Duncan's Blog

"Listen do you want to know a secret
"Do you promise not to tell woh woh woh closer
"Let me whisper in your ear
"Say the words you long to hear
"I'm in love with you oo..."

I work in healthcare and don't have much opportunity to speak of love. In my line of work, few people talk about love and I find myself showing scant little interest when folks want to talk about sex. Sex to me is rather personal and since I neither diagnose nor offer my opinions or advice on the matter, I have little reason to hear about it.
I'm charged with keeping secrets. Not only that, I am also a person who tells others that certain pieces of information are not for public knowledge. I listen to legal matters. I file grievances at work and stand up for employees' due process.
I recently told someone at work that one of the best things about growing older (or maybe about working where I work) is that I find I see less and less eye candy. In 15 years at the same place there have only been two people who made my head turn. One has left for another place.. The other has been known to me for so many years that I now think of him as family. And I'm not the kind who engages in hanky-panky with family.
Another thing about me that crosses my mind is my reaction when someone shares his HIV-status with me. Are you telling me this because you are interested in me and you want me to know? Are you telling me this because this information is supposed to then force me to reciprocate and tell you what my HIV-status is as well? I remember how I used to hate explaining to people what psoriasis was (and they have ads on TV for that). What makes the Universe think that I would be willing to share my HIV-status with fellow humans.
Lastly, I have been laughing and shaking my head about women I know who talk about their consciousness raising efforts I've always considered the term and the activity to be high level BS. The dictionary definition is
consciousness-raising [ kon-shuhs-nis-rey-zing ]
noun
Psychology. a group-therapy technique in which the aim is to enhance the participants' awareness of their particular needs and goals as individuals or as a group.

any method for increasing interpersonal awareness or sensitivity by teaching people to experience a situation or point of view radically different from their own:The women's group has tried to change macho attitudes through consciousness-raising.

an act or instance of increasing the awareness of one's own or another's needs, behavior, attitudes, or problems.

I consider it BS because those who practice it often come from a place where they believe that their morals, beliefs, practices, etc are at a superior level of evolution and it is the other person who lacks awareness. Sometimes I think the leader is the one who needs to be put into a radically different mindset. I avoid such people like the plague and when I am invited into groups that smack of such things, I generally opt out. Sounds like Werner Erhard and his cult.

Anyway, that's my mini rant for today.

There are so many terms or phrases for being IN THE ZONE.
On the same page
In the groove
In synch
On target
On point
Sometimes I feel as if I am living in the selection phase of teammates for a game and I have forgotten what the game is that we are playing or why we are playing it or why I haven't been excused from playing it because: (a) running brings on asthma, (b) I hate to sweat, (c) I don't like sports, (d) I don't like spending time with these other people who are not so nice in real life... The list goes on.
Part of developing towards the goal of grownup is this notion of getting along well with others. Plays well with others is the report card topic. It was not my strong suit. The category is almost a perfect target for the introvert... Let's get him where he's weakest, most vulnerable, most frustrated, most unhappy. And if he whines or cries, let's call him a whining, crying baby!
Well, my life is very much my own these days. I'm in public service and the public doesn't have my phone number. If I want to turn someone off, all I have to say is either, "What is it that you want?" or "How can I service you?" Most folks want to blow off steam or make their manager look like a total idiot. Oh, and they want to do it so that there will be no retaliation. So, I tell them that we are not here to settle scores or to get even with people and that if they are asked to send their boss a notification or communicate with him/her/them/it in some manner or form, then the person needs to at least do something other than fume.
I don't much care for managers as a rule unless, of course, I'm the one who is doing the managing.
So why do I feel so off my game?
Last July I started my food logue. I have been knocking off the poundage. On 07/14/2021 (Bastille Day) I weighed in at 214.3 (97,2 kgs) and, on 01/12/2022 I am 182.3 (82,7 kgs). That is a loss of 32 (14,5 kgs) or 15% of my original weight. Well, now I am at a point where I am actually looking at the final goal of 165 (74,8 kgs) which means I need to drop 17.3 (7,8 kgs). It doesn't sound like a lot of weight. In fact, that isn't really the final goal. It is the initial goal at which point I will do a reassessment to determine if more weight needs to be dropped.
But I am having the hardest time of sticking to my plan. The new year is already in the second week. I have been avoiding chocolates that are still in boxes near the photocopier. I don't carry change or bills for the vending machines so I need not worry about salty or fatty chips. I have taken to treating myself to the occasional cup of grits which I now consider to be poison in a paper cup. They are over-salted and I have no idea what sort of shortening she uses, but it certainly isn't sweet butter...
I realize that my daily goal of 1200 KCals is somewhat unrealistic. I keep it at that so that I can see in bright red numbers just how much overage I have every day. It's getting worst and worse. The culprits (usual suspects) are eating out or poor choices for snacks. Something as simple as melted provolone on a slice of toast could/should be replaced by an apple or a pair. SHRUG.
Anyway, that's my rant for the morning. I have a lunch and learn at work so I'm bringing a THERMOS of hot black tea and will grab something at the canteen.

Many years ago when I was an undergraduate at a city university in New York City, I took a class in creative writing. The instructor had us read Joan Didion's SLOUCHING TOWARDS BETHLEHEM's essay entitled On Keeping a Notebook.

"Why did I write it down? In order to remember, of course, but exactly what was it I wanted
to remember? How much of it actually happened? Did any of it? Why do I keep a
notebook at all? It is easy to deceive oneself on all those scores. The impulse to write
things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful
only accidentally, only secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself. I
suppose that it begins or does not begin in the cradle. Although I have felt compelled to
write things down since I was five years old, I doubt that my daughter ever will, for she is a
singularly blessed and accepting child, delighted with life exactly as life presents itself to
her, unafraid to go to sleep and unafraid to wake up. Keepers of private notebooks are a
different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents,
children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss."

That was the first time I was formally instructed to keep a notebook (short of the academic variety that is basically classroom note taking or transcription).
Towards the end of last year I cracked open a marble notebook with flimsy cardboard cover and back (wrapped with a brown paper bag covering) and I entitled the book 2020. It was a year to remember.
Not knowing what I had wanted to do, I started transcribing Yiddish poems in the hopes that I would shoot for fluency at some leisurely time. It also gave me an opportunity to work on my childish penmanship. I also reviewed Yiddish words of the day.
Today's selection is :

Word of the Day
geshtehn
mir/zay geshtayen (iz geshtanen)
geshtehn antkegn + dative
defy, resist
geshtehn far
be worth, be the equivalent of

I would then check the German dictionary to see if that word exists and what its definition is. The German meaning is quite different.

gestehen [v,t]

• to admit
• to confess
• to fess up (colloquial)

gestehen [v,i]

• to come clean
• to confess
• to give a confession
• to make a confession
• to own up

The German terms for verbs to defy or to resist appear as

to defy

• Schwierigkeiten [f,pl] machen
• Trotz [m,sg] bieten [v,t]
• die Stirn [f,sg] bieten [v,t]
• sich hinwegsetzen [v,refl] über
• sich widersetzen
• standhalten
• trotzen
• verstoßen gegen

or

to resist

• sich widersetzen
• widerstehen

Both languages have the concept of standing in some of the options which makes sense since the term is frictional or obstructive.

So I decided to crack open the book and share a journal entry. Looks as if I had picked a particularly stressful moment!

Sunday, 14. II. 2021
dee foonanderlozung
dissolution (of an assembly)

Auflösung [f,sg]

• breakup
• cancelation (AE)
• cancellation (BE)
• disbandment
• disintegration
• dissolution
• epiphany
• explosion
• manual route release
• release
• releasing
• resolution
• solubilization
• solution
• train-activated route release
• writing off

WOW! So many options in English for one German word. They generally add modifiers to their nouns so that the correct choice may be made. But that for another entry. Here is what I had written.

At 0330 my dog got skunked. I was so overwhelmed by the chemical odor. I called a vet in Woodland Hills who had suggested I call some place closer. "You'll pass them along the way."

The one in Pasadena had a doctor in surgery for a four hour wait. There was one on Santa Monica Boulevard named METROPOLITAN ANIMAL SPECIALTY HOSPITAL (MASH) which had a Brit answering the phone. She was unintelligible. When I asked her where they were, she said, "Santa Monica Boulevard." "Could you narrow it down?" I had asked, "Santa Monica Boulevard is a somewhat long street."

She pretended not to know what I was saying. "What's your cross street?"
'We are between Hudson and Seward." (She pronounced Seward like SEAwood).

"Oh, Hollywood," I said. "NEVER MIND!"

The next place I called was a 310 number and the woman quoted a higher exam fee. There was also a longer wait time. "Your baby may have to wait."
"Baby? You work on dogs, right?"

"We are a veterinary hospital," she said.

My baby is over 15 years old. No thanks. So I wound up going to Woodland Hills.

That is the end of the entry

It was an expensive trip. And they wanted to get my dog out of there as quickly as possible. They told me to shampoo him. What a surprise. I had never experienced skunk spray up close and personal like that. He was giving me a headache and I was certain that he was going to die. If cancer had a smell, that is what I would have imagined it to be.

But I'm glad I wrote about that. The dog is a hand-me-down, adopted dog that was picked up at the county shelter. They said he was found on the street and that he was about 6 months old when they found him. He's done well for himself and while he is only in the company of males (except for the fixed female cat), he has always been loved and allowed to share a space in the bed next to the person who has the hand that feeds him.

When the owner went looking for a dog, he was everything that the owner didn't want. The dog was black, and young, and powerfully energetic. The owner was an American With Disabilities (a Chicago Italian-American man in his mid-50s living with AIDS) who slept many hours during the day. For as much vitality as the dog had, he agreed to stay by his master's side and when his master slept, he stayed in the bed with him. We never needed a doorbell as the dog knew when someone was nearby without anyone's need to make a sound.

The dog now sleeps with me. He marks me as his territory (licking my scalp) and I can say goodbye to pristine white sheets or to entertaining a gentleman caller for a romp. Still, I am glad to have been given the responsibility of caring for this beast. I am hoping to outlive him and I have promised him that he will never be replaced.

Thank you, Miss Didion, for the reason to keep a notebook.

Some know me as a tea drinker. My tastes lean towards black blends from India or China; Assam or Yunnan blends are usually my first choices. I then trail off into distinctions in tea such as whether it is malted or flavored with either fruit or flowers. Earl Grey or Mauritius are examples of these variations. I usually make a pot of four cups, place three into a Thermos, and drink the leftover almost immediately.

But I also like to have some coffee in me. Strange, how a person can make both coffee AND tea and consume both of them in the morning. Some would call it sacrilege. I appreciate both (although I must admit that I have very low tolerance for poorly-made tea and would gladly drink store brand coffee instead of the snooty designer stuff). Still and all, I do keep a bag of the good stuff in the freezer for weekend blends. Teabags, however, are not to be found here.

Last March (2021) I lost my Mother. She was 89. I decided to honor her memory by reciting the mourner's prayer.

"When mention is made of "saying Kaddish", this unambiguously refers to the rituals of mourning. Mourners recite Kaddish to show that despite the loss they still praise G*d." ...

"Kaddish is not, traditionally, recited alone. Along with some other prayers, it traditionally can only be recited with a minyan of ten Jews."

I have been saying it alone all this time. I don't belong to a synagogue community and I prefer to do my prayer and meditation alone. There are times for joining others in celebration, observation, ritual, and the like, but my personal conversations and reflections are not thoughts and hopes and dreams that I care to share with my fellow humans in the moment.

I know that He does not begrudge me for praying alone for I am an introvert, and I work on my own schedule, and sometimes I speak, and sometimes I sing or chant, and sometimes I use a pronunciation from a land that no longer exists. But the Ashkenaz lifestyle will be reserved for another day.

Today I made sure to have some coffee in me before heading to the eastern wall of my house, lifting the prayer book, and saying the words of praise. Separate and apart from this, I generally recite the many things for which I am and remain grateful. Sometimes these are random thoughts and more often than not they are statements that would make the on-listener chuckle:

"I am thankful for being able to cook with gas." "I am thankful for a roof over my head." "I am thankful for a trouble-free, new FIAT (truly the BEST car I've ever owned)." "I am thankful for a working washer and dryer and for soap to clean my clothes and body." "I am thankful that my hair and nails continue to grow." "I am ALWAYS thankful AND grateful for continued good health." "I am thankful that you brought Cook into my life for 15-16 years and that he left me with a cat and dog that I am able to feed, care for, and share love." "I am thankful for gainful employ at which I am--for the most part--competent." "I am thankful for the handful of friends who have remained in my life."

The list goes on and it contains things that are no one else's business but that between Him and me. The coffee drinking is an honor and a memory of my mother. For years she had a breakfast that was ½ matzoh with butter and a cup of coffee. A great way to stay slender. Unfortunately, I did not inherit the stay slender gene and I have absolutely no love for exercise or physical activity. I've taken to walking about 3 miles round-trip at night. I'm never quite sure how many calories I expend since the calories are based on the walker's weight and the amount of time he takes going from point A to point B. I generally make myself lighter (decreasing the calorie calculation). And I fudge with the distance. If I am walking to a store, there is also going to be some motion WITHIN the store, no?

So today I'm drinking coffee that was gifted to me by my friend, Gary. He roasted it himself. And since I don't keep matzoh in the house (I prefer Wasabröd) I use something different, but imbue her spirit into the blessing.

She and I had many different notions about colors and about food. If she knew I were living on rice and beans for breakfast, she would no doubt be mortified. This was considered to be a poor man's diet. Probably fit for someone with decaying dentition. I have neither affliction. Rice and beans--the way I measure them--provide 195 KCals, 8 grams of protein, 8 grams of fiber, and 38 grams of carbohydrates. They hit the spot. And it's certainly more welcome than cold cereal. This afternoon I will enjoy cabbage soup with golden beets (another treat from the Old Country). To each his own

There's a void in my life.
And I have no idea what to do about it except to ignore it. Even when I live with other people, I still feel as if I am alone. However, I am not lonely. I have television programming that I enjoy, books, the company and conversation of longterm friends, and a life in one of the most climate friendly parts of the United States.
Yet... there are times when I would like a 1:1 with that special someone who has either died out of my life or who seems ever so elusive. I'm not planning on going to the gym to find him. Not even sure I know what I'd like to share with him; travel, a meal, watch a movie together?