Did the Saura Indians ever occupy this area? Did they live in teepees, or mud houses like the Cherokee?
My "oozing goodness" thought wasn't about the blood-soil though; it wasn't about the injustices; it wasn't about the shooting yesterday in a Florida theater; it wasn't about the migrant workers in California who harvest food all day but struggle to feed their families at night.
"Oozing goodness." That's my description of Paul's blog. His blog has become a daily intake for me. His perspectives broaden my own. I drink in his style of writing. But I am not "en-thralled." I watch against "en-thrall-ment" these days.
Paul shares simply and to the point; authentically. Paul is an Episcopal Priest now retired from overseeing a parish. He, along with his wife, live in the desert. His blog is entitled, "Desert Retreat House." Almost every morning for the past couple weeks, I tap my digital electronic screen and am taken to Paul's desert meditation garden. His sharings are not "positive." They are not "negative." They are real.
The past week, I've joked to myself that the Polar Vortex has affected me in a surprising way. I have felt more confident, self-assured, clear-headed, open.
Real-ity is...it's probably the steroid shots that I received in my spine and neck last Monday, the day before the Polar Vortex. The shots have greatly improved my health condition...well technically the steroids that were administered via the syringes. I can make fists. I can put my palms together. The lumps on the backs of my hands have shrunk. I can lift my iPhone without feeling like I'm lifting a five-pound dumbbell. My biceps aren't faultering when I stretch my arms. I can dress without feeling like I'm performing an incredible acrobatic feat.
I know the shots are a bandaid. I like bandaids...especially the cartoon ones that help a child laugh a little...overcoming the real-ity of the gigantic booboo on their knees.
Polar Vortex was a real-ity in the temperatures outside.
My new real-ity is that I am now eating poison. Yes, poison...at least when I read up on the new medication I began the night before the Vortex descended. The new medication is not the shots I received the day before the Vortex. The new medication is in a pill form that I take orally. I take it once a week. It suppresses my immune system...significantly more than the prednisone.
Last Monday I sat in the neurologist's examining room. He examined the lumps on my hands. He touched them with his fingers applying a bit of pressure; he observed them change shape and bounce back. It didn't hurt.
"I'm not sure what to make of these. They appear to be effusions." He spoke kindly with his very-good-Swedish-accented English.
"What are effusions?" I asked in my very-good-southern-accented English.
"Fluid build-up, usually found around joints of people with rheumatoid arthritis. But these effusions are not on joints," talking to me but more to himself.
"But all the rheumatoid tests I've had show I don't have RA or any autoimmune disorder," I responded as I've responded at previous appointments when he has brought up autoimmune responses.
"I know. I still think your body is in an autoimmune response...something that for some reason is not showing up on blood tests. Your symptoms and that steroids are the only medicine that seem to positively affect the condition indicate something autoimmune is going on. Do you have a history of liver problems?"
"Not to my awareness. My liver has been checked at least two times in the past two years; all systems good. All my blood work is good. Supposedly, I'm healthy." Sarcasm, of course.
"I think we should try a medication called methotrexate. You take it once a week."
Doc and I discussed it as Hubby listened. More blood work, just to make sure my liver is still good and to check my blood count and another autoimmune blood test.
"You'll need to take prescription-strength folic acid; methotrexate destroys red blood cells."
Oh great, I thought.
"The steroid shots today should work within one week to give you relief. The drug takes about a month. Stay on the 5 milligrams of prednisone for now."
"I had maybe wanted to do a juice and smoothie fast this upcoming month," I responded.
"Hold off for now. We don't want to be throwing too much into the fire."
Doc was compassionate as he spoke. Oozing goodness. He is fighting for me; he is fighting with me.
He doesn't wear a white coat.
The spinal shots are much less painful than the shots that go directly into the palm-heels of my hands.
"Oozing goodness." That was my thought along my Weewalk-about today. Sun was shining after rain last night and this morning. The air was crisp. I walked a covered-bridge thinking of blood-soil, history, people who founded these parts...Old Salem. I thought of the indigenous inhabitants, before the founding. Did the Saura Indians ever occupy this area? Did they live in teepees, or mud houses like the Cherokee?
My "oozing goodness" thought wasn't about the blood-soil though; it wasn't about the injustices; it wasn't about the shooting yesterday in a Florida theater; it wasn't about the migrant workers in California who harvest food all day but struggle to feed their families at night.
"Oozing goodness." That's my description of Paul's blog. His blog has become a daily intake for me. His perspectives broaden my own. I drink in his style of writing. But I am not "en-thralled." I watch against "en-thrall-ment" these days.
Paul shares simply and to the point; authentically. Paul is an Episcopal Priest now retired from overseeing a parish. He, along with his wife, live in the desert. His blog is entitled, "Desert Retreat House." Almost every morning for the past couple weeks, I tap my digital electronic screen and am taken to Paul's desert meditation garden. His sharings are not "positive." They are not "negative." They are real.
The past week, I've joked to myself that the Polar Vortex has affected me in a surprising way. I have felt more confident, self-assured, clear-headed, open.
Real-ity is...it's probably the steroid shots that I received in my spine and neck last Monday, the day before the Polar Vortex. The shots have greatly improved my health condition...well technically the steroids that were administered via the syringes. I can make fists. I can put my palms together. The lumps on the backs of my hands have shrunk. I can lift my iPhone without feeling like I'm lifting a five-pound dumbbell. My biceps aren't faultering when I stretch my arms. I can dress without feeling like I'm performing an incredible acrobatic feat.
I know the shots are a bandaid. I like bandaids...especially the cartoon ones that help a child laugh a little...overcoming the real-ity of the gigantic booboo on their knees.
Polar Vortex was a real-ity in the temperatures outside.
My new real-ity is that I am now eating poison. Yes, poison...at least when I read up on the new medication I began the night before the Vortex descended. The new medication is not the shots I received the day before the Vortex. The new medication is in a pill form that I take orally. I take it once a week. It suppresses my immune system...significantly more than the prednisone.
Last Monday I sat in the neurologist's examining room. He examined the lumps on my hands. He touched them with his fingers applying a bit of pressure; he observed them change shape and bounce back. It didn't hurt.
"I'm not sure what to make of these. They appear to be effusions." He spoke kindly with his very-good-Swedish-accented English.
"What are effusions?" I asked in my very-good-southern-accented English.
"Fluid build-up, usually found around joints of people with rheumatoid arthritis. But these effusions are not on joints," talking to me but more to himself.
"But all the rheumatoid tests I've had show I don't have RA or any autoimmune disorder," I responded as I've responded at previous appointments when he has brought up autoimmune responses.
"I know. I still think your body is in an autoimmune response...something that for some reason is not showing up on blood tests. Your symptoms and that steroids are the only medicine that seem to positively affect the condition indicate something autoimmune is going on. Do you have a history of liver problems?"
"Not to my awareness. My liver has been checked at least two times in the past two years; all systems good. All my blood work is good. Supposedly, I'm healthy." Sarcasm, of course.
"I think we should try a medication called methotrexate. You take it once a week."
Doc and I discussed it as Hubby listened. More blood work, just to make sure my liver is still good and to check my blood count and another autoimmune blood test.
"You'll need to take prescription-strength folic acid; methotrexate destroys red blood cells."
Oh great, I thought.
"The steroid shots today should work within one week to give you relief. The drug takes about a month. Stay on the 5 milligrams of prednisone for now."
"I had maybe wanted to do a juice and smoothie fast this upcoming month," I responded.
"Hold off for now. We don't want to be throwing too much into the fire."
Doc was compassionate as he spoke. Oozing goodness. He is fighting for me; he is fighting with me.
He doesn't wear a white coat.
The spinal shots are much less painful than the shots that go directly into the palm-heels of my hands.
January 1, 2014
The Roan
It's no secret I love the Appalachian Mountains and that with all that is within me...I really, really, really want to thru hike the Appalachian Trail. Maybe I'll never get to do it, and if I don't, at least I've had a taste in sections.
As I climbed the stairs to go to bed tonight I thought, "If I never get to thru hike, I'll just have to live vicariously through my son and his backpacking friends. Maybe I can at least somehow be a trail angel."
I was around 16 years old the first time I saw the Roan. But I never hiked in far enough to view the magical Big Hump and Little Hump...until I was 51.
Grandpup Yerba was with me the first time I experienced Big Hump and Little Hump.
I wrote a few snippets about that day:
Part 1: Home Among the Balds
Part 2: The Woods Have Eyes
Part 3: Cocoon Shelter
My son is a seasoned backpacker and leads some trips for his college friends, some who have never backpacked. Son has backpacked around 500 miles of the Appalachian Trail and some 100 miles through Glacier National Park. Naturally he has friends who also backpack.
One of his friends, Elijah, backpacked along the AT over Little and Big Humps the past couple days hiking in the New Year. It was mighty cold with lots of wind; there was no snow, just some ice. Elijah posted some pictues on Facebook tonight, so I asked if I could steal a couple. Elijah is taking a semester off college and hits the AT in March for a thru hike. In my opinion, a thru hike should be worth at least one credit in school.
Below are some pictures of Big Hump and Little Hump along the Appalachian Trail of the Roan Highlands.
Thanks to Elijah and Josh for the pics...and to Jay Erskine Leutze and the locals for helping to save this piece of wilderness and the view from the Humps.
As I climbed the stairs to go to bed tonight I thought, "If I never get to thru hike, I'll just have to live vicariously through my son and his backpacking friends. Maybe I can at least somehow be a trail angel."
I was around 16 years old the first time I saw the Roan. But I never hiked in far enough to view the magical Big Hump and Little Hump...until I was 51.
 |
| Yerba descending toward the Humps, August, 2010. |
I wrote a few snippets about that day:
Part 1: Home Among the Balds
Part 2: The Woods Have Eyes
Part 3: Cocoon Shelter
My son is a seasoned backpacker and leads some trips for his college friends, some who have never backpacked. Son has backpacked around 500 miles of the Appalachian Trail and some 100 miles through Glacier National Park. Naturally he has friends who also backpack.
One of his friends, Elijah, backpacked along the AT over Little and Big Humps the past couple days hiking in the New Year. It was mighty cold with lots of wind; there was no snow, just some ice. Elijah posted some pictues on Facebook tonight, so I asked if I could steal a couple. Elijah is taking a semester off college and hits the AT in March for a thru hike. In my opinion, a thru hike should be worth at least one credit in school.
Below are some pictures of Big Hump and Little Hump along the Appalachian Trail of the Roan Highlands.
Thanks to Elijah and Josh for the pics...and to Jay Erskine Leutze and the locals for helping to save this piece of wilderness and the view from the Humps.
 |
| View of the Humps, June, 2013. Photo by Josh |
 |
| View of the Humps, 12/31/13. Photo by Elijah. |
 |
| Zack hiking across Little Hump, 12/31/13. Photo by Elijah. |
The Next Thing...
It's been a rough couple weeks.
I'm glad this holidayish season is almost over. I've had a heavy workload and it has taken its toll. If my limb function isn't improved by the next holiday round, I will either have to accept less clients or hire help.
I feel pretty hopeless today. About thirty minutes ago, I was standing in the bathroom in pain, drying my hands on a towel, thinking, "Is there anything I can do that won't cause pain?"
The new medication I began in November isn't working. That I am aware of, I have two more meds to try.
I see the neurologist again on January 6th. I'm curious about getting a spinal tap...just to see if my spinal fluid is abnormal. If so, maybe one of the IV treatments might help...either plasmapheresis or IV immunoglobulin treatments. I have a feeling my fluid would come back normal. It's ironic that I want to have abnormal spinal fluid.
I want to quit everything I'm doing to supposedly help me and see what is supposedly doing some good and what isn't. I'm so fed up with trying different things with little or no results. I have three more acupuncture treatments left; I've been receiving acupuncture regularly since April, 2013.
I feel like I am doing something wrong because my body doesn't respond like it should; like somehow my character is flawed. I realize that is a common response when a person suffers from chronic illness. I've been there before. I never expected to be there again. It's not a helpful outlook.
So far, the only thing that has given significant relief is higher doses of prednisone. And that is not a way to go; I don't want to end up with diabetes.
Last night I couldn't hold back tears. I awoke Hubby around midnight. Between sniffles and sobs and apologies I spoke, expressing my grief. We talked. Puppy Pepe licked me over and over. I want to think Pepe was trying to comfort me, but he probably moreso licked to taste the salts.
Shortly thereafter we all drifted into sleep and dreams.
I have lots of Way sleep dreams lately. In the dreams, I am teaching at a fellowship and wondering, "Why am I doing this? I don't even believe this stuff." In my dreams, I am always wearing business-type clothes which is very unlike me in real life.
Last night I dreamed that I was with some Way believers. We were standing and I was helping to care for someone that was ill; the person was faceless. It seems I was brushing their hair. The people standing around me were all dressed for success, taking about their goals. I felt out of place and like a failure. Someone asked me if I had any goals or dreams, asking where was I headed in the future. I didn't respond and the people began to mock me. Then, in my dream, I burst into tears and shouted, "I want to hike the Appalachian Trail! But my dream has been stolen! Shut up!!!"
And that was that. It was just a sleep dream.
It's okay to grieve. It will pass; it always does.
I'll listen to music; music always helps. I need to get a new Bluetooth; I lost mine last week, and I miss my music while I work with animals.
I'm glad this holidayish season is almost over. I've had a heavy workload and it has taken its toll. If my limb function isn't improved by the next holiday round, I will either have to accept less clients or hire help.
I feel pretty hopeless today. About thirty minutes ago, I was standing in the bathroom in pain, drying my hands on a towel, thinking, "Is there anything I can do that won't cause pain?"
The new medication I began in November isn't working. That I am aware of, I have two more meds to try.
I see the neurologist again on January 6th. I'm curious about getting a spinal tap...just to see if my spinal fluid is abnormal. If so, maybe one of the IV treatments might help...either plasmapheresis or IV immunoglobulin treatments. I have a feeling my fluid would come back normal. It's ironic that I want to have abnormal spinal fluid.
I want to quit everything I'm doing to supposedly help me and see what is supposedly doing some good and what isn't. I'm so fed up with trying different things with little or no results. I have three more acupuncture treatments left; I've been receiving acupuncture regularly since April, 2013.
I feel like I am doing something wrong because my body doesn't respond like it should; like somehow my character is flawed. I realize that is a common response when a person suffers from chronic illness. I've been there before. I never expected to be there again. It's not a helpful outlook.
So far, the only thing that has given significant relief is higher doses of prednisone. And that is not a way to go; I don't want to end up with diabetes.
Last night I couldn't hold back tears. I awoke Hubby around midnight. Between sniffles and sobs and apologies I spoke, expressing my grief. We talked. Puppy Pepe licked me over and over. I want to think Pepe was trying to comfort me, but he probably moreso licked to taste the salts.
Shortly thereafter we all drifted into sleep and dreams.
I have lots of Way sleep dreams lately. In the dreams, I am teaching at a fellowship and wondering, "Why am I doing this? I don't even believe this stuff." In my dreams, I am always wearing business-type clothes which is very unlike me in real life.
Last night I dreamed that I was with some Way believers. We were standing and I was helping to care for someone that was ill; the person was faceless. It seems I was brushing their hair. The people standing around me were all dressed for success, taking about their goals. I felt out of place and like a failure. Someone asked me if I had any goals or dreams, asking where was I headed in the future. I didn't respond and the people began to mock me. Then, in my dream, I burst into tears and shouted, "I want to hike the Appalachian Trail! But my dream has been stolen! Shut up!!!"
And that was that. It was just a sleep dream.
It's okay to grieve. It will pass; it always does.
I'll listen to music; music always helps. I need to get a new Bluetooth; I lost mine last week, and I miss my music while I work with animals.