Lifestead

Creating a new word isn't easy.  I don't care for amortality -- living agelessly -- because of its automatic association with death and because it seems contradictory -- you're praised to be better at it the more aged you are.  It also seems too artificial, LasVegasy, soon-to-be waterless.

I moved on to alife and belife, already used as product or company names, then joylife, which a cancer support group has taken.  I like the timelessness of joylife.  To paraphrase "The Christmas Song" (a/k/a "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire"), joylife could apply to anyone "from one to ninety-two."  If Mel Torme and Robert Wells were writing the song today, I bet they'd find a way to fit in a bigger number than 92.  After all, our life expectancies have increased nearly 30 years since not long before they wrote that song.  Haplife came to mind, as a combination of happiness and the idea of viewing any given day as a half point in your life, but haplife also is taken -- not just by an insurance company.

Lifestead grabbed me and has stuck for the moment.  Lifestead.com appears to be defunct and no one else is using it (are you?).  It bugs me that someone else thought of it, but that's life, isn't it?  Lifestead suggests steadiness -- through good and bad times with strength and persistence.  It offers a parallel to another word I like, homestead or homesteading -- seeking a level of self-sufficiency, higher than most, on your own piece of land.  Lifestead -- seeking a high level of existence during the life that is all you have, whether or not it be everlasting.

"Where did this come from?" says Virginia.

A bunch of places.  Rob Bell, the evangelical minister who questions the existence of hell.  Shirley MacLaine, who has been here and there again and again (I don't mean hell).  Life Line Screening.  National healthcare.  Marathoner Grete Weitz killed by cancer today at 57; the vision of Waitz finishing the 1992 NYC Marathon with 60-year-old Fred Lebow who was fighting brain cancer at the time.  Mastering a spring flu or cold or combination and taking a "brake" from running.  A summer garden soon to be planted.  Free-range eggs and raw goat's milk.  Karen walking with a friend.  Books, updates, poems, stories to write.  Music to play and be written.  Son to watch man-becoming.  Artichokes waiting to be transplanted outside.  Life to be, life to watch, smile.

Lifestead on Elk Cliff Farm.  Like.

Cholesterol Fact and Fiction

I feel conspiracy paranoia settling in -- energy (12 years of Bushes and their connections), war (Bush/Cheney and Halliburton), finance (Bush/Obama and Goldman et al.), oil spills (Obama and BP), and food (everyone).  This food business may be the scariest of them all, because it's so personal.  Maybe I should see my psychiatrist about an anti-conspiracy pill. Oh, I forgot, I don't have one, although I certainly should.

It makes sense that what we put in our mouths could kill us.  Think back to Socrates, who supposedly carried out his own death sentence by drinking hemlock.  He thought he had a philosophical basis for his action and it wasn't "transfat."  Jesus, to the contrary, let his detractors do the deed.  And we're supposed to admire Socrates?

As times goes on, I wonder what we'll discover about our food.  A couple label-readers in my family were comparing bags of snack food the other night.  If I remember correctly, considering the same serving size, each package noted the presence of the same x grams of saturated fat, but one package claimed it was 2% and the other 3%.  Someone suggested maybe it was the result of rounding, or maybe one was 2% of weight and the other 3% of volume (I'm sort of kidding here).  Whatever, I'm sure each was very accurate, aren't you?

One of Karen's friends related a story told by a mutual acquaintance of ours.  He was "having trouble" with "high" "cholesterol levels."  His doctor said, "I'd like you to do something.  Humor me.  Stop eating 'low-fat' foods.  Drink whole milk.  Eat eggs, both their yolks and whites.  Then come back and see me."  When the fellow returned for re-testing, his "cholesterol levels" were normal.

As I rejoiced about my recently lowered "cholesterol levels," one of my brothers suggested stress might be the cause of heart trouble -- that is, higher stress leads to heart trouble and lower stress prevents heart trouble -- and that cholesterol intake might be irrevelant.  I Googled the idea and came across numerous entries addressing the "cholesterol myth," including an article by a purported physician who attempts to debunk the idea of various connections between ingesting cholesterol and heart disease (http://www.becomehealthynow.com/ebookprint.php?id=1112).  According to him, the idea is ludicrous; he says "dietary intake of cholesterol has no impact on the level of cholesterol in your blood."  He also criticizes the characterization of LDL and HDL as "bad" and "good" cholesterol, partly because HDL is a lipoprotein, not a cholesterol.  Maybe one of you is better able than I (I'm useless) to determine whether his arguments make any sense.

"Perhaps food-fussing is stressful in itself," says Virginia, "contributing to the stress that might aggravate heart disease?"

"I don't know," I say.  "Balance in all things (or many things) might be the answer.  I hope we don't discover that fish oil, flaxseed oil, and multivitamins cause cancer or heart disease.  I 'm about ready to drop everything in favor of goat milk.  So much for balance."  (See "Goat Milk Magic" (April 30, 2010) at http://holesinmyjeans-kpannabecker.blogspot.com/.)

Blood Curdling Results

Yesterday's posting (Fool's Joy) mentioned a second reason to call it a great day -- the reinstatement of my wellness discount by our health insurance company.  Last May, the company told me I was bound to run up exorbitant medical bills and/or about to die so I wasn't entitled to the discount any more.  Of course, I immediately sank into a funk, during which I set up two more garden beds, tortured Karen into adopting free-range chickens and goats, ran a marathon every week, and entered into a multi-year book contract -- anything I could think of to prove the insurer wrong.

When I recovered slightly, I started marching, demonstrating and writing every Congressperson I could think of to push for a provision in the health care bill that would prohibit dropping me from coverage for preexisting conditions.

After the bill passed, the company surrendered.  "Okay, you can have it back," cried the Wellness Coordinator during our weekly conference call, "if you promise to stop running those insane weekly runs."

"Now you're the drama king," says Virginia.  "Tell us what really happened.  Maybe it will help someone."

All right.  The first thing I did was enforce my previous resolution to take a bowl of oatmeal by mouth once a day.  Second, I joined Karen on her twice daily consumption of organic (with the "mother") apple cider vinegar tea -- 1 cup of warm water, 1 tablespoon vinegar and enough honey to taste (about a teaspoon).  Third, I took a 1200 mg fish oil capsule each morning.  Three months later, my followup blood test showed a 19-point decrease in bad cholesterol (LDL).  My good cholesterol (HDL) had stayed the same, so it wasn't enough to move me into a satisfactory ratio.

Back to the drawing board, I don't know what made any difference but here's what I did:

• Continued the robust bowl of oatmeal every morning almost without exception, even when I wasn't hungry (3/4 cup raw old-fashioned oatmeal, 1/2 cup raisins, 1 1/2 cups water, and enough milk so Karen could tease me of drinking soup).

• Continued taking the apple cider vinegar twice per day, but toward the end of this period rejected Spectrum organic for Bragg's organic. To save money, we had switched.  Hold them up to the light and compare the cloudiness.  Bragg's may well be worth the extra cost.

•  Took a 1200 mg capsule of fish oil daily (after breakfast; if I took it before eating I'd feel like puking and even so, expect to taste fish the rest of the morning).

• Took a 1300 mg capsule of flaxseed oil daily.

• Continued my exercise program at least 5 days per week, including 30 miles of running and extensive gardening.  Toward the end of this period, I upped the running to 6 or 7 times and a total of 37-40 miles per week.

• Drank free-range raw goat milk daily.

• Ate free-range chicken eggs (2-3 times weekly, plus use in baked items).

On March 31 I revisited the local vampire office and a few days later received notice that my overall cholesterol was down 16 points, my LDL had fallen a little farther, and my good stuff (HDL) had risen 20%, all within the company's 2009 acceptable ranges. 

I called the Wellness Coordinator.  She suggested I send the results with a letter describing what I'd been doing. 

"I bet you felt like you'd passed an exam," says Virginia.

Yes, but I didn't celebrate with a burger and fries.

Drama Kings and Queens

I ran to our mailbox this morning, expecting a letter from my health insurance company telling me my premium has risen because, well, "we were going to drop you due to high cholesterol, but now we can't because of the new health care bill," or maybe a notice that I needed to find another insurer because mine was filing for bankruptcy.  I thought I might see a line of panhandlers outside the post office smiling because "now we have health insurance," and waiting at the ATM, a 25-year old who thought he could spend more of his paycheck because mom and dad were adding him to their health care policy (and then he remembered he'd never signed up for a plan after their company dropped him when he withdrew from school).  Maybe the envelope in my mailbox would have a new name in the return address (United State Government Insurance Plan) along with a letter that began:  "Dear fellow socialist..."

Phew!  I was relieved when none of this occurred.  Based on news reports and speeches on the floor of the House, I was worried.  Shoot, I forgot: tomorrow is on its way; these things still could happen.

Andres Martinez, writing "The Next American Century" in the March 22 issue of Time, suggests, with refreshing optimism, "don't believe the prophets of doom."  He says anyone raised in a different country will tell us that the two strongest impressions he or she has upon arrival in the U.S are: (1) what a great country this seems to be; and (2) what a mess it must be, judging by the tenor of news coverage and political discourse.  He goes on to say:  "Overwrought, constant hand-wringing about the nation's decline is one of America's competitive advantages, reflecting high standards and expectations...."  We have little tolerance, he says, for accidents or other calamities; we investigate, postmortemize and litigate bad stuff until it is clear who it to blame and why it won't happen again.  "Then we go on fretting about how the nation is falling apart."

"Don't you think it would have been better if a few Republicans had voted for the health care bill?" says Virginia.

"Yeah, sure," I say, "but they, like the Democrats, say we need health care reform.  In fact, everyone's been saying that for years, so after 8 years of nothing (except wars and bailouts that demolished the Clinton budget surplus), it's about time."

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Our December snow blanket protected my root crops for over a month.  A few days ago I finally managed to dig some up.  Dinner last night included crummy carrots and perky parsnips.

"I fed carrot peels to the chickens," Karen said this morning.

Think apples.  "Carrot peels?" I said, "Where did you get them?"

"From dinner last night," she said.

Think apples.  "We didn't have carrots for dinner last night," I said.

"Yes we did, with parsnips and cabbage," she said.

Light bulb.  "I thought you said apple peels."

It's not an age thing.  It's -- well -- I suppose it's what Tolle says in A New Earth -- not listening to the "now."

A few years ago, when I was an arrogant twenty-something, I assumed everyone saw things the same as I did.  I'm not talking worldview or viewpoint.  I knew people had different opinions.  I'm also not talking about inattention.  I realized that people who witnessed an event remembered it differently and often inaccurately.  Nevertheless, in general, I thought everyone, unless disabled in some way, actually saw, heard, smelled, sensed the same objective experience.  Something cold was cold.  Green was green.  Wet was wet.  A middle "C" was a middle "C."

Then one day I was put on hold.  Music began to play.  While I waited, I switched the telephone receiver to the other ear.  I returned it to the first ear, then to the other, again and again.  Weird.  Each time the music moved up or down a half-step in pitch.  To this day, I don't know if it's my ear or my brain.  But a "C" isn't always a "C."

"Was it an epiphany?" says Virginia.  She's teasing me.

"No, but gradually I've lost confidence in what is real.  I may still be arrogant, but I'm interested in what others think happens."

"Especially when they see ghosts?" It's Virginia again.

Especially when they see ghosts.

[How about a comment?  What have you noticed?  If you have trouble entering a comment, leave the URL blank, choose Anonymous, and add your name or not, as you wish.]

Period

.  I began this posting with a dot, a frequently used symbol that's accustomed to appearing at the end.  It knows better, of course.  A speck.  From dust to dust.  A divider or connector, too, between things like tenths and ones.  It's also good for abbreviating, as in Wis.  Ubiquitous.  Maybe in my next life, I could be a period (when I was a child, the conclusion of Handel's Messiah taught me how long a period can be)

...on second thought, I might choose an ellipsis, closely related but a bit or two more special, open-minded, nonjudgmental, without the bad connotations, such as the once a month doldrums that visit most of us...

everything is wonderful and then, suddenly, a boom lowers.  Two days without broadband was no big deal, but on the third CenturyLink is toast.  Someone asks the conductor how he wants to pronounce "Jesu," he says "Gee-sue," and three months' practice of Christmas music becomes puke.  A sixty-two degree indoor temperature is a great way to kill bacteria and then, bam, it's killing us.  Our views of Thunder Ridge and the James River Face could content us for life; shazam, wouldn't it be fun wandering the streets of Paris?

"Yes," says Virginia, "it's marvelous to have options -- in the mind as well as real life.  Some people don't, you know."

Mad

Do you know what's really sad (and irresponsible)? That all of us have friends suffering from cancer and instead of choosing to tackle cancer like we responded to Sputnik, we've spent more than $3 trillion in Iraq and Afghanistan. (Sputnik shocked the U.S. and inspired us to invest in scientific research and education.) $3 trillion! We could have used it for good things, such as fighting cancer, providing excellent health care, and feeding the hungry.

Let's make this personal, as we must. My father died of cancer 12 years ago. He deserved better then and his memory deserves better now. My mother, my in-laws and my sister-in-law are cancer survivors. If your loved ones are suffering and you think our money has been well-spent, think again.

You might ask yourself this question. In 2001, assuming you're part of a family of four, would you have been willing to write a check for $40,000 to the U.S. government to pay for these wars? That's $3 trillion divided by 300 million U.S. residents, times 4. If you would have been willing then, do you think you would be pleased with your investment now? Make that -- are you happy with your investment now, because since you didn't write a check, the $40,000 amount waits to be repaid by your children and grandchildren, with interest of course, even though it has vaporized?

Virginia says my numbers may be wrong, but the logic is right. One of her neighbors says we may burn in hell for this.