I've worn a watch most of my life. For awhile, it seemed like I was replacing watches every other year, but I've had my current one for quite some time now. It's been through multiple bands and batteries. It was a gift from my wife - she thoughtfully bought a digital one with stopwatch and lap features, useful back when I was running regularly (and caring about my pace). I don't need such precision when I run any more, a sundial would be more appropriate.
A few years ago, I received a watch from my wife's father for Christmas. It was a very expensive analog watch set in a very cheaply-made, custom-fitted band. I liked that watch, and for awhile I wore it instead of my old watch. I like analog watches. They don't lie to me as badly as the digital ones. If I glance at an analog clock and the little hand is barely above the five and the big hand is near but to the left of the twelve, it's telling me the time is "almost five". A digital clock would say something like "4:56", which may or may not be true, depending on the accuracy of the watch and if it was precisely set. I know, most analog clocks have little tick marks around the clock face indicating the minutes, but to me, their diminutive size indicates that they are to be viewed merely as suggestions, at best. I always feel a bit of added pressure when setting a digital watch - I'm just not that precise a person. I wore my new expensive analog watch until the band broke. The band and watch are tightly integrated. Replacing the band appears far from trivial. That's the problem with expensive things - they are expensive to fix. Some day I shall fix this watch, but for now it keeps perfect time out of sight in a desk drawer.
Lately, I've been questioning why I wear a watch at all. My eyes have gotten bad enough that I can't really read the time unless I have reading glasses on. Usually, if I'm wearing reading glasses, I'm in an environment where there is also a clock within sight. Also, I'm typically toting my cell phone and IPod around with me. They've both got clocks as well (theirs are also unreadable without my trusty glasses).
So, maybe I'll stop wearing a watch. Or maybe I'll buy a really, really big one.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The Unwelcome Guest
As I listen to my son mourn the loss of a pet I am reminded of what a fickle thing grief can be. Just when it seems that it has gone, it returns fully and without warning. Each sob from my son pierces me, partly because I hate to see him hurting and partly because I don't know how to help him. I am no stranger to grief yet I cannot find the words to comfort him. In fact, it is this familiarity that has taught me how futile my efforts would be. Grief is a sometimes necessary part of life. It arrives like an unwelcome house guest and stays until it chooses to leave. You can try to keep it locked in a room but that just keeps it around longer.
And so, I sit here with my son. He's okay right now but I know his sobs are far from over.
And so, I sit here with my son. He's okay right now but I know his sobs are far from over.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Visiting the Doctor
I went to the doctor recently. This was a major milestone for me as I really don't like going to the doctor. I woke up one morning feeling nauseous and experiencing severe vertigo. The vertigo seemed to be the cause of the nausea and it seemed to be isolated to particular head positions. It was at its worst when I was lying down. Once I sat up, the room stopped spinning.
I had a bout of positional vertigo about a decade ago that felt like this. At the time, the doctor warned me that I may be susceptible to the condition in the future. That morning, I figured that was what was happening. No need to see the doctor - nothing to do but tough it out until my body adjusts.
For the next couple of days, I woke up feeling nauseous and dizzy but gradually felt better as the day wore on. Everything was going according to plan. Then on the third day, I woke up feeling okay. As I lay in bed, I thought it odd that I would recover so quickly - much more quickly than the last time. At that point I reasoned that I must have been suffering from something else, an inner ear infection, perhaps. Whatever, I was all better. At least, until I got out of bed. It turns out the vertigo-inducing position had shifted. Now, if I bowed my head slightly, the room spun out of control.
Luckily, I live in a culture where bowing is not a common occurrence. If I had been, say, in Japan, I would have been completely incapacitated. Instead, I went about my day, careful to keep my head up. It was one of my best posture days ever.
I began wondering about my illness and its cause. I made the mistake of checking an online diagnosis site. What I found was that the causes of vertigo range from the fairly benign to the incredibly serious. Still, I tried to convince myself that it was probably an inner ear infection. After all, that was one of the most likely reasons. Then again, I did whack my head pretty hard a couple of weeks ago and many of my symptoms could be attributed to a mild concussion.
After a week of okay days and bad days, I finally made the appointment to see the doctor. I woke on the morning of the appointment feeling the best I had in more than a week. I tried valiantly to induce a vertigo episode but with little success. My head still felt a little fuzzy, but no spinning. I entertained the idea of cancelling the appointment, but didn't because I'd had a couple of okay days earlier followed by bad ones.
I like my doctor, I truly do. I only avoid seeing her because I hate to disappoint her. The last time I saw her, she advised me to come back for some follow-up labs in about three months and to lose at least ten pounds. I decided to wait for the follow-up until I'd lost the weight. That was three years ago. I hated to return now, to have her see me this way. I hadn't lost ten pounds. No, as if to spite her, I'd gained ten more instead. She would not be angry, just disappointed. I knew that she would want to draw blood, get some lab work, see how much my added fat has increased my cholesterol. Even though they hadn't told me to, I fasted before the appointment.
I made it through the appointment. My doctor was disappointed in my condition but it did brighten her day when she learned that I had fasted. Like a mechanic working on an old car that hadn't been regularly serviced, she took the opportunity to address whatever issues she could. She took blood for lab work and gave me flu and tetanus shots. After examining me for a bit, she concurred with my diagnosis that I likely had an inner ear infection and that I was apparently almost over it. Again, she recommended I lose ten pounds (apparently ceding me the ten I should have lost from my last visit).
I received a report from the clinic the other day with my lab results. Most of my numbers look pretty good but my cholesterol is up a little. My doctor had written a note on the report advising me to lose the weight, exercise more and come back for a follow-up in three to four months. I'll go back but I think I'll wait until after I lose the weight.
I had a bout of positional vertigo about a decade ago that felt like this. At the time, the doctor warned me that I may be susceptible to the condition in the future. That morning, I figured that was what was happening. No need to see the doctor - nothing to do but tough it out until my body adjusts.
For the next couple of days, I woke up feeling nauseous and dizzy but gradually felt better as the day wore on. Everything was going according to plan. Then on the third day, I woke up feeling okay. As I lay in bed, I thought it odd that I would recover so quickly - much more quickly than the last time. At that point I reasoned that I must have been suffering from something else, an inner ear infection, perhaps. Whatever, I was all better. At least, until I got out of bed. It turns out the vertigo-inducing position had shifted. Now, if I bowed my head slightly, the room spun out of control.
Luckily, I live in a culture where bowing is not a common occurrence. If I had been, say, in Japan, I would have been completely incapacitated. Instead, I went about my day, careful to keep my head up. It was one of my best posture days ever.
I began wondering about my illness and its cause. I made the mistake of checking an online diagnosis site. What I found was that the causes of vertigo range from the fairly benign to the incredibly serious. Still, I tried to convince myself that it was probably an inner ear infection. After all, that was one of the most likely reasons. Then again, I did whack my head pretty hard a couple of weeks ago and many of my symptoms could be attributed to a mild concussion.
After a week of okay days and bad days, I finally made the appointment to see the doctor. I woke on the morning of the appointment feeling the best I had in more than a week. I tried valiantly to induce a vertigo episode but with little success. My head still felt a little fuzzy, but no spinning. I entertained the idea of cancelling the appointment, but didn't because I'd had a couple of okay days earlier followed by bad ones.
I like my doctor, I truly do. I only avoid seeing her because I hate to disappoint her. The last time I saw her, she advised me to come back for some follow-up labs in about three months and to lose at least ten pounds. I decided to wait for the follow-up until I'd lost the weight. That was three years ago. I hated to return now, to have her see me this way. I hadn't lost ten pounds. No, as if to spite her, I'd gained ten more instead. She would not be angry, just disappointed. I knew that she would want to draw blood, get some lab work, see how much my added fat has increased my cholesterol. Even though they hadn't told me to, I fasted before the appointment.
I made it through the appointment. My doctor was disappointed in my condition but it did brighten her day when she learned that I had fasted. Like a mechanic working on an old car that hadn't been regularly serviced, she took the opportunity to address whatever issues she could. She took blood for lab work and gave me flu and tetanus shots. After examining me for a bit, she concurred with my diagnosis that I likely had an inner ear infection and that I was apparently almost over it. Again, she recommended I lose ten pounds (apparently ceding me the ten I should have lost from my last visit).
I received a report from the clinic the other day with my lab results. Most of my numbers look pretty good but my cholesterol is up a little. My doctor had written a note on the report advising me to lose the weight, exercise more and come back for a follow-up in three to four months. I'll go back but I think I'll wait until after I lose the weight.
Monday, November 8, 2010
A lesson in caring
I love my kids. Occasionally, if I am having a particularly difficult time with one of them, I will remind them of this fact. The truth is, if I didn't care about them then I wouldn't care if they got to bed on time. I wouldn't care if they finished their homework. I wouldn't care about their dental hygiene. It is precisely because I care about them that I care about all these other things. I am certain there are times they wish I didn't care so much.
Arguments between children and their caring parents are inevitable. As my boys get older, they are taking on more responsibilities for their lives. This is a good thing but with greater responsibility comes greater perceived power. Rules are questioned, negotiations attempted. I try to listen, even when I already know the basis of their case is faulty. To dismiss them out of hand would be rude and might discourage them from future attempts. I don’t want to do that. I want to raise people who are not afraid to question things. Sometimes, the arguments get heated. It is probably a sign of their development that they are able to upset me so. I suppose this is a positive thing, but I sometimes miss the days when "because I said so" was accepted as a valid and reasonable explanation. I'm often surprised at how quickly a simple argument can escalate into a shouting match. Again, I like to think it's because I care so much.
When the boys argue with each other it gets trickier. As a parent, my first instinct is to step in and restore order. But, at some point, they need to learn how to resolve things without me arbitrating. I don't want that job long-term. I usually try to hold back and wait until they work it out or one of them is screaming. I try to limit the screaming, for the neighbor's sake as much as anything else. My older son has the advantage, both in size and experience. He is adept at getting under his brother's skin. My younger son has learned that mom and dad step in when there is screaming. Thus, he jumps to that stage fairly quickly. Not exactly the outcome I'd intended.
Yesterday, the boys and I were out riding bikes. We were on our way to meet friends at a local coffee/ice cream shop. We'd only gone a few blocks when my older son made a remark that I deemed was aimed at irking his younger brother. In this particular case, I also felt that his action had the potential to negatively impact his brother's overall safety on the road. Looking back, it really probably wasn't that big of a deal, but at the time, I was upset. It wasn't the specific incident as much as it was the general issue that we don't screw around when we're out riding.
I began my lecture (perhaps tirade better describes it) as we rolled down the street. I was out front, with my younger son, shouting back at the other (yes, I scream because I care). My older son was lagging behind and, as I finished a rather salient and eloquent point, he shouted back, "What? Dad, I can't hear you!" Aggravated, I raised the volume and gave him the short version of my previous message. He interrupted me midway; apparently still unable to hear me, even though I could hear him fine. I tried a couple more times, feeling the frustration build each time. Still, he could not hear me.
By now, I had passed from upset to angry. I decided I would slam on my brakes and skid to an impressive stop, thus punctuating my mood, and speak to him when he caught up to me. In anger I squeezed the brake levers. Usually, I only use the rear brakes, but this time I clinched both fists. And I learned something. I learned that my front brakes work much better than my rear ones, perhaps because they have been used so seldom. The front of the bike stopped. I kept my grip on the handlebars as I flipped over the front of the bike and landed in the street. If I was going for an impressive stop, I couldn't have done much better than that. As my older son approached, I was still upset, now more with myself than him. "Can you hear me now?", I asked.
I got back on the bike and we continued our ride. I've got an impressive bruise on the inside of my left knee but I know I could have been hurt much worse. My accident scared both boys and made the older one feel bad because he thought it was his fault. In some ways, this hurts more than the knee.
A painful reminder to take a breath once in awhile.
Arguments between children and their caring parents are inevitable. As my boys get older, they are taking on more responsibilities for their lives. This is a good thing but with greater responsibility comes greater perceived power. Rules are questioned, negotiations attempted. I try to listen, even when I already know the basis of their case is faulty. To dismiss them out of hand would be rude and might discourage them from future attempts. I don’t want to do that. I want to raise people who are not afraid to question things. Sometimes, the arguments get heated. It is probably a sign of their development that they are able to upset me so. I suppose this is a positive thing, but I sometimes miss the days when "because I said so" was accepted as a valid and reasonable explanation. I'm often surprised at how quickly a simple argument can escalate into a shouting match. Again, I like to think it's because I care so much.
When the boys argue with each other it gets trickier. As a parent, my first instinct is to step in and restore order. But, at some point, they need to learn how to resolve things without me arbitrating. I don't want that job long-term. I usually try to hold back and wait until they work it out or one of them is screaming. I try to limit the screaming, for the neighbor's sake as much as anything else. My older son has the advantage, both in size and experience. He is adept at getting under his brother's skin. My younger son has learned that mom and dad step in when there is screaming. Thus, he jumps to that stage fairly quickly. Not exactly the outcome I'd intended.
Yesterday, the boys and I were out riding bikes. We were on our way to meet friends at a local coffee/ice cream shop. We'd only gone a few blocks when my older son made a remark that I deemed was aimed at irking his younger brother. In this particular case, I also felt that his action had the potential to negatively impact his brother's overall safety on the road. Looking back, it really probably wasn't that big of a deal, but at the time, I was upset. It wasn't the specific incident as much as it was the general issue that we don't screw around when we're out riding.
I began my lecture (perhaps tirade better describes it) as we rolled down the street. I was out front, with my younger son, shouting back at the other (yes, I scream because I care). My older son was lagging behind and, as I finished a rather salient and eloquent point, he shouted back, "What? Dad, I can't hear you!" Aggravated, I raised the volume and gave him the short version of my previous message. He interrupted me midway; apparently still unable to hear me, even though I could hear him fine. I tried a couple more times, feeling the frustration build each time. Still, he could not hear me.
By now, I had passed from upset to angry. I decided I would slam on my brakes and skid to an impressive stop, thus punctuating my mood, and speak to him when he caught up to me. In anger I squeezed the brake levers. Usually, I only use the rear brakes, but this time I clinched both fists. And I learned something. I learned that my front brakes work much better than my rear ones, perhaps because they have been used so seldom. The front of the bike stopped. I kept my grip on the handlebars as I flipped over the front of the bike and landed in the street. If I was going for an impressive stop, I couldn't have done much better than that. As my older son approached, I was still upset, now more with myself than him. "Can you hear me now?", I asked.
I got back on the bike and we continued our ride. I've got an impressive bruise on the inside of my left knee but I know I could have been hurt much worse. My accident scared both boys and made the older one feel bad because he thought it was his fault. In some ways, this hurts more than the knee.
A painful reminder to take a breath once in awhile.
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