New post on "Mal's Murmurings"

My latest posting, "Weather Impromptu", can be found on Mal's Murmurings

Running the settler gauntlet : Guardian

"The children flew along the torturous gradients as nimbly as the gazelles we'd encountered earlier on the trail, and – to the untrained eye – the walk through the stunning South Hebron Hills would have appeared utterly calm and carefree. However, that the pre-pubescent players required our accompaniment at all belied the seemingly benign nature of our journey. Were it not for the presence of the international activists, the likelihood of the children coming under attack from nearby settlers would have been too high to risk them setting off for Tuwani from the neighbouring hamlet of Tu'ba. "

Seth Freedman - 'Running the settler gauntlet'.



http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/mar/16/israel-palestine-tuwani-west-bank-settlements

Facing The Void

Perspiration comes at the flick of an invisible switch, trigger factor unknown; unfortunately inspiration refuses to disclose itself. Yes, the body’s thermostat is playing up as usual but, the mind seems to have just stopped functioning altogether. I find myself staring at a blank screen, expecting something, hopefully in a verbally understandable form, to appear. A sense of vacant distraction seems to be the present role-play in which my mind sits uneasily.

I just wonder could it be the lack of caffeine, since last Friday’s doctor’s order, which leads to this almost perfect lack of stimulation. I’ve even sunk back into the nicotine habit, by way of compensation for this absence; I suspect that isn’t what the doctor had in mind. It may be slightly better if I only knew what this decaffeination process was in aid of; which of the multiple ailments, my psychosomatic being endures, will be alleviated by this exclusion from my dietary regime. It almost seemed like an afterthought when my GP threw out this proscription just as I was about to leave the surgery!

Perhaps it will take time before any benefit is realized, if nicotine poisoning hasn’t already undone any prospective benefit. At present I’m all too well aware of an aching void of boredom, taking the place of tearful frustration.

Co-incidentally ...

Having been told by my GP, on Friday, that I had to give up caffeine, I came across an interesting article in one of my beloved's magazines (whilst sat in the loo) this afternoon. Certain words leapt out at me, especially where it referred to the beneficial flavenoids to be found in tea and coffee. This on top of the references to caffeine in last evening's Garrison Keillor's Radio Show (referred to in my beloved's posting on Bright Light).

My life is certainly rich in co-incidence at the present time!

ME/CFS - Challenges of daily living

"Christine Milner is one of 250,000 in the UK who suffers from chronic fatigue, or ME. Here she gives a personal insight into what her life is like.

You wake up in the morning with a pounding head, aching from head to foot.

Your arms and legs feel like lead, your brain seems stuffed with cotton wool.

You console yourself with the thought that by this time next week you'll feel better.

Except you don't. No medication makes any difference to the way you feel, and over the coming weeks and months various doctors and well-meaning friends encourage you to "just do a bit more each day", even though you have as little energy and as much pain as you did that first day."

This is the beginning of an excellent article on living with ME/CFS - the full article can be found in the Yorkshire Post of 04 March 2009 ... Learning to live with challenges of chronic fatigue one day at at a time

Salt Flow

Just when things can’t get any worse, somehow they manage it; Wednesday’s crash (KERRR ..AAAA…SSSH!) was followed by an even greater slump on Thursday. Serially interrupted sleep seems to do little for one’s morale or physical well-being; the emotions make an overt display, this time in the form of tears, not just the odd sob but torrents of salty liquid.

At times weeping can feel quite therapeutic, a sense of having freed ones-self of a deep rooted, repressed, aching frustration but, just as I began to feel more secure, the least little incident opened the floodgates once more (e.g. an inability to accept a phone call). This time I feel that there’s more than a hint of depression to the frustration, and yet in my daily routine I feel that (subject to omnipresent limitations) I have a most positive relationship with the universe. That recent sense of dis-ease with which I occupy my own skin is the only alienating factor – objectively I (subjectively) love life, and everything it throws at me, challenges and pleasures each finding a fit place; all that’s really required is a healthier bearer (body) of my bundle of sensations.

That’s the really odd thing about depression, it bears little resemblance to self-pitying sadness; no matter how much one tries to rationalize this cloud (as to its cause) one is never able to get to the core of the matter. Much of the time I’m completely unaware of its lurking presence.

One is depressed in spite of ones-self, not because of!

Sinna's Kerrr...aaa...sssh!

A sequel to yesterday's 'Transitional Demands' posting can be found on Mal's Murmurings - Go to KERRR ..AAAA…SSSH! - I suspect that the title suggests a lot!

Transitional Demands

What a pleasant surprise; I’ve just been counting the cost and it isn’t half as costly as I’d anticipated; admittedly, sometimes the price is paid later. As a parallel to climbing the property ladder, if one takes too many risks with their “pacing” they have to be prepared for landing up in negative equity. I’ve recently been trying to extend the boundaries of my pacing regime, how else am I going to know what I can manage but, at the same time, I’m listening to the signals my body transmits back to me.

We’ve recently decided on a course of revamping our bedroom, which requires a little shunting around, and spasmodic removal of, the extant furnishings and accumulated detritus. Yesterday was the time to assemble a couple of wardrobes, a task which at first seemed rather daunting, though it proved rewarding as one managed to satisfactorily assemble the said units (despite the manufacturers best endeavours to ensure the misalignment of certain component parts). It proved a rather perspirational endeavour, during which I several times struggled to ignore both pain and stamina thresholds before finally collapsing at the eleventh hour; not a moment too soon. Our friend John, who lives just down the road and had earlier proffered assistance, arrived on his white charger to finish off the task in hand.

An early night being required, by body and spirit, there followed a somewhat restless sedimentation of hours, exhaustion seemingly serving as a barrier to sleep. After 13 ½ hours of bed rest(lessness), aching joints, bones and muscles were hardly in any worse shape than has been the norm over recent months / years, and the brain seemed to be functioning as well as can be expected. A slow emergence into the daytime world was par for the course; sleep eventually caught up with me, early in the afternoon, as I listened (!) to Radio 4 with hands crampingly poised on my laptop keyboard.

For little signs of progress I give thanks but, I am intentionally avoiding any further exertion today, a fair reward for yesterday’s endeavour.

10 Ways to Kill Fatah - Uri Avnery

"Contrary to the demonic image that Israel constructed for him, Arafat was the ideal partner. He was a strong leader and all sections of the Palestinian public accepted his authority completely – including those who criticized him, even including Hamas. He had the two attributes essential for making peace: the will to achieve it and the ability to convince his own people to accept it.

But, strangely enough, our government moved in the very opposite direction. The peace negotiations did not even start. The settlement drive continued unabated. Everywhere in the West Bank one could see the red tile roofs of the settlers springing up. The absolutely essential passage between the West Bank and the Gaza Strip was not opened – in spite of the solemn undertaking of the Israeli government to open four “safe passages”. Not only did the economic situation of the Palestinians not improve, but on the contrary, it worsened perceptibly. Before Oslo, Palestinians could move freely in the whole of the country (including Israel proper). After Oslo, that freedom of movement was restricted more and more." -

Uri Avnery

10 Ways to Kill Fatah can be found at :

http://zope.gush-shalom.org/home/en/channels/avnery/1235859721/

Find out how Malcolm enjoys A PRIVILEGED LIFE! [ The link is to a posting on MAL's MURMURINGS]

Through the night ....

Some days, the body just doesn’t belong to the skin which encapsulates it. No matter what the elasticity may be, there’s quite simply too much flesh to quietly co-exist within these restraints. To be honest, in my case, this experience of existential (and probably somatoform) disease and despair is more likely to occur at night time, when total exhaustion overwhelms the necessity of sleep.

Last night was a case in point; having already been shattered earlier in the day, my recumbent body alternating between disparagingly cold shivers and shudders and clammy overheated perspiration. More about the, most enjoyable, day’s preceding events later**; suffice it to say, some couple of hours before the witching one, I was already in a sufficiently somnolent state to anticipate a solid night’s sleep. Unfortunately, my whole psychosomatic being chose to rebel against nature’s course.

Everything was fine as my beloved snuggled up but, inevitably, there came a time to turn over and, this led to the discomfort switch flicking itself to the ‘on’ position. Left side, right-side, back-side, front-side; none of these postures bore any resemblance to comfort in any manner. Hands under the pillow, between pillows, pillows propped up; none of these proved the necessary perquisite for slumber. But the searing aches were worst of all; starting from shoulders, hips and ankles, these debilitating arrows swiftly became all pervasive.

Each slight movement led to a nauseating tearing of the armpits and the groin; disrobing was definitely the order of the night, pyjama tops and bottoms were swiftly discarded but, it still felt as if, at each susceptible body juncture, these discarded robes were tearing into the flesh. The accompanying sense of nausea, caused in no small part by the post-nasal drip, my all too persistent companion did little to alleviate my overall sense of distress. It was quite impossible to hold back the gut-wrenching screams emanating from somewhere deep within my psyche.

Visits to the bathroom, and occasional dressing gown bedecked ambling saunters around the room, served little purpose other than to relieve the bruising monotony of simply lying there in the hope that sleep would soon befall.

A few years back, similar nocturnal discomforts were par for the course; it’s strange the alarm that their excruciating return causes. Come morning, the longed for sleep (and relaxation) arrived and I’ve just managed to raise myself from the duvet lair at 1.15PM. And I’m here to tell the tale.

**************

**PS (21/02/09 - 8.28PM) unfortunately I've been lacking the necessary stamina or resolve to fulfil this prediction: a very worthy report can be found on my beloved's blog 'Bright Light' - "Our Wedding Anniversary - Part One" and "Our Wedding Anniversary - Aftermath"

Former MI5 boss Stella Rimington accuses government of exploiting terrorism fear | UK news | guardian.co.uk

Now, isn’t this a surprise! !!!!!!!!!!

Former MI5 boss Stella Rimington accuses government of exploiting terrorism fear | UK news | guardian.co.uk

COLONIAL REVOLT …? ..? ..?

I somehow found myself rather disappointed by this evening’s episode (6/8) of “Christianity: A History” (Channel 4), whose premise (according to Radio Times) purported to be:

“the revolution in which the peoples of Africa, Asia and Latin America seized the religion of their former colonial masters …. and are now set to overturn the established Christian world”.

To my surprise, given this premise, there was not even a passing reference to Liberation Theology in any of its manifestations.

We were treated to well worn stories of how Catholicism, in Latin America, was forced to allow the indigenous people to adapt the faith to their own traditions; (the whole history of Christianity’s expansion in the West, perhaps even before the Constantinian usurpation, has been one of adapting to societal and traditional mores). Eventually we came to the threat of splitting the Anglican Communion because the African nations attack such western liberalism as women priests and attitudes towards homosexuality. What kind of “revolution” sets out to turn the clock back on Christian inclusiveness; why, in this context, no mention of parts of the African church, in a completely reactionary manner, condoning and even conniving in the harsh persecution of homosexuals.

All too frequently we were treated to scenes of African Pentecostal fervour, with not the merest hint that contemporary Pentecostalism has also been a trend in many W.A.S.P (and even R.C.) churches, as well as those in the developing world.

Where, may I ask, is the revolutionary transformation?

**********************************

My posting on 'Mal's Murmurings', Gentle Changes, is on a more domestic theme.

Playing it safe?????

Two items, along the same lines, caught my attention today (one in the New York Times, the other the Washington Post); I must admit that one side of me wonders if the (capitalist)system is worth bailing out whilst, at the same time, it should be obvious to anyone that without some kind of bailing out action such vast numbers of innocent people are going to suffer!


"And the argument that our culture won’t stand for nationalization — well, our culture isn’t too friendly towards bank bailouts of any kind. Yet those bailouts are necessary; and even in America they may be more palatable if taxpayers at least get to throw the bums out." - Paul Krugman : Obama on nationalization

"Geithner did not want the administration to seem leftist, so he rejected the temporary nationalization of the bad banks. Yet the advantage of nationalization is that it's straightforward: The government would take over the bad banks -- as opposed to throwing endless sums of money at them -- clean them up, and sell them off." - E.J.Dionne Jr.:Lost in the Middle

Slow Running

 

I doubt that it’s possible to resist this inbred protestant work ethic, and its consequent guilt trip. I’m the guy who, for many observers, seemed so laid back that, even when standing upright, my spine must have been around 45 degrees from the horizontal and yet, this gnawing guilt persistently upsets me.

For the past few years, for health reasons, I’ve been unable to undertake any employment paid or voluntary, each day being so unpredictable, presenting the unexpected obstacle or fresh hope; physical and emotional stamina rarely coincide even on the best of days. A major regret is that, when I was enjoying better health, I pushed myself that bit too far; my current ability to pace myself, to subsist on a lower altitude plateau, does not come easily.

A very good day for me, these days, means running at as high as 35% of what would have been a quite sluggish activity level for me a few short years ago, and yet, I’m still plagued by guilt. I ought to be doing more; forget the fact that taking a shower is frequently a daily task too far, cleaning my teeth an effort too much when exhaustion suddenly overtakes me, I should be doing more; I should be out there earning an honest living.

Of course the media, and politicians of all persuasions, almost daily attack anyone living on disability or incapacity benefits as degenerate scroungers. If only some of that vitriol could have been spared to attack the greed driven recklessness of the banking fraternity, or the many hours wasted (and billions of pounds lost to treasury) by those working out ever more devious tax-avoidance schemes for those who already have more income annually than most of us can expect to earn in a lifetime, our economy might now be in a far healthier state.

Perhaps in a few months time, when I chronologically comply with / qualify for the Old Age Pension, the “guilt” will flee from me. Somehow that could be the time for freeing up; it’s currently difficult to admit that I’m enjoying being a gentleman of leisure, whilst I so wish for the energy to be running in a far less leisurely mode.

plumbing the heights and scaling the depths

A dull, numb, lightly throbbing pressure behind the eyeballs; a leaden ache above the eyebrows; a general sense of hollowness within the skull and torso – the kind of discomfort that it is so difficult to express. Today, this has taken pole position against the competing sharper, sometimes excruciating, pains and discomfort emanating from the sciatic nerve.

It’s extremely difficult to formulate a table of aches, pains and discomfort; how does a constant low key gnawing, of a bruising kind, compare to an experience of an acute electric shock? Can numbness in any way be correlated with a more instantly sharply stinging sensation?

What does one express on a visit to the GP?

In my case it’s always the (perhaps transient) currently preoccupying dis-ease that is foremost in the more general catalogue of sensations; the ongoing symptoms of a chronic condition are rarely raised. These (permanent) discomforts are always least apparent when one has the physical and emotional stamina required to make, or permit my beloved to make, the appointment in the first place. I am fortunate with my GP’s, that they generally give me the time necessary to make the point but, even so, there are always the omnipresent discomforts that I don’t want to bother them with.

I suppose that the recent disabling excruciating pain, caused by a herniated disc, so overshadowed my regular discomforting companions that, had I been able to overlook the surface anguish, I could have imagined myself as being in the best of health.

The snow, outside of course, reflects the sunshine’s dazzling glare around the sitting room; my eyes ache from this glorious assault. The gas fire is turned up high but, the cold shudders, which I’m experiencing, strive to deny the fact.

Firms' secret tax avoidance schemes cost UK billions | Business | The Guardian

I’ve always known that there’s one law for the rich and another for the rest of us! Indeed, I suspect that a very fine margin separates the (nominally) legal tax avoidance and the (definitely) illegal tax evasion. The business communities lack of patriotism is most noticeable – they’ll take all the handouts and avoid any payouts; the poor as always subsidise the rich.

“The veil of confidentiality that covers these tax avoidance schemes is so difficult to penetrate that nobody knows exactly how much tax goes missing each year. But HM Revenue & Customs estimated that the size of the tax gap could be anything between £3.7bn and £13bn. The Commons public accounts committee put it at a possible £8.5bn and the TUC said £12bn.”

Firms' secret tax avoidance schemes cost UK billions | Business | The Guardian

ON THE WRONG SIDE OF HISTORY

“Of all the beautiful phrases in Barack Obama's inauguration speech, these are the words that stuck in my mind: "You are on the wrong side of history."

He was talking about the tyrannical regimes of the world. But we, too, should ponder these words

In the last few days I have heard a lot of declarations from Ehud Barak, Tzipi Livni, Binyamin Netanyahu and Ehud Olmert. And every time, these eight words came back to haunt me: "You are on the wrong side of history!"”

These words are the opening of an article by Uri Avneri – it really warmed my heart to discover such an Israeli journalist and peace activist (a former Irgun and Knesset member). 

To my shame I had never previously been aware of the life and work of this great man. His website address is: http://www.avnery-news.co.il/ 

I stumbled across the full article on Ekklesia.co.uk

Editorial: Why the BBC is wrong over the Gaza appeal | Comment is free | The Observer

“That the population of Gaza is experiencing a humanitarian crisis is a matter of fact, not political hypothesis. That the crisis follows directly as a result of action by the Israeli Defence Force is also hardly a matter for speculation. What grounds then, might the BBC judge a charitable appeal on behalf of the people of Gaza to be politically partisan?”

I’m still in a state of disbelief over the BBC’s exceedingly partial decision against the citizens of Gaza!

There should never have been a need for editorials such as this.

Editorial: Why the BBC is wrong over the Gaza appeal | Comment is free | The Observer

BBC Conspiracy

 

Much as I can be fascinated by conspiracy theories, I don’t always have much time for them. The BBC’s refusal to broadcast an appeal, supported by such subversive organizations as Christian Aid, Red Cross, Oxfam etc., for humanitarian aid for Gaza, on the grounds that it might demonstrate bias is almost beyond belief.

 

There must have been considerable pressure applied, from Zionist / Pro-Israeli pressure groups, to help the BBC reach such a ridiculous decision. Interestingly, a caller to BBC Radio 4’s “Any Answers” programme who dared to hint at such collusion was immediately and rudely disconnected by the programmes presenter.

 

Methinks there’s something rotten in the state of Broadcasting House.

 

Matters Arising

 

 

Tensions mount as the appointed hour for the great disclosure approaches. Although pretty cool about the whole thing, the nearer the disclosure the more, at an almost unconscious level, little anxieties creep in; “what ifs” abound. Perhaps some sinister shadowy condition is the source of my ailments, an organic disease that I’d rather be unaware of.  The whole episode becomes quite absurd, one has a scan to try to find out the cause of a certain condition only to (belatedly) realize that perhaps it would be better to remain in the dark about such causes.

 

My beloved was becoming more overtly concerned about what the scan may have disclosed; worried about organs of the body that may be diseased and, of which my severe discomfort may simply be an obscurely veiled indicator of a much more critical condition. Her obvious upset with this thought, found a counterpart in me as my (only vaguely considered) concerns were given body and substance. This was perhaps the transforming motive whereby my “Que Sera, Sera” was converted into an anxiety laden wondering what.

 

We visited my GP this morning; he soon put our minds at ease by saying that the report sounded much more sinister than it really was; amongst other things, the MRI had disclosed a 12mm hernia on one of the discs, it really is amazing what havoc such a tiny intrusion / protrusion, in the vicinity of the sciatic nerve, can wreak. He then presented me with the options of consulting a neurosurgeon or, “doing nothing” – quite simply continuing with a programme of pain management as and when necessary. For the time being, I’ve settled for the do nothing option as I’m all too well aware of the risks involved in any spinal surgery.

 

Should the extreme pain be sustained for increasing periods of time, becoming incapacitating on an even more regular basis than at present, that’s when the neurosurgical route will have to be followed.  

Sleeping - Waking - Waiting

 

It’s no longer sleep that’s the problem but rather waking. Great as it feels to be getting some real deep sleep, having previously experienced so many painfully restless nights, the necessity of sleep now seems to be overplaying its hand. Whilst I am really appreciative of the extra time (theoretically) I have to spend with my beloved, as she has been taking a few days leave, my extra sleep requirement has somewhat eaten into these precious moments.

 

Presently, my pain management routine seems to be kicking in; it’s almost a case of pain remaining at acceptable levels, permitting one the ability to think, and even concentrate, for a somewhat more sustained period. There is just so much to be grateful for!

 

This afternoon, I received a ‘phone call from my GP’s practice and, have duly made an appointment for Wednesday morning to discuss the results of my MRI scan. I’m not committed to anticipating either the worst or the best from these results; it’s simply a case of remaining patient until I get them. It was quite a surprise to hear so soon as, when I’d had the scan last Thursday, they informed me that it would be approximately two weeks before my doctor would have the result.  

Mal's Joy

Today's posting, Commonplace Joy, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Sonic Vibrations

Disrobed and prepared, time hangs slowly, waiting to enter the unknown zone.

The first bit’s nice, lie down, head on the pillow; a pillow propping up the knees to ensure optimum stability and comfort, alleviates my anxiety regarding maintaining stillness for the duration. Headphones firmly clamped in place, emergency / panic button placed at ones fingertips and it’s all systems go. Just a last check to make sure one’s arms are well tucked in, before the slide into the cylinder begins.

Curiosity takes over and, I’m desperate to know how light or dark it’ going to be in the belly of the machine. As it turns out to be light, next decision to be made is do I close my eyes or leave them open; the awareness that its light also enables one to be fully aware of just what a confined space they are within. Close the eyes and this restraint has gone; there could be all the space in the world out there so, what’s the worry? To my surprise there are no worries at all, nor is there any real awareness of time.

The soundscape is rather like an avant-garde techno-trance experiment. What’s lacking in the drum and bass field is more than compensated for by the healthy bass balance in all the proffered sounds, bass, treble or mid-range. To my ears, this random array of note clusters strikes me as quite tonal, a remarkable absence of discomforting dissonance.

It’s virtually impossible to apply any regular time signature to this precocious rhythmical melody; at times one is aware of the absence of note-clusters, a blanketed industrial washing machine being heard some distance off, before the music begins again.

Following on from this excursion, to a rather exclusive little music club, my GP will be informed of the results of my MRI scan within two weeks.

Waiting Time

 

An almost crystalline purity and perfection pervades the morning sky. The  brightness, that clarity of light synonymous with crisp cold days, swiftly elevates the spirit,a kind of exalted invitation to the dance.

Having managed to strugglingly manouevre myself downstairs, on finding  a relatively comfortable chair, I gaze out across the bedraggled garden. This little landscape has been victim of a far from modest elemental buffetting; the combined artillery (both light and heavy) of wind, rain and cold brigades, has beaten the earth into submission.

I'm all too well aware  of those little preparatory tasks. that remained undone, in the run up to winter but, hopefully, I will feel more up to tackling the  necessary recuperative tasks when the the season changes.

Malcolm - 7 January 2009

Body Talk

A crisp bright day encourages me to venture out for a stroll. My body instinctually vetoes the idea.

I know, on this occasion, that the body is correct – I’m quite used to listening to it these days – but the thought of a little stroll, accompanied by my very own breath ghosts remains appealing. Momentarily, a surge of resentment washes over me; why should I tolerate these corporeal restraints?

A searing bolt of transferred pain replies, as if to demonstrate the wisdom of the body. The spirit yields to the assured pragmatism of the flesh.

Returning Home from Being There

 

An endless numbness, a dull sullen hanging sense of nausea and, barely the energy to read a single word, listen to a note of music; if only I had the stamina to put a thought together it would probably turn into a single-syllabled question. The querulous word would, I suspect, be more on the lines of “What” rather than “Why”.

I’ve long since given up on the existential / metaphysical why; more an exercise in futility rather than to proffer any result. “What” keeps the world alive, “why” seems more like an evasion.

Well, that’s yesterday dealt with; today I have returned to me. The preceding days, and nights, had been dominated by intensely excruciating pain, ranging from the numbing tourniquet, to the slightly blunted arrow; the bone and muscle crumbling ache in combat with those swiftly-fleeting nerve-tingling darts that seem to take one’s breath away; a kind of Topsy-Turvy Terpsichore:

Dance rules over all – it prevails against reason, common-sense and substantial portions of ritual belief. Trouble is that, we are never in control; I am currently in thrall to a kind of voodoo dance –nature’s response to a crushing debilitating pain scenario.

When all else fails, randomly fling limbs in whatsoever direction they feel like; if it causes further discomfort then that adds a whole new terpsichorean overlay, disclosing hitherto undreamt of fraught sequences of space displacement.

On Monday my pain-killing medication was changed, to a 3 day slow release opiate patch. Having applied the patch, late afternoon, my familiar discomforted restless night was in attendance, so nothing different then but the following morn was quite a different proposition. A total inability to concentrate, a generalized dull ache underlining the spasmodically erupting specific sharp pains; all was eventually blanketed under a heavily nausea spiced  airless cloud of unbeing, crushing a body wracked in turn between hot and cold shivering sweats.

Needless to say, all the remaining patches have been returned to the pharmacy and, my routine has been switched back to Tramadol, this time of a non-modified release type, to enable me to remain in control, modifying the dosage as necessary. Meanwhile, I’ve once again been referred to the hospital for further investigative work.

The 18 hours respite, including some ‘real’ bed rest, between removing the patch and taking a further pain-killer, has served to enhance my appreciation of the home environment. For the first-time this season, I was aware of the seasonally decorated dining table, and the various Christmas ornaments and tinsel sundrily scattered around our abode. This awareness of one’s habitation, the taste of food, the sound of music and always one’s loving companion is a gift to be truly celebrated. The return from a pain-riddled drug addled stupor makes me feel like the fabled Prodigal Son; although at heart I am always aware of the love that surrounds me, it’s good to receive a whole-hearted reminder, for one’s abode to find it’s rightful status as Home.

 

A Christmas Message

I just sit and look across the room, my beloved lost in thought, a slightly perplexed smile on her face as she ponders the words she’s typing. I smile to myself, a token of admiration coupled with adoration. Sometimes, I lose track of time as I simply contemplate ma belle’s visage; I enter a wonderful world of devotion and love. It seems strange that no matter how much in love I am, it continues to grow.

We’ve gradually completed the Christmas decorations and enter into the magic of the season. Most importantly, for all the gewgaws with which we surround ourselves, we remember that our real celebration is of a helpless child born to a teenage mum in an occupied state in the Middle East. Research suggests that this child Jesus would most probably have been born around April but, I rather like the way Christianity has assimilated this pagan feast time to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. Those who choose to follow the way of the Christ child should not seek to separate themselves from the world but always be there alongside those they can assist in a far from perfect world. Christians are to be “in the world but not of the world”; it’s never enough to accept the world as it is but, rather, we have a duty to transform it.

Just as our Christmas lights and decorations transform the darkest time of the year; Jesus message was to turn the accepted values of the ruling elite on their head. Sadly, just like we put away the lights before twelfth night so, through the centuries, have some of the ruling elites served to restore the injustices which Jesus challenged, in the name of Christendom!

May the message of Peace On Earth and Goodwill To All Men be taken seriously in this twenty first century of the common era.

Just as my contemplation of my beloved gives me such a warm glow, so does the true meaning of Christmas.

*******************************************************

This post first appeared on 22 December 2006

A Slow Deliberate Dance

You put your right leg in,

Then you scream and shout,

hang the limb over the edge,

let it all hang out …

Once again my old-time bed dance routine has been resurrected; the agonizing back and lower limb pain has returned with a vengeance; a painfully laboured tossing and turning is the only response I’m capable of, in my attempt to overcome the two pronged attack of sundry sharp shooting pains and excruciating dull bruised aching numbness. It’s uncomfortable to sit, whether on an upright dining chair, a firm supporting comfortable chair, or even on the edge of the bed. After struggling to attain an upright position, hindered by locking of knee, ankle and back, (slyly preceding a crude collapse back onto the surface from which one was attempting to elevate oneself), the relief felt, albeit very temporary, must be tangible to anyone within a few miles radius. A few steps, assisted by a couple of walking sticks, managed to tease out a sigh of release from every screaming muscle, joint, or nerve-ending.

Then follows a real brain teaser; does one attempt to sit down again when body and spirit together urge one to have a lie down? The problem is that any recumbent posture soon becomes a source of discomfort.

Earlier in the day, I’d taken a slow deliberate walk around the block with my beloved in the misguided belief that this little stretching exercise would prove beneficial! It turned out that I was locking up even more after this little outing. Things got so bad that my beloved actually managed to persuade me to talk (telephonically) to an “out of hours” doctor, who then arranged that ma belle chauffeuse would take me down to the “out of hours” practice at the District Hospital.

After a tediously painful one and a half hours waiting time, the duty doctor was really good and, managed to sort out which of my sundry medications could be safely (and effectively) taken in combination, and wrote me a prescription for a further supply of Tramadol SR 100mg which she has doubled up to two to be taken twice a day. It’s also safe to continue with the Meloxicam (anti-inflammatory) although my daily dose of Lanzsoprazole (a ppi) has to be increased whenever I take anti-inflammatories. Other medication continues as normal.

***************

Contrary to appearances, I don’t like resorting to pain-killers and, it is only with the greatest reluctance that I visit the GP. The sole reason that recent postings have centred on health is the intensity of my current dis-ease, precluding the possibility of resorting to my beloved distractions.

collapse of the stoical front

Occasionally the stoical front collapses and tears catch one by surprise. That sudden inexplicable low, amidst the sundry serial and perpetual ailments that beset one, tips the balance. Is it the constant pain, the seemingly interminable incapacity, the sense of isolation resultant from that same invisible disability, or a more general existential angst? Perhaps it’s the combination, of all those things, that sets the tears flowing; for a while I teeter on the brink of self-pity and it proves a real struggle to regain my general positivity. [No sooner have the symptoms of a recent chronic bout of sleep disrupting sciatica receded than a case of TMJD (temporal mandibular joint dysfunction) takes pole position in the table of well-being assailants.]
I’ve always suspected that it’s much harder to witness and share the suffering of a loved one than it is to suffer oneself but, when one does suffer from any ailment, or dis-ease, the awareness that those who care for, and about you, somehow share your pain, intensifies the sense of spiritual suffering. The sufferer also feels guilty at imposing, on the one who loves and cares for them, some of the restrictions (on the socializing front) implicit in one’s own condition. I frequently find myself apologizing to my beloved for my, all too familiar, achingly fatigued condition, and the consequent wearyingly low stamina levels; it’s not that I blame myself for being ill but, to be honest, I’d prefer to be an enabler rather than a burden.

This posting is also on Mal's Murmurings.

The Art of Affirmation

 

Sometimes I think that I’ve grasped it, at other times the whole technique seems to elude me. That sense of gratitude for the many blessings that have come my way is so easily submerged beneath current setbacks, whereas the fact of these setbacks should serve as sufficient reminder of those blessings, rather than a blanket which veils them from view.

 

To give thanks, show appreciation for, the simple fact of being, ensures that the simple ‘given’ takes pride of place. It’s always easy to celebrate a great step forward but, the more consciously we are able to affirm each action, each moment of our lives, those instances become more worthy of affirmation.

 

Sometimes it feels as if one should squeeze the last drop of pleasure out of each experience, wallow in the moment and, if possible ….  What am I talking about, we should try to squeeze the last drop of pleasure, out of each experience, all of the time!

 

Right, I’ve grasped the theory, now all that’s needed is the determination and stamina to practise this affirmative art.

John Pilger: Kafka has a rival. Today, the Foreign Office lectures us on human rights | Comment is free | The Guardian

 

John Pilger: Kafka has a rival. Today, the Foreign Office lectures us on human rights | Comment is free | The Guardian

A Nudge and a Wink

Night-time trips between bed and bath rooms are fraught with a sense of adventure; my faith in the stability of bed end, stair rail and wall, has not been undermined so far. As long as the muscular and joint pains remain discomfortingly persistent, I remain on guard for the possibility of a random stumbling collapse; at least, in this one respect, the rest and sleep destroying acute discomfort seems to serve a useful purpose!

 

Somehow “collapsing” sounds far more dynamic than “creaking”, at least the results are far more spectacular when, knee, ankle, or hip joint, suddenly give way. The competition between “creaking” and “collapsing” into action becomes increasingly intense.  The sheer unpredictability of which joint takes priority ensures that my enforced sedentary lifestyle never becomes boring.

 

 

What I’m missing most of all is a decent night’s sleep; no matter how exhausted / positively shattered I may feel on retiring au lit, by the time I’ve struggled out of daytime attire, donned pyjamas and, performed the appropriate ablutions I’m far too fatigued to sleep.

 

I can usually guarantee that I’m going to be alerted into wakefulness at least once or twice in every hour by some chronic jarring discomfort emanating from anywhere between small of back and ankles. I still fail to understand the logistics that require the shifting (and adjustment) of the whole of my body, in order to achieve a minor adjustment in the alignment of the right lower limb; we’re talking microns here!

 

Somewhere between 3.00 and 4.00 am, I usually seem to achieve a state of full alertness although this effect has usually been squandered some time before my beloved stirs in anticipation of preparing herself for work.

 

All being well, I manage to remove myself from the duvets hypnotic allure by 11.00 am, only to fall asleep again mid-afternoon, my wife not uncommonly returning from work to find me in a dazed stupor.

An Aching Drift

Perhaps it’s quite simply a case of living in hope, although it could just as easily be misconstrued as a fatalism of self-pity. Each day, I’ve been putting off any attempt at blogging, not for lack of ideas or, my lack of stamina (a sufficiently persuasive excuse) but rather, in the belief that I’ll soon be feeling better and hence, the possibility of having some actual events/activities to report on.

 

Pain, discomfort, fatigue and bruising exhaustion, constantly struggle to be at the forefront of my attention; for the time being any pain control medication (the primary current one being ‘Tramadol’) seems to lack efficacy! In some ways, it’s as if I’ve not been able to recover from my little jaunt to the South coast at the beginning of September. Even the most modest journeying insists on extracting a disproportionate toll from yours truly.

 

If I can’t be positive, there seems little point in bringing others down but, a good humoured resilience in the face of ill-health gets a bit tedious at times. Must admit that I’m just as worried about my health as is my good lady but, I tend not to wear my anxieties on my sleeve!

Jeremy Paxman vs Dizzee Rascal

RESTORED to ME

 

If one lives in a state of perpetual “not-wellness”, how is it possible to detect when they are ill? I refer to those kinds of chronic condition, which one learns to accept as normative, the regularly attendant symptoms of which would be construed as a real crisis condition in anyone blessed with more normal health.

 

In seeking equilibrium, I would never be so foolish as to anticipate more than 100% recovery from any aberrant additional infliction that comes my way, although the chance would be a fine thing; the real problem is being able to recognize when one’s health has been restored to its most recent pre-viral attack condition. Are the sore throat, earache, glandular tenderness, and muscular pains in the lower limbs and joints a further manifestation of the recent gastric knockout infection or, do they quite simply represent a return to my normative ME/CFS state?

 

Is there something wrong or, am I quite simply being restored to me?

   

I'll be back

 

How strange it is to feel almost human once again, frightening to have rediscovered how a few short days could hang like a leaden eternity around one’s spirit, almost blinding them to the possibility of light. Those of you who follow my beloved’s blog will be well aware that I have been quite literally “off colour” and, you may as well add to that, off food and fluids too.

 

 At least it made a change from my familiar resident aches and pains, providing me with a rather more centred point of focus. Come to think of it, the “point of focus” is a bit of a disgusting image; just imagine all the ways a tummy bug can effect one, multiply that effect by your chosen factor and, it still doesn’t quite manage to describe just how ghastly things seemed. Worst part about it was that I couldn’t even bear to be touched, in even the most caressingly gentle caring fashion, at one stage; such was my general sense of distraught fragility!

 

Anyway, I’m relieved to be back to a state of being rather than merely existing/vegetating and may even get around to blogging ere long.

Just laikin'

it's really rather strange how one Yorkshire dialect word laikin' can have two apparently similar but totally disparate meanings. In common parlance it's "playing" or "larking about" but ,it can also be used to mean "not working".

Superficially the two meanings seem to have much in common but, scratch the surface and a real difference is evident. If you're not working, that means you'll have no income and, in such circumstances one isn't likely to feel very playful!

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, the saying goes but, having no work can be totally soul destroying.

Mal's simple privillege

Malcolm is quite Simply Privileged! At least that's what he tells us on Mal's Murmurings

TORIES HOIST BY THEIR OWN PETARD

"....this huge market failure poses acute intellectual and political questions for the Tories, the instinctive champions of minimal regulation. They are palpably divided about whether to be the defenders of capitalism or to join in the cry to lynch the bankers. 'It is difficult for us. No question,' says one senior Conservative. There was an agonised discussion about Tory strategy when the shadow cabinet met last week. They concluded that they would have to remain supportive of the government for the moment for fear of being seen as opportunistic and unstatesmanlike at a time of national emergency.

The problem for David Cameron and George Osborne is that this casts them as Little Sir Echoes, reduced to supporting the government from the sidelines. Where Gordon Brown has struggled with many of the other demands of being a modern leader, this crisis plays to his strengths."

Andrew Rawnsley: Why the crisis puts a spring in the Prime Minister's step | Comment is free | The Observer

Baying For Blood

The antics and attitudes of some McCain / Palin supporters makes for some pretty chilling reading. Nothing that I wouldn't expect!

Op-Ed Columnist - The Terrorist Barack Hussein Obama - NYTimes.com

A prophet not without honour save in his own country

Whilst greed and unenlightened self-interest have always been a mainstay of capitalist economics, these qualities were brought more to the fore in the era of Thatcherite and Reaganomics. Increasing calls from the capitalistic squawk leaders for deregulation were acted upon and have now been found sadly wanting. It has frequently been said that capitalism contains within itself the seeds of its own destruction and, there have been many times that I yearned for its demise.

 

The present crisis, inevitably, calls for some major restructuring of the system on a global scale. Those who have opposed government intervention, whilst at the same time not objecting to state funding of their illegal oil wars, now cry out to the state to rescue them from their own greed and recklessness!

 

The free marketers have been granted more and more rope but, all they’ve managed to achieve is a noose around all our necks. In the UK we find the media attacking the Prime Minister for incompetency, although that cry is now mingled with outrage at the reckless / unethical speculators whose activity they have thus far passively condoned. I actually find myself feeling sorry for Gordon Brown, who finds himself pilloried for all the mistakes of global capitalist economy. It was therefore refreshing to come across these comments from the American press:

 

“But on Wednesday the British government, showing the kind of clear thinking that has been all too scarce on this side of the pond, announced a plan to provide banks with £50 billion in new capital — the equivalent, relative to the size of the economy, of a $500 billion program here — together with extensive guarantees for financial transactions between banks. And U.S. Treasury officials now say that they plan to do something similar, using the authority they didn’t want but Congress gave them anyway."

*****************    

"

What should be done? The United States and Europe should just say “Yes, prime minister.” The British plan isn’t perfect, but there’s widespread agreement among economists that it offers by far the best available template for a broader rescue effort.” - Paul Krugman –  Moment of Truth

 

 

“In this financial catastrophe, last week's unthinkable idea quickly becomes this week's imperative. The Bush administration is wisely contemplating following the lead of British Prime Minister Gordon Brown in having government take ownership shares in many banks to get them more cash and allow them to lend again.

If Obama had suggested such a thing, he would have been condemned as a socialist and the administration might well have had to shelve a necessary idea. Better that the candidates acknowledge that they are powerless until after Nov. 4.” – E J Dionne Jr – Hoover vs Roosevelt

That which was lost is found ....

 

My old favourite, age, usage, and weather gnarled, walking stick has suddenly re-emerged on the scene after a couple of days absence. Great was the rejoicing in the land at this recovery, the stick and I go back a long way and, it’s always good to have a familiar and trusted friend readily to hand. After Friday’s recovery of access to a blocked website, it seems as if the age of miracles is not yet passed.

 

Altogether, it has been a much better day; sunshine replacing last night’s deluge, and a remission from the more severe pains that I had been experiencing. After lunch we took our freshly brewed coffee out into the garden, where we sat beside the pond. It wasn’t long before the urge to do a little pottering about arose, so my beloved went to change out of her Sunday best, whilst I (being perpetually scruffily dressed) was immediately ready to spring into semi-sluggish action.

 

I was able to retrieve some very rich compost from the bottom of our composter, to revitalize part of one of the borders, and sprinkled the remnants of some pre-packaged compost onto other border areas freshly relieved from the ravages of ground elder by my beloved. We really do make a great team, I’m frequently ready to watch whilst Helen does the grafting! Having thoroughly raked over these areas I was able to sprinkle a few teasel seeds into the prepared area. Other batches of wildflower seeds had previously been scattered into seed trays and, hopefully (by next Spring) we’ll have ample seedlings to transplant into our wildflower meadow area.

 

Being the day of rest, it seemed far easier to take my leave from the gardening endeavours whilst I still had stamina in reserve. Pacing doesn’t always come that easy!

 

I rejoice and am glad in this day the Lord has made.

catch the wind

My latest posting, Who knows how the wind blows?, can be found on Mal's Murmurings

Update on Blankness

Whenever I enter, or click on any link with, my Luv4Sinners website address, I'm still greeted with a blank screen. At least when I go to my UK Geocities page, it has reverted to showing the uk.geocities.com website address and, the File Manager takes me to the files but clicking on 'View', against any of the html files, still results in a blank screen.

I have used both Firefox and IE7 as browser, utilizing four different PC's. As yet I've not had any reply from Yahoo to the enquiry, regarding this problem, that I made online yesterday morning.

********************************

P.S. 03 October '08 - 3.40pm

According to an entry in the PC Advisor Forum

http://www.pcadvisor.co.uk/forums/index.cfm?action=showthread&threadID=338220&ForumID=16&sr=1

it seems as if the problem could be with my ISP (Virgin/NTL); that's all I need after recent wranglings with them!

***************

PPS: 03 October '08 - 8.35pm

Having contacted Virgin Media with a link to the PC Advisor Forum, I am now able to view Geocities web sites once again. It may just be co-incidence but, I'm certainly a happier chappy!

Like A Blank Out Of The Blue

 

Suddenly, I discover this morning that my Luv4Sinners website is not available. This site: http://uk.geocities.com/luv4sinners/  is apparently non-existent. When I go into the UK Geocities page, for managing my site, it states that my web address is www.geocities.com/luv4sinners but, when I try to access my files I’m quite simply transferred to a USA Geocities page where I’m asked if I would like to start a website.

 

My Ace FTP programme is still able to access all my files on the uk.geocities server so, I’ve duly copied them over to a folder on my PC as backup. I have contacted Geocities, via an online form this morning, in an attempt to find out what’s going on.

 

Had I been informed of any impending change I could have removed all the links to my website from my blogs and other websites but, at the moment I don’t know whether it’s just a temporary aberration, on Yahoo’s part, or whether I’ve been purposefully removed.

 

Does anyone out there know if the UK Geocities free websites have been discontinued, I’d really like to know?

Thought For The Moment

 

“I wish the church knew that having questions, experiencing doubts and being uncertain about things that the church is teaching does not necessarily equal spiritual immaturity.”

 

http://gracerules.wordpress.com/2008/09/16/what-i-wish-the-church-knew-about-spiritual-maturity/

 

On stumbling across this post my first thought was that those who have no doubts or questions may well be the spiritually immature. Perhaps they mistake their own spiritual ego with the divine spark itself! 

 

Reluctantly Staying Put

After considerable soul destroying hassle with our ISP, Virgin Media, we have now agreed to a new 12 month contract giving us the same broadband & phone package as we’ve had for a few years at £7.00 less per month. Of course, had we not been existing customers, it would have been a further £4.50 less for these 12 months.

Although we had threatened to move to another ISP, I doubt whether I could have coped with the upheaval that would cause. As it is, I’m in a physical and emotionally lower state than I was before these “negotiations” began. Oh, how I longed for the stamina and resilience I knew several years ago.

Although we’re staying put for the time being, I could not honestly recommend our service(!) supplier to anyone that I respected! And that’s despite the profuse apology, passed onto me by my beloved, proffered by the helpful lady who finally sorted things out.

Thanksgiving

Yet again, on this Sunday, we once more are blessed with glorious sunshine, accompanied on this occasion by a gently refreshing breeze, a day for true thanksgiving.

 

Needless to say, although I still persist in saying it, the love seat beside the garden pond became my abode for most of the afternoon. As we sat there, the cheerful chattering of the house sparrows in a nearby shrub proved a real uplifting balm to the spirit; I seemed to be transported away from the sharp shooting pains emanating from the sciatic nerve, my constant companion over recent days (and nights).

 

My beloved (that’s Helen, not the sciatica) soon felt the urge to do a bit of gardening, with me in the role of passive observer. Obviously her stamina levels had been refreshed by the Harvest Service at her chapel this morning.

 

**********

 

I suppose that this posting is a natural sequel to yesterday’s posting, Flutterby Visions, on ‘Mal’s Murmurings’.

A lesson in objectivity!

 

Are they really reporting on the same debate?

 

“From the economy to foreign affairs to the way they carried themselves on stage, Senators John McCain and Barack Obama offered a dramatic contrast to the nation in their first presidential debate on Friday night, mixing disdain and often caustic remarks as they set out sharply different views of how they would manage the country and confront America’s adversaries abroad.”

 

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/27/us/politics/27debate.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th

 

“JOHN McCAIN and Barack Obama entered last night's debate with fewer differences on foreign policy than their rhetoric usually suggests. Some nuances excepted, the two candidates basically have the same ideas for containing the Iranian and North Korean nuclear programs, responding to Russia's aggressiveness toward its neighbors, fighting the war in Afghanistan and advancing the Middle East peace process. On many of those issues they wouldn't stray far from the policies they would inherit from President Bush.”

 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/09/26/AR2008092602981.html?wpisrc=newsletter