Pressure Drop (Old Robert Palmer Song Title)

So, are you the type of person who believes that life is a series of random events, or do you believe that there is some sort of grand design? I believe both. Or, to put it another way, a mix of the two. I'm not sure I can explain that. But simplicity is not a natural quality of human existence. Life gets complicated without any serious effort on our part to make it so. However, how complicated it gets is something we usually have a little control of. At least to some degree. If things get way out of hand, you can always run away. I once read that there's no problem too big to run away from. I think it was a Peanuts comic strip. 
One of the central desires for most of us human creatures is to find meaning in, and for, our lives. Meaning, and purpose. And sometimes, we get to choose what events, people, and personal experiences have meaning for us. Sometimes we don't. As for purpose, sometimes we get to choose what we do with our lives, sometimes it's chosen for us by way of that "grand design" concept, and sometimes it's chosen by default. But one thing' certain. As soon we feel set in our course, life intervenes and changes our world. Life may be a one way journey, but it does not go in one direction only. And there are many roads
And so the journey. Like all humans in this new age of the "much smaller world", I am evolving. Somewhat, anyway. Change is a good and necessary thing. But like most humans, I don't greet change enthusiastically most of the time. And because I am evolving (slowly, very slowly), this blog is evolving as well. Originally I started it as a means of helping some ESOL (English as another language) learners expand their knowledge of English. Along the way I seem to have picked up some readers from all over the world: Russia, Germany, the UK, and a number of other interesting places, of which I wish I knew more. This unanticipated larger audience, has actually affected how I've been writing this blog. I can only describe it as some form of mutated stage fright. Not to worry. I promise to go back to my frivolous and irreverent approach immedeately or sooner. 
The world is a strange and wonderful place. And not always a happy place, and definitely very rarely a peaceful place. But, we share it. And it's good that we do. It would be pretty lonely otherwise. No one's an island, and all that. I am one of those people who sometimes wishes I were an island, but lucky for me, it is not to be.
Anyroad, this is enough seriousness on my part for awhile. There's nothing like being laid up for a week with a bad cold to put a dent in my sense of humor. Luckily, that will improve. 
For anyone wondering why the title of this post was Pressure Drop, I received an email from the founder of a new site telling me I had picked up over 20 new followers of this blog from said site. Hence, pressure did drop on me to get out this post. The other reason for the title is that I love that song, which is why I would like to dedicate this particular post to the late, great Robert Palmer. Somewhere, in another place, I imagine him singing, with a large band behind him, surrounded by beautiful women. 
Be well, & be kind to each other.     

The World Is Not Perfect (or: Anger Can Ruin Your Day)

I could not be President. In fact, I shouldn't be in any position of power. I have anger issues. I really don't know how President Obama keeps it together. In his position, I would already have had anyone associated with the Tea Party wacked, or disappeared (same thing really). And probably a number of the non-Tea Party Republicans as well. So, you can see, I should DEFINITELY NOT be president. Lucky for me (& the rest of the world), I have no desire to run for office.
In the political realm, I do what I can, which amounts to voting, signing a petition or two (usually on-line), and that's about it. Oh, I pay attention to what's currently going on, but I do my best not to follow it too closely. Preferably not closer than a mile or two. I just get too angry. And there is too much wonder, beauty, and magnificently strange weirdness in the world to pay attention to the mundane and crass pettiness of the human behavior found in what passes for politics in these modern (there's a word for you) times. 
Humans. You can't live with them, and well... if your my friend Albert, or any of his friends, you definitely can live without them. Albert, of course, is a not so small black bear, who is quite a champion for animal rights. Doesn't think much of humans, however.
Anyroad. I have things to accomplish, fascinating conversations to have, and many wonderful books to read. It doesn't look like the world will be ending in the next few moments, and until it does, or I do, I will forge ahead, do my best to enjoy life, and immerse myself in whatever experiences I can. Will I get angry upon occasion? I expect so. But I am learning to let it go. The world is a wondrous place. And life is too short to waste it on the moronic.    

In A Perfect World...

I seem to be disappointing my mother by not posting anything to this blog as of late. Well, we can't have that...
...And so, a quick word squeezed in at the end of the day. A beautiful fall day actually, even if it does feel like October in September. But I do like October quite a considerable amount. Even if it does come in September.
It's very difficult to explain CFIDS to someone who isn't very (VERY) familiar with it. The only ones who really are, are those who have been afflicted. Which is why I don't bother to try. And there are far worse situations to find yourself in life. After all, it's not fatal, even if it doesn't have a cure. 
There are three things that have managed to keep me going, and made my life not just bearable, but worth living. Exercise is one, mainly my morning 6 mile jogs, which I would like to say I do every day, but some days I'm just not up to it. As they say (that damn they, again), some days you get the bear, other days the bear gets you. 
Another is my leading ESOL conversation groups for Literacy Volunteers. It keeps me connected to the world, and it is probably the best thing I have ever done. And in truth, I have never had a more wonderful time doing anything.
And finally, my books. Reading has always been a great pleasure for me since I was very young. I can still remember one of the first truly scary stories that I ever read, when I was 9 or 10 years old. On many days when I simply don't have it in me to face the world at large, books are, and always have been, there for me. 
Which is what brings me to the end of today. There are many writers that I admire, and I have a great appreciation for their work. But every once in awhile, a writer I have enjoyed, actually connects with me. I'm not sure exactly how to explain it. The story becomes more than a story. Within the framework of a fictional story (I don't read much nonfiction; unfortunately it mostly puts me into a coma) the Author is able to bring me to some core of truth, about life, about human beings, of which the story is just the medium that carries this hidden meaning of life and the world. Not sure I could explain that any better.  
Today I really connected with a British writer, Kim Newman, best known for his Anno Dracula novels, and stories of the Diogenes Club. I finally got around to reading an earlier novel of his that I had wanted to read for a long time. It was just reissued recently. Jago. That's the title. Anyroad, it's a monster, over 643 pages. I started it on the weekend and finshed it tonight. As I said, I always enjoyed his work, but now, well...I'm not sure words could express my appreciation of what this book did for me. And, no. I'm not saying it would do the same thing for you. But he definitely reached into my unconscious, and reached me on a deeper level. Besides, the book was worth readin just for the story and his wonderful characters. 'Nough said. 
On that note. I am keeping my bird, Eddie, up with pounding on this keyboard. He doesn't complain much, he really is a marvelous companion, when he's not driving me crazy, which really isn't as often as you'd think. So, pleasant dreams...hope life is treating you well...

The Life of a Superbird Can't Be Easy

Dealing with my immune system related issues does make day to day life a bit more of a chore than the average healthy individual. And yes, I do complain a lot. Usually only to a select few individuals, who do make my life a bit easier in more ways than just listening to me bellyache. Like my friend Eddie. 
Eddie of course, is a captive audience. He spends a good bit of his time in a cage. It's a big cage. Including the play top with a perch on top, it's just about 5 feet tall. Even when I'm home, and the door to his cage is almost always open, he likes spending a good part of the time in it. He feels safe there. But, before I adopted him from a Humane Society Shelter, I believe his first caregiver kept him in a cage for his first 12 1/2 years of life. He's still afraid of the world outside of his cage, but he's gotten his little toes wet gradually over the 5 years he's been with me, and he seems to enjoy spending time on my shoulder, as long as I don't move around too much. He has balance issues. He never learned how to ride a human early in life, so it's always a work in progress.
There are a few things I really enjoy in life. A morning jog; a strong cup of tea (Tazo Focus, I love that stuff) with honey; leading a conversation group of people of mixed nationalities who are doing their best to learn a confusing, and sometimes mind-boggling new language; an occasional good movie; and always, a good book to read. Lots and lots of books to read. Those are a few of the things that make my life bearable. 
There is nothing, however, that makes me feel the way I do when I am relaxing on the couch with my legs up, and my friend Eddie is sleeping on my foot. It is a warm feeling that is indescribable. And I have to wear these old, ripped and falling apart running shoes, because they are the only shoes he will sleep on. It's a small price to pay. The shoes will be here until one or both of us has moved on. As much as I dread the thought of his passing, I do hope that he goes first. Cockatiels don't usually survive the loss of a caregiver they have a strong bond with. But they can sometimes live longer than 30 years. So, God willing, and the creek don't rise, we both might be around for a while, yet. One can only hope.
Ah...please don't mention it in front of him, but certain mixed color cockatiels have a genetic problem with maintaining feathers on the top of their heads. It doesn't, however, bother him in the least as long as you don't talk about it when you're in his presence.   

Turnip Stew @ the End of the World

I sometimes stew in an odd ('tis I that is most likely the odd thing in this stew) mixture of melancholy, mania, depression; a desire to accomplish things close to my heart (mainly reading and writing), feelings of inability to accomplish not just those precious acts due to physical and mental exhaustion, but also feelings of being unable to stay on top of those trivial responsibilities that I must, at least in a timely manner. I have been in and out of  this funk (more in than out) not just for days or weeks, but months now. So, am I dying? Could I possibly be psychic, and have entered a state of semi-despair (not really sure what a state of this nature would actually be, but I would think not quite as strong as despair itself) due to foreseeing the approaching end of the world as we know it? I don't think so, even though it's possible, I suppose.
Since I was young (well, younger than I am now), I have been prone to bouts of depression where I would lose the desire to speak. In fact, I would feel incapable of doing so. Upon occasion during my teens it even happened when I was with friends. I would become overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness, or spiritual depression (a depression of my spirit might describe it better). They, of course, would pester me to snap out of it, and eventually I would.
As with some experiences in life, these dark moods of mine are something I just have to ride out.
Lucky for me, I do have an excellent support network to aid me through these trying periods of blah. This includes my mother, a sister, an incredibly wonderful and wacky group of ESOL learners, of whom most I am blessed to call friends. And of course, one bird, and one bear. Albert, with whom I have a common spirit, even though he is a black bear, doesn't put up with my self-pity. He calls it a great failing of the human animal. And Eddie. Perhaps my most marvelous of friends. He puts himself completely in my care. He trusts me enough to sleep on my shoulder at times, as well as on my foot. Although he will only sleep on a ratty old pair of running shoes, no others will do. And when he's happy, he sings his little lungs out. Well. I'm not sure you would call it singing. More like a lot of yelling and wild bird calls, with some shrieking thrown in for good measure. It can be annoying once in awhile, but he is a living lesson of what it is to be alive.
So, even when I am in the doldrums, as I am now it seems, I am in good hands all the same. And of course, not just hands, but paws and claws as well, with some colorful wings to boot. Bring on the end of the world if you will. I am one helluva lucky fella'. And I won't go quietly. Later, Humans. Be well.   

Chasing the Elusive Clown with a Flower

No great satisfaction to be had here, at the moment. Oh, I don't really have much to complain about. Although being a sometimes typical human, I do feel it to be my duty to complain about what I can. Things I can't complain about today: the weather, since it's a beautiful day here in southern New England; today's schedule,  my only appointment is with a book, and maybe a little head-rubbing of Eddie's (my little cockatiel brother) feather-challenged crown; and my physical well being, as I have food to eat (both healthy and not so healthy), wonderful tea of many different varieties. And I did get in a decent jog early this morning, which was hollowed by a wonderful shower. Then I was able to enjoy three of my favorite TV programs: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, The Colbert Report with Steven (or is it Stephen?) Colbert, and 2 hours of Doctor Who. What more could I want? 
Aahhh...You shouldn't ask that question. 
Anyroad. For myself, I am content. But it would be nice to have the money/power (sometimes they equal the same thing) to fix all the world's problems, and give all people (the good, the bad, and the evil) exactly what they deserve. But then, I am only human. And in the end, what I enjoy most, is making people laugh. My dream would be to bring laughter to all the people struggling along in the world, who truly need and deserve it. 
And, me thinks, that is what makes me the happiest. Laughter. Not to laugh alone, but to share it the way you share a life affirming meal. So. Complain if you must. Be sure to appreciate what you have. And do your best to laugh as often as you can. 

Giant Birds, Wonderful & Scary Bears (Ok, One Wonderful & Scary Bear), & Wackos (Both Good, & Bad)

I've been quite lax as of late in maintaining a blogging flow, so to speak. Mainly due to sleep issues, which are related to my continuing battle with CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome). But they still say it won't kill me, and because I have to take care of Eddie, my little brother of the cockatiel persuasion, and provide a sanctuary as well as look for Albert, my cousin (he doesn't like to think of himself as being closely related to humans) of the large bearish type, I can't kill me. Besides. My mother, sister (one of them, anyway), and brother wouldn't forgive me.
Anyroad, while wrestling with what little sleep I could snatch from the jaws of insomnia last night, I had a strange and disturbing dream that bordered on being a nightmare. I was at my Mother's house, where my sister (the one I don't get along with; I have two), had let Eddie out of his cage. I was attempting to get him back into his cage, but he had grown to human size, and he was wearing clothes. And I, Eddie and his cage were in the bathroom. At least the window wasn't open. Although if it had been, Eddie would not have fit through it in his new giant size. The only meaning I can draw from this particular dream, is that I am a very disturbed individual. 'Course, I knew that already. I blame it on the very disturbing world we live in.
Which brings me to wackos. My heart goes out to all those who were killed, injured, or with family and/or friends either killed or injured in the Boston Marathon bombing, and the subsequent aftermath. I don't how a bomber, suicide or otherwise, or a mass murderer of any kind is created. But I do know it takes hate, a seriously twisted mind or minds, and the mistaking of great evil for something good. The end result is a wacko of the worst, and most dangerous sort.
A wacko of the best sort, is one who views life in an "outside of the box" kinda way, and has an excellent sense of humor, although some people might consider his/her sense of humor somewhat irreverent, and even inappropriate upon occasion. But he/she, like all the best wackos, has a great reverence for life. All life. Yeah, I know a couple of those. Even some famous ones. Some people might even think I'm a bit of one myself. More recently, I was called a weirdo. I suppose I am, sorta'. But a very nice one. Honest.
Anyroad, it was about 70 degrees out there today, with plenty of sun. The trees are budding, flowers (at least some them) are blooming, birds are singing, and there's a bear sleeping under my bed. I don't know how he does that. I can barely get under there. Albert is mostly a nocturnal creature while he stays with me. He complains there are too many people around with guns. He is of the belief that humans shouldn't be allowed to have guns at all. I can understand his point of view.
So. Be well, be strong of heart, and take care of each other. If you see a wandering black bear in the moonlight some night, don't shoot him. He's a friend of mine. And if you see a very large cockatiel dressed in clothes, I can only assume you are some kind of a fruitcake.