Seems like everyone you talk to is either sick, has been sick, feels like they're getting sick, or knows someone who's been sick. Here's a little musical guide for those of you suffering from "The Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu" (Dr. John).
* "Beds are Burning" (Midnight Oil) because you're feverish. First it's like a "Heat Wave" (Martha and the Vandellas), and then you’ll bundle up against that feeling of a “Cold Cold Heart” (Hank Williams).
* If you're tired of blowing your nose, you might feel "Born to Run" (Bruce Springsteen). “Try a Little Tenderness” (Otis Redding) and get some of those tissues with lotion in them. Just “Hold Your Head Up” (Argent) and hope for an “Even Flow” (Pearl Jam).
* If your sinuses are blocked, remember "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" (Neil Sedaka). Just “Dream On” (Aerosmith) of the day you’ll once again be “Running on Empty” (Jackson Browne).
* Don’t trust just anybody’s opinion. “Ain’t Nothing Like the Real Thing” (Marvin Gaye). Better to “Hang On Sloopy” (The McCoys) and “Wait” (The Beatles) until you can see your doctor.
* The flu is contagious. It’s "Blowin' in the Wind" (Bob Dylan), so make sure the only thing you catch is the "Lovebug" (Jonas Brothers or George Strait).
* Don't spread germs to others; "Keep Your Hands to Yourself" (The Georgia Satellites).
* Try not to overdo it, and don’t go to work — just stay "Homesick" ( Ferlin Husky or The Vines) and "Take It Easy" (The Eagles).
* If a cold has gripped you “All Day and All of the Night” (The Kinks), just keep “Jammin’” (Bob Marley) pills so you can start “Feelin’ Alright” (Joe Cocker).
* Remember you’re not alone, because "Everybody Hurts" (R.E.M.), and the best medicine is still “Laughing” (The Guess Who)!
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Beating the Odds
For Central High grads Ashley and Chris Ward, the birth of their daughter Josslyn Rose Ward has been a long and bumpy ride, and scarier than most.
The trouble began when Ashley, a stylist at City Salon, experienced abdominal pain during her 23rd week of pregnancy. She was diagnosed with HELLP syndrome, a severe type of preeclampsia in which Ashley's life-giving placenta became toxic to her own system.
Babies aren't normally born until around the 40th week, so Ashley and Chris knew that a tough decision had to be made quickly. They opted to admit Ashley to U.T. Medical Center, where the top-notch team at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit was in place and ready to give the baby a good fighting chance at survival.
Turns out the Wards made a very good decision. Josslyn Rose was born May 5th, and last Friday she left the U.T. Medical Center's NICU at a healthy 7 pounds, 13 ounces.
Babies born this premature are referred to as "micro-preemies," but that hardly conveys the living miracle of modern science that is Josslyn Rose. Consider this: at her birth back in May, she weighed a mere 390 grams, which is only an ounce or so more than your basic 12-oz. can of soda.
With the optimism and expertise of the caregivers at U.T. Medical Center, and a whole lot of praying by the Wards, their family, church, and friends, Josslyn was able to beat the "5% chance of survival" odds that the doctors had given her. In fact, Ashley and Chris credit much of Josslyn's success story to that extended circle of support that they relied on throughout the nerve-wracking period since the devastating diagnosis.
Faith is a powerful thing. It can give you strength you never knew you had. In the middle of their ordeal, the Wards even found time to help out other premature babies at U.T. by donating their time to help with a recent blanket drive sponsored by Central Baptist of Fountain City, where the Wards are active members.
Against all odds, Josslyn is now relatively healthy and has been breathing on her own for roughly two months.
So faith and science came together to save a miracle baby, only the third-most-premature ever to survive out of U.T. Medical Center. These days some folks are bent on convincing us that one or the other is in charge. Inspiring stories like the Wards' convince me that the two aren't mutually exclusive.
Playlist:
1. A Little Good News — Anne Murray
2. B-A-B-Y — Carla Thomas
3. Isn’t She Lovely — Stevie Wonder
4. Baby It’s You — The Beatles
5. Chances Are — Johnny Mathis
6. You Better Pray — Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
7. Long Time Gone — Crosby, Stills & Nash
8. I’m Comin’ Home Baby — Mel Tormé
9. Tiny Dancer — Elton John
10. We Three — Frank Sinatra
The trouble began when Ashley, a stylist at City Salon, experienced abdominal pain during her 23rd week of pregnancy. She was diagnosed with HELLP syndrome, a severe type of preeclampsia in which Ashley's life-giving placenta became toxic to her own system.
Babies aren't normally born until around the 40th week, so Ashley and Chris knew that a tough decision had to be made quickly. They opted to admit Ashley to U.T. Medical Center, where the top-notch team at the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit was in place and ready to give the baby a good fighting chance at survival.
Turns out the Wards made a very good decision. Josslyn Rose was born May 5th, and last Friday she left the U.T. Medical Center's NICU at a healthy 7 pounds, 13 ounces.
Babies born this premature are referred to as "micro-preemies," but that hardly conveys the living miracle of modern science that is Josslyn Rose. Consider this: at her birth back in May, she weighed a mere 390 grams, which is only an ounce or so more than your basic 12-oz. can of soda.
With the optimism and expertise of the caregivers at U.T. Medical Center, and a whole lot of praying by the Wards, their family, church, and friends, Josslyn was able to beat the "5% chance of survival" odds that the doctors had given her. In fact, Ashley and Chris credit much of Josslyn's success story to that extended circle of support that they relied on throughout the nerve-wracking period since the devastating diagnosis.
Faith is a powerful thing. It can give you strength you never knew you had. In the middle of their ordeal, the Wards even found time to help out other premature babies at U.T. by donating their time to help with a recent blanket drive sponsored by Central Baptist of Fountain City, where the Wards are active members.
Against all odds, Josslyn is now relatively healthy and has been breathing on her own for roughly two months.
So faith and science came together to save a miracle baby, only the third-most-premature ever to survive out of U.T. Medical Center. These days some folks are bent on convincing us that one or the other is in charge. Inspiring stories like the Wards' convince me that the two aren't mutually exclusive.
Playlist:
1. A Little Good News — Anne Murray
2. B-A-B-Y — Carla Thomas
3. Isn’t She Lovely — Stevie Wonder
4. Baby It’s You — The Beatles
5. Chances Are — Johnny Mathis
6. You Better Pray — Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
7. Long Time Gone — Crosby, Stills & Nash
8. I’m Comin’ Home Baby — Mel Tormé
9. Tiny Dancer — Elton John
10. We Three — Frank Sinatra
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Scraping the Surface
The saga of my back porch renovation continues. Recently I wrote about how it cost me one sprained ankle resulting in a lingering “hitch in my git-along.” The latest chapter concerns removing the old paint from the concrete floor.
I think Hercules must have had an easier time cleaning out the Augean stables.
First I tried scraping with a putty knife. Paint to Emily: “Ha! You think that’ll do anything?! Sucker!”
So I applied a gooey layer of stripper. Two layers, actually, because the Home Depot person said there are two different kinds of stripping paste: an environmentally-friendly formula, and the one that works.
Like a fool, I’d initially chosen to “go green.” It did about as much good as if I’d slathered the floor with some diluted peanut butter, so I went back and bought the nasty stuff. As I was leaving, the sales associate warned me not to breathe in the vapors … something about permanent brain damage.
Anyhoo… sure enough – the stuff smelled like something Erin Brockovich might have sued someone over. I applied it in small squares, trying to hold my breath between each dunk of the brush. Apparently, D.I.Y. stands for “Don’t Inhale Yet!”
I’m not sure exactly when the floor started spinning and turning colors, but after 20 minutes, I woke up and tried scraping again. I was rewarded with something like the surface of the moon, and just about as inhospitable.
Now I know what athletes mean when they say the knees are the first to go. I’m no athlete, but my knees still ache from hours of scraping.
My slow progress was making that 400 square feet feel more like the equivalent 57,600 square inches. (Note to self: buy more ibuprofen.)
“The big picture” was completely discouraging, so I did what any other reasonable person would do, if that person had been beaten down to the physical strength of an old wet, threadbare rag.
I gave up.
To heck with all this stripping and scraping! Maybe some semi-vigorous sandpapering was all it really needed. A little primer, a thick coat of marine-grade paint, and that porch floor will look like new. Yessir, after careful consideration and the loss of only a few hundred brain cells, I think “good enough” will work just fine.
I guess that noxious stripper actually knocked some sense into me.
Playlist:
1. Paint It Black — The Rolling Stones
2. Pavement Cracks — Annie Lennox
3. Rough and Rocky — Emmylou Harris
4. Perfect — Sara Evans
5. Breathe — Faith Hill
6. Harder to Breathe — Maroon 5
7. The Air that I Breathe — The Hollies
8. Broken, Beat and Scarred — Metallica
9. Good Enough - Dodgy
10. Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright — Bob Dylan
I think Hercules must have had an easier time cleaning out the Augean stables.
First I tried scraping with a putty knife. Paint to Emily: “Ha! You think that’ll do anything?! Sucker!”
So I applied a gooey layer of stripper. Two layers, actually, because the Home Depot person said there are two different kinds of stripping paste: an environmentally-friendly formula, and the one that works.
Like a fool, I’d initially chosen to “go green.” It did about as much good as if I’d slathered the floor with some diluted peanut butter, so I went back and bought the nasty stuff. As I was leaving, the sales associate warned me not to breathe in the vapors … something about permanent brain damage.
Anyhoo… sure enough – the stuff smelled like something Erin Brockovich might have sued someone over. I applied it in small squares, trying to hold my breath between each dunk of the brush. Apparently, D.I.Y. stands for “Don’t Inhale Yet!”
I’m not sure exactly when the floor started spinning and turning colors, but after 20 minutes, I woke up and tried scraping again. I was rewarded with something like the surface of the moon, and just about as inhospitable.
Now I know what athletes mean when they say the knees are the first to go. I’m no athlete, but my knees still ache from hours of scraping.
My slow progress was making that 400 square feet feel more like the equivalent 57,600 square inches. (Note to self: buy more ibuprofen.)
“The big picture” was completely discouraging, so I did what any other reasonable person would do, if that person had been beaten down to the physical strength of an old wet, threadbare rag.
I gave up.
To heck with all this stripping and scraping! Maybe some semi-vigorous sandpapering was all it really needed. A little primer, a thick coat of marine-grade paint, and that porch floor will look like new. Yessir, after careful consideration and the loss of only a few hundred brain cells, I think “good enough” will work just fine.
I guess that noxious stripper actually knocked some sense into me.
Playlist:
1. Paint It Black — The Rolling Stones
2. Pavement Cracks — Annie Lennox
3. Rough and Rocky — Emmylou Harris
4. Perfect — Sara Evans
5. Breathe — Faith Hill
6. Harder to Breathe — Maroon 5
7. The Air that I Breathe — The Hollies
8. Broken, Beat and Scarred — Metallica
9. Good Enough - Dodgy
10. Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright — Bob Dylan
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Chagrin and Bear It
I whine about minor physical ailments, but basically I’m an able-bodied person. It’s been decades since I’ve had to go to the emergency room. Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to sympathize with folks who haven’t been so lucky.
To wit: on a typical trip to Target, there will be a woman in front of me who’s moving annoyingly slowly. I mean I could get from car seat covers all the way to the jewelry department in the time it takes her to go 10 feet down the aisle. Why, oh why won’t she get out of my way?!
My answer? Let me just say that God can get your attention in some wonderfully unexpected ways.
Just last weekend The Big Guy handed me a big ol’ heaping helping of humble pie in the form of a sprained ankle.
I had reserved last Saturday to paint the ceiling of my back porch – no small task with its sloping roofline and exposed joists. I’d bought all the supplies and moved all the furniture and just needed to go fetch the ladder. My right ankle went in one direction while my foot went in another. Needless to say, all of me went downward shortly thereafter!
I didn’t break anything that afternoon, but this week I’ve gained a modicum of sympathy for folks who need a little more time in getting around. For all I know, they’re in some kind of pain. And be it physical, mental or emotional pain, they deserve the same patience and respect I hope would be afforded me as I hobble around on my twisted ankle.
To my neighbor who loaned me a pair of crutches: thank you. To the gentleman who held the door open for me at the post office: thank you. To the slow-moving woman at Target: I’m sorry for whizzing by you without regard to your situation.
And to the kid who practically knocked me over trying to rush into the bank yesterday – where’s the fire, sonny?!
Playlist:
1. Knock on Wood — Eddie Floyd
2. You Never Know — Goldfrapp
3. Catch Me Now I’m Falling — The Kinks
4. Ouch! — The Rutles
5. Help Me — Joni Mitchell
6. Instant Karma — John Lennon
7. Walking in Your Footsteps — The Police
8. This One’s Gonna Hurt You — Marty Stuart & Travis Tritt
9. Walk Through This World With Me — George Jones
10. Get On The Good Foot — James Brown
To wit: on a typical trip to Target, there will be a woman in front of me who’s moving annoyingly slowly. I mean I could get from car seat covers all the way to the jewelry department in the time it takes her to go 10 feet down the aisle. Why, oh why won’t she get out of my way?!
My answer? Let me just say that God can get your attention in some wonderfully unexpected ways.
Just last weekend The Big Guy handed me a big ol’ heaping helping of humble pie in the form of a sprained ankle.
I had reserved last Saturday to paint the ceiling of my back porch – no small task with its sloping roofline and exposed joists. I’d bought all the supplies and moved all the furniture and just needed to go fetch the ladder. My right ankle went in one direction while my foot went in another. Needless to say, all of me went downward shortly thereafter!
I didn’t break anything that afternoon, but this week I’ve gained a modicum of sympathy for folks who need a little more time in getting around. For all I know, they’re in some kind of pain. And be it physical, mental or emotional pain, they deserve the same patience and respect I hope would be afforded me as I hobble around on my twisted ankle.
To my neighbor who loaned me a pair of crutches: thank you. To the gentleman who held the door open for me at the post office: thank you. To the slow-moving woman at Target: I’m sorry for whizzing by you without regard to your situation.
And to the kid who practically knocked me over trying to rush into the bank yesterday – where’s the fire, sonny?!
Playlist:
1. Knock on Wood — Eddie Floyd
2. You Never Know — Goldfrapp
3. Catch Me Now I’m Falling — The Kinks
4. Ouch! — The Rutles
5. Help Me — Joni Mitchell
6. Instant Karma — John Lennon
7. Walking in Your Footsteps — The Police
8. This One’s Gonna Hurt You — Marty Stuart & Travis Tritt
9. Walk Through This World With Me — George Jones
10. Get On The Good Foot — James Brown
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Caffeine Queen
I have a love-hate relationship with caffeine.
I’ve been hooked on it ever since college. My caffeine delivery system of choice: coffee. From the muddy jolt of a deceptively tiny espresso to the frothy indulgence of a gi-normous iced cappuccino, coffee has been working its mood-altering magic on my sluggish bloodstream for more than 30 years.
Once back in the ’80s I consumed more caffeine than my heart could handle. I experienced premature ventricular contractions (PVCs). Not uncommon for women in their 20s, but at the time it scared the heck out of me. There’s nothing quite like waking up from a sound sleep to feel your heart pounding out a jerky, uneven beat like a bad Ricky Ricardo conga solo.
So I laid off the coffee for a while, but it wasn’t long before I had to answer the seductive, unrelenting call of the java.
It’s a fine line upon which I trod, this border between under- and over-caffeination. My morning allotment consists of careful calculations of “caf” and “decaf,” providing just the right chemical fix to clear away the morning cobwebs, yet not to cause jitters or irritability.
I don’t always get it right.
Many’s the morning I can feel myself crashing down off my coffee buzz. And there are times when I know that to keep a lurking tension headache at bay, I’ll need three times my usual dosage. But I’m a happy slave to that cup o’ joe!
I’m sure there are those who would point to my caffeine addiction as the root of many physical problems. They have every right to recommend healthier brews like herbal tea or other alternative boosters. But old habits die hard. Tell you what – let’s make a date to discuss the matter thoroughly at the nearest Starbucks.
Playlist:
1. Java Jive — Manhattan Transfer
2. Black Coffee in Bed — Squeeze
3. Cigarettes and Coffee — Otis Redding
4. The Coffee Song — Frank Sinatra
5. Heartstopper — Emiliana Torrini
6. Black Coffee — Julie London
7. Coffee and TV — Blur
8. Coffee Mug — Descendents
9. Coffee in the Pot — Supergrass
10. Can’t Break the Habit — Merle Haggard
I’ve been hooked on it ever since college. My caffeine delivery system of choice: coffee. From the muddy jolt of a deceptively tiny espresso to the frothy indulgence of a gi-normous iced cappuccino, coffee has been working its mood-altering magic on my sluggish bloodstream for more than 30 years.
Once back in the ’80s I consumed more caffeine than my heart could handle. I experienced premature ventricular contractions (PVCs). Not uncommon for women in their 20s, but at the time it scared the heck out of me. There’s nothing quite like waking up from a sound sleep to feel your heart pounding out a jerky, uneven beat like a bad Ricky Ricardo conga solo.
So I laid off the coffee for a while, but it wasn’t long before I had to answer the seductive, unrelenting call of the java.
It’s a fine line upon which I trod, this border between under- and over-caffeination. My morning allotment consists of careful calculations of “caf” and “decaf,” providing just the right chemical fix to clear away the morning cobwebs, yet not to cause jitters or irritability.
I don’t always get it right.
Many’s the morning I can feel myself crashing down off my coffee buzz. And there are times when I know that to keep a lurking tension headache at bay, I’ll need three times my usual dosage. But I’m a happy slave to that cup o’ joe!
I’m sure there are those who would point to my caffeine addiction as the root of many physical problems. They have every right to recommend healthier brews like herbal tea or other alternative boosters. But old habits die hard. Tell you what – let’s make a date to discuss the matter thoroughly at the nearest Starbucks.
Playlist:
1. Java Jive — Manhattan Transfer
2. Black Coffee in Bed — Squeeze
3. Cigarettes and Coffee — Otis Redding
4. The Coffee Song — Frank Sinatra
5. Heartstopper — Emiliana Torrini
6. Black Coffee — Julie London
7. Coffee and TV — Blur
8. Coffee Mug — Descendents
9. Coffee in the Pot — Supergrass
10. Can’t Break the Habit — Merle Haggard
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Gray Area
Do you have gray hair yet? Maybe just a little at the temples? The salt and pepper special? Or a full-on silver headful?
Some women with gray hair never do accept and embrace it. My dear departed mother was one of them. She dyed her hair various shades of red for decades, boasting that she’d be a by-God red-haired grandmother! Of course, that was back when a lot more women applied false eyelashes and enough hairspray to create a small hole in the ozone layer.
Folks are more apt to go natural nowadays, especially men. Guys seem to be able to pull it off at any age, like Taylor Hicks and John O’Hurley (J. Peterman on “Seinfeld”). It’s the “distinguished gentleman” look.
My hair started going gray (white, actually) when I was about 35. It changed quickly to form a trio of red, brown and white highlights that some think I paid a stylist to do. I assure them it’s all God’s handiwork.
Changing colors I don’t mind. It’s the changes in texture that bother me, the “sproingers” as I call them. I’ve tweezed out more of those kinky little stinkers than I can count!
But I’m not going to get into that “does she or doesn’t she” thing. I’ll wear my snowy head with pride! And if it’s a special occasion, I’ll put on a flattering outfit and maybe a little makeup, but that messy gooey dye – whether it’s in a pricey salon or all over the bathroom towels – no way!
Truth is, I just can’t be bothered. Life’s too short! I’d rather be enjoying myself, watching a movie or playing with the dog, who by the way also has white hair and is just as beautiful as ever, and loves me no matter what color my hair is.
Playlist:
1. Shades of Gray — The Monkees
2. Changes — David Bowie
3. Cover Up — Trapt
4. Cold Gray Light of Gone — Vince Gill
5. I Am What I Am — Gloria Gaynor
6. The Real Me — The Who
7. Gray — Frank Sinatra
8. The Beauty of Gray — Live
9. Don’t Look Back — Boston
10. What You Get Is What You See — Tina Turner
Some women with gray hair never do accept and embrace it. My dear departed mother was one of them. She dyed her hair various shades of red for decades, boasting that she’d be a by-God red-haired grandmother! Of course, that was back when a lot more women applied false eyelashes and enough hairspray to create a small hole in the ozone layer.
Folks are more apt to go natural nowadays, especially men. Guys seem to be able to pull it off at any age, like Taylor Hicks and John O’Hurley (J. Peterman on “Seinfeld”). It’s the “distinguished gentleman” look.
My hair started going gray (white, actually) when I was about 35. It changed quickly to form a trio of red, brown and white highlights that some think I paid a stylist to do. I assure them it’s all God’s handiwork.
Changing colors I don’t mind. It’s the changes in texture that bother me, the “sproingers” as I call them. I’ve tweezed out more of those kinky little stinkers than I can count!
But I’m not going to get into that “does she or doesn’t she” thing. I’ll wear my snowy head with pride! And if it’s a special occasion, I’ll put on a flattering outfit and maybe a little makeup, but that messy gooey dye – whether it’s in a pricey salon or all over the bathroom towels – no way!
Truth is, I just can’t be bothered. Life’s too short! I’d rather be enjoying myself, watching a movie or playing with the dog, who by the way also has white hair and is just as beautiful as ever, and loves me no matter what color my hair is.
Playlist:
1. Shades of Gray — The Monkees
2. Changes — David Bowie
3. Cover Up — Trapt
4. Cold Gray Light of Gone — Vince Gill
5. I Am What I Am — Gloria Gaynor
6. The Real Me — The Who
7. Gray — Frank Sinatra
8. The Beauty of Gray — Live
9. Don’t Look Back — Boston
10. What You Get Is What You See — Tina Turner
Sunday, May 24, 2009
You Only Live Twice
Lately, I’ve been living twice: once during the day, and then again at night, when I should be sleeping.
I enjoy a daytime life with all the usual ups and downs. Then at about 4 a.m., I wake up, and my second life begins. My thoughts start to rev up, and it’s hard to gear them back down. If my brain were a car, I’d definitely say it’s idling high.
Most nights I replay a tape of the previous day, and when that one is over, I play one that rehearses how I’m going to do things the next day. Over and over, I find myself repeating and reviewing the minutiae of life, and before I know it, I have to get up and actually live it for real!
You’d think that all that thinking would benefit me somehow. But in truth, there are very few times that I get any real insights during this nighttime activity. I do get the realization that if it keeps up, I’ll need to start going to bed earlier to make up for lost sleep!
I guess that stress is at the root of all my mental meanderings. But I’m not going to wish for less stress! After all, my wish might come true, and then where would I be? Lonely? Jobless? No, better to try and find ways to cope with the life I have. After all, it ain’t all that bad, but I do only need one for now!
Playlist:
1. You Only Live Twice — Nancy Sinatra
2. It’s My Life — The Animals
3. Playground in My Mind — Clint Holmes
4. Too Much to Think About — The B52’s
5. Living In the Past — Jethro Tull
6. Do That To Me One More Time — The Captain and Tennile
7. Nothing New — Ashlee Simpson
8. What’ll I Do — Frank Sinatra
9. The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight — R.E.M.
10. Life During Wartime — Talking Heads
I enjoy a daytime life with all the usual ups and downs. Then at about 4 a.m., I wake up, and my second life begins. My thoughts start to rev up, and it’s hard to gear them back down. If my brain were a car, I’d definitely say it’s idling high.
Most nights I replay a tape of the previous day, and when that one is over, I play one that rehearses how I’m going to do things the next day. Over and over, I find myself repeating and reviewing the minutiae of life, and before I know it, I have to get up and actually live it for real!
You’d think that all that thinking would benefit me somehow. But in truth, there are very few times that I get any real insights during this nighttime activity. I do get the realization that if it keeps up, I’ll need to start going to bed earlier to make up for lost sleep!
I guess that stress is at the root of all my mental meanderings. But I’m not going to wish for less stress! After all, my wish might come true, and then where would I be? Lonely? Jobless? No, better to try and find ways to cope with the life I have. After all, it ain’t all that bad, but I do only need one for now!
Playlist:
1. You Only Live Twice — Nancy Sinatra
2. It’s My Life — The Animals
3. Playground in My Mind — Clint Holmes
4. Too Much to Think About — The B52’s
5. Living In the Past — Jethro Tull
6. Do That To Me One More Time — The Captain and Tennile
7. Nothing New — Ashlee Simpson
8. What’ll I Do — Frank Sinatra
9. The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight — R.E.M.
10. Life During Wartime — Talking Heads
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Calling All Smarties
Are you one of those people who can spot a real bargain? Do you prefer preowned cars? Maybe to save money you clip coupons, go to matinees or drink wine by the box.
Have I got a deal for you!
Are you ready? My hot tip takes just two words: give blood. You’re probably saying to yourself, “How can a phrase containing the word ‘give’ possibly mean anything but coming away with less than you had before? How can I come out ahead in this?”
It’s like a pot-luck. You bring a bag of potato chips to the family reunion. For that tiny investment, you can eat barbecue, slaw and, most importantly, chocolate cake!
Giving blood is like that. You get your donation back 10 times over. Here’s how it works.
You go down to the Medic office. For most Knox Countians, that’s a drive of a half-hour or less. Then you answer some medical questions, sit back and relax for about 10 minutes. You leave with a T-shirt, beverage and snack, and the warm feeling you get knowing you made a life-saving donation to the area’s vital blood supply. Most people think that’s all there is to it, but they’re leaving out the best part!
Now, I realize that the above scenario omitted a significant technicality. You have to part with a pint of yourself. I understand the uneasy feeling you get thinking of the process itself. Yes, needles, arm soreness and queasiness all come to mind when people think of excuses not to give blood.
But I think mostly folks think it’s just one more annoying thing to remember to do on top of everything else. So I’m here to tell you, the payoff is so worth it!
What You Really Get
OK, let’s talk about the barbecue, slaw and cake.
This is such a steal I don’t know why the workers at Medic aren’t constantly inundated with people. For that one pint of blood you donate, you get free blood for a year. Let me repeat that. Free blood for a year! How amazing is that? You could crash your car next month, end up in the hospital and need 10 pints just the first day! And blood’s not cheap – we’re talking hundreds of dollars here, and most insurance companies don’t pay for it. No worries if you’ve given blood at Medic and have that sweet year-long “insurance policy.” It works at any hospital in the country, too.
Side note: the government says you can’t charge money for blood products, so technically we’re talking about the cost of the fees that go into safely processing that pint you donated. But you get the idea.
And now, back to the infomercial. “Call now. But wait, there’s more!” That deal’s not only for you, but also for your dependents. You heard right. Countless grateful parents throughout East Tennessee have protected their families by donating blood themselves. There’s even a program covering everyone in your business if you can get just 30 percent of your fellow-employees to pony up some of that liquid gold. Talk about bang for the buck!
So don’t worry if being magnanimous isn’t your bag. Think of giving blood more as, well, all about you! For the deal of a lifetime, get yourself on down to Medic or talk to your group leader or boss about a mobile drive. Tell them I sent you!
Medic Regional Blood Center can be reached at 865-524-3074.
Playlist:
1. My Way of Giving — Rod Stewart
2. With Arms Wide Open — Creed
3. Gimme Some Lovin’ — Spencer Davis Group
4. Give It Away — George Strait
5. Giving You the Best That I Got — Anita Baker
6. Man With the Golden Arm — Billy May
7. You Can Have It — Ike & Tina Turner
8. These Arms of Mine — Otis Redding
9. What Do I Get? — The Buzzcocks
10. It’s All About Me — Bratz Soundtrack
Have I got a deal for you!
Are you ready? My hot tip takes just two words: give blood. You’re probably saying to yourself, “How can a phrase containing the word ‘give’ possibly mean anything but coming away with less than you had before? How can I come out ahead in this?”
It’s like a pot-luck. You bring a bag of potato chips to the family reunion. For that tiny investment, you can eat barbecue, slaw and, most importantly, chocolate cake!
Giving blood is like that. You get your donation back 10 times over. Here’s how it works.
You go down to the Medic office. For most Knox Countians, that’s a drive of a half-hour or less. Then you answer some medical questions, sit back and relax for about 10 minutes. You leave with a T-shirt, beverage and snack, and the warm feeling you get knowing you made a life-saving donation to the area’s vital blood supply. Most people think that’s all there is to it, but they’re leaving out the best part!
Now, I realize that the above scenario omitted a significant technicality. You have to part with a pint of yourself. I understand the uneasy feeling you get thinking of the process itself. Yes, needles, arm soreness and queasiness all come to mind when people think of excuses not to give blood.
But I think mostly folks think it’s just one more annoying thing to remember to do on top of everything else. So I’m here to tell you, the payoff is so worth it!
What You Really Get
OK, let’s talk about the barbecue, slaw and cake.
This is such a steal I don’t know why the workers at Medic aren’t constantly inundated with people. For that one pint of blood you donate, you get free blood for a year. Let me repeat that. Free blood for a year! How amazing is that? You could crash your car next month, end up in the hospital and need 10 pints just the first day! And blood’s not cheap – we’re talking hundreds of dollars here, and most insurance companies don’t pay for it. No worries if you’ve given blood at Medic and have that sweet year-long “insurance policy.” It works at any hospital in the country, too.
Side note: the government says you can’t charge money for blood products, so technically we’re talking about the cost of the fees that go into safely processing that pint you donated. But you get the idea.
And now, back to the infomercial. “Call now. But wait, there’s more!” That deal’s not only for you, but also for your dependents. You heard right. Countless grateful parents throughout East Tennessee have protected their families by donating blood themselves. There’s even a program covering everyone in your business if you can get just 30 percent of your fellow-employees to pony up some of that liquid gold. Talk about bang for the buck!
So don’t worry if being magnanimous isn’t your bag. Think of giving blood more as, well, all about you! For the deal of a lifetime, get yourself on down to Medic or talk to your group leader or boss about a mobile drive. Tell them I sent you!
Medic Regional Blood Center can be reached at 865-524-3074.
Playlist:
1. My Way of Giving — Rod Stewart
2. With Arms Wide Open — Creed
3. Gimme Some Lovin’ — Spencer Davis Group
4. Give It Away — George Strait
5. Giving You the Best That I Got — Anita Baker
6. Man With the Golden Arm — Billy May
7. You Can Have It — Ike & Tina Turner
8. These Arms of Mine — Otis Redding
9. What Do I Get? — The Buzzcocks
10. It’s All About Me — Bratz Soundtrack
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Ms. Dizzy
Remember when I recently wrote about feeling like I was having a heart attack? The good news is that I don’t have a heart problem.
The bad news: something still ain’t right.
Specifically, I’ve been dizzy off and on ever since then. Let me preface this with an update on the cold I had awhile back. After coughing violently for about two months, I finally decided to see my doctor, who diagnosed a viral infection and prescribed antibiotics. Note to self: don’t wait so long next time!
At that same appointment, I mentioned bouts of dizziness. I tried to describe them. “You know, like you’re on a roller coaster, you go flying down a big hill and there’s a feeling of weightlessness in your stomach and your legs aren’t connected to you anymore.” Great fun if you’re at Six Flags; trying to vacuum – not so much!
Anyway, the doc called it “atypical vertigo.” She said there are dozens of reasons a person might get dizzy, but the infection was probably to blame. “Let’s worry about the vertigo when we get the infection under control,” she advised.
Do you ever go to the doctor feeling like a whiney hypochondriac? I sure did when the sneezes subsided and the dizziness was still going strong. But doggone it, I just wanted to get to the bottom of that “bottomless” feeling!
Blow It Out Your Ear
Here’s what the good doctor surmised: the viral infection had caused my inner ears to get out of whack, and that’s a common cause of vertigo. Perhaps the virus had inflamed the delicate membranes that hold the tiny magic balancing crystals normally floating freely within the “walk down the hall without falling” fluid.
Perhaps the volume on my iPod earphones had been too loud (The Beatles will do that). Maybe I just blew my nose too hard at some point. Whatever – my balance was off, and most likely it was because my ears were not communicating properly with my brain. I had apparently insulted my ears somehow, and they were sulking, refusing to function correctly just for spite.
So my doctor sent me to a physical therapist to find out if he could knock those little ear crystals out of their funk and back into earning their keep.
It didn’t work. Well, not so far. The P.T. guy said that my vision may also be affected. Great – my eyes and ears are now in cahoots! He said my dizziness might take a while to right itself, so to speak. He gave me some head-positioning exercises to do and said not to move around too suddenly. I guess I should hold off on joining that karate class.
I still sometimes feel like I’m on some hellish Tilt-A-Whirl. I’ve been called “dizzy” before, but not in a literal sense! Here’s hoping that my body’s natural healing powers will prevail, and that I won’t be “Ms. Dizzy” for much longer!
Playlist:
1. Dizzy - Tommy Roe
2. I've Got a Funny Feeling - George Strait
3. Spinning Wheel - Blood Sweat and Tears
4. Helter Skelter - The Beatles
5. Vertigo - The Libertines
6. Will It Go Round In Circles - Billy Preston
7. You Spin Me Round - Dead or Alive
8. Dizzy Miss Lizzy - Larry Williams
9. Love Rollercoaster - Ohio Players
10. Dipsy Doodle - Ella Fitzgerald
The bad news: something still ain’t right.
Specifically, I’ve been dizzy off and on ever since then. Let me preface this with an update on the cold I had awhile back. After coughing violently for about two months, I finally decided to see my doctor, who diagnosed a viral infection and prescribed antibiotics. Note to self: don’t wait so long next time!
At that same appointment, I mentioned bouts of dizziness. I tried to describe them. “You know, like you’re on a roller coaster, you go flying down a big hill and there’s a feeling of weightlessness in your stomach and your legs aren’t connected to you anymore.” Great fun if you’re at Six Flags; trying to vacuum – not so much!
Anyway, the doc called it “atypical vertigo.” She said there are dozens of reasons a person might get dizzy, but the infection was probably to blame. “Let’s worry about the vertigo when we get the infection under control,” she advised.
Do you ever go to the doctor feeling like a whiney hypochondriac? I sure did when the sneezes subsided and the dizziness was still going strong. But doggone it, I just wanted to get to the bottom of that “bottomless” feeling!
Blow It Out Your Ear
Here’s what the good doctor surmised: the viral infection had caused my inner ears to get out of whack, and that’s a common cause of vertigo. Perhaps the virus had inflamed the delicate membranes that hold the tiny magic balancing crystals normally floating freely within the “walk down the hall without falling” fluid.
Perhaps the volume on my iPod earphones had been too loud (The Beatles will do that). Maybe I just blew my nose too hard at some point. Whatever – my balance was off, and most likely it was because my ears were not communicating properly with my brain. I had apparently insulted my ears somehow, and they were sulking, refusing to function correctly just for spite.
So my doctor sent me to a physical therapist to find out if he could knock those little ear crystals out of their funk and back into earning their keep.
It didn’t work. Well, not so far. The P.T. guy said that my vision may also be affected. Great – my eyes and ears are now in cahoots! He said my dizziness might take a while to right itself, so to speak. He gave me some head-positioning exercises to do and said not to move around too suddenly. I guess I should hold off on joining that karate class.
I still sometimes feel like I’m on some hellish Tilt-A-Whirl. I’ve been called “dizzy” before, but not in a literal sense! Here’s hoping that my body’s natural healing powers will prevail, and that I won’t be “Ms. Dizzy” for much longer!
Playlist:
1. Dizzy - Tommy Roe
2. I've Got a Funny Feeling - George Strait
3. Spinning Wheel - Blood Sweat and Tears
4. Helter Skelter - The Beatles
5. Vertigo - The Libertines
6. Will It Go Round In Circles - Billy Preston
7. You Spin Me Round - Dead or Alive
8. Dizzy Miss Lizzy - Larry Williams
9. Love Rollercoaster - Ohio Players
10. Dipsy Doodle - Ella Fitzgerald
Sunday, April 19, 2009
"Cutting Back" Calories
So there I was last Saturday, doing what I do best – lying on the couch watching TV. The Red Sox/Angels game fit quite nicely into that plan.
But as the innings wore on, there was a gnawing feeling in my gut. Two feelings, actually.
The first one concerned my recent attempt at being better about my extra pounds and the shedding thereof. I’ve been eating a little better, but exercising is still coming very slowly. Not unlike the molasses in January you’ve heard about.
So I split the difference and just worried about not exercising. And speaking of neuroses …
My second gut feeling was a sense of guilt because I wasn’t outside doing yard work. The yard needed tidying, the weeds needed pulling, the garden needed composting, the flower beds needed “grubbing out” and mulching. When I pondered the big picture, it was just too daunting.
Hence the gnawing feeling around my beltline and in my guilt-center (wherever that is). By the time Boston pulled out the win, it was too dark to start making with the green thumb. And besides, it was dinnertime. “Can’t start any projects on an empty stomach,” I rationalized.
I managed to claw out of my valley of indecision on Sunday. It didn’t hurt that the weather was one of those perfect days we all dreamt about back in February. Sunny, breezy and warm. And we’re in that glorious window of Spring in East Tennessee when it’s late enough not to freeze your buns off, but the mosquitoes have yet to arrive.
Ah, Knoxville at dogwood time!
So anyway, I was eying the layer of rotting leaves in the driveway, that slippery mess that threatens to deck me every time I get into my car. I started in to shoveling, really putting my back into it with each scrape, when it occurred to me.
God bless the fitness centers and those folks they help, but if this frugal fatty doesn’t want to invest in a gym membership, wouldn’t yard work keep me fit just as well? If I made a commitment to stay ahead of all the mowing, cutting and so forth in a timely manner, who knows what kind of transformation I’d see in myself – and the yard!
My weight training would be to haul mountainous tarp-fuls of brush to the curb. I’d check in with my workout buddy Randy, as in Randy the dandelion. My butt would feel the burn with John, my John Deere push-mower. I’d work my biceps with my personal trainer Virginia. Virginia Creeper that is. And if she went into hiding, there’d always be her pesky assistant, Creeping Charlie. Tim the Limb could spot me as I sawed away at his dead deciduous brethren. Somebody stop me. …
OK, you get the picture. There’s a built-in exercise regimen right outside my window, and maybe yours too. Time’s a’wastin’!
Playlist:
1. The State I Am In – Belle & Sebastian
2. I Decide When It Gets Pulled – Fracture Soundtrack
3. Sunday Girl – Blondie
4. Break On Through – The Doors
5. Dig a Pony – The Beatles
6. Ain’t It Heavy – Melissa Etheridge
7. Gardening at Night – R.E.M.
8. A Rose for Emily – The Zombies
9. Pleasant Valley Sunday – The Monkees
10. Do It Again – Steely Dan
But as the innings wore on, there was a gnawing feeling in my gut. Two feelings, actually.
The first one concerned my recent attempt at being better about my extra pounds and the shedding thereof. I’ve been eating a little better, but exercising is still coming very slowly. Not unlike the molasses in January you’ve heard about.
So I split the difference and just worried about not exercising. And speaking of neuroses …
My second gut feeling was a sense of guilt because I wasn’t outside doing yard work. The yard needed tidying, the weeds needed pulling, the garden needed composting, the flower beds needed “grubbing out” and mulching. When I pondered the big picture, it was just too daunting.
Hence the gnawing feeling around my beltline and in my guilt-center (wherever that is). By the time Boston pulled out the win, it was too dark to start making with the green thumb. And besides, it was dinnertime. “Can’t start any projects on an empty stomach,” I rationalized.
I managed to claw out of my valley of indecision on Sunday. It didn’t hurt that the weather was one of those perfect days we all dreamt about back in February. Sunny, breezy and warm. And we’re in that glorious window of Spring in East Tennessee when it’s late enough not to freeze your buns off, but the mosquitoes have yet to arrive.
Ah, Knoxville at dogwood time!
So anyway, I was eying the layer of rotting leaves in the driveway, that slippery mess that threatens to deck me every time I get into my car. I started in to shoveling, really putting my back into it with each scrape, when it occurred to me.
God bless the fitness centers and those folks they help, but if this frugal fatty doesn’t want to invest in a gym membership, wouldn’t yard work keep me fit just as well? If I made a commitment to stay ahead of all the mowing, cutting and so forth in a timely manner, who knows what kind of transformation I’d see in myself – and the yard!
My weight training would be to haul mountainous tarp-fuls of brush to the curb. I’d check in with my workout buddy Randy, as in Randy the dandelion. My butt would feel the burn with John, my John Deere push-mower. I’d work my biceps with my personal trainer Virginia. Virginia Creeper that is. And if she went into hiding, there’d always be her pesky assistant, Creeping Charlie. Tim the Limb could spot me as I sawed away at his dead deciduous brethren. Somebody stop me. …
OK, you get the picture. There’s a built-in exercise regimen right outside my window, and maybe yours too. Time’s a’wastin’!
Playlist:
1. The State I Am In – Belle & Sebastian
2. I Decide When It Gets Pulled – Fracture Soundtrack
3. Sunday Girl – Blondie
4. Break On Through – The Doors
5. Dig a Pony – The Beatles
6. Ain’t It Heavy – Melissa Etheridge
7. Gardening at Night – R.E.M.
8. A Rose for Emily – The Zombies
9. Pleasant Valley Sunday – The Monkees
10. Do It Again – Steely Dan
Sunday, April 12, 2009
An "Ouch!" of prevention
I knew I had to get it done. A woman my age just doesn’t mess with these things – or at least she shouldn’t! I’d put it off for far too long, but the day finally came that I had to have
… a mammogram.
What can I say about having a mammogram that hasn’t already been said? It’s an unpleasant experience under the best of circumstances, and God willing, that’s as bad as it gets.
Some women would just about rather walk barefoot on broken glass than go for a mammogram. But you go because it’s the right thing to do. You do it, and it’s a small price to pay if you can get those results back that tell you everything’s A-OK. That’s a first-class ticket to a beautiful place called Peace Of Mind.
Really, what are the drawbacks? Let’s take a less-than-serious look at what you’re up against, pun intended.
* It’s one more thing to have to think about in the midst of an already pressing schedule. And finding a spare hour or two can be difficult if you’re slammed at work.
* Once you decide to face the cold, hard facts, you probably won’t be able to get an appointment right away. It might be two months or more before the radiologist can squeeze you in.
* Insurance companies are notorious for pinching every penny they can out of their customers, but for the most part, they will cover the cost of a yearly mammogram. But for the uninsured or under-insured, you’ll have to foot the bill yourself, which is not easy if you’re on a tight budget.
( The folks at the doctor’s office are usually eager to help squash any remaining doubts you may have about being uncomfortable with your exam, which by the way is one test that you don’t have to cram for.)
* It’s an embarrassing walk down the chilly hallway past the other womenfolk in your flimsy robe. “Wear open to the front” is code for this: in the span of that 20-foot march, you’ll be flashing like a neon sign.
* When you finally make it to the dreaded apparatus, just keep in mind that the technician who runs the machine has handled this task about a thousand times, and she’s probably having about as much fun as you are!
All kidding aside, if you’re a woman over 40, it’s a preventative measure you shouldn’t put off. I fussed and fretted and worried about it for months. But actually, except for the outdated magazines, my mammogram wasn’t all that bad. The women there were all experienced, friendly and professional. And on a pain scale of 1 to 100, 100 being breast cancer, this was about a 2. You do the math.
Playlist:
1. Hurt – Johnny Cash
2. Put It Off Until Tomorrow – Loretta Lynn
3. It Takes Two – Marvin Gaye
4. Pushin’ Too Hard – The Seeds
5. Hold Me Tight – The Beatles
6. Try a Little Tenderness – Otis Redding
7. Squeeze Box – The Who
8. Under Pressure – Queen & David Bowie
9. Hurt So Bad – Little Anthony & The Imperials
10. Big Iron – Marty Robbins
… a mammogram.
What can I say about having a mammogram that hasn’t already been said? It’s an unpleasant experience under the best of circumstances, and God willing, that’s as bad as it gets.
Some women would just about rather walk barefoot on broken glass than go for a mammogram. But you go because it’s the right thing to do. You do it, and it’s a small price to pay if you can get those results back that tell you everything’s A-OK. That’s a first-class ticket to a beautiful place called Peace Of Mind.
Really, what are the drawbacks? Let’s take a less-than-serious look at what you’re up against, pun intended.
* It’s one more thing to have to think about in the midst of an already pressing schedule. And finding a spare hour or two can be difficult if you’re slammed at work.
* Once you decide to face the cold, hard facts, you probably won’t be able to get an appointment right away. It might be two months or more before the radiologist can squeeze you in.
* Insurance companies are notorious for pinching every penny they can out of their customers, but for the most part, they will cover the cost of a yearly mammogram. But for the uninsured or under-insured, you’ll have to foot the bill yourself, which is not easy if you’re on a tight budget.
( The folks at the doctor’s office are usually eager to help squash any remaining doubts you may have about being uncomfortable with your exam, which by the way is one test that you don’t have to cram for.)
* It’s an embarrassing walk down the chilly hallway past the other womenfolk in your flimsy robe. “Wear open to the front” is code for this: in the span of that 20-foot march, you’ll be flashing like a neon sign.
* When you finally make it to the dreaded apparatus, just keep in mind that the technician who runs the machine has handled this task about a thousand times, and she’s probably having about as much fun as you are!
All kidding aside, if you’re a woman over 40, it’s a preventative measure you shouldn’t put off. I fussed and fretted and worried about it for months. But actually, except for the outdated magazines, my mammogram wasn’t all that bad. The women there were all experienced, friendly and professional. And on a pain scale of 1 to 100, 100 being breast cancer, this was about a 2. You do the math.
Playlist:
1. Hurt – Johnny Cash
2. Put It Off Until Tomorrow – Loretta Lynn
3. It Takes Two – Marvin Gaye
4. Pushin’ Too Hard – The Seeds
5. Hold Me Tight – The Beatles
6. Try a Little Tenderness – Otis Redding
7. Squeeze Box – The Who
8. Under Pressure – Queen & David Bowie
9. Hurt So Bad – Little Anthony & The Imperials
10. Big Iron – Marty Robbins
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Dim Sun Serves Up Sadness
The official start of spring may be March 21, but I’m not feeling it yet!
Right about now, it seems like winter will never end. I blame my blues on the cold temps and cloudy skies. It feels like my neck is permanently squinched up from huddling against the chills. In short, there’s nothing wrong with me that a good full-body massage and a couple of weeks in the Caribbean wouldn’t fix right up!
I think there’s some truth to the idea that wintertime itself is what’s bringing me down. Seasonal affective disorder, or SAD, is a type of depression characterized by wintertime weight gain, fatigue, craving for sweet and starchy foods, and tendency to oversleep.
According to experts, the likely culprit is lack of sunlight.
Scandinavians are prone to SAD, as are Alaskans. The further you get from the equator, the weaker the sunlight is, and in the winter when the sun is farthest from the Earth, that extra distance is all it takes to push you over the edge and into a first-rate funk.
You can buy a fancy light box and sit near it (but don’t look directly at it). Just as good: go outside and soak up some sun! If it’s February and you’re having trouble concentrating, stop squinting at your computer, stand up, get outside and turn your chin up to the sky for 10 minutes or so. And moving around while you’re out there won’t hurt either. If you’re feeling down and out, don’t go postal; take a brisk 10-minute walk and kick-start those endorphins into action!
It’s no surprise that many northerners head to Florida every winter. I’ve heard them referred to as snowbirds. Although there’s also a lucky contingent that live up in the land of the Yankees in the summer and fall, stay in Florida for the winter and stop somewhere in Appalachia for a few months – or the rest of their lives – to enjoy our awe-inspiring springs. I call them halfbacks.
Various pop songs have made reference to SAD. I’ll now paraphrase some lines from an old chestnut:
“Gray skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face
(I know you miss that big bright ball of warmth that used to be up in the sky. Try not to dwell on the fact that it’s colder outside than a brass commode in an igloo.)
Brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face
(Goodness – I actually don’t need to wear a scarf today! Hey, the dog has started shedding again. And are those crocuses I see budding up through the snow?)
… and spread sunshine all over the place, just put on a happy face!”
(When you smile, you can be the sunshine in someone else’s day! Alternately, you can put them on a plane to a Miami hotel with spa service and a mini-bar. Your call!)
Playlist:
1. Sometimes in Winter – Blood Sweat & Tears
2. Seasons in the Sun – Me First & the Gimme Gimmes
3. Hazy Shade of Winter – Simon & Garfunkel
4. Too Cold in the Winter – Cry of Love
5. Invisible Sun – The Police
6. In the Winter – Janis Ian
7. Cold Day in the Sun – Foo Fighters
8. I’ll Follow the Sun – The Beatles
9. The Warmth of the Sun – The Beach Boys
10. Florida – Patty Griffin
Right about now, it seems like winter will never end. I blame my blues on the cold temps and cloudy skies. It feels like my neck is permanently squinched up from huddling against the chills. In short, there’s nothing wrong with me that a good full-body massage and a couple of weeks in the Caribbean wouldn’t fix right up!
I think there’s some truth to the idea that wintertime itself is what’s bringing me down. Seasonal affective disorder, or SAD, is a type of depression characterized by wintertime weight gain, fatigue, craving for sweet and starchy foods, and tendency to oversleep.
According to experts, the likely culprit is lack of sunlight.
Scandinavians are prone to SAD, as are Alaskans. The further you get from the equator, the weaker the sunlight is, and in the winter when the sun is farthest from the Earth, that extra distance is all it takes to push you over the edge and into a first-rate funk.
You can buy a fancy light box and sit near it (but don’t look directly at it). Just as good: go outside and soak up some sun! If it’s February and you’re having trouble concentrating, stop squinting at your computer, stand up, get outside and turn your chin up to the sky for 10 minutes or so. And moving around while you’re out there won’t hurt either. If you’re feeling down and out, don’t go postal; take a brisk 10-minute walk and kick-start those endorphins into action!
It’s no surprise that many northerners head to Florida every winter. I’ve heard them referred to as snowbirds. Although there’s also a lucky contingent that live up in the land of the Yankees in the summer and fall, stay in Florida for the winter and stop somewhere in Appalachia for a few months – or the rest of their lives – to enjoy our awe-inspiring springs. I call them halfbacks.
Various pop songs have made reference to SAD. I’ll now paraphrase some lines from an old chestnut:
“Gray skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face
(I know you miss that big bright ball of warmth that used to be up in the sky. Try not to dwell on the fact that it’s colder outside than a brass commode in an igloo.)
Brush off the clouds and cheer up, put on a happy face
(Goodness – I actually don’t need to wear a scarf today! Hey, the dog has started shedding again. And are those crocuses I see budding up through the snow?)
… and spread sunshine all over the place, just put on a happy face!”
(When you smile, you can be the sunshine in someone else’s day! Alternately, you can put them on a plane to a Miami hotel with spa service and a mini-bar. Your call!)
Playlist:
1. Sometimes in Winter – Blood Sweat & Tears
2. Seasons in the Sun – Me First & the Gimme Gimmes
3. Hazy Shade of Winter – Simon & Garfunkel
4. Too Cold in the Winter – Cry of Love
5. Invisible Sun – The Police
6. In the Winter – Janis Ian
7. Cold Day in the Sun – Foo Fighters
8. I’ll Follow the Sun – The Beatles
9. The Warmth of the Sun – The Beach Boys
10. Florida – Patty Griffin
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Waking Up Is Hard to Do
I like sleeping. I'm talking ten, eleven hours a night if I can get it. Maybe it's a sad commentary on my social life, but usually when someone asks me to go out with them at night, I say, "Nope. Sorry – I've got a date with the insides of my eyelids." And like all fantastic dates you've ever been on, the hardest part is when it's over.
Experts say sleeping is good for you, and doesn't that work out nicely for me! They say it helps your body cleanse itself of the day's stress, revitalizing your blood-cells and re-oxygenating your brain. For me, it just feels good!
Years ago I had a job that I had to be at by 6 a.m. This meant I had to turn in at about 8 p.m. every night – not a good way to fill up your dance card. Getting up was torture, and much as I enjoyed the work, it wasn't too long before I was updating my resumé.
If you ask me, the alarm clock is one of the most devious inventions known to Man, a Pandora's Box of regimentation. Waking up before your body is naturally inclined to is just plain wrong. It sets you up for all kinds of other unhealthy practices like commuting and working 40+ hours a week. And arising before the break of dawn is just unnatural. God invented the perfect wake-up call: sunrise. Why go against His divine plan and jump the gun on daybreak? It's inhuman, and in Emily's perfect world, no one would have to do it.
I guess I could be going too far in the other direction though, because every morning with the help of ear-plugs and black-out curtains, I rest happily in the arms of Morpheus until a) my dreams gently awaken me, or b) the cat gingerly extends an outstretched paw onto my face – not always with claws retracted. She knows and respects my morning sleep-in time, but a cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do. We've worked out a compromise: every night she stakes out a spot on the bed and curls up fairly motionless until I stir, and I agree not to roll over onto her.
I'm here to tell you those black-out curtains can be dangerous; I try to remember to leave them open a few inches, or the next thing I know, it's noon out in the real world and I'm still sawing logs in the inky blackness of my comfy cocoon. But that's unusual for me. Most of the time, I'm up and around at the crack of ten.
I know it doesn't put me on anyone's Most Exciting People list, but I say, "now that's living!" I'm not a party animal, staying up until the wee hours every night. I just happen to be in touch with my circadian rhythm.
Speaking of dreams, morning ones are the best, aren't they? The wacky ones that have you doing the tango in your old elementary school washroom with your ex-fiancé while life-sized animated cut-outs of your boss and Mick Jagger look on. I tell you, it's a better cranial work-out than any pharmaceutical could provide, and there's no co-pay.
Right after a good morning sleep-in is the best time for creative ideas, the ones that hit you like a lightning-strike and have you really thinking outside the box. Maybe because all your tiny synapses have had time to recharge and make new and different neural connections. The trick at that point is to write down those brilliant thoughts and move on to the perhaps banal but nevertheless vital task of getting up and in turn, God willing, making a living.
If I occasionally over-sleep, well, it's one of the few vices I have left, unless you count a weakness for Shoney's breakfast bar. Now that's a good reason to get out of bed!
Playlist:
1. Sleeping In – The Postal Service
2. I Like to Sleep Late in the Morning – David Bromberg Band
3. Dream Dream Dream – Everly Brothers
4. You Can Close Your Eyes – James Taylor
5. Golden Slumbers – The Beatles
6. Dream – The Pied Pipers
7. Hung Upon a Dream – The Zombies
8. I Like Dreamin' – Kenny Nolan
9. When It's Sleepy Time Down South – Louis Armstrong
10. Oh, What a Beautiful Morning – Ray Charles
Experts say sleeping is good for you, and doesn't that work out nicely for me! They say it helps your body cleanse itself of the day's stress, revitalizing your blood-cells and re-oxygenating your brain. For me, it just feels good!
Years ago I had a job that I had to be at by 6 a.m. This meant I had to turn in at about 8 p.m. every night – not a good way to fill up your dance card. Getting up was torture, and much as I enjoyed the work, it wasn't too long before I was updating my resumé.
If you ask me, the alarm clock is one of the most devious inventions known to Man, a Pandora's Box of regimentation. Waking up before your body is naturally inclined to is just plain wrong. It sets you up for all kinds of other unhealthy practices like commuting and working 40+ hours a week. And arising before the break of dawn is just unnatural. God invented the perfect wake-up call: sunrise. Why go against His divine plan and jump the gun on daybreak? It's inhuman, and in Emily's perfect world, no one would have to do it.
I guess I could be going too far in the other direction though, because every morning with the help of ear-plugs and black-out curtains, I rest happily in the arms of Morpheus until a) my dreams gently awaken me, or b) the cat gingerly extends an outstretched paw onto my face – not always with claws retracted. She knows and respects my morning sleep-in time, but a cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do. We've worked out a compromise: every night she stakes out a spot on the bed and curls up fairly motionless until I stir, and I agree not to roll over onto her.
I'm here to tell you those black-out curtains can be dangerous; I try to remember to leave them open a few inches, or the next thing I know, it's noon out in the real world and I'm still sawing logs in the inky blackness of my comfy cocoon. But that's unusual for me. Most of the time, I'm up and around at the crack of ten.
I know it doesn't put me on anyone's Most Exciting People list, but I say, "now that's living!" I'm not a party animal, staying up until the wee hours every night. I just happen to be in touch with my circadian rhythm.
Speaking of dreams, morning ones are the best, aren't they? The wacky ones that have you doing the tango in your old elementary school washroom with your ex-fiancé while life-sized animated cut-outs of your boss and Mick Jagger look on. I tell you, it's a better cranial work-out than any pharmaceutical could provide, and there's no co-pay.
Right after a good morning sleep-in is the best time for creative ideas, the ones that hit you like a lightning-strike and have you really thinking outside the box. Maybe because all your tiny synapses have had time to recharge and make new and different neural connections. The trick at that point is to write down those brilliant thoughts and move on to the perhaps banal but nevertheless vital task of getting up and in turn, God willing, making a living.
If I occasionally over-sleep, well, it's one of the few vices I have left, unless you count a weakness for Shoney's breakfast bar. Now that's a good reason to get out of bed!
Playlist:
1. Sleeping In – The Postal Service
2. I Like to Sleep Late in the Morning – David Bromberg Band
3. Dream Dream Dream – Everly Brothers
4. You Can Close Your Eyes – James Taylor
5. Golden Slumbers – The Beatles
6. Dream – The Pied Pipers
7. Hung Upon a Dream – The Zombies
8. I Like Dreamin' – Kenny Nolan
9. When It's Sleepy Time Down South – Louis Armstrong
10. Oh, What a Beautiful Morning – Ray Charles
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Heart and Mind
I think we’ve established that I’m a big whiner. I complain about needing to eat better and exercise, but so far it hasn’t translated into my doing anything about it! I can psych myself out ’til the cows come home.
But even this Queen of Denial couldn’t ignore some recent hints. Does something ever weigh heavily on your mind, you try to avoid it and then you find yourself running into reminders every time you turn around? Maybe it was my thoughts bouncing back to me in some dynamic universal ping-pong game, or maybe it’s the answer to a prayer. I think somebody up there was trying to kick my butt!
It started last week. I hadn’t been doing my usual 30-minute brisk walk. Not for a while. Let’s just say that the last time I got out and intentionally broke a good sweat just for the health of it, I shared the sidewalk with a bunch of trick-or-treaters.
Anyway, I got an e-mail about a woman who wanted to share her experience of having had a heart attack. Heart problems run in my family, and I’ve had some minor scares myself which turned out to be fixable. (The doctors said, “Don’t sweat the small stuff. Drink less coffee.” It worked.)
I stored that e-mail away in the same part of my brain where I put things like global warming, but apparently my subconscious was putting the fear of God into me. Alas, not yet to the point of action. ...
So last week I was lounging around the house, and I felt a sudden rise in my temperature on the inside, although my skin felt cold and clammy. I also felt light-headed, like my legs were disconnected, and my feet felt slightly tingly. Then I noticed my heart was racing. I flexed my fingers and toes, dreading the hallmark heart-attack symptom of one side becoming numb or paralyzed. So far I was OK on that one.
But I began to get more and more fearful that I was having “the big one.” And of course that made me increasingly scared – who do I call, is my insurance paid up, all those things you think about when it’s too late to do anything. Pretty soon I wasn’t sure what had come first: my physical feelings or thinking about it so much that I was freaking myself out!
For the next few days, I read some Internet articles (so you know they’re true!), talked to some friends and nailed down what I think was happening: a combination of too much caffeine (again – will I ever learn?!) and anemia from iron deficiency which was causing low blood-pressure.
I immediately lowered my caffeine intake and loaded up on iron-rich foods like potatoes, beef liver, oatmeal and leafy greens. Most importantly, I started walking again. I’ve even broken into a jog a few times. And do you know what? I feel better! No heart palpitations, no sudden dizziness. Equilibrium restored. There’s nothing like a brush with death, real or imagined, to get you back on the right track! Now if I can just keep it up ... Stay tuned!
Soapbox moment: Forget about your bubble butt, fitting into your clothes or looking good for your cousin’s wedding. It’s all about the ticker. Exercise now, and you’ll live to see your grandkid get married! The easiest way is to start walking. And women – Feb. 6 is National Wear Red Day to raise awareness of heart disease. Go to www.heart.org for info. Donate! Participate! Do it!
Playlist:
1. The Sloth – Phish
2. Death on Two Legs – Queen
3. God Trying to Get Your Attention – Keb' Mo'
4. When My Heart Beats Like a Hammer – B.B. King
5. You Gotta Move – The Rolling Stones
6. Walk Hard – John C. Reilly
7. Keep on Moving – Bob Marley & the Wailers
8. I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better – The Byrds
9. Young At Heart – Frank Sinatra
10. We Got The Beat – The Go-Go's
But even this Queen of Denial couldn’t ignore some recent hints. Does something ever weigh heavily on your mind, you try to avoid it and then you find yourself running into reminders every time you turn around? Maybe it was my thoughts bouncing back to me in some dynamic universal ping-pong game, or maybe it’s the answer to a prayer. I think somebody up there was trying to kick my butt!
It started last week. I hadn’t been doing my usual 30-minute brisk walk. Not for a while. Let’s just say that the last time I got out and intentionally broke a good sweat just for the health of it, I shared the sidewalk with a bunch of trick-or-treaters.
Anyway, I got an e-mail about a woman who wanted to share her experience of having had a heart attack. Heart problems run in my family, and I’ve had some minor scares myself which turned out to be fixable. (The doctors said, “Don’t sweat the small stuff. Drink less coffee.” It worked.)
I stored that e-mail away in the same part of my brain where I put things like global warming, but apparently my subconscious was putting the fear of God into me. Alas, not yet to the point of action. ...
So last week I was lounging around the house, and I felt a sudden rise in my temperature on the inside, although my skin felt cold and clammy. I also felt light-headed, like my legs were disconnected, and my feet felt slightly tingly. Then I noticed my heart was racing. I flexed my fingers and toes, dreading the hallmark heart-attack symptom of one side becoming numb or paralyzed. So far I was OK on that one.
But I began to get more and more fearful that I was having “the big one.” And of course that made me increasingly scared – who do I call, is my insurance paid up, all those things you think about when it’s too late to do anything. Pretty soon I wasn’t sure what had come first: my physical feelings or thinking about it so much that I was freaking myself out!
For the next few days, I read some Internet articles (so you know they’re true!), talked to some friends and nailed down what I think was happening: a combination of too much caffeine (again – will I ever learn?!) and anemia from iron deficiency which was causing low blood-pressure.
I immediately lowered my caffeine intake and loaded up on iron-rich foods like potatoes, beef liver, oatmeal and leafy greens. Most importantly, I started walking again. I’ve even broken into a jog a few times. And do you know what? I feel better! No heart palpitations, no sudden dizziness. Equilibrium restored. There’s nothing like a brush with death, real or imagined, to get you back on the right track! Now if I can just keep it up ... Stay tuned!
Soapbox moment: Forget about your bubble butt, fitting into your clothes or looking good for your cousin’s wedding. It’s all about the ticker. Exercise now, and you’ll live to see your grandkid get married! The easiest way is to start walking. And women – Feb. 6 is National Wear Red Day to raise awareness of heart disease. Go to www.heart.org for info. Donate! Participate! Do it!
Playlist:
1. The Sloth – Phish
2. Death on Two Legs – Queen
3. God Trying to Get Your Attention – Keb' Mo'
4. When My Heart Beats Like a Hammer – B.B. King
5. You Gotta Move – The Rolling Stones
6. Walk Hard – John C. Reilly
7. Keep on Moving – Bob Marley & the Wailers
8. I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better – The Byrds
9. Young At Heart – Frank Sinatra
10. We Got The Beat – The Go-Go's
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Countdown to Ecstasy
No, that headline isn’t just the title of an old Steely Dan album. It’s my idea of when I can stop worrying about the way I look. How much longer? I think it’d be a great thing to know, a handy mental countdown to have in place.
For instance, say I decide that my cut-off age for giving a crap is 70. I could comfort myself with the thought that in 22 short years, French fries and I will no longer have to be strangers. Come on red meat and milkshakes! No more worrying about trans-fat or calories! Ahhhh, sweet relief.
Because I will say this right now, and without apology: I’m tired of not being able to remember the last time I had a cheeseburger.
And it’s not just what I eat or don’t eat. I’d love to just throw away all my make-up, too. And a hairstyle like Demi Moore’s character in “G.I. Jane” sure would be easier to take care of.
This plan may not work for you, though. You’d have to be OK being categorized as a “crazy old fat lady.” No problem there!
But say you have a spouse. You don’t want to let yourself go to pot if your other half might decide you’re not good enough anymore and that they could do better elsewhere. Or you may want to preserve the classy picture you and your mate present as a couple. If you’ve set yourself up to be the local Victoria and David Beckham, you better not let the team down, at least not without some warning.
Maybe the two of you could make a pact to look fabulous together for a while, and then coordinate your “give a crap cut-off date” so that you’ll both poof out at the same time. Make it like an anniversary! Then ride off into the sunset together.
You might scoff at this scenario for health reasons. By all means, if you actually like jogging, well, you’re one of the lucky ones. No cut-off date for you!
I’m just saying that if I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do for 70 years or so, led a fairly good life and have no immediate family or friends who would miss me so badly when I’m gone that they’d begrudge me a little happiness in my golden years, why the heck shouldn’t I loosen up a little?
Look, if it’s my conscious decision to become a big lump on the face of society, then so be it. This is America! I don’t really have to keep on checking the mirror until the day they lay me down in the cold, cold ground, do I? Because I’m definitely hearing a distinct ticking sound. ...
Playlist:
1. Sweet Surrender – Sarah McLachlan
2. Give In – Amy Ray
3. Got to Give It Up – Marvin Gaye
4. I Don't Care Anymore – Phil Collins
5. Why I Try to Look So Bad – Comet Gain
6. If I Didn't Care – The Ink Spots
7. Let Me Let Go – Faith Hill
8. Someday Soon – The Doors
9. Why Should I Care? – Diana Krall
10. Surrender – Cheap Trick
For instance, say I decide that my cut-off age for giving a crap is 70. I could comfort myself with the thought that in 22 short years, French fries and I will no longer have to be strangers. Come on red meat and milkshakes! No more worrying about trans-fat or calories! Ahhhh, sweet relief.
Because I will say this right now, and without apology: I’m tired of not being able to remember the last time I had a cheeseburger.
And it’s not just what I eat or don’t eat. I’d love to just throw away all my make-up, too. And a hairstyle like Demi Moore’s character in “G.I. Jane” sure would be easier to take care of.
This plan may not work for you, though. You’d have to be OK being categorized as a “crazy old fat lady.” No problem there!
But say you have a spouse. You don’t want to let yourself go to pot if your other half might decide you’re not good enough anymore and that they could do better elsewhere. Or you may want to preserve the classy picture you and your mate present as a couple. If you’ve set yourself up to be the local Victoria and David Beckham, you better not let the team down, at least not without some warning.
Maybe the two of you could make a pact to look fabulous together for a while, and then coordinate your “give a crap cut-off date” so that you’ll both poof out at the same time. Make it like an anniversary! Then ride off into the sunset together.
You might scoff at this scenario for health reasons. By all means, if you actually like jogging, well, you’re one of the lucky ones. No cut-off date for you!
I’m just saying that if I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do for 70 years or so, led a fairly good life and have no immediate family or friends who would miss me so badly when I’m gone that they’d begrudge me a little happiness in my golden years, why the heck shouldn’t I loosen up a little?
Look, if it’s my conscious decision to become a big lump on the face of society, then so be it. This is America! I don’t really have to keep on checking the mirror until the day they lay me down in the cold, cold ground, do I? Because I’m definitely hearing a distinct ticking sound. ...
Playlist:
1. Sweet Surrender – Sarah McLachlan
2. Give In – Amy Ray
3. Got to Give It Up – Marvin Gaye
4. I Don't Care Anymore – Phil Collins
5. Why I Try to Look So Bad – Comet Gain
6. If I Didn't Care – The Ink Spots
7. Let Me Let Go – Faith Hill
8. Someday Soon – The Doors
9. Why Should I Care? – Diana Krall
10. Surrender – Cheap Trick
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Sidelined
I didn’t think it could happen to me. I thought, “I won’t be one of those cold-catching wimps. I don’t get sick! I am super-woman!”
I can hear you laughing, and you’re right. I spent my Christmas vacation sick as a dog. In fact, I’m still not quite over it.
Actually, it was a viral infection. I know because the lady at the clinic told me. It’s not very difficult to get one; I’m amazed that it took me this long. Because here’s all you have to do to catch a viral infection: be somewhere that anybody else has been. Say perhaps the U-Scan screen at Kroger.
That little virus is just biding its time for a chance to jump onto your hand. And when it does, you just touch your eyes, nose or mouth, and voilà! The virus gets inside you, sets up shop and gets to work doing what it does best – multiplying.
Anyway, the only reason I went to the nurse at the clinic was to obtain a drug that would make this thing go away. After telling me she couldn’t give me anything that would make it go away, that was all I wanted to do myself. Go away.
Leave the clinic and go crawl into bed.
Just my luck I got one of those nurse practitioners right out of school who are still fresh and proud of her knowledge of the healing arts. Bless her heart, it took this talking medical encyclopedia another 10 minutes to explain why she couldn’t give me an antibiotic to banish the little varmint that had invaded my body.
She explained how people have been abusing antibiotics for years, in effect helping “super bugs” evolve into monsters that, if we’re not careful, won’t be stopped by any drug. Turns out a nation of sniffly people have been taking antibiotics at the least hint of sickness when they should have just “let it run its course.” And it didn’t matter if I was a good citizen and didn’t take the antibiotics myself. The over-medicating people were ruining things for everyone else, speeding up the mutation of the little monsters regardless of whether I popped any Penicillin myself or not.
It reminded me of an apartment building where I used to live.
The utilities were not included in the rent, but there were no individual meters installed for any of the units. This meant that KUB had to take the total kilowatt usage of the entire building every month and divide it evenly by the number of apartments. Ergo, even though I was a responsible person who didn’t run her radiator at full blast with the windows open all day, I had to pay part of the bill of the schmuck(s) who did. So, like my sky-rocketing heat bill, the inexorable strengthening of this virus was not my fault, and yet here I was bearing the brunt of the recklessness of others. Chalk it up to another one of those things about life that just isn’t fair.
Anyway, clinic lady was going on and on about staph, strep, sulfa, MRSA – apparently her lecture would cover the entire history of Western medicine – which would all be fascinating if I weren’t so sick that my knees were beginning to buckle. I just stood there wobbling and smiling wanly as she nattered on about germs and cures and “producing” (her word for when you cough up a bunch of crud). I’m sure she had no idea that my sinuses were about to burst out through my face (a bit messy, but an improvement from them throbbing like tiny knives of fire).
I finally got her to let me go home, where I commenced to alternately (a) sweat like an NBA star at the halftime buzzer, and (b) shiver under mounds of flannel, fleece and down. Sounds like a law firm, doesn’t it?
“Good morning, Flannel Fleece and Down, how may I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to sue that guy who was ahead of me at the Kroger U-Scan!”
Playlist:
1. Take The Pain Away – The Ramones
2. It Only Hurts When I'm Breathing – Shania Twain
3. Tossin' and Turnin' All Night – Bobby Lewis
4. Callin' In Sick – Weird Al Yankovic
5. I Want a New Drug – Huey Lewis and the News
6. You Got to Take Sick and Die Some of These Days – Muddy Waters
7. Tear Off Your Own Head – The Bangles
8. The Hurt – Cat Stevens
9. You Take My Breath Away – Eva Cassidy
10. Night Fever – Bee Gees
I can hear you laughing, and you’re right. I spent my Christmas vacation sick as a dog. In fact, I’m still not quite over it.
Actually, it was a viral infection. I know because the lady at the clinic told me. It’s not very difficult to get one; I’m amazed that it took me this long. Because here’s all you have to do to catch a viral infection: be somewhere that anybody else has been. Say perhaps the U-Scan screen at Kroger.
That little virus is just biding its time for a chance to jump onto your hand. And when it does, you just touch your eyes, nose or mouth, and voilà! The virus gets inside you, sets up shop and gets to work doing what it does best – multiplying.
Anyway, the only reason I went to the nurse at the clinic was to obtain a drug that would make this thing go away. After telling me she couldn’t give me anything that would make it go away, that was all I wanted to do myself. Go away.
Leave the clinic and go crawl into bed.
Just my luck I got one of those nurse practitioners right out of school who are still fresh and proud of her knowledge of the healing arts. Bless her heart, it took this talking medical encyclopedia another 10 minutes to explain why she couldn’t give me an antibiotic to banish the little varmint that had invaded my body.
She explained how people have been abusing antibiotics for years, in effect helping “super bugs” evolve into monsters that, if we’re not careful, won’t be stopped by any drug. Turns out a nation of sniffly people have been taking antibiotics at the least hint of sickness when they should have just “let it run its course.” And it didn’t matter if I was a good citizen and didn’t take the antibiotics myself. The over-medicating people were ruining things for everyone else, speeding up the mutation of the little monsters regardless of whether I popped any Penicillin myself or not.
It reminded me of an apartment building where I used to live.
The utilities were not included in the rent, but there were no individual meters installed for any of the units. This meant that KUB had to take the total kilowatt usage of the entire building every month and divide it evenly by the number of apartments. Ergo, even though I was a responsible person who didn’t run her radiator at full blast with the windows open all day, I had to pay part of the bill of the schmuck(s) who did. So, like my sky-rocketing heat bill, the inexorable strengthening of this virus was not my fault, and yet here I was bearing the brunt of the recklessness of others. Chalk it up to another one of those things about life that just isn’t fair.
Anyway, clinic lady was going on and on about staph, strep, sulfa, MRSA – apparently her lecture would cover the entire history of Western medicine – which would all be fascinating if I weren’t so sick that my knees were beginning to buckle. I just stood there wobbling and smiling wanly as she nattered on about germs and cures and “producing” (her word for when you cough up a bunch of crud). I’m sure she had no idea that my sinuses were about to burst out through my face (a bit messy, but an improvement from them throbbing like tiny knives of fire).
I finally got her to let me go home, where I commenced to alternately (a) sweat like an NBA star at the halftime buzzer, and (b) shiver under mounds of flannel, fleece and down. Sounds like a law firm, doesn’t it?
“Good morning, Flannel Fleece and Down, how may I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to sue that guy who was ahead of me at the Kroger U-Scan!”
Playlist:
1. Take The Pain Away – The Ramones
2. It Only Hurts When I'm Breathing – Shania Twain
3. Tossin' and Turnin' All Night – Bobby Lewis
4. Callin' In Sick – Weird Al Yankovic
5. I Want a New Drug – Huey Lewis and the News
6. You Got to Take Sick and Die Some of These Days – Muddy Waters
7. Tear Off Your Own Head – The Bangles
8. The Hurt – Cat Stevens
9. You Take My Breath Away – Eva Cassidy
10. Night Fever – Bee Gees
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Beep! Beep! Back 'er on up!
How many of you women out there are like me? You’re 40-something and you never really had to worry about gaining weight before. But you’re starting to see more “junk in the trunk” if you will, a noticeable increase in the square footage of your hind-ways real estate. Boy can I relate! If I had my own bluegrass group, I’d call us “The Saggy Bottom Girls."
I’ve always been a little “hippy” (to put it nicely), but in the last year or so, well, I’d say that the pudge factor is now officially out of control.
Of course that coincides with the time I’ve been working at the Shopper-News.
Coincidence? I think not. I don’t want to point fingers, but maybe it has something to do with how every Thursday a certain co-worker in the graphics department takes it upon herself to purvey the most dastardly delicious sweets I’ve ever sucked down. No, let’s face it, “Ms. X” is not tying me down and forcing her baked goods down my throat; I know I could say “no,” but I choose not to. And she’s certainly not responsible for all the carbs I foist upon myself all the rest of the time.
No, I’d rather blame my decelerating metabolism. I don’t eat any more brownies than I ever did. It’s just that now the same amount of calories turns directly into little fat cells. They don’t pass go, they don’t collect $200. That, and the fact that more often than not, I can be found sitting on the very derriere that I complain about.
Since I have a tendency to feel better if I can give a name to whatever self-involved situation I’m in, I felt compelled to research whether I might actually have a valid excuse for getting more plump. Of course, if you look hard enough, you can explain away just about any human failing.
Turns out that in the parlance of those who study these things, I’m a cross between an endomorph (pear-shaped and soft), and a mesomorph (average-built and well-muscled). Just in case you’re wondering, the third body type is ectomorph (small-boned and skinny) – a group to which I’ve never belonged.
At any rate, us endomorphs find it harder to lose weight, even when we diet and exercise. Apparently that’s just a fact. We’re tallish and our bones are large, but we tend towards the fat as opposed to the muscular. We generally have a tougher time getting ripped at the gym, and we’ll have a tougher time recovering from all that holiday over-indulgence.
To make matters worse, my being a woman “of a certain age” means that I need fewer calories because I’m burning less of them. So it’s a one-two punch that simply means this: if I don’t watch out, my butt could soon require its own zip code.
What cruel hand of fate ramps up my craving for things like peanut butter fudge brownies while simultaneously slowing down my metabolism to the point that it seems as if all I have to do to gain weight is to simply look at one of them? My current theme song: “I Am Woman, Hear Me Whine.”
I like to think of myself as an efficiency expert, always looking for the best and easiest way to do things, the most logical fix for a problem or challenge. If I can do something in six steps, I’m not going to take 12. But what if that’s just a convenient excuse to stay lazy? What if solving this problem actually means expending more energy (or maybe eating only one serving of chicken and dumplings at a time)? Could my present plight actually call for a sea change in my way of thinking? Have I hit bottom yet (no pun intended) with this expanding posterior of mine?
Big fat “Duh”: being overweight can only be “fixed” by eating less and exercising more – regardless of one’s body type.
That may be stating the obvious, but here’s the rub: I have to decide that it’s worth the trouble. I have to start eating less like I’m prepping for some improbable worldwide famine and, instead, ponder what my good friend who is much more in shape says: “Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels.”
Well, that’s one woman’s opinion, and I know she means well. I’m just not quite convinced.
Playlist:
1. So Round, So Firm, So Fully Packed – Merle Travis
2. Bell Bottom Blues – Derek & The Dominos
3. Flight of the Cosmic Hippo – Bela Fleck & The Flecktones
4. Miles Behind – Medeski Scofield Martin & Wood
5. Bigger Situation – Leo Kottke
6. Hippy Hippy Shake - Swinging Blue Jeans
7. (She's Got A Butt) Bigger Than the Beatles – Cletus T. Judd
8. Funky Butt – Mississippi John Hurt
9. Behind Reality– Oriental Jazz
10. The End – The Doors
I’ve always been a little “hippy” (to put it nicely), but in the last year or so, well, I’d say that the pudge factor is now officially out of control.
Of course that coincides with the time I’ve been working at the Shopper-News.
Coincidence? I think not. I don’t want to point fingers, but maybe it has something to do with how every Thursday a certain co-worker in the graphics department takes it upon herself to purvey the most dastardly delicious sweets I’ve ever sucked down. No, let’s face it, “Ms. X” is not tying me down and forcing her baked goods down my throat; I know I could say “no,” but I choose not to. And she’s certainly not responsible for all the carbs I foist upon myself all the rest of the time.
No, I’d rather blame my decelerating metabolism. I don’t eat any more brownies than I ever did. It’s just that now the same amount of calories turns directly into little fat cells. They don’t pass go, they don’t collect $200. That, and the fact that more often than not, I can be found sitting on the very derriere that I complain about.
Since I have a tendency to feel better if I can give a name to whatever self-involved situation I’m in, I felt compelled to research whether I might actually have a valid excuse for getting more plump. Of course, if you look hard enough, you can explain away just about any human failing.
Turns out that in the parlance of those who study these things, I’m a cross between an endomorph (pear-shaped and soft), and a mesomorph (average-built and well-muscled). Just in case you’re wondering, the third body type is ectomorph (small-boned and skinny) – a group to which I’ve never belonged.
At any rate, us endomorphs find it harder to lose weight, even when we diet and exercise. Apparently that’s just a fact. We’re tallish and our bones are large, but we tend towards the fat as opposed to the muscular. We generally have a tougher time getting ripped at the gym, and we’ll have a tougher time recovering from all that holiday over-indulgence.
To make matters worse, my being a woman “of a certain age” means that I need fewer calories because I’m burning less of them. So it’s a one-two punch that simply means this: if I don’t watch out, my butt could soon require its own zip code.
What cruel hand of fate ramps up my craving for things like peanut butter fudge brownies while simultaneously slowing down my metabolism to the point that it seems as if all I have to do to gain weight is to simply look at one of them? My current theme song: “I Am Woman, Hear Me Whine.”
I like to think of myself as an efficiency expert, always looking for the best and easiest way to do things, the most logical fix for a problem or challenge. If I can do something in six steps, I’m not going to take 12. But what if that’s just a convenient excuse to stay lazy? What if solving this problem actually means expending more energy (or maybe eating only one serving of chicken and dumplings at a time)? Could my present plight actually call for a sea change in my way of thinking? Have I hit bottom yet (no pun intended) with this expanding posterior of mine?
Big fat “Duh”: being overweight can only be “fixed” by eating less and exercising more – regardless of one’s body type.
That may be stating the obvious, but here’s the rub: I have to decide that it’s worth the trouble. I have to start eating less like I’m prepping for some improbable worldwide famine and, instead, ponder what my good friend who is much more in shape says: “Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels.”
Well, that’s one woman’s opinion, and I know she means well. I’m just not quite convinced.
Playlist:
1. So Round, So Firm, So Fully Packed – Merle Travis
2. Bell Bottom Blues – Derek & The Dominos
3. Flight of the Cosmic Hippo – Bela Fleck & The Flecktones
4. Miles Behind – Medeski Scofield Martin & Wood
5. Bigger Situation – Leo Kottke
6. Hippy Hippy Shake - Swinging Blue Jeans
7. (She's Got A Butt) Bigger Than the Beatles – Cletus T. Judd
8. Funky Butt – Mississippi John Hurt
9. Behind Reality– Oriental Jazz
10. The End – The Doors
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Age Against the Machine
Are you one of those "women of a certain age?" An online dictionary says it means "a person, usually a woman, [who] is no longer young but is not yet old." Well that's me all over!
But it's not all bad news. After all, they say 50 is the new 30. And 60 is the new 40 , 70 is the new 50, and so on. There's no question that we're living longer, but more importantly, we're living better and healthier. But I think "women of a certain age" feel those biological changes more keenly than men, maybe in part because we try our darndest to uphold that popular media image of youthful beauty. Maybe because we wake up one morning and see more and more of our mothers staring back at us in the mirror.
There's no denying that some things definitely change as we age. Getting into our late 40-somethings, a little more wrinkly and a little less svelte, it's like our bodies have thrown us our very own nightmare surprise party. "Surprise! Those pants don't fit anymore! Surprise! That elbow's going to ache all the time now! Smile! Your inner temperature is going to fluctuate faster than the Dow Jones Industrial Average !" Ah yes, the joys of womanhood.
Of course all of this is nothing new to "older" women who've already gone through these changes and have come out the other side just fine, thank you very much. No doubt a good dose of feistiness always helps soften the blow in these matters. I felt a little sucker-punched myself. I just never thought about it happening to me. Sure, my mother had had a rough time there for awhile, but I'd always just thought of myself as "young-ish," somewhat healthy, and pretty much immune to the ravages of time and heredity. Ha! like that old song… "funny how time slips away…"
So I'm changing some things. I've got to exercise in earnest just to maintain my current weight – never mind tackling the extra pounds! I've become more aware of the way I move, stretching before and after activities, not overextending, and being careful with past injuries that could flare up again. And I've resolved myself to the fact that my hormones are going to have a field day with me for awhile. They've had a long run, but they're tired and want to shut down, so they've decided to go out with a bang. My hormones are like a chorus line on the stage of my body, dancing off in a kick-line singing "This is the end of the show!"
The Change sure does sneak up on you. I thought, "Can it really be time to join this club?!" Needless to say, I had no say in the matter – my body "volunteered" me!
At this point I just try to remember that even though I'll never go back to age 30, I don't have to act like anyone else's version of a woman my age. I truly believe that you're as young as you feel. And being a little more honest about the one body we're given, and taking care of it as best we can, we'll surely live longer, healthier, and happier lives. And that's good advice for any age!
Playlist:
1. Older Women – Ronnie McDowell
2. A Peak You Reach – Badly Drawn Boy
3. Reelin' in the Years – Steely Dan
4. The Old Gray Mare – The Skillet-Lickers
5. Getting Old – Lucie Blue Tremblay
6. Man, I Feel Like A Woman – Shania Twain
7. Be Proud of the Gray in Your Hair – Dave Evans
8. Your Mother Should Know – The Beatles
9. Silver Threads Among the Gold – Jo Stafford & The Gaslight Singers
10. Age Ain't Nothing but a Number – Aaliyah
But it's not all bad news. After all, they say 50 is the new 30. And 60 is the new 40 , 70 is the new 50, and so on. There's no question that we're living longer, but more importantly, we're living better and healthier. But I think "women of a certain age" feel those biological changes more keenly than men, maybe in part because we try our darndest to uphold that popular media image of youthful beauty. Maybe because we wake up one morning and see more and more of our mothers staring back at us in the mirror.
There's no denying that some things definitely change as we age. Getting into our late 40-somethings, a little more wrinkly and a little less svelte, it's like our bodies have thrown us our very own nightmare surprise party. "Surprise! Those pants don't fit anymore! Surprise! That elbow's going to ache all the time now! Smile! Your inner temperature is going to fluctuate faster than the Dow Jones Industrial Average !" Ah yes, the joys of womanhood.
Of course all of this is nothing new to "older" women who've already gone through these changes and have come out the other side just fine, thank you very much. No doubt a good dose of feistiness always helps soften the blow in these matters. I felt a little sucker-punched myself. I just never thought about it happening to me. Sure, my mother had had a rough time there for awhile, but I'd always just thought of myself as "young-ish," somewhat healthy, and pretty much immune to the ravages of time and heredity. Ha! like that old song… "funny how time slips away…"
So I'm changing some things. I've got to exercise in earnest just to maintain my current weight – never mind tackling the extra pounds! I've become more aware of the way I move, stretching before and after activities, not overextending, and being careful with past injuries that could flare up again. And I've resolved myself to the fact that my hormones are going to have a field day with me for awhile. They've had a long run, but they're tired and want to shut down, so they've decided to go out with a bang. My hormones are like a chorus line on the stage of my body, dancing off in a kick-line singing "This is the end of the show!"
The Change sure does sneak up on you. I thought, "Can it really be time to join this club?!" Needless to say, I had no say in the matter – my body "volunteered" me!
At this point I just try to remember that even though I'll never go back to age 30, I don't have to act like anyone else's version of a woman my age. I truly believe that you're as young as you feel. And being a little more honest about the one body we're given, and taking care of it as best we can, we'll surely live longer, healthier, and happier lives. And that's good advice for any age!
Playlist:
1. Older Women – Ronnie McDowell
2. A Peak You Reach – Badly Drawn Boy
3. Reelin' in the Years – Steely Dan
4. The Old Gray Mare – The Skillet-Lickers
5. Getting Old – Lucie Blue Tremblay
6. Man, I Feel Like A Woman – Shania Twain
7. Be Proud of the Gray in Your Hair – Dave Evans
8. Your Mother Should Know – The Beatles
9. Silver Threads Among the Gold – Jo Stafford & The Gaslight Singers
10. Age Ain't Nothing but a Number – Aaliyah
Friday, October 24, 2008
With Age Comes Wisdom
Exactly what does the phrase "with age comes wisdom" mean? You might describe it with this adage:
Question: How long does it take for you to stop falling into a big hole as you walk along the same path each day?
Answer: Until you decide to walk around it instead.
And you would decide to walk around that hole because you've gained some wisdom (and broken bones) from falling into it so many times.
Age is the accumulation of experience that gives credence and volume to that little voice in your head that says to do (or not to do) something. You know, the little voice that says not to believe the salesman when he calls you on the phone and says "I'm offering this deal to very few people, and you're the lucky one today." The voice that cautions you not to leave those clothes on the line because it looks like rain. The voice that says, "I think I'll stock up on Extreme Moose Tracks ice cream while this sale is on."
Sounds like common sense, and it is. But lots of young folks are deficient in that department. How else could they not realize that talking on their cell phones while driving isn't safe? Or that the world won't end because they missed out on one date with that gorgeous, popular guy or girl?
No, they're too young to worry about consequences, and they don't have the perspective to take it all in stride. To know that today is probably not the best or the worst day they'll ever have, but only one of many days to be experienced to the fullest.
Of course, getting older doesn't mean you'll automatically gain wisdom. You have to be open to learning and changing. We've all been around older people who refused to see anything any differently than they did in, say, 1957. They may know a lot, but they're no fun!
Age gives us time to sort out all our experiences and make something meaningful of them. We often don't even realize that we've gained all this wisdom over the years. If you're like me, you are sometimes startled to see how many years have gone by seemingly in the blink of an eye. As some have said, "If I'd known I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself." And that's one thing that only age can teach you.
So don't give your grandma short shrift. She's been through a lot and would probably be more than happy to teach you a class in Wisdom 101. Why don't you give her a call? Now that'd be a smart move.
Playlist:
1. The Times They Are A'Changin' – The Byrds
2. When I'm 64 – The Beatles
3. Older – Colbie Caillat
4. Older – They Might Be Giants
5. September Song – Bryan Ferry
6. The Prophet's Song – Queen
7. Yesterday's Wine – Merle Haggard (with George Jones)
8. It Was A Very Good Year – Frank Sinatra
9. Wisdom – David Gray
10. Teach Your Children – Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
