The Primary

Son won a place on the ballot for the general election, but he has his work cut out for him in the upcoming weeks. It is quite an experience waiting around in the courthouse for the returns to come in on election night. Here, there is a wire strung up like a laundry line across one side of the lobby. An employee of the county clerk's office brings out a printout from each precinct as it is counted and pins it up on the line like a towel hung out to dry.

The candidates tend to cluster in groups separated from one another. Some were alone. Some came with family members. The top vote getter came in with his election committee all wearing his campaign buttons. He glided around the room with easy confidence and a warm smile. He's a salesman. The bottom vote getter wasn't there. I wondered why no women were running. The current council is totally made up of men. It's not as if women can't win around here. There are women on the county board and many of the elected county positions are held by women. I was just curious.

I chatted with the wife of an incumbent. She is also an election judge so she was very familiar with the process and the demographics of different precincts. I couldn't help but be reminded of the other times I had waited here for election returns, most notably when I ran for school board many years ago in a very emotional tight race. I lost. I felt humbled by the number of people who actually voted for me and in the long run very happy that I had not won. I would have been in for a very unpleasant experience. In the process I learned I did not enjoy campaigning. I had run because I'd been asked to run. I was very flattered. But I was running for someone else and thus my heart was not in it.

It takes guts to put yourself out there.You open yourself up to cheap potshots, rumors and opportunists. Still, as I watched last night's tallies being hung on the wire, I was seeing democracy at work. That was really neat.

Neat sights

The hubster and I sneaked out of town last Saturday morning. Narrowly beating a rain storm and in spite of a detour, we found the bald eagle's nest that son learned about the week before. It is always so impressive to see these great birds in the wild. Many years ago, about this time of year, we joined a birding group at Pere Marquette State Park near the confluence of the Illinois and Mississippi rivers. The eagles were everywhere, perched high in the trees along both rivers. It was there I learned to recognize the young bald eagles by their brown heads.

And the snow drops are blooming.
Need I say more?

Primary and secondary

Today is the primary election for city council and son is a candidate. The field of five has to be narrowed down to four before the March election. I am delighted he is running, not just because he'll be a great asset to the council but because we need some young blood in our governing bodies. Of course, experienced people are desirable but it's time for some retreads to take a seat with their coffee klatch buddies and make room for the next generation. The names of ax grinders often appear on the ballot. The good news is that even if elected, they don't normally run for re-election. I suspect they've settled whatever score they felt needed settling or they found out that they didn't have the power to do so. Anyway it's good to see young people running. That means they have not become so jaded or apathetic that they feel they cannot make a difference in their community.

Computers can be a blessing or a curse. T'was a blessing last night as I watched my daughter and son-in-law's plane fly over Tennessee on their way to Amsterdam. Thanks to the flight tracker I knew they were flying at 31000 feet, going 610 miles per hour and took off 29 minutes late. Now is that cool or what? Once I knew they were safely on their way, I ordered a pair of jeans from my favorite jean emporium without leaving the comfort of my armchair...another blessing for one who hates shopping malls.

My widely divergent reading the past week:
I finished Craddock Stories by Fred B. Craddock, preacher extraordinaire. A delightful collection of teaching tales.
Then I finally read If on a Winter's Night a Traveler by Italo Calvino. In places I was frustrated to the point of quitting this book, but I was rewarded when I persevered. I wish I knew the literary allusions, but the satire is delightful-gentler than Voltaire but every bit as clever. Calvino led me back to reread parts of The Arabian Nights . I wish I'd read it to my children. Alas, no one read it to me either. Better late than never.
Now I'm listening to the CD of Homegrown Democrat by Garrison Keillor, published in 2004. I was curious to learn what a life-long Democrat had to say about being a Democrat in these days of widely polarized party politics. In my neck of the woods, Democrats have become so demonized that they are viewed in the same manner communists were during the McCarthy era. Keillor has such a romantic view of his Minnesota childhood. He admittedly is an observer of people and as such sees always through the lens of his own myopia. I enjoy his voice and basic decency even if I do not always agree with his conclusions or his politics. He, too, is guilty of demonizing. I find it telling than at the time of writing, he was living again in St. Paul near the University of Minnesota where he went to college.
And I am also into a somewhat work related book Emotional Blackmail by Susan Forward et al. Although its title is extreme, the book does deal with common manipulative patterns, how they work and why they work, at least for a while. Interesting but not profound.

Honor Thy Father and Mother

On a wall in my mother's nursing unit hangs a plaque depicting an ancient Native American man and extolling the wisdom of the elders. No doubt, such wisdom is rarely sought in these youth-centric times. Wisdom may be sought but it tends to be from some tradition other than our own like a guru or shaman.

As a child, obedience was mixed up with the teaching of the church. The Ten Commandments were instilled deeply in me. I might have been too young to understand why graven images were such a big deal or what exactly coveting meant, but I did get "Honor thy Father and Mother" loud and clear. That meant minding, not sassing, not whining and remembering to say please and thank you.

Honoring thy Father and Mother becomes less clear when children reach adulthood. It can be further complicated if guilt, money or withholding affection has been used by Mom and Dad to control their children. As I deal with my dear old mother in her declining years, I find myself examining over and over just what does that commandment mean now? What does it mean to honor one's Mom and Dad? Does it mean I have to do everything my Mother asks like a good little girl? Does it mean I have to give her opinions greater significance even when I know she is just repeating the same old things over and over. Longer doesn't mean wiser. Reaching old age often means the thinking is just set in granite.

I pulled out my Key Study Bible to see what the original Hebrew word means that is translated as honor in Exodus 20:12. Curiously the word was not highlighted in my Bible. I checked out an Amplified Bible which said "treat with honor, due obedience, and courtesy". This did nothing to amplify my childhood understanding at all.

Finally I looked it up in Strong's Concordance and what I found was a surprise. The word which is translated honor is kabed/kabad with the root meaning "be heavy". From this root the various uses of the word are burdensome, afflict, boast, glorify, be grievous,honor, prevail, harden, to make weighty, go sore, promote, and lade.

An Old Testament scholar might correct me, but what I'm getting from this is that God is talking less about obedience and more about responsibility for our parents. After all these commandments were meant for adults, not to scare kids into minding Mom and Dad.

Perhaps the Lord is saying, don't neglect your Mom and Dad. (Relax kids.This isn't a hint to call home). Neglecting your parents is not the guilt invoking stuff of the horrid Mom or Dad who whines "My children never come to visit me". Maybe the kids don't come around because that's what they hear when they do visit. No, I think it's the idea that grown children should make sure that when Mom and Dad are old that they are okay. The kids aren't responsible for making Mom and Dad happy or for entertaining them. Nor does honoring them mean they have to live the kind of life Mom and Dad think they should. It doesn't mean that it's a mortal sin to get mad at Mom and Dad either. It does seem to indicate that we are to shoulder the weight of our aged parents when required and to be in touch enough to know when help is needed.

Hearts and Flowers

I know it's a crass commercial holiday. I really do. But I like Valentine's Day. As a kid, I loved giving and receiving those little Valentine cards at school. Of course I also was happy to help my mother eat the big red heart of chocolates which our dad gave her each year. Dad made sure there was plenty for him too. And I like to pick out special just-for- them presents for my nearest and dearest.

Last night Hubster and I went to a concert of love songs by Canadian jazz singer and pianist, Carol Welsman. We were privy to the first concert of her two month American tour. The three musicians who worked with her were first-rate and the improvisations were simply electric at times. It's neat to hear old songs like "Dancing Cheek to Cheek" done in a new way. Check out the clip of Carol singing "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" or "A Slow Boat to China". I felt as if I was hearing these songs for the first time. Canada seems producing some mighty fine smooth jazz artists right now.

So may you enjoy St Valentine's Day! Chocolate, flowers, a gift or a card are simply tokens of love. And that is a good thing indeed.

Trivia and Smoke

The annual Trivia Marathon was held yesterday. We competed against something like 25 teams and finished a heart breaking second, just one point out of first. We gave it our best. There was some concern when we found out that there were new people running the show. The local attorney/humorist who had been the emcee was otherwise occupied and the owner of a cement company was taking his place. This fellow also picked the questions. The cement guy did a fine job, except that he never asked how many steps there were from ground level to the top of the Empire State Building (102nd floor). I waited twenty rounds for that question and never had the opportunity to shine with my answer : 1860 steps. Maybe next year.

The top finishers were all teams that we have played against for many years so there is always a lot of ribbing going on. One team changed its name this year to the Four Horsemen and wore the appropriate name tags: Death, War, Famine and Pestilence. Do you think they were trying to scare us? Another team brought over-the-top snacks. They drank sparkling cider out of champagne glasses with cocktail shrimp draped over the rims. Others wore team tee shirts. It didn't help.

It's still definitely winter here despite the groundhog predictions. The pond has 6 inches of ice on it. Hubster, son and his galfriend have been skating several times. Hubster has also been keeping the wood stove burning day and night. Late yesterday evening after I stepped outside for a few minutes, I came back in to find the house filled with smoke. I say something brilliant like "Why is it so smokey?" at which point the smoke detectors go off. Hubster had forgotten to open the damper before opening the doors of the wood stove. He mumbles that at least we know the smoke detectors work. I step outside again keeping the door open to bring in fresh air and leaving him to risk hearing and lung damage to reset all the detectors. The smoke smell lingered an amazingly long time. I tried to pretend I was camping so the smell had a more pleasant connotation.

Son and I watched a bit of the Grammy's last night. Some of the acts made Prince's Superbowl halftime show seem positively sedate. I turned it off after watching poor old Smokey Robinson's very embarrassing performance. The sweetness of his voice is still evident, but his pitch was painfully off. I also wonder if these veteran performers ever get tired of endlessly singing the same songs that they made famous forty or more years ago. I guess it depends on how much they need the applause and how much their identity is wrapped up in their past hits. And their fans may not allow them to change either. However they become a caricature of their own past selves, an icon of their own making. I found the whole business rather sad so instead I read some more of Pauline Chen's very interesting book about physicians and mortality, Final Exam.

Some Things to Ponder

Self-respect is the root of discipline;
The sense of dignity grows with the ability
To say no to oneself.

- Abraham Joshua Heschel


Someone has to Gut the Fish

-Guy Kent, the Questing Parson


Describing the feelings of a psychiatrist's child:
"If I do something bad, people freak. If I do something good no one even notices.
No one likes me for me, they just respond to what I do."

-from the blog, The Last Psychiatrist
by Dr. Christos Ballos

Beware of hormones and the full moon

Finally I am recovered from that nasty cold which hung on for a full snotty week. It's a good thing because I have four new patients this week. Where do they come from? I do not advertise, I have no listings in any phone books and yet they keep coming and many from quite a distance. It humbles me greatly to think that something transpires in our sessions which motivates people to drive up to an hour and a half each way.

Last night I was really tired and was grateful when the last patient canceled out. Upon checking the mail at home, I was annoyed to find some cryptic notice from the state Department of Revenue concerning income that might or might not have been deducted twice. This was sent on a blasted postcard with ensuing threats of penalties if we didn't do something if indeed there was an error. Hubster gets paranoid when such communiques arrive. I get cynical. I quip that this must be our governor's new tactic to balance the state's bloated budget. Oh well. Can't do anything about it at 8:30 at night.

Then I go to print out a receipt for a DVD I ordered from Amazon for the office. I like to have a handy dandy receipt on file for my business purchases. Well the *#&!?%! printer is majorly malfunctioning. I change cartridges, clean nozzles, align heads and it won't print out any black. This happened the last time a printer died and Epson gave me a super good deal on a replacement. But dang that was just two years ago...the same exact scenario. It's making me think seriously about the dependability of Epson products. They obviously make their money on the ink cartridges. I am afraid I snapped at Hubster when he checked up on me and asked why I was holed up in the back room. Time to shut down and head for bed.

And, oh yes...there's a full moon tonight. And it's PMS time too. Even though I am post-menopausal, I still experience hormonal fluctuations. I saw hormonal and lunar chaos all day at work...fights between mothers and daughters, fights between spouses, fights between co-workers, blue moods and silly thinking. Hormones and the full moon. One patient told me that native Americans say that when a woman has her period she is on her moon. In these days of the pill, I suspect there is less coordination between the moon and menstrual cycles, but both must be factored in when I examine my own reactions and those of my patients. Is my irritation due to me or is it them? Was I ok until I interacted with someone else? Or have I been testy all day? Check the calendar. Could the moon or hormones be a factor? I just don't like to snap at people. Hubster is probably blaming himself for the dying printer anyway since he uses it all the time to print out photographs. Worst case scenario is it's time to get a new printer. And I'll drop that blasted Department of the Revenue postcard off at our accountant's office on my way to work and let him figure it out.