The medicine

On goes the daily, sometimes hourly reminders to myself that I take some medicine every day. I often watch someone on TV or see a person in a store that is around my age. Many times I think, why can't I be more like that person? That person lives his life without having to take a drug just to get through the day.

Whenever I utter or think such a blanket statement, the sentiments of my contrary friend who is always the voice of reason come into my head.

"How do you know that person is not on some kind of drug to get through his day? Maybe he is masking it, just like you. The casual observer would not know that you have to take medicine to get through the day."

And that is the truth. My medicines are minor in comparison to many, many others.

I have a physical impairment. But, it is not terminal. Nor is it yet restricting my life. I am so much more fortunate than the person living with a terminal illness. Or even the person who takes drugs all day and still never feels normal.

So on it goes.

Soul Provider

I was making some mix CDs for a friend today. I was going through stacks of my own mix CDs looking for the right combination of songs that he would like.

On three separate CDs, I found Michael Bolton's "Soul Provider." I liked that song, but I did not know I had put it on three different compilations.

That song always makes me smile. It reminds me of my first job as a program director at a small town radio station in Iowa. It was 1989. I had been unemployed for about 3 months, and am not proud to say, living on handouts from my parents. I had moved to Iowa from Texas to take the job.

"Soul Provider" was a big hit on the radio at the time. And since I was in radio and we played that song, I heard it several times every day.

I wonder what it is about those memories that give me a good feeling. I certainly did not want to take that job.
Sure, it was exactly the type of job I wanted, but it was in the wrong place. It would mean moving away from my friends and everything I knew as familiar. I had lived in Iowa before, but not for about 9 years.

Plus I have never been the type to boldly strike out into the unknown. And that is exactly what I was doing. With other jobs that I had started, I had something familiar to go back to at the end of the day. At the end of my work day there, I would find my way back to an unfamiliar apartment in an unfamiliar town.

But the strain of all these things are not the memories I have. When I hear that song, I have only good memories.
They are memories of good feelings. Things were "right" in my world. Things were "correct." Instead of trepidation of the unknown and remorse for the things left behind, I remember the anticipation of starting the career I had always wanted. It was my first step in that direction and I was positive that only good things were to come.

I stayed there for a year. About 13 months after I was hired, I was laid off, replaced due to new management. The job itself was not the ideal position that I thought it would be. I struggled constantly as the job was not a good fit for me. There were many times that I had no clue of what I was supposed to do and was in situations that I did not know how to handle. I was so incompetent in many aspects of the job. My memories are vivid of the times I wanted to just hide because I was so helpless to understand what the correct action to take was.

But as I write this and try to understand why I liked that year, the positive memories are strong. Even though I felt overworked and underpaid, I had the chance to go to Chicago once each month to see my friend who was in seminary there. The mere fact that I could go to the big city once every 4 weeks was great. And my friend and I built memories in that year that we still cherish. So that year brought us much closer than we were previously.

I was also free. I spent my time exploring the local area and taking pictures. I volunteered for several shows at a nearby community theatre. Though I was never a wild single and definitely not a partier, I relished the time that I had to do as I wished.

Maybe the song is life's way of allowing me to hang on to the good experiences from that year and to let the unfortunate circumstances go.

Little Blue Icon--The Muse

The muse has been calling me. The muse can take any form she chooses. Lately she takes the form of the little blue icon at the bottom of the computer screen. Notepad. That's her, all right.

The notepad icon chases my dreams.

Most nights it doesn't even wait for sleep. It invades my thoughts as my head finds the pillow.
Why notepad? Notepad is simple. She knows she's being unpretentious. She has no fancy fonts to distract me. None of the latest programming in software can get in my way of what she wants me to do. She is blue. That could be a ploy too. But mostly she is just simple.

She also thinks that if she is simple the rest will appear simple too. The words will simply come out. The words that rattle around all day can easily be committed. There is no chance that something is going to be lost due to lack of memory.

The muse is using every tool she has available.

She knows what I want. She knows what stands in the way. She calls me. She continues to call.
She is smug. The blue icon is open. The fingers are typing.

She knows she won.

The new illness--taking pain medicine

I am still taking the precription pain killers daily. You know, just being on a prescription pain medicine is itself an ailment in today's society.

Everyone has an opinon of what is best for me "You should not have to take that strong medicine--you're going to become addicted." "I know someone who takes it daily and it is not good--your doctor should do something." Here's one of my favorites. "I used to take pain medicine, but I decided I did not want to be a drug addict so I just stopped."

It's interesting how everyone out there has an opinon of what is best for me, but they're not me. However that does not change the mental struggle I go through daily. Am I taking too much? Why am I taking it? Would I have as much pain if I did not have a stressful job?

Here's the tape that I tend to replay again and again: I don't want to be a drug addict. I should just be tough enough to handle the pain. Pain, what pain? The pain is all in your head. You're taking this medicine to feel good, not because you need it. Besides, if you stopped taking the medicine, you could enjoy beer again.

My doctor is not concerned--she just wants to see me regularly. She continues to renew the prescription. She told me frankly that, due to my back problems, I may be on this for life unless I want to have the back surgery. And she is okay with that.

We have a friend who had the major back surgery (he was much worse off than me) and though
he had it, and went through 6 weeks recovery and then physical therapy on top of that, he
tells me he still has pain and he will wear a back brace for the rest of his life. Plus he is younger than me.

And I just saw a report on local news of a woman who had the surgery twice and still had
pain. So I think the surgery does not always work.

It is interesting what a stigma this medicine has become in today's society. There are many afflictions that many people live with everyday. And they take some form of medicine because of an affliction. But they're not ostercized. They are doing what they have to do to have a good quality of life with their health problems. So why can't I?

Maybe a lot of people have chosen this medicine to be the evil one because it has a side effect that causes a mild euphoria. And it is abused.

I know my pain. My pain is real. Was some of the pain caused by the medicine? Maybe. Could removing the medicine remove that new pain? Possibly. Meanwhile it is my decision. And it is my decision to stay away from any discussions of this subject with people who do not live with the pain.

I am not a sports fan

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a sports fan. I painfully sit with the in-laws on Thanksgiving day when the NFL games come on. Because I like to get along with people, I feign interest. I know a few names of football players in Texas, simply because I hear their names on the radio or before I switch channels during the local news.

I freely admit that I am a snob about my distaste for most professional and big college sports. I think it is entertainment for the masses and I don't consider myself one of them. Of course I do not limit my prejudices to sports. I feel the same way about reality television, most competition game shows and sitcoms that play to the mose basic, vulgar traits of Americans. If it is popular with the majority of Americans, I probably don't like it.

My main problem with professional sports is that it has lost its identity as, well, sports. To me, sport is a healthy, competition between equally-matched contenders,
each using only mental and physical ability and training to win. Wining means victory over the other solely for the triumph of the spirit.

The exception I have to this is the Spurs and the rest of the NBA. If I did not live where I do, I probably would not have become a fan of the Spurs. But if there is an
exception to the all for me world of professional teams and their supposed athelets, it is the San Antonio Spurs.

This was exemplified recently by comments from another NBA coach about the coach of the Spurs, Gregg Popovich. Last night, the Spurs played the Golden State Warriors.
Their coach is Don Nelson. Popovich was an assistant under him years ago. Now they're both head coaches and have been for many years. Reporters asked Nelson
something about Popovich. Nelson remarked that Popovich had not called him like he expected when he got to town. Nelson remarked that they are friends and he was planning to meet Pop for dinner. Popovich responded to this from the reporters by agreeing that he should have called his old friend and shared an evening dinner and a bottle of wine.

To me, this is a perfect example of what sports is supposed to be. Friends competing. Each knows the other's strength and weaknesses. Hell, they learned from
each other and know the other's tricks as well. But they are still friends. There is a mutual respect there. Elsewhere in professional sports, there are players who
specialize more in trash talking than in sharpening their skills. They spend more time negotiating the next contract, either with the agent, the team or with the
media, than they do staying in shape. The competition is now between them and the ones writing the check or between them and the insane fans who still buy their
jerseys at $75 each. They do not try hard because they only want to win. If they compete on the field at all, it's to ensure a better paycheck. I many times wonder if losing means anything to the person with the multi-million dollar mansion and throngs of adoring fans.

This is evident in professional baseball too. Huge contracts are not even enough for some. Some players, playing for teams that have little chance of a national title, use whatever means are necessary, not even to win, but to get their name into the all-time record books. Steroid use, corked bats are just some examples of
players who do not play for the love of the game, but rather, for the love of themselves.

Does San Antonio pay high salaries? Sure they do, They could not exist in the NBA without this. But time after time, the Spurs players exemplify sportsmanlike conduct. Manu comes off the bench gladly when any other player of
his talent would demand to be a starter. And what is a starter other than the first players who begin a game? But it has glory with it.

Of course the sports history books are full of great humans who did play for the love of the game. But those individuals are becoming a rare bunch.

Except in San Antonio.

The Christmas Tree

We put up the tree. It is our usual day after Thanksgiving ritual. We put up the indoor Christmas decorations on that Friday and usually try to put up the outdoor ones on Saturday.

Our daughter is 12. Every year since she was born, we have bought a new ornament for her. When she was a baby we bought the Baby's First Christmas and Baby's Second Christmas ornaments. Those are the ones with her baby pictures in them. After that she has picked out her own each year. While finishing the shopping Friday afternoon, she remembered the ornament and we went into one final store to get it.

While putting the ornaments on the tree, she remarked how her interests had changed over the years. The ornaments started with the Disney Princess ones, moved to Powerpuff Girls, then to Bratz. Her ornament this year is the word "Dreams" in big, glitzy, blue block letters. At first glance, it does not even look like an ornament. She chose this one because she is really involved in music, drama and the theatre. We have been encouraging her to dream and work to make the dreams come true.

I noticed that the tree is not only a reflection of her, but it's a unique portrait of our entire family.

There are ornaments from places we've visited. There are a few ornaments from my or my wife's childhood. Some others were made in school art classes by our daughter. There are a few stragglers from a gift set given by a former employer. We each bought a few of the over-priced Hallmark ones for a year or two. As the ornaments sit in the box over the long year in the hot attic, some don't survive much longer than a few years. I picked up one mess and asked what it had been before getting squished.

While there is nothing at all wrong with a tree full of color-coordinated, shiny new ornaments, our tree is a representation of our years as a family. I call it an unplanned Christmas tradition, one that we'll keep adding to. Hopefully our daughter will remember this as a nice part of her Christmases as she grew.

Of Mine Fields and Ghosts

If I had to describe the days at work recently, though I'd prefer not to, they would be a roller-coaster of emotions. One moment I'm on top of the game, the next struggling to make sense of what mine field I just walked through. In a mine field, you are almost certain to trip a wire or step directly on a mine. Then things blow up. That's what mines do. But you know that as you walk into the field. No my days are more surprises when I step on a mine because I thought I was safe on the solid road. The phone rings, I answer it, and I look around. I am not safe on the road anymore. Now I am in the mine field. One blew up in front of me. I see two more ahead. But I can't avoid them. Those will blow up unless I perform some impossible, herculean task. What do I do? I try to get that impossible task done. In many instances, I do that. The mine is avoided. But I am left spent. Back out on the safe road. I pick up my gear and wander to the next town. The invisible force that lifts me up and places me into the mine field is always around. Somedays, he leaves me alone. Most days recently though, he covertly puts me right back in there.