Hormones or Heartburn

I love football.
I love the Beatles.
I love a good steak.
I love beer.
I love moonlit walks.
I love the sound of gurgling brook.
I love motorcycles.
I love convertibles.
I love your dress.
I love your hair.
I love a good movie.
I love my house.

I love you?

Many groups have through out the years discussed the prevalence of sex, violence and four letter words that we as a society must wade thru on a daily basis. Their primary concern has been that we will become hardened to such events and will be unable to separate the entertainment from the reality. Focusing on the negative effects that the over exposure to the poor choice of entertainment we make is a noble cause. However, I feel that we have been missing the forest in amongst the trees.

A far greater danger is the rampant over usage of the word love.

For so many people the word love has become a catchall phrase for everything in life that we are drawn to from our spouses, to our children, from our parents to our siblings, to every animate and inanimate object we desire.

How can our children begin to comprehend the importance of the word love when they hear it tossed around like baseball on the playground? Mom loves her job. Dad loves his new tool. Grandpa loves his new television. Grandma loves listening to Bing Crosby. Everybody loves something.

What are we teaching our children what the word love stands for when we say we love our spouse and meatloaf in practically the same sentence?

More than a few of my friends have had someone they were dating whisper I love you after only three or four dates. Now, the romantic in me still believes in love at first site but the realist stands back looks at the abundance of broken families and wonders if we take love and marriage seriously enough.

In reality whispering I love you so early in a relationship is usually a euphemism for what is really being thought and/or felt. I love you at that point can mean the sex was great, the conversation was great, your company was great. It seems that so often now people are confusing hormones or heartburn for something deeper and more beautiful.

I have found that even some married couples over use the word. One or both spouses are constantly saying I love you from the end of each and every phone conversation to every time they pass in the halls at home. A couple who is secure in their love and their marriage usually do not need to repeat I love you a thousand times a day. Actions through out the day speak volumes where words can eventually become empty.

My wish would be for the word love to be returned to a more lofty position or at least behind glass like a fire alarm. With a sign above that reads break glass in the case of true love.

Unheard Soul

All he ever wanted was for his voice to be heard. A shoulder to cry on. A partner to help tend his soul garden.

All around him people fluttered to and fro going about their daily chores as if they meant something in the big picture. No one stopped to share a sunset with him. No one was willing to spend an hour in the meadow watching the clouds pass by. No one had the time to discuss the concept of time or its effect on our built in perceptions.

In his confusion he longed for a confident. Someone who understood him beyond the flesh and blood of his body. Someone who was able to perceive the wonder filled spirit within.

He spoke to his minister, which was some comfort but rather than letting the conversation flow the minister kept returning to the salvation of his soul. He knew the man was just doing his job developing a spiritual road map to guide him but that was not what he was looking for.

He spoke to his psychologist. She was filled with compassion. She worked to guide him through the maze he had created and back onto a path of comfort. Forty-five minutes a week with a virtual stranger was not the answer though.

He was surrounded by family but the with their lack of involvement in his life they might has well have been strangers. So wrapped up in themselves they had no time for support. They failed to understand him. Leading lives without emotion they could not comprehend one who wrapped himself in emotions.

All he ever wanted was to be heard. To be understood and to be accepted. He never expected to live the life on an unheard soul.

Prayers

The war ended before it began. Before any battles were fought. Before any skirmishes were lost.

A mother watches, as her daughter becomes a woman before her eyes.

Eleven years old and she looks like she could pass for seventeen or eighteen. Innocent and unprepared for the world outside her front door she must step off the ledge into the oblivion of her teens.

A mother wonders. How can I protect someone who no longer listens to what I say? How am I to respond to each slammed door? How should I react each cry for privacy?

When I was her age my life was so different. My mother was distant and I ran the streets and alleys of my hometown with my friends. My naiveté was long gone. I could take care of myself. I understood the risks and I understood the cost.

A mother cry's herself to sleep each night. The silent tears of a single parent find no comfort; no shoulder is there to cry on.

I look at my daughter and I am surprised to find myself looking back at me. The same hair and the same body type. The same smile and the same brown eyes. I sense the confusion running rampant in her mind but how can I provide comfort when my own mind is facing the same floodwaters of confusion.

A mother hopes that once they establish common ground that they will be able to navigate the rapids of teen life together. It is a journey that no child should have to make alone but to many do.

I watch my daughter as she mopes around the house. A black cloud is almost visible above her head as she pouts and seemingly embraces the angst that dominates the lives of so many teenagers today. I want to hold her but she as built a maze of ice between us and navigating its corridors is much more difficult than I expected.

In the darkness a mother prays. Lord, I love my daughter so. It breaks my heart to see her fighting against the coming changes. Please provide me with the strength to be firm, the wisdom to guide her and the courage that I will need to stand by her side and support through the coming storm.

In the darkness a daughter prays. Lord, I love my mother. I am so scared. My body is changing and everything seems so different. Please give me the strength to know when to say no, the wisdom to listen to my mother and learn from her experiences and courage to discuss my life with her. Help me find a way through this maze and come to come out the other side with my mothers love for me intact.

Lungs in Crisis V

Day 188 – October 25, 2003: I finished the required treatment to eliminate the Thrush from my throat. There was little if no improvement in my cough or my breathing. Follow up with my pulmonologist is on schedule for the following week. Today was a disaster of epic proportions for someone like me with breathing difficulty. The mountains just north of my house were covered with flames for miles in every direction.

Looking outside my window one would have thought it was a mid-winter snowstorm if not for the calendar or my location in Southern California. The ground is covered by a quarter inch of ash. The air is thick with smoke and soot and my chest feels like a weightlifter is sitting on me.

Day 192 – October 29, 2003: A new member has joined the family of fish in the office of my pulmonologist. We discussed the various options and came to the mutual decision that it was time to be a bit more aggressive. He submitted a request to my insurance company for approval of a bronchoscopy so we could see exactly what was happening in my lungs.

Day 204 – November 10, 2003: In today's mail I found approval for both my bronchoscopy and my disability. My check including retroactive pay should be in the mail any day. I called the hospital and scheduled my procedure for November 20th, with preoperative testing scheduled for the 19th.

Day 212 – November 18, 2003: If I was Irish I would need to kiss the Blarney Stone to find some form of good luck. I woke up this morning with another fever. After visiting the doctor I found that I have another active bronchial infection. With an active infection and fever postponing the procedure until next month has become necessary. Time to reintroduce antibiotics to the process. Which will with my luck will develop another round of thrush. It is a vicious circle but my choices are limited at this point.

Day 213 – November 19, 2003: Discussions with the disability insurance company informed me that in January I will have to begin the process of applying for long term disability. One of the conditions of approval for the long-term disability is proof of application for social security disability. When this illness began in April I never thought that the holidays would roll around and I would still be off of work. Frustration is beginning to set in. My panic attacks have increased and depression has been knocking at my door. So far at least I have kept the hounds at bay. My psychologist referred me to a psychiatrist to ensure that I was taking the right doses of medication for my panic attacks. He switched me from the Paxil I was taking to Lexapro in an attempt to settle my nerves. Only time will tell but I am growing tired of the treadmill.

Fever

The fever induced ramblings of an overheated mind.

If Disneyland is the happiest place on earth than who holds the title for the saddest place on earth?

Will Kenneth Branagh ever direct another good movie or has he lost his muse?

If organized religion faded away what would the human race have to fight about?

How can there be justice for everyone when only the wealthy can buy it?

Does anyone remember how great Coca-Cola tasted before they began using corn sweeteners?

Will reality television ever reflect a normal persons reality?

Why would intelligent life bother to visit this planet?

If intelligent life did visit this planet why would they come in craft that stood out like a sore thumb?

Will Stephen King ever write another good book?

If John F. Kennedy had lived would George W. Bush be president today?

How do they remove carbohydrates from milk and could that process possibly be good for us?

Would more weight be lost if people read their diet books while going for walks rather than by following the diets themselves?

Is Victoria's Secret still a secret?

Why do people continue to rebuild mobile home parks after a tornado or hurricane destroys them?

Bitterness

Her heart felt bitterness took me by surprise. Especially coming from someone who was but fourteen years old. How had one so young developed such deep rooted cynicism?

On a warm autumn Monday I was babysitting for a neighbor and I had taken their two kids to the park. I sat on an isolated bench watching my charges blend in with a crowd of similar children chasing each other through the mazes of equipment that pass for playgrounds these days.

I noticed her across the way. Like me she had isolated herself on one of the many benches. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her expression had a wistful, far-away look to it. She appeared to be watching two smaller children attempting to build a sand castle in dry sand, which always turns out to be a futile effort.

Before long she began pacing the sidewalk that surrounded the playground. Hands buried in the pockets of a black, oversized windbreaker. Her shoulders bowed with the weight of her world. Her feet covered by tattered Van's sneakers shuffled through the scattered sand.

We made eye contact several times. A nod. A passing smile, a tentative hello.

I invited her to sit down. When she hesitated I promised I would not bite. I pointed out my two charges that by now were rolling around in the sand and laughing without a care in the world.

I introduced myself and after a moments hesitation she gave hers as Alexis.

We discussed the usual topics that strangers do when they are attempting to find common ground. Commonality was difficult to find considering our age differences.

Finally we settled on horror novels, which as it turned out we both had an affinity for. While she leaned toward Anne Rice I am a Stephen King fan myself. We compared Interview with a Vampire to Salem's Lot. We discussed The Stand and The Queen of the Damned.

Once she was more comfortable I began to pry a little being nosy by nature.

I asked her about school. She was a sophomore in high school. She did not enjoy school though she believed that she was dumb, slow and had a lousy memory.

I told her that I found that hard to believe considering the detail she was able to give in discussing her favorite books.

I asked her what she planned to do upon graduating from high school. Would she be going on to college?

Her reply floored me. Not only did she have no plans for college but she did not even believe she would finish high school. When pressed she just repeated that she was too dumb to graduate so why bother dreaming.
What about the future I asked? How will you survive without some basic skills?

Again she left me speechless. She assumed that when she was eighteen she would become a stripper. According to her they make good money and she would be able to support herself.

I tried to grasp the hopelessness that she felt at fourteen but I could not.

She said when she looks in the mirror all she sees is a nothing, a nobody, a loser. The only thing that kept her climbing out of bed in the morning was the love she received from her brother and sister who she was watching there in the park. If not for them, she said, her life would be empty and she believed she would be useless.

I attempted to improve her self-esteem. I told her that she carried herself well and was a good conversationalist especially when discussing topics she found interesting.

She smiled but there was no belief in her eyes. In her mind life was over for her. She was stuck in the quicksand of cynicism and no mere words were going to rescue her.

By this time the sun was beginning to set and her two charges were ready to head home as were mine.

She thanked me for listening and with slight but bitter smile she walked away.

Sea of Negativity

As a family they swam in a sea of negativity. Located just two blocks down and three blocks across from the sea of tranquility.

Mama lives for her soap operas. Every daylight hour, every soap live or in Memorex it does not matter to her. Her tables are cluttered with various publications that follow the personal and professional lives of her favorite characters.

When she is not watching mama does her best to create a living soap opera out of her own life. Tranquility does not even exist as a definition in her dictionary. Every little event must become its own mini drama.

Several years ago her son was diagnosed with a very curable type of cancer. Reason for concern yes, reason for obsession no. She thrived on discussing his illness with anyone who would listen.

"My son, you know my son? No. No matter. Wonderful boy has a terrible illness. Cancer. Doctors say he will be fine but what do they know. And the stress let me tell you about the stress I am under. Going to the doctors. Going to the hospital and back to the doctors. And does my ungrateful son appreciate me. No. Just today I visited his home and he asked me to leave. He said he was tired and needed to rest. Can you imagine asking your own mother to leave? I was only going to stay long enough to straighten the house, wash the dishes, and cook some meals for him. "

On and on she can go for hours just about the son.

Don't mention the husband or you will really get her started.

Married for forty-five years and she claims to have been happy once or twice but she does not quite remember the year. Her husband is no good she says. He cheats on her and moves out for months at a time. She loves him though and always takes him back. Never questions him. The more damage he does to the marriage the happier she is. Gives her something juicy to share with the girls between commercials.

Now the husband would say he strays because she is impossible to live with. Everything must be an issue. Nothing can be simple.

This complaint of course flows from the mouth of the king of complications. He never misses a short cut or a scam. He is first in the line to collect a freebie and cannot be found when a bill is due to be paid.

Each morning he springs from bed with big plans for making millions, each evening he goes to bed a day shorter and not a dollar wiser. He has alienated every close friend he ever had with his get rich schemes that have gone awry. He wanders into grocery stores and shop lifts for the thrill of it, despite the twenties he has stashed in his pocket.

This moment in time is never enough he is always searching the horizon for the rainbow he believes is his due complete with the pot of gold. Though while wallowing in the mire of his own creation he doesn't even have a pot to piss in.

The daughter lives her life as a woman scorned. Nose in the air she walks through life expecting prince charming to fall at her feet with pockets overflowing with rubies. She is oblivious to the attitude she projects and the scorn being tossed behind her back.

In her eyes it is her world and she is just allowing the rest of the human race to borrow her playground for a short while.

Like her father she believes in instant gratification and feels it is beneath her station to work for anything. Also like her father she believes that the opposite sex is just a tool for to use and toss away on some rubbish heap. Though unlike the father she has a little flame still burning in her soul that prevents her from doing so.

What she does though is somehow worse.

She met and married her first husband with in a week. She says it was so he could get his papers to stay here in the US. However, everyone knew the real reason. Ten years and two kids later they were divorced. Like everything else this family does they botched the divorce. Unable to agree on custody he kept the son and she kept the daughter. Unable to make her marriage or divorce work she has only succeeded in creating dysfunctional generation in a long line of dysfunctional generations.

One week after the divorce was final she married the boyfriend of the woman who had been taking care of their children. Again the excuse was that he needed his papers but of course everyone just kind of smiled and went about their business without question.

Now five years later that marriage to has imploded. This time she was smart enough not to have children. However even in the ruin of a doomed marriage she is waffling not sure if she should follow through or not.

The son having recovered from cancer floats on a sea of listlessness. He has been in college for twelve years and does not possess enough credits to graduate.

He has never married and he does not even possess a permanent address. Sometimes he can be found at his mothers. Other times at his sisters, never in one place for long he is too restless.

When the four of them are together you can cut the tension with a knife. The room is filled with negative energy. Their conversations, it has been noted, have the same affect on ones brain that the sound of nails on chalkboards does. Everyone speaks at once. No one listens. Foul language rules the table. If a comment slips out with a lack of negative connotations it is not from a lack of effort.

All in all these are people who are only happy when they embrace their own unhappiness. They grow and thrive in a sea of negativity.