nikkij

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One of my hobbies is to research our family geneology and to find out what I can about family history. The same curiosity drives an interest in ancestral cultures and languages, most notably Norwegian (for my family) and Swedish (for my husband's). I'd like to share a poem written by a Norwegian poet, Henrik Wergeland (1808-1845), from his work Mennesket. (Man). I did not do the translation (I'm not that good!) but I certainly understand the spirit of the world he reached for with these words.

Heaven shall no more be split

after the quadrants of altars,

the earth no more be sundered and plundered

of tyrant's sceptres.

Bloodstained crowns, executioner's steel

torches of thralldom and pyres of sacrifice

no more shall gleam over earth.

Through the gloom of priests, through the thunder of kings,

the dawn of freedom,

bright day of truth

shines over the sky, now the roof of a temple,

and descends on earth,

who now turns into an altar

for brotherly love.

The spirits of the earth now glow

in freshened hearts.

Freedom is the heart of the spirit, Truth the spirit's desire.

earthly spirits all

to the soil will fall

to the eternal call:

Each in own brow wears his heavenly throne.

Each in own heart wears his altar and sacrificial vessel.

Lords are all on earth, priests are all for God.

Pilot Mountain, Central NC

That's what I got from the manager of Walmart after slipping on something terribly slick in the detergent aisle and falling on my bum. I also scraped my knee and got whatever the substance was all over the back of my clothing. My husband was in a nearby aisle, so I called him. I couldn't get up again without help because my shoes kept slipping out from under me. The manager who eventually showed up asked if I needed a doctor. By then I had brushed myself off and decided I needed nothing more than to get home. It was nearly 10 pm, and I had already been stared at by enough people. (The only one who offered to help was a tiny, frail old woman with a husband in a scooter. God bless her. I thanked her and asked her to keep her distance, because I didn't want her to fall herself...) So, since a  spray bottle was the last thing on my short shopping list, I asked him where I might find one. He sent another employee to fetch one, which he could give me for "free", and then he pulled a wrinkled one dollar bill out of his wallet, and handed it to my husband, explaining that he had to get to a meeting, but I could use the dollar to buy the bottle. Now, that's what I call service! I know the solicitousness was all about making sure I wouldn't sue... but I admit I held out hope that maybe they would have offered to cover the entire $12.76 cost of my order. Ah, well... apparently it was too much to ask for a sore bum, wounded pride and scraped knee. :D

a.k.a. "What I Learned From a Cat"
A 44-pound feline -- 30 pounds overweight --  has been all over the news. While many of the people who comment on the stories are a bit tired of all of the fuss, I can't help but watch him with interest. I am a cat-lover, and I am sure that has something to do with it, but I also find it interesting that this kitty struggles with a problem all too many humans know too well.

While "Prince Chunk"  (or princess, depending on who you ask, since his gender had been reported both ways) is a rather exceptional feline, he's not alone in the fat cat world. Prince was found on the street, as was our cat, Monte, and the street seemed to have created some rather interesting behaviors in our kitty:
- Monte would take food of any description he could find. It was a few years before he quit ripping into unopened tortilla chip bags to steal chips.
- Monte would eat in huge quantities and intimidate any other cat so that it wouldn't get much to eat. We finally had to feed the kitties in different rooms. It was like he wasn't sure he would ever eat again.
- If we weren't careful, the steady supply of food he had access to in our home caused significant weight gain. If there was food, he would eat.

Now, I am no psychologist and I am no animal behaviorist, but I can conjecture! It looks to me like Monte, who apparently lived at a school and supplemented his diet of mice and lizards with tidbits from children's lunches, had developed both a taste for the wrong foods (anything vaguely palatable) and a fear that his next meal may be a long time in coming, so he ate like crazy whenever he could. He has scars all over the front of his body, which means he was the aggressor in many a fight, and he was engaged in a fight for self-preservation. No small task on the streets of Los Angeles.

There's no telling a cat that it is safe in a new home, with plenty to eat and no need to raid the chip bag. There's only showing it over time, and providing healthy food and plenty of security. That's exactly what we did with Monte. We fed him regularly, loved him, kept him indoors out of harm's way and convinced him, eventually, that his old behaviors weren't necessary.

Monte is now the cat at our house (we have two) that is second to eat. Our much smaller female cat gets first dibs, and he will stand back and wait until a second bowl appears. Chip bags exist unmolested - even after they have been opened - and while Monte is a bit chunky, he's not the enormous cat who had trouble cleaning himself properly that he became when first given what he needed on a regular basis.

I can't help but think that this type of dynamic must exist for many of us who have issues with food. We eat improperly because it meets some need, and even when we are placed in a safe place and given healthier choices, it sometimes takes us a while to figure out that we don't need to eat the way we used to.

I lived with another family when I was in my very early 20s. At one point, the mom of the house pulled me aside and said, "this unhealthy behavior" (pick one!) "served you really well when you were in an unsafe situation, but you are safe now. You don't need to do that anymore." It was a revelation. While she wasn't talking about food, the same thing applies.

Like other maladaptive behaviors, my unhealthy eating behavior has served me well - it helped me make it through some painful experiences. In that sense, it wasn't BAD. It was functional in that situation. However, what is bad is not figuring out that I have other options. It's not noticing that I am no longer "on the street" (to use the Monte analogy) and that I don't need to do that anymore. I can make other, healthier choices.

Prince cat probably has his own history. Genetics must play a role, as must his behavior, resulting from whatever his story has been. The role of the vet and his new someday family will be to help him realize that his days of wandering the streets at 44 pounds are over. He's got a new lifestyle open to him. All he needs to do is learn to live with his new boundaries.

Perhaps that is easier to do when you are a cat locked up indoors, receiving your food on schedule and enjoying exercise in the form of interactive play. Most of us, however, won't ever live lives that are that structured. We, however, have something that cat does not -- the ability to choose our own paths. We can see unhealthy for what it is -- useful, when we needed it to survive, but no longer necessary in our lives -- and we can choose to embrace something else. It's harder, for sure, but it also comes with perks... like being able to look back someday and see how far we have come on our own steam. Because no matter what tools and support we may choose, help is only help when it is embraced, and that is always our own singular choice.

So, when is unhealthy okay? When it is your story - your past. When it moves out of the way to make way for your future. It's okay when you can look at your own life and tell yourself the story: "here's where you came from, and that's okay. But look, just look where you are now! More than that, look where you can be tomorrow!"

I tend to read the news online every morning. It has become a sort of ritual. Over time, I have seen plenty of strange stories, but one headline this morning really caught my attention:

Death Row Inmate: I'm Too Fat to Execute

I am clinically obese. I have been for years. If I am honest, I would have to confess that I have sometimes let my medically significant but not debilitating weight problem become an excuse for avoiding things. It never occured to me, however, that weight might be an excuse for not facing societal justice.

I read the rest of the article in utter fascination.

The inmate in question has been condemned to death for the rape and murder of two young women. He's 41 years old, and he says that his veins are hard to find and that the effectiveness of the anesthetic used to reduce or eliminate suffering may be made ineffective by his weight. Complicating matters, apparently, is the migrane medication he takes, which may also interfere with the drug metabolism. In short, if they cannot administer the anesthetic effectively, the execution process will be excruciating.

There are soooooooo many issues that could be raised here. However, in this space I'm going to ignore many of the most obvious ones. Laying aside the issue of whether the death penalty is a good idea in the first place, whether someone who has brutally violated and killed other people should be spared suffering and whether there's some room for him to make an effective argument on medical grounds... I just want to look at one little thought that stuck in my head upon reading it: may I never suggest that I am too fat to face the consequences of my actions--no matter how unpleasant!

Here's  a  rather  sad  commentary  on  the  dangers  of  nighttime  grazing.  You  don't  have  to  walk  on  two  feet  and  have  access  to  the  gentle  glow  of  a  refrigerator  light to  suffer  the  ill  effects  of  eating  all  through the day and night. You need only to have somebody feeding you  24/7, as these poor  monkeys have  figured  out. Despite the  rather  questionable  quips about tummytucks, this is a sad  reminder of  how  primates, who  share  quite a lot with us  in terms of genetic  material also share  our propensity to  overeat when  opportunity  presents  itself.

From the food excess files:

The Absolutely Ridiculous Burger. Only $350... and enough food to feed a small nation.

With tabloids proclaiming that size-2 actress Jennifer Love Hewitt "looks more like 'Jennifer Love Chew-it'" Is it any wonder we women have body-image issues and unrealistic ideals?

Singing, to be precise.

When I am not working or otherwise playing I have been recording on SingShot. It's a great outlet for someone, like me, with a history of performing live and not many opportunities to do so these days. I'm not a fan of karaoke in general, but I'm hooked. I figure I'll post songs here periodically... if I can get the code to work!

Here are two of my newest recordings (using my new recording equipment! YAY!) and one of my older showtune renditions. I hope you enjoy them. :D