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.

Zoomer Chronicles: Personae

     Only within the past three months has the notion of persona been an option worthy of my consideration--my adult consideration.  I have not fully embraced the notion, yet, I am considering its value to me.
     Zoomer is a vital persona to transport me to a better way of living--a vehicle from immobilized isolation to mobilized companionship.  Without Invacare FDX-MCG, I lived in a paralyzing isolation that I want no part of reliving.  Invacare FDX-MCG was powered by batteries, yet, only Zoomer empowers me to go beyond immobilized isolation.
     I have lived with other personae in my younger days.  All personae were chosen by me--by family and friends--to expand my shy, introverted, insecure self.
    Patrushka was my first indication of my father's love of the Russian world.  He could not transport his family--his life--to Russia [he tried:)], but, he could bring the Russian world to his family--to his life.
    Patty Tricia was my sister's endearment.  It was playful.  I don't remember much more of it.
    Pat.  The only person with...not with permission, but with the proper association...to address me so was Mr. Merry.  He came into my life at two very different, yet two very different periods of my life.  Ray and Mary Merry were the loving parents of my childhood friend, Jeannie Merry.  Jeannie and I were quite a pair. She had the full use of both hands.  I could walk.  Jeannie had osteogenesis imperfecta.  We were friends in the early 1960s.  We went to kindergarten together, I believe.  Due to her osteogenesis imperfecta, it was for her parents to transport her within their split level home.  Yet, Ray Merry did not cast a dark shadow over Jeannie's life.  She was a joyful person.  I have lost touch with her.  The last I knew she was a student at Arizona State University, who was majoring in nutrition.  Is she still alive?  Did her osteogenesis imperfecta accelerate her aging process?  Is she still alive?  Honestly, I do not know.  My mastery of research does not render answers.  But, I digress.  Ray Merry--or Mr. Merry as any child would address an adult--was playful in spirit with me.  We lost touch.  Then, in high school, one of the assistant principals was none other than Mr. Merry.  I had not achieved the age that would enable me to address him by his given name.
     Bubbles.  Yes, Bubbles.  What else do you call a classmate--a choir partner--who laughed so hard that she starts snorting?  I had remembered the name, but, it was not until a recent visit from Woody or Woodstock that I was reminded of my snorting, bubbly persona.  Bubbles was the alter ego to the teenager struggling to be accepted for who she was.  I was not alone.  I sang, I laughed with Woodstock, and Jungle Bunny, and then, oh, we can't forget Grunt or Gruntly.  I have no idea how he got that name.  Grunt or Gruntly hardly personified the friendly, unconditionally loving classmate.  Everybody liked Gruntly.  Teachers, classmates, cliques.  Gruntly exceeded the confines of any cliques.  Gruntly was judgmental of no one.
    Ms. P.T.  A teenager coming of age during the emergence of Gloria Steinem--of Ms. magazine--found someone who was advocating a more liberated identity that accepted the potential of underestimated individuals--women.  A high school home ec project required the construction of some project.  Together with my dad, we created wooden bookends with the cork letters Ms. on one bookend and P.T. on the other bookend.  I have those bookends yet today.  I am still seeking liberation--fulfillment of a life I don't understand.
    Perfect Patty Thorsen.  Having joined the library staff, some had trouble remembering my previous department, as though that really mattered.  It seemed so at the time.  PPT--Product Performance Testing--was quickly translated to Perfect Patty Thorsen.  Amid struggles to meet up to department--company--production standards, Perfect Patty Thorsen has survived in friendship with a work partner in crime.
    Roboaunt?  Yes, Roboaunt.  The nervous introduction of Zoomer to my nephew was embraced fully.  Thus, among my personae is Roboaunt.  The name, in and of itself, is not my favorite.  Yet, that my nephew so called me--has so embraced me--Roboaunt is a persona I welcome.  
   I relinquished Pat long ago to describe me.  Patrushka is used no more.  Yet, hearing her once more brings Russia back to life in me.  Patty Tricia brings to life a loyal sister, who took the abuse of  a frustrated, bratty little sister.  Patty Tricia's sister is the best sistah any person could ever wish to be given.  Bubbles. Long ago, she went flat.  Roboaunt has to grow on me.  Time  with Zoomer--time with my nephew--may change that.  Bubbles has adult connotations that do not befit me.  Yet, the fun spirit of Bubbles is there somewhere, maybe???  I don't know.  Perfect Patty Thorsen is fun.  Maybe Perfect Patty is Bubbles' adult persona.
    I want to embrace my personae as they befit me.  Yet, I do not want to embrace any of my personae, however endearing they may be to me, at the price of assassinating the true character I was given at birth to live til death do us part.

The Good Short Life

     Dudley Clendinen, a former New York Times national correspondent and editorial writer, chronicled his experience with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.  Many call it ALS. Others Lou Gehrig's disease, in honor of a New York Yankee who died of the disease in 1938.
     Dudley offers a first-person perspective of Lou, as he calls it.  Reading his chronicle, it is clear, the it is really he.  Dudley's intimacy with Lou is worthy of our embrace.
    Some are choked up to read of the final curtain call, which befalls the individuals intimate with him.  Three people come to mind, known to me, who live with or have died at Lou's hands.  I would lie to exclude myself from being choked up about Lou.
     Yet, reading Dudley's commentary in today's New York Times calls me to reflect.  I am aware of life's realities.  Dudley says, "I sometimes call it Lou, in its honor, and because the familiar feels less threatening."  I understand.  Whether it be confronting a condition personally, or facing the condition in relations with other human beings, familiarity with--intimacy with--the condition is vital.
     I have lived with cerebral palsy since my first breath.  I have known no other intimate companion.  Epilepsy seizes me at times, when I abstain from my anticonvulsants' commands for me to take.  Yet, when I awaken from the seizing moments of my life, I am left to humor my cerebral palsy.  I must not abbreviate her presence in my life by calling her CP as a means of escaping the realities she presents to me daily.  I respect the abbreviation of--the calling of--her as CP by her other intimates.
   Yet,  I am challenged enough to maintain my own balance, without taking on responsibility of another individual, however similarly conditioned they may be.  Two years ago, chemical imbalances seized my clarity of thought.  While navigating my life through the clouds, I was informed of a stunning reality.  Cerebral palsy accelerates the aging process.
    My lifelong understanding was that cerebral palsy was not a degenerative condition.  Yet, accelerates the aging process was not synonymous with degenerative condition.  I confess, I am not faced with the prospect of being choked by my cerebral palsy.  Yet,  I do endeavor to understand the distinction between accelerate and degenerative.  
     Accelerate is derived from  accelerare "to hasten, to quicken," from ad- "to"  + celerare"hasten," from celer "swift."  Whereas, degenerative is derived from de + genus (gen. generis) "birth, descent."  Figurative sense of "to fall off, decline."
     During the nine days when my anticonvulsant imbalances were addressed, my understanding of degenerative in its figurative sense was accelerated at lightning speed.  As contrary as it may seem, striving to compete with the speed of others differently conditioned than I was no longer the point of my life.  It couldn't be.  The price to do so would have been too great--it would have driven me to my immediate demise.  If I strive to exceed the boundaries of who I am meant to be--who I will myself to co-operate with God to be--then I am avoiding what is available for me to live.
   As I say this, I recognize that this is far easier said than done.  I have yet to accomplish living what is within my boundaries to live.  For this reason, and to achieve this goal, I must return to two people's wisdom.  Let me be clear, I am not speaking of imminent death for myself, that is not my point.
    ...we don't talk about how to die.  We act as if facing death weren't one of life's greatest, most absorbing thrills and challenges.  Believe me, it is.  This is not dull.  But we have to be able to see doctors and machines, medical and insurance systems, family and friends and religions as informative--not governing--to be free. 
     And that's the point.  This is not about one particular disease or even about Death.  It's about Life, when you know there's not much left.  That is the weird blessing of Lou.  There is no escape, and nothing much to do.   It's liberating.
     Reading Dudley's commentary, I am transported back to the words of my maternal grandfather--a mentor to me.  He lived with us during the last few years of his life.  While still quite lucid, he spoke words that guide my living yet today.
   "When I die, don't be sad.  I have made amends with everyone I have had differences with."
    Returning to Dudley Clendinen, "the familiar seems less threatening," is essential to how I must live--to how I may thrive.  On April 14, 2011, I took ownership of an Invacare FDX-MCG power wheelchair.  Yet, that was not the first step toward my liberating mobility.  Familiarity.  Less threatening.  These two qualities were essential to moving forward in my life.  Thus, Zoomer was born.  Zoomer moves me closer to other people, and other people closer to me.  Mechanical parts take a back seat to the persona of a more active way of living--not faster than other people, rather, different from others.
    I pray to be defined--guided--by blessing, making amends, familiar and less threatening.  May we be attuned to--listen to--the sages in our lives--in our world.

Betty Ford

     Oh, gosh.  Betty Ford died today.
     My heart skipped a beat--sank--upon reading that former First Lady Betty Ford died today at the age of 93.  She served in office--as the First Lady--when I was a teenager.  Several years after my grandmother died of breast cancer--at a time when breast cancer ravaged the spirits of women, whose tissues it invaded--Betty Ford gave voice to the disease.
     Betty Ford was not an abrasive woman.  She abided by the expectations of her generation. She lived the realities of a demanding political life--the wife of a long-time U.S. Representative.  She raised four children.  She did not do so begrudgingly.  She was not seeking a career beyond her young family.  Her public career--her sphere of influence--would be broadened beyond what could have been imagined by anyone, thanks to the Ford family entry into the nation's history.
     Yet, at the same time, Betty Ford was hardly a spineless wallflower.  In the best sense of the word, Betty Ford was an opportunist--a graceful opportunist.  She took her life experiences--her personal challenges--and transformed them into sources of help from which others so challenged could find practical help, and personal strength.  Just as Betty Ford was the face of a country learning how to articulate what Gloria Steinem, and others advocated--women's rights.  Betty Ford was comfortable giving voice to uncomfortable social realities of our time together--marijuana, addiction, premarital sex, and abortion, among others.  Betty Ford gave a face--literally--to putt
     Obituaries, and memorials offered for individuals, who have died recently--Betty Ford, can seem maudlin.  Yet, maudlinness survives only when we fail to ignite in our spirits the essence of Betty Ford in our own lives.  How did we know her? When did we meet her?  Did Betty Ford give voice to values--issues--of import to us?  Did Betty Ford teach us anything about ourselves--about our world?

Zoomer Chronicles: Rules of the Road

     Zoomer has asked that I share with you some basic rules of the road.  Zoomer has been very impressed with how cooperative everyone has been.  So, these rules of the road are short, and sweet.
     Pedestrians.
     First, do not block the curb cut, when you are stepping off the sidewalk onto the street.  Second, do not block the curb cut, when you are stepping on the sidewalk from the street.  Third, do not leave Zoomer lingering in the street behind you, because you are dilly dallying in the street.
     Drivers.
     Zoomer would love you if you did not park in front of curb cuts.  Zoomer won't report you to the park police should you choose to park elsewhere, and engage in other activities:)
     Automatic door openers.
     Zoomer means no offense if she declines offers of help.  She doesn't want to injure you.  If you are feeling offended, please look at the cuts and abrasions she has incurred, when she was trying to be gracious to you.  She is appreciative of your offers of help.  Righteous indignation messes with Zoomer's nervous system, so, she does not get riled up about anything.
    Elevators.
    Sometimes, Zoomer may need to refuse your invitation to join you in the elevator.  Sometimes, the elevator is too small for her to maneuver within the elevator.  She enjoys riding with you, when it is possible.

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.

Indoor/Outdoor Living

     Contrary to years gone by, I have no desire--absolutely none--to be inside.  Mind you, I seek no suntan.  I am too fair of face to have that aspiration.  I am born of Norwegian stalk.  Need I say more?  No.  I have lived from the inside looking out.  Now, I yearn to live beyond the window's shade--beyond the door's lock.  I have the wheels.   I have the time.
    Am I nothing more than a fair weather friend of nature?  I am a Minnesotan.  Need I say more?
    No, seriously.  Were I told, "You may have but one view of the world around you, the rest will be blinded to you," what would I choose.  Oh, that is easy.  I have no doubt.  A sugar maple in her full autumn glory--in fiery red.  A sugar maple in fiery red beneath a clear blue sky.  A sugar maple in her full autumn glory standing her ground on a brisk September day.  That would be my single landscape were I limited to one.
     Am I nothing more than a fair weather friend of nature?  I am a Minnesotan.  Need I say more?
     No, seriously.  Wintertime.  My heart melts at the sight of big snowflakes lacing tree branches.
     Am I nothing more than a fair weather friend of nature?  I am a Minnesotan.  Need I say more?
     No, seriously. Springtime.  Born an April's Fool,  the smell of fresh lilac.  Ah, the smell of fresh lilac.  A child born in Golden Valley nary a mile from Lilac Drive.  Hedges of lilacs breeze through my lifetime's senses.
     Wintertime ice. I slip. Wintertime snow drifts.  I fall.  Cold I may dress for.  Yet, ice and snow drifts steal my balance--inner and outer.  Ice and snow drifts steal my balance. From ice and snow--from Cabin Fever I ail.
     Am I nothing more than a fair weather friend of nature?  I am a Minnesotan.  Need I say more?
     Minnesota.  Wait five minutes, the weather will change.  A sugar maple in her full autumn glory--fiery red.  Giant snowflakes lacing tree branches.  Green pine trees laden with a fresh white coat.  Fresh lilac breezing through my lifetime's senses. 68 degrees.  No humidity.  No mosquitoes. Humidity.  Rain showers.  The 90s.  Green skies.  Thunder.  Lightning.  Tornadoes.
     Am I nothing more than a fair weather's friend?  I am a Minnesotan.  Need I say more?