This was the second time tonight I found him hiding in the litter box.

I’m not sure what is going on with Scandal, but he got spooked and found the best place to hide was his litter box. I’ve experienced some pretty crappy days in my life, but never did rolling around in poo seem like my best option.

Well, as I sat trying to figure out what happened, Russell came into the living room and confessed to hanging Christmas bells around the cat’s neck. Scandal was freaked out this weekend when we pulled the sleigh bells out of the box of Christmas decorations. I meant to take them to the garage because I knew the temptation would be too great, but I just hadn’t made it that far.

Now, some parents might be worried about their kids torturing family pets, but I think Russell is still on the right path. I don’t believe he is destined to a life of orange jumpsuits, just yet anyway. I know of what I speak – when I was a kid, I was way worse.

There may be a possibility that this whole experience is one more example of my mother seeking revenge. I’m pretty sure that she prayed on a daily basis that I would give birth to a child just like me, and that is exactly what happened.

I distinctly remember as a kid that my pets kept me quite entertained; however, not all activities were nearly as enjoyable for them as they were for me. We lived out in the country so there were multiple pets and opportunities to amuse myself.

I’m not proud of this fact, but I do gain some comfort in the fact that I did manage to become a functioning member of society so I’m fairly confident that Russell will be just fine.

Is it simply a case of the Darwinism, where my son knows he is a superior species over the pets so he takes his frustrations out on them? He may like to push me, but he knows the evolutionary chain isn’t in his favor as it relates to me right now.

It is weird watching Russell repeat some of the same things I did as a kid. He has been frustrating the hell out of me lately, and I keep meaning to ask my mom how much I really pushed her. I don’t recall being nearly as loud-mouthed, but of course there was always that fear that my dad might walk in and knock me across the room. He never did, but I knew he was capable of it.

I also find it quite interesting that it seems humanly impossible to have two good days in a row with a teenage in the house. I’m not sure what that is all about, but I suppose I will take comfort in the idea that I am not the cat today.

I’ve been busy this past week, preparing for my wedding which is this Sunday night, and repairing one of the family properties with my future brother-in-law, PJ. The property work was rewarding, not only because it required about 30 man hours over the last week, but because it provided PJ and me an opportunity to bond and become closer future brothers. PJ has a very colorful past. He filled the hours scraping glue off of the walls with heat guns by relating wild stories about his teenage years growing up in South Texas. I couldn’t really compare my youth on the North Shore of Chicago with his escapades in the Longhorn State.

The fact that PJ was opening up made me more comfortable sharing some of my personal stories during college and after. As I started to relate some of my history with him, I got all the way up to the point where I nearly failed out of my first school and moved back home at 21 when it dawned on me that I was leading right up to my psychotic period. The only people with whom I have shared these times are my immediate family and Jamie. There was a brief hesitation and then I kind of glossed over the next five years without much detail or emotion. I wanted to tell PJ what I’d been through, I know he would understand and maybe even offer some insight of his own, but for whatever reason, I didn’t think the time was right. Besides, I thought that I would have many other opportunities to open up to him.

Sharing some of our respective pasts definitely brought us closer together over the last week. And working in that dilapidated family room until its walls were clean and painted was rewarding and a bonding experience that I will always remember.

On a separate note, I have had occasional, heart-pounding-out-of-my-chest stress over the past week concerning my impending marriage to Jamie. Not because I’m not ready, or I’m not sure about the union, but because I am entering a new stage of my life. The next several years will probably be the most stressful and joyful years of my life. PJ told me that his marriage to Jamie’s sister has been extremely satisfying and different from anything he experienced previously. While his raucous years in South Texas were fun, his marriage has been something he wouldn’t trade for the world.

So when I have these nervous moments, I think about how my life will change for the better following my wedding. I hope to start a family, hold a steady job and share life with the woman I love. And as long as I stay the course with my treatment and medication, nothing should stand in my way.

After I told Jamie that I almost discussed my psychosis and illness with PJ, she asked me why I hadn’t. I told her that I just wasn’t ready and she told me that if ever I am ready, PJ would be a good person to confide in. He is an understanding and empathic person, so I know she is right. Then she said, “You know, my mom knows quite a bit about what went on when you were sick.” She explained that she had to talk to someone about what I shared with her early on in our relationship, “And she doesn’t judge you for a second.” Jamie also told me that one of her aunts is on antidepressants. Then I told her I was shocked, “She seems so healthy and in good spirits,” I told her. This aunt is her youngest aunt who is usually the life of the party, making jokes and livening the mood at family functions. “Funny,” I said, reflecting on this news, “I never would have guessed that she would have issues with depression.”

Then Jamie, in her encouraging and thoughtful way said, “Do you think people know you have an illness and are on medication when they get to know you?” I thought about this question and then gave an honest answer. “No, I guess not…” ”Well, you’re right, they don’t,” She said. And that was one of the best compliments Jamie has ever given me.

1. Be like Julia Child. When things would go wrong on her cooking show—and they often did–she took it in stride. Pulling out a fallen soufflé in front of millions of viewers, she would exclaimed: “You can’t win them all!” Where do you need to say this in your life?
2. Do an airplane view of your life at the end of each week. Take a few minutes to step back, look at what you’ve done, and create your priorities for the upcoming week. That way you’ll be more in the driver’s seat of what’s important to you and get less caught up in minutia as the next week comes rushing at you.
3. Can’t remember a fact or a name? Relax your mind and think about something else. The answer will soon pop into your head because your brain is accessing all of its resources rather than trying to focus. And if it doesn’t come back, give yourself permission to be human. You’ll be doing your listener a favor too, as he or she is reminded that it’s ok not to be perfect.
4. How do you get over overwhelm? What has ever worked before—making a list, moving around, telling yourself you can do it? Write yourself a reminder of what works and put in where you can see it when you start to swirl.

Want more help? My book Trusting Yourself is all about overcoming overwhelm and living more happily with less effort.

-MJ

(re-posted from October 5)

Taking solace in churning out home made ice cream isn’t a bad way to cope. In fact, the results can be positively inspirational. Especially if you’re vacationing in rural Provence with middle aged eccentrics some of whom you didn’t really know beforehand.

It was destined to be a weird week with my hosts. Not that it didn’t have it’s highlights.

The beautiful vacation home was as lush and beautiful as you could hope for, with comfortable bedrooms, a large in-ground pool, carefully chosen decor (bullfighting was the artistic theme…that and several bad reproductions of impressionist masters), stunning landscaping (olive trees, rosemary, and lavender, lavender, lavender…), an indoor kitchen, and an outdoor kitchen beside the pool connected to a separate pool house, decked out in a master bedroom and open plan bathroom.

The village of Tavel, home to some of France’s best Rose wine and a mere 15 minutes from Avignon, was quiet, charming, and full of vineyards as far as the eye can see.

My hosts and I would get into a rental car or cars after a breakfast-nosh of leftover cheese rinds, salami, crusty bread, and way too much coffee, and we’d head for — where else — Chateauneuf du Pape, center of some of the very best wines in France — or Avignon for some casual sightseeing and an artful eyeful of gourmet lunch — or Arles, the famed adopted home of Van Gogh, for some ancient Roman ruins and a quick 7-course bite at a Michelin-starred eatery.

The vacation kind of kept happening like that. It was oddly like being stuck in the back seat with some overgrown brothers and sisters on a long road trip to Disneyland, except the theme park was everywhere, and all you had to do was throw money on it to make it jump up and do miraculous things for you. A lot of wine. A lot of decadent food. Marijuana smoke billowing in our wake. Literally.

Yet, I often felt stuck. Here I was, a guest. Kind of. On someone else’s family vacation. I should have felt grateful. Just to be there. Most of the time was pretty good. Of course, in retrospect, I probably subconsciously feel I have to tell myself this. The food was amazing — we, my hosts and I, are great cooks, and every night was a feast. A real feast.

But it went from awkwardly great, to awkwardly good, to awkwardly emotional, to just plain awkward, and by then of course, my neurotic paranoia was well on its way to getting the best of me.

Little things — from thinking everyone could hear everything I was doing in the bathroom (which kept me from relieving myself until I was convinced nobody was around), to slightly bigger things — thinking that nobody really wanted me there and that I was at best an annoyance and at worst ruining everyone else’s vacation — made it difficult for me to have fun. I kept accidentally cutting myself, too, with the ridiculously-sharp Japanese Damascus steel kitchen knives they brought (6 times in total, some of them deep gashes), and it became an inside joke during the trip. Finally, when I woke up gasping for breath, filled with worry and on the edge of a major panic attack, I realized something larger was going on. PMS. Since I quit my meds, life has been pretty OK. Until 3-6 days before my period. When moderate to major depression kicks in. Here I was in France, in Provence, with good friends, people who cared about me, and I was rocking in bed at 3 am, absolutely convinced that I had nothing to look forward to in life, and that it was next to impossible that I would ever find a partner.

It was the cooking that saved me. Or rather, the ice cream. Early on we hit a huge grocery-superstore, a kind of Wal-Mart meets Whole Foods, and seeing who I was with, it was like one of those supermarket sweepstakes TV shows — everything went into the shopping cart. Including an ice cream machine.

Every day I made at least one, but sometimes up to three new flavors. I ended up contributing less and less to the actual cooking of the meals, and just came up with a frozen dessert every night. Which suited me fine. I got to have my little island of solitude. On a trip where I had little choice and next to no freedom of movement, making silly savory locally flavored confections was my pride, my joy, and really, my vacation.

So, I’ll leave you with the list, the lovely little list of the treasures I created, the products of my vacation:

1) Goat cheese and roasted pine nuts, the first, and the week’s ultimate winner
2) Real rose and rosewater, this was delicate and the favorite of some
3) Pear cardamom – subtle and comforting, like apple pie but with a Mediterranean twist
4) Chocolate chili chunk – darkest chocolate you can imagine and exceptionally spicy
5) Lavender honey meringue – an experiment with mixed results
6) Verbena and ginger sorbet – another experiment inspired by Mr Avignon Michelin
7) Basil Lemon – the only one made from a recipe, and it was exquisite
Goat cheese, creme fraiche, honey, and roasted cashew – a twist on day one with excellent results

I went through something like 3 dozen eggs in making all of these custards. A real feat. Oh, the vanilla, the spices, the herbs. It was fun. On my last night, everyone talked about how I should start a twitter-based traveling ice cream business. Because it was just that good.

Climate report warns coastal residents

The Parliamentary body of Australia has recently issued a report warning that with 80 per cent of Australians living on the coast, most of the countries population will be affected by a rise in sea levels, more frequent storms, flooding and coastal erosion. This, in turn, has caused some homeowners to be denied insurance due to increased risk

From the article:

The Managing Our Coastal Zone in a Changing Climate report found every state in Australia, and the Northern Territory, will be affected, putting more than 530,000 homes at direct risk.

Queensland has to potential to take the worst hit with 250,000 vulnerable coastal buildings in that state alone. And environmental groups have urged the government to enact “no-go” zones where construction or preservation measures would not be allowed.

Among the recommendations in the report: The option of “forced retreats”, where governments would be given powers to “prohibit the continued occupation of the land” and the prevention of developments in danger zones.

There is a frightening potential for the enactment of laws that strip Australia’s citizens of their rights.

Yes, I will

Rekindle

Slowly, with smoke

And sticks.  Life’s

Bark will stratch,

Then rub then spark

Then flare

Then flame

Up and

Scorch bright –

A taper, scarlet

Through the

Night of sceptic haze,

Burning tinder

To black carbon,

Putrid rot

To clean dust.

(23^rd November)

Take this stupid hat off my head!

We put up our Christmas tree yesterday – what a great evening. I have to say it has been a long time since I felt that way about our Christmas tree or the beginning of the holiday season.

Our twins were born and died just a few weeks after Christmas 10 years ago, and the holidays haven’t quite been the same since. For several years after they died, I bought Christmas ornaments in their memory. I always let Russell pick out a yearly ornament for himself so this seemed like a good enough way as any to remember Nolan and Simone.

I remember having favorite ornaments as a kid. I even managed to salvage one ugly green dome-shaped bulb, but that is a story for another day, and perhaps best laid to rest. Anyway, Russell’s favorite ornament is a space ship. It’s lighted, and when you press the red button on the side, it says, “Roger Zero G and I feel fine. Capital is turning around. Oh, that view is tremendous.”

Several years ago I stopped buying ornaments in memory of the twins because it just made me sad to unwrap them every year, and a part of me dreaded even pulling out the Christmas boxes because I knew I would have to confront those damn things. I could have easily boycotted the holiday, but I know that would have sent a shitty message to Russell.

Most years, it’s easy to put off the process because we get a real tree, but this year we bought an artificial one. We were afraid what a cat and dog might do to an evergreen, and the real ones send my sinus cavity into a tail spin.

So, Russell carried the boxes into the living room and we started unpacking. He was actually excited about the process, which surprised me because the kid tries very hard to carry around large doses of teenage angst.

But it was a lovely evening. He pulled out old pictures of him sitting on Santa’s lap and Christmas crafts that he did in preschool complete with little hand prints. Where has all that time gone? The holidays are different with him as a teen, but I can’t help but wonder how much they will change again in a few years.

Lyle and I have both been stressed lately; nothing huge, but the boob-scare bills are flowing in, and other unexpected purchases lately have made things a little tight in the Fast household. We’ve been snappy with each other and it caused a bit of a trickle down with Russell. Who am I kidding? We’ve all been grouchy as hell, and I think everyone has been feeling very under-valued.

Yesterday provided an illuminating respite. We enjoyed each other and the time we had together. I think for a moment we all felt pretty thankful for what we had together as a family. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but the view from here really is fantastic, and if I don’t appreciate it today, what makes me think I will see it any differently tomorrow?

A wise friend from my pregnancy loss support group left me a touching comment.  D and his wife lost their beautiful daughter Audrey a year and 3 months ago.  They are all too familiar with grief and I use their progress as a gage for how my own grief is going to progress.  This is the beauty of having other babylost mamas and papas in your life.  He says that the way he sees grief now is related to the love for his daughter.  When he feels grief, it reminds him of his deep love for his daughter.

What a great way to look at grief.  It’ll be a change in thought process but I think that with time, I can see grief in that way too.  It’s true, I feel the saddest when I’m really missing my daughter.  So, maybe if I don’t think of grief as my eternal foe, but a reminder of my love for Riley, I can live with a little peace in my life.  It has been an exhausting year-long  battle with this invisible monster called grief.  Maybe I need to make friends with it because unfortunately, it’s not going anywhere.

You live, you learn, and you survive.  I am going to do my best to change my frame of thought because I can get pretty self-destructive in the midst of grief.  And I can’t do that anymore.  It’s eating away at me and my health.  I don’t think Riley would be happy to see me in this state.  So, thanks D for your comment and your friendship.  I’m glad that we got to meet you at the club that no one wants to join. 

Thanksgiving dinner went pretty well. I enjoyed the meal without needing to unbutton my pants and roll around on the floor cursing the gods for overeating. That’s a good thing, right? I stumbled a bit on the desserts, but mostly everything went well.

What worked? I got at the end of the buffet line so I wouldn’t be finished with Round 1 before everyone else. I fixed a plate with a big salad and turkey, and then I took SMALL (too small actually) bites of noodles, mashed potatoes and corn casserole. I earned an A+ for dinner. The hiccup came at the dessert table. Any freaking time there is a TABLE devoted to sweet things, there is going to be a knock down if I’m in the room.

Things progressed nicely at first – sliver of pumpkin, pecan and cream pies, and a little serving of cherry delight. All said, I probably had the equivalent of one piece of pie on my plate at that point. But, I made the mistake of tasting the brownies – big chunks of chocolate and walnuts. Now that I think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a bad brownie. I even like those stupid Little Debbie brownies with the fake frosting.

I still feel pretty good about the day. We left my dad’s house, and no one had to plop my comatose body into the front seat of our car, which very nearly could have happened in years past. I climbed in of my accord, and at no point did I wish I had worn elastic sweat pants. That is a victory my friends.

I woke up this morning and decided to give Black Friday a shot. I didn’t do the 4 a.m. curtain call, but I think Lyle might have on his way to work this morning. I can’t quite figure how a man who hates crowds and shopping as much as he does wants to navigate that mess. I don’t have what it takes – nothing in the stores is so appealing that I would want to stand in the check-out line for 30 minutes or more.

I talked to a couple frazzled clerks and gave them words of encouragement. As I debated about getting a pair of shearling boots, I heard two of the women who were trying to help me talking about how hungry they were. I ended up leaving the store and coming back with some glazed almonds I bought for them in one of the kiosks in the middle of the mall. It felt good to do something nice for other people, and they seemed pleasantly surprised.

I wondered around the mall for a while and then hit a couple other stores on my way home. The only thing I bought was a pair of slippers, but I did manage to use the bathroom in four of the stores. Why is it that my bladder is the only small thing on my body?

Yeah, so, anyone who’s taken a Psychology class may remember what DABDA means.  For those of you who have either smoked/drank away those brain cells or have never heard of it, I’ll explain.  It is basically a description of the coping process.  Most people only think of it when it comes to either a death or some sort of mortal illness, but I feel that it applies any time you have to cope with any major, life-changing event.  For me, it was going crazy.  I went through all five stages very clearly.  It wasn’t until after I was in the fourth stage that I thought back to my old Psych 101 class and had some foggy memories of it.  I did a little research into it and refreshed what it meant.  Let me go ahead and list it off for you…

D – Denial

A – Anger

B – Bargaining (with God or whatever higher power you believe in)

D – Depression

A – Acceptance

The stages are really very clear phases of accepting or coping with major occurrences.  I know I went through all five, and I haven’t been happier since I reached Acceptance.  The first one is a no-brainer.  Denial.  I’m not crazy.  There’s nothing wrong with me.  I’m fine.  Leave me alone, I’ll be alright.  Denial was probably the longest phase for me.  For so long I was in denial that there was anything wrong with me.  All the aspects of my delusion were real.  I had all kinds of powers; I could do anything.  Well, almost anything.  I couldn’t do anything that would actually prove to myself that I had the powers.  Nothing that directly changed anything about me or my surroundings, but I could do anything long distance.  Let me give you an example.  I couldn’t change my green car into a purple truck, but I could make a dozen roses appear in the hand of the person I was speaking to in my mind because they weren’t anywhere near me physically and I wouldn’t actually see the flowers.  Yeah, sounds kind of silly, but that’s the thing about a good delusion.  According to Encarta (http://encarta.msn.com/dictionary_1861603557/delusion.html), the definition of a delusion is “false belief: a persistent false belief held in the face of strong contradictory evidence, especially as a symptom of a psychiatric condition”.  Yeah, in the face of strong contradictory evidence.  So even though my rational mind should have said “that’s bullshit”, the chemicals in my brain said “it’s true” so I believed it.  Anyway, denial is a very important part of a delusion.  You deny what your rational self tells you.

Ok, next step:  Anger.  This one came after I had gone through denial and realized that I actually was crazy.  That one lasted for quite awhile, too.  I wasn’t completely out of my delusion, but I had figured out that it wasn’t true and I was pissed at the world.  I was pissed that I was crazy.  I was pissed that I was going to have to take medication for the rest of my life.  I was pissed that all the “cool shit” I had going on in my head was a lie.  Eventually I figured out that it took too much energy to be pissed all the time.  I wasn’t outwardly angry, but inside I was furious.  It went on for awhile but I felt better once it was over.

The next one is Bargaining.  Ok, this one really didn’t last long with me.  Let me give you a little background into my delusion and you’ll understand why.  I’ve never been particularly religious.  Nowadays I’m even less so.  I guess you could say that I’m against all organized religion.  If I had a gun to my head and had to pick a religion I believed in, I suppose I’d say Wicca, but even that’s not exactly what I believe in.  Too many rules even in that religion.  As far as a philosophy on how to live life, it’s great, but as a religion it’s not really for me.  I believe that there is a higher power somewhere out there, but I don’t think you have to go to church every Sunday or worship Him/Her in some specific way to go to some chaste, boring Heaven.  And if you don’t follow the right religion you go to Hell.  Nah, not for me.  Anyway, I am very spiritual, just not religious.  Well, in my delusion I became a living God.  The God of Gods if you will.  The story was that I was born with the first soul ever created/evolved and it gave me all kinds of powers and abilities.  I was to rule all existence, physical and spiritual (or Astral).  So, basically, that made me God’s boss, or Allah’s boss, or “insert Deity here’s” boss.  Well, the whole “Bargaining” stage of coping is where you try to make deals with God or whoever.  Like, I’ll quit smoking if you make this not happen.  Or, I’ll go to church every Sunday if you make it all go away.  Ok, so, I’m God’s boss, but I’m going to bargain with him to make me not crazy?  Didn’t make much sense to me.  Yeah, that stage didn’t last long.

Depression.  This one lasted a good while.  It’s perfectly natural and expected to become depressed knowing that you have to deal with any kind of chronic anything for the rest of your life.  I knew that I was going to be crazy forever.  I knew I was going to be on pills for the rest of my life.  I knew my old life was over and I didn’t know what the new life was going to be like.  I got depressed.  Eventually it got so bad that I would just lie in bed whenever I could.  I would go to work, come home and get in bed, have dinner, go back to bed, maybe get up for a smoke, then go to bed for the night.  Next day:  repeat.  On the weekends I would stay in bed pretty much all day.  I would get so pissed at myself.  I’m divorced and I only get to see my son on the weekends and it would piss me off so much that I’d have my son but just lie around in my bed all day and not spend any time with him.  It pissed me off, but not enough to actually get up and do anything.  Finally I talked to my shrink and got on some anti-depressants.  I think it was Celexa that he put me on at that time.  It helped, and after awhile I was back to being a somewhat normal, relatively active person.  I think I mentioned in a previous blog about stopping that medication when I felt better and the anxiety starting.  Well, I won’t harp on that one here, but I can honestly say that the drugs helped me through the depression.  Eventually I moved out of depression and into the final stage.

Acceptance.  This is the final and best stage of coping.  Once you finally come to terms with whatever you’re going through life gets better.  I accept that I’m schizo.  I accept that I’m going to spend my life doped up.  I even accept the anxiety (although grudgingly).  Life is good now.  I’m happy.  I have an active social life, I enjoy time with my family and friends, I like my job.  When you finally accept that life has changed but isn’t over, well, things get better.  I’ve never been happier in my adult life than I am now.  Hell, I even have fun with Lisa.  As crazy as it sounds I really don’t want to get rid of her.  It would be boring without her.  I’m not ashamed or embarrassed that I’m crazy.  I have fun with it, and the topic is far from taboo with my family and friends.  I talk openly about it joke about it.  I figure that I’m crazy, it’s part of who I am, I like who I am, so what’s the problem?  If somebody doesn’t like me because of an integral part of me, well, that’s their problem, not mine.

I hope anyone reading this who is going through a major change in life has found some hope.  Sure, the first four phases kind of suck, but once you’ve reached Acceptance, it gets better.  Don’t give up and don’t be afraid to ask for help.  If I hadn’t talked to my shrink about my delusion or depression, I don’t know where I’d be right now.  So, read, enjoy, hope.  Being crazy isn’t a death sentence.  In fact, that brings something to mind.  Anyone interested in Tarot?  One of the cards in the Major Arcana is “Death”.  A lot of people think it’s a negative card, but really it’s not.  With death comes re-birth.  Out with the old, in with the new.  It really means that you are going to go through a big change.  Could be a good change, could be a bad change.  Don’t be afraid of change – think of it as a new door opening.

Ok, that’s enough for now.  I look forward to writing again soon.  Have a good night and don’t go crazy

I recently listened to a speaker talk about those words, conversations and other I teractions that cause feelings and rememberances from the past come back to us. The past may make us handle the current situation differently and not as we would if not for the past. The speaker defined those past items as ‘triggers’.

I decided to pay close attention to the triggers that I experience in attempt to readjust my reaction . My goal is to improve my communication skills AND to have a better outcome for my own peace of mind.

Hypocracy – A big term for someone who acts differently around one person and not another.

Asking my advice – tnen saying I’m wrong.

Asking my opinion and getting mad about it.

Affecting my life without my permission or prior knowledge

Repeating negative stories, over and over, eapecialy many years after the event.

Trying to manipulate me with guilt

Asking the same question many times, like it is new, and never listening to the answer.

Via Alternet

So this is what our tax dollars cum bailout paid for? Rewarding a company that ran itself into the ground with risky derivative trading who took up a side job fleecing the rural poor.

Middlesboro and Clinton are two tiny, impoverished towns in southern Kentucky with a combined population of 12,000. In 2008, Middlesboro’s per capita income was $13,189 a year, only a few hundred dollars more than the average worker earned in third-world Mexico. That is if they were lucky to even get a job. Real unemployment hovers somewhere around 30%, and the state is so broke that half the people eligible for unemployment benefits can’t receive them. Life may be tough and most people live in poverty, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be made a little poorer. That’s the lesson locals learned after bailed-out insurance villain AIG took over their water utility and instantly raised rates to squeeze an extra $1 million in profits out of its new customers, forcing some to consider choosing between running water and food.

They bought the largest privately held utility in the country. Meaning they were not subject to the same stringent standards as a public utility.

AIG had reason to be pleased with its purchase. Water utilities are one hell of a profitable business, with international corporations easily making a 20 to 30% profit margin, according to a 2007 report by Food and Water Watch. In the US, federal regulations limit profits to 10%, a pesky rule that companies easily subvert by shuffling their income around and “investing” it in side businesses. These kinds of returns would be the envy of the pharmaceutical and oil industries. How do water companies do it? According to Food and Water Watch, they charge 50% more for services than public utilities and pocket the difference, thereby unleashing the potential of the free market.

What is, for all practical purposes, a monopoly can charge 50% more than a public utility.  What were people going to do, dig wells? Wells can cost a lot of money. As can any other practical alternative. So AIG could not lose. And when the credit crunch started and they were desperate for cash, they simply instituted a new “billing system” which was designed, in essence, to create revenues through late fees.

They never once offered to bail out the people of Middlesboro and Clinton.

If I believed in vengeance rather than justice, I would suggest a public caning for all involved in the creation of this disgusting travesty.

To All

Even in these troubled times and so many of us live in troubled households, we always have things to be thankful for. Sometimes it’s just a little harder to remember what they are than others.

On the top of my list is I’m very thankful for the readers I have here and the wonderful friends I’ve made through this blog. Your comments and sharing your lives with me have helped my more than you know.

I wish all of you a wonderful day filled with goodness, and just remember it could always be worse. Instead of 1 passive aggressive spouse or partner, they could be schytzophrenic and we could have to deal with 2 of them. LOL

Love to all.

This just released study ( report in PDF form) from McKinsey & Co. was undertaken for international corporations known as The 2030 Water Resources Group. It consists of:  The Barilla Group, The Coca-Cola Company, The International Finance Corporation, McKinsey & Company, Nestlé S.A., New Holland Agriculture, SABMiller, Standard Chartered Bank, and Syngenta AG.

The conclusions the study draws are not surprising to those who have even a passing interest in the subject. Global demand for water has long since exceeded supply. The report shows that over a billion people don’t have access to clean water; most of them in impoverished countries.

What is shocking is the accelerating rate at which we are consuming the water we have left. According to this report in just 20 years the demand for water will be 40 percent higher than reliable, accessible supplies, and more than 50 percent higher in the most rapidly developing countries.

Since the report was undertaken in corporate interests, it should not be surprising that the looming shortage is framed in it’s impact on economics first:

If these “business-as-usual” trends are insufficient to close the water gap, the result in many cases could be that fossil reserves are depleted, water reserved for environmental needs is drained, or—more simply—some of the demand will go unmet, so that the associated economic or social benefits will simply not occur

with the secondary emphasis placed on humans.

And while it is a dry slog to read through, you will notice that same secondary emphasis on human needs and human consumption in  nearly every instance. (see India Resources protests against Coca Cola) And likewise, when rights to water are discussed, it is always within a legal, corporate orientation. In the dozen or so references to the word “right” as it pertains to water, there is not one instance of  Human Rights mentioned in the report.

At a later news conference, Peter Brabeck-Letmathe, the chairman of Nestle helpfully questioned whether the idea of water as a “human right” is useful way to frame the conversation. He seems to think that humans have a right to “about 25 liters a day”.

One article on business and economics summarized the problem neatly:

The challenge: Getting beyond the nostrum that water is a “human right” so that water, which is obviously a scarce resource, can be priced in a way that drives conservation.

I will grant that the report takes stock of a number of measures to improve efficiency of use and protection of the resource. But for whose benefit? It may be that the coming water wars may not be between countries, but between corporations and those mere humans struggling to survive.

Further reading: Seeking Alpha T. Boone Pickens Invests in Water, Should You?

I have so much to be thankful for.  I lost my son, and I’ll never face anything harder.  For a while, I wanted to die, too.  Even though I still miss Andy every hour of every day, I’ve found some beauty in my life again.  Just typing that makes me feel guilty.  All of us who have lost children, though, have to surround ourselves with the love and support of the people in our lives.  We have to push through somehow.

And for the people in my life, I am thankful.  For those who’ve sat and cried with me, I appreciate the depth of feeling and respect you show my son’s memory.  For those who’ve laughed with me, I appreciate your courage.  Not everyone is comfortable laughing with a bereaved parent.  It takes true courage to understand that we need laughter mixed with the tears.  And for those who’ve been absolutely silly with me, thanks for bringing sunshine to my life when days are dark.  For you who have done all of that, all I can say is I truly owe my life to you.

I’m thankful for eight years as well, even though there should have been so many more…

“The modern “heresy” that medical care (as it is traditionally conceived) is generally unrelated to improvements in the health of populations (as distinct from individuals) is still dismissed as unthinkable in much the same way as the so-called heresies of former times. And this is despite a long history of support in popular and scientific writings as well as from able minds in a variety of disciplines.”

The Questionable Contribution of Medical Measures to the Decline of Mortality in the United States in the Twentieth Century

by John B. McKinlay; Sonja M. McKinlay

Published in 1977 in the Milbank Memorial Quarterly, Vol. 55, No.3. pp. 405-428

In this study, the McKinlays’ explore a steep decline in the top 10 communicable diseases. (Tuberculosis, Scarlet Fever, Influenza, Pneumonia, Diptheria, Whooping Cough, Measels, Smallpox, Typhoid, Poliomyelitis) This unified decline occurred over a period of about 100 years from 1900 to 1973 . Even the most virulent of these diseases were near their currently flat expression when science developed the means to mass produce vaccines in the years leading up to 1949.

Male and Female Mortality Rates Since 1900

As this chart from the paper shows, the decline in mortality from 1900 to the 1970’s for both males and females was markedly dramatic.

They compare this decline in mortality to similar declines in the communicable diseases listed previously.

Decline in Communicable Diseases since 1900

And also included is a graph charting causes of death from the early 1900’s in comparison to the years just prior to this paper’s publication.

Changes in Causes of Mortality since 1900

Which leads to the authors’ conclusion:

In general, medical measures (both chemotherapeutic andprophylactic) appear to have contributed little to the overall decline in mortality in the United States since about 1900-having in many instances been introduced several decades after a marked decline had already set in and having no detectable influence in most instances. More specifically, with reference to those five conditions (influenza, pneumonia, diphtheria, whooping cough, and poliomyelitis) for which the decline in mortality appears substantial after the point of intervention-and on the unlikely assumption that all of this decline is attributable to the intervention-it is estimated that at most 3.5 percent of the total decline in mortality since 1900 could beascribed to medical measures introduced for the diseases considered here.

This graph shows the diseases and their declines in comparison:

Compilation Graph

I would imagine that even the average lay reader, on viewing this graph of the mass decline, can easily imagine each disease effortlessly reaching current levels without the advent of commonly available vaccines. But if vaccines are not responsible for the dramatic decline in mortality, how else can it be explained?

It is widely known that a sea change in patient survival came after more stringent practices regarding hygiene and sterility of spaces and implements used in medical procedures were undertaken for both patient and physician. And as medicine and science progressed in their research of communicable disease and underlying factors that allowed them to spread. Along the way researchers and doctors also began to understand the things that create health.

Massive public campaigns, programs and projects were implemented. For instance swamps were drained to reduce breeding grounds for mosquitoes. And a broad swath of society, from low to high, were educated about cleanliness and hygiene.

From the CDC’s website:

In 1900 in some U.S. cities, up to 30% of infants died before reaching their first birthday (1). Efforts to reduce infant mortality focused on improving environmental and living conditions in urban areas (1). Urban environmental interventions (e.g., sewage and refuse disposal and safe drinking water) played key roles in reducing infant mortality. Rising standards of living, including improvements in economic and education levels of families, helped to promote health. Declining fertility rates also contributed to reductions in infant mortality through longer spacing of children, smaller family size, and better nutritional status of mothers and infants (1). Milk pasteurization, first adopted in Chicago in 1908, contributed to the control of milkborne diseases (e.g., gastrointestinal infections) from contaminated milk supplies.

Refrigeration became commonly available. That and other household inventions like window screens, indoor plumbing, and strategies to deal with outhouse placement in relation to well placement and other improvements made possible by gains in real income.

Because, according to the McKinlay’s paper:

With the appearance of his book, Who Shall Live? (1974), Fuchs, a health economist, contributed to the resurgence of interest in the relative contribution of medical care to the modern decline in mortality in the United States. He believes there has been an unprecedented improvement in health in the United States since about the middle of the eighteenth century, associated primarily with a rise in real income.

In light of a number of similar reports, which have been ignored or overlooked questions about vaccines begin to center on efficacy versus the potential for harm. There are those “skeptics” who are quick to label any such questions as the “heresy” described by the McKinlays’. One would hope, at this point, they might review the widely accepted definition of skepticism as one of continuing exploration. There are no concrete truths in science, only evolving theories that should, in the best of all possible worlds, be continuously re-examined and re-tested.

We should also consider similar themes of hygiene in relation to income levels through the lens of such ideas as: mandated control of working conditions, food preparation and storage, statutes for safe drinking water and the establishment of agencies dealing specifically with issues of public health. Upton Sinclair’s novel The Jungle can act as a literary touchstone for the ideas presented here.

Now is the time for us to ask ourselves: Would the money spent on the now all-but-neutered health care bill be used more effectively by developing jobs for the populace so that real income levels rise for those most affected by the downturn? Would a combination of public health education and income increases work to reduce the current spate of common causes of death as it did in the first half of the last century even though the cause of mortality has changed? I think we need to take a broader view of what has worked in the past, as it is evident that medicating the problems will not solve them now any more than it did then.

This entry was written by one of our volunteers:

As I write this, it is 10 years ago today that I had my lumpectomy.  The surgery was one week before Thanksgiving, which is the big holiday in our family.  For more than 30 years we had hosted a large group at our table.  Preparing that big dinner so soon after surgery was a challenge for me, but everyone pitched in and helped.  The coping style in our family always includes humor.  My husband was telling everyone, “Remember, when we cut the turkey, say ‘White Meat’, not ‘Breast’!”

 One of our Thanksgiving dinner traditions is to go around the table and have all of us say what we are thankful for.  When it was my turn, thinking of the pathology report I had received the day before, I exclaimed, “I’m thankful for clean margins and negative nodes!”

 During that time, between diagnosis and surgery, after the lumpectomy, then through the months of chemotherapy and radiation that followed, so many people around me extended themselves countless times in an incredible variety of ways.  My family and friends were generous in bringing us meals, taking me to treatment, sending flowers, notes and gifts.  Each and every one of them touched me in a different way.  They came to visit from near and far. Three of my visitors traveled from as far away as Boston and Dallas!

 In one of the many books about breast cancer that I read shortly after diagnosis, I found this tip:  make a list of things I needed and keep it relevant and handy.  Then when someone said, “What can I do to help?” I would have a ready answer.  Some examples were to have someone return a library book, stop by for a cup of tea, pick up an item at the grocery store.  It made them feel good to do something that was helpful and that I actually wanted or needed.

 My chemotherapy lasted six months and in the middle of that treatment I had the six weeks of radiation at a different facility.  You can imagine how I was dragging, especially on the days when I had to go to both.  Friends and family who took me to treatment during that time generously gave me help and support.

 Someone once asked me what was the most helpful thing anyone had done for me.  After reflection, I answered that it was the variety of all the different things people had done.   Thinking of how much everyone did to help, support and comfort me during my treatment still fills me with a warm glow.

 In the 10 years since, several people in my life have been diagnosed and treated for breast cancer.  Each time I have reached out with whatever support I could give.  Following the example of the many who had been there for me, I called, visited, gave gifts, sent emails, went along with them to doctors appointments and treatment, brought food, ran errands. 

 Now, as I approach Thanksgiving 10 years later, I reflect on how thankful I am for the wonderful people I am lucky to have in my life.  They buoyed me through my treatment and in the years since.  And I wonder:  is there any way that I can repay them for all the kindness, help and support they have given me?  Or perhaps the best way to thank them is to “pay it forward” and do for others what they so generously have done for me. 

 What are you thankful for? Leave a comment or share your story on our Facebook Page.

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As I might have mentioned before, I’m an artist, but I also work at a hotel managing the Front Desk and hotel reservations to help pay the bills. As an artist, I usually don’t have to worry about too much fat-negativity from a job standpoint, because the people who pay me to do that work know the kind of art I do and are often of a like mind.

As the reservations manager, however, thinks get kinda iffy. I don’t usually have problems, honestly, but every now and then something pops up that makes me go “wait, what?” and have to vent here for a bit. For example, a few months ago, one of our new restauant managers claimed that he was going to fire everyone that he deemed “unnatractive” because he thought it would bring in more business to have hot, young, skinny blonde girls running around serving them (don’t worry, that didn’t happen, but he did hire more of those girls in addition to who we already have).

This week has been pretty similar on two counts, which is surprising because it usually doesn’t happen that often. First, one of our new bartenders – who is a very thin and very cranky woman – noticed that I had gotten ice water with lunch instead of the soda I usually get. I was doing this because I had been drinking more soda at home, and I didn’t want to drink too much of it for health reasons, not weight reasons. Still, not knowing this, she seemed all impressed that I had switched and rudely implied that a) I must be trying to lose weight and b) that she had been judging me for having soda the whole time she’s been working (which has been a few months now). I was really shocked by that, so I think I stammered a standard response which may or may not have included the real reason I was drinking water that day, and fled.

Then, this morning, I was getting coffee and talking to the sous chef, who is a very nice woman, about getting breakfast instead of lunch today (I have to leave early, so it would just work out better for me). Then she assumed that I had been skipping breakfast because of my weight, and we got into this whole discussion about it, because this time I was honest about how I feel about myself – pointing out that I like being fat, and that skipping breakfast has nothing to do with it.

That actually turned out okay, since we got into this discussion about women and body shape and how some women just look better big. But its still odd to me that this came up twice in one week, when it usually doesn’t come up that often or that close together. I guess the message in this, though, is that I come out of these situations better when I tell people what I think and don’t let them make me feel bad for being a big girl.

On a much more positive note, though, today’s my girlfriend’s birthday!!! Happy birthday, my llady (even though you don’tread this blog)! We’re celebrating with her parents and some friends later by having lunch at our favorite restaurant, and whatever else after that. Looking forward to it

Is it the anticipation of Thanksgiving that makes me hungry? I’ve been walking around the past week wanting to eat everything I see. I’ve avoided most temptation so all things considered, it could be worse.

Holidays can set off some funky eating, and I really want to navigate around that this year. It requires planning, which pisses me off, but it is what it is. If I “wing” it, I know I will find myself staring down one of my Aunt Alice’s pumpkin pies in just a matter of hours.

So, here is what I’ve come up with. Tomorrow morning I will eat an egg white and ham sandwich on high fiber wheat bread. Then I plan to ride the exercise bike for 40 minutes, and mid-morning I will have a piece of fruit and a Weight Watchers Smoothie.

Dinner for our family will not be until 1 p.m. – not my choice – so I will need to plan carefully not to over indulge. I’m like a 3-year-old who needs to eat every two hours. A meal at that time doesn’t fit well with my feeding schedule, but the smoothie will help. I will also make a veggie tray with dill dip (the recipe is on the blog). My meal will consist of turkey, baked sweet potato, salad and pie. I’m skipping the other crap. It’s not worth it to me, but I can only get my Aunt Alice’s pie at Thanksgiving.

I’m hoping the weather is nice so that after dinner when everyone else is moaning because they stuffed themselves like pork sausages, I’m heading out for a walk and fresh air. Hopefully, I can grab a cousin to go along for a visit.

No leftovers, thank you very much. The only thing worth taking is the pie, and my cousins and uncle have dibs on that – just as well.

Can I do it? What’s it worth? I set a goal for the New Year and I have a little contest going with a few friends. Pigging out tomorrow will not help me reach that place, but I also need to remember it is just one day. And, if all goes well, I will have many more in the years ahead.

I need to focus and remember it is not about the food. I have a feeling there is going to be a lot of self-talk going on – at least I won’t be lonely!

Have a good holiday – let me know how your feast goes.

The quote in the title written by Horace, an ancient poet.

Everybody has stress in their lives, that’s a given. And everybody has different ways of dealing with their stress. Some people result to violence, some to solitude. There aren’t many cases where people cope in the same way. If you are over stressed, and you feel like you’re just going to explode, you need to relax one way or another. Scream at the top of your lungs, work out, talk to somebody, or even just crying can help. It may seem that these things aren’t drastic enough to help, but they are. There are different causes of stress, of course some of these are clear, but some of them are harder to detect. We all know that friends, family, work, and school are a few reasons people do get stressed, but other things that lie a bit deeper could be financial problems, other peoples stress, and  other minor worries. Sometimes your self-esteem, emotional problems, relationship problems and even something as simple as your surroundings can affect how stressed you are, or can become. Stress doesn’t just put a strain on your mental health, it can hurt your physical health too.  Whenever you’re stressed you may tend to either over or under eat, you may become lazy and not get exercise, and in extreme cases you may begin to hurt yourself.  If you are ever feeling stressed out, take a deep breath and count to 10. Sometimes you may need a higher number, but just breath and take a second to calm down.  If deep breathing and counting doesn’t work, sometimes just sitting down in a calm environment will help. You could also meditate, think about the good things, or get a massage.

I’m not feeling very inspired as I sit and write this evening. I had a rough day yesterday and succumbed to scarfing down a Snickers. Actually, I thoroughly enjoyed every decadent bite.

I can’t remember the last time I ate a full-size Snickers bar – man, they’re good! It is the perfect combination – peanuts, caramel and chocolate. A 2.7 oz. candy bar has 280 calories and a whopping 14 grams of fat.

I could have eaten three ounces of chicken, a baked sweet potato – with a pat of butter and a salad with vinegar and oil. I probably could have thrown in a small piece of fruit. I can’t keep crap around the house, but I found it at Wal-Mart when I picked up some photos. I would like to say that the candy jumped into my cart, but I was already contemplating what kind I wanted when I walked past the greeter.

I wandered around a bit and talked myself out of donuts, ice cream and big bags of fun-size candy bars. I knew all of those items would take me down a VERY dark hole. I guess it could have been worse – I could have opted for the supersize bar at the checkout that was as big as my head. I know someone who can eat candy bars that big – of course he works in construction and likely burns 18 million calories a day.

I bought a regular Snickers and ate it in the car, and I admit was tempted to toss the wrapper out the window on my way home. I used to do that when I was a kid to get rid of all the evidence. My best binging took place in the driver’s seat of my little orange camaro – flying down dusty country roads in rural Indiana. I rolled up the window knowing I didn’t want to go back to that space.

It wasn’t until tonight that I looked at the nutrition info. I suppose that is all the explanation needed behind reason I don’t eat Snickers. Geez, that really sucks! I can’t imagine a Milky Way or Twix is much better. On the bright side, I could have headed to DQ for a small Snickers Blizzard. That would have set me back 670 calories and 25 grams of fat!

Thankfully today, I don’t have any errands to run. The most evil thing in my house is peanut butter. While I have been known to put some serious hurt on a jar of Jiff, I think it safe from me tonight.

‘Tis the season to give thanks.  But when you’ve lost a baby, sometimes it’s hard to find things to be grateful for.  At my pregnancy loss support group a couple of weeks ago, the leader of our group asked us to start thinking about things that we are thankful for despite the loss  because there is always something to be thankful for.  Up until this past Saturday, I did not want to think about gratitude.  My Riley is gone, what is there to be grateful for?  I’m entitled to feel that way, I think all things considered.  However, if Riley were here, I would have raised her to be a grateful human being so I need to be an example for my daughter even though she is up in heaven. 

So, here is my gratitude list (in no particular order)  as we approach Thanksgiving:

1)  My friends who have been so steadfast in caring and loving all three of us:  Todd, Riley, and me.

2) My online friends who I have not had the priviledge of meeting but have been such a support.  There’s a reason why we’ve found each other even if it’s only virtually.

3)  My students (all 135 of them) who warm my heart everyday.  I get to shower the love I have for Riley on them – especially my special needs kids, they’re extra special!

4) My husband who has been a constant source of love and strength throughout the grief of losing our daughter. 

5) My pregnancy loss support group who has allowed me to find people who know my heart without me having to say a single word and who have become family.

6) A roof over our heads, food in our bellies (sometimes too much), a job to keep us provided for.

7) Having a family to belong to.

Being able to find beauty in this world we live in though sometimes it’s very hard.

9)  The kindness of strangers and acquaintances which have blessed me throughout this past year.

10)  My daughter Riley who has given me the gift of deeper love and understanding, of forgiveness, and finding a greater purpose in life.

11)  For finding the strength each day to survive the grief that has become my constant companion.

12)  For music that soothes me, for art that inspires me, for nature whose grandness always humbles me, for the ocean where I feel close to my daughter.

13)  For the UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship).. my source of releasing anger when I feel like ripping the walls apart.  (Silly I know..)

14) My weiner dogs who allow me (actually they have no choice) to cradle them like a baby and have helped me with my “empty arms” syndrome.

It’s amazing how many things I have to be grateful for once I actually started writing it down.  I hope that you will be able to find things to be grateful for..

I love you Riley!  One of these days, I hope I can start talking to you out loud and not just in my heart.  You’re in heaven, so I’m sure you have tons to be grateful for.  Mommy’s so thankful that she had you in her life for 20 weeks.  It was the best 20 weeks of my life.. I miss you, baby..

Well, we are about two weeks away from the big day. Wedding preparations have gone well so far. No big disasters to speak of except a recent issue with the location of our Auf Ruf. In the Jewish religion, an Auf Ruf is when the congregation recognizes an upcoming union in temple. More conservative Jews have these and Jamie and I are on the observant side. We were set to have the ceremony at my grandmother’s temple in Buffalo Grove when we found out, a week before the event that my grandmother’s ultra-conservative synagogue doesn’t allow women on the bema or stage. Jamie therefor didn’t want to have the Auf Ruf there because she feels, and I support her on this, that the Auf Ruf is a celebration of both of us, not just me because I am a male.

We approached my mom who is extremely religious, more so than anyone else in the family, about perhaps having the ceremony at another temple where Jamie would be recognized as well. My mom didn’t cause any conflicts, immediately acquiescing to our request. I thought this was a big step for my mom, whose religious beliefs often fall outside of the more secular mainstream today. My mom doesn’t believe that women have a place on the bema or anywhere near the Torah. She tried to instill her ultra-conservative, almost orthodox, religious beliefs in me and my brother from a very young age. My brother and I though, have grown up to be more secular Jews and I often wonder how this affects my mom. Is she ashamed that we don’t keep kosher or have Shabbat dinners every Friday night like we did growing up? Neither of us is really sure.

The one thing that I am surprised about concerning my mother’s religious beliefs is that her views on religion are steeped in women being in charge of the family and having a place in the home and no where else. My mom went to medical school and became a doctor during a time when this was a very progressive alternative to a life in home. The Jewish religion doesn’t recognize women as having a place in the work force. So it perplexes me that she was able to step outside of the religious doctrines when it came to her professional life and career, but remains extremely constrained by the religion when it comes to the letter of the law with everything else.

Another curious thing to me is that my mom fell in love with and married my dad, a reformed Jew who grew up with no religion whatsoever. If religion is so important to her, why then did she choose to spend her life with someone who didn’t understand anything about it? Religion is important to Jamie and me in the sense that it brings the family closer together and provides a certain element of tradition across generations. We want to build a Jewish home together just so our kids have something to identify with. But the conservative laws and customs like kashrut and gender roles as they are discussed in the Torah are practices and ideals that are lost in the generational gap between my mother’s formative years and adulthood and my own.