My Invisalign Journey - so far (1/3 mark)

 Back in the beginning of April (2022), I started with tray set #1 of 16. I’m hoping to straighten out my middle front bottom incisors. I wear each set 14 days at this time. That may change. I’m approaching the 1/3 of the way through this. If all goes well, I’ll be going -

From this (which, admittedly, looks better than the reality)

To this projected result:

What I knew going into this:

* Dental insurance doesn’t pay for the costs for someone of my vintage. Or, at least, mine doesn’t. 

* The “rules/conventions” of this journey are as follows:

      - You may only drink water with the aligners in. You may not eat or drink anything else with them in.

                -  You must keep the aligners in your mouth 22 out of 24 hours 

*  There are apps, YouTube videos, and Facebook groups frequented by people who are also on their individual journeys.

*  The “Invisalign diet” is a thing. But I didn’t understand why it was a thing.

*  That fixing this now may save those teeth. Improving how they look is a bonus.

*  I’ll be wearing a retainer-I’m hoping  just at night- for the rest of my life.

What I learned and experienced afterwards:

*  I didn’t know what the dentist would hand me on Day 1. That might have helped me with the following purchases.

* There’s all sorts of accessories that are handy to have. I thought I’d researched this all ahead of time. I thought I was ready. I was not.

* At my “vintage” time of life, others -with very few exceptions- aren’t interested in or even curious about how you’re doing with this. Some who haven’t experienced anything like this still think they know; they don’t. This is where the dedicated those Facebook pages are helpful. Because, friends, it’s been a lonely time of it. 

* But, I learned not to depend on those Facebook pages for emotional support. My first post asked for advice on keeping to the 22 hours “in time” and some posters told me I was “overthinking it”. I was trying to figure it out and found that assessment insulting. Since I’d read the directions from Invisalign, I spotted a bunch of misinformation. Like advising you to socialize as usual and not be concerned about the time the aligners are out. Or to go ahead and drink your coffee with aligners in.

* There’s a vocabulary you learn or -in some cases- relearn from elementary school health classes. Malocclusion. Incisors. Molars. Aligner, which is the same as Trays to describe the set of two pieces of plastic that fit in your mouth that guide or urge your teeth in increments to their new positions. Buttons or attachments- the pieces of resin/plastic that are glued onto your teeth to both help guide the teeth and keep the aligners on. They also make it hard to get the aligners on and off. And using the word “set” when referring to those two pieces of plastic because the process can involve multiple set groupings. Starting out with one set of -say-30 aligners, getting rescanned, getting -say- 18, thinking you’re done and then getting 10 more refinement set. Every case is geared toward the individual. Some people have been using aligners for years. 

* Having spent this money, I need to do whatever I can to make a success of this. And some of that is making me feel miserable. However, I can feel a difference in my teeth even if I can’t see it yet.

* The first week is horrendous. In my case, the first evening was the most horrendous. I was assured that I could socialize at a dinner that first evening. That was bad advice.  The first days with this are uncomfortable and can be painful. It’s something that is repeated to new Invisalign users in the Facebook pages. This is normal. And it makes sense when you reason it out. It’s a new experience for you and your mouth isn’t used to it. Watch out for depression, the stages of grief, and Buyer’s Remorse. 

* When you’re in a social setting, your companions won’t understand when you skip appetizers and just drink water. They won’t understand when you don’t eat as long as they do. Especially when they’re on their third glass of wine. Going through this -as with anything in life, really- can affect your relationships or reveal what they actually are.

* One of selling points of aligners like Invisalign is that you can eat anything you like. You can. You just find you don’t want to. Some foods irritate tender gums. Some foods like anything fibrous or sticky  make a mess in your mouth. Your gums and teeth become less tender in time but you remember and still steer clear of those foods. 

*  It was excruciatingly difficult to take my aligners out at first. I felt I was going to take some of my teeth out with my aligners. It’s messy. Even at this point, describing my taking them out as “discreet” is laughable and things have improved quite a bit. I discovered why the “Invisalign Diet” was true. You wait for food that’s worth taking your aligners out for. So, you cut out snacking. You don’t get that coffee drink from Starbucks because -really- it’s not worth the bother. I’ve lost 12 pounds so far. Water is my friend.

*. The lisp is real. l heard it. The Alexa device hears it. It makes itself known when I try to practice French, Spanish, or German words using Duolingo. It still reappears for a day or two with each new aligner. I feel self conscious. But people claim not to hear it over the phone, over Zoom, or in person.

*  I now have fingernails. I have to file them down more.

*  I thought wearing these would be like wearing a bite guard. Not quite.

*  It turns out that it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d had traditional braces when I was younger. Apart from a slight overbite (something that is also disappearing), my teeth were straight until they started to drift in my late 20s to early 30s and steadily worsened to their pre-Invisalign state. Invisalign was approved by the FDA and hit the market when I was in my 40s. The apps, Facebook groups, and computer 3-D technology (in place of mouth molds) came along in this century. My “being late to the party” in doing this just isn’t a valid issue. A lot of people on the Facebook pages report having traditional braces in their youth and going to aligners later because their teeth “wandered” or the permanent retainer failed.

My takeaways from this experience at this point:

* To avoid the phrase “overthinking it” when communicating with others. It’s condescending, judgemental, and unkind. People are trying to meet challenges the best they can.

*  The lesson I learn over and over again: the words “sympathy” and “empathy” are truly mere words in the dictionary. People show compassion if you are correcting or healing from something they can readily see. If they can’t see it, they don’t. 

*  I know for sure there’s one person out there who’ll have my back. He’s the one who called me every day when I first started this to check in. For this I’m grateful. It would have been easy to slip deeper into depression without those calls. But I also know that he’s got multiple  irons in multiple fires so I know not to lean on him much.  As he reminded me, I chose to do this. 

* I have an even deeper compassion for high school classmates who had traditional braces. I remember one who’d come back from appointments with tears in her eyes.

*  Ultimately, I have to be my own cheerleader and be responsible for making sure I do what I need to to make this a successful process. 

*  I’m not sorry I made the decision to do this because I feel the difference. I’m hopeful. My slight overbite is gone. The bottom incisors haven’t gone side by side but they seem to evening a bit. It’s starting to look closer to this - what’s projected as my halfway point- over a month away:

I take my victories where I can.

 

           

Life in the time of COVID-19 and flashbacks to 1973

I'm sure it all could be worse. My present mood could be a side effect of being fatigued from helping out for nearly 14 hours straight with the Presidential Preference Primary yesterday. And the sore throat that woke me up in wee hours. (Could be from acid reflux. Could be from allergies. It doesn't have to be from THAT.) Or from the frustration of not being able to get needed tax stuff from certain agencies when I've been trying to do this since February. Yet, what am I frustrated and fixated on today? What have I haunting Amazon for all day like it's eBay - only to be beaten out by what surely could only be HOARDERS or POTENTIAL PRICE GOUGERS who just HAD to swoop down and take all that was available of a certain product.  All of the remaining 6 orders. 48 rolls a package. 288 rolls of TOILET PAPER in total. My one single order got snatched out of my Amazon cart.

I wasn't always this way. I resisted the urge to snatch up multiple packages of toilet paper when the first rumblings of the oncoming storm. I just got the six MegaRolls. I never dreamed that this virus would cause a repeat of the Great Toilet Paper Stampede of 1973.   Even as I grabbed a package of napkins the other day just in case sanity didn't assert itself, I thought this sort of avarice would all blow over. hungrily

But my biggest mistake, my downfall, was talking to others who -truth to be told came off as smug and self-righteous. And these are people who purport to like me. One's even related to me. "This is all so ridiculous" said one huffily. " I always buy it each time it goes on sale so I always have a good supply of toilet paper on hand." This person said this knowing that my supply was relatively meager. And the one who's related to me kept harping on the subject. Going on and on about how he had so much on hand.  He spoke about getting a large package for a worried sick friend at Costco. He spoke of other shoppers who had ignored the limit of one signs and plopped multiple packages in  their carts. They were SHOCKED when Costco employees enforced the limits. "She's lucky to have you as a friend," I murmured.  "So, how much do you have on hand?" he inquired. I was honest. Two rolls -I'd sadly  just finished one- and that unopened package. Not nearly enough if I wasn't going to be able to get more when I needed it. He laughed and  got smug and self-righteous after that. And teased because he has vast experience doing this as an older brother. It's fortunate we don't FaceTime. He ended the conversation saying we needed to check in with each other more. I fumed as I was attempting to fall asleep which meant sleep was delayed.

The next day, a normally level headed Facebook friend cheerfully revealed he just bought 48 rolls off Amazon. Just in case. "What?!??", I croaked aloud. (Sore throat, remember?) I went on the hunt for a few hours- thinking several times I had success only to get error  messages as I started to check out. I've grown to loathe the word unavailable. And I'm also am struck by dejá vu as I formulate my Plans B through Z. This happened before in relatively less dire times. When I didn't have a cat with an unfortunate toilet paper fixation. When I was much younger, more resilient, less fatigued, and not being told by the authorities to just stay home.  When sneezing or coughing in public was greeted by concern and "Bless you!", not fear and scolding tirades. When I wasn't constrained by social distancing. When a sore throat didn't spark fear of the approach of something much worse.

"Doctor, I Let You Go."

There aren't words to adequately express my deep affection for the BBC TV show, Doctor Who. I enjoy the concept, the characters, and the writing which combines humor about the human condition with deep - sometimes provocative - insights. I love how the plotlines will sometimes loop back into episodes/the series' canon which aired decades before and pick up a plot point and run with it. I admire the exquisite cleverness of the first showrunners who -faced with having to replace the original Doctor- came up with the concept of regeneration. The character changes from one actor's face to another actor's face using camera tricks or special effects which have become more sophisticated as the series went on. The Doctor's personality changes with each regeneration; initially, there's confusion on the companion's part and amnesia on The Doctor's part. It takes a few episodes before The Doctor remembers his- or her- previous incarnations. But, the premise remains: The Doctor character endures, the face of The Doctor changes, and the show goes on and has gone on -with some breaks in transmission- since it premiered on November 23, 1963. We are now on the 13th Doctor.

There have been instances where children have watched the show and have grown up and played The Doctor - realizing a childhood dream. It makes it all the more poignant when the actor leaves the series.  The character "regenerates" from one actor into another- but not without some angst or reluctance. So, it was with the Twelfth Doctor, played by Peter Capaldi. At the end of his run as The Doctor, his character displayed a disinclination to regenerate. Change is hard. But, finally, after giving a speech proffering all the advice -  and every bit of warning he can - to the new Doctor, he accepts that it's time to let himself transform into something that is not him and yet still is. He forgets that amnesia will once again set in and it will take the new Doctor a while to recollect  who The Doctor was and a bit longer to figure out who The Doctor now is. Peter Capaldi's final impeccably delivered, heart-wrenching line is: "Doctor, I let you go." 

I can relate. The past decade - the past few decades, come to think of it - has been a series of hellos and goodbyes. Medical malfunctions, life lessons, and inevitable changes have wrought changes in my appearance. I'm often when startled when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. "It's not me", I think.  What in the world have I regenerated into? And- inevitably - what do I want to regenerate into?  These thoughts lead  considering the minimalist/self-improvement advice that's making the rounds, especially now at the beginning of a new year: Let go of anything that no longer serves you.

I'm not going to be dramatic about what I let go. It's tempting to do the popular-on-social-media, over-the-top, emotionally -charged rant and flounce off.  However, I am an introvert despite those extroverted behaviors I may exhibit that I've been forced into by my former profession or by societal expectations. I prefer the concept of ghosting. I'll just quietly drift away from destructive relationships, declutter things and old ways of thinking and doing, and make more room for what I value and what values me.  It's not just a matter of "enough is enough". Enough is too much. It doesn't mean I don't see a value in what I'm letting go.  These things and people were my Doctors - using the definition of "eminent scholars". The lessons taught haven't admittedly been always pleasant, living, or life affirming.   But, I have learned what these Doctors were here to teach me.  Doctors, I let you go.

Here There Be Dragons

Areuse Gorge
Switzerland

The Alsace-Lorraine/Metz branch of my family tree (via my maternal grandmother) had its origins in Switzerland.  That's all I knew until a year ago when I came across an envelope filled with papers relating to the Metz Family Tree that my Great Aunt Edith sent me years ago.  I mean, Years Ago -Pre-Internet/World Wide Web. 30+ years ago. I remember glancing through then, but I must not have really have been thorough, because there was an article I overlooked. It was about a purported ancestor of mine, Sulpy Remond ---or as I like to think of him: The Dragonslayer. The Gerald Metz referred to in the article is a cousin. Here is more detailed account of the battle on page 12.

I tend to take things like this with a grain of salt- especially when genealogy is involved. It's such an inexact science and it's so easy to follow wrong leads which can lead the unwary genealogist to delusions of grandeur or some other genealogical terra incognita- places that cartographers used to label as Here There Be Dragons.  I saw a lot of those missteps as a fledgling librarian. It discouraged me from working on my own genealogy. I didn't want to become like the far too many of the genealogists I encountered at work- snarling at or blaming sweet, innocent young librarians when the ancestor they were seeking wasn't on the reel of the Soundex or Census Microfilm  they'd  specifically requested.  I didn't give too much thought to ancestors who lived in far-off lands.3/4 of my ancestry involves people who came to this country fairly recently in the great scheme of things. To do genealogy at the time, I'd have had to cross an ocean and travel to archives and research. I lacked both money and passion for the project. Besides, what could I possibly have in common with those dead ancestors?

I searched the faces of great uncles and aunts and great grandmothers I never met in few really old photographs my family had for any family resemblance and found none. At best, I found a glimpse of the family mischievousness in the slight smile and the eyes of a child who wasn't following the photographer's instructions and, thus, showing that there was a real person being photographed. His mother and his brother showed that blank, dead stare so prevalent in photographs of the time. James would grow up and go to sea as a sailor. He was the great uncle I'd heard about from childhood who was reportedly lost at sea. But, seeing him in that photograph made me feel a kinship.  I knew that look.  I'd seen it in my Grand-dad's and my mother's faces. I knew I was related to that child. Or when I looked at the photograph of my great grandmother, her husband (the formidable J.K.), and my two half-great uncles. Everyone in the photograph looked fierce, except Brian. He looked nonchalant and relaxed- not trying to be anyone but himself.  I could see the resemblance to my grandmother, his half sister. I met him when I was 6 years old- a big bear of a man who was genuinely happy to meet me (children can tell) but whose size and exuberance intimidated me.  I would love to reach back in time and counsel the little girl that I was- "It's okay.He's really related to us and we really are glad that he is." But, those long dead relatives from long ago?  What could I find out that could possibly be of interest to me?

And, yet- a Dragonslayer in the family! Hmmmmmm. The article - I have the longer

European Water Dragon

version in my possession- puzzled me. Was it an allegory with the river as the dragon or was it a shining legend on par with St. George? I asked a friend and former Genealogy librarian (who, also, has a lot more Swiss blood than I can claim). She shrugged it off saying the versions were basically the same thing. This exploded a Swiss stereotype for me- that of precision.  Dragonslayer, 14th Century Hydraulic Engineer.  Potato, po-tah-to. Really? No difference? Seriously?

Either way, this point remains- Dragonslayer or River Tamer, he was a hero. Not a monarch, or a great leader, or a captain of industry. Just someone who died removing a source of great danger and fear- making life much easier for many in his part of the world. That's a relative to be proud of! 

And then I consider the Dragon.  If there were dragons, I would have expected my ancestor through his heroic actions also chancing incurring the wrath of a Medieval Wildlife Protection Agency, not to mention the Environmental Protection Agency for burning the dragon's carcass. I think of the dragon, one of the last of a fast disappearing species of reptiles, protecting itself against the encroaching humans and operating only out of an instinct for survival. I feel a sense of loss, a sentiment that I doubt my ancestor would appreciate. Does the survival of one species depend on the annihilation of another? Isn't there a better way to handle this?  

"Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage.  Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love."  ---Rainer Maria Rilke

Bird Is the Word, Part Two.

This summer, my church is offering a Sunday School class in The Artist's Way- based on the book by Julia Cameron. One of the features of this course of study is that you are encouraged to take at least one Artist's Date a week. At this writing, I am on Week 8 of the course and my first Artist's Date of the week was at my church- Painting with Dale- with Dale Child as our instructor.  The subject of our acrylic painting was Bird on a Branch.

The bird in question turned out to be a cardinal.  Very pretty bird- also known as redbirds in this neck of the woods. Also a very determined, "don't mess with me" sort of bird as confrontations and heated aerial battles in my backyard have revealed. The wise squirrel will let the cardinals and blue jays have their turn at the seed pile unmolested. Unfortunately, the neighborhood squirrels aren't known for their wisdom, courtesy, or adaptation to avian manners. Tweets, chirps, and chatter have been exchanged and the matter of who is the most entitled to the seed has yet to be settled.  (Hint to the squirrels in my 'hood- The label on the bag reads BIRD SEED. BIRD SEED. Get it?  No, I really didn't think you would.)

Cardinals aren't easy to draw.  It's the crest that gave me the greatest problems.  Their slanted high top fade. I wanted mine to look like a cardinal- not a kingfisher or a woodpecker re-imagined  in red.  I tried the old drawing shapes trick to form the bird, but it didn't seem to work for me.  I found a photo of a fluffed-out-against-the-cold cardinal that I liked and tried to draw that.  I had a bit more luck than I did with the shapes method. Audubon isn't rolling over in his grave in fits of jealousy, mind you. I sketched it out on my prepared canvas and hoped for the best. Keeping between the lines is not as easy to do with a paintbrush as it is with a marker or a crayon.  And the crest of my bird kept getting bigger as I attempted to indicate feathers on his noggin.  I decided my bird is a young bird. Perhaps, he will grow into his crest as he gets older.  Or he's just stylin' with his high top fade.

The Artist's Way teaches us that In order to do something well, we must first be willing to do something badly. When we accept this, we widen our options.  Part of me wanted my bird to look more cardinal-like.  But I know myself well.  I can rework and tweak a poem, a drawing, a story, or a painting into something uninteresting or pedestrian -- another lesson from The Artist's Way.  Art is never finished. It simply stops in interesting places. Letting go is a normal part of creativity.

Or as Rumi observed back in the 13th Century: "Fihi ma fihi".   It is what it is.

Bird Is The Word: Part One

Pentecost Birds

In preparation for Pentecost at my church this year, congregants were invited to help make 400 origami doves out of construction paper in a multitude of fiery hues- reds, shades of orange, and  shades of yellow. These would be displayed on a chandelier of sorts in the sanctuary on - June 8th (2014).


This is what they looked like - unstrung, as it were:

This was the brainchild of Kathy Stark, artist and fellow church member who has substantially "fired up" Riverside's Pentecost commemorations with awesome installations. There was a row of tables set up in the Bittinger Fellowship Hall. Those folding birds would start at the first  station - STEP 1- and continue to the next station and the next step until each bird was finished and could join the flocks forming in the basket. Once each bird folder had a bird done, they would circle back to the first station and start again. I managed to fold 21 of them.  Can you spot the ones I folded in the photos below? (Hint- the tails are slightly different.  Yes, there's one. There's another.  No, no- that's definitely not one of mine.)  

The Pentecost Birds in Flight

Sometime before Pentecost Sunday, they were joined by white doves which huddled together down the center of the "chandelier".  There they all turned and swayed in the air conditioned breezes for nearly a month and a half.  If my attention wandered during the service, I would watch the Pentecost Birds. The flock elegantly migrated together to the right, then to the left while each string of birds softly turned and swayed in their assigned vertical rows. They danced in time to the preludes, hymns, the anthems, the offertories, and the postludes or to the music only they could hear in their little paper heads.

From Pentecost Sunday on, there were signs that the "chandelier" wouldn't be a permanent fixture. Some in the congregation hoped that the birds would stay through the summer until Rally Day. But the Pentecost Birds clearly had ideas of their own.  They would shimmy down their wires and land on the backs of the birds beneath them, eventually crowding close together at the end of the wires. There they would sit in uncomfortable-looking clumps.  They looked like concert-goers crowding the entrance doors wanting to get in and get the "good seats".  The sexton reported that he would find birds that escaped their wires on the sanctuary floor. Yet, no matter how many slipped down and away, it seemed were more than enough of them left to dance above us through several Sundays.

And, then, last Sunday, they were gone.  Without a good-bye coo. Without a farewell flutter.

Symbolically, I suppose it was apropos. The Holy Spirit descended on Pentecost.  It didn't swirl decoratively above the heads of the faithful.  It wasn't content to dance on the wind forever.  The winds the Spirit danced on were the winds of change. And change doesn't and shouldn't linger in one place. Change is a word of action. In the case of Pentecost,  it sallies  forth and multiplies and spreads the Word.  

While I know the Pentecost Birds weren't Forever Birds, I'll still miss them and their soulful saltation.

Yeah...well...

How time flies whether you're having fun or not....

So, it's been over a year since I last blogged.  And -yikes- what an expensive first year!  They never covered this in those retirement seminars!

2013 was the first year I couldn't do my own taxes. Things became complicated after Mom died. The way she put together her trust involved monies I would get after her death. But these weren't insurance monies. Nope- it meant taxes. Big time. And, for the first time in my life, I paid taxes. I have never, ever written a check that large. And this year I learned:

1. Unless I go back to work, I will never be able to use IRA contributions as a way to lessen my taxes.
2. I will never, ever overpay my taxes through income tax deductions. My former employer via the Pension Office errs on the side of not taking out enough for employees, The days of the income tax refund are gone, baby, gone.
3. Health costs become a big part of deductions. So do charitable contributions,  If you don't have those, you pay a much higher tax bill.

2013 was the year I started addressing my home's infrastructure.  I hadn't been able to do that when I was care-taking and working full-time. So- exterior boards were replaced; my fence gate was replaced; the house was painted; the water damage from the roof leak was addressed. I thought I was making a good start. Then, then, then.....SURPRISE!  

The slab leak.

First, I blamed the cats. I'd taken them with me on vacation and I thought they were paying me back by wetting the carpet. Then, my neighbor knocked on my door. There was a puddle in her living room. Had I had any problems? Uhhhhhh.....  Her landlord's maintenance guy concluded that the leak was NOT on her side. He very kindly turned my water off and managed to turn it off permanently- as my plumber and I discovered later. Well, darn! I started looking for plumbers and renewed my digging out efforts.  

Three different plumbing companies came to give estimates.   

1. The first was not sympathetic about why my house was in such a state and he did not hide it.  Looked great from the outside. Inside- not so much. The first identified the problem as a slab leak- not the 70s-colored hot water heater going out in a flood of glory. Since the slab leak was under the stairs and tearing up the stairway wasn't a viable option, repiping the house was the only way to go. And- as part of the repiping, he proposed running a pipe outside and up the exterior of my back wall.  I'm not a plumber but that sounded wrong. He gave me an estimate which turned out to be the lowest.  
2. The second was a plumbing contractor recommended by a Facebook friend.  He silently went through out the house with me apologizing and explaining. He sent me an estimate that was over three times as much as the first guy. This was his winsome, yet effective, way of telling me that he did NOT want my business.
3. The third estimator was sympathetic.  Like the first, he explained what needed to be cleared and what needed to be moved. Unlike the first or second, he had been through the caretaking experience and understood. He said he would work with me. His estimate was higher than the first contractor's but I felt more secure with this guy. He got the job.

Clean up and decluttering are somehow trickier without access to water. My next door neighbor let me get water for toilet flushing from her hose. Another neighbor gave me keys to her house so I could take showers and wash my hair.  I spent a small fortune on bottled water.  I hired the men who replaced my decayed exterior boards and siding to help with the garage and it was whipped into -at least- good enough shape that the plumbers could get to the walls they needed to get too. I tackled the inside myself. It was a long process.  I had to get help at the last to move a large piece of furniture out of my kitchen. And weeks later, the work I did clearing things up was enough to get the repiping done. For extra measure, I had them install new toilets, replaced the harvest gold water heater, and replaced the garbage disposal unit which decided to die when the water returned.

The house is still a work in progress.  There's a lot to be done yet but I need to save to get them done. 

And- I made my will. Planning for a time when you're not around is a very sobering experience. Yes- another yikes-inducing chunk of change was involved.

Yes, 2013 was a very expensive year.  I do love understatements.

So- do I regret retiring when I did?  No. Having more money to work with would have helped, but retiring meant I had the time to handle these challenges. I would NEVER have been able to get time off work to deal with these challenges. I hadn't had a vacation since the mid-1990s. And I would have been even more exhausted by the staff shortages. And--- I wouldn't have been able to do what I needed to do for me. Like addressing health and well-being issues.  When you don't address your own infrastructure issues as they occur, you pay both monetarily and physically. I'd been flat out ignoring myself while I was a caretaker. I was warned not to do that. But- like many caretakers- I felt there was no time for the luxury of doctor's or dentist's appointment if it wasn't case of dire need. Being retired, gave me the time I needed to make a start on addressing my needs.  And- wow- did that addressing add to the health cost deductions for FY 2013.  

And- if I hadn't stopped working and retired when I did- I wouldn't have been able to take yoga lessons, take Tai Chi, taking a painting class, go on Lunch and Learn trips, join a choir at church, take Wednesday night classes at church like the cooking class, join the local historical society, fully experience One Spark, attend the theatre, do group meditation, or go to concerts.  I would have been sick, exhausted, angry, and resentful and feeling very undervalued. I saw that coming while I was still working because I was feeling those feelings. For me, it was a no-brainer. It was time to go. It really felt more like escaping than retiring.

Would I have done anything differently? Well, yeah! I learned a lot of crummy life lessons this past year and it hasn't been pretty. The phrase "It seemed like a good idea at the time" can be applied to this period in my life--- even more than I thought probable. 

Is retirement what I thought it would be? I hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about retirement. I was busy coping with life at the moment for the past decade or so. My plan was to keep working as long as I could past the 32 year mark and keep feeding that IRA. That wasn't - as it turned out- the best or most workable of all possible plans.  There's a Yiddish saying- Man plans. God laughs.  One of my favorite quotes is from the first Indiana Jones movie: Raiders of the Lost Ark: "I don't know. I'm making this up as I go."  That line resonates with me. I may not always like it but there are always something that happens that is way beyond my control.  That's what makes life aggravating; it's also what makes it interesting.

Making Haste Slowly (or Caretaker Recovery)

So, yes, there's been quite a gap between posts due to illness and a sudden onset of grief. I had really hoped to be further along with the clear out than this.  From the beginning of this whole clear out progress, I noticed I could only work in short spurts. I would be short of breath or nauseated or extremely fatigued. I wondered why.  I still was putting a goodly amount of stuff on the curb for the trash man but my donation piles were becoming smaller.
By Christmas, I cleared a pathway to my sliding door,  By February my extra large walk-in closet (my spare room which has the most ceiling water damage had a path to the windows. My cats started sunning themselves on top of the under window bookcases. I was making progress. Then I came down with an upper respiratory infection. Fearing another bout of last year's bronchitis, I got to the doctor. Took the antibiotic but also took it easily.  The trash pile dwindled to sickroom debris. As I came off the antibiotic, my gastrointestinal track went kablooey as  my appetite dwindled to nothing. The blues hit big time as did grief and I realized that I needed help. Checked with my insurance provider and started the hunt for psychological help. I also made an appointment with my doctor.

So- this is what I've found out so far:

• There are a bunch of tests out there I 'got to' take- some blood, some I had to provide samples of stool, and some diagnostic tools. The stool sample was one of those Catch 22 deals.I had to solve some issues myself beforehand - the ones that brought me to the doctor in the first place- to get a decent sample. Not something I'd want to collect again anytime soon. 
• I don't have celiac disease. So I don't have to be on a gluten free diet. Good news because the foods I'll eat when I have no appetite almost certainly have gluten in them. I widened my food choices. Instead of "I can't have that", it's been "That I can have."  Still- the whole exercise made me more aware about what I eat.
• From the x-rays, the pitter patter of my heart and my shortness of breath are not caused by problems with my heart and lungs.
• I really need to watch myself. I tend to plunge into things too quickly, Instead of self/advice-diagnosing myself,spending money on foodstuffs I don't need to have. Since gluten free stuff has a short shelf life (and takes longer to cook, has a different taste, etc.)  And I need to stop myself from rushing out and buying what Dr. Oz says may "cure me".  I found homes for the gluten free stuff with families that need it.
• The best thing I did was to give up Mail/Web shopping for Lent. Amazon Prime especially makes it so easy to buy things.  Like the aforementioned gluten free stuff and Oz cures. From the stuff I've been clearing out, I've been seeing a lot of waste. Expired medications and herbal cures. Expired food. Just junk. Junk no one else would want.  And a lot that makes me stop and ask myself "What were you thinking when you bought this?"  Retail Therapy has huge drawbacks.
• I have a lot of unresolved anger and frustration about what happened these last ten years and before that- from job changes and challenges to caregiving to hospice, to Mom's death, to Jessie's near death and special treatments, etc. I recognized that I was setting myself up for a fall with all the changes I was going through added to all the changes I made this past year and a couple of months. I recognized that -by the stress list alone- I was setting myself up for something to happen when I retired. But just the idea of staying on the job was stressful, frustrating producing, and limiting that I was willing to risk whatever happened to avoid it.
• The good news is that I'm not so far gone blues-wise that I need to go on anti-depressives.
• The bad news is that I get to go to specialists to find out what is physically wrong. Every now and then Acid Reflux comes back. Can't find a trigger.
• The good news is that the music Pandora finds that sounds like Pat Metheny's Last Train Home is fairly energizing. And available via the Kindle.
• The mixed news is that I have been advised to do something creative in addition to my clear out work. And this blog with its one cherished follower is it.

Back to work!!!

 

The Not So Blank Slate

My backyard -tiny as it is- used to be my refuge. No matter how chaotic my house or my life got, I could go to my garden and escape.  The summer sky I'd painted on my back fence was always blue - no matter what was happening in the real sky.  When my mother came to live with me, she, too, liked my garden. We used to sit out there and read the Sunday paper. One of the neighborhood cats used to come visit and curl up in my lap- much to the displeasure of my own cats. But, as her dementia took hold of her, she became careless and uncaring. She'd leave clothing or paper out there. She'd let one of my cats who was strictly a house cat out and leave her out there. I'd come home to wet and ruined clothing and newspapers and a frantic cat.

As Mom became worse and more of an invalid, the way to the garden was blocked and I couldn't spare the time to care for it.  The garden became overgrown.

 

 

I wish that it looked as picturesque as the garden above.

 

The land takes untended spaces back. Florida's long growning season takes the process a step further. It went native. Big time.

 

This past August, I paid the man who mows my lawn to clear it out. He and a friend went at it with much vigor and thoroughness. And far exceeded my expectations. He left my two trees, my hydrangea bush, and my gardenia bush. Everything else was purged- including the first thing I planted- my azalea bush. All that was left was the stump. Chairs, pots, ornaments, figurines, hoses, border fencing, and tables went into a pile.  It looked pretty bleak back there. I was in a state of shock but consoled myself that this was an opportunity to start over anew.A blank slate. But I was going to miss the azalea's magenta flowers come spring.

 

I'd given myself a pep talk and a deadline to be able to get out door to the garden by Christmas. I did it by Boxing Day night.  Today was an unseasonably warm day and I went out to the garden to see what survived the onslaught. I dug through the pile rescuing and putting chairs back into place, started putting things in a pile to be taken to the curb, and tried to figure out what I could do with what was left. I noticed a patch of green about the size of a dinner platter. I frowned but then my eyes widened. The leaves looked very familiar and were growing around the stumps of the old azalea bush.  I may not have any magenta azalea flowers in this spring, but, perhaps, by the next.

 

 



Taking Back My Life or What Hurricane Debby Did For Me.

This past summer, I was taking my time trying to get my life back to normal. Or the next best thing to normal. Before my bout of major depression. Before Dad died. Before 9/11. Before changes in my job. Before Hurricane Charley changed my mother's life and -by extension- mine. Before my cancer scare and operation. Before care taking Mom. Before breaking my pelvis. Before Mom went into hospice. Before fracturing my foot. Before her death. Before all that was happening the past 15 years. I was still working. Every day off was spent resting up for the next go-around of workdays. I was not getting much done. Tropical Storm Beryl came and went stripping more shingles off my roof. "Gotta get to re-roofing. Someday.", I told myself. Even my still small voice was speaking up less.

 

 

Then Hurricane Debby charged across from the Gulf to the Atlantic. And water started dripping from my skylight. And wet spots started forming elsewhere. So--my "Gotta-get-to" became "Get it done." First, I needed to deal with all the stuff that had been piling up. Things I had put aside and not dealt with. I started on my miniature foyer and stairway.Clearing paths. Adjusters and contractors' reps came and went. A new leak started downstairs, A tarp went on the roof in early October. The roof was repaired in late October. We had a dry spell. At the end of November, it rained and the skylight leak returned. So- I made the decision to replace all three skylights. This was something my insurance company declined to pay for- not that I was counting on them to do so.

Now the inside work needs to be done. But first comes major decluttering and disposing, So every trash day my curb looks like this times 4 or 5.  Add another trash can, boxes, and more bags.

And I'm donating stuff.

 

I wish I could say that I'm seeing lots of progress. But I'm not. My stress-drained energy levels haven't made a comeback.  I'm still coping with acid reflux based nausea that started as I was leaving the workplace. I'm slowly going gluten free to deal with it but I think there's something else in play. I'm also going to get acupuncture treatments. Until the classes broke for Christmas, I took Tai Chi and Yoga classes for exercise and to deal with stress.

 

Plus, here's an emotional toll to this process. I have to force myself to do this and I'm not always good at strong arming myself. Decluttering means coming across Mom's stuff. It's all over the place. As the dementia took hold, filing systems disintegrated. It has to be sorted through for estate purposes. Coming across stuff from the person I was 15 years ago. It's baffling. Why did I keep this? Did I actually wear stuff like this? What is this thing? Christmas presents I meant to give bob up in the ocean of boxes and piles. I put them aside in their own box so they don't disappear again. I figure I'm set for office supplies for years to come.

 

I'm good at cutting myself breaks. Too good. I let myself watch entire runs of series on Netflix and on Amazon Prime. I have the relaxation part of my new gig down. The self-motivating part- not so much. I know I'll function better without so much stuff. I just have to convince myself that getting rid of the accumulation doesn't mean that I'm getting rid of what I really and truly need.

 

Plotting The Escape

I almost always get in trouble when I don't listen to that still small voice. Just that month it had urged me to go home- not to stop at the supermarket. I ignored it and my car was crashed into. Still, I hedged my bets. I did what I call my acid test: Ask yourself: What happens if you do this? What happens if you don't? What happens if you stay? What happens if you go?

 

The thought of staying - the very thought of it- filled me with something akin to terror. Leaving with all its uncertainties and years before I really felt I should - the thought of that calmed me down. As events unfolded, I realized. My still small voice was right. It was time.

 

When you've been working as long as I had and have as many hours of leave as I did, you have to negotiate your retirement (or as I had started thinking of it: my escape). I had retirement leave and annual leave coming to me. Lots of it. I could roll my regular leave into a retirement account. But not that retirement leave. If I took the retirement leave in a lump sum, I'd see very little of it after taxes.  My ideal plan was to run out both my retirement leave and annual leave. In the current fiscal climate, that wasn't going to happen. I finally got the word. Yes- I could take my retirement leave. I would have to roll over the retirement leave into a retirement account. My last day after retirement leave would be January 10, 2013. I cleaned out my cubicle giving away a lot of what I had collected over the years (but not nearly enough) and wrote up my retirement letter. Around me, layoff and demotion meetings and restructuring conferences continued. I felt a mixture of relief tinged with survivor's guilt.

 

 

I always wondered how I would feel about leaving. I thought I'd feel bereft. I thought I might feel like I'd lost my identity. I thought there would be a library-shaped hole where my heart had been. While it took me over a month not to say "We" when referring to what was going on in the library, I realized that all the gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, spirit-draining events and outrages that had happened in my professional life over the last 15 years or so had given me this gift: "Regret nothing. That was then, This is now.  You're a person too apart from the labels of caretaker, librarian, daughter, friend, employee. It's time to take care of yourself - way past time, in fact. You're overdue. Escape to a new adventure."

 

On September 28th, I was one of 500 city staffers who escaped to new adventures.

The Decline

It's been a long long time since I posted to this or any other blog. In the intervening year and several months:

•  I continued to have problems with my car. Bad trouble. Stranded at night troubles. Dead in the water on Riverside Avenue at rush hour troubles.
• My mother was in hospice.
• One of my cats was diagnosed with diabetes.
• I was transferred to a direct public service department at work.
• I got a new car.
•  My days were full of work, going  to see my mother and advocate for her, going home and care taking the cats, and zonking out on the couch. Repeat every single day.
• My mother got worse.
• I went down for the count with bronchitis.
• My cat came down with pancreatitis and went into the animal hospital.
• My mother died and dealing with what was left of the estate began.
•  It looked like my cat was going to die too. Instead, she to be fed via feeding tubes.
• The annual Summer of Uncertainties at work began anew. Layoffs were threatened. Anxiety rose, and rose, and rose throughout the summer. I felt the darkness of depression swirling nearer and nearer.
• Hurricanes and storms passed by and passed through. My roof started leaking both upstairs and downstairs. I needed a new roof.
• The Director announced the layoffs, demotions, staffing and hour cuts, and transferring of staff were now a certainty. I hadn't been in my new department a year. The Director said it would be even worse in the next fiscal year. Base pay would be cut again in the coming fiscal year. Proposed new schedules came out.
• My new car was hit by a woman who made a premature lane change and who is probably still telling people it's everyone else's fault, not hers. I was back in rental cars again for a while.

A still small voice inside me said: " Enough. You have worked in your job over 33 years, You can retire. If you stay on, you will only be more miserable, angrier, and sicker. The new schedule means you won't get to do all those things you wanted to do for the past 8 years." I hesitated. "DO IT!" screamed the not-so-still, not-so-small voice.

The Continuing Adventures of Zippy the Wonder Car

Zippy's Doppelganger

My beloved Little Blue Car is finally getting fixed RIGHT. (Lesson Learned: The dealer may cost more but they know more about the car than the neighborhood fix-it place and may end up costing less by fixing it the FIRST time.) El BeeCee had been refusing to start and was smelling of gas and making the garage smell like gas-- very disquieting in this fire season.  To get El BeeCee fixed meant that it had to spend quality time with the dealer mechanic. So- I needed to rent a car and that car turned out to be Zippy the Wonder Car.

The Zipster is a sub-sub-compact.  It is very responsive, loves to do tight turns, gives one the distinct impression that it takes corners on two wheels,and has some mysterious stuff on its dashboard the function of which is a mystery. I sit higher in the driver's seat. It's similar in color to El BeeCee so it's not too disorienting. But Zippy also loves gas (drinking up half a tank of gas in four days), the horn doesn't work right, and its main drawback is that it is not El BeeCee (easier on the gas, horn works). 

Originally, Zippy and I were to be together four days and then part on amicable terms. There were delays in getting the fuel injectors here to install and then El BeeCee wasn't running as smoothly as the mechanic had hoped. I do want El BeeCee to finally run right. The extra time with Zippy won't cost me any more. But- the novelty has well and truly worn off.  I keep reaching for window openers that aren't there, auto door locks that aren't there, radio settings that aren't there.  I want my elderly, "lived in", scratched-and-dinged car back.  El BeeCee doesn't zip like Zippy but it has a more solid feel when I close the door. I feel safer in it.

Update: Finally got the LBC back after nearly a week and am acclimating myself to sitting lower, A/C that works well, taking corners on four wheels,better sounding radio, and non-Zippiness.  It's amazing that you can get used to a car in a such short period of  time.

Taming the Wild Tansu (or Kaidan-dansu)

I'd been eyeing the picture in the catalog for years. It depicted a piece of furniture that was attractive, multi-functional, and unique. I'd even researched the tansu. The tansu step-chest (kaidan-dansu) was used in Japanese households as a storage cabinet and as a stairway to another level. The Japanese were taxed according to the size of their home. Forewarned of the coming of the taxman, a homeowner would re-assemble the stairway into a mild-mannered cabinet and, thus, disguise the fact that there was more to the home than met the eye. The tansu step-chest wasn't just a piece of furniture; it was a form of subterfuge.

So, finally, I caved. I was not scared by the Assembly Required. I am a veteran of the furniture assembly wars. I'd assembled most of the furniture I own and everything's all still together. I'd downloaded the instructions from the catalog website. It didn't look too daunting. How hard could it be?

The tansu arrived in two huge heavy boxes. One came up to my shoulders. One was chest-high. I wrestled them into what we townhouse owners laughingly call a foyer. I regarded them with awe and trepidation for the better part of two weeks. Monday, I squared my shoulders and took the assembly plunge.

What is there about catalog copywriters, instruction makers, and packers of boxes that conspires against the end-users? Odds are that the purchasers of the tansu are going to be using it as a way to deal with living in a small space-- much like its original use in Japanese homes. Why then, were the pieces scattered among the two boxes instead of with the levels together? Why then was the description in the catalog different from the instructions and the piece of furniture (not five drawers but, instead, three drawers and two cabinets masquerading as drawers)? Why then, were the instructions so illogical? You build from the ground up, right? This is a heavy piece of furniture as demonstrated by the heft of the shipping boxes. You need to put the base level where you want the furniture to go- preferably with sliders underneath it in case it needs to be moved. Why then, would the instructions start with the top level? Do they think we have room to safely place all the finished parts until it's time for the final assembly?

I shuffled through the instructions looking for a reason why it was in this order. Since it was a print-out, it was easy to put it in the order I needed. When I was skimming the instructions I found the words: Two people may be needed for assembly. Oh, great! Now they tell me. It takes a village to build a tansu? We'll see about that. Five-six hours, some swearing, and a sore back, hands, and legs later, I was almost finished. I'd coped with there just being one of me to put it together. All I have left to do is put on the backing and fasten the levels together. This is something that goes against the original purpose of the tansu- but it's not big enough to reach the next floor and, besides, the taxman already knows the size of my place.

Early in the process, my cats -uncharacteristically but correctly- surveyed the situation, opted for self-preservation, and found a place to go until the danger has passed. Against my predictions, they have avoided the tansu- so far. I fully expect to come home to find them playing a game of "King of the Mountain". Or find that one of them has discovered the sliding panels and climbed inside. Yes, I'd considered all that before I bought the thing.

Lessons learned?

• You forget the frustrations of furniture assembly over time. This loss of memory keeps the manufacturers of pre-fab furniture in business.
• There is a reason those little camlocks have arrows on them- even though the instructions don't bother to point that out.
• Nor do the instructions tell you what you were supposed to have done with that tiny bottle of glue.
• Following the instructions when they don't make sense isn't always a bad thing.
• Cats don't always react the way you predict they will. It's part of their job description.
• Sometimes, what the product description gets wrong turns out to be just fine. I like those two doors disguised as drawers. They give the piece a sort of tromp l'oeil feel by deceiving the eye.
• Asking yourself "How bad/hard could it be?" is never a good sign. The Fates have their time-honored way of answering that question.
• Though... sometimes that answer isn't too awful.

(Update: This past Monday-I put the back pieces on the tansu, bolted the parts together, and slid the tansu into place.  The instructions were sorta fuzzy, so it took two hours. Not "the easy part" I expected it to be.)

On the nature of miscommunication

So- a friend and I talked about going to brunch together after church. We both had some things to do at the church that wouldn't take long. I mentioned that I would be going to see my mother at the nursing home (near the church)after she had her lunch. She mentioned something about just meeting at the brunch place- since it was close to my home. I mentioned something about just meeting at her place- not far away from the church and we could just go together. I drive over to her place and wait, parking in front of her building. Her car was still there at the back of her building. No sign of her. I check around front- then check back- and the car is gone. I start driving over to the brunch place when common sense hit me. Call first, dummy- and, while you're at it- think this through. So, I look up the restaurant's number in my mighty Kindle and call. She's there. They let me talk to her. She says-"I thought you misunderstood what I was saying." I reply that it just didn't make sense for me to travel in and back several times in one day-since I still needed to see Mom (it's Mother's day) and then I wished her a good time. So- I went to see Mom instead before her lunch. And-of course-fumed about it.

And here's how my fuming went:

• When will I ever learn? This is the same person who -when I could barely walk- took me to my orthopedist and then informed me I needed to find my own way home. or wait 4 hours for her to swing by and pick me up. Then she felt bad about it (5 hours later) and called to see if I'd made it home. And tried to tell me that what happened was my fault.


• Given what I related above, I might have had to get a cab or bus ride back from the restaurant if we'd gone together.


• If she thought I'd misunderstood when we were originally talking about this, why didn't she clarify? She walked right by my car to get to her place. What did she think was happening? What's really going on here?


• My life is more complicated than I'd like it to be at the moment. My paying job is either going to drastically change or I may be forced to retire before I want to. My mother is newly in a nursing home and I visit her everyday. I'm trying to get my life back on track after the events of the last seven years. Going out to brunch with a friend would have been a treat-but does even that one thing have to be so complicated? Probably not.


• If I had caved and went toodling off to the restaurant, I would have been traveling 40-45 miles today instead of the 18-20 mile roundtrip. Not smart in to travel 2 days worth of mileage in one day- especially in these days of nearly $4 a gallon gas prices.

Did I come to any conclusions? You betcha. Cut down on needless drama. I have enough without inviting more. No more spur-of-the-moment plans. No more planning without clarification, clarifying the clarification, clarifying the clarification of the clarification.

Three Forbidden Topics of Discussion in the Workplace or Why I'm Glad the Election is Over

My staff and I share a workspace with another department. When we talk among ourselves, we don't touch on the three celebrated forbidden topics of polite conversation: sex, religion, or politics. But the staff sharing our workspace 5 yards away from us, has- since we started sharing workspace- has talked politics for what seems like eons (since election talk never stopped after the last presidential election). They all seemed to share the same views but -if a staff member had an opposing viewpoint, I think he or she would be hesitant to join the discussion. It's distracting when we're trying to concentrate on our work or trying also to listen to customers on the phone. However, there's another consideration-- the door to their public area is always open. If we can hear them, the public also gets an earful. Should we have to put earphones on and block the noise- also blocking hearing colleagues that are trying to get our attention for work-related reasons?

It may affect me more than others. I've seen seemingly strong long-standing friendships and relationships fall apart over politics and witnessed that heartbreak at close quarters. Time and again I've seen politics get in the way of good government and good public service. I always looked as voting as voting for issues, voting for people who can make a positive difference- not voting for a party. In the past, when I've complained about the invective-laden and uncivil political discourse in the workplace, it's been assumed that I was objecting because I disagreed with the views being expressed- not because I thought that the discussion of politics had no place in the workplace. So, people incorrectly assume that they know what I believe. And they don't. Not - I suspect- that they're even curious.

Joys of ILL, Part 1: Explaining Why We Can't Get A Book

My Interlibrary Loan Borrowing staff (and I- since I help out with that) have a high success rate in getting books customers want that are eligible for ILL. A small percentage a Because there are so many ILL Management Systems (like ILLiad) out there, there are a handful of one-to two word reasons that come through for NOT filling an ILL request. Some are direct and to the point: NON-CIRCULATING. Some are a bit more elusive: BRANCH POLICY. Some are downright evasive: OTHER. There used to be one called UNSPECIFIED but OCLC killed UNSPECIFIED off earlier this year- but ILLiad users won't see OTHER and UNSPECIFIED gone until the next upgrade. So- for the time being-in ILLiad-land, the UNSPECIFIED reason gets transmorgified into OTHER.

I'm glad it's soon to gone. Glad, I tell you, glad, glad, glad! BWAHAHAHA! Its use gave rise to many an unproductive conversation with customers:
ILL: "They wouldn't lend the book to us."
Customer: "Why?"
ILL: "They wouldn't say."
Customer: "They wouldn't say? What does that mean?"
ILL: "The reason they gave was 'Unspecified'."
Customer: " 'Unspecified'? What is that supposed to mean?"
ILL: "They wouldn't say."

I think that 'Unspecified' was -at times- a way for the lender to say:"We could tell you, but then we'd have to kill you." But I may be wrong. After all- they really wouldn't tell us why. "They wouldn't say."

Encouraging the Heart:In praise of stickers

I've been having some problems with the computers I work with (my laptop is still spending quality time in IT), so I've been camping out in the workroom so I get some computer time. It's given me an opportunity to observe what's going on. Staffers troop in with ILL Lending fills and -if they found everything we asked them for- I often heard the phrase: "Don't I get a gold star?" Well, I thought, why not? But gold stars are just so early 20th Century, y'know? So, I got a bright idea. I'd been putting smiley faces on the stats spreadsheet every time everything was found. Why not smiley face stickers to celebrate staff finding everything we asked for? I thought that they would be easy to find considering the rampant 70's nostalgia out there. It wasn't as easy to find them as I thought it would be. Starting in September, I began handling them out.

It's been interesting seeing the reactions of staff. Some staff seek me out to get a sticker. In one department, it's an excuse to brag (and -according to one staffer- rub it in to other staff that had bad luck finding fills) . One staff member displays the stickers on her book truck like WWII fighter pilots displayed "downed enemy plane" counts. A tiny minority of staff aren't enthused.

It's been an interesting exercise. I wonder how they'll react to the smiley stars I'll be handing out in December.

Maimonides' Day

If you go to the U.S. Capitol, you will see twenty-three marble relief portraits over the gallery doors of the House Chamber depict historical figures noted for their work in establishing the principles that underlie American law. You'll recognize only a few of the names. Among them, you'll find portrait of Moses Maimonides (1135-1204).

Maimonides was a physician, a philosopher, a theologian, a commentator, etc. --a Renaissance man whose life pre-dated the Renaissance. (Would that make him a pre-Renaissance man?) One of the books he wrote which is still being read today is A Guide for the Perplexed. (Wonderful title! It could be used today as a subtitle for a wide number of books on any topic. The Internet: A Guide for the Perplexed. Modern Life: A Guide for the Perplexed)

A few years ago, I came across the text of a letter Maimonides wrote to a scholar who sought an audience with the He wrote the letter to dissuade him from making the trip to old Cairo to meet him. Instead of merely saying "I just don't have time to meet with you", he tells the scholar about his day. You can find the text of the letter at: http://www.jpi.org/rambam.htm - scroll part-way down to see the part I'm referring to. His day is so jam packed full of the demands others have for his time. He manages to squeeze in some study and write. He barely has time to eat. Part way through the letter, he states: "When night falls, I am so exhausted that I can hardly speak. " Even as night falls, his studies are interrupted patients and visitors. The Sabbath brings little relief. He died when he was 69 - a ripe old age, I suppose, at the time. If all his days were as chock-full as he describes, it's a miracle he lived that long!

I think of Maimonides' letter when I feel there are too many demands on my time and energies. It puts my experiences into perspective. As a child, I heard adults complain about the stress of the modern world and a longing for the "good old days". I don't think things have changed so much through the ages. There's always something new, some change that causes us concern or distress. Even when the good stresses that add sweetness to our lives come our way, they leave their marks on us. At times. it seems that the only humans who always embrace change are babies- and that's just when the change involves their diapers! The trick to dealing with stress seems to be discovering how to handle it, finding out what matters most, and benefitting from lessons learned.