Walking the Dog

Barbara and I ate at the Chinese buffet tonight. "Six Fortune" is one of our weekly haunts. True to form, I ate enough to hamper my breathing and make me question my judgment. That food is too good. When we got home, we decided to take a walk.



My geriatric dog Hobo loves to go for walks. His hind leg muscles are deteriorating causing a major loss of strength. He struggles to stand and sit. The vet has him on "dog celebrex" which helps some, but the poor dog is slowly wasting away. He will be 13 June 1.



Our nightly routine used to include taking Hobes for a walk. We somehow quit walking regularly. I cannot even remember when we walked last. Tonight, I grabbed Hobo's leash and asked him if he wanted to take a walk. When he hears the word walk, he cocks his head to one side. It is very cute. I did not have to ask him twice. We were out the door and Hobo was back in his element. There was a whole neighborhood to pee on to let the other dogs know that Hobo is alive and well.



When Hobo was younger, he was much stronger. On more than a few occasions, he pulled Barbara around like a skier behind a motor boat. If Hobes saw a cat or a squirrel, he would take off. I handled him quite a bit better, but every now and then he would catch me unsuspecting and nearly dislocate my shoulder as he did his best to chase a cat. One house we walked by had a cat who was often outside. If Hobo saw the kitty, he would lunge to get at it. He would be barking like a rabid dog and the cat would look at him like, "you're on a leash moron, you can't touch this." Sometimes people would stop their car and ask Barbara, who is walking who?



Tonight was a taste of the old days. We had to laugh. As we took about four hours to go around the block due to Hobo's slowness, we got to reminisce about familiar landmarks. There was the junior high school gym, where John played his first basketball game at age 7. We thought about all of the games we attended there through rec league and eventually the school team, of which he took part. We went to parent's night meetings in that gym. Then it occurred to us, what in the world is going on? The kids who attend junior high today are so young. Why, even the parents look young. I don't know how that can be. They were not that young when we were there with our son, were they?



As we walked, Hobo sniffed and peed like old times. It was sultry this evening and the whir of air conditioners droned on in the night. The chorus of night sounds serenaded us. A frog was in the road, and I shooed him off into some brush in an attempt to spare his little life. I did not want him to croak. In relative peace and calm we strode slowly through the night air. We were aware of the passing of time. As if standing on a bridge and watching a river flow past us; a puppy grows up and is in the winter of his life; a boy becomes a man and is heading into the fullness of his life. We watch it all flow by, feeling many things at once. Pride and gratitude are muted by an uneasy sadness. The flowing river of life is full of hellos and goodbyes. I doubt we will ever comprehend it, we will just have to accept it and enjoy it.



I have lived my entire life to get to this one evening in May 2004. I took a walk and reminisced. I acknowledged gratitude for some of my blessings. I was aware of the temporal qualities and though with a measure of sadness, was accepting of it, choosing to enjoy this moment like I do a magnolia blossom in the spring. It won't be there in a month, but it is here now and I will breathe it in. I will gaze at its beauty. When it is gone, I will wait with anticipation until I see it again.



Your mind can take snapshots of your beautiful moments. They will be there to browse just when you need them to lift your spirits.



Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket. Save it for a rainy day.

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket. Never let it fade away.





Until the next time

John Strain

Potpourri

Play Doh: Here is another hodge podge of free flowing thoughts. This post is like the can of Play Doh made up of bits and pieces. Remember the swirling colors? OK, a show of hands, who has eaten Play Doh? Not bad, a little salty. Then remember the smell. I always rolled a clump in my hands and made either a male sex organ or a piece of dog poop. After getting a few laughs and if the teacher didn't catch me, I would make a pancake or something equally creative. Silly Putty was neat for pressing on a comic strip. When the Silly Putty was lifted up, presto, like magic, the comic strip was now on the putty. I had fun stretching and distorting the characters. I did not have the patience for clay. It was too hard. Anything I made was pretty crude. I guess in more ways than one.

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What's on TV?: My son works for Circuit City selling TV's. The other day he was selecting the channel to be displayed on the televisions. What is on one television is on them all. So he chooses Lord of the Ring which was airing on HBO. John went about his work, then he took a break and ate lunch. When he returned, there was no one in his department. Lord of the Ring was over and all of the televisions from the smallest 5 inch to the 63 inch giants were displaying a nude couple in the throws of passion. He said two people were going at it on a sofa. He quickly ran to the receiver and switched programming to ESPN. Apparently, no one noticed. I could just imagine what might have happened. "Mommy, what's that man and lady doing?" "Is he hurting her mommy?" "No, then why is she screaming." "Are they worshiping mommy? That lady keeps saying, Oh God!" But none of that happened. Phew!

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Connections: On a sincere and serious note . . . It is easy to get busy and focus on what you have to do in my work and not on the individual you are trying to help. A new patient means another group note, a social history, releases of information to be signed, talking with family members, and other tasks. This process can become mechanical. Today, however, I made a connection with someone. I felt like I made a difference in this person's life. I think there are a lot of nurses, social workers, physical therapists, doctors, and other health professionals who are in their job just going through the motions. This condition is not a result of disinterest, lack of concern, or sloth. Instead, I think it is the result of a heavy burden of paper work and ungodly regulations from state and federal authorities. Going in, one has an impression of what it would be like to be a nurse, social worker, doctor, physical therapist, and so on, then reality hits. Good intentions, motivation, and years of school meet redundant paper work created by lawyers for lord knows what purpose. Images of working with people are replaced with the reality of writer's cramp and laborious rules which make little to no sense.



I suppose most professions are like this. Today though, I made a connection with someone. I will write about it someday. I cannot now, because I am paranoid of the HIPPA laws. More laws to protect privacy, but in actuality make it more difficult and costly to deliver health care, especially psychiatric care.

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Coach: I am considering retaining the services of an online coach. It costs $100 for 12 weeks. The guy is an accomplished runner, coach, and author. I really want to qualify for the Boston Marathon and I think having a coach to lay out my work schedule would be the ticket. I would be accountable to him, so my pride would get me out of bed in the morning. I have a good 6 months before my next marathon, so this guy could have me primed and ready to go.

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The Year's At The Spring: While spring is making its way to my friends in the great white north, summer is almost here in the south land. The mornings are quite hazy and humid now. Cool is a word I will use less and less until perhaps next October.



Here is one of my favorite poems about spring. My mother had it hanging on her wall for years. It may still be there.



The year's at the spring

The year's at the spring

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn:

God's in His heaven—

All's right with the world!

Robert Browning





Until the next time

John Strain

Free Associations

In the psychology biz we refer to associations as either being "loose" or "tight." An association refers to the logical connection of thoughts. In the old days, associations were tested more formally. The psychologist would say a word and the patient would say the first thing that came into his mind. For example, if I were to say "hot," you might say "cold" or even "John Strain," hehe, just kidding. If I were to say "up", you would probably say "yours" or "down." These are tight or normal associations. Loose associations are thoughts which have no apparent logical connection. For instance, if I were to say "black," a loose association might be tooth pick or mosquito. Today, associations are not evaluated formally. Instead, assessment of associations is done in conversation. If the thoughts are not logically connected and if they are difficult or even impossible to follow, we say that person has loose associations. This post will be an example of loose associations, because I am going to draw from some unrelated items and put them here with no apparent logical connection.



A psychologist was testing one of his patients using the Rorschach test (ink blots). After examining the first ink blot, the doctor asked the man what he saw. The man replied, "I see a naked woman." The psychologist produced the next ink blot, to which the man described a naked woman putting a golf ball. "Hmmm," the doctor said scratching his chin. He then showed the patient the third ink blot. "What does this appear to be," asked the doctor. "Oh, this is a naked woman doing her algebra homework," the man said very sure of himself. The doctor stated, "you seem to have a one track mind." The patient, shrugged and replied, "hey, they're your ink blots."



If you would like to take a brief ink blot test, try this one. I found it quite accurate:



Take an online Rorschach (ink blot) test

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My friend Mollie, sent this to my inbox. I guess you could say she contributed her two bits to this post. You won't want to miss the picture she has posted of John Kerry's daughter. She is almost nekkid. You can also see it here.

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In honor of the movie Troy, why not see which Greek God you are most like:




Hercules

?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla

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I had a long day Monday. Up at 5:00 AM, got in my run, work by 8:30 am, off by 5:45 PM, then I had a city planning meeting which lasted until 9:00 PM. When I got home I was really hungry. I said to my wife, "I am so hungry, I could eat the ass end of a menstruating skunk." If you think that line is funny, I made it up. If you think that line is disgusting, then I am only repeating what my friend Marty from the Mississippi delta taught me. Basically, that line meant I was really hungry.

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OK it is late so I am heading to the rack.



I am behind on my blog reading and commenting, but will catch up.



Here's to a less busy Tuesday.



Until the next time

John Strain

It's Not About Me

If I had to identify one understanding I have about interpersonal relationships that is most important, I would say, "It's not about me." I will explain. When people become angry or hurt, it is usually because they believe someone is singling them out. They feel the object of some plot just to piss them off or belittle them.



I, of course, learned this the hard way. I would be wronged, then make myself miserable for days hashing and rehashing the incident. Often times, the person I had the feelings toward was oblivious to my strife.



I would mull over questions like, why did they do this to me? How could they? What did I ever do to them? My gut would have that old churning feeling and it would take several days for me to get over it. I do not like anyone to be upset with me and I am a pleaser. These two characteristics make me ripe for upsetting myself.



Then I learned a little secret. What "person X" did was more about them than about me. This is simple and liberating if one takes it to heart. I still care about what people think of me, but if I am criticized negatively or snapped at, I do not immediately upset myself. My first thought is, "what's with them?"



We should not lose site of reality and what is appropriate in a given situation. The ability to break things down is important. If one does not possess this skill, they may under react or over react.



In counseling, the understanding of "it's not about me" is one of the concepts I most frequently teach. People come to counseling because they are upset about something. Often, their understanding of what is appropriate is askew. If the patient is really lucky, they think their conflict is about them and not about the other guy. It truth, it is about both, but people skilled at bothering themselves prove themselves adept at painting themselves into emotional corners.



So, next time someone tells you to shove it, don't wonder what you did or what is wrong with you, wonder what is up with them. Maybe they are having a bad day. Their dog may have run away, an unexpected bill may have just arrived. If you hold your tongue, the guy who told you to shove it may just apologize to you. This may be part of what Jesus was talking about when he implored his followers to "turn the other cheek."



Until the next time

John Strain

Clear Skies

Today is as pretty as yesterday was not. The sun is shining and my thick grass awaits a few hours of my toil to give it that curb appeal once again. What a cycle I'm in, I work Monday - Friday, sometimes Saturday. On the weekend, I spend about half a day sprucing up the yard. I enjoy it for a day, then go back to work. Then it repeats and repeats again and again. I wonder why I don't freak out and run screaming into the night. Maybe it is because we need to keep busy even if the tasks are routine. What would I do with an extra half day a week if I did not take care of the lawn? Would I use it to better mankind. Excuse me while I stop laughing. There, I'm OK now.



Lawn care is a huge industry. Think of all of the tools used. There are hand tools like shovels and rakes, power tools, such as electric hedge clippers, blowers, weed eaters, and edgers, then there are power mowers and lawn tractors. Most of these tools require accessories or ongoing support like string for the weed eater, gas and oil for the engines. There is more. We cannot forget hoses, sprinklers, and fertilizer. There is also pesticides and sprayers. If someone were to invent grass that only grew to a height of 2 inches, Home Depot would close down.



Since our economy would probably collapse if lawn care was not a part of it, I suppose I will do my patriotic duty and tidy up my yard today. I just purchased a new blower a week ago, so I am doing my part.



I often wonder how long I can do the yard work myself. I know there should be a few years left in me. I am only 47. I see men in their 70's doing their yard, but they are pretty slow and use lawn tractors. I prefer the push mower, because I want the exercise. The only exercise I get at work is wrestling with a patient every now and then. Thankfully, I am just an extra hand when it comes to that and not the point man.



Time to stop talking about it and time to start doing it, the yard that is, but after my run. I did not do that yesterday either.



Until the next time

John Strain