Friday, December 24, 2010
sweet dreams and flying machines
The flying machines were magical and unconventional and hovered and darted like hummingbirds. Sometimes in my dream, one of the machines would crash. I could always tell when one of these machines would be in trouble, but could not help but look on in horrified amazement. There would be a terrible explosion with flames bursting forth from the crash sight and when that would happen, it would always be nearby, within running distance. I could feel the intense heat emanating from the wreckage as I approached to render assistance. This dream recurred so often, I began to believe the sky was filled at night somewhere with these machines. For me, the flying machines represented the possibilities that existed, that still exist, while the ones that crashed were the cautionary tales of the potential failures or tragedies that can occur in life. The fact that these wondrous machines flew in the darkness of night when the world was asleep, well, I believe this was a manifestation of the secrecy of my own special dream and the magical pleasure that was mine alone at discovery. Interestingly, this dream recently resurfaced; a reminder that perhaps we never outgrow them.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
mochi
Thursday, December 16, 2010
deadly icicles
Milk carton photos still haunt me and I remind myself not to be lured by the promise of sweets even though I am well beyond this prospect. (Although, if you think about it, in a way strangers still offer us sweets with less than good intentions.)
As I grew older, I suspected her behavior would abate. I had at some point become “aware” and capable of logical thought that one would think, would arm me to steer away from the array of mine fields that awaited me. But no, this was not the case. If anything, my mother’s fear and consequently, her warnings, only intensified. I would often find newspaper clippings (on my desk when I lived at home, and later, in the mail when I moved out) validating her worst fears. Debris from trucks in front of you on the freeway could come flying out of their beds, only to impale you. Furnaces could affixiate you in your sleep or even worse, water heaters were capable of exploding like bombs, doing double damage as they fell back to earth from their initial explosion launch. I did my best to embrace these fears and do whatever was necessary to avoid the calamities that obviously faced the uninformed (which amounted to the rest of the entire world).
But at some point, I realized this fear had overwhelmed my mother to the point that it crippled her. She had stopped living and experiencing things because of the potential danger they presented. She truly believed that death or injury awaited her at every corner. It was a startling revelation. I chose to abandon a trove of fears that had been ingrained in me (well, it’s all relative isn’t it?). I began to tease her mercilessly each time she brought up a cataclysmic scenario. “Yes, Mom, carbon monoxide poisoning in your sleep would be a senseless way to die, but hey, it doesn’t sound like a bad way to go . . .” We can choose to board the plane at the risk of it going down or instead, choose not to visit a place we’ve never been before. We can choose to attend the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics and be killed by sniper fire or a carefully placed bomb, or miss a once-in-a-life opportunity to be there when it takes place in our very own city. Yes, danger is out there, but so is opportunity and discovery and wonder and exhilaration. I personally choose to go with the promise of those good things rather than impending doom. Call me foolish. I don’t mind. Truth be told, I’m still probably more cautious than most.
Ironically, if anything “gets” me, it will probably be some affliction that stems from the years and years of second-hand smoke my mother and father exposed me to during my life with them. If this were to happen, my mother would have most likely preferred my death be by falling icicle.
early onset dementia
When I was about 5 or 6 years-old, I was something of a hypochondriac. I think it stemmed from the fact that I had newly entered the world and to my dismay, had discovered it to be a potentially hostile place, full of germs, bacteria and diseases that could cut my already short life even shorter. It didn’t help that my mother’s favorite television shows were Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey, an abundant resource for new diseases or physical afflictions that I could adopt as my disease du jour. Eventually, I grew out of it. Somehow I realized that you could attribute the slightest sensation to any potentially disastrous symptom. Yes, I felt fevered, but the body temperature runs at 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. And yes, we all get headaches once in a while for whatever reason, but that does not necessarily mean I have a tumor. And so, like many childhood traits, my hypochondria dissipated in the greater fog of adulthood, until recently.
A few weeks ago, I had lunch with my best friend from Junior High through college. He announced that he had recently been diagnosed with early onset Dementia forcing him into an early retirement. As proof of his condition, he was now drawing from the coffers of Social Security, a process that usually takes several application attempts for even the most legitimate of reasons. He bragged that he was approved upon the first attempt, external validation that his was indeed a serious condition. He detailed the worst moments of realization for him – the time he forgot something in his hotel room and as he turned, he knew that there was no possible way he would be able to retrace his steps to his room. Or the time he was being tested for his condition, and he began to sweat at the simple algebra problems, especially frightening since he taught math at a private school. He has good days and bad ones and laughed at the fact that he had always prided himself on his intelligence. He was remarkably calm and accepting as he relayed all of this to me, but I sat quietly horrified. Hadn’t I been forgetting things lately? I’ve been having problems identifying actors and actresses and their filmography at recent screenings of movies. This used to be something I could do with remarkable speed and accuracy. Now I had to Google them. And I HAVE left my cell phone at home on more than one occasion, my one essential device that keeps me accessible to the world. Perhaps I, too, have early onset Dementia!
Now, I observe myself carefully, scrutinizing every mistake I make. I’m slowly convincing myself that I’m just getting older and that these little incidents are a reflection of this and not a symptom of a greater malady. I suppose if I were really concerned, I could get tested but that however, seems to only validate how ridiculous I’m being about the whole thing. So, I’ll continue to monitor myself carefully, looking for any telltale signs. I’m still capable of algebra and every morning I’m successful at the word scrambles in the newspaper. There are larger issues to worry about anyway.
In the meantime, I worry about my friend and wish him well. His mother was supposed to be dead months ago from a severe incurable blood malady that has doctors looking at her in the way they would look at a zombie from the Walking Dead. Yet she thrives, pain-free, in what seems to be perfect health with no symptoms whatsoever. I’m hoping my friend will fare as well from his diagnosis. If attitude were any indication, I’d have to bet for the most part he will be fine. I’ve come to realize through all of this that it is essential that we all enjoy every moment and give thanks for the blessings we have. Life is a transitory thing and who knows when it will be taken from us?