I'm Baaaack!

If I mull it over it’s hard to believe I haven’t blogged in nearly a year (how is this possible?).

For months now I have been telling myself I need to at least write an entry explaining why I’ve been away. While it was not intended I suppose there’s a peculiar irony in the title of my most recent entry from December of last year -- “To See A Disappearing Act” -- especially since immediately after I proceeded to disappear.

So, here’s what’s going on... About two years ago, I started my first novel. Writing a book is something I hadn’t contemplated or attempted since I always endeavored to write screenplays or teleplays. To be honest, in my innocence (or dare I say ignorance?) I didn’t really change my story development process. Probably, this is why some of my preliminary readers have said, “It reads like a movie.”

When I finally started the first chapter, I have to admit it was liberating. Writing screenplays is extremely rigid since you can only put on the page what you expect your audience to see on the screen. Such rules do not apply in books where you can more easily jump back and forth in time or delve into a character’s inner thoughts.

About a year ago, I laid down my first draft (with quite a bit of blood, sweat and tears). Some days I would write and believe my work was brilliant. But there were also dreadful days when I composed chapters that really weren’t working at all. My only solace was that I had something concrete. A sculptor must start with a large block of stone and craft it into something intentional like Michelangelo’s David or the Pieta. When I completed my first draft I was ecstatic to have something on paper. In reality all I had was a block of stone. I had this mass of words and chapters -- all of it put together into a huge mass of something that would eventually, hopefully become my book. But it wasn’t a book yet. During this phase I was still blogging quite regularly. In this last year, however, while I have been absent, I have been chipping away at that first draft, working to create what I hope will be an enjoyable, perhaps informative story.

In any event, this is the reason for my absence. While I haven’t been blogging, I have been writing. In the next weeks and months, I hope to share more thoughts and experiences on this journey we call life. And I’ll certainly keep you posted on my progress with the book (and my search for a publisher).... Until then, HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL!!!

TO SEE A DISAPPEARING ACT

It was already 10 pm and I was fighting sleep. I knew I wouldn’t last more than an hour in the dead of the night’s deep cold so I hesitantly set the alarm on my phone for 2 am. Within minutes I was asleep and then the alarm sounded jarring me from my slumber. I felt groggy and disoriented fumbling with my phone whose only alarm sound was shrill and grating. My house was chilly, as I’d lowered the heat before getting cozy beneath my blankets. I contemplated returning to sleep and abandoning my mission to witness the full lunar eclipse of this winter solstice but then I considered the rarity of the event and dragged myself from bed. I slipped on some shoes and my warmest down jacket then descended the stairs.

IT'S SHOWTIME, FOLKS!
At 2 am I didn’t know where I would find the best view of the moon so I flipped a mental coin and decided to start with my back patio. Once outside the cold air nipped at my hands and quickly wrapped around my legs, which were badly insulated with thin pajamas. The hooded jacket was efficient and my torso and head felt as if I were still beneath my sheets. I looked to the left and right, but the moon was nowhere to be found. Just as I was resigning to move to the front of the house, I looked directly overhead and there it was the full moon shining brightly like a huge pendant lamp dangling in the sky. The lunar eclipse had begun and a third of the moon was already obscured. I felt terribly lucky. There was a huge cloud bank in the east, but the skies over my house were clear allowing a perfect view of the occurrence.

After several minutes of watching the eclipse my neck began to hurt. I realized the moon’s coordinates had necessitated me craning my neck into an extremely uncomfortable position. To gain relief I bent forward and touched my toes allowing gravity to soothe my fatigued muscles. About fifteen minutes in, new clouds began arriving, thin and mist-like, traveling rapidly across the skies. Fortunately, I was still able to see the moon like a lighthouse beacon illuminating the skies through a veil of fog. I was in awe of how fast the clouds were moving especially since I didn’t feel a breeze. Every so often, an opening clearly revealed the moon’s disappearing act.

About thirty minutes in the moon was seventy-five percent obscured, but the cumulus clouds were growing thicker. For moments the moon seemed to blink out as if the eclipse had completed but then its brightness would return. I wondered if the clouds were causing my eyes to play tricks on me. And then suddenly, the swift moving clouds slowed to a crawl as if the moon had demanded their attention. For nearly a half hour they had been traveling east, but they were changing course inching more toward the south. I waited patiently for an opening so I could witness the moon slipping on its veil like a skilled belly dancer. Finally, an aperture appeared and the eclipse, nearly complete, had transformed the white, shining moon almost as if a crimson filter had been slipped over its entirety. The various shades of red dazzled me for a fleeting moment until the moon vanished again behind the clouds. I patiently waited but the moon or the clouds or both had decided to tease with their show. For only seconds at a time I could catch a glimpse. I had expected the moon to vanish during the eclipse as if hiding behind some black curtain of night, but this was not the case. Upon the eclipse’s completion the moon had certainly dimmed but its prominence was hardly diminished as it shined like a red ruby hanging in the sky.

THE FINAL ACT
By now I had been standing in the cold for nearly forty minutes at which point the blanket of clouds closed in like the final curtain call at a play. I massaged my sore neck and slipped back into the house, which now seemed warm and cozy. I have to admit it was difficult getting back to sleep. I awoke tired the next morning but was somehow energized by the show I’d witnessed in the cold of the night.

I WROTE A BOOK!
To learn more about Volume One of my Sci-Fi/Fantasy/
Action-adventure series, “The Unveiling,”
please visit the website at TheUnveilingSeries.com.

The Road To Tennessee - Part III

After weeks of pushing to prepare for my move I paused, allowing myself a day to work on my book. Feeling as if I were treating myself to a leisurely day I drove to one of my preferred coffee shops to order lunch. After eating I began the task of banging out pages only to be struck later in the day by mild stomach cramps. It wasn’t like food poisoning but the ache in my stomach was a definite nuisance. For nearly an hour I struggled to continue writing but then grew fearful of pushing myself too hard. Not wanting to sink any further into the quicksand of my fatigue I gathered my things, hurried to my car and drove home. It was my intention to unwind and have dinner but the ache in my stomach seemed to be growing more intense. Within two hours a sharp pain had developed on my left side. I suspected an appendicitis but quickly tossed out the idea after a quick Internet search revealed the appendix is on the opposite side. At this point I broke out in a sweat even though, to the touch, my face was cold and clammy.

I can safely say I was officially panicked. I began brainstorming whether I should call 9-1-1 or simply drive myself to the ER [about five miles away]. I elected for the latter and quickly hopped in the car. It was 9:30 at night. It wasn’t especially warm outside but I was sweating nonetheless. I rolled down my windows and opened the sunroof allowing the wind to soothe my forehead and cheeks. During the brief drive I phoned my cousin to inform her of what was going on. By the time I arrived at the ER I was bowled over by a sharp and intense pain.

Roughly ninety minutes after my arrival I was wheeled in for an MRI only to learn I had an 8mm kidney stone that had probably just been ejected from my kidney. No one in my family had ever had a kidney stone that I know of so I was in completely unfamiliar territory. The doctor informed me it was extremely unlikely that an 8mm stone would pass on its own, which left me with two options:

#1, have a urologist send a fiber optic camera with pincers up my urethra and through my bladder into the ureter to retrieve the stone. This sounded very unpleasant to say the least. One of the nurses even made a snide comment about Roto-rooter.

The other option, #2, was to have lithotripsy, a procedure involving ultrasound where the stone is obliterated by sound waves. This would only be possible if the stone was located in a particular portion of the ureter. Luckily for me, it had likely just exited my kidney in the coffee shop so lithotripsy was still an option. The only catch was I would have to wait 5 days to have the procedure. Needless to say three days later I found myself once again in the ER totally overcome with pain and vomiting from the nausea. I later learned that my cousin’s daughter had suffered a kidney stone and the intensity of pain, in her words, was “worse than labor pain.”

The fascinating thing about the whole experience in that ER was that even in the clutches of my pain I could feel the malaise of the previous month lifting. I was in the waiting room nearly in a fetal position but somehow I felt better. The cloudiness in my head and the fatigue seemed to instantaneously disappear. Just days after the procedure the heartburn and the palpitations also subsided and I quickly realized what had occurred after that massage. I’ve always been told tense muscles trap toxins such as lactic acid. Those toxins are released when the tension is broken by massage. The massage after Tennessee had released toxins into my blood but my left kidney was impacted and wasn’t functioning properly to filter them. Once the stone was released, many of my symptoms resolved only to be replaced by the intense pain of the stone being trapped in the ureter.

A few days later I completed the lithotripsy procedure with only three weeks to spare until my move. Thankfully I am writing this blog from my new address. As Shakespeare once wrote “All’s Well that Ends Well.”

The Road To Tennessee - Part II

Just before dusk and only a day after our arrival my cousin and I took to the roads for the four-hour return drive to Atlanta. The Tennessee farm was gorgeous but our weekend trip had to be cut short due to the unfortunate passing of one of my cousin’s close friends. Truthfully, I wasn’t fully rested from the drive up as we loaded our things into the car but I decided I would take it easy the following day.

I arrived home Saturday just before midnight and threw my bags in the corner. The next morning I was tired, but was pleasantly surprised that eight cumulative hours in the car hadn’t completely wiped me out. I nevertheless knew I would need at least another good night’s sleep before I even felt close to being rested. In an effort to give myself a leg up I booked a massage for the following day. Almost without fail I manage to sleep deeply after a massage and I knew sleep would be the only cure for my fatigue.

The day of my massage went more or less as planned. I had booked the last appointment of the night knowing the relaxed state would leave me feeling sleepy. I ordered a pizza on the way home and devoured several slices before retiring to my bed. Just as expected, my slumber was deep and uninterrupted. Normally I sleep anywhere from four to six hours unless I’ve had a massage, in which case eight hours are more typical. This day however I didn’t fully awake.

The next morning I looked at the clock, aware that I had slept eight hours but I remained strangely groggy and unrefreshed. In fact, I was more tired than I had been the night before. Luckily, I didn’t have any appointments and was free to continue sleeping. I quickly rolled over for what I thought would be another hour or so of slumber only to find my day dragging on with me only waking long to eat or use the restroom. Before I knew it, 6 pm had rolled around and I was not only still in pajamas, I was still in bed! With each hour of sleep it seemed my fatigue only deepened. I was probably in denial at the time, but when I think back about it I now realize there was an added malaise I was experiencing even if I couldn’t define exactly what it was. There was no sore throat, no sniffles, not even a full headache but I was groggy and my thoughts were murky.

To my dismay, this new feeling of unwell continued for days that quickly ran into weeks and then a month. I felt myself slipping into a cloud. After months of laboring to finish my book, it occurred to me I had misstepped. I had promised myself I would move from the outskirts of Atlanta or what the locals call OTP (outside the perimeter) for a younger and hipper address inside the perimeter (ITP).

Only months before I’d been told that Alan Ball, the author of “American Beauty” had grown up in Marietta and had based the story on his perceptions of life there. Ten years after the movie I was living in Marietta and made witness to some of the hypocrisies outlined in the film. And now I was scrambling around attempting to ready the new home while organizing the old one thirty miles away for its new occupants. Each passing day I felt like crap. To describe my state of mind as “discouraged” is the weakest of understatements. With such feelings of physical discord how would I accomplish everything that needed to be done? To make things worse new symptoms were arising daily -- terrible heartburn, dizziness and heart palpitations. And no matter how much I slept I didn’t feel rested. I reluctantly consulted my doctors but they were without answers. Fortunately by this time the answers were only days away. -TO BE CONTINUED-

The Road To Tennessee - Part I

It has been 60 – give or take a dozen days – since my cousin Jean invited me to the farm in Tennessee where she grew up. For some time I had been aware of my relatives there but we had never met so I was largely unfamiliar with that part of my family. It was a Friday afternoon. Jean and I packed ourselves into her car and hit the road for what would be a four hour trip.

I have to admit for more than a hundred miles there was nothing of major interest to see. I’d even asked about Tennessee’s population because from what I’d seen there wasn’t much of one – no houses, no buildings, just a dense canopy of trees. In addition, powerful thunderstorms were traversing through the south and we weren’t fortunate enough to avoid them. About two hours into the trip, we drove right into inclement weather. Whenever possible I avoid driving in rain but this time I wasn’t behind the wheel. I nervously sat back and tried to enjoy the ride. The downpour turned torrential completely obscuring the road but Jean’s car, a sturdy E-class Mercedes gripped the asphalt carrying us through.

Once we were about 12 miles from the farm Jean informed me there were two ways we could arrive -- the more scenic drive along a hillside ridge or by continuing along the highway, which was faster albeit a longer distance. Because it was my first time I voted for the scenic route. It was around 6pm in July and the summer days were still long with the sun high above the horizon. And then Jean turned onto the ridge.

I could hardly believe my eyes since the drab scenery from earlier had left me suspecting Tennessee was a not-so-beautiful state. For miles we had stared at a landscape of nothing but trees, highway and shrubbery and then finally I understood what my cousin meant by “the ridge.”

A valley of beautiful pastures and trees spanned for as far as my eyes could see. The brunt of the storms had passed hours before but fluffy lingering clouds spotted the sunny skies as if an artist had expertly placed them there with his brush. Yes it was July, but fragmented storm clouds littered the valley as if they had crash-landed leaving a debris of fog and mist along the ridge. The view was confusing yet beautifully mystical, magical even. The foggy hillside suggested a wintery European countryside but at the same time it was unseasonably warm and humid outside.

I can’t fully explain why but two words immediately entered my mind: “Sacred ground.” I immediately envisioned the methods used by Native Americans in determining what qualified the land as sacred. There was no way this place couldn’t have been considered so. In all of my travels I have seen phenomenal landscapes and breathtaking views but only once before (back in California) did I experience a similar reaction to the one I was having on that ridge. It wasn’t the view alone. There was an energy I felt, something I can’t readily explain.

Ten minutes later at the farm I happily stepped from the car and stretched my legs. It was still warm even though the storms had cooled the air. I surveyed the farmhouse to realize it wasn’t at all what I was expecting. In fact it was a ranch style home not unlike ones found in L.A. or Atlanta. Many of my relatives were waiting and I was finally able to match faces to voices I had only heard on the phone. It was only minutes before I excused myself to the restroom. I made my way to the commode and gazed through the window above it. And I witnessed the gorgeous view pictured above. I was so happy Jean had invited me to visit this beautiful place.

For a day and a half we ate farm food and breathed farm air and then unforeseen circumstances necessitated our return to Atlanta. I have to admit the quick return trip was fatiguing, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Within 48 hours of our return I began my inevitable descent into a hazy cloud of paralyzing malaise. And to my chagrin it would be nearly six weeks before I fully understood why. -TO BE CONTINUED-

Sugar Plums, Laughter and Tears

A few days ago, my friend Andrea emailed me and inquired if I would be okay this weekend. To be honest, I read the message a few times because I didn’t fully understand why I was being asked the question. And then it clicked in that this weekend is Mother’s Day. Ironically, just today my cousin Jean asked the same question. “Will I be okay?”

Losing my mom was without a doubt the most difficult adversity I’ve ever suffered. So of course the question was valid. But here’s the thing, the challenge of living in her absence has been present every day since her passing but through God’s and her grace I cope.

I remember in grade school when I was rude and defiant to my teachers, which was rare, but when it did occur I always feared the repercussions at home. At the time I didn’t fully comprehend why, but my mother always sided with me, even when I was in the wrong.

Rather inappropriately I once stormed out of a high school teacher’s class. The following day, he called me to the front of the room and asked why I left, to which I responded, “You were getting on my nerves.” Needless to say my answer didn’t go over well. Instead of teaching, he spent ten minutes constructing a letter to the principal demanding that a parent-teacher conference be arranged. I knew such a meeting wouldn’t bode well for me and was shocked when my mother reported back. She told me she’d apologized profusely explaining that I would never behave in such a way again. To my astonishment, she continued to tell me how teachers often power tripped due to a deep-seated need for control. Her speech about me hadn’t come from a true sense of culpability about my actions but rather she had endeavored to reestablish the peace between me and this teacher. A teacher herself, she knew what she was talking about. The plan worked seamlessly and I never had (or caused) trouble with that teacher again. In some ways that was my first glimpse into the deepest depths of her love for me. She always saw a light in me even when I was in the wrong.

In the immediate days after her passing, I felt a huge disconnect with everything around me. She had literally been the conduit through which I arrived in this world. And my first taste of nourishment had come at her hand. On my first day of pre-school she was there. The first clothes I wore she purchased. Later when I was choosing a boarding school and even when I chose my college, she visited the campuses with me. She bought plants for my first apartment and explained how to prepare my first Thanksgiving dinner away from home.

My entire life had been colored by her presence and then suddenly and unexpectedly, she was gone. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t consider the enormous loss I feel. On some days, the sense of anguish alleviates, but it is never gone. In that regard, the arrival of Mother’s Day will hardly deviate from the other 364 days of the year. I miss her today, as I will tomorrow and for all the remaining days of my life. But there is beauty in my sorrow. The depth of emotion I feel stems from the joy of having been blessed with a mother who could show me true examples of undying and unconditional love. To my mom and to all mothers I bid you a Happy Mother’s Day.

Out of Focus - Part One: The Root of all Evil.

Wikipedia defines “cliché” in the following way:

“A saying, expression, idea, or element of an artistic work which has been overused to the point of losing its original meaning or effect, rendering it a stereotype, especially when at some earlier time it was considered meaningful or novel.”

“Money is the root of all evil” or moreover “The love of money is the root of all evil” is bound to be in the top 25 of most popular clichés. But if Wikipedia is right, this expression, at one time, had to have held a powerful and significant meaning. What has been lost from the expression that has now rendered it “cliché?”

Before the invention of money, a system of bartering was used where goods or services were exchanged in the absence of currency. The interesting aspect of bartering, in my mind, involves the concept of usefulness. You wouldn’t give up your cow for a goat unless you really needed that goat and vice versa. In bartering, there is a stronger sense of integrity to the transaction. Both parties make the exchange because in some way they have the perception of being made better off. In fact, a barter probably wouldn’t occur unless everyone involved felt a win-win situation was taking place. And then came money.

When money enters the equation, perspectives often become blurred obscuring the concept of usefulness. When in pursuit of money, it’s not unusual for people to forgo their passions for careers they have no interest in. Take the salaries of doctors and lawyers and exchange them with what a teacher makes. I guarantee we would see a huge shift in the type of degrees pursued in college. Not because of some philosophical shift in people’s inner passions but because money is a big motivator and when dollars are involved, sense and purpose are oftentimes thrown to the wind.

In our current economy, we are all aware of how companies revere their own products and employees. When cash is at stake, even the most loyal and productive of workers can be relinquished at the drop of a hat. Or the products are compromised in order to save the bottom line. How many times have we heard of pharmaceutical companies releasing drugs they knew were dangerous? Or industrial companies that knowingly pollute the air and water all because it would be too expensive for them to do otherwise? And no, I don’t have delusions about the ways of the world. In order to operate even a non-profit must make money. But let’s celebrate businesses that add value, not pollution. Businesses that enrich rather than poison with toxic medications.

In many ways, the corporation has become a poster child for weak principles. For decades the trend has been to create disposable, cheaply made products that only last a few years. Turnover is the goal and it doesn’t matter if products aren’t durable. In fact, it’s better if they aren’t because it’s a way to keep customers circulating through a revolving door. Production and sales equals dollars even if it’s to the detriment of the environment we live in. So what if landfills are overflowing and productions processes are toxic. As long as money is being made, in the eyes of the corporation, the future is seen as bright.

These are a few reasons why the love of money is considered to be the root of all evil. The pursuit of wealth enhances qualities like greed and selfishness, transforming them into behaviors many of us regard as normal, both stereotyped and cliché.