Walt,
I hope the seriously ill readers of the board will forgive me putting my frivolous stories here. I know when I was so sick I could have cared less what anyone wrote that didn’t have to do directly with making me better. Sadly, during that time, I remember I somewhat resented anyone who was feeling good. I can only offer that there is hope in the message you are delivering, Walt. My health is vastly improved. My life abounds with tales of how people in my daily experience react to the changes they have seen in me the last year. THIS story, however, is about a planned meeting with three guys I had not seen in twenty years. We were once corporate high flyers; hard drinking, power political, charlatans of intrigue. Three of the four of us were chewed up and spit out by the system, and we parted ways, or so I thought.
As is common these days, I found them on the Net. The other three had stayed in loose contact over the years. I was the mystery man. We decided on Big Bear Lake as a meeting place. Much irreverent email banter shot back and forth between us regarding the eating arrangements because of my recent habits. I took quite a good-natured beating. I ("Mr. Tofu" was how they addressed me electronically) volunteered to find the cabin. I found a great one.
On the big day, (Would it be "The Big Chill," or "The Secaucus Seven?") I arrived at the mountain top in the dark only to find an empty place. I was supposed to be the last one there, but I found myself alone. The real estate people had not opened the place as arranged!!
It took several late night phone calls (conducted from a smoky cowboy bar, pay phone receiver on one ear, finger stuck in the other, dodging the butt end of a cue stick-) to reach the owners and get the description of the hiding place of back-up keys. They were hidden under a spider infested recess of the porch. Of course the porch, the hiding place, and everything else was locked behind a six foot fence.
No dignified gentleman of my age should have to climb a chainlink fence more than once in a twenty-four hour period. I had to do it three times in about twenty-four minutes to get us into that cabin. I took a pratfall you might have enjoyed watching, Walt. It was so dark that I could not even see the ground as I fell toward it. It was so devoid of light, in fact, that my dignity was secured by the privacy of it all. I did not have to scan the area to see if had been observed.
Of course, had there been a voyeur with night-vision goggles, he would have seen that I was doomed the moment I leaped from the top of the fence. With the scant light of the stars and a distant street lamp, his powerful lenses would have been able to discern the fatal lean in my form. He would have watched as my feeble and inadequate legs strained in duck-like fashion to catch up with my sprawling body. He would not have failed to notice that at the last moment I retracted my hands so as to take the blow with my forearms, for it was too dark for me to commit my hands to the possibility of cactus or jagged rocks. He would not, however, have been able to feel the truly substantial nature of the earth which met my upper torso, or to appreciate the pain of the tearing sensation in the sinew of my aging shoulders. Certainly he would not have heard the involuntary and undignified guttural grunt that was forced from my lips upon contact with the sudden and unforgiving ground. He would have been amused, however, to observe that my attempt to spring quickly back to my feet was really a pathetic, stage by stage, butt in the air struggle to get upright again. At that point the "Big Chill" seemed to have turned into "The Big Spill."
But I did, by God, get into that cabin, although a place with five bedrooms and two fireplaces should more accurately be called a "vacation home."
The next morning I was joined by Tad and Consuela. Tad was once my boss in the corporation, and Consuela is his wife sans ceremony. The weekend wa
In Reply to: THE BIG SPILL posted by Jim on March 21, 1998 at 15:45:05:
Dear Jim,
I am new to the board, but I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed your story. What was your medical condition, and what methods did you use to alleviate it? I am a GERD sufferer and am currently taking perscribed medication. My condition is not improving. Some days it's a struggle just
to breath.
Sincerely,
Lynn
In Reply to: Re: THE BIG SPILL posted by Lynn on March 21, 1998 at 21:15:35:
Lynn,
I, too, was a GERD sufferer. Conventional medicine was of no help to me either. I went through a series of medications and was told I had hiatus hernia, mitral valve prolapse, and esophageal erosion. I experienced chest pain, insomnia, anxiety attacks (Two visits to the emergency room), reflux, ringing and fluttering in the ears, tightness in the throat, and shoulder, back pain, and just plain felt miserable.
I got rid of much of the early symptoms by use of an anti-depressant and a tranquilizer. I used the respite to deal with some stress and to improve my diet. I thought I had licked it, since the symptoms abated. Later I showed up with hypertension and arthritis in knuckles, knees, and hip, and bouts with depression. The other symptoms began to creep back as well.
It wasn’t until I began to learn about the reasons behind the GERD that I was able to get after it. When it’s all said and done, Dr. Stoll’s advice seems deceptively simple. It is actually quite difficult and more complex than it looks. If you undertake the cure, you will undoubtedly run headlong into your lifestyle.
You will need to read the stuff about GERD in the archives and get Dr. Stoll’s book. Reading the board daily was essential for my own education. It is all time consuming, but I don’t think there is a short-cut.
Dr. Stoll will answer your questions.
Good luck, and let us know how you are doing.
Jim
In Reply to: THE BIG SPILL posted by Jim on March 21, 1998 at 15:45:05:
Dear Jim,
As always, I thoroughly enjoyed your story. I don't think that sharing stories like that is frivolous. Humor and laughter are also hgealing modalities. As we all travel the path of healing, I think we become too serious, almost obsessed (sometimes needed if we are REALLY ILL), and we forget how enjoyable and relaxing laughter can be. I so often think about your story of waking up with your dogs. We have similar scenarios at our house.
I'm glad you got to see old friends. That is so special. And, of course you are right about sharing, but accepting people where they are coming from. When they are ready, they will take the necessary action. Did you have some Arnica gel to use on your sore muscles?
Thanks again for sharing,
Linda
In Reply to: Re: THE BIG SPILL posted by Linda Hynds on March 22, 1998 at 15:46:59:
Linda,
Thank you for your kind words and healing wisdom. I’m glad to hear you like my little stories. Writing them gives me a profound lift. A major aspect of my journey is learning to see and appreciate the joy and humor of common every day events and sharing them. There is magic in the mundane if only we can keep our eyes open in wonder.
My meditations are slowly deepening. I am learning to leave my achievement orientation behind. I have had to give up being a transcendental black-belt! (Stan Laurel grin)
Jim
In Reply to: THE BIG SPILL posted by Jim on March 21, 1998 at 15:45:05:
Dear Jim,
I had just about resigned myself to doing without your "frivolous stories" until summer. As your responses indicate, they are not frivolous but as profound as I think they are. We have been archiving them so they are never lost to the world. I always finish one of your creations with a sense of satisfaction that lasts the rest of the day. I am not sure why but I think it is your unique ability to communicate your beautiful spirit through the printed word. It is always a work of art.
Welcome back, my friend. I think you do more good for people here on the BB than I do. I bully them into working. You heal them just by your presence.
Namaste` Walt
In Reply to: Re: THE BIG SPILL posted by Walt Stoll on March 23, 1998 at 12:07:36:
Dear Walt, March 22, 1998
I'll continue to drop a story in from time to time, I'm sure. I can't seem to not. And, whoa, Bill, what a great job on the archive! I'm in Walt's library! The Zintz File!! I love it!
Jim
(And I think I learned the date trick.
Dear Walt,
Life is a great mystery these days. I look at decisions I make and the actions I take and question where the inspiration for them could have come from. Is good fortune a hybrid goddess of luck and practical jokes, or am I actually growing wiser?
What is wisdom anyway? In my more cynical moments I wonder if it is just something that happens as a result of the decline of the body’s production of testosterone. Could it be just a consolation prize at the Senior Olympics?
Is wisdom an achievement or an entitlement? If it is an achievement, how is it earned? Good works? Hard work? Hard knocks? Fort Knox? Fortitude? Attitude? Altitude? Altruism? Any "ism"? If it is an entitlement, how come some of us never seem to get any? And at what age is one supposed to retire from the wages folly to an annuity of enlightenment anyway?
I can hear all the "process" prophets out there chanting, "Wisdom is not a destination, but a journey." Or the relativists reciting, "Nothing is either dumb or smart, but thinking makes it so." Or the wise guys cracking, "Wisdom is like a certain body part, everybody has it." Each and every club seems to have its own motto.
Here’s what I know about wisdom: The cops look like they’re getting younger all the time, and every once in awhile I break an old pattern and make a choice that seems to work out better than the ones I made in the past. In my case, these forays into common sense are usually an accident (unless one looks at accidents as synchronistic events, but that is another story).
This is all really a story about my "crisper." I’m referring to the drawer in the refrigerator which should more properly be called the "wilter," or maybe even the "rotter." This enclosed compartment is located way too low in every refrigerator I’ve ever had. One has to bend over or squat to get at it. Certainly this placement does not promote thoughtful inspection of one’s produce.
Refrigerators just do not seem to be designed for vegetarians. While we store our vegetables with the best of healthy intentions, we usually discover them in various degrees of droopiness some weeks later. Worse, we may find a chlorophyll-based slime at the bottom of the drawer reminiscent of the movie "Soylent Green."
In the past, the only time I ever took my crisper out was to toss the contents and wash the plastic down. But then I undertook a wellness program which included becoming a whole food vegetarian, and my modest "plant food" storage space filled to overflowing. As often as I was down there on the floor, rummaging through the organic bounty in the bottom drawer, you would think the freshness of the contents would be assured. Yet, I could always find limp carrots, wrinkled radishes, or slimy lettuce leaves infecting their neighbors.
So I began a daily preventative maintenance program. Each morning I pulled out the drawer and put it on the counter. From there it was easy to poke around and weed out aging produce. I pulled off the outer lettuce leaves, removed the radish tops, floated the roots in fresh water, and cut back the withering edges of the bell peppers, that sort of thing. While I was about that purely defensive maneuver, the day’s menu became obvious; it was a matter of eating the stuff that would be thrown out the next day if I didn’t eat it right away. Soon I realized I could use the same time to make a salad and maybe sauté a little something to nuke at lunch.
It wasn’t long before I recognized I had discovered a really good idea. I called it, "working my rotter." Now I was saving time and waste. So simple! Just pull out the crisper and place it on the counter. I could be in touch with my food. The "down to earth" part of my personality glowed. This was truly a consciousness expanding activity, and I was very pleased with myself for discovering it.
With self-satisfaction I shared my kitchen technique with a friend. She looked at me with a blank face, except for the slig
In Reply to: Work Your Rotter posted by Jim on March 31, 1998 at 17:27:22:
I have had the problem with things "going south" in the bottom of the refrigerator too. I don't put anything in there that I don't have to (i.e. tomatoes, oranges, apples, etc.) I end up putting sweet potatoes, red potatoes, etc. in the bowl with the fruit. Sometimes I think that the reason vegetarians don't take too well to stress is that they get too much high frequency brain energy from the food or something like that. I have been experimenting with some plant enzymes and they seem to tax my brain metabolism even more. I really have no desire to go back to eating meat for a lower frequency "grounding"--I'm hoping yoga might work for that. Mary J.
In Reply to: Work Your Rotter posted by Jim on March 31, 1998 at 17:27:22:
I just wanted to say that was a neat post it got me thinking, so there are two of us that didn't realize what you discovered! Thanks for sharing!
Steph
In Reply to: Work Your Rotter posted by Jim on March 31, 1998 at 17:27:22:
GREAT POST!! Jim, you add such character to this BB. I look forward to your posts and read them first.
I have to admit, I too, was in the dark. This is a wonderful solution to all of the "science projects" in my refrigerator.
Thanks, Bonna
Posted by Walt Stoll on April 01, 1998 at 11:56:31:
In Reply to: Work Your Rotter posted by Jim on March 31, 1998 at 17:27:22:
Dear Jim,
Once again, thanks for your enlightening words! You are forcing me to, once again, learn that HOW one says things is critical to whether one learns anything from them.
Of course, you know that only people that live at least 50 miles from their fresh vegie source should PUT things in the "rotter". Europeans think nothing of going to the market every day to buy the things they are going to eat that day.
Not a bad plan.
Also, there is something to be said for giving up fresh vegies for frozen ones. The time that counts is how long between harvesting & eating. Frozen vegies have the least time between harvesting & freezing (whereby the deteriorating micronutrients are put in a sort os stasis)--
certainly a lot less time than the "fresh" vegies you can get in the market. Of course, some of us live close enough to a "farmer's market" that we can better the grocery store timing. However, not by a whole lot. Still, the frozen vegies have a lot higher % of micronutrients than what you can reliably get unless you grow your own & eat then directly out of the garden.
I know, about this time, you are shaking your head & gritting your teeth. Wellness IS a journey---as is wisdom. I guess that makes me a "process prophet"? Of course, it is all the other things you mentioned as well. Remember the story about the descriptions of the elephant by all the blind men?
Even using the freezer "rotter" can be a problem if you plan on leaving what you buy in there more than a week. Pay special attention to the dating on the stuff you get from the freezer in the grocery store.
Hope this helps.
Dear Walt,
Yes, it does help! Thanks for the information. Here is a reflection on your reply.
I once lived in the rural Gadsden Valley, where cotton farming flourished in the alluvial plains of the Rio Grande River. (History buffs will recall that, like the Indians of
Manhattan, the Government of Mexico was filched of this most extraordinary land with what amounted to trinkets). Ahh, but it was a magical time. We lived communally in an ancient wood-frame house. We were young, idealistic, and we had chosen the Teacher Corps over the Peace Corps. Our wonderful old house was leased from one of the prominent farmers who was willing to support our work with the poverty-level children. Just outside the back porch was a most hugely bountiful garden (a couple of acres). Like a corporate cafeteria, the garden was available for all of the farmer’s tenants to browse. More to the point, whenever he came around, the farmer would remind us to use the garden in a way that bordered on demanding; good-natured, but insistent!
I can’t think of a kind of vegetable that wasn’t in that garden. We tried everything. We even put ONLY one whole jalepeno in our first soup, (knowing that they were supposed to be hot). Jalepeno lessons are profound and everlasting, and that is why we made a second soup the same day as the first. Ellie baked a braided bread to go with it, and we dunked and slurped our way to heaven that afternoon.
For months we lived next door to that "live produce section," and every shopping trip was an Easter egg hunt. One was never quite sure what would be hiding just underneath the broad and succulent leaves (or, for that matter, whether the leaves were meant to be eaten!). Because others used the garden, prized issue would often disappear before we could get to it for our pre-dinner harvest. But no matter, there was enough for all, and I’m sure we disappointed others by plucking their favored pieces as well.
But that was eons ago, and now it only lives in my heart along with the nostalgic memories of the idyllic slow pace of the rural river valley, the spectacular sunsets, and the mystical clouds, which were huge flat-bottomed Peter Pan islands in the sky. We knew we had it good, but now, in the
We are all embodiments of the same creative spirit, but we cannot realize it most of the time. Maybe that is why people go to holy sites. Some people climb high places and leave graffiti, some go to buildings with stained glass and vaulted ceilings, some balance in the snow or in the surf on planks of varying shape, and............. and, well, some folks only have to sit in front of a keyboard.
Diego Fontana
- - - - - -
SACRED FIELD TRIP
From where the bus was parked, it looked like any ordinary desert dry wash, hardly the awe inspiring scene I had imagined. The ranger led the group of twenty-five third graders on the nature walk as I policed up the rear, herding stragglers ahead of me. She spoke as we walked, telling us about the ecology of the land and explaining how the Indians had survived the harshness of this area. Our destination, somewhere up the trail, was the petroglyphs, the pilgrimage site of the Indians. We stopped frequently to admire the usefulness of this bush or that, and to be reminded how delicate the web of life is that binds all plants, rocks, and animals in the desert. Translated, that meant, "Kids, keep your hands off."
By the time we arrived at the rocks, the petroglyphs themselves were a bit of an anti-climax to us since we had already encountered a diamondback rattle snake on the trail up and had stopped to observe a fat chuckawalla clinging to the sheer face of a boulder in the manner of his Mesozioc ancestors. Living things energize the kids far more that inanimate rock writing!
Dividing my time between shepherding eight year olds and examining the rocks, I noticed two things. They are not rock carvings, they are more like rock poundings. The designs are not dug into the rocks, they are beaten onto them. Also, the shapes are so abstract and strange, one is puzzled by the meaning these men were trying to convey. And who said it was only men? We believe the women pounded the rocks only to grind food, make dyes, or perform some equally practical task, don’t we? But were there those among them who made quests when moved by the spirit? I know some today who would have.
And I wondered what brought those people up here? What constituted a "holy" place for them? How pathetic, I thought, for these particular Indians to have been driven out to this desert land (for surely they must have been driven out of the more lush lands by stronger tribes) and to have to settle for this uninspiring patch of rocks to scratch their messages to the future.
I was gripped in this dismal thought when I turned and saw what had been behind me the whole time. The splendor of the entire river valley was visible from up there. I had been so focused on the rocks directly in front of me that I had not realized how steep a climb we had made to get up there. Facing the valley now, I looked out, and the ground at my feet receded and fanned outward, down and down, and out across the valley and up the other side to a range of mountains as high as these on which we stood. Nothing came between us and the distant horizon. The clouds were majestic cathedrals in an endless sky, and the river was a snake, winding below to a vanishing point at the end of the valley. Then I understood why this place was special to those long ago people. If one of the kids had chosen this moment to take a swan dive off one of the boulders, I probably would not have noticed.
But the field trip ended without incident, and soon we were all back in the classroom in the buzz of our daily lives. And when the last bus had pulled out, I sat in the empty room, the tide of chatter receding in my ears. I smiled to myself, knowing all the places where the diminutive pilgrims of this room have left their own messages scratched on the desks. These "petroglyphs" I understand, for their purpose is simply to announce to all who come after, "I was here!"
- - - - - -
Who knows, Walt, maybe that's also why I write. This story rolled
In Reply to: Sacred Field Trip posted by Jim on March 01, 1998 at 10:38:50:
Dear Jim,
I for one am going to greatly miss your postings here. You are a wonderful and entertaining writer. Too bad I'm not in your class. :-D
Take Care,
Terrie
In Reply to: Sacred Field Trip posted by Jim on March 01, 1998 at 10:38:50:
Dear Jim,
We ALL will miss your gentle wisdom & inspiring notes!
I will look forward to having you back.
ALL of life is a big field trip. I am grateful for your helping us focus.
Namaste`, my friend, Namaste` Walt