Saturday, September 03, 2016

Extraordinary Days

"A person can stand almost anything except a succession of ordinary days."
 - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

According to Medicinenet, The Baskerville Effect is “a fatal heart attack triggered by extreme psychological stress.” The term derives from the Sherlock Holms mystery in which Charles Baskerville suffers a fatal heart attack due to extreme psychological stress.

“The term "Baskerville effect" was coined in 2001 in the course of a research study that found Chinese Americans and Japanese Americans had a 7% greater death rate from heart disease on the 4th day of the month (BMJ 2001;323:1443-1446). There was no such peak mortality for white Americans. Since both Chinese and Japanese regard the number four as unlucky, it appears that heart fatalities increase on psychologically stressful occasions.”

While I thought it was delusion and karma that caused all my negative actions, anxiety is in there somewhere a lot lately. But that was then. Back in the day, I worried more about tomorrow instead of enjoying today.

I am getting better about letting go – at least of the psychological stress of imagining hounds are trying to kill me. Since my latest heart operation, I can drink more. More trial and less error, y’all. It looks like my heart may hold out a while yet. Having learned a lot from surviving my surprises this past year, I am less likely to succumb to the Baskerville effect any time soon – barring extraordinary surprises.


And anyway, the term is only 15 years old: probably, not old enough that it’s been listed as a Cause of Death on somebody’s death certificate. My short-term goal is not be the first in this state. If I make it thru the coming week, that mission will be accomplished. Then, they can release the hounds here because I will be enjoying ordinary days somewhere else.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Bodily Dangers

“Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include tooth decay in His divine system of creation? Why in the world did He ever create pain?'
'Pain?' Lieutenant Shiesskopf's wife pounced upon the word victoriously. 'Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers.'
'And who created the dangers?' Yossarian demanded. 'Why couldn't He have used a doorbell to notify us, or one of His celestial choirs? Or a system of blue-and-red neon tubes right in the middle of each person's forehead?'
'People would certainly look silly walking around with red neon tubes right in the middle of their foreheads.'
'They certainly look beautiful now writhing in agony, don't they?”

I spent a large amount of money this week to stop grinding my teeth. I’m getting a red neon tube to attach to my forehead. Let’s see how that works. That pretty much sums up the kind of month this had been.  I’m looking forward to my one-way road trip next month.

I’ve had a lovely 10 months. This hasn’t been it.

Sunday, July 24, 2016

Unconventional Thinking

“There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you'd better learn the sound of it. Otherwise you'll never understand what it's saying.”

There is too much politics on the internets and too many conventions. There is too much hate. Oh yes, and there’s too much of everybody with an unfiltered emotion, and uninformed opinion, and an inarticulate scream of unfocused rage. And don’t get me started about poor grammar and shit.

I checked online to see the results of my latest EKG and the word about my heart is that the rhythm was "borderline". So I need to listen to that and stop spending time on the heartbreaking internets.

I’m going to self-medicate and have popcorn and cocktails for dinner.  Then I’m going to read some David Foster Wallace because it’s that kind of day. 




Saturday, July 02, 2016

Ask a Terrible Gardener - Boys

If you succeed in cheating someone, don’t think that person is a fool. Realize that the person trusted you much more than you deserved.

Dear T. G:

I need some advice about what I should do when guys try to make me cry. The trouble I’ve had trying to explain to boys why it’s not nice to make girls cry is that most guys are no longer conscious when I get to that part of the lecture. Besides, I can’t possibly reach every mean boy out there with my personal hands-on approach. So that’s actually not what I’m writing to ask.

It has come to my attention lately that a lot of the boys have slipped through my tutorial net and grown up to be stupid men who think women wanting to be equal is equal to women wanting to castrate men.

So here’s what I’m writing to ask. Two-part question:
Can you offer any advice about how I can school such men not to be dicks to women?
Second, can you recommend any particular action that would not provide actionable cause to bring felony murder or intentional infliction of emotional distress charges against me?

Big Girl

Dear Big Girl Who Apparently Doesn’t Cry,

While not directly related to gardening, I have decided to answer your question. First, no. I have no idea what to do about the plague of dicks. 

Given your preference to avoid tortious or felonious conduct, I will answer your second question with a question of my own. Do you?

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Friday, May 27, 2016

Operation Just Reward

"Justice is a knee in the gut from the floor on the chin at night sneaky with a knife brought up down on the magazine of a battleship sandbagged underhanded in the dark without a word of warning. Garroting. That's what justice is."
 - Joseph Heller, Catch-22

Instead of musing on the unfairness of life, I thought I’d write about lifestyle choices. In choosing to use the term “lifestyle” instead of, say, life, I deliberately set the bar of philosophical depth at about twelve inches. I mean, you could still drown in this post, but you’d have to be pretty drunk.

Now, by lifestyle, I don’t mean the latest topic of the politics of division: transgender rights and all the carefully crafted euphemisms we now tiptoe through in such discussions. Due respect, but I’d be a neutered dog in that fight.

I mean choosing the penultimate stage of life – the one we chose while we can still compos enough mentis to be as independent as possible and minimize the responsibility for our own maintenance and upkeep.

No more lawns to mow. No more stairs to haul laundry down and back. Uber and curbside assistance. Grocery delivery. A landlord to replace light bulbs. Utilities included. In-apartment laundry. Proximity to life-flight and good ER response times. Seriously? Sadly, yes.

For my next trick: an apartment on the 16th floor of a building with a steakhouse adjacent to the “controlled access” lobby. My mission is to make this the next act of my lifestyle choices. The current act began when I bought an expensive piece of furniture from my sole savings in a color that wasn’t brown. I bought a comfortable couch in green and loveseat in blue: the colors of my freedom from brown and dark wood. Then, when my spouse died on the green couch, I sold the whole house and moved out of state, leaving my former lifestyle – real and imagined – behind in San Diego. I took the couches to Seattle, but they're staying behind when I move. I’m buying a new couch in greige.

While I will dearly miss Paulo, my imaginary pool boy, I’m thinking there will be a doorman. I’ll need to find some American heartland name instead of the vaguely un-PC Hispanic name. (I love the Hispanics, and taco salads and mild salsa as much as the next pumpkin though. I have a tremendous respect for the Hispanics. Ask anyone.)

My imaginary doorman’s name will be Corey. Is Corey. If there is any justice in the world for privileged boomers who outlive their spouses and live on double dip pensions and consult their tax advisors about where to invest that mandatory 501(k) distribution, it would compensate us by providing individualized Coreys to offset our failing health. 

The world’s most entitled generation will not go gracefully into the good night, leaving behind a totaled economy, political system, effective antibiotic treatment and, well, planet. We’ll spend our children’s inheritance first. Therefore, along with my prediction that the next trend in senior living will be leaving the coasts and moving to a small Midwest urban center or a mountaintop in rural New Mexico; and that seniors will take over Uber like we took over Facebook; I have one more prediction.

Expect an uptick in “assisted” suicides and sudden deaths in my generation, as our middle-aged former latchkey children implement Joseph Heller’s justice on their clueless parents. My apartment  pictured at left has a balcony and my balance is tricky these days... Corey, help!

Friday, May 20, 2016

Lilacs

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,
I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring,

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.

 - Walt Whitman, Memories of President Lincoln