How to Ruin Our Land in These Easy Steps

Take a field of trees,

Slap a "For Sale" sign on it,

Tear it to shreds,

Throw up some concrete.

Why must we continue to do this to our land/city/ourselves?

Envying Balance, or state of assessing academic achievement in Texas schools

Just open your eyes and realize the way it’s always been
(lyric from The Moody Blues song The Balance)


Random Envy 5

Envying Balance,
or the sad state of assessing academic achievement in Texas schools


A hot Texas topic these days: teacher pay (and summer hasn’t even arrived). Of course, messing with anyone’s pay is an edgy way to run a business (or a state). The issue is whether to pay teachers for longevity or paying them based on merit. Longevity matters – just showing up for work everyday and being dependable matters. Especially in the face of classrooms with swelling numbers of students with all sorts of differences: behavioral, emotional, cognitive. Then throw in individual attitudes and different levels of motivation. With emphasis on placing children in least restrictive environments, that means no sending them home or to another school just because they are acting crazy and restricting the flow of routine.

But then again, going the extra mile also matters. How valuable are you when you DO show up? Do your students rush to your room in the morning because they long to learn something and they miss your inspired teaching? (Well, that’s not too likely – maybe at the onset of a fresh year when the summer has become a little boring, but even then they really are just rushing back to see what their friends are wearing and how the opposite sex has matured since they saw them last. And by April that thrill has long been replaced by the drudgery of dragging through everyday classes taught by teachers who are feeling their enthusiasm slide right out the window.)

Here’s an amazing idea! Why not keep a basic longevity rate AND give extra pay for those who earn it. Instead of solving the problem in our typically black-or-white approach, why not a more balanced one?

Then there is the dilemma of individual teachers testing students based on teacher judgment and style preferences versus the standardized approach of using one nationally-based instrument to assess everyone and attain consistency in instruction and outcome. The STAAR test (interesting acronym since hardly anyone finds it to be very shiny) attempts to assess knowledge in some unified way. This test calls for four-item response choices, lucky if you are the test-taker because you don’t need to know the answer as definitively as you would on fill-in-the-blank or short answer tests. You simply must identify it when you see it. I can do pretty well on that if you test me on state capitals. I know that Olympia goes with Washington and Jefferson City goes with Missouri (particularly if Austin, or Atlanta, or Oklahoma City are some of my choices). But stop me on the street and ask me outright what the capital of South Dakota is, and I may blow it. Remember too that any test that requires four multiple choice responses allows for a pretty significant 25% guess factor. On a lucky day you can look a lot smarter than you are (or, the opposite if it’s not your best day). We have a solution for the easy guess bit, though. We make the tests very tricky, altering a word here and there to make for subtle and confusing response options. So now, instead of focusing on teaching children useful life skills, we teach to the test and instruct them how to take tricky multiple choice tests. (Of course, this itself is a life skill of sorts – how to not be fooled by tricksters and predators, like those who develop group-administered tests!) If all life decisions were multiple choices this would be alright. Imagine being able to choose a spouse based on a choice of four persons (hey, on second thought, that’s not such a bad idea!). Sometimes, though, the multiple choice doesn’t work. (Imagine a police officer pulling you over, asking how fast you were going, and your reply is, “What are my choices?)” We do love our computers and our conveniently scorable tests, though. And who wants to read lengthy essays that require scoring judgment? (But at least now answers can be typed, and teachers don’t have to decipher scribble.)

Political parties are having a lot of fun with this issue, conjuring up all kinds of new strategies every year, each no real improvement over the previous year and ultimately just creating confusion. Democrats push one direction, Republicans push the other. (And speaking of that, wouldn’t we be more balanced if we voted “independent”; being Americans, shouldn’t we be proud to embrace anything with the word “independent” in it?) The requirement that one accepts a “package deal” instead of a balance is difficult. It’s simply too hard to endorse everything one group stands for.
Even the Beatles made occasional mistakes in musical or personal judgment.

Okay. We see how this writing has evolved. It’s really a piece on balance itself. And that is a more eastern concept than our back-and-forth, schizoid western way of conducting affairs, where we change directions annually in order to try to reach the balance we are desperately shooting for to begin with…

To be continued….

Earth Day: Green with Envy

“You know your culture from your trash”- Peter Gabriel, song lyric (Steam)

Random Envy 4
Green with Envy

*******Special Earth Day Edition*******


[Beware: spoilers! “Scathing commentary” alert!]

What are we celebrating on earth day? We honor individuals with birth-days, but how do we honor and show appreciation for our land?

Signs clutter the few remaining open spaces on Louetta Road. “Land for sale!”; “Tattoo artist”; “Tree clearing”. (Or the worst of all, “Rent this sign”.) First we uglify the land with signs,
then we bulldoze all the trees and pave over the grass with concrete. We insult our earth, construct buildings we don’t need to sell services and products we already have, use the building until the business flops, then move down the street, tear down more trees and start another project. (I’ve seen this happen in other locations even when business was booming – are you listening Walmart ?)

This is the legacy we leave for our children. (Exception: the Mormon Church on Champion Forest Drive - at least they built a beautiful building to look at, like the beautiful cathedrals in Europe.)

We don’t need another restaurant or car wash, we need more trees that will produce fresh air for us to breathe.

We don’t need to constantly yearn for vacations to visit scenic places because we have destroyed the very scenery we already had. Be grateful for the zoning and conservation that some towns maintain. Think about it - would you drive all the way to Telluride if it looked like Houston?

How to honor Mother Earth? Support any organization that protects trees by encouraging planting, preservation, etc. Be friends with the Sierra Club. If you have the time, are brave, and have bail money, chain yourself to a 100-year old oak tree that is about to be plowed over to make room for a four-storey apartment complex that will crowd our environment and congest our city even more (they may drag you to the slammer and show your face on the 10:00 news, but you can at least sleep with good conscience). Support zoning – even its opponents would support it if it meant a topless nightclub with open gambling and guns on the street was going up in their neighborhood!

At what cost do we stick out our chests and proclaim, “Look at us – the fourth largest city in the country”? (As we’re dragging the bottom on the “most livable city” list.)

Happy Earth-day.

Random Envy 3- If I were king......

RANDOM ENVY

IF I WERE KING

I admit it. Sometimes I wish I were king. Not only that, but I would like to just appoint myself to that role. No messing with time-wasting and expensive elections that just cause bad feelings, with all that mudslinging and name-calling. Don’t worry – I won’t do anything crazy, like re-instating slavery or taking away women’s right to vote. I have considered abolishing trucks, SUVs, minivans and other gas-guzzlers - these are not fuel efficient and minivans are ugly. But, with low gas prices, who really cares? I have also considered doing away with all timeouts in football and basketball games – it would make everything speed up nicely, and eliminate so many commercials. And if we really MUST have a “red zone” in football, let’s just go ahead and spray that part of the field red. At this time, these are only considerations…

One day I will be king. The world is too intelligent a place not to notice that I would be great in that role.
The first thing I will do is a little housecleaning. I will prioritize the following:
-Change the spelling of the word “raspberry” to “razzberry”
-Ban all one-way streets
-Put a maximum occupancy limit on HEB
-Remove from the English language the word “brouhaha”
-Reserve the word “awesome” for only things that truly are (like the Grand Canyon, or spaghetti)
-Eliminate all wires and coat hangers (although I haven’t decided yet what I will replace coat hangers with)
-Do away with all laugh tracks on sitcoms (better yet, do away with all sitcoms)
-Reverse daylight savings (spring back, fall forward – that makes so much more sense anyway)
-Ban all ad-libbed vocal acrobatics used by singers performing the national anthem
-Eliminate all reality TV shows (which are actually scripted and thus are not real anyway)
-Eliminate all committees (they just obstruct getting anything done)

I also would have many changes to make for our fair city of Houston:
-Officially change the city name to Tokyo (because it is so huge), or Mecca (because everyone is coming here)
-Hang “no vacancy” signs beside Houston city limits signs while I’m at it
-Make it a felony to cut down a tree in Houston
-Remove all “Watch For Ice” signs on Houston bridges (they are only useful two days of the year and by the time they have been up all the other 363 days everyone ignores them when they are needed)
-For that matter, just ban all signs (they are ugly and only contribute to too many distractions and too much useless information)
-Limit the number of Mexican restaurants and car washes on Louetta Road to one each per mile
-And on the same street, reduce the size of the huge American flag at the Service First car center (it has caught 3 airplanes already)

I will also attempt to solve these dilemmas:
-If something is neither here nor there, where is it?
-How do you get under the weather?
-How do you get beside yourself?
-Why do we say chi-pot-le but not Brett Fav-re

I will keep these very few rules:
-Be respectful
-Be responsible
-Green = go; red = stop [no change, that’s a sensible rule]

That’s my platform, and I stand by it.

RANDOM ENVY 2

THE EDGE, or the Benefits of Bribery


Sometimes you just get desperate. I find myself on a Saturday morning at Champion Forest Gym – er, that would be Church, on one of their cavernous basketball courts (expecting the Houston Rockets to come out any minute as the music pounds away and the team introductions boom out). Our team trots onto the court, but all knees must be knocking, as they have been blown out of their first two games and I’m sure they have little confidence that they will fare better this time. Despite giving them another of my usual fiery pre-game pep talks as their assistant coach about how this time it will be different, their eyes have that glazed-over look like they’re just waking up and wondering how they got here.

I have little cash on me, but I will start with one player. My child. Bree is actually a sharp basketball player, who usually serves as point guard due to her dribbling skills and speed, and ability to drive the ball toward the goal. But she, like the others, is aware that her team is continuing its downward spiral that unfortunately lasted throughout the entirety of last season. Hey, don’t judge me! We’re not talking about deflated balls here, Tom Brady, just a little motivational incentive…On her softball team, I found that an occasional bribe worked well with Bree, until the team became so good and consistent that I simply had no need to pay her to perform.

But basketball is different, and this team is comprised of different girls, and this is a fresh morning. $5 per shot made. That’s my deal. When she is on court, I simply call her name out, and when she turns to look, I flash an open hand. She nods her head and goes to work. I do see intensity (and, wait a minute, could that be selfishness as she ignores her teammates’ cries to pass the ball, and stubbornly dribbles to the goal despite having players hanging all over her?). Yes, and look – she has made four points and her team is actually ahead! A few others are also hitting shots. Her teammate Paris is on fire, rebounding, stealing, and flaring across the court like a runaway train. She has made a few points too, and would probably have more if she could learn to actually slow down at the goal and shoot more carefully, with purpose, instead of simply flinging the ball in the direction of the hoop and hoping something happens as she sails by.

Despite our showing, it remains a defensive game, with neither team amassing many points. In fact, when the final buzzer goes off, the score is a mere 10-9. (Not a baseball score either.) Unfortunately, at the last period the opponents pulled ahead, and we are on the short end again. Bree still collects her cash, but at the table following the game, every face looks glum. The girls are dejected – so close, and still they couldn’t pull it off. I admit to one of the parents that I was paying for points. She merely laughed, remarking, “How do you think I got Paris to play so hard?” But despite our underhanded techniques, we still lost. That’s karma for you. (Or maybe the other team was receiving bribe money too.)

This gave me a wonderful idea. Instead of bringing post-game snacks, I will propose that we use the money for a bribe fund. Each family kicks in five bucks (7 x 5 = $35) and if the team wins each girl gets five. If we lose, the money is carried over for next week. Organized bribery. More systematic. Everyone wins. Imagine if we played this closely a game with only two girls bribed – what could happen with all seven? It would be just the edge we need. And with all the losses this year and last – these parents would gladly cough up a mere five dollars for a victory and an injection of pure self-esteem as a bonus.

Just a thought….

Random Envy: Competition Days

RANDOM ENVY
(from the producer of Envying Job)

Competition Days

It’s a brisk Friday night, and my eight-year old daughter Brooke is ready. This is her first season of basketball and only her second basketball game ever. Maybe last week’s eight-point contribution to her team’s 32-4 victory was a fluke. Maybe not. She runs all over the court, defending, rebounding, stealing…I tell the team that stealing is wrong, unless you are playing basketball, in which case it is not only okay but is enthusiastically encouraged. Brooke has also mastered the hoop – she has 10 points when the game is over, her Lady Tigers have 22, the other guys 8. Apparently no fluke here.

And now for something completely different from the fickle face of competition. My older daughter Bree’s team plays the next morning. I’m assistant-coaching the team, yelling, cajoling, and pleading for them to find a spark, anything to come back from last week’s 20-4 pounding. They have played that team before, last year, and we knew what they were capable of doing. But we never saw this train coming. Nine girls – already unified by playing on a soccer team together – and all one grade older (and taller). Not to mention without a weak player on the roster. Five play while four rest, ready to come in at the buzzer to continue the punishment their buddies have inflicted. When the long buzzer sounds at the end the final is 31-0, and we couldn’t find it in us to make one shot. Not a pretty sight. Since I’m the assistant coach, I berate myself more than the team. My softball team wins constantly. Maybe I’m just not a good loser. Maybe losing is okay, just not getting creamed. Maybe I should give this up. Maybe it’s Maybelline.

Getting up at 3:30 on Sunday morning is just wrong. But since tomorrow is a holiday and I can sleep in, I will handle this. And at least I don’t have to actually RUN in the Chevron Houston Marathon starting at 7:00, like my wife Becah does. She will be competing, both with others and, in response to her own demands, with herself, to complete the half-marathon and survive to tell about it. We arrive at the private bus shortly before five, and we are soon off in the darkness, heading for Minute Maid Park. A few of us spouses were along for support, as well as a personal trainer to handle the post-run bending and massaging. Sean, the fitness club owner and half-marathon runner also, is fending off teases about his ability to endure this run (as he is a self-proclaimed strength trainer and is probably making this run more as a response to a dare than anything). Sean is smiling, a youthful-looking, buffed fellow who looks like Hans and Franz have been pumping him up (but without Aaron Rodgers’ soft spots). Someone suggests he wear an outfit like a superhero, complete with cape. Sean fears that the media could catch him lying face down on the street - with his Fitness 101 insignia on his cape and footprints across his back – should he give out before hitting the finish line. Not a good advertising campaign.

The runners leave the bus before seven, obsessing over how many clothes they should layer on since the brisk morning (in the forties) is predicted to warm to sixties as the day unfolds. It’s still windy and very chilly, though, and one wonders how the guys jogging toward the starting corrals shirtless and in their shorts are fairing right at this moment. In a surprisingly short time, we spectators find ourselves standing in front of Capitol Street listening to the DJ and the pulsing music as he cheers on the Ethiopian frontrunner lady who has won the full marathon for the second year straight. I see “Batman” chugging along in the crowd of other finishers to follow. Becah passes in front of us, still moving after 2 hrs. 10 min. of endurance, crossing the line, all while probably planning how she will sign up next year for more. Everyone is waiting for Sean, wondering if he chucked it all and went for pizza, but he arrives, grinning, with no footprints on his back. In the reception hall, a group of people dressed in pink shirts let out a cry and hug a lady who has just entered the room, walking over with one leg artificial. She has seen the half-marathon through to its finish. Leaving the building Becah and I see her just ahead of us, wearing a t-shirt with the word “Achilles” on the back.

The bus ride back is full of congratulations and a few aches and pains (as well as some “never again” remarks). Cold Dos Equis are being popped – so much for healthiness – in celebration that, successful or not, ready for another or not, it is all over.

Continuing the competition on Sunday are the NFL conference championship games. Green Bay is amazingly cakewalking all over Seattle, quieting their usually-deafening throng. It is soon 19-0. Russell Wilson at one point in the game is 2 of 9 in completed passes, for 20 yards. By the end of the game he will throw four interceptions. I’m convinced this must be an imposter, or an alien in disguise. Then Seattle gets a touchdown. Then faster than I can blink Wilson takes one in himself for a TD and it is 19 to 14. Soon after Marshawn Lynch is actually walking into the end zone for a 20-19 Seattle lead. Wilson runs back and, off-balance, heaves one across opposite field for a two-point finale. Even though Green Bay is able to tie the game with a long field goal, I know it is over. The real Russell Wilson returns again to polish off the game by hurling the ball skyward, and it falls in the end zone right in the arms of his receiver even as a defender is hanging all over him. 28-22, Seattle. The clamor in the stadium erupts back to its usual level. Russell is weeping tears of joy and appreciation, revealing his bravest side yet.

The next game should be equally exciting. Indianapolis had edged out New England 38-34 in a past
championship game. But Andrew is out of Luck and Tom Brady and crew run all over the Colts 45 to 7. If it were a boxing match it would have been called.

Competition. It wrapped its arms around our whole weekend. I know there’s more to our lives, but here I am, embracing it right back, putting it down in writing, come what may.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…a time to break down, and a time to build up…a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” (The book of Ecclesiastes)


Epilogue October 20, 2012

To everything….


I dream some nights that I can play guitar again. In the dream I can form chords effortlessly with my left hand as I strum or pick with my right. My left hand bends confidently around the neck, moving up and down playing progressions like it once did. I am surprised that I am able to do this, and the excitement builds as the song continues. Suddenly I am awake, and my fingers on my left hand are stiff. I bend them slightly as I return to sleep.

I am still singing in the choir, though, and intend to do some more composing using my right hand and multi-tracking on the keyboard. I will add vocals as I did before. After I left the hospital the third time my voice was a bit raspy and inconsistent, and it was impossible for me to hit the high notes like Brian Wilson or Jon Anderson of YES. Of course, even in old times on good days with a few beers in me and my inhibitions tossed to the wind, I still had trouble hitting those notes. They’re not the professionals for nothing.

I am getting faster on the computer typing with my right hand. I have experimented with a program that allows me to speak into a microphone and watch the words appear on the computer screen. The words spring across in rapid succession. As I compose a psychological report, I read phrases like “test results suggest that Mark experiences depression and agitation with periods of withdrawal”, but what is on the page is something like “the fat lady serves artichokes in the Caribbean”. I am told I periodically have to proof the report and change a word here and there that the program misinterpreted. Yes, indeed…

I enjoy eating sandwiches again. And I don’t require two glasses of milk each meal anymore to get them down. A glass of water works fine. Big multivatimins still occasionally get stuck, though, so I chop them in half.

I now have a physical oddity – on my stomach are three belly buttons (well, one is actually closer to my side). There is the real one, plus two bogus ones left over from the feeding tubes. One of them fakes my daughters out every time because it looks just like the real thing. I am amazed though that there is not even a mark on my right side from where they pierced me to open my body to work on my insides.

I think the bills have almost stopped coming in (but the credit card is not paid off).

My mom at age 86 is trying to rid her body of the last vestiges of cancer outbreaks that after so many years of leaving her alone, struck her again suddenly when my dad was in his last days with us here. She has endured chemotherapy and radiation and sickness from these and still fights hard to stay on top. She has more courage than anyone I know.

My wife Becah expects me to do everything now with energy and enthusiasm. She endured enough of my being lying on the bed and saying “I can’t”. I love her very much, and her presence beside me through all of this means more than she will ever know.

My oldest daughter Breanna is my sports enthusiast. Softball, swimming, cheerleading, basketball. Then the cycle repeats. She is so good, too. And with her constant desire to be the center of attention, she may step on the stage and turn her singing interest into a career someday.

Brookie is only marginally interested in athletics. She loves to sing too, though, and she enjoys her ballet class. She is also my TV watching buddy, curling up with me on the couch. Although she has moved on to Disney teen sitcoms, she with very little enticement will still join me for a segment of “Lord of the Rings”.

Reflection 9 Sight effects


Medical procedures can produce a myriad of negative side effects. Chemotherapy that makes your hair fall out in accelerated time. Anesthesia that causes seizure-like body shaking that leaves you with physical abnormalities. Rapid weight loss from pneumonia that makes you resemble David Bowie during his “thin white duke” phase (even with some of the drug-pale skin pallor).

I can’t even claim that I wasn’t warned. Of course it’s difficult to focus initially when you sit in a hazy stupor caused by the piercing reality of the combination of a morbid diagnosis and a pile of consent forms with fine print that explains in detail how your very life may be in jeopardy even by the therapy designed to heal you.

It’s like the advertisements in magazines for prescription drugs to fight some emotional problem. The eye-catching ads are sometimes followed by two full pages of cautionary statements about what might happen to you if these drugs are ingested. I tend to not read these pages, choosing to believe in a more optimistic outcome. (Or, more sensibly, opt to just forget about taking the drug).

But these are the negative side effects. There are other outcomes, which I call “sight effects”. These are the positives. Like restructuring life priorities. Having a new appreciation for family. Enjoying small moments. Accepting little nuisances and frustrations for what they are and refusing to let them shape our precious time. Worrying less about what others may think of us. And living our lives more boldly.

Through the darkness we get a second chance, and then we see more clearly.

Reflection 8 Climbing the cliffs


Roughness is relative. I have had events in my life that caused suffering, times I would never want to experience again. I have been ill on occasion – a virus, or the flu can get your attention. A kidney stone has brought tears and nausea and pain that only morphine could extinguish. But my week in the hospital following the radiation and subsequent chemo combo was physically and emotionally draining. I spent each day mostly staring at walls, aching emotionally and physically, and doing little else.

When one of my early esophageal dilations went terribly wrong, I awoke to a second much more traumatic and lengthy hospital stent, having lost movement in the entire left side of my body. I anguished through the next few days with the uncertainty of when or even if I could move normally again. The two weeks plus for that hospital trial were much worse than the prior hospitalization that I thought was so uncomfortable.

But I was totally unprepared for the surprise awaiting me on my third hospitalization, awaking from a nightmare, unable to speak, with a tube in my throat and skeletal from weight loss. I was in that facility even longer, and returned periodically for brief admissions after that because I couldn’t quite shake off the demons.

When you think you can’t handle any more, you amaze yourself when you cross over that peak and discover yourself to be a stronger person when you stand again, on the other side.

Reflection 7 Anchors


I felt untethered in the hospital – adrift and swept away from my world that I had thought was safe and real. Many days I was miserable and afraid. People were nearby, but they were strangers. I found during those times that faith, family, and friends are more valuable than fortune.

When I felt the weakest - from illness, treatment, or when I was hungry – I had many helpful staff persons if not by my side at least within a button press, or, when I couldn’t find the switch, a desperate scream away. They were generally very sweet and tolerant of my less than amicable moods. A night nurse could be a savior when he or she would bring me nourishment (even if that might be just liquids pumped in through a tube). Sometimes just someone coming in and rearranging the sheets (which I always seemed to mangle) could be the high point of my long night and might mean the difference between my drifting off for some escape sleep or staring at the walls all night long. But the people came and went in the night and at shift changes, so I learned better than to get too attached to any individual. Many doctors saw me, and I appreciated their attention, but I often received mixed diagnoses and advice. Right or wrong, I viewed this as their confusion, and not just mine. And although “on call” meant something, it was not enough.

The consistent support from my family meant far more. I could count on my wife to bring in food or wash my hair or find the lost remote when hospital personnel were busy seeing other patients. I could depend on her to correctly re-insert the tube I accidentally yanked out when a nurse wouldn’t do it for fear of some legal repercussion from me if she did it wrong (fortunately for Becah, I may gripe if she erred in replacing my tube but I wouldn’t sue her). I longed for the pictures my kids drew far more than looking at the results of another test that was run on me.

The gifts from family are immeasurable.

Reflection 6 The present moment


Meditation teaches one to focus on breathing. Breathe in slowly, hold it there, and slowly breathe out. Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh explains that if a person focuses just on breathing, he or she can fully enjoy the present moment. This is the time we have. The past is over, the future not arrived. We waste so much of our lives regretting the past or worrying about what might come, that we miss out on the one time we have to live completely.

A serious illness will get your attention. When I was in treatment, I longed for the old days when I was disease-free. Or I hoped for the future when my burden would be lifted. It was hard to live in the present moment at that time, because that moment was not very pleasant.

That time is now in my past. It can be left there.

My advice to others is to enjoy the present moments. Play a guitar, compose a song, play baseball with your kids – whatever your choices of fun may be. Don’t put it off for tomorrow.

I have had to make adjustments to some activities due to the TIA that affected the nerves in my left hand. I must look at my guitar resting on its stand in the corner, unable to play it anymore. I must type the words on this page with my right hand only, as my left hand is splayed and I cannot coordinate it to type letters. My work and my hobbies have been compromised by an unforeseen event.

Many challenges surprise us in our lives. All the more reason to grab every moment and treasure it now.

Reflection 5 Staying fit


There are many ways to be fit and prepared for the highs and lows of life. We exercise our bodies by running, weights, yoga, sports – many activities. We can keep our brains agile by being lifelong learners - reading books, reading music while performing, working crossword puzzles, appearing on “Jeopardy”. We eat healthy foods and limit our little powdered sugar donuts and beer. We can be financially fit by saving money, investing wisely, not ever retiring, and restricting the number of BMWs we park in our driveways and big screen televisions we install in our houses.

Our challenge is to be prepared, not as pessimists or worriers, but just prepared for possible health challenges or catastrophic illnesses. We can’t depend on government handouts or the generosity of the medical and pharmaceutical establishments, or for the insurance companies to pick up the whole tab. They don't get rich paying your bills.

You can’t hide from the mailman when the medical bills come piling up either. Eventually someone will send Vito and Louie to your house to break a few fingers and persuade you to pay (or worse, send your name to the credit department).

You can’t afford to be sick. So try your best not to be. And if you must be, fortify yourself ahead of time.

Reflection 4 The three musketeers vs. the three stooges

Quote: “one for all and all for one!” (the 3 Musketeers)
Quote: “and every man for himself!” (Curley, of the 3 Stooges, after Moe quoted the above)

During my treatment, I was inundated with CNN chatter between Democrats and Republicans about the health care dilemma and ObamaCare. Both sides beating their chests and pointing fingers, believing they were right. I heard medical staff in the hospitals talking about how doctors would flee in droves rather than be a part of the “socialized medicine” that would come if the Democrats passed their reforms. I was, of course, fortunate that I was sick before that happened, because I was personally glad to have the A-team working on me instead of some lettered group further down the alphabet. However, as soon as the bills started flowing to me and I looked at some of the itemized charges (including hundreds of dollars for a single injection and exorbitant fees for therapy sessions), I realized clearly that something is entirely wrong with this.
Bogged down government bureaucracy won’t be the cure. But neither will the unsupervised free market mess that permitted the Enron elite years ago to screw their own unsuspecting supporters to the wall, or the Wall Street debacle that let debt run rampant.

There must be a system that cares for the poor and trims the excess fat off of medical fees and insurance companies’ huge profits. How that system will work will depend on who is elected to office and how well that person can work with individuals of all political persuasions.

Whether that can be accomplished at all is a great mystery. Not very comforting if you are ill.

Reflection 3 Tangibles and intangibles, or, you need a mess of help to stand alone


When I was diagnosed, I received a battery of treatment recommendations. Surgery was ruled out as being too invasive and potentially damaging. An aggressive combination of chemotherapies and radiation was chosen as having the most likelihood of success. I also received various shots to stimulate my salivary glands, as well as medicines and vitamins to regulate my body’s general functioning. For any patient with a similar diagnosis, these tangible methods would be considered. Whatever approach employed would depend upon both the location(s) of the disease, the pervasiveness in the body, and the health of the individual. You can only be slapped silly with therapy if you are in shape enough to handle it. As I have stated, I started out fairly strong, but ended up bruised and battered by the very therapy that was meant to heal me.

There is also the reality of the importance of securing highly qualified, determined, and available medical staff. But even the best and the brightest have their moments when they look to the side, uncertain how to proceed.

There are so many of these tangibles to consider. As songwriter Brian Wilson said, “you need a mess of help to stand alone”.

Independently of these are the intangibles. Prayers, mental attitudes, positive actions – by both the patient and others – must be factored in to the mix. For those who like their approaches measurable, this is a messy business. It’s hard to weigh the benefits of prayer groups, determined positive thinking, desperate pleas to God, and many more of the ways we work outside the medical model to achieve the ultimate outcome – total healing (and with this disease, there is nothing less than total that is acceptable).

We even throw the hail Mary pass on fourth and long, hoping for the big score.

A sign on one of my hospital rooms said, “every day holds the possibility of a miracle”.

That miracle, the greatest of the intangibles, may be what we have to hold on to.

Reflection 2 Three kinds of people


There are people in this world who walk through life with an aura of certainty around them. They can speed down the highway driving a convertible, wearing no seat belt, drinking beer, smoking a cigarette, all while texting a friend and singing to the radio. They will not get pulled over by the police. They will not have an accident. When they arrive home, it will be to, if not a mansion, at least be a fine residence. An attractive spouse and children - sweet, and high-achieving at school – will be waiting.

No illnesses of significance will plague these people. Neither fast food meals, lack of sleep, lack of exercise, cigarettes, or alcohol will slow them down. They can waste their money paying insurance premiums if they like, but the coverage will be unnecessary. They will not darken hospital doors.

Let’s call these people “auras”.

A second group looks very different. These people are destined to be plagued with life’s maladies. They walk through life with genetic “kick me” signs on their backs. For these folks, it’s not a matter of “if”, but rather “when” the boogeyman will strike. A good insurance policy will ease the bite, but they will be bitten, and the hospital staff will welcome them as guests in their facility (maybe even reserving their own rooms).

The “kick me’s” are a battered lot, regardless of how hard they try to ward off predators.

There is, of course, a third, less extreme group, where most of us fall. The “it depends” majority find that eating well, exercising, getting rest, praying, using positive thinking, having a good insurance policy, and storing money for that rainy day will go a long way in blocking life’s slings and arrows. There is still the pesky genetic factor to consider, though. I thought I did a pretty good job of preparing myself in the necessary armor, and boy, was I surprised.

We do, though, have a fighting chance. I refused to give up, and in the land of wellness now, I’m glad I took that attitude.

CHAPTER 11 REFLECTIONS/THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS



Reflection 1 Base of tongue


I was diagnosed in 2009 with what is called “base of tongue” cancer. The doctors have theories as to what causes this. Smoking. Of course. But I never smoked. Drinking alcohol to excess (although one doctor told me I would have to drink almost a fifth daily to contract it that way). I didn’t do this. Another theory is that it is caused by a virus. That’s frightening.

A recent Pulitzer Prize-winning novel called “The Emperor of All Maladies” offers a sobering historical “biography” of this disease that reveals the many faces of cancer and how complicated and tenacious it can be. We hear cheers about “winning the war” and making cancer history, but hundreds and hundreds of years after the first reported cases, it still lives.

Every day a friend or relative gets diagnosed; each of us has had this shocking news delivered to us. We listen in disbelief, but the news is the same. I don’t know if there are really more cases, or if people are just more willing to disclose the problem now. Years ago unfortunate victims simply suffered in silence and didn’t mention the “c word”.

Whether the problem is growing, receding, or treading water, it is still around, lurking in the shadows of our lives, or sometimes brazenly strolling down the streets defying us to put a stop to it. It now stands in the spotlight, in all its many forms. People run marathons, wear ribbons, and collect money – a call to arms for battle.

Maybe in someone’s lifetime we will defeat this enemy for good and that war will be over.

Part 181 The greatest night of the year


This year it truly will be the greatest night. When I was a child, I loved Christmas Eve. All the anticipation. The next morning, of course, was always the best day of the year. But all the hopes and excitement filled the air on the day before.

During the morning, I read a little and put on music that will play most of the day. I start a few dishes simmering in the afternoon. At five, we drive through the seasonably cold and damp weather to watch the children participate in a youth play at church, joined by my mother, GG, and CC. After this, we pick up a delicious concoction of foods from Pavarotti’s Italian restaurant, including fried artichokes, shrimp stuffed with crab, pasta, salad, and fettuccini alfredo for the kids. Complemented by the homemade veggie meatballs and broccoletti, and the chocolate bourbon pie my mother brought, we really have something. This year I can dive in, rather than watching from the sidelines like last year. We have a dinner theater going on as the kids dance in front of the table to entertain us.

As is required, some of us (including me of course) watch the 1951 classic version of “Scrooge” before bedtime.



Part 182 Dawn


We wake up early to a morning with the chill and Chuck Negron’s “Joy to the World” CD in the air as the kids are thrilled to discover a Wii Mario Brothers game with racing wheel waiting for them in the den. But Brooke’s favorite gift of all is the “My Little Pony” activity book purchased from Target for one dollar. I pull out some books and CDs from a box that I ordered from Amazon a few months ago, long enough that I have forgotten which ones I ordered and am actually surprised (my way of making sure I always get something I really want). Becah has bought me some tighter fitting jeans and a few shirts, as well as an electric shaver that I requested which I feel compelled to put on my list every decade or so.

We drive to CCs in the afternoon, joined by other family members and friends, for Mexican food and a fruit/vegetable tray. CC has bought the kids a karaoke machine which they instantly switch on and entertain us with. I suggest unsuccessfully that it would be a fun item to have at CCs house so they could entertain her whenever they stay over. They agree to the staying over part that night. Becah and I return home later, where she promptly falls asleep on the couch. I go upstairs and watch an old British movie, “Having a Wild Weekend”, starring my once favorite band the Dave Clark Five. While that is on, I am somehow inspired to do a little yoga before downing some leftovers (an international plate of Mexican and Italian). After the movie, I flip on the Green Bay vs. Chicago football game, leaving the sound off and glancing every now and then to see what is happening.



My tale doesn’t end here, but every story has to have its conclusion. I have been through the deep night and I have come out. The trail I took was my own – I had no real choice in that. Many others – family, friends, relatives, professionals, strangers who knew about me and added their support in some way – accompanied me at various times in my journey, shining flashlights that illuminated my steps and caught me when I stumbled. I did not make this trip alone. The dawn that arrived this morning meant so much to me, not just because it is Christmas and for all that entails, but also for what it means for me personally, and where my life is now. I am grateful to God who saved me and has brought the true light to this twenty-fifth of December.

This dawn is well worth walking into...







“Envying Job” will return on October 14 with some reflections and closing thoughts.

Part 180 The other side of despair


December 23, 2011. It has been exactly two years since I received the dreadful news that ruined Christmas and sent my life tumbling for many long and remorseful days thereafter. A year later it was all not just a distant memory, as was optimistically predicted by one doctor. Even now, its memory is too close for me to slide too comfortably into the easy chair without looking over my shoulder to see what could be creeping up. I have gained a few pounds and my strength and stamina have improved, but I am still “on the mend”. I still many days have to stop and rest, sometimes just after eating a meal, as my heart races and fatigue sets in.

But I have come through this alive. This holiday will be joyful, and many more days will follow in that spirit. I am home, not in a hospital. I can enjoy activities again – just life itself, whatever that may be. Everything looks much better from this side of despair.

The day becomes increasingly chillier, and I enjoy some time at the school playground with the kids. I drive to do a few errands, listening to Traffic’s “Heaven Is In Your Mind” CD (indeed, it is). I pick up Time magazine’s Person of the Year annual issue – this year a tribute to “the protestor”, that sometimes infamous but often anonymous individual who takes the reins away from idle politicians at the top and steps up to improve the world from the bottom up. Later Becah and the kids visit our neighbor before going to eat at Rincon. I opt instead to stay home and watch the Beatles “Help” movie while drinking a few beers and enjoying a favorite combo of mine, pizza and peas.

Later Becah and I transfer my presentation to a power point while listening to Christmas music on cable TV. Before going to bed I read George Rodrigue’s “Blue Dog Christmas” a book about the holiday season and of the author’s evolution as an artist.

Even with work to do over the holidays, isn’t life sweet?

Part 179 Violators


I get up early the next morning to drive to the Department of Public Safety to renew my driver’s license. I have been driving for some time now with an expired permit, violating the law again as I drive over to get it renewed. I sit in the waiting room for about an hour (not bad, I feared worse). While there I look up on the wall and see a poster with the words “stop Houston gangs!” I think how much more ironic it would be if it were spray painted on the wall instead! I doubt that the sober-faced employees would see the irony (much less the humor) in my observation, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

I drive home (legitimately now), listening to the Beatles “Rubber Soul” again on this frosty morning, stopping at a few stores to purchase Christmas gifts. At home, I am filled with a burst of energy, jogging, lifting weights, and doing yoga. At night, I take a look at yet another of the myriad of football bowl games. I pull up the San Diego County Court Poinsettia Bowl (now there’s a mouthful) on TV where my once alma mater Louisiana Tech plays (and ultimately is edged in out by) TCU.

The following day I spend much time working on my presentation on personality development. I review everything (even the jokes I will lead off with) since it will be a big crowd I will be talking to and since the event will take place immediately after returning to work from the holidays. While Becah attends a ladies get together in the afternoon I watch the Texans squander a lead and lose in the last two minutes of the football game following three defensive miscues. As our defensive coordinator is still out, I guess there is an excuse, but after so many wins in a row it is tough losing to last place Indianapolis (with their fourth string quarterback in, no less, who is a former Texan, but still…)

I sleep at night on the couch since Bree is feeling punk and wants to sleep next to mommy.

Part 178 Magical mystery tour (with moose)


Monday morning is a one of the string of days off, but I am sipping coffee and working on a presentation I have been asked to give immediately after returning to work (thanks a lot). The topic is “Personality Development 101”, a crash course that is to include developmental milestones, theorists, implications for education, areas of dysfunction, and remedial strategies (oh sure, I’ll just whip that out). And today we are leaving town to go on a mystery trip the destination of which only I know. It is cloudier today, and the forecast unfortunately is for rain. The prediction for the rest of the week, though, is for cold weather. I am pleased, because I love Christmas to be chilly. It just feels right that way. I need this holiday to be special, since the last two were anything but pleasant.

After I deliberately head off briefly in a different direction to fool my passengers, we head up interstate 45, veering off toward Crockett. Becah has fortunately drifted asleep, so she can’t see the turnoff (she has already suspected where we are going, but this would tip her off for sure). After driving over wooded tiny hills we arrive some time later in Palestine. The rain has not fallen yet. We check into a new Comfort Inn motel up on a hill at the edge of town. As we walk in Becah notices on the wall a big poster for the movie “Polar Express”, confirming what she already guessed. She keeps it a secret from the kids, though, who pay no attention to the poster. In the room, we all get dressed in our new pajamas (mine are dark green with moose on the pants) and drive to the nearby Pizza Hut Bistro (!). The waitress comes up and starts to give away the surprise, but I shush her in time. The kids are totally pumped, believing we drove miles away to another town just to have dinner in our PJs.! Remind me next time that is all I need to do on a trip to excite them! After dinner we drive over to the train depot.

As we walk through the strategically placed gift shop to the ticket booth the theme from “Polar Express” soars overhead. The kids are elated, now realizing this is the holiday train trip we once discussed taking. A light drizzle falls from the cool skies as we board the train, and minutes after the wheels roll several “cooks” walk down the aisle, clapping to music and passing out hot chocolate and cookies. The speaker overhead then projects the spoken story of the polar express as one of the cooks walks around displaying the book, page by page. As we near the North Pole, the inside train lights are turned off so everyone can seen the workshop outside. The train stops, then heads back. St. Nicholas enters to cheers, walking along and handing out a single bell to each child. He exits and the cooks return , dancing as Christmas songs play and everyone sings along.

After the trip we return to the motel, where the kids enjoy swimming in the heated pool. We go to bed shortly after returning to the room and sleep soundly, until…

At 6:30 a.m. someone upstairs is stomping (pounding?) on the floor. It sounds like a wrestling match. I get up and go for coffee, then stay for the Texas-shaped waffle, eggs, yoghurt, and juice. Becah and the kids wake later and eat. We check out and head for the nearby Davey Dogwood Park, which is surprisingly hilly with leaves filled with color on this clearer and brisk morning. After hiking around some, we head back through Crockett, stopping to eat at the Moosehead Café. Animal lover Bree is disturbed (and, admittedly, I am also) by all the moose and deer heads on the wall. Despite this misstep, we return home happy.