Where is the Middle???

     I find myself in the middle of a different search for information.  The search is new to me.  I am accustomed to the search for information regarding my epilepsy, and seizures most prominently.  Brain damage and cerebral palsy to  a lesser degree.  Although all four are intertwined.  My search is for how to be of compassionately informed support to someone, who is academically familiar with the medical condition he faces now as he looks in the mirror.
     With some, the temptation is to throw facts, and information--research--at them to help them contain their condition into a manageable form.  With others,, the temptation is to offer pity.  Sometimes, that is manifest in Poster Children to attract justifiable support for individuals with the condition, and for research.  On a personal level, pity well may be uncertainty, and discomfort, as to how to address the situation.  Most tempting, and most frightening to me is the offer to cure or to heal someone by mystical powers.
     Most helpful to me with regard to my seizures, epilepsy, cerebral palsy and brain damage is a balanced approach.
     I don't seek to be cured, or to have never had brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  I cannot roll back history.  Such is a waste of precious energy.  I prefer to seek insights--to how to live an insightful life--on the basis of my brain damage, cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and seizures.  To some degree, I have known that since eighth grade.
     I don't know how to be of help.  Facts, and information are readily available.  Pity is against my religion--pity that is closed to the possibility that more constructive responses are available.  Healing by means of mystical powers frightens me.
     I do make a distinction between healing by means of magical waving-of-a-wand means--full healing--and prayer.  The distinction is difficult to articulate.  Sometimes, the words may be the same, yet the tone is different--completely different.  I know it when I hear it--when I feel it.  I try to respond, so as to increase the likelihood of more compassion in the future.
    So, where does that leave the man facing a medical condition new to him personally?   We have known one another for a lifetime.  We respond similarly to much of what I have described--research, pity, cures, and healing by mystical powers.  I find it difficult to articulate the nuances in prayer that exist.
    I am leery of the support that consumer organizations can, and do provide.  I am not saying that they serve no useful purpose.  My concern is that the support--their expressed mission--is aimed more at publicizing research, and raising funds for the continuation for that research.  Both, essential.
    Where is the spiritual element of support?  Where is the spirituality of the human body in this discussion?  Often, the triangle, body, mind, and spirit," is discussed.  Of the three, most often, body and mind are linked.  Similarly, mind and spirit are linked.
    Yet, body and spirit seem miles apart.  I don't know precisely how to articulate it.  Maybe if I did--if we were willing to--articulate the relationship between the two, we might get beyond some ghost-in-a-white-sheet mentality of the body and the spirit.

Zoomer Chronicles: Her Voice

     Zoomer is tired this evening, after an inspiring day.  Zoomer was fitted with a small camera on her armrest--on Lily the Lefty.  I was dressed with a small microphone.  Off we went.  Strange as it may sound, we encountered no incidents of being cut in front of, or the like.  Odd to wish for that to happen, yet, I wanted to provide the visual evidence to reinforce my point.
     The KSTP-TV producer, and cameraman did not doubt what I was saying was true.  However, all of us wanted to get some tangible evidence.  Perverse.  Truly perverse.
     Zoomer and I worried that I would be so nervous that I would forget what I wanted to say--what perspective we wanted to share.  We worried that information essential to wheelchair safety in traffic would be lost to nerves--that my information would be the victim of my jangled nerves.  As the sleepless hours dragged on, my worries intensified. [Intimate frieinds though we are, Zoomer sleeps in the living room, not in my bed.] Fixation on the route to follow finally succumb to unconsciousness shortly after 3:18 A.M.
      Zoomer and I took a last minute tour this morning.
     What route were we going to follow?  Would it work?
     Would there be some--enough--examples of me being cut in front of to reinforce my concerns?  Would I provide material worthy of their time and effort to tour downtown?
     What if nothing happens?  Are they going to be upset that I wasted their time?  Would they think that I blew the incidents out of proportion?
     Those were my early morning questions--my obsessions.

     Well...nothing happened--no incidents occurred during our tour. 

      So, nothing happened--no incidents.  Now what?
     Will they say, "Well, I am sorry.  We can't devote any more of our resources to this story.  Maybe if something had happened that we could photograph, we would be able to do a story.  Good to have met you.  Have a nice day."
     But...such was not the case.
     "Mike, I have run out of film.  What would you like to do?  Should we come back another day?....Do you want to do an interview?" the cameraman asked.
     "...What does your schedule look like?...I've got your email and number.  Mine is on my emails," the producer said.
      So, my questions were answered.  I guess we did OK.
     Zoomer and I conducted the tour, and narrated it splendidly.  Maybe there was too much narration on my part.  I am a novice to television interviews.
    Splendid.  Just splendid.

Epilepsy Chronicles: Humor

     Humorous?  Yes.  Humorous.
     There are many serious aspects to having epilepsy--to having seizures.  It is not a joke.
     Yet, there have been precious moments--precious in their absurdity.  Neurologists have an amazing sense of humor.  They call it bedside manner.
     The same neurologist, who told public television viewers this week that people with epilepsy foam at the mouth, once asked me, "how long did the seizure last."
      I went into the neurologist following the seizure to have my blood levels checked.  Did my medication levels need  to be increased or decreased, so as to prevent future seizures?  I understood the reason behind his question.  He had known me for some time.  He knew I lived alone.  Knowing that, he still asked, "How long did the seizure last?"
     A part of me was tempted to say, "Well, let's see, I looked at the clock and it said 6:40am, and I started seizing.  I looked at the clock at 6:42am, and I stopped seizing.  Gees.  I guess I should have looked.  After all, I was just lying on the floor.  I wasn't doing anything at the time."
     Come on, give me a break.  I had a few more pressing things on my mind at the time.
     "Get down to the ground.  Get away from things I could grasp onto." I chanted to myself.
     Equally humorous to the neurologist's question is my subsequent behavior.  Since that time, I make sure to look at the clock when I feel a seizure coming on, and once again when the seizure stops.  If I am lucky, my exhausted brain, and my memory will not be so impaired as to prevent me from remembering the length of the seizure.  I try to be a compliant patient:)   Sometimes, I go overboard:)
     But, far more humorous than that incident happened several years later.  I was in a neurologist's waiting room.  A different neurologist.  I was awaiting an appointment with him.  Suddenly, I started to have a seizure.  Fellow patients knew precisely what to do, and went into action calmly.  The neurologist was called.  He came out to the waiting room.
     "Are you OK?" he asked.
     "Am I OK?  Sure, I always wanted to come to your office and have a seizure!  Am I OK?  Have you ever seen a seizure before? Am I  OK!" I thought.
    In my 40+ years of experience with seizures, that remains my favorite seizure experience.

Epilepsy Chronicles: Misinformed

     Deeply disturbing information was disseminated, and stereotypes were reinforced last night during a television interview.  On September 10,2011, University of Minnesota football coach--Brad Kill--had a seizure during a football game.  His players, and colleagues knew of his seizures.  I have not met Coach Kill.  I report regarding what I understand of him.  Media coverage.
     I do understand what it is to have a seizure.  I have had seizures since childhood.  I am 51.  Each individual's seizures are different.  Yet, I am compelled to respond to the misinformation given, and stereotypes reinforced by a neurologist last night.
     Most disturbing of what the neurologist said?  Something to  the effect of, "People with epilepsy foam at the mouth."
     This is not true.  Case closed. 
     "Seizures are frightening."
      Yes.  Both for the observer, and for the person having the seizure.
      However, fright is not an excuse to stand by--panic.  You can help. 
      First, it is possible that an individual having a seizure may be able to hear what is being said during a seizure.    Often, I am.  Yet, the excessive electrical activity in the brain--the anatomical thunderstorm--drains me of the energy that otherwise I would use to respond.
     Second, not holding an individual during a seizure may be too extreme of a directive.  Beyond getting the medical attention I need, the most helpful--reassuring--action ever taken was from a colleague.  While my right leg was convulsing--shaking violently--she caressed my leg.  She told me I had done nothing wrong, I had no reason to feel embarrassed, and I would be OK.
     She caressed my leg.
     My colleague trusted what I had said--valued what preferences I had expressed to her regarding my seizures--such that she resisted the nurse who said not to hold my leg.  She was not restraining me from movement.  She was touching me firmly--reassuringly.  There is a huge difference.  Never have I heard a medical professional make that distinction.  There is a difference--a huge difference.
     As to embarrassment--being embarrassed by having a seizure--I understand.
     Yet, far more embarrassing than any seizure could be ever is not telling someone how you prefer to have your seizures handled, if you have seizures.
    Early in my career, my loved ones were concerned about I would say during an interview that I had seizures.  I understand.  I appreciate their advice.  Fear existed, and exists yet today.  I assure you, I did not walk into job interviews and say, "Hi, I am Patty Thorsen.  I have seizures.  Can I have a job?"
    I did inform my supervisors, and colleagues that I had seizures.  I gave them the basic emergency contact information.  I took one more important action.  I informed my supervisors, and friends how I preferred to have my seizures handled.  Embarrassment, or fear I felt in doing so was mitigated by the knowledge that they would know how to handle my seizures.
    Embarrassed by having a seizure?  Yes and no.  Yes, the times I have had a seizure in public are not my proudest moments.  Yet, once I have a seizure, I need to channel every ounce of energy I have, and every ounce that I don't have toward staying as calm as possible during the seizure--praying that the words I spoke about my seizures were heard.  During a seizure, I pray that people around me--people who have the energy to take constructive action--are courageous enough to do so.
    Whatever embarrassment we well may feel, we--any of us who have seizures--need to channel that embarrassment into helping other people to help us.  We need to make an investment in creating calm understanding--not fearful chaos.
    Friends and family may offer their loving questions as to how someone with seizures how they wish to have them handled.  Whether it be a reassuring word or touch, humor or whatever.  Honesty is the only way to dispel awkwardness, fear, and chaos.
    I have serious doubts about some medical professionals I have known, and with whom I have had interactions.  I have had, and continue to have the benefit of extremely helpful, competent medical professionals.
     Yet, the comments made by the neurologist this week made necessary my response.

Zoomer Chronicles: A Fine Line

     This morning, I ventured out to review problematic intersections and issues in Downtown St. Paul.  The adventure heightens my attention to several facts.
    After having three drivers cut in front of me in controlled intersections--in a period of two weeks--it seemed I needed to draw attention to the overlooked safety issues. I want to be prepared for the yet-to-be scheduled time with a television producer to highlight--to focus, literally--attention on public safety issues.
     Several personal facts have come to light in recent days.  While I do what I can to highlight public safety issues for others, I need to combat internal issues.
     First, I have retreated from a healthy pace of travelling within the downtown area.
     Second, timidity and fear replaced determination and confidence--not riskiness, but confidence.
     Cooler weather intensifies my concern that I will be isolated by poorly-shoveled sidewalks, and ice.  I need to back up.  This will be my first winter with Zoomer.  Questions abound.
    What are Zoomer's intended capacities in the outside during wintertime?  Am I realistic to expect that I might have some outside travel capacities during the winter?  What will my limitations be?  What accommodations are open to me?  Are there additional safety precautions that might improve, or extend my capacity to travel outside during the Minnesota winter months?
    I know that I should not expose Zoomer to rainy weather.  I know that I should not expect to navigate ice.  
    I know that Zoomer can--will be able to--navigate the skyway system during winter months.  [The skyway system is a Godsend.  The system of enclosed walkways between downtown buildings--walkways located on the second floors of buildings--do wonders in curbing a paralyzing isolation that would occur otherwise.]
     As wonderful as skyways are, it is extremely important to get outside--to be exposed to the sun--to all elements of the out of doors.  Oddly, prior to Zoomer, having to be outside was not an issue, or priority for me.  I took for granted my capacity to get outside and be outside.
  Interesting what it takes to challenge one's values, and priorities.  Coming days and months will clarify what, if any realignment of values, and priorities occurs.

Epilepsy Chronicles: A Firm Grip

     You have a hold on my right arm and leg no longer.  Yet, your grip on me is firm--firmer than I realize.  I try to erase you from my memory--put you in the well within me.  Yet, I look back to my own words--my sentences.  You have a firm grip on my mind.  You take words from my sentences.  You steal the precious part of me that, so desperately, I want to--I must give.
     You give me no clue as to where you are--no hint as to where to look.  You give me no key to find you.
     Where are you?  You are hiding from me.  Where are you?
     I try to understand.

ADLs: Activities of Daily Living

     The term activities of daily living, or ADLs, refers to the basic tasks of everday life, such as  eating, bathing, dressing, toileting, and transferring.  When people are unable to perform these activities, they need help in order to cope, either from human beings, or mechanical devices.
         Measuring the Activities of Daily Living:  A Comparison Across National Surveys
         Joshua M. Wiener, and Raymond J. Hanley, The Brookings Institution; Robert Clark, and Joan F. Van Nostrand, U.S. Department of Education 
     I was paralyzed.  EAT. FEED YOURSELF WITH FOOD THAT HAD BEEN PREPARED FOR YOU. VOLUNTARY BLADDER AND BOWEL CONTROL OR ABILITY TO MAINTAIN A  REASONABLE LEVEL OF PERSONAL HYGIENE.  BATHE (TUB, SHOWER, OR SPONGE.)  TRANSFER FROM BED TO CHAIR.
     I was paralyzed.  These words screamed out--pierced my eardrums.  Though still able to perform these tasks with some adaptive devices, the day I could not perform any of these skills came into focus.  Though not imminent, a potent image nonetheless.
     Breathe in....breathe out...breathe in....breathe out...
     Stark are the activities of daily living on paper before my eyes--they were then, they remain so.  Before assessing these activities, my pierced ears must be muffled.  My jangled nerves quieted. My tight stomach calm.
     Eat.  Feed yourself with food that had been prepared for you.  Voluntary bladder and bowel control  or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene.  Bathe (tub, shower, or sponge.)  Transfer from bed to chair.
     A scale.  Rate myself.  Simple.  Or so it seemed.  Straightforward.  Or so it seemed.
     1.  I can perform this activity regularly.  2.  I can perform this activity with the use of equipment or adaptive device.  3.  I cannot perform this activity.
     The activities of daily living are the province of a child to learn.  I am an adult.  Diminishment is the province of senior citizens to accept.  It is a realistic expectation that senior citizens should need equipment or adaptive devices.  It is within reason to watch someone else confront diminishment.  Senior citizens learn that they "cannot perform this activity."  Or so it seems.  Yet, I am not a senior citizen.  I am 51.
     Were these my only choices?  Could I take an essay test?  A multiple choice test of a life lived proving false the truths set before me to live.  Yet, those were my choices.

Zoomer Chronicles: Much Too Close

To all drivers, stop and think.  Before cutting off wheelchairs in crosswalks, please think of the consequences--the potential consequences.  The people. The injuries. The lives.  All that might be affected--yours, mine, and others.  I am a careful wheelchair user.  I live in downtown St. Paul.  This morning, while crossing an intersection, I was cut off by a van.  The driver decided that my fastest pace was too slow.  The driver took my life in his/her hands.  I stopped.  Though stunned, I stopped.  My wheelchair stopped.  Thankfully, my wheelchair stopped.  I shudder to think what might have happened.  Did the driver ever shudder?  I will never know.  Long gone before any license number was in my view. With no hostile intent I ask, "How much time do you save by cutting in?  What consequences might befall you--befall others--if you do not honor the lights, and override the crosswalks."  I, for one, want to share the road with you for many intersections to come.

Epilepsy Chronicles: Ignorance. Understanding. Transformation.

     My epilepsy--my brain damage--may not be willed away.  Others may not wish it so, and be so fulfilled.  I may not will it away--whatever amount of strength and stubbornness I will, I may not be so fulfilled.
     "Focus on the positive and ignore negative behavior,"  Mom's words reverberate in my memory yet today.
     Ignorance was never an answer.  Ignorance was never the answer for me.  Ignoring the ignorance of other people will not lead to a positive result.  It never could be.   Adding two negatives to render a positive result may work in arithmetic.  Never was I a star math student--not by a long shot.  But, my life is not an equation--it never was.  It never will be.  I will never will it to be so.
     Other factors were at work.  Other factors are at work.
     Ignorance--ignorance of others--is not a manifestation of malice.  It can't be.  I am not a servant of malice.  I cannot, I will not be.  The only hope of advancing understanding is to be willing to learn--to be committed to look inward...to the knowledge of other people, to the language they speak.
     Malice is not an evil in which I may invest myself.  The return on investment--for me, for God, for others--serves no one.  Evil is not a commodity in which I may invest my resources--my being.
     Ignorance--my ignorance of other's experiences, and motives--is an  indulgence I can ill afford.  To the contrary, ignorance, doubt, questions, and anxiety are--must be--invitations to which I engage my being.  I cannot presume that I have the answers--the answers universal to everyone with seizures, cerebral palsy, or osteoarthritis, for that matter.  Too many variables are involved in the equation to arrive at one simple answer of facts.

Epilepsy Chronicles: The Other Face

     Some coworkers feared I might have a seizure on command.  Others feared it happening in their presence.  I understand.  Being out of control of my body in my mind's eye.  I understand.  Yet, not moreso than when I happened upon a seizure of a man awaiting a bus. 
     "Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior,"  Mom chants in the deep reaches of my memory.  From my earliest memory, "Focus on the positive, and ignore negative behavior."
     I understood what he needed.  Not medically.  Yet, I knew what help he needed from the many helpless people who surrounded him.  I knew the helpless individuals, who surrounded him, were far from helpless.  While others surrounding me were viewing their first seizure, I was on the other end of the seizure.  I understood what he needed.
     I had never met the seizing man before witnessing his seizure.  I have not seen him since that day.
    Yet, I was given a voice--words to speak---for a reason.  I am not committed to vengeance against other individuals.  Yet, I can and must commit myself to positive vengeance against the excessive electrical energy in my brain, the root of my disabilities.  I can and must be the human irritant--the nacre--that contributes to pearls of understanding.  

A Hijjacking

     Hijacking of planes was common in the 1970s.  Long before the Homeland Security Administration, the terrain was quite different.  Today, the Transportation Security Administration is charged with protecting the flying public from hijackings.
     The TSA has not been granted the power to prevent the hijackings I experience--hijacking of my nervous system when I feel emotionally threatened.  I can withstand stress.  Humor.  Reflection.  These are but two of the coping strategies I have used during my 51 years.
     Emotionally threatened?  If it is not rooted in withstanding stress, then what is it?  Though not a scholar of neurology, I do study the triggers.
     Friends do not trigger emotional threats to me.  They never have.  They never could.  Friendship is not rooted in power-based authority.  Good friends trigger no emotional threats to me.
     Authority figures.  Supervisors at work.  However much I liked the individual, I was afraid of being criticized negatively, or worse yet, fired.  I understood the terrain of being demoted--the terrain of being underestimated.  Being fired. Knowing that that was highly unlikely--knowing that intellectually--was far different from being free of the fear.
     Authority figures have not been limited to the work world, although those authority figures are the easiest to portray.
     I have had epilepsy since I was a child.  When I was born, my umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck five times, which cut off the oxygen supply to the left side of my brain. [If I had a nickel for every time I have uttered those words, I would be a rich woman:)]  One of the realities that flows from my birth is that I have extra electrical activity in my brain--a thunderstorm.  Anticonvulsants keep the thunderstorms at bay.
     I have been told I have intentional tremors on my left side,  primarily in my left hand--my predominant hand.  The harder I try to do a given task--the more I intend to do a given task, the more I have tremors.
     Upon learning that fact, no, long before that, I concentrated on maintaining a level of inner calm.  Just as I have taken anticonvulsants to keep my seizures at bay, so too I have needed to employ other strategies to maintain a level of inner calm.  Humor.  Music.  Reflection.  Writing.  Seeking the best in other people.  It may seem to be superficial to seek the best in other people--to seek the positive in life.  If done properly, it is far from superficial.  If seeking the best of life--the best  in other people--is undertaken in opposition to ignoring the negative, then it is superficial. Ignoring the negative in life--whatever, or whoever it may be--makes impossible any hope of living fully.  Seeking the best in other people--seeking the positive--is a hunt for a pearl.  But, it must be done with proper intent.  Ignoring the negative must be replaced with learning from what seems negative on a superficial level.
    These were among my strategies to keep the evil hijackers from taking control of my nervous system.  I have heard no one speak of being emotionally hijacked, or having his/her nervous system hijacked.  Yet, that is precisely what happens.
    I was hijacked emotionally today.  The evil hijackers took control of my nervous system.  I had the armor of anticonvulsants to protect me.  Yet, that was not enough to ward off the intentional tremors.  I try to preserve inner calm--ward off the temptation to be defensive regarding my human failings.  Yet, my evil intentional tremors manifested themselves in more illegible handwriting than that which is deemed on other days.
    The hijackers have been caught.  If they are to be neutered, they must be fingerprinted, and identified for who they are, they must be captured by professionals studied in where to quarantine them.

Boredom. Deny. Fear. Befriend. Boredom

     Boredom.  Boredom? Yes, boredom.  Well, that doesn't sound very interesting.  Humor me.  Tell me whether hours of sleeplessness regarding a family member was the breeding ground for worthwhile insight.
     I know three people who are at different stages of their careers, who are facing boredom's reality.
     Two years ago--a lifetime ago now--my health ended a 24-year career, which was boredom's intimate. Not a constant intimate, but, an intimate, nonetheless. 
     When my career ended, my family doctor gave me excellent advice.  Get up at the same time every day.  Find something that you are interested in, and go to it as though it was your full-time job.  Though my doctor had not known me long, he did know that I was reasonably intelligent--he knew that I thrived on  intellectual stimulation.
     Of the three individuals, my influence over them varies.  I am not a confrontational person.  My default behaviors are compassion, and empathy.  I am uncomfortable being over in relation to anyone in my life, so, by that standard, I do not have influence over anyone.  I might strive to be the compassionate, yet, straightforward friend a mentor of mine is.  He does not volunteer his opinions--his judgments--readily, or with any fanfare.  Yet, if I seek out his counsel, he is honest with me, not polite and proper, but, straightforward and caring.
     The young man needs the most guidance.  He yearns for excitement.  He goes one step beyond fearing boredom in potential jobs he might secure.  He denies that boredom is a possibility.  If he denies boredom's possibility, then it will not be.  I would make a lousy mother.  I am too wishy-washy.  I want to offer the example of my life, rather than risking the rejection that a more confrontational approach might render.
     The second individual--a woman--is in the middle of her working career.  She understands the realities of the work world.  She has worked in jobs that were boring--jobs that did a grave injustice to her gifts.  Yet, she understood the basic need to be self-supporting.  Or, so I thought.  Extended unemployment has nurtured an idealism that, at other times might be healthy.  Yet, there is a time in one's career--when seeking employment--when serving as an outraged citizen advocate usurps the energy necessary to find employment.  This woman fears boredom.  She remembers its omnipresence in her work life.  She has discovered social justice--advocacy--as a realm within her reach.  Yet, her fear of boredom has the opposite effect that she wants.  She wants to pursue advocacy.  Yet, her resistance to the necessary boredom in aspects of gainful employment will distance her from the social justice she yearns to pursue.  Her eroding self-confidence is the price she is paying for her fear.
     The third individual--a woman--is in the late stages of her working career.  She is boredom's intimate.  Not a constant intimate, but, an intimate nonetheless.  She does not fear boredom.  She does not deny boredom out of fear.  She befriends boredom.  She has a tremendous threshold for boredom that many overlook--she is not a woman of fanfare.  She has flair.  She has creativity.  But, she is not someone who draws attention to herself as being some poor soul.  She lives life fully.  She pursues her passions.  She treasures people.  She is a loyal friend, and is marvelous to her family. 
     Were I more courageous, I would shake the young man, and the first woman, so that I might rid them of their fear, and denial.  Of the second woman, I need little courage to offer my support.  Yet, I fall short.  I know that I am not faced with the work world.  No longer do I need to worry about finding a job, or changing a job.  During the many years I was in the work world, I denied boredom.  I feared boredom.  I befriended boredom.  Never did I surmount boredom as I want to chastise the young man, and two women for not surmounting.  So, I find it difficult to chastise the three individuals for a standard I could not uphold.
     No longer am I in the work world.  I am working in a different world--creating a post-work world life.  Funny.  You might think that being freed of imposed boredom would be replaced by days of constant excitement.  I don't know what that is.
   Gradually, I am trying to put together elements of what I enjoy, what is necessary, and what I may do to serve other people.
    What do I enjoy?  
    Writing.  Online research.  American history--New England, specifically.  Genealogy.  Letter writing.
    What is necessary?  
    Physical exercise.  Swimming.  Being outside.  People--being in circulation with other people.  Being in community with a worshipping community that celebrates life, death, and all that is possible with the same exuberance.
    What may I do to serve?
    Identify organizations needing the skills, abilities, talents, and gifts I have been given to share with those in need.  Challenge people I know to live up to their potential.  Offer my life--my discoveries--with friends, family, neighbors, and worshipping community--fellow believers.  Be open to the lives of my friends, family, neighbors, and worshipping community--fellow believers.
     This is the structure of a new life.  Much remains to be identified.  I don't think I am alone in striving to create this new life--to recognize boredom, acknowledge denial, confess to fear, and befriend boredom, all in the hope of surmounting boredom.  I confess I have a long way to go.  I have forgotten what it is I want to do.  I am not sure if that it is denial, fear, or both.
     Boredom.  Deny.  Fear.  Befriend.  Boredom.

A Universalist Catholic

     I am a Universalist Catholic.  Being raised as a Universalist informs my Catholic being.
     In 29 years, my understanding of being Catholic has evolved.  Raised as a Universalist, more commonly referred to as a Unitarian, my basic orientation was different than it is now--not in opposition, but different.
     Catholic means universal.  For many years, I was timid in admitting, "I am a Catholic."  That proclamation was ladened with many stereotypes.  To say, "I am a Universalist Catholic," sounded as a contradiction of terms.  It is not.
     Just now, I am able to articulate a distinction that has been elusive to me.  By external terminology, the name Universalist-Unitarian Fellowship identifies the religion.  
    Faith is a term anthetical to many Universalists, or Unitarians.  I was raised to believe that intellect and faith were mutually exclusive.  I continue to discover how faith is informed by the intellect, and how the intellect is informed by faith.
     I did not know any Unitarian individuals by name.  Yet, I had a sense of a distinction between the two.  I am willing to be challenged as to my claims.  Yet, I resent attempts to engage in "gotcha" discourse in which  my knowledge is challenged as a means of discrediting me.  The first is possible.  The first is enlightening.  The first is engagement that broadens everyone involved. "Gotcha discourse" begins when someone asks what you know about a given person, term, or basic tenet central to faith and religion without any interest in broadening anyone's understanding.
    Being raised in the Universalist tradition, I was raised to believe that there is good to be found in all world religions--in all traditions.  Although I identify myself as Christian, and Catholic now, my belief that there is good to be found in all world religions--in all traditions--is strong.  It is alive and well within who I am, and how I pray I live in communion with family, and friends.
    Although I never knew an individual who identified themselves as Unitarians, I had a militant sense of what it meant to be a Unitarian.  Part of that sense was in the context of the time--the end of the 1960s in the midst of the Vietnam War.  I do not know if there was a Unitarian church in my area that was engaged in a vociferous protest of the Vietnam War.  The sentiment was certainly the same in the Universalist church community in which I was raised.  The distinction I sense may be Uni tarian versus trinitarian.  There was no way to intellectualize the Holy Spirit.  The notion of Holy Ghost was still alive and well casting white shadows over any understanding that may have existed.
   My return to my Universalist roots is inspired by a change in pastors, where I belong.  My approach to any announcement was cautious patience.  I wanted to wait until I met, and worshipped with the priest before making pronouncements about those in leadership, who are responsible for the naming.
   I am encouraged by what I have read and heard.  I do not want any excitement I feel cloud my experience of his preaching--of his pastoral care.  I want a keen ear, and an open heart to greet him--to greet how we come together in communion.
    Much has changed in 29 years.
    I entered the Catholic Church with clear values, and instructions.  Be intellectual.  Obey my admonitions.  "Don't keep your mind outside the door of the church."  "Know the meanings of the words you utter them."
   Twenty-nine years later, different values guide me.  I have not abandoned my intellect.
   I am guided by different voices.  Although the voices have no human faces visible to me, the message is clear.
  Don't let your mind consume awe--swallow wonder.
  Treasure each moment.
  Life is a gift.
  For better or for worse, life is a lesson to be learned--answers to be lived.

Preconceptions

     Have you ever challenged your preconceptions, when you hear yourself speaking out against the views of someone?  When you hear of geographic places you have never traveled, are you aware of your preconceptions regarding the place, and the people who live there?
     I pride myself on being an open-minded person.  I pride myself on being sensitive to other people, and deliberate in my thought--not rash in making conclusions. At the same time, I would like to think I am a humble person.  How is that for a contradiction in terms--prideful, and humble.   I was about to say that I am not proud of being prideful:)  I guess that means a friend was right.  You are not "Perfect Patty," you are human.
    OK.  I offer these thoughts as a  pretext by which to understand my offering today.
    I have been writing this blog since September 2010.  Initially, people reading my blog were from the United States.  No one from other countries was reading my blog.  I was excited that anyone was reading my thoughts. However, as time passed, I became greedy.  I harbored grandiose expectations of reaching people from other countries in the world.  I didn't have a particular country in mind, I just wanted for my ideas to travel beyond the borders of the United States.  My expectations have never been to rally supporters for a particular political, or religious ideology.  My life is guided by political, and religious principles, yet, winning converts to my personal beliefs for the sake of winning over the largest number of converts was never my goal.
    As time progressed, I did break the barrier, if you will, of the American borders.  I started to recognize preconceptions I had, when I learned of the different countries my blog reached via online search engines.
    I feel very fortunate regarding exposure to people of other countries.  As a child, our family participated in a foreign exchange program through which social workers from nations throughout the world visited social service agencies in the Twin Cities.  Over the years, we hosted a man from Denmark, a man from Italy, a South Korea, and a woman from Austria.  Travel was a passion.  I have postcards from other family members, who traveled to England, France, Poland, and the Soviet Union.  I have enjoyed seeing Austria, England, France, Germany, Ireland, Norway, and very brief moments in Switzerland, and Liechtenstein.  I say that not to brag.  Rather, I say that to portray the subtle foundation upon which I imagine my preconceptions are based.
   Upon learning that my blog had been read in Denmark, images of Knut--our Danish exchange participant--came to mind.  Upon learning my blog had reached Russia, I was transported back to family postcards, and phone calls from the Soviet Union.  You get the idea.  My preconceptions were rooted in associations with Russia, and experiences in European countries.
    Since September, 2010, I have wondered about South America.  My blog entries had been read by at least one person in Europe, in Russia, in New Zealand, and in Africa.  The South Pole exceeds my aspirations.  Yet, no one from South America.
    Today, someone did--someone from Peru.  [Be assured, I know nothing more than countries, tallies of hits within those countries, and the time when  someone in the world read my blog.  So there is no reason to be concerned about privacy.]
     Touching Peru--someone within Peru--led me to question my preconceptions regarding Peru.  My only personal association with South America was a family member's Caribbean cruise that touched Venezuela.  But, I knew little of South America.
    My sense of South America, of what people in South America were like, as though a single profile could be, is based upon coverage regarding South America, and South American people.  I am being very deliberate about saying South American people, because, I thought I was being open-minded by drawing one single profile.
   Given that, let me offer fleeting impressions.  Rio de Janeiro.  Mardi Gras.  2016 Olympics.  Venezuela.  1973.  OPEC.  Oil.  Colombia. Drug trafficking.  Brazil.  Brasilia. Modern society.  Chile.  Andes Mountains.  Rescued miners.  Paraguay, Uruguay.   Nothing.  I know they exist. But, nothing.   What other countries in South America have I forgotten.  A Google search.  Bolivia.  Coffee.  Ecuador.  You've got me.  French Guiana.  Guyana.  I was thinking Africa.  But, I was confusing Guiana, and Guyana with the African nation of Guinea.
    Peru.  Mountains.  Remote villages.  Farmers.
    I am not proclaiming that my impressions are accurate.  That is just the point.  Am I open to the notion--am I willing to admit--that my preconceptions may be inaccurate?  Am I open to--interested in--challenging my preconceptions?  Am I interested in correcting gross inaccuracies in my preconceptions?
    I am not saying that it is humanly possible to disspel all preconceptions we have.  Preconceptions are an essential starting point in our daily lives.  We need to have some basis to take any actions in our daily lives.  But, the danger of preconceptions in our lives--in our world--is when we are not willing to challenge our preconceptions, and correct inaccurate preconceptions that we become aware of.
    I pray that when I am inaccurate in preconceptions, that the individual who becomes aware of those inaccuracies will call me on it, and correct my understandings, so that I may live with greater integrity.  I invite you to submit yourself to that same standard.  But, I respect you more than to make complying with that standard as a litmus test for my respect of you.

Osama bin Laden???

     Osama bin Laden.
     What do we know of the man named Osama bin Laden?  What do we know of the human being named, "Osama bin Laden?"
     Can you tell me, who were bin Laden's parents?  How old was Osama bin Laden?  How many years older or younger than you was Osama bin Laden?  Did Osama bin Laden have siblings? If so, how many?
     Osama bin Laden was born in 1957--three years before I was born.  Bin Laden was the seventh son of 50 sons, and daughters born to a Syrian mother, and a father from Saudi Arabia.  His father was a strict disciplinarian.  He died when Osama was only 13 years old?
     Did you know that Osama bin Laden graduated from college in 1981 with a degree in public administration?
     These questions simply scratch the surface of understanding the man named Osama bin Laden, who lived for 57 years.  I offer these questions for your reflection.
     Bin Laden's early life did not justify the actions he took during his life.  That is true of each of us.  Our early life may not be a justification for our adult lives.  Yet, our early life does inform our adult actions.
     How do we view individuals, who are labeled as "terrorists."  Do we go beyond scary pictures, frightening recordings, and haunting threats?  Are we held captive not by terrorists, but, by our own fears, and broad generalities regarding a group of individuals who act in the same way?
     My intent is not to place judgment, or minimize the effects of Osama bin Laden's actions.  My intent is straightforward.  Do we view terrorists as individuals?  How would our relationship to the threats made be if we viewed terrorists as human beings, not as evil enemies?  Is it possible to render peace, if we have labeled people as "terrorists," before we know them to be human beings?
    We have much to reflect upon.  Satisfaction, and jubilation are not within the feelings in my heart tonight.
    How may we be instruments of peace?

Setting the Wheels in Motion

     For the past year, the prospect of living with a scooter has loomed over me--over my future.  With Advent, I will prepare to move into a Red Scooter--a new vehicle for me.  The reason?  My get up and go got up and went.  It did not run away.  An aging body.  Weakening legs.  It limped out of my life beyond my grasp to retrieve.
     I am called to accelerate my pace toward a red scooter, so that I may move back into circulation.
     I know that fact. I knew that fact all too well.    
     Yet, that knowing did not translate to a fast, heartfelt acceptance.  I knew I needed to grieve the loss of walking--of moving quickly.  I knew I needed to grieve physically, psychologically, and emotionally.
     Grief.  Fear.  Facts.  Fear.  Acceptance.
     I am not Grief's sole companion.  Each of us is Grief's intimate. Not in the same way. Not at all times.  Neither is ours to dictate.
     Fear demands my full surrender, patience, perseverance.  Only then may I embrace Acceptance fully.
     Grief.  Fear. Facts. Fear.  Acceptance.  None  may not be rushed--abbreviated--if full healing is to be possible.
     Full Healing is no cure.  Full Healing will not return me to my former body.  Full Healing must be the beginning of a new way of living--a New Form.
     My New Form?  Yet today, I may walk some.  Stamina is no longer mine--not for now.  Advent brings to me preparation for a different movement.  More learning.  A Red Scooter.  My pace will be different from others so embodied.  My mind is ready to go forth with this New Form--with this Red Scooter.
     My journey has not been taken at a timed pace toward a known destination.  The time of arrival has been vague, at best, certainly not by any schedule known to me. My journey's pace has not been timed by My Will's control, strong though she may be.  Strength masquerades no control for me to exercise.
    Expectations--mine, others--were not for me to control.  Waiting with faith--praying--that the necessary fortitude would be given to me--that was mine to will.  
    Fear.  The scooter will fall on top of me.  Fact.  With time, the words to describe my fear have dissolved.  Fear.  I am becoming Pathetic with a capital P.  Pathetic Patty.
    I may not succumb to that Fear.  To do so would be to compromise the person I have been for 50 years--the person I pray I may be in the years I am given to live.
    I move forward now.  I ask that I may relinquish any expectation of when I should have accepted the inevitable movement into a scooter.  I ask that I release any temptation to judge how this next chapter is to live compared to what my fears have been.  
     Acceptance is no more a given than is walking.  Both are gifts.  Both are to be treasured.  Neither is to be demanded or second guessed.  
   I am not alone in my calling.  We are called--each of us is called--to move from Grief, Fear, Facts, and Fear to Acceptance.  Our time--the cause--will not be in sync--identical.  Yet, each of us must embrace our calling together with a Capital C--with a holy, Capital E.