Kiss a Stingray?

Yep, one of the highlights of the cruise.

Getting acquainted

The Kiss.

Rachel, a 120lb female, was a real sweetheart!

~ ~ ~

Merry Christmas, John. Your pc is sleeping...

Life is good. I've just returned from a Caribbean cruise; one less item on the bucket list. Even better, there was encouraging news Christmas eve from the medical establishment. In response to lingering concern over spots on my liver discovered in February, I endured a couple of industrial strength chemo sessions in November. The latest CT scan revealed no change, which indicates the liver problem has "stabilized".

So I'm free again to pursue my bucket list. Next item, thanks to a Christmas present from brother Larry & his wife Diane, a guided 2-hour tour through uptown Charlotte on a Segway Personal Transporter, a.k.a., Robotic Mobility Platform! Yes!

All things considered, I'm doing very well. My appetite is good. My energy is good. And above all, my outlook is positive. What else could it be with all the support I receive from family, friends, former colleagues--and the "oncology angels" who administer the chemo at Oncology Specialists of Charlotte. Thank you all!

~ ~ ~

Steps

Encouraged by the wind,
      maple, oak, and poplar
            spread a crispy carpet
                 of crimson, gold, and beige,
                       hiding hazard to aging bones
                            of hollows, roots, and stones.

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Do you hear what I hear?

   God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
     then walks with us silently out of the night.

     These are the words we dimly hear:

     You, sent out beyond your recall,
     go to the limits of your longing.
     Embody me.

     Flare up like a flame
     and make big shadows I can move in.

     Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
     Just keep going. No feeling is final.
     Don't let yourself lose me.

     Nearby is the country they call life.
     You will know it by its seriousness.

     Give me your hand.

         Book of Hours, I 59 --Reiner Maria Rilke

             If this does not speak to you, 
                      you are not listening properly.

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Catching up

                             Honest–To: God

                        Cancer?...
                                     ...me!!!
                        Was it something I said?

It has been several weeks since I've posted anything regarding my pc, as before, an indication that things are going moderately well.

In late August, doctors repaired the hernia that had developed after the Whipple procedure. As a result I now have a 9-inch long scar, a flat belly, and no navel. I'm thinking about joining a freak show as "The Man with No Navel!"

Every month or so the lab runs tests of my blood drawn by the newest member of the lab, a young woman known as "Baby Vampire". My "tumor indicator" has been high of late, but no conclusive diagnosis. Still, I am to begin a new series of chemotherapy next Monday. Just two treatments over 21 days, but yet another delay in getting to my "bucket list".

I am approaching my 16-month anniversary as a cancer survivor–still upbeat, feeling great and gaining weight.

~ ~ ~

The Fungus among Us

 Back in the spring, I celebrated the green of North Carolina in contrast to the Arizona desert. Currently, thanks to daily thunderstorms, the earth is ripe for fungi, which are in my experience never green. Nevertheless fungi can be quite colorful, a harbinger of the fall color to come. Others are quite striking even though monochromatic, like the one pictured to the right, which looks more like a coral formation than a fungus.





The Wikipedia site for fungus contains some fascinating information, e.g., fungi are classified as a "kingdom" separate from plants, animals, and bacteria and though claimed by botanists actually have more in common with animals than with plants.

And did you know that yeast is a member of the fungus kingdom. Some folks find fungi creepy and some are downright deadly, but without yeast, at least, there'd be no beer or wine. 'Nuf said.

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(photos by John Floyd)

Get Real

You want another Republican president?
Really?

The last Republican administration:
   (1) lied about WMD and lead us into a costly and needless war
   (2) authorized torture for enemies of the state
   (3) violated U.S. Constitutional civil liberties with the Patriot Act
   (4) cut taxes for the rich and super-rich
   (5) turned a $5 trillion projected surplus into a $6 trillion deficit
   (6) provided huge corporate welfare to big oil, big pharma, and VP
          Cheney's Halliburton
   (7) failed to recognize and reign in Wall St's greed which lead to the
          Great Recession of 2007
   (8) persuaded Congress to bail out the banks with $170 billion in
          taxpayer funds

Really? Yes, they really did all that.

 Please be smart: Vote for Democrats.

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The American Dream

Preamble: In Empire Falls, a small, rundown town in central Maine, Janine sits in the stands at the Friday night high school football game. She recently left her steady but unexciting husband of twenty years for the local ne'er-do-well hotshot that her mother, proprietor of the local tavern, refers to as "that banny rooster."

Excerpt from Empire Falls by Richard Russo:

    Down below, the Fairhaven and Empire Falls players were trotting back onto the field, halftime over. Janine did her best to act interested and upbeat, yet she couldn't help thinking how soon these limber cheerleaders, now doing back flips, would be married and then pregnant by these same boys or others like them a town or two away. And how swiftly life would descend on the boys, as well. First the panic that maybe they'd have to go through it alone, then the quick marriage to prevent that grim fate, followed by relentless house and car payments and doctors' bills and all the rest. The joy they took in this rough sport would gradually mutate. They'd gravitate to bars like her mother's to get away from these same girls and then the children neither they nor their wives would be clever and independent enough to prevent. There would be the sports channel on the tavern's wide-screen TV and plenty of beer, and for a while they'd talk about playing again, but when they did play, they'd injure themselves and before long their injuries would be come "conditions," and that would be that. Their jobs, their marriages, their kids, their lives–all of it a grind. Once a year, feeling rambunctious, they'd paint their faces, pile into one of their wives' minivans and, even though it cost too much, head south to take in a Patriots game, if the team didn't finally relocate somewhere to the south where all the decent jobs had gone. After the game, half drunk, they'd head home again because nobody had the money to stay overnight. Home to Empire Falls, if such a place still existed.
    In their brief absence a few of the more adventurous or desperate wives would seize the opportunity to hire a sitter and meet another of these boy-men, permanent whiskey-dicks, most of them, out at the the Lamplighter Motor Court for a little taste of the road not taken, only to discover that it was pretty much the same shabby, two-lane blacktop they'd been traveling all along, just an unfamiliar stretch of it that nonetheless led to pretty much the same destination anyhow.
(Russo, Richard, 2001, p 277-8)

An engaging slice of twenty-first century Americana, Empire Falls won the Pulitzer Prize for Russo. I recommend it highly.

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The smell of rain

Romeo

Though optimistic, I am not blind to the reality of pancreatic cancer (pc). It has one of the lowest survival rates of all the cancers. Just 6% of patients survive beyond five years. Astronaut Sally Ride succumbed to pc at age 61, seventeen months after her initial diagnosis. My oncological surgeon cheerfully told me that I have a 50% chance for two years and 25% for five years or more.

In the face of what is essentially a death sentence, one can hardly avoid becoming an existentialist. Once the shock of a terminal diagnosis passes, there is a growing sense of urgency. So little time! I must do something. But... what should I do?

As noted previously on this blog, I have enjoyed a life of fulfillment, with a good measure of adventure and accomplishment–no regrets, no important goals unrealized, few desires unfulfilled. My "bucket list" is actually quite short, and for the most part contains frivolous indulgences, e.g., riding a Segway personal transporter.

Maybe all I really need is to practice enjoying each day as it comes–reveling in the taste of barbecue, the company of family and friends, the care of Romeo, the smell of rain, the lyrics of Leonard Cohen, a joyful walk in the woods, the pursuit of Spirit...

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One year

On July 4th, 2011, I first noticed the jaundice that heralded my pc adventure. Once diagnosed, everyone said the treatment and recovery would take a year.

After stents, pre-op radiation/chemo, Whipple procedure, wound-vac, post-op chemo, and the umpteenth CT scan... On July 3rd, 2012, exactly 366 days later (a leap year :-), I received the "final"  diagnosis. Talk about precision–one year to the day!

The results? Negative, which in medical parlance means good.

So, I'm out of the woods for now and once again unleashed upon the world. I am undecided where to turn next, but if I'm headed to your neck of the woods in pursuit of my bucket list, I promise to give you fair warning.

Thank you for your love and support over the past year.

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Life after Life ~ Part II

Nota Bene: If you want to do this right...

please scroll down and read the previous post

before reading this one. Tx.

What do I hope for in life after death?

Hmm... I'm just beginning to realize what a perplexing assignment this is.

For starters, I can only think within the limitations of my present human context. Surely, my thought processes will be more imaginative when I reach the other side, but for now I'm stuck with who I am and what I know. Which points the way for the first wish for the afterlife, i.e., freedom from the limitations of my Earthly body and brain.

That aside, what do I hope for? Absolute contentment. I want to smile like the Buddha, basking in complete knowledge and understanding. I want to be mutually in love with the Universe. I want to know God–if there is one. I want to be free of care and fulfilled in every way.

Or... maybe...

On second thought, this scenario seems equally as dull and boring as an eternity strumming a harp while wafting about Heaven seated upon a cloud.

The German philosopher Authur Schopenhauer (1788 - 1860) developed a rather pessimistic world view based upon his observation that human desires can never be fully satisfied. However, it seems to me that a static state of satisfaction is a patently asinine objective. The essence of life is in the banquet that takes you from hunger to fulfilled, the sleep that restores your energy, the exercise of skills that brings you back to safety from a risky adventure, and the caresses that assuage your sexual desire. It is the ups and downs, the in-betweens that give life its meaning.

Should it be any different in the afterlife?

The most common Christian epitaph is "Rest in Peace". For starters, after a life of discomfort and pain, contention and frustration, to simply lie in peaceful repose might be rather tempting... for a while.

A very perceptive young woman once told me she had three requirements for happiness: Something interesting to do. Something to look forward to. Someone to love. None of these is a goal, as such. Not places of respite, nor states of satisfaction. They are dynamic and unfulfilled–journeys, not destinations.

So, where does this leave me? Absolute contentment is still a worthy objective, but I'd want to earn it. To deserve it through thoughtful inquiry and earnest study. To suffer frustration as well as achievement in the process. To learn to heal and love myself and others. To approach God, but slowly... After all, what's time to a seeker who has all of eternity?

So give me a heavenly library, scholars to interview, and time to meditate. Give me kindred souls to love and be loved by in return. Introduce me to God–but not right away.

Yin-Yang

Postscript: I do not practice any religion, but I must admit that Taoism makes the most sense to me. Ergo, my prospective life after life is strongly colored by the tenets of Lao Tzu. What can I say? I am what I am.

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Life after Life

Generally speaking, a religion is a closed system of facts, beliefs, stories, myths, and practices shared by a group of people. Most, perhaps all, religions arise fundamentally as a reaction to human mortality and the personal anxiety associated therewith. The ultimate purpose of a religion is to provide comfort by suggesting answers to the vexing questions regarding the creation of life, the purpose of life, and life after death.

Most religions have a spiritual component and pay homage to a deity or deities. It is readily apparent that human knowledge is woefully incomplete and that we are not in control of events, thus the need for a supreme being to blame and/or beseech regarding natural events and the outcomes of human endeavors.

Religions have been used in the service of controlling human behavior through reward and punishment for particular actions. Many of these incentives and disincentives are promised in the afterlife. Islamic suicide bombers who attack infidels are rewarded posthumously with milk and honey–and the company of virgins. Christian sinners are burned in Hell. Good Buddhists move up to the next level on the freeway to Nirvana.

According to John 3:16, Christianity promises eternal life as a reward for believing in Jesus Christ. It seems to me that, from a human perspective, eternal life would be incredibly boring. How would one ever accomplish anything knowing that he literally has forever to get things done? What's time to a hog ...or an angel?

I hope for something different, something more. If you concur, try this: Imagine a life after death scenario that you would find satisfying. Even an atheist can participate in this exercise! No faith required. No deity needed. If you are religious, forget the teachings of your belief system. Just answer the question: What do I want death to be like?

I'll give you my answer in a day or two. Meanwhile think about it and if you wish, post your ideal afterlife scenario in the comments below.

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Oh Captain! my Captain! - again

Below is an item I posted in December of 2010, which is now buried at the bottom of this blog. I thought it worth bringing to the top again. BTW, I did not receive a response from the White House.

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I am deeply disappointed with my president. Below is the text from a letter I sent to him a few days ago. The poem is a parody of one written by Whitman in response to the death of Abraham Lincoln.


December 16, 2010

With apologies to Walt Whitman:

        O Captain! my Captain!
        Rise up and feel our pain.
        Why have you deserted us
        Time and time again?

        O Captain! my Captain!
        I fear that they have won.
        All our hopes and all our dreams,
        Our "fearful trip" undone.

        My Captain does not answer;
        He seems no longer to care.
        And we are left to face the storm
        In heartache and despair.

Dear Mr. President:

How have you so badly lost your way in just these two years. We gave you our money and our vote; you gave us watered down health care. We gave you our faith and our hope; you sent more troops to Afghanistan. We gave you our trust and our love; you gave tax cuts to millionaires.

Where is the President of our hopes and dreams? Where is the President who would lead us from the wilderness of ill health, the valley of financial oppression, and the battlefields of needless wars.

Enough of compromise! Just do it! Damn the filibusters! Full speed ahead! We didn't elect you to negotiate; we elected you to lead! Damn it, Man! Take back the wheel and steer our ship of state out of this political storm and into the tranquil waters of justice, equality, and peace.

No more compromise!
No more compromise!
No more compromise!

With waning respect,

John Floyd
--a citizen in Waxhaw, NC

Tortoise, Terrapin, Turtle

Hearing "gopher tortoise", you might imagine a furry head darting this way and that at the top of an upright shell, propped up by the beast's hind legs. Well, no. The gopher tortoise is so named not because it looks like a gopher, but because it burrows like a gopher. A single Gopherus polyphemus will have several burrows, up to 40 feet long and 10 feet deep! Since more than 360 other species use its burrows for protective shelter, the gopher tortoise has earned the designation of keystone species, since its demise would endanger the survival of 360 other critters.

Gopherus polyphemus

Hmmm, I wonder: What's the opposite of keystone species, i.e., a species whose departure from  the ecosystem would be considered a positive event? Whatever the category is called, I'd wager that human beings are high on the list.

Ever consider the difference between tortoise, terrapin, and turtle? Loosely speaking, they're cousins. More specifically, tortoises live on land and have feet while turtles have flippers, and terrapins are turtles that live in fresh or brackish waters. In other words: tortoises live inland, terrapins along the coast, and turtles in the sea. Now you know.

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Vortex riddle

Vine around tree

Urban legend has it that a bathtub whirlpool spins one way in the Earth's northern hemisphere and the other way south of the equator. Not true: the vortex of an open drain doesn't spin consistently one way or the other. However, natural water currents and air masses are influenced by the Coriolis effect, which creates so-called inertial circles that rotate clockwise in the northern hemisphere and counter-clockwise in the southern hemisphere. [NB: For some reason, low pressure weather systems always spin counter-clockwise in the North, clockwise in the South. Go figure...]

The riddle: Here in Waxhaw, NC, most vines, as viewed from above, grow around a tree in a clockwise fashion, like the water and air currents. My question is, does the Coriolis effect influence the path of a vine wrapping around a tree, such that a hemisphere effect occurs? In other words, do vines spiral counter-clockwise in the southern hemisphere?

Now, we just need a comment from someone south of the equator.

We're waiting...

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Sharing Nature

Dog whisperer, Cesar Millan, feels the most natural situation for a dog in our society is to be hooked up with a homeless person. Man and dog are always together; sharing the great outdoors, food & water; and always trekking about. I feel my pack and I are a step up on that scenario.

After breakfast this morning I headed out with Marley and Romeo into the woodsy haunts of Trails End Farm. The Farm is 200 acres of meadows, wooded hills, and a couple of creeks. The wildlife include deer, squirrels, rabbits, as well as snakes, lizards, toads, and tortoises. There are also burrowing critters like moles, voles, and gophers. [Pictured from last winter is a rare daylight photo of an opossum that got caught out and scurried up a tree when the dogs approached.]

Opossum

Since they are not leashed, a venture into the woods with the dogs always feels more like a hunt than a mere walk. While I stick to the ATV trails, the dogs dart this way and that, chasing squirrels or the scent of deer. Today Romeo sniffed out a mole, dived nose-first after it, caught and killed it. I'm certain that in his previous feral life, he would have eaten it. Today he didn't need to since he'd already had half a can of Alpo, his ration of dried food, and the tail end of my breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast.

He was proud of his kill and protected it from Marley's grasp for a time, but eventually both abandoned the hapless mole. Some might find it cruel, but Romeo was just doing what came naturally. He received a sense of satisfaction, which I must admit I shared with him, and his kill would would not be wasted. The forest scavengers would soon be feeding on it.

Naturally may be defined as "in accordance with Nature", to which all animals are much closer than we humans. Humans are far removed from Nature by the effects of language, technology, and complex social environments. However, we can still participate vicariously in the joys of Nature by hanging out with our animal friends.

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Tribute to a cup

In a discourse on the impermanence of things, Thai Zen Master Achaan Chah, advises us not to worry about breaking a glass.

        You say, "Don't break my glass!" Can you prevent something
        that's breakable from breaking? It will break sooner or later.
        If you don't break it, someone else will. If someone else
        doesn't break it, one of the chickens will!... Penetrating the

        truth of things, [we realize] this glass is already broken.

My coffee cup

Each morning I drink my coffee from a cup I've had for ten years, given to me by a lady friend from Korea, a culture with a long tradition of appreciation for handmade pottery. I value the cup very much and so I offer this tribute before it meets its eventual fate as shards upon the floor.

The lady and I went our separate ways, so my attachment to the cup is partly sentimental, but more so because it is well-made and eminently functional. During my "back to the land" phase from 1976 to 1984, I tried unsuccessfully to make it as a potter, so I feel qualified to point out the merits of the humble pottery cup.

Naïve shoppers think a coffee cup should be mug-like, thick and heavy. Not so. A good cup should be only about a quarter of an inch thick, substantial enough to hold and transfer warmth to your hand, but not so thick as to rob the coffee of its heat, nor so heavy it's an effort to lift.

The lip of the cup should flare outward and meet your lips with a yen-and-yang fit that feels natural and lets the coffee flow evenly from the cup. The sides should be more or less vertical; a bulbous shape requires too much upward tilt to drink the last drops of coffee.

The handle should be generous enough to grasp with at least two fingers. The glaze and any decoration should be simple and complement the color of coffee.

Bottom of cup

Appreciation for my particular cup is enhanced by the obvious fact that it was formed on a wheel by a very experienced potter. It was apparently created quickly and without fussiness. The spiral of rings are uniform and tight. Though the cup has a grainy feel, the lip has been smoothed with a small strip of chamois.

Looking at the bottom of the cup, I am in awe of the potter's skill. After being formed, the bottom of the cup was beveled with a wooden tool, cut off the wheel with a loop of twisted string, and stamped with the potter's mark. The organically simple handle, shaped by pulling, was added later when the cup was "leather hard", firm but not yet dry.

An oatmeal glaze, a simple decoration, and firing to stoneware temperature complete the process. The result: an aesthetically pleasing, sturdy and functional vessel for enjoying my morning coffee. It may be "already broken", but the cup will enjoy my utmost care to prolong that eventuality.

P.S.
During the cell phone photo shoot of the cup at the barn, Romeo (the dog) lurched at a mouse behind a large mirror leaning against the wall, which tipped and broke with a crash. An example of synchronicity? Hmmm...

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Give and Take

Two names topped the news this morning. After a long and celebrated career as a bluegrass musician–eight Grammys including the Lifetime Achievement Award in 2004–Doc  Watson was dead at 89.

On the other hand, Donald Trump dredged up the claim that President Obama was not a native citizen, but had been "born in Kenya and raised in Indonesia", despite the fact that this urban legend, popular with Republicans, has been thoroughly discredited. 

There's a lesson here...

Doc Watson was an authentic musical pioneer. Despite his humble birth and blindness, he created a unique guitar style, shared his talent with others, and raised universal awareness for an obscure genre of genuine American music. He was rightly described as a national treasure.

Donald Trump is a real estate mogul and a buffoon. He is himself humorless but a boundless source of laughter for others. He has lots of money but little understanding of true value. Trump is simply a national joke.

Watson's life is a testimony to the human spirit, to how much can be made from so little when God gets it right. Trump doesn't have a life, but he is living proof that you don't have to be a genius to become rich.

The lesson: If you want to get your name in the news, either (1) give the world your very best or (2) with both hands, take all you can get and behave foolishly.

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Just so

Surveying the shoddy result of some task he'd given his ten-year old son, my father admonished, "Any job worth doing is worth doing well." Much of his fatherly advice was delivered by cliché. Sadly, I've come to understand that clichés are almost unerringly true reflections of the human condition.

Worth doing well came to me this morning as I was preparing grits for my breakfast. I'm particular about my grits. Even lowly grits are worth doing well. A correct proportion of water to grits, salt in the water, frequent stirring. All are important to achieve a pleasing result. Most important perhaps is the consistency for serving. It must be "just so", stiff enough to eat with a fork without being solidly congealed and–God forbid–lumpy!

Dad would have been proud of me this morning. He might even have said, "You see, the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree."

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Flora, fauna, foliage, & fusion

Since returning to North Carolina from my life in the Arizona desert, I have been overwhelmed by greenness. Trees, bushes, vines, lawns, meadows. Green, green, green!




If there is a holy color for Earth's inhabitants, it is surely green. Some might argue that since water is essential for life, the holy color should be blue. However, water isn't really blue, it's colorless; the sky merely makes it seem blue.

In the final analysis, life is energy manifest. Water and other elements are essential ingredients, but without energy there can be no life. And from where comes our energy? All energy is fundamentally nuclear energy. Our main source is the nuclear reactor in the sky, the sun, which radiates light and heat. The heat provides a climate to support life, but it is light that is the key.

And plants are the medium through which light energy is stored and made useable by the Earth's fauna, including us. Oil, coal, firewood, vegetables, fruits, and meat–at root, all are the products of sunlight via photosynthesis.

          When you say your nightly prayer,
               Here's an item you doewanna miss.
          If for life you truly care
               Give thanks for photosynthesis.

                  Isn't green a lovely color?

Read: The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight --Joseph Chilton Pearce

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Early May evening in Waxhaw

A cool, moonless night with fireflies–"lightening bugs" here in the Confederacy. Soon there will be hundreds, perhaps thousands of them in the meadow. Tonight, as best I can determine, there are just three. But they are a game trio, bright and diligent, playing out their flash dance against the distant silhouette of the trees. As one comes close the dog growls low and uncertainly as if he senses an intruder on our evening but cannot be sure.

I watch Venus fall ever so slowly from the sky. It occurs to me that Venus does not fall at all nor for that matter does the sun set. The sun and Venus are fixed in the firmament. It is the Earth that creates their motion as it spins upward against sun and star producing an apparent descent toward the horizon.

                 But who am I to bother about such trivia.

I sip my Amaretto, its almond fragrance amplified by the warmth my fingers press through the glass. I am content, free from the cares of the day, for the moment at peace with the world of politics. My cancer is sleeping. In the profoundly ironic dying words of The Godfather (in the book, not the movie), "Life is so beautiful."

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Georgia caviar

Onto this blog, I've posted
          poems and rants,
          musings and slants,
          photos and news,
          riddles and reviews.
Why not a recipe?

As some of you are aware, I was born in Georgia, just south of Atlanta in a village with an audaciously presumptuous name–Oxford. There is actually an institution of higher learning there, no less than the original campus of Emory University, est. 1836. Emory moved to Atlanta in 1919, but kept the Oxford campus active. Formerly Emory at Oxford, the two-year school is now known as Oxford College of Emory University.

Moving along... Oxymoronic as it may sound, Georgia caviar is quite good. I received the recipe from my brother, Larry, who says he got it from our sister, Tina. From where she got it I have no idea.

Georgia caviar

Best when made the day before and refrigerated overnight. 

Serves 20 as an appetizer.

Ingredients
   4 cans (15.8 oz) Bush's black-eyed peas
   1 large sweet onion, chopped
   1 large green pepper, chopped
   1 Jalapeno pepper, chopped fine
   8 oz (more or less) Zesty Italian oil & vinegar dressing
   salt and pepper
   6-10 drops Tabasco sauce (optional)

In a large bowl...
   add black-eyed peas, drain but do NOT wash
   add chopped onion & peppers
   stir in Zesty Italian dressing, moist but not soupy
   add Tabasco sauce (or not)
   salt & pepper to taste

Serve with Frito Corn Chip "Scoops" (one family size bag)

Hmmm... I wonder if the students at Oxford College are aware of this recipe.

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Trickle, trickle...

Some politicians and economists maintain that reducing taxes on the wealthy provides investment for businesses and corporations, which will result in more jobs for workers. That is, the untaxed money will "trickle down" through organizations to the level of the individual workers in the form of more jobs and better pay.

Let's examine this premise:

In a capitalist society, why does a business or corporation exist? Answer: to make money for investors–its proprietors, its stockholders, or venture capitalists. No for-profit organization is in the business of providing jobs for the society's citizens.

So, why should a business or corporation create jobs? A business hires new workers only if there is the probability of a positive return on investment (ROI). The CEO or company president asks: Will adding an employee increase the bottom line? If the answer is yes, a job is created and a person is hired. If no, even though there may be plenty of cash in the bank (because of reduced taxes or increased profits), there will be no job creation.

            Jobs are created by demand for products and services.

If, as now, the economy is in turmoil–high unemployment, risk of inflation (or deflation), political indecision, looming governmental regulation, uncertain interest rates, etc.–where will the increased demand for products come from?

          Workers, here and abroad, are the ultimate consumers.

Consumers provide 70% of the gross domestic product (GDP) of the nation. To do so, consumers must have money to purchase products and services. If too many workers are unemployed or underemployed, demand for products and services falters, which leads to lay-offs and pay cuts, creating a downward spiral of further decreased demand and increased lay-offs and pay cuts.

What do we do when that spiral reaches bottom, when all else fails? When the economy does not respond to lower interest rates, lower corporate taxes, extended unemployment benefits, tax breaks for individuals, etc. What then?

          The federal government must step in and create jobs,
           even if this must be done through deficit spending. 

The Fed can create jobs by:
   (1) providing money to the States to rehire teachers, police, and firefighters;
   (2) creating projects to improve the nation's infrastructure;
   (3) rehiring furloughed government workers at the federal level.

          Follow the money.

Federally funded jobs create income for workers. Workers spend money to purchase goods and services to meet their needs and desires. To meet the increased demand for goods and services businesses and corporations hire more workers.  The spiral rebounds, turning upward again. The economy grows. All is well.

          This is not rocket science. Think about it.

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Note: Many of the ideas expressed above are second hand. If you want to know what a real economist thinks,  read the blog of Robert Reich.

Simple gift

Though optimistic, I am not blind to the reality of pancreatic cancer. It has one of the lowest survival rate of all the cancers. Just 6% of patients survive beyond five years from their initial diagnosis. My oncological surgeon told me I have a 50% chance for two years and 25% for five years of more.

A student of existential psychology once noted, "I know only two things: I am alive today and one day I shall be dead. The questions is what to do in the interim." This is the challenge faced by all of us, of course, but with special emphasis by those of us with a terminal illness.

Time to create a "bucket list" of what to do in the interim. Time to think of a legacy of thoughts and/or material resources. Time to consider spiritual matters.

 A man or woman of 50 years is not likely to say, "Let's see, I have about 30 or 40 years to live. How shall I spend my time?" They simply live day to day with no thought of an end to life. So maybe I should consider my pc a gift?

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The Price of Unconditional Love

For reasons which will soon become clear, I call him "Romeo". According to the veterinarian's notes, he's a "Labrador-X", which I take to mean he's of dubious heritage, but mostly Lab. He showed up about a month ago having followed his nose to my brother's Rottweiler bitch, Marley, who was emitting "come hither" pheromones in abundance.

You could count his ribs ribs through his blue-black fur; his back slumped like an old plow horse; his eyes were clouded with mucous. While perky around Marley, he had a depressed hang-dog look otherwise. Sucker that I am, I took pity on him and invited him to dinner. I've been his "best friend forever" ever since.

Romeo came with no collar, no tags, and scanning by the vet found no ID chip. I posted his picture with the two local veterinarians and with Animal Control offices of both the city and the county. I even posted a "Found Dog" sign on the highway. No luck, despite indications that he had been domesticated: he's house-trained, he's affectionate, he obeys commands to sit and stay. He also insists that he's not a junkyard dog but an inside dog, i.e., he rushes an open door, he can negotiate stairs, he prefers people food over dog food, and he knows what a bed is for. So far he hasn't chewed up my shoes nor emptied the garbage can onto the kitchen floor.

               All in all, he's a wonderful pet. The thing is,
               I don't really need a pet. The space in my RV
               home is a very limited 290 sq ft. A 55 lb best
               friend under foot is cumbersome at best.

Still, I was concerned about his health so I took him to the vet, thinking I could find him a home later. He received an overall evaluation, a canine wellness panel, a parasite exam, and three vaccines. That, plus pills for the hookworms discovered, came to $238.50. The next day I was informed that the test for heart-worms was positive. OMG! I had heard treatment for heart-worms was expensive. It is: $592.80! Grand total: $831.30. Ouch!

So, I have my chemotherapy and Romeo has his treatment for heart-worms and hookworms. Our "meds" sit side by side on the table. Don't even ask why I'm doing this. Maybe it's guilt: how could I accept cost-free Medicare treatment for my "pc" and deny him relief from the not-his-fault parasites in his body? And maybe, just maybe it's those soft velvety ears and the pleading looks from those big brown eyes imploring me to return his unconditional love by buying back his good health.

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Extremely incredible...incredibly extreme. Yes, both.

I've just finished a truly fascinating book, surely the strangest novel I've ever encountered. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: A Novel by Johathan Safran Foer invokes the surreal absurdity of Joseph Heller's Catch 22 and Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five: A Novel. As are these two, Foer's novel is anti-war, anti- the new war protocol we call terrorism.

You'll love it or you'll hate it. No In-between. If you can tolerate its strangeness, it's probably best to read it in as few sittings as possible. Too long between sittings and you may get lost in the shuffle between characters and their telling of the tale. Stay the course! You'll be rewarded in the end.

As for me, I loved the book and as a bonus I acquired a pithy new quote for my "Life is..." list. [See previous entry in this blog: Feb 2, 2011.]

To wit: "Life is scarier than death."

But I knew that already.

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Update # 13: See spot. Run!

I just spent a very anxious month since my last Update. A routine CT scan in early February found three "spots" on my liver. Yikes! My doctor ordered a liver biopsy, which involves what is delicately called "taking a tissue sample"–and uh, we're not talkin' Kleenex. I won't go into details as to how the liver tissue was extracted except to say that it involved a long hollow needle. Shudder...

A blissful sigh of relief greeted the news this morning that the biopsy results were negative, i.e., as far as can be determined (one gets used to these medical qualifications) the spots are not cancer, but are perhaps only inflammation. Whew!

So at long last, the post-Whipple chemotherapy will begin next week. In two months time there will be another CT scan to monitor the progress of the spots. Out, damned spot!

Meanwhile, I'm enjoying the balmy winter in Waxhaw, NC. Woodsy walks with Marley. Making plans for the summer garden with my brother. Anticipating a new brood of chicks and the eggs they'll provide. Life is good. Don't I know it!

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Update # 12: "No news is good news"

The above phrase is a sterling example of the multiplex nature of language. It has always baffled me. Does it mean that having received no news is a good thing? Or is it a simple declaration that news is never good; ergo, the only good news the absence of any news at all? Surely there must be other forms of good news, n'est-ce pas?

Whatever, no Update for a month means that things have been going well with me and my "pc", i.e., that you have received no news is, in fact, good news. The incision is very nearly closed. My appetite has returned; I'm regaining weight and recouping muscle strength. All things considered, "I'm happy and healthy and feeling no pain."

There is a flurry of medical appointments in the coming couple of weeks–the endocrinologist, the chemotherapist, and the surgeon. A CT scan. All point to the start of the last leg of the treatment process, four months of weekly chemotherapy. As you might imagine, I am eager to get started. Once the chemo is completed, I will be free again to live without the restraint of medical obligations.

So, good news abounds, the limitations of language notwithstanding!

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