Wednesday, August 7, 2019

            August's sixteenth birthday. Boy, time flies. Damon said not to call until after 11 am LA time.  I called about noon to sing the birthday song- a la Ross.  Mike and I developed our version of the song. Mike couldn't sing to save his life. When on the altar, the priest would signal him to shut off his mic if he was singing. Really bad.  So, he and I developed our way around this little problem. We sang off-key; we caterwauled; we howled while we sang the birthday song. Now, I sing solo. I keep up the tradition with my variations, not dependent on Mike's limitations.  I can hold a note much longer; I can reach notes that he couldn't.  This is fun. The family pretty much girds their lions in preparation for this serenade.  But it is still special- I think.

            Changes are happening quickly to my body in Bikram. I was doing a single standing posture when my body said NO.  Okay, I stopped and moved much, much slower. I experienced changes in my left calf and somewhat into my thigh. Paying attention and respecting the messages from the body makes a big difference.

            After class, I stopped off at the T-Mobile store. I haven't been able to access my GPS for at least a week.  When I went to the door, it was locked, the store looked stripped, and there was a workman on a ladder.  It was 9:30. The store was supposed to open at 9.  What was striking was there was no note on the door saying what was going on. When I got home, I figured out I could call T-Mobile directly and get help.  Yep!  My cellular service button was on off. I have no idea how that happened.

            I continued working on cleaning up the clippings from the diseased hibiscus. Yvette gave me two industrial trash bags.  I have been cutting up the branches to fit in the bags. Scott said that when the sun hits the black bags, it will produce a heat that will cook those troubling little mites feasting on my plants.  Once dead, the green waste can join the municipal green waste without fear of infecting other plants.   I only work until the sun makes me feel par broiled.  Then I go to shower and go on with my day.

            The plan was to go to Hilo today to order the headstone for Mike's grave.  I had to call the owner of the shop to see if he would be available today.  Sorry no.  I called B and told him that I was not going over.  That means he went over to deliver a super large backpack for Elijah to carry his high school books.  Since I wasn't going over today, B would have to do the school shopping with Elijah, too; the school has been in session since Monday.  I wasn't able to do it this year with the kids because of timing. Maybe I can do it again next year.  

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 Musings: I'm putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

 

            Research in neuroscience shows that we don't make rational decisions. Our nonconscious minds, using a life-time of knowledge, make those decisions for us. Well, yeah.  God forbid, we had to use our conscious minds to make every decision. We'd be back in bed after half an hour. It would be exhausting. 

            But I find my conscious mind does have a role in decision making. While it doesn't do the driving, it acts as a traffic cop. In doing healing, I receive impressions.  There are a few seconds where I can observe my reaction, and my nonconscious mind's instruction to do something. In that brief window, I have a choice to follow the instructions of my nonconscious mind or not.  

            When I'm in healing mode, I'm usually at my least anxious. However, there are situations where I get conflicting impressions.  My conscious mind 'knows' things I could do to 'help' the client, but I also think it's not quite right to take that action.  They are two different feelings involved.  The most challenging part of the decision is sitting with the session's discomfort where I do 'nothing' and have to risk being 'a failure.' I have a choice.  While being in that position can make me uncomfortable, I have never regretted taking the 'wait 'option. 

            Meditation has helped me observe what's going on in my mind before it's translated into action.  I can discern the difference between actions driven by some form of fear versus the other option, whatever you call it.  I know they feel differently.  I know I have a choice.  Do I always make the best choice? Don't be silly.  When I was young, my choices were always driven by anxiety. I've had to work hard to learn when not to accept the counsel of fear.        

Tuesday, August 6, 2019

            It was a small group at Bikram today.  I have been bothered by the absence of one of the regular students.  I finally asked the teacher what was going on.  I learned she had injured her foot and is taking time off.   It’s a community; we watch out for each other.

            Kathrin speaks English pretty well, but she still struggles for a word now and then, misuses a word or uses an incorrect grammatical form. I have been correcting her with her permission and the clear understanding that if she not up for it, she can ask me to halt. One of the thrills of teaching English to speakers of other languages is discovering more about my language. Yesterday, I was explaining when to use this versus that, and these verses those.  Dorothy, my sister, would love, love, love to be involved.  I am thinking of connecting the two over the phone. 

            This morning she was asking me about the use of ain’t.  Alicia Keyes used it in one of her songs. “I ain’t nothing without you.”  She played the song for me as we were driving to Bikram. I was blindsided by grief.  I certainly don’t feel that I ain’t nothing without Mike, but boy, I’m not what I was.  What’s left isn’t nothing, at least by my estimation, but it is just not the same. Besides the enormous psychological change, there are the physical changes that come from losing the person I’ve been around daily for 45 years.  Our biomasses were changed by each other.  I think some aspects of grief are comparable to drug withdrawal. 

            When Kathrin and I got home from Bikram, I sat in the car and just talked about my grief.  She was great. In the past, she has moved to touch me to comfort me.  That only worked with Mike. This time she stood at a distance and just listened to me.  Thank you. Thank you. That was perfect. 

            I went into the library after we got home for some reason. Looking at Mike’s books, I was overwhelmed with grief.  For the first time, I wept openly about the loss.  My guess there is more coming.  Each person’s grief takes its own course.  Some say the first year is the worst; some say the third.  All I can do is allow myself to discover what is in store for me and accept it.   

            Kathrin made a special dish last night for us to eat. Boy, she is one good vegetarian cook, and she loves playing around with spices the way Mike liked to.  Besides all the good food I’m getting out of this deal, it is good to have someone in the house who loves to cook. Mike could have been a professional cook, and Kathrin can be one too.  

            Over dinner, I told her Mike and Betty stories, the fun ones, how we met, how we resolved a problem, how we laughed together. . .  

            After dinner, I went into the library to sort through more paper.  Kathrin loaded a huge bag of recyclable paper into the car to drop off at the transfer station on Thursday.  I’m almost finished sorting paper. I filed the old tax returns in the one remaining file cabinet in the guest room.  Once I’ve done all that sorting, I will do the final clean up and take pictures of Mike’s library for posterity.   Then I start filling orders for books and shipping them out. Did he ever imagine what it would mean for me to have this responsibility?  I don’t think he thought about what it would mean for anyone to do what I’m doing now.  I’m not complaining; it gives me something to do.

            I do know he had some fantasy that the seminary where he taught would take his whole, carefully curated collection- - in his dreams. I would have to build a new wing to house his 3,744 books. They said no, period end of sentence. The librarian in the New Orleans seminary gave more of an explanation.  People are continually donating books, mostly inappropriate for their library. They often don’t bother opening the boxes but store them in the attic.  I guess there no place for the early Raymond Chandler books in a seminary library.   

            Thanks to John Coughlin, I was able to create an online catalog of all the books.  The seminaries can choose which books they want and leave the rest for me to deal with. (Oh, Mike. I am so sorry that your dream will not come true.  If I could do it for you, I would – in a heartbeat. God, I did and do love that man.)

Monday, August 5, 2019

            Yesterday in church, the priest asked us to do a mental exercise: list what is most important to us.  Mike and my love for him were the only things that came to mind.  Then the priest asked if Heaven came to mind. He said if not, we should revise our list. 

            When I got home, I spent a lot of time on my sad hibiscus shrubs.  Two of the three have bad blister mite infestations.   I clipped them back the other day.  I put off treating them with the Sulfur Dust as I put off everything; I'm afraid I'll do something wrong. I finally did it today.  Of course, there were mishaps.  Maybe I killed my plants. We'll see.

            When I examined the Sulfur Dust container, I found a small hole in the cap attached to a jar tube.  It almost looked like the dust was already in liquid form. I squeezed the container, and dust came shooting out into my nose. Let's hope it's deadly only for mites. 

            I took off the cap and poured the dust into a tablespoon measure.  I added water to three tablespoons and mixed until it was the consistency of mustard, as the Farm and Garden clerk told me to.  I scooped the mixture into the gallon pump spray bottle.  I discovered that there was still some vinegar in the container from when I used it to weed the garden.  How would vinegar affect the sulfur dust?  I emptied the pump spray bottle into the toilet, rinsed it out, and started again. 

            I had a good quantity of the mixture left in the bowl.  I made more of the mixture, filled the spray pump container up with water, and headed out to do the deed.

            I wound up doing some more clipping on the plants because I found more infected leaves.  I sprayed and sprayed, and noticed that it was getting stinking hot out.  The instructions said not to apply the spray if the temperature was over 850.  I ran in to check the local temperature.  The Internet said it was 830. Phew!  

            Then I got to work cutting up the branches I had cut off the shrub to fit them into the two industrial black garbage Yvette gave me.  He said the heat in the bags would kill the mites, and then I could feel comfortable adding the branches to the city green waste without worrying that I am contaminating someone else's hibiscus plants.  I finally went in, showered, and worked on the blog because the sun was too intense. Kathrin prepared some delicious lunch. She could be a professional cook; she thinks to combine foods and season foods wonderfully with a great presentation. 

            In the evening, I did some more work on the papers on Mike's desk.  I found documents from 2014 that are meaningless now. I think I'm close to finishing the pruning of the library. Next comes finding books and sending them out.

            I stopped off at the post office to drop off packages. Two were books, and I thought to ask the clerk about the book shipping policy.  She said to make sure not to use liquor boxes. They won't ship them if they believe there is liquor in the boxes instead of books; the price difference is substantial. I spoke to Scott later in the day.  He has a source of boxes for me.  He also said liquor boxes could be turned inside out: cut at the seam, invert and tape the seam back together. Besides being cheap and half the price, liquor boxes have the advantage of being smaller, which means I can carry them into the post office.

            In a NY Times book review on a novel about a good marriage, they spoke about the couple standing crotch to crotch talking about weeding. Ah, that comfortable intimacy, being able to hug someone without worrying about what body parts touch, and routinely having complete body contact just for the pleasure of that contact.

            I would often call out, "Okay!" Mike understood and joyfully came to hug and kiss me.  I heard again today how people die wishing they had worked less. I don't think work per se is the problem.  I think a lack of love is.  Mike and I both worked hard, but we also loved each other consistently. We loved being in each other's company, just being together.  I had complete trust in him.  I think he may have been a little less trustful of me, not because of me but because of his background with his mother.  It colored his whole life.  He never recovered from the trauma of her treatment of him.  It makes me so sad.

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 Musings: I'm putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

 

            What does it mean to have Heaven on our list? Why is that important?  Some people have Heaven on their list the way others have Disney Land on theirs. It's a place to go where they expect to enjoy themselves.  What is the advantage of thinking of it? 

            I think the priest thinks that it changes your life priorities when you have Heaven on your bucket list.  Material gain can pay for Disneyland, but it doesn't do much good for entry to Heaven.  Handing in a resume of our accomplishments, which gained our status in the world, won't fit the bill either. It's supposed to put your focus on the ethical issues of life, the way we treat others, and what we do for them.

            When I was in my early twenties, I taught in a Long Island school district and lived with two other women who also taught there. It was a nice arrangement. I still look at my time with them affectionately, although I have not maintained contact.   One of the women was a cradle Catholic.  She came up to me one day and said she had always been taught that people outside the church were never ethical.  She said I was one of the most ethical people she had ever met. I had been raised outside of any religious institution by two people who professed not to believe in God. My father used to say, "The Pope is too intelligent to believe all that nonsense."

            I didn't learn my concern with ethics in a church. I learned it at the dinner table and at my father's knee.  He didn't hand me rules as to what was right or wrong.  He engaged me in discussions.  I don't think he had anyone else interested in pursuing these topics, so I became his philosophical partner, inappropriately.  At the age of twelve, he brought up the subject of sadomasochism.  He said that it would be all right between consenting adults. 

            At the time, I didn't think he meant it in a sexual sense; of course, I had no context for understanding what that would mean in the first place.  Being older and wiser, I now know what that might mean, and I still don't think he meant it in a sexual sense.  My interpretation, even at the time, was that his relationship with my mother was sadomasochistic.   At the time, I thought he was the masochistic, and she the sadist.  She certainly had that tendency.   My uncle, his brother, told me that he once asked my father how he could tolerate her.  His answer was, as my uncle told it, a helpless, "I love her." But I think he demeaned her as much as she tortured him.  They each gave as good as they got but in different arenas of the relationship. 

            That was one of the more extreme discussion topics between my father and me, and those were my thoughts as a preadolescent. I don't recommend it. It's too much for a young mind to grapple with. But, having survived, I did come out with a mind that always asks about the ethical implications of everything I do. At 78, I'm finally comfortable with it, well, reasonably comfortable.

            As Mike called it, this ethical imagination was something he and I shared and valued in each other.  I don't know about Heaven, but I know that it is easier to live with myself knowing I've done the best I could. 

            This reminds me of a curveball my dad threw me at age seven.  I remember the moment vividly.  He was on the couch. For some reason, the upright vacuum cleaner was standing there, and I leaned on it as I talked to him.  He said, "You have one person to live with for the rest of your life. Make sure you can do it." My immediate thought was, "He's out of his mind if he thinks I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him." He interrupted my thought by saying, "Yourself!"  It's the man-in-the-mirror problem. We can't escape ourselves.  We have to find a way to make peace.  The ethical pathway serves that ambition the best, aside from any questions of Heaven or hell.

Sunday, August 4, 2019

            What a delight it is to sleep on a freshly made bed with clean, air-dried linens.  I slept like a baby but woke up shortly before six instead of eight when I had set the alarm. This allowed me to do some gardening before I had to shower for church.  When I came home after church, I read in my new book on breathing before I lent it to Heather. Then I napped so I would have the energy for the two-hour yoga workshop with Heather at 3 pm.

            From the book on breathing, I learned that kidney problems can cause breathing problems.  CO2builds up, causing rapid breathing, which promotes anxiety and high blood pressure.  This describes my poor Mike. He didn't have a chance.  At least he had 78 years, and I got 45 of them.  He was probably better to me than he was to himself.  

            I was a little disappointed in the yoga workshop. I thought it would be more specific on breathing and the postures. Heather went over some of the asanas in detail, but it was pretty much the same dialogue I have heard for 14 years.  Repeating it slowly doesn't do much for me.  She did give me one helpful suggestion, but I found she paid more attention to the more advanced students. I can understand that.  They are more fun to work with.  They make more substantial improvements more quickly.  I like working with slow students because I get the importance of small, even tiny changes. I also learn from them as I work to solve their problems. But I also need a break from them now and then because those changes come after much hard work.  The better students make changes quickly. The rich get richer, is a true axiom.

            There were some bumper car moments during and after the workshop, communication not going smoothly between me and others and mild feelings of annoyance coming up.  I tried the Ho'oponopono prayers, the Hawaiian healing prayer.  I found I had to say it to myself. I don't consider myself a people pleaser by any means, but it scares me when people are irritated with me.  I think this is a very primitive response. 

            Is there anyone out there who doesn't respond when someone shows annoyance with them?  The response can feel bad, complicated by the following the feeling with anger or irritation with the person who was annoyed with me. Then, of course, it's necessary to dismiss that person as being defective themselves for judging me. Who are they to be annoyed with me? And then, the internal argument starts as I defend myself.  Is this only me because my mother tortured me with constant criticism, or are these responses common?            

            Damon called to start the process of ordering my airline tickets for my west coast trip in September. While I was on the phone with him, I told him that since his dad died and I had no one to complain to when I was down, it had become his job.  The poor guy! I guess he is the closest I can come to having Mike around.  I told him how I was hurt because of those bumper car moments I had had earlier.  He started telling me not to take it personally.  (Another of my favorite expressions, hmmm. )  I don't take their actions personally.  I fully understand they have lives of their own, and I'm not their top priority.  I don't expect to be their top priority. But I have been abandoned by the person for whom I was a top priority.  I am alone.  That is my personal experience.  I understand this is something I'm going to have to go through, again and again, and again until I'm okay with being without my one and only for whom I was his one and only. I am alone as I haven't been in 45 years.

            I instructed Damon just to say, "Moof-moof."  "What?" "Moof- moof." I had to train the poor guy.  At least he's not rushing in with solutions anymore; he's getting much, much better at just listening. He said he wishes he could do more.  But the truth is he can't.  Moof-moof is the best he can do, and it is good enough.  It helps.  I felt much better after he said it a couple of times.  I am so lucky to have him in my life.  His wife Cylin has been comforting too, but Damie Doo gets to carry the load.  Hopefully, it won't be too heavy for him. What's completely clear is that he cares about me and loves me. I'm his step-mother. Some parents don't get as much from their birth children. How lucky am I?

 

 

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Musings:

            I did the Ho'oponopono prayers on myself. Vitale said that we are saying this prayer to some higher being.  Now I'm thinking maybe we're always saying it to parts of ourselves.  Saying the prayer didn't relieve all the tension, which had built up in my body. 

            I then tried the trick of communicating from my conscious mind to my nonconscious mind that my life was not in danger.  This relieved a lot of the tension I had built up. I think I've written about this before.  I think we are hard-wired to fear antagonizing members of our social group.  In primitive times, if we annoyed the wrong people or enough people, we could be banished. Banishment meant death. We would be exiled to live in the wild on our own, entirely on our own.  Not much hope for survival there.  Annoying people had an implicit threat built into it.  

            While we are not in danger of being condemned to death today, our primitive minds do not know that. They were not designed in the context of the modern world.  Does this make us out of touch with reality?  No.  The truth is we are designed to respond this way.  We need a way to deal with the reality of the way our minds work and the way the world outside our minds work. Rationale argument does not work against the brain's internal part if you are only arguing with the prefrontal lobe or rationale mind.  You need a method for communicating with the primitive part of the brain.

            The one I use works for me and others I have tried it with.  I have the conscious mind communicate directly with the brain cells in the back of the head.  The conscious mind tells these brain cells that no one's life is in danger in the current circumstances.  It is very much like a parent having to explain to a child that they are safe when they may feel danger.  It is essential that the conscious mind not lie to the nonconscious mind.  If there is a risk involved, that has to be made clear.  The conscious mind has chosen the best alternative under the circumstances. It is clear that no one intends harm; in a medical procedure, harm may be possible while no one means it. That's a biggy. 

            There are circumstances where this method will not work.  Groups of people who have been subjected to genocide have rational reasons to fear the possibility that others will kill them if they are displeased with them. In those cases, situations have to be parsed.  The immediate situation has to be separated from the broader context of human intolerance for other humans.  But I never push it.  If the conscious mind continues to fear, only harm can come from that. 

Saturday, August 3, 2019

           

            Crista taught the Bikram class today. Mark usually teaches on Saturday and Monday.  He must be out of town.  I haven’t been in her class for a long time.  She didn’t say anything, but I wondered if she thought I was worse or better since the last time she saw me work. 

            After class, I spoke to Heather about this book I was reading on breathing.  It is a technical book for professionals that Kim, my chiropractor, recommended – not to me but another client. She wound up telling me about it because she confused me with the other client. 

            In the introduction, it speaks about the impact of breathing on health.  I always thought it was critical. While I now know that I don’t use the best breathing muscles, I have always been a deep breather.  It always worried me that Mike took one and a half to two breaths to my one. He was also a mouth breather during the day.  He said he couldn’t breathe through his nose.  However, when he slept, his mouth was shut, so he must have been breathing through his nose. Mouth breathing and rapid breathing cause high blood pressure. They trigger a flight/fight pattern in the body, which causes continuous negative stress and high blood pressure. The doctors believe his kidney disease was caused by high blood pressure. 

            Also, his breathing pattern caused continual anxiety. The only cause for his pancreatitis, which killed him, the doctors could find was his anti-depression medication.  I always worried about his breathing when he was alive.  I resigned myself to the consequences of his habits because he was not open to change. He thought my theories were a little out there.  No doctor told him his breathing was a problem and sent him to a respiratory therapist.  My guess in the next ten years we will see more doctors doing that. Now we need more people to train as respiratory therapists to help healthy people learn to breathe better, which will prevent a boatload of diseases.

            Today I took the old sheets off the bed and washed them.  When I came home from Oahu, I swore I wouldn’t change the sheets for a year. These were the last sheets Mike had slept on. I would still have some part of him in bed with me. They were filthy, but they hadn’t caused any skin problems, so I was still good.

            In preparation for washing them, I sprayed them with  Oxiclean stain spray and let them sit for a while still on the bed.   I was going to have them in the washing machine and turn it on just before I left the house for Bikram. The linens were in, the soap was in, the machine was set for a soak, and I was going to turn it on as I left the house for Bikram. Naturally, I forgot.  I called Yvette and asked her to run up and push the on button.  When I got home at 11, after making a stop at Ace Hardware to get more ant traps and Island Naturals to buy more pumpkin seeds and dried cranberries, the sheets had been soaked in that soup three and half hours.  That should be enough.  When I opened the washing machine, the sheets were wet, but they weren’t sitting in water. Is this what this machine considers soaking?  Whatever it wound up being good enough.  I ran the sheets through a whole wash cycle after adding soap.  Then I hung them on the line.  They looked pretty good. 

            Kathrin helped me make the bed with the freshly washed linens.  I took the comforter off. We’re heading into the hottest, most humid months here on the island, August, September and half of October.  Oh, misery. I set aside the comforter for cleaning and put on a lighter blanket.  The bed looked pretty good.  I liked the feeling I got looking at the freshly made bed.  I don’t even know how to put the feeling I had into words.   Maybe I feel this way each time we put on fresh linens.    

             Today was the five-month anniversary of Mike’s death.  It was a good date to change those linens.  I wrote this before: I decided to do it now because Mike asked me to. He wants me to get on with my life and let him get on with his death.  I think I am getting on with my life, letting him go slowly. I am concerned that my holding on to him limits what he can do, holding him on earth instead of allowing him to move on.  I started thinking that’s why people pray for their loved ones because it reminds them that they are gone and helping them release them to their deaths.  Tricky, very tricky.   

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 Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

 

            In David Brooks’s book, The Road to Character, he selects extraordinary people who had to twist themselves into peculiar shapes to be who they were and accomplish extraordinary things.  I suppose society needs people driven by intense neurotic feelings, maybe even self-hatred, so they are motivated to achieve great things. But what about the rest of us?

            If character building is as Brooks describes it in his book, I’ll take a pass. I don’t want to live a tormented life. Been there done that. Although it didn’t drive me to accomplish what the people he writes about in his book accomplished.   

            The critical question is how the rest of us live morally driven lives without becoming extreme examples of self-sacrifice. Is he saying the only way to be moral is some extreme behavior or psychological state of mind?  Can’t be. There are too many of us in the category of ‘ordinary.’ If all of us are incapable of having an ethical imagination, the human race is in deep, deep doo-doo.         

            I  did find one incident of an ordinary person volunteering.  Brooks spoke to this woman who volunteered in her community.  She said she was too busy to volunteer; she listed all the things she had to do.  On the list were several things she already did for the community. She didn’t think of them as doing volunteer work; they were just things that had to be done, and she did them. We need more people to write about for whom the moral life looks like the lives of ordinary people, people who live everyday lives and think of each moment in moral terms.

Friday, August 2, 2019

            Heather is an excellent instructor, giving me corrections that are specific to my body. The other day she stood over me as I lay on my back and adjusted my head.  I tilt my chin slightly to the right.  She moved my chin to the left, altering the angle and placement of my head and neck. I felt an immediate difference.  I played with it in all my actions for the rest of the day.  I walked in this morning and said, “Look at this!” I move my chin slightly to the left, and she immediately saw how it affected my whole body, right down to the weight distribution between my feet.  She said we are ‘body nerds.” Ah, that’s what I am.  Most people wouldn’t see what I am doing, no less be as quick to pick up on it as she is.  She is a wonder and a joy for me.

            Yesterday, I climbed a set of stairs going to the dentist. As I went up, I placed my left foot on the step, then adjusted my head and neck and pushed up. No pain! No discomfort!  My ‘weak’ leg worked.  It seems it was weak not because of some hip problem but because of improper weight distribution.

            When I woke up this morning, I found a long note from Kathrin.  I sent her my blog. A friend of hers warned her that I mentioned her in the blog and had talked about our disagreement.  He had a protective reaction, as my friends and family were protective of me.  He was afraid I was trash-talking her.  I still don’t know where he heard this information. The only person I know who is receiving the blog that he might know is one person from Bikram.  I am dying of curiosity.  There is some implication that people have passed on the blog to friends. Maybe, but then maybe not. Once this is published as a real blog, that will be another matter.

            Kathrin and I had a long talk about many things. I did realize that I had written some things that she might not be comfortable with: not judgmental things, just information about friends, and what she does. I was alarmed. Fortunately, I am way behind, and we were able to correct those passages.  In the future, I will check with her whenever I write anything about her.  While I don’t trash-talk, I may still be violating a boundary.  

            Kathrin and I talked about many things today.  She does not relate to me as a different species of a human being because of our 48-year age difference.  I think some people might find that offensive, but I love it.  I prefer equal relationships.  However, we both realize that there is a way we can never be equal. This is my home.  If push comes to shove, I get the last word. Fortunately for both of us, pushing and shoving are not my thing. I would rather negotiate with equals before declaring war.

            I had a follow up dental appointment today.  Two cavities had to be filled.  After that, I tried to do some chores.  I drove to the post office.  When I got there, the line was long, long, long, and there was a note on the door saying,” Sorry, our internet is down.  We can only accept cash, no credit cards.” That was enough for me. I turned tail and headed home.  Then I decided to drop off the plaque Mike received when he was ordained, declaring him a deacon and a binder on church stewardship.  Father Lio was in the office.  I gave him the plaque.  He asked if I didn’t want it.  No.  I have no place for it. I will save the official letter he received. 

            While I was there, I asked how much I will owe for the burial plot. Nothing. All Catholics are entitled to free burial. I told him I was going to order the headstone next week.  There is only one company that makes gravestones on the whole island.  When I called the guy to make an appointment, he said, “Maybe Wednesday or Friday. Check with me in the morning to see if I’m free.”  How does he run a business with that attitude?  If he is the only business providing headstones on the whole island, he can call the shots.  

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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

 

            Writing the blog does wonders for me.  It may come as a surprise to no one, but I love words and putting ideas into words.  Next,  I like expressing my ideas. Third, and perhaps most importantly, the writing draws my attention to the details of my life. If I weren’t doing it, I might sink into depression, thinking about how little I do every day and how life is slipping past me.  

            I remember once when I was depressed in the 60s.  I felt my life a complete waste of time.  I started writing down the details of what I did: I got up, I brushed my teeth, I took a shower, I brushed my hair, I got dressed, I made a cup of coffee, I drank it, etc.  Just detailing these mundane moments lifted my spirits.  I wasn’t doing nothing.   I suspect this impact is not on the conscious mind but on my nonconscious mind; it’s not as fussy about what is getting done as the conscious mind.

Thursday, August 1, 2019

            Just a busy, busy day.  In the morning, I had Bikram, then raced home to shower and make it to my 11 am chiropractic appointment.  I had time between that appointment and my 1:30 dental appointment.  I dropped off some unused items at Petco in their donation box.  It was then next door to Office Max to Xerox papers regarding the Will and information on what to do if I become incapacitated or die.  

            Damon is the primary executor with Karin as his backup. I will send the original signed sheets of the Will to Damon with copies to Karin, so she would know who and what to ask for if Damon was no longer available.  Both Damon and Karin have electronic copies of the Will.  All they need are the original signed copies to activate the trust.  

            Besides those papers, two promissory notes will still be due after my death (unless I live to 108), information on my Long-Term Health Care Insurance, and information on an Annuity that is not with Raymond James.  Besides that, I included information on agencies to call upon my death to stop payments: Social Security, New Jersey Pension and Benefits, and The State Teachers Retirement System of Ohio. 

            I still had time before the dental appointment, and I was able to stop off at Habitat for Humanity to drop off some donations. There will be lots more where that came from.

            Yvette came up to check on Elsa.  She was already doing much better but not chasing balls yet.  When Yvette went to rub her belly, she saw that her abdomen was all black and blue with one spot blood-red although the skin wasn’t broken — seeing that sent chills up and down my spine.  I realized that while they didn’t mean to kill her if they had continued tossing her about as they were, they would have. 

             I have thanked Marsha repeatedly for rushing into the fray to help me rescue Elsa. She said she had no choice.  I told her, “There’s always a choice.”  She could have gone into her house to call the police. By the time they arrived, Elsa would have been dead.  Every time I think of it, I get an adrenaline surge.  

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Musings:  I’m putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

 

            Brooks talks about giving our all for a purpose outside or bigger than ourselves gives meaning to our lives.  Giving our all for any purpose is energizing and wonderful.  We’re not designed to sit around and run on idle all the time. That’s for unused machinery.  When we treat ourselves like that, feel useless and get depressed.  

            But does this drive lead to moral behavior?  No guarantees.  A devoted football fan is prepared to display his painted body in the middle of winter to support his team.  While this act may undoubtedly be considered a sacrifice for a cause outside of himself, can we consider it a higher moral act?

            A member of the KKK filled with righteous indignation involved with hunting down and killing a member of a minority group gets that feeling.  He or she is involved in something larger than himself or herself.  He or she is running on full throttle.  He or she loses himself or herself in this activity.  He or she feels great. Does this make it moral? 

            I feel Brooks too often refers to the feelings involved with giving your all and equating it with something good.  I wish there were an easy formula for determining what is moral.  In the past, even in the relatively recent past, we lived in smaller and more homogenous groups that laid out rules for behavior that everyone in the group was expected to conform to.  Not that everyone did; I doubt that has ever happened.  Today we don’t live that way. Moral relativity is the active mode.  There are no ‘shoulds’ anymore. 

            For some, the absence of ‘shoulds’ means the absence of any restrictions on their behavior.   These folks lack moral imagination.   Unfortunately, many don’t think there is a need for any ethical considerations.  The goal is pleasing oneself, and that’s it. Now that sounds like an uncomfortably empty existence.  

            These folks deny the human condition. We’re social animals, and we are designed to help each other survive.  If we fail to do something that forwards this cause, there are consequences, not from the world around us (unless we have actually broken the law) but from within us.  We are born with a need to participate in a grand design. 

            I think many people fulfill this need by having children. Others are called to other ways of contributing.  There may not be one way; we each have to find our way.  If we don’t look for it and find it, we are lost souls.

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

 

                        Oh, boy. Did we have fun yesterday?  When I took Elsa for her evening walk, she got away from me and slipped through the small opening in my neighbor's driveway gate. I wasn't immediately concerned. I believed that Elsa wanted to play with the four large dogs on that property, and they wanted to play with her.  Well, I was right, but not quite as I expected.  The four dogs formed a pack and 'played' with Elsa as if she were a stuffed animal.  Fortunately, my neighbor Marsha was with me.  We had been talking just before this happened.  I was able to open the gate, and Marsha and I ran in screaming at the four dogs who were nipping at Elsa and rolling her around.  

            Marsha was able to get hold of the collars of two of the dogs, and I was able to drag Elsa to the safety of the other side of the electronic fence.  Marsha came home with me. We washed Elsa and cleaned her wounds with hydrogen peroxide.  I called Yvette, and she came up to see what she could do.  On her recommendation, I called the emergency number of the vet. I told them her wounds didn't look bad, and she had accepted a treat.  Yvette checked how to determine if a dog was in shock on the Internet. We decided that while she was unnerved, she was not in shock. 

            Elsa asked to go for a walk before bedtime, which she never does. I was so proud of her.  I thought I would never get her to walk in the street again. She was so brave. We went to bed when we got back.  She couldn't get up on the bed herself, even using the doggie stairs at the bed's foot.  She curled up with me or slept on Mike's side of the bed.  At one point during the night, I noticed that she was swaying while she stood.  Oh, Oh. It was clear I wasn't going to Bikram in the morning. NO way was I going to leave her. 

            I got up shortly before 7 — no need to get up early; no Bikram.  I walked her; she didn't pee again. This was scary. Why hadn't she peed in 24 hours?  I checked the vet hours; they opened at 8 am.  I called Yvette to tell her Elsa wasn't doing well, and I was going to the vet. She asked me if I wanted her to go with me.  Absolutely. I had already decided I would leave a 7:30 am to assure a visit with the doctor. 

            We got to the vet around 7:40; they let us in at7:45.  A vet tech took her temperature-normal, yeah!  She took her to the presurgery room and shaved the spots where she had been bitten. The bites were mostly surface bites. While Marsha and I thought the four dogs were trying to kill Elsa, it is clear that it was never their intent. They could easily have torn her to pieces in the first few seconds.  They didn't. 

            The doctor came in right around 8.  He checked her wounds.  He explained that it is easy to rip the surface skin from the underlying tissue on dogs because their skin is so loose.  When that happens, the separated skin hurts.  The doctor said it was unlikely that there were internal injuries. She had gotten off easy.  He prescribed antibiotics and a pain killer. 

            When we got home, I gave her the pills. Then Elsa and I lay down together.  I was committed to spending the day in the house doing nothing except attending to her. The pain killer must have kicked in because she ate and drank- and begged for a treat, and ate it. 

            Oh, boy.  If I had lost her too after losing Mike -oh, boy, what else can I say?

            I had a telephone appointment with my therapist. I worked on my grief.  Betrayal came up.  I felt betrayed because Mike left me.  Now, let's be clear; this is not what my conscious mind thinks.  There is no way I think that Mike betrayed me by dying.  He did everything he could do to survive.  He hung on longer than any human being should have had to, given how much he was suffering.   Fortunately, I am now working with a therapist who understands when I say something like that,  I am referring to what my nonconscious, primitive body/brain thinks.  In the past, when I said something like that to a therapist, they would argue with me. When I told them that part of my mind felt that way, they would tell me that I was out of touch with reality.  I put it down now to a clear difference in our understanding of the human mind.  For me, there are various parts, and each has its own thoughts.  Getting all the parts to communicate with each other and work out the best solution under the guidance of the forebrain is my idea of mental health.

            Now, I don't remember the full sequence. Maybe it will come back as I describe what followed.  I was sitting with the physical feeling of having been abandoned. I remember thinking, "Why did you leave me? I loved you."  "Why did you leave me? Wasn't I good enough? Was there something wrong with me?" I am sure these are not uncommon questions on the part of those left behind.  Being abandoned by someone who is committed to watching out for you is a big, big loss.

            I theorize that in the hunter-gatherer days, everyone watched out for everyone else.  It wasn't reduced to just a buddy system like it is now when our life partners are the only ones who check on us daily, if not hourly.  For the primitive groups, every group member is significant because their survival was dependent on every other member of the group. This is comparable to what a group of soldiers in combat experience.  They don't watch out for just one person, even if that person is their best buddy. They watch out for everyone because they are counting on everyone watching out for them. While I understand that I am not alone by contemporary standards,  my body-brain experiences me as totally alone in a dangerous environment.  It is scared for my very survival.  This is an appropriate reaction for this part of my brain. My way of dealing with this disparity between historical circumstances and the current ones is to communicate to my body-brain that I am not in that order of danger.  It can be done.  It is sometimes done through hypnosis, but it can be done more easily with the forebrain directly communicating with the hind one.

           As I worked, I could feel the energy draining from me.  It was draining from my just under my heart down my abdomen and exiting my body just above the pubic bone.   I felt like I was expelling something.  The birthing process came to mind.  I felt like I was 'giving birth' to Mike, ejecting him from my body to be a separate person so I could go on with my life, and he could go one his death.

           The process of giving birth releases the baby from the mother to live its own life.  Likewise, expelling Mike was releasing him to 'live' his own death.  If I didn't do this, I would be holding on to him.  I was releasing him from taking care of me.   I realized his concern was for himself.  I thought my holding on to him in my body was preventing him from moving on.  It reminded me of what some families do who cannot face the prospect of choosing to take their loved ones off life-support. When I was in the hospital on Oahu, I was told there were several patients in this position, people who were being kept alive with extreme measures for years.  OMG!  However, difficult and scary it was to decide to take him off life support and let him go, I would never have done that to Mike.  Now, I think I must also give up on hoping he will be someone in my physical life. 

             I am reminded of what C.S. Lewis said in a Grief Observed, that this change, the death of the partner, creates a new phase of the marriage.  We would have had to negotiate a different relationship if he had lived.  He would have been much weakened by his months in the hospital. That would have been different from what we had before. We would have had to make adjustments then.  These are a different set of adjustments.  I don't know if I will have to let go altogether. We'll see.  I want what's best for him, whatever it is.  I trust completely that what is best for him will be best for me.  

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Musings: I'm putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

            In the book review section in the NY Times, I came across a description of a moment in a happy marriage. "The couple stood together, crotch to crotch and talked about weeding." (It's not an exact quote.) Boy, does that sum up something about the intimacy between a happy couple. With whom else can I do a hug without worrying about which parts of our bodies come together?  With Mike, it was just comfortable, joyful, so satisfying.   Those intimate moments which occurred while the ordinary business of life went on.  I miss him. 

            

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

            I felt choked up this morning. My throat is getting tighter. It's getting a little more difficult.  

            When I got on the scale this morning, my weight, which has been stable as the rock of Gibraltar, dropped to a lower number than ever. Huh?  I haven't been eating that much, and I haven't been losing weight.  I ate one good-sized meal, and the weight dropped like a broken elevator.  When I told Paulette about it, she knew what had happened.

            She did Weight Watchers.  Clients are allowed so many points a day.  When her weight stayed the same over a long time despite following the diet, the counselor told her to eat the maximum number of points possible for a single day. Then her body responded by dropping the weight.  Neat trick. 

            During Bikram, Heather stood over me and examined the straightness of my spine.  She indicated that I had to shift my head, so my chin moved over to the left.  I had a hairdresser pointed this out to me once. She was having trouble sizing up my hair because my head was on tilt. I have paid attention to it periodically, but now I'm ready to pay attention to it 24/7 since I've felt the shift's impact on my neck and back.

            I stopped off at the UPS store to drop off the return package to Amazon, that book by Brooks, that I got two copies of by accident.

            I had an appointment to speak to an old friend this morning. It's easier to make actual appointments with folks living in the Eastern Standard Time Zone. We talked for about an hour, updating each other on our lives and the lives of the people in our families.  Her husband was Mike's best friend through elementary school through high school.  They kept in touch for a while, lost touch, and renewed their relationship when they were in their forties.  

            I trimmed Elsa's face. I hate the way the Petco groomer does it.  The hair is too long the day it's cut. I trim it and then forget to tell them to make her hair shorter when I have the next appointment.  It started raining while I was cutting her hair. It was a little rainfall and Irish shower.  When I was finished, I finally went out to trim my hibiscus shrubs.

            I noticed that my plants had pimples the other day.  I took a sample to church to show Margo, who runs Sunrise nursery. She said, "Blister mites. Get Avid. It's costly but solves the problem. Get it from Farm and Garden." I stopped off there on Monday on my way home from yoga.  The Avid isn't just expensive, it's outrageously expensive. $110 for a small container.  Bill asked me how many plants I had to treat. I said, "2." He said no. Avid doesn't make sense. Use Sulfur Dust.  You will have to apply it more than once after trimming off all the affected leaves. Sulfur dust only costs $10.47 and isn't as bad for the ground. 

            I suspect our gardeners realized that the plant had this blight before.  They dealt with it by trimming it back sharply.  I can tell because I can see how one of the plants grew back, a lot of sprouting branches. It's not the best look for a hibiscus, but it's good enough.  The oldest plant is thoroughly infected. The second one less so. The third one has a small plant and has only a few affected leaves.  I went at the two plants and trimmed them back, throwing the cut branches on the driveway.  I found this great tool at Ace Hardware the other day.  I think it is called a Ratchet. It's a little hand tool, and it is incredible. It makes cutting branches of all sizes easy.  I cut back one of the shrubs completely, ridding it of every infected leaf. I was working on the second one when the rain came pouring down instead of the steady drizzle I had been working in.  It was time for me to go inside and take a shower. 

            Scott stopped by and talked about a design for the bathroom I want to install in Mike's library area.  There is an alcove off the library area where Mike had four four-drawer filing cabinets. They fit perfectly.  The area was originally a closet off a two-car garage.  The two-car garage became Mike's library.  Yes, it's that large. Remember, it contains over 3700 books, a desk,  a large two-seater reclining chair set,  a large stuffed chair, a large cassock which can be used for storage, a stationary bike, and a Pilates machine.  It all has to go if I am to make that room into another bedroom I can rent. 

            The nook isn't very large. A sink and a toilet can be fit into it easily.  I want to place the shower outside the house with access from the inside and the outside.  We have four-foot overhangs on our homes here. They protect us both from the sun and torrential downpours.  I plan to fit the shower under that overhang. I want to put in a skylight.  These changes will make the shower as close to an outdoor shower as an enclosed shower can be.

            Not knowing much about construction, I thought I could put drywall right over the bookcases.  Scott tells me that they're easy to remove.  Now I am looking at a whole different set of possibilities.  Scott wants to use some of the wood from the bookcases to make a Murphy bed for Yvette in her yoga room. That way, she can put up guests comfortably downstairs. Up to now, if comfort was a requirement, her guests have stayed up here with Mike and me. 

            Today the emails from John Coughlin came pouring in, which he forwarded from the librarian from Notre Dame Seminary in New Orleans.  The librarian didn't sound like he would be interested in many of Mike's books, assuming he already had everything that could be n Mike's library. The order list includes something like 150 of them.   

            I'm not quite ready to start filling his request list. I want to get the library in order and take pictures of it in its original form so we can all remember Mike's dream and how it became a reality.  I am so glad he got what he wanted.  It made him so happy.  I loved making him happy. 

 

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Musings: I'm putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

 

            One of the great things about retirement is that there are no deadlines; one of the bad things about retirement is that there are no deadlines.

Monday, July 29,2019

 

            When I got up this morning, something else was out of place. Mike's towel rack with his used towel on it was shifted in an odd position. Nothing subtle.  Anyone who thinks it was Elsa, no way.  A) I throw balls for her while I'm in the bathroom, bouncing them off the walls. They often wind up between the wall and the base of the towel rack. She steps over it carefully. B) she weighs 14 lbs.  She doesn't have the strength or the heft to move that towel rack.  For some reason, Mike is upset. 

            The poltergeist incidents started after I had that dream that he told me he left me for another woman.  God, I wish he'd stop worrying about me.  That makes me worry about him. I want him to be at peace. I want him to be happy. 

            I had plenty of time to make an east coast call this morning before I left for Bikram.  Kathrin had done the dishes last night, and I had my breakfast smoothie made already.  I called Workmen's Circle to determine if a Life Insurance Policy I found among his paperwork was valid. Surprise! Of course, not.  I didn't think so but thought I'd better check before throwing the paper work out. 

            After Bikram, I went to the transfer station to drop off another large bag of paper from Mike's collection of paper and some cardboard.  I loaded the car with the wicker basket Mike used to carry his books to Bible study with things I had to mail or drop off as donations.  

            I saw a young couple gently touching each other in obvious affection. It's a little hard watching the two be loving with each other when I lost my loving partner. Anyone remember the King and I's song, "Hello, young lovers, where ever you are. I hope your troubles are few. All my good wishes go with you tonight. I've been in love like you?" I take pleasure watching them, but there is also some sadness mixed in for me.

            When I got home, I did some work on the blog as I drank my morning Juice Plus smoothie.  Dorothy and Karin called on FaceTime, and Jean called while I was on the phone with them. I sent her to voice mail.  When I got off the phone, I saw it was already after 11 am.  I had a noon appointment with the grief counselor from the Hospice Center.  I didn't even have time to shower — that good rinse off I took after Bikram was going to have to do.

            The woman I was meeting with had given me the address, but I got somewhat tangled in my mind.  Unfortunately, I had several maps in my head. Many of them were incorrect. The office is on Mamaloha Highway. The address prefix was 76 as my address prefix is 73.  (Explaining the address system here is a whole other blog entry.)  That prefix told me that the location was south of me. 

            Mamalahoa Highway is the upper highway as Queen K is the lower highway.  I used to think that Mamalahoa continued down into Kailua Kona.  I recently found out that is not the case; it veers off in the middle of the road down the mountain. The roadway becomes Palani Street, which continues down into town.  So I wound up thinking that I could get to Mamalahoa Highway by going down Queen K.  

            I couldn't get my GPS to work.  I finally pulled over to call the counselor. She said, "Oh, dear." She gave me directions. Continue south on Queen K, and make a left on Lako. When you hit a dead-end, make a right. When you hit the second dead end, make a left. We're about half a mile down the road on the left."  

            I made my turn onto Lako correctly. Yeah. When I got to the dead end, I made a left. Oh, well.  It was a lovely drive. We're in the rainy season, and it rains more the higher you go.  It was a dense jungle with great ocean views as I went down this precariously curvy road.  I finally realized something was wrong and pulled over.

            I pulled over into the edge of a driveway. I had to get out of the road to make that call.  No way anyone in their right mind would sit on that curvy, narrow road to make a call.  It said, "Private Property, No Trespassing." Yeah, I wasn't going to go on their property, just to the edge of their driveway.  The house was a good tenth of a mile away down a road running parallel to the main road.  I made the call, pulled out, and saw a man come running from the house toward me. I waited.  His voice was controlled, but he was shaking with rage. Did I see the sign saying no Trespassing? Yes.  Did I realize I had run over one of his signs?  No, I'm so sorry. He had the signs up because he has a dangerous dog, and it was for my protection. Did he see I didn't get out of my car and was driving away? No danger from the dog I could see.  I was genuinely sorry I ran over his sign, Did I really?  (One of my under five mph accidents.)  I was prepared to pay for the sign. I was afraid he was going to call the cops. Another adventure.  He let me go without charging me for the sign or calling the cops.  I had made a left at the dead-end at the top of Lako instead of a right. Back up the lovely road. No loss there. I finally arrived at the Hospice center.

            Susan, the counselor, interviewed me.  I talked for a least an hour telling her some of the stories from our 5 weeks in the hospital at Oahu.  It has been getting a little harder.  My throat is often tight.  She gave me a list of symptoms to expect as I go through the process. 

            At one point, I made some comment about not worrying about my survival.  I could feel the impact on me as I made that statement. Well, let's put it this way. I'm not worried about my survival because of Mike's death. I'm not so sure if any of us will survive what I fear is coming.  But that, again, has nothing to do with Mike's death. 

If what I think is coming comes, I'm glad he's gone. I always anticipate the worst-case scenario ahead of time and did well when a crisis arrived. He maintained the most hopeful viewpoint and then had trouble adjusting when the shit hit the fan.  His optimism resulted in some good decisions for all the times he was right.  My preparedness served us well when the shit hit the fam. We balanced each other. 

Sunday, July 28, 2019

            Adam told me that Uber informed him that our car insurance had expired.  At first, I thought, it's just that we haven't received our new cards.  Then while I was walking Elsa, I thought, "Yikes! Maybe there is a problem with the automatic payment due to all the changes in the accounts".  I called this morning.  The bill was paid on the date due.  I don't know what the problem was.  I sighed in relief, particularly since Kathrin had taken the car to go to Bikram this morning while I stayed home. 

            While I walked Elsa, I applied a movement modification I had used before.  I placed my heel firmly on the ground. Then gluing the heel down, I pull the heel back. Since the heel couldn't move, my hips moved forward.  I have 'discovered' this trick before, but then I forgot it and rediscovered it. This is a movement trick that others can use because it is symmetrical to start with.  Some of the things I do are designed to straighten out my crooked body. However, if someone is flatfooted, it is possible that pulling the heel back, as I described, may hyperextend the knee, which can lead to damage.

            My hope in including this material about movement sequencing and small moves is to encourage others to recognize that they are not stuck with permanent pain. They don't have to rely on strong medication or surgery; there is another option.  Yes, it requires time and attention, but it can be lots of fun for those who are open to it.  Sadly, physical therapists are not trained or were not trained when I saw them in modifying daily movement patterns and changing body mechanics.  Even my chiropractor believes that her repeated adjustments should solve all body problems.  She thinks she makes an adjustment,  and the patient automatically changes the way they move. Good luck!  An adjustment versus the memory of the nervous system built up over years and years and years. Habit is always the winner.  We have to think of making small changes in the way we do things if we are going to overcome the problems our bodies present to us successfully.  It isn't just age.  Age is important because it means we have been doing it wrong longer.  Each time we make a movement, right or wrong, we strengthen the neurological connection.  Each time we make a movement, right or wrong,  we use our bodies correctly or incorrectly.  I figured the body is a fantastic design. If you were born with a healthy body and are having problems now, you've been doing something wrong. Correct it!

            On the other hand, be careful.  Do not follow anyone's instructions without watching what happens in your body.  Discomfort is okay; sharp pain is not.

            I slept most of the day.  Church exhausts me.  I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t connect to the service, I am more aware of Mike’s absence since he would normally be on the altar, or if, as I experienced today, there is energy bearing down on me, more than I can cope with. Or, as I suspect as I’m writing this, I had an upset stomach and needed the rest. We’ll see what it’s like next week. 

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Musings: I'm putting this separately so those who are not interested can choose not to read it.

Brooks's idea of good character. Eisenhower and Day.

            I'm reading Brooks's book The Road to Character. He describes the life stories of heroic people who were committed to leading moral lives making significant contributions.   So far, I have read the first two stories about Eisenhower and Dorothy Day.  Unfortunately, the examples he uses are all extreme.  They are extreme because the people he selected rose to great prominence and extreme because at least Eisenhower and Day are people who dealt with intense emotional issues.  What about the rest of us who want to live ordinary lives with peace and commitment? After reading his stories, I am ready to throw in the towel.  If I have to make the extreme choices Eisenhower and Day made, I'll pass. There must be a way to be a small person with an ordinary life and have a profound commitment to live a moral life doing the best for those who we touch as we pass this way.