Doggydad's life now: The Viral Monologues: A Time For Every Purpose

As of late, letting go has been a theme that has capitalized my thoughts. I've thought about it in ways that I never have before, and because of that, I now really feel its importance in my life. I really want to be able to practice it on a daily basis, rather than to continue to just give its value merely lip service.

There is a time for every purpose, but there is also a time to say goodbye to folly and misguided goals. Everything has its time, and because of that, everything has a time to go. To me, only the soul and God are eternal, everything else eventually is reduced to cosmic dust and blows into nothingness. I've understood these principles for some time now, but the problem has been and continues to be my ability to walk the talk. The silver lining, however, is that I am getting better at it.

Not only that, I've finally found a way to stop the tape loop in my head that has always tortured me. I'm a failure, I'm stupid, I can talk a good line, but I can't execute. And worse yet, way down at the bottom, when distilled down to what it really was, because of all these perceived failures, I saw myself as being unworthy, not salvageable, lost to eternity, because when it gets right down to it, I'm a bad person who wasn't worthy of love. That is what used to play in my head. I could somehow successfully squelch it just enough to get through the days, but it was always down there. Even now still, I'll occasionally hear the pitiful whimpers of that dying voice, but the good news is that I don't believe it anymore.

Losing Ken has been probably my most dramatic and profound experience of letting go that I've felt thus far in my life, but there are many more experiences that I've had in the last three years that really do allow me to feel I've let go and moved on. I have to give credit where it was due, and I'll have to first give much credit to Ken. Not only did losing him force a brutal, painful and involuntary experience of having to let go, but a lot of good came of it as well. I think I got a deeper awareness and understanding of the origins and miscreated purpose of that voice in my head by seeing Ken battle with it for so much of our time together. For him, from what I can tell from talking to his friends that predated me and to his family, the battle was lifelong for Ken. His mother once described him to me as a melancholy child with a look of deep sadness that always seemed to emanate from his dark brown soulful eyes. Friends from his years of young adulthood would describe him to me as a sweet, kind, generous and loving person; one who always tried to help pick up those around him who were struggling, and a funny, charismatic and fiercely loyal friend. They also told me about a man who always seemed to be fighting a losing battle with his inner demons.

Ken felt he was never good enough: not good enough for himself, me, his family, friends, co-workers, or really for anyone. I lived watching that eat away for years at a man who was most definitely not what he saw in himself. I saw how it took somebody who was easily the most loving, intelligent, compassionate, patient, kind-hearted and beautiful man I have ever known and leave him in ruin. It didn't matter what you told him, how much you showed your love for him in concrete ways, how much praise you watched being given to him liberally and continually. Despite all this, Ken never felt worthy. All of his many successes were failures in his mind. He felt he could have done better and that what he did was never enough. All the wealth and material abundance was nothing: never enough, never good, never of value. In the end, I watched that voice literally kill the man I loved as I have never loved anyone in my life.

This invaluable lesson could have easily been squandered by me, thankfully it was not. If there is any good that came from Ken losing his life, I have to believe it is that he saved mine. I wasn't that far behind him, I think I was just a little better at muffling the voice. I could never let go of it and let it die, but I did have a little more luck in quieting my voice. Surviving my voice gave me the chance to observe and hopefully learn from him giving into his. I was merely lucky to be just a bit more successful at ignoring the voice, and because of that, what I learned from his death became my lifeboat. Ken was an avowed atheist, and for him to hear this would have I'm sure made him shudder: but because I was able to hear the faint cries of a better voice, Ken helped me learn how to reconnect with God.

There is more here. How one sets their priorities in life is directly proportional to which voice is winning at that time. For Ken, there really wasn't an experience of living life that often. More often, what I now realize I was witnessing was somebody trying to outrun what he saw as complete and utter ruin and eventual death, and losing that battle as well. This is another lesson Ken gave me that I'm glad I didn't squander. Tell me honestly, how often do you sit down, quiet your mind, listen to your heart and then try to figure out what really matters and what is nothing? How often do you take then take notes and really try to figure out a way to integrate a better way into your daily life? I'll go out on a limb and say that for the vast majority of us, that answer is "never".

These last three years has been a period of a lot of sorting things out. It's been a time of looking at what needs to change and figuring out a way to do it. It's also been a time of looking at what no longer serves me, and finding a way to truly let those things go. I've not been fully successful at any of this, but I can honestly say that I've gotten a whole lot better at it. I've let go of money, of possessions, of dysfunctional relationships (not necessarily the people, but the way I relate to them), of grudges, grievances, hurts, fears and animosities. I still struggle with letting go of all those things, but again, I've gotten a whole lot better at it. I'm also glad that I've maintained enough genuine humility to see that I'm not a screwed up mess of a person, I'm just a work in progress. Also, and again this is largely thanks to Ken, I've been able to look at my relationships with people and not only know when to let them go when they no longer serve either of us, but to also look at what poison I bring into the relationship, not just seeing how I perceived myself as being unfairly treated.

Life truly can seem unfair and arbitrary much of the time. One can either throw up their hands in defeat and blame the universe, or one can ask if there maybe isn't another better way to look at the situation. Our life really is our making, at least I think so. Things don't just happen willy-nilly and without context. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Every response that we have to the current state of affairs we're in is a reaction born of the events the preceded it. Life experience plays into it as well, but it's an indirect connection. We have contributed to every occurrence around us, be it small or profound. Whether or not it's what we want to hear, acknowledge and/or believe, it is the truth. What we also frequently fail to consider is how our reactions affect the next person down the line past us. Nothing that we do in this world is without consequence. In the world of linear time, every moment of "now" is completely dependent upon what happened before, and every now is entirely responsible for the now that follows. All actions have significance, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. I've looked back a lot in the last three years at my life past. This has not been approached in some kind of sentimental or melancholy way, but with much more of an analytical eye. I'm trying to figure out what got me there, so life can become more experience and less something that I'm reacting to.

I've always been fascinated with the concept of how our choices have consequence upon the future. It can be as dramatic as the moment when one decides that they're not too drunk to drive and get behind the wheel and kill an innocent bystander from driving impaired. It can also be as seemingly banal as choosing which direction we go when we pull out of the driveway that morning, and which street we decide turn down. In most instances, what we may perceive to be an inconsequential reaction to some seemingly insignificant choice we just made isn't really that inconsequential. At least I don't think so. There is a great movie that came out about ten years ago called Sliding Doors. In the movie, a woman named Helen is catching a train to work in the London Tube, and by a second, she misses the train, watching the train doors sliding shut in front of her face. Then, time steps back a second and the situation replays slightly differently; Helen makes that train. The rest of the movie shuttles back and forth between the two realities that are borne of a seemingly inconsequential moment. The differences the two Helens experience are far from inconsequential. If you haven't seen it and want to, I'm not going to be a spoiler, I've gone far enough to make my point anyway. Here is the trailer for the movie:

Seeing more clearly how every moment of my life is of consequence has been life-altering. As I've said before, I continue to struggle with many of the same pratfalls that have led to what I might see as a defeat, but I've also become much more aware of the impact of my actions and what is often borne of a defeatist attitude. What I continue to struggle far more frequently with is the letting go. If I'm going to lose money, give up a possession, lose a loved one or sever a tie, I need to see that there is a positive that can come from every seeming loss or defeat. For me, succeeding means that I am learning to put less value in my material attachments to the world, and all the things I've accumulated; it's also about knowing who I am and being true to my real self. Not only that, I've also learned the importance of focus and being fully present in life. Instead of dwelling on the past or tripping on the future, I'm getting better at really living in the moment. Additionally, I've become better at filtering out all the self-created distractions that can take me out of the present. That is something that in my earlier life that I never even thought was important. Distraction begets distraction; it's self-feeding beast, and without focus and awareness it's nearly impossible to let it go back into the nothingness it really is.

I believe that there is a way to live in the world, be fully present in the moment, and using that moment to learn invaluable lessons, like unconditional love. Even though to most I appear to be completely engaged these days, I am also detached to some degree from all the things I used to covet and enjoy. I now realize that very often, these things are of no value. To some degree, that is pretty much every material thing. I've learned that material things can have a value, but only when I am using them to learn something. I can do this without denying sadness pain and injustice by becoming a bliss ninny with a raging dose of denial. Instead of depriving myself of things, I can give them a new role; that of being a lesson in something, like learning to ask myself why I might covet something so much, or also learning that giving it away doesn't take away from who I am, it makes me a better person. I can take the route of pious deprivation, thinking that it will lead me to some great truth, and then find out that I never really learned anything or grew in any way of lasting consequence. I have a monumental choice I can make here, and if I make the right choice I learn that to see the contents of the material world for what they are: they can be educational, but in they end, they are also impermanent. I see the world now not so much as my home, but my classroom. What is me is not the shell of skin and bones that make up my corporeal body, what is really me is my soul and my mind. Every material thing here, including the planet itself (or for that matter the universe) is impermanent. This is even accepted science, not just my little idea of things. If I'm valuing what or who I have over what or who I really am and what part I'm playing in the grand scheme of things, then I am valuing the impermanent over the eternal. To me, that is skewed thinking and as such, it no longer seems to be either logical or something that I can justify giving value to. Letting go isn't losing or giving up, it is merely not valuing the valueless.

The three year theme has come up a few times here. Two Thursdays back (November 19) was exactly 3 years since Ken's death. I marked it as I have done each year since he left; me, my friend Marna, and this year Ken's best friend Brian go down to Ocean Beach shortly before sunset. I set up a very small and simple sacred space and place a photograph of Ken, a lit Sterno can, a flask filled with Maker's Mark bourbon (Ken's favorite), and three shot glasses onto it. I pour us each a shot, and we offer a toast to Ken. If we want to, we each write some words down on a piece of Vellum, light it from the Sterno flame, and let it burn up. Then, as the sun starts crossing the horizon, I wade out into the cold water to about knee-deep water and scatter a small amount of ashes from Ken and all of our departed pets. I walk back out of the water and in silence we watch the sun pass over the horizon. Every year the weather has been good, but this year, the weather was uncharacteristically mild at ocean beach, and the sky was clear except for a few cirrus clouds at the horizon to accentuate the sunset, which this year was incredibly beautiful and spectacular. As I think of it now, that is a good metaphor for what good comes from letting go, for as the sky is letting go of daylight, the sun can give us one final and dramatic light show.

Each year I am still surprised at how much I miss Ken and how much pain I still feel at his loss. I've tried to cut myself a break and make note of it without painting it with judgment about the feelings, but still, I remain surprised at how much it still hurts. There was a reason for why all this has happened, whether I choose to understand and accept it or I don't. The cycle of life is something that I can only exert seeming control over very small parts of, and only for myself and those whose lives I impact. Letting go does not involve capitulation, but it does require surrender, and that is not a bad thing. Surrender, as I define it isn't quitting or giving up or losing, it's accepting the reality of the situation and understanding that that what no longer serves needs to be let go of. Surrendering, instead of fighting that reality, allows that moment to become a moment of learning and awakening instead of a moment of futile struggle; one that I'll eventually add to the list of many defeats and failures that I think I've been victim to.

Rather than leaving me feel defeated and like a failure, surrender as I now understand it has brought me an inner peace that I've not had at any point in at least my adult life. It has given me the clarity to see where I really need to focus my energies. This is my classroom, and there is no reason to squander any of that time I that I can potentially be learning how to live a happier, more fulfilling and more loving life.

My understanding of what love is continues to grow. I never pictured myself really understanding such a seemingly simple but incredibly complex concept like understanding that all love is the same. There are not better, greater, different or more special kinds of love; love is love. It is also one of the eternals and it doesn't change. What is perfect doesn't need to change, nor does it ever die. Unconditional love is a different story, and something that I'm currently struggling with far more. For lack of a better one, I'm going to use pets as an example of unconditional love. No matter what a schmuck we might be, our pets still love us, and they do it completely and unconditionally. Very often it will even continue beyond what energy we might think any rational being should give to a cruel person. Those more skeptical may be saying "yes Parry, but they are dumb animals, not capable of the complex thinking that we are". Why is that necessarily a good thing? Is it not possible that there are times when it might serve us better to quiet our minds, quit trying to analyze things and simply experience them? Unconditional love as I define it means that I love those who I have to that point considered unlovable. It means that I'm not going through my list of their character defects as I see them and then deciding how much of my love they are worthy of. Love is unlimited and self-creating. The more that you give away, the more that it will leave you with, for it is a true gift; one whose giving adds to both the giver and receiver. I will tell you right here and now, this is the toughest lesson of all, at least for me so far.

Take a minute here, and think of the one person you loathe the most. You can't stand even the sight of them, and they are such an asshole or loser, they deserve the love of no one. Then imagine yourself finding out how to love them unconditionally, and furthermore, doing it. Trust me, I'm no better than most at this. At this point all I can say is that I'm at least trying to do it, when my scattered mind focuses for a minute and remembers to do it. Try it in a couple of situations with a stranger who is irritating you. Practice seeing them as perfect and fully deserving of love. You may not be able to, or necessarily want to, but by trying to look at the situation and the person in a different way, perhaps the outcome will be better, even if that means the outcome is only that you find your frustration level drop and maybe, you can empathize with the person. I think we often forget that everybody around us probably finds us about as irritating and caustic as we find them to be. I think very few of us are spared that kind of a judgment, and those are the real "saints" on earth: the Dalai Lama, Mother Theresa, the friend or neighbor of yours who seems to always give without ever expecting anything in return. Those people, and I've known a couple of them personally in my life have a completely different mindset. When you turn to them and say "that Bob is such a raging a-hole" their response is "just think how sad and lonely their life must be. That must really be painful." In the past, hearing that would irritate the hell out of me, now it is a tap on the shoulder that reminds me "there is another way to look at this thing".

Those nine words have become a mantra of sorts for me. A big part of now looking at things differently, for me involves more honesty. A couple of weeks ago I was at my therapist's office in the middle of a fairly sober discussion. Per my usual MO, I was talking a really creative and verbose line. He had asked me something that warranted a yes or no answer, and I did everything I possibly could to avoid fencing myself in with any kind of an absolute answer. Mid-sentence, I raised my head, looked him in the eye and said "OK, that's bullshit. I'm going to stop lying to you. The answer is no. I'm tired of telling you what I think you want to hear instead of what you really want to hear, which is the truth, and wasting 50 minutes of our time." Then I proceeded for the first time in a long time to sit down and really speak the truth, full frontal honesty. I'll have to add to those nine words now; I'll remind myself as much as possible: there is another way to look at this, and part of that way is that I will approach it with truth and candor. I can call it evasive, creative truth-telling, explaining, qualifying. All of those are a nice words to substitute for lying, and for the last few weeks, I've pledged to myself that I'm instituting a policy of truth, and I encourage all around me to help enforce this policy. I invite any and all suggestions that I check myself, and will do my best to do so. The funny thing about the truth is, the more that you use it the easier it is to repeat.

To clarify things here, I'm talking primarily about lying about emotion, feelings, and my perceptions of a situation, especially one that is emotionally charged. I'm not creating fictional identities, cheating people, etc. I'm talking about emotional honesty, both with myself and with others. I'm talking about dealing with difficult situations with evasion and half-truths. I'm talking about not being willing to ask the tough questions and/or give the honest but tough answers.

Another part of the "seeing another way" resolution is how I see and respond to adversity. The most current and probably the best example of this is how I'm dealing with my health challenges. I'm so tired of saying that I'm sick and I feel crappy. Everybody knows it already, I'm sure people are getting at least as tired of hearing it as I am of saying it. I perceive it in a different way now: I'm not sick and I don't feel crappy. I'm just facing some extraordinary health challenges right now, and with bigger challenges come the need for bigger ideas. I know it's semantics, but most of the time it works. Even if the body isn't willing, at least the mind isn't giving into perceived defeat. Because this is working, days are better, to put it simply. The mind is indeed a powerful tool.

Tonight marked Week 25 of Interferon, with 31 weeks to go. The challenges continue, and for me, the one thing that I struggle the most with is the unpredictability. It used to be that I injected on Sunday. Monday Tuesday and often Wednesday were toughest. A couple of times the tough days would go all the way to the following Saturday, not allowing me even a little reprieve. Now Monday and Tuesday tend not to be so bad, it's Wed-Fri. It's not always three rough days, sometimes it's two, sometimes it's one and sometimes it's five. At the time of my last post, my most aggravating adverse events were alopecia, crankiness, fevers, nausea and shortness of breath. That was four weeks ago, now my main issues are alopecia, anorexia, shortness of breath, the mouth sores came back with a vengeance and a flare up of my psoriasis. That's about it. Oh, did I mention the visual changes?

Over the last couple of months, I've noticed that my vision has been getting wonky, mostly in my right eye, but a little in my left eye as well. It came on slowly and insidiously, so add to that a little denial and things continued to get worse. The final straw was when I was in bed one evening watching one of the World Series games, and I couldn't read the print...on my 60 inch screen. Not only that, I started to get what I can only describe as distorted vision in my right eye. Imagine looking through a window that has water streaking down it from a rain storm, only that window is your glasses, and it is constant. I got a bit concerned and made an appointment with an ophthalmologist in town to figure out what was going on. She tested my acuity and my nearsightedness had substantially worsened, especially in the right eye, any there was some new astigmatism in my left eye. She dilated my pupils and took a look inside, and saw something that she described as suspicious. That was followed by a sci-fi exam called an optical coherence tomography, or OCT. I'm not going to try to explain what it is and bore you to tears, if you're interested look it up on wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Optical_coherence_tomography Suffice to say, my eyes go into a scope and I look at what looks like a fly-over of the surface of Mars. She looked at it, came back and told me that I have macular (retinal) edema, probably secondary to the Interferon. It is bothersome, could become a big issue though that isn't likely, so the plan was to go back in a month for a recheck.

After a week or so, I just got the intuitive feeling that she hadn't covered all the bases. At my next MD appointment I talked to my Dr. about it, and she recommended that we go to see a specialist in retinal disease associated with retroviruses, and not surprisingly SF has a number of them. I was walking out the door and my PA (Physician's Assistant) was also heading out the door for lunch. John manages all the Interferon patients in the practice. I've always thought he was nice, now I absolutely love him. He is incredibly smart, studied and has good critical thinking skills. And as no small bonus, he also has incredibly good bedside manner, as does my PCP (Primary Care Physician). I filled him in on the development and asked him what he thought. He tells me: "well, I send everybody to Everett Ai. He is the guru of retinal disease in patients with retroviral disease(s)." I give myself a big D'oh; I know Dr. Ai (pronounced "eye", I kid you not). He's been in this since the first days of the AIDS crisis.

I called his office and asked to make an appointment, and am told by the receptionist that his first available appointment is in mid-January. No way, I then tell her "can you talk to Dr. Ai, and tell him that I have HIV disease for 26 yrs, acute Hepatitis C and I'm on interferon therapy. An ophthalmologist just did an OCT and diagnosed me with macular edema. I want to get a second opinion from an expert. She tells me that she can't double-book him without his approval, but she will get the message to him. A few days later I get a call saying that Dr. Ai will see me asap. I am so glad that I know how to work the system. For most people, they would just accept an unsatisfactory option. This is one case in which I've known for a long time that there is another way to approach this. It hasn't failed me yet; I don't abuse it, but I use it when I have to and for me it's successful.

This last Wednesday was the appointment. I don't think I've ever met him, but he is infamous for not only being brilliant but also for being very down to earth and approachable. That is a well-deserved reputation, he is awesome. I give him my history, he tells me what he's probably looking for, and then he dilates my pupils for an exam.

Sidebar here: I don't know what in the hell he uses to dilate, but I have never had my pupils that dilated. They were big black circles, absolutely no iris. It lasted probably 6 hours too; typically I'll reconstrict in 2 hours tops. I left the building and it was a bright sunny day. I had forgotten to get some temporary sunglasses, so I say that I'm just going to wing it. Bad choice, it felt like my eyes were being fried like chicken.

He looks, and says he wants to do another test, and his technician will be in to do it shortly. I ask if he's going to do another OCT, and he tells me "no, we're doing what is called a fluorescein angiogram. Hmm. The tech comes in and before starting explains what is going to happen. First, she will shoot some baseline images. Then, one of the doctors will come in and give me an injection of fluorescein while she concurrently shoots a series of images.

If you don't know what fluorescein is, here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fluorescein. Suffice to say, it is a very strong and bright fluorescent dye. It's bright red, and once injected intravenously, it will quickly travel the bloodstream and get to the retina, in a couple of seconds or less. I've had fluorescein drops put in my eye to examine the cornea (since it will light up abrasions and areas of inflammation), but I've never had it injected. She tells me that my urine will probably be bright orange for up to a day, and I might even look like I'm a little jaundiced, but it's all good, it's government-approved, so that means it's perfectly safe. So they inject, and start shooting a series of images. I forgot to mention that when she was doing the baseline images, I found out that the images required a very bright flash, which is just ducky when you've got fixed and dilated pupils. Once the injection started, she shot what had to be at least 25 images. When she stopped I swear all I could see was a bright white light. Maybe that is what dying looks like. She then tells me that as soon as the flashing goes away, that I'll also see a pink tint to everything for up to a half hour. As soon as the flashing stopped, damned if she wasn't telling the truth. I can now officially say that I've seen the world through rose-colored glasses. To be honest, it was awfully pretty, I was in no hurry for it to go away. As for my pee, well suffice to say it was interesting. Ironically, I had to go give a urine sample at the hospital afterward (for something else, another challenge). I warn them that my urine will be day-glo, they say no problem. I would have loved to have seen the face of the lab tech when he got that sample. It was glowing like the Uranium rods that they show all the time on The Simpsons. The dye was so bright and so strong that I had to flush 2-3 times to keep my pee from staining my toilet permanently.

They shuttle me back to an exam room and shortly thereafter the doc comes in. He sits down, puts his hand on my knee and says "are you the kind of patient that will go to the internet and look up a diagnosis after I give it to you?" I say "of course!" (by the way, he knew that I am an RN, so he could shorthand a lot for me. He then says "good! When you get home, I want you to go look up retinal branch vein occlusion. Basically, there is a clog in the pipe where a retinal vein crosses behin an artery. The back pressure bulges the retina out, thus explaining the distorted vision. He tells me that this can happen spontaneously, and the demographic of the typical patient is an intelligent male, 25-50, highly educated, and prone to high stress. Ouch. He asks me if I'm feeling a lot of stress. I look at him, and he smiles back. Then I tell him "well Everett, considering all that is on my plate right now, I think I'm handling it pretty well, as does all my medical team, so not really so much, no." Then he tells me that there have also been a handful of cases that he is aware of in patients that are on Interferon therapy. He tells me that a fellow that is working with him now has done some research on this, and he is going to have her come in and talk to me about it.

So she comes in and tells me pretty much everything I already knew. She had started out dumbing it down, but then remembers that I speak medicine and shorthands it. She then starts giving me some statistics and findings from the research that has been thus far, and what she recommended as a course of action. About that time, she turned into Ms. Gloom and Doom, you would have thought that my eye was prone to exploding at any moment. She then tells me that if it doesn't resolve there are some treatments (I'll get to that later), but that I and my Infectious Diseases Dr. might want to consider terminating the therapy early. She then says "you are seeing an ID Dr., right?" I tell her know, and she asks why. I tell her "well, I went and had a Hepatology consult at UCSF, and got the royal runaround without any follow-up. This physician was supposed to be the preeminent expert on HIV/HepC co-infection (which is true). I got frustrated, and so my physician's practice is managing it. One of the PA's in the practice manages all the Hep C patients' treatments, and he probably treats at least 25% of the co-infected patients in Interferon/Ribavirin." By the look on her face you would have thought I told her that I was flying to Haiti to be treated by a witch-doctor. I listen to what she hast to say, because she did have some good research data, but for the moment I decide to take her recommendations with a grain of salt. Before she leaves I confirm with her that Dr. Ai is coming back to talk to me about treatment and she says yes. Whew.

A few minutes later, in comes Dr. Ai, and he says we're going to talk treatment options. The first thing he says is that this is not an emergent situation. Standard of care is that you usually watch but don't treat this for a minimum of 2-3 months. There is no reason to panic, what has happened is unlikely to worsen (not what the fellow says). The fellow had also said that I was possibly at a very high risk for further ones to occur. I tell myself that I'll take that under advisement but not act. Without trashing his fellow, I ask what the risk is that more will happen. "Minimal" he tells me. This isn't an emergency situation. He asks me how long I've had the distorted vision, and I say I can't remember, but it was at least a month and a half, maybe two months. He then says fine, we'll recheck in one to one and a half months. And don't worry, most of these spontaneously resolve, and it's likely to resolve after I finish the Interferon, so don't panic. Thank you.

So that is Parry's Excellent Adventures in Ophthalmology. Also last week, my vision insurance through Marriott (COBRA) was expiring in days. In consideration of that, I decide that it's a good time to get some glasses that will correct some of the changes. The distortion can't be corrected, but I can deal with that. Knowing that these changes have a good chance of being temporary, I decide to get some cheap but not ugly glasses. I've wanted some flexible titanium glasses for reading in bed (so that when I fall asleep in them they don't get all wonky. The frames have a memory, are ultra-light, but are also very strong. I found some that are actually reasonably fashionable and durable, and as a bonus, pretty inexpensive. Score.

I got my glasses on Monday, and hallelujah and praise Jesus, I can actually see reasonably well again. The distortion is still there, but I can handle that. It's really not much more than a nuisance, and only made more of a bitch because it's in my dominant eye. If it were in my left eye I probably wouldn't even notice it a lot of the time. The most irritating things I have to deal with are 1) eye strain makes my vision worse, so I have to limit my time on the computer, since the refresh from a computer screen will exacerbate eye strain, even more so than a television because it is closer to your face, and 2) My visual acuity is dynamic, not static. In other words, my nearsightedness isn't consistently impaired as it usually is. My nearsightedness can vary noticeably in the course of a day. What is predictable is that when I fatigue and/or subject my eyes to too much strain, my vision will almost certainly suffer, either by me getting more nearsighted and/or seeing ghost flashes of light (which are actually kind of cool if they don't disorient you).

I've been baking and candy-making like a fiend these last few weeks. On the low-energy days it's one of the more productive things I can usually manage. My Christmas gifts this year are all going to be homemade. I'm giving gift baskets that I'll put together full of canned goods, cookies, candy and maybe a special individualized little trinket here and there. So far, I've tested 3 cookie recipes. I have made peanut butter blossoms (a peanut butter cookie with a Hershey's Kiss in the middle), chocolate crinkles and spritz (dough for pressed cookies). I still want to test recipes for sugar cookies, pfeffernusse and linzer cookies. I'm going to eliminate the chocolate crinkles from my gift boxes. They are one of my favorite cookies, but they just don't box up well. They're rolled in powdered sugar before baking, and the dusting doesn't do well once packed. They're more of a "bake and serve the same day" kind of cookie, so I can make those to take to parties or to Christmas dinner. In the candy department I've done 3 batches of Divinity and 5 batches of peanut brittle. Divinity is one of the most temperamental candies to make. It's sort of a cross between nougat and meringue. Hot sugar syrup (hard ball) is slowly added to stiff-peaked beaten egg whites, at the end you ad vanilla and nuts or dried fruit (I do nuts), then when it looks ready, you spoon it in dollops onto paper to set. This was my first time making it (it was one of my mother's specialties), and it can be a royal pain. If it's too humid it won't set to the right consistency, or worse yet, you'll get a grainy sugar tast in your mouth. It should be smooth on the tongue, puffy and and lightweight if it turns out right. For a recipe with 5 ingredients, it is the one of the most fussy recipes I've ever prepared or seen prepared. I'm also going to do 3 or 4 batches of fudge and maybe one more candy if the spirit moves me. The baskets will hopefully speak of the love that went into making them and how personal they are. I'm excited about these gifts, and I don't usually get that excited about gift-giving.

As my energy level allows I also want to get some Christmas decorations up. Of all the holidays and their traditions, Christmas remains my favorite, so I'm pretty certain that when I get them up and can enjoy them, the pleasure will be something that I could stand a dose of. Christmas really has never been about the gifts for me, at least as an adult. There are many things that I do love about the season; the rituals, in and of themselves, are healing and resorative for me and deeply meaningful to me as well. Growing up in a northern climate gives me a different perspective from many people I know who are California natives, or those from another warmer clime. For me, the winter has always been both wonderful and terrible, happy and melancholy. There is something about the short days, the long cold and dark nights, the grey skies, the falling snow. The season casts a sadness and barrenness over the landscape, but that also feels very cleansing to me, like Mother Nature is taking a long sleep to renew herself. I really do miss being in Montana, especially at Christmas. There is a very strong Northern European influence (Scandanavian and otherwise), and that part of Europe is especially steeped in traditions for the Advent season: St. Lucy's Day (December 13), the start of Advent (4 Sundays before Christmas, which is also when my family traditionally put up our tree), Chrismas Eve (our Family's traditional present exchange day; done in the evening, after supper), 12 days of Christmas (December 25 - January 5). There are so many, and a few that I haven't yet done, but want to do sometime, like have a traditional English Christmas dinner: crackers, paper crowns, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, brussels sprouts and Christmas (Figgy) pudding for dessert.

Christmas to me is family, cold dark nights and a yule log in the fireplace. So many amazing foods, like bûche de Noël, pfeffernusse cookies, hot cross buns, rosettes, mince pie, gløgg, Joulutortut (Finnish prune jam pastries), Christstollen, panettone, Julegrøt (Danish rice pudding with an almond hidden in the center), pepperkake (similar to pfeffernusse cookies), persimmon pudding and eggnog. For me, Christmas is family, and not the once a year, pretend to get along kind of affair that has become so common; it's about really being with the ones you love, and as a child, I remember that grudges and grievances got left at the door, Christmas was about being thankful for being with the ones you love. I miss this more than I can ever express in mere words. To return now to where this all started, perhaps I need to let go of these nostalgic memories, perhaps they are of a time gone by that is never going to be seen again. I hope not though. For the moment, I'll not let go of these warm sentiments I keep for the season of Advent.

And as a final footnote on the subject of letting go, today I did indeed put into action my desire to let go of material attachments in a concrete way: I cut off my well-past shoulder length hair today. By cut off, I mean a close, short high fade barber cut, and it felt great. I remember the first time I cut off my long hair, back in 1989; I went into a protracted period of mourning, pretty much starting minutes after my locks were shorn, and lasting for over a year. Today, I felt nothing but relief and catharsis. What hair the Interferon hasn't made fall out has been left dry, brittle and prone to breakage. My hair just looked like shit, plain and simple. Besides that, I was too attached to it; it was mattering too much to me, and getting rid of it was overdue. I so look forward to only looking in the mirror when I brush my teeth and wash my face. I am, in a word, relieved. It had its season, and its season is over.