Monthly Archives: May 2014

Anemia

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Anemia: (n.) a condition marked by a lack of red blood cells or hemoglobin in the blood, resulting in pallor and weariness.

When my doctor told me I was anemic, I fired back at her that she had a funny nose and big ears before I realized that she was just giving me the results of my blood test.

It seems that this exam pointed out that I didn’t have enough red cells doing their thing in my body.

She wanted to rectify this by having me take iron supplement pills.

Now, let me tell you–not only was this treatment fairly expensive, but it created constipation, which was only occasionally relieved by the painful arrival of bowel movements that resembled lumps of coal.

At my next appointment, she asked me if I felt better since beginning the iron supplements. I had to be honest and tell her that it was difficult to tell since it seemed that I had replaced one problem with another.

Without becoming too philosophical, that is often the case in modern life. In a noble attempt to improve one dilemma, we create a counter-irritant, which we convince ourselves is not as bad as the original in order to justify our actions in alleviating the former problem.

Well, back to my anemia.

Quietly, against her orders, without her permission and knowledge, I lessened the dose on the iron and loosened my difficulty. It was such a relief that I decided to stop taking the iron pills, and tell her that I did, so as to make her happy and keep myself…well, let us say, comfortable.

The truth is, I felt no more energy taking the iron pills than I did without them.

I just happen to be one of those big men who moves fairly slowly, still gets things accomplished, but looks rather ugly in the process.

So the next time somebody tells you you’re anemic and they’re not referring directly to your choices, lovemaking or personality, be fully aware that iron supplements are a two-edged sword.

And one of the edges of the sword really hurts during bathroom time.

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Anecdote

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Anecdote: (n) a short and amusing or interesting tale about a real person or incident.

There are things that are true–yet truth has a responsibility to stay contemporary.

What I mean is that simply because something was true in a certain way a hundred years ago does not mean it can be heard as truth in our present society by pursuing the same method.

For instance, people used to tell stories.

Back before radio, television, Internet and downloads, the bearer of news relied on speech instead of Podcasts.

Folks actually sat around a fire for hours, spinning one yarn after another, giving examples, and in the process, created both understanding and fellowship with one another.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to get nostalgic. I’m perfectly satisfied living in a world where the anecdote has been set aside, or only applied as a means of an opening monologue for a Rotary Club speaker.

But in the pursuit of truth, we have to learn how to take the better parts of the past and mingle them with the new awakening. The only danger, of course, is losing the intimacy once possessed between human beings, and ending up with phones that have their own “I”-dentity and think they’re “smarter” than us.

So what should we do?

I think it’s the responsibility of the creative people in every generation to keep the warmth of great ideas and heat them up on the burners of our time.

It’s one of the reasons I write this essay. I can take words, insert my anecdotes on subjects a bit beyond the realm of my true perception, and therefore interact with you blessed people.

So the next time you come across some grandfatherly individual who begins his conversation with, “It reminds me of the time when I was a young man…”–instead of rolling your eyes and quietly texting under the table, find an ingenious way to come up with two questions to ask him about his experience, and see if it doesn’t change a mere story … into an encounter.

 

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Android

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Android: (n) In science fiction, a robot with a human appearance.

I was just sitting here realizing that the concept of android portrayed by the science fiction writer probably was derived from observing a bunch of human beings who appeared to be androids.

So it’s not so much that androids take on the attributes of humans, but rather, that so many humans we know have acquired aspects of the android personality.

  • Their speech is stilted.
  • Their facial features rarely change.
  • Their movements are stiff.
  • And unless reprogrammed, they continue to pop off the same information over and over again without any need for contradiction or any sense of embarrassment.

I have many relatives who are androids.

I have met many people in the business world who certainly could pass for one.

After all, the androids in the movies don’t really act human in the sense of being unpredictable, emotional and filled with both grief and glee. They are even-tempered, controlled beings who don’t sweat–mainly because they never exert.

So I’m not so sure we’ve created a robot that resembles humans, but rather, we already have humans that resemble this particular type of robot.

You see what I mean?

For if androids really were human-like, they would spend most of their time broken down and complaining about the lack of attention and a personal need to be oiled.

That would be a real human android. Otherwise, what you have is an android human, which unfortunately, fill the ranks of those who insist on filing.

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Androgynous

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Androgynous: (adj) Partly male and partly female in appearance; of indeterminate sex.

It’s just one of those issues.

Yes–a contentious idea that causes the liberals and conservatives to hide in the weeds, giggling, waiting to see what stance you might take, so they can proclaim you either friend or enemy.

Such is the term androgynous.

Will I appease the conservatives by acting like I have a semi-sympathetic heart about those who “choose” to have such an appearance, while secretly I’m laughing at them with my friends behind their backs?

Or will I make the liberals rejoice by making a blanket statement of acceptance, while going off with friends and desperately trying not to bring it up again for fear of being judgmental?

Sometimes I grow weary of the battle between clown philosophies–“clown” in the sense that you feel the need to don a costume and exaggerate your features so as to prove your allegiance to the cause.

Concerning this word, I need look no further than myself:

I am a fat, white man of German descent. For some inexplicable reason, I have no hair on my legs or chest. Being overweight, I have pectorals that occasionally could pass for girly, sixteen-year-old breasts. My skin is not rough and I’m not a tumbling sort. Yet I fathered five children and still prefer women instead of men.

If I were walking around a locker room with a bunch of macho individuals, I might appear, in some ways, to be a bit more “ladylike” than they are. Yet some of them would be more comfortable, welcome and visually acceptable in a gorilla cage.

What does it all mean? I don’t know.

But I am certain of one immutable fact: the more we try to identify each other visually, by outward appearance, the less we have the eyesight of God.

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Andrew, St.

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Andrew, St.: An apostle, the brother of St. Peter. He is associated with the X-shaped cross because he is said to have been crucified on such a cross, and is the patron saint of Russia and Scotland. Feast Day, November 30.

Long before he was nailed down on a multiplication symbol and they started a special holiday in his honor, Andrew was a fisherman in a little town called Capernaum.

His prospects for being prosperous or well-known and his aptitude for upward mobility were less than promising–actually, comical.

Living in a village of less than five hundred people and a partner in a business in which his brother, with a more boisterous personality, took over the entire room, Andrew had little chance of surfacing socially, or even generating a jot and tittle in a history book.

Yet he possessed one powerful personality trait–he was curious.

While his brother probably took the time to sleep off the latest fishing jaunt, which included heavy wine drinking, Andrew was out and about, looking for possibilities. In the process, he met another unlikely earth-shaker named Jesus of Nazareth.

We don’t know why Andrew was impressed or why he was so moved by the Nazarene’s message. But we do know that he was one of Jesus’ early followers, and ends up bringing his brother to the cause.

As often is the case, there is no Peter without Andrew. There are no five loaves and two fishes for the five thousand fed without Andrew bringing the little boy’s lunch for consideration.

And even though after all the smoke cleared of the posturing and shuffling, he did not end up being one of the inner-three best friends of Jesus (positions held by Peter, James and John), we are never made aware that he is slighted or offended in the least.

He did three things that gave him personal salvation and a place for all time:

  1. He stayed interested.
  2. When he found something important, he got excited.
  3. He stuck with it to the end.

In many ways Andrew is the hero of the gospel story simply because he brought the right people at the right time … to the right person.

 

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Andrews, Julie

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Andrews, Julie: (1935 – ) English actress and singer born Julia Elizabeth Wells. She is best known for the movies Mary Poppins (1964), for which she won an Academy Award, and The Sound of Music (1965).

Progressors.

I’ve come to the conclusion that there are people who arrive at just the right time in history to do just the right thing, to progress things at just the right pace. Without them, nothing happens–and if they were any more progressive, they would have scared everybody away.

There are many examples, but certainly, Julie Andrews falls into this category.

For I will tell you, if Julie Andrews arrived on the scene today, she would be rejected for her sprightly personality, her clarity of singing and portrayed as a lightweight.

But at the time she arrived with her talent, there was a need for hope, inspiration and music sung with the purity of a nightingale and the intensity of a roaring lion.

She was a treasure. And because she worked very hard at making sure she maintained her excellence, her work endures.

Oh, we may think that “a spoon full of sugar” doesn’t “make the medicine go down,” or that the hills aren’t “alive with the sound of music,” but her infectious desire to bring good cheer to the listener is very difficult to criticize or ignore.

Now, there is a problem when we become nostalgic and insist that we need Julie Andrews back.

We don’t need another Julie Andrews–we need the next Julie Andrews to progress us in our consciousness. We need talented folks who bring hope in their own way, clarity using their own voice, and inspiration sensitive to their own times.

Without Julie Andrews, there never would have been a Barbra Streisand, and without Streisand there never would have been Heart with the Wilson sisters or Fleetwood Mac with Stevie Nicks, and without them, there would not have been Celine Dion, Beyoncé and Pink.

We need progressors.

And what is the goal for making this place called Earth better?

Anybody who promotes the idea that we are human … and that is not a bad thing.

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Andersonville

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Andersonville: (n) a village in southwestern Georgia that was the site of a large and infamous Confederate prison camp during the Civil War.

The Civil War was our holocaust.

Actually, little will be achieved in this country until we universally accept this statement as true.

The Civil War is when we took a race of people, segregated them, mistreated them and then ended up fighting a war which included in its pursuits the decision to continue that same practice indiscriminately.

We murdered, created new weapons to increase the casualties and took brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers and placed them at odds with each other, continually making a “Sophie’s Choice” within the boundaries of households.

  • It was horrific.
  • It was unnecessary.
  • It was short-sighted.

And when you add in the treatment given to fellow-Americans as prisoners of war–on both sides–you have almost an identical parallel to many of the atrocities that were perpetuated in Nazi Germany.

It is our humiliation.

It is a war we should study because we need to make sure that in our present dealings, that none of the ignorance that brought about the massacre and slaughter can be welcomed again.

We need to put away all the trumpets, banners and paraphernalia from that conflict into a trunk and bury it in the ground with a ceremony of repentance.

There is nothing from that period of time that is worthy of our praise, let alone our consideration.

I admire the German people because they look on the horror of their own recent history and refuse to repeat it–by making sure the only reference to it is an apology.

To live in a country that still refers to “Yankees and “Rebs,” “North and South,” “Union and Confederate” with a sense of regional pride is an abomination to our belief in all men being created equal.

The Andersonville prison was a location where the anger, frustration and evil that had been perpetuated for three centuries was brought to bear and turned into a living hell.

But the Civil War was not noble.

It was not good.

It was not brave.

It is our holocaust–and because it is, we should reverence those who suffered and pledge to never repeat such foolish iniquity again.

 

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Anderson, Marion

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Anderson, Marion: (1888-1959): U.S. Opera singer initially barred from giving concerts in the United States because of racial discrimination. She gained international success and became the first black singer to perform at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City.

It is the great lie that leads to the perpetual delusion: a pound of effort brings a pound of result.

This delusion has created a society of expectant, demanding and frustrated participants who spend more time complaining about the rejection of their efforts than they do devising more intelligent angles.

When I see the definition of a pioneer like Marion, it nearly brings tears to my eyes. Not only did this woman have to go through all of the training, education, struggles, auditions and vocal exercises to become an adept opera singer, equal to those around her, but because she was a woman and had dark skin, she had to exceed the quality of her peers.

Hers was a life that required one hundred pounds of effort for every one pound of result.

I am both humbled and encouraged by such a story.

  • Humbled because I realize how unwilling I am to endure tribulation and difficulty to acquire what I perceive to be my just share.
  • But I am also encouraged that there is within the human heart the passion and energy to overcome persecution and dispel bigotry through the display of excellence.

The Daughters of the American Revolution refused to let her sing at their convention because she was black. Eleanor Roosevelt scheduled her to perform on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. It was a much better gig.

But you see, sometimes you must be willing to endure the loss of a present possibility to gain a future bonanza.

What caused Marion to do that? What gave this woman the spunk and spiritual moxie to ignore the ignorance around her and sing like a bird?

I don’t know.

But I’m glad it’s not magic. I’m glad it’s not limited to the black race or just to women.

It is available to anyone who is ready to shed the delusion of equality and persevere with great energy … by continuing to do what we do when others say we don’t.

 

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Andersen, Hans Christian

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Andersen, Hans Christian (1805-75): Danish author noted for his fairy tales, such as “The Snow Queen,” “The Ugly Duckling” and “The Little Match Girl.”

I ferociously attempt not to become cynical.

Matter of fact, I consider cynicism to be one of the more dangerous vices in the human nuclear arsenal of available missiles.

But at the same time, I grow weary of ideas that appear to be optimistic but really are pandering to an ongoing philosophy: “normal is the best.”

Nowhere is this more obvious than in the work of Andersen with “The Ugly Duckling.”

I don’t think we understand the message of this particular tale. What is communicated to me is that a little bird who appears to be an ugly duckling has to hang on through its grotesque phase, because in the end, the bird will end up in the “Kingdom of Normal”–as beautiful, evolving into a swan.

Is this really what we want to communicate? What if you are just an ugly duck? What if you aren’t an emerging swan?

What if you just plopped out of your mother with an incurable dose of homely? Is there room for an ugly duckling who doesn’t become a swan–to still gain acceptance, or even prosperity?

I know my man Hans thought he was being generous of spirit by portraying that those who were less fortunate or not well-endowed should persevere to someday gain place in our society.

But the place he promised them was beauty. We don’t all end up beautiful! There is a whole majority of the human race that has to learn to become functionally ugly.

  • They will never be airbrushed.
  • They will never be gorgeous.
  • They will not achieve stunning.
  • And they certainly don’t become swans.

So understanding that Mr. Hans was trying to bring honor to the Andersen family by putting forth a positive message, it ends up not being very Christian.

Here’s the truth:

Sometimes ugly ducklings stay ugly and only gain beauty and value … through determination.

 

 

 

 

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Andante

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Andante: (adj) used as a direction in music to mean a moderately slow tempo.

I have found that a little bit of knowledge gives you just enough confidence that you can stumble into creative ways to make a fool of yourself.

It’s much that way with me and music.

I had three years of what you might call “formal training” in playing the piano, and then lots of extemporaneous encounters which have afforded me a scholastic understanding of the craft, similar to storing old papers, discarded clothing and unused appliances in a utility closet. There is no plan for organization–just a bunch of stuff.

So when I saw today’s word, andante, what popped into my mind was what I believe to be a title to a small composition I played when I was a child, pursuing the eighty-eight keys set before me.

It was called Andante Favori. Now let me explain–I do not know if this music actually exists, or if it was a cute title that my piano teacher applied to a piece she wanted me to attempt, and decided to try to make it more appealing.

But as it turns out, as I prepared for today’s essay, I looked it up on the Internet, and discovered that there actually is an Andante Favori. It was written by Beethoven, designated WOO57.

I’m not sure of the translation, but I’m pretty convinced that the title simply means, “A Favorite Andante.”

Not very clever, but in that day and age, composers had to make their living as teachers, and since there was not a lot of printed music available, they penned their own lesson tunes for the students who were given to nobility, but not necessarily talent.

So as I’m writing this today, I am literally punching in a You Tube of somebody playing the piece. I can tell you that it’s not stunning, it’s very simple, and is exactly what an andante should be: completed but not memorable.

So it is with a combination of rejoicing, awe and yet a bit of being unimpressed that I share this with you today.

It’s just nice to know that Ludwig actually wrote the song and it wasn’t an andante of my imagination.

 

 

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