Hello World

My back pain is subsiding again, as is the crazy all over body pain. Since it's the weekend I'm gonna go overdo now, which sadly for me means vacuuming the house. Oh, strange new world that has such appliances in't!

A rant about insurance companies . . .

well just mine. How is it that in the same 24 hour period I can have to learn about and absorb the following:
1) My insurance company has sent my ob/gyn a list of patients who did not act on their mammogram prescriptions, along with instructions to call said patients and guilt trip them, and
2) I will have to decide how much I can afford (out of pocket) I will be willing to pay for acupuncture just because the acupuncturist (who is smart and knowledgeable) is not credentialed in a way my insurance company recognizes.

Okay, before I go any further I need to caveat: yes, mammograms are good for everybody. Yes, there is always a chance that people who aren't D.O.s or M.D.s might be incompetent. But somehow that doesn't mean much when right now at this the technologically advanced 21st century of medicine, I still can't walk in the morning and I missed two days of work. To a closet puritan like me, that's egregious to put it mildly.

Since I like to keep my rants brief and since computing bothers my back, I'll close now. I do feel better. Thanks blog.

Dear Blog,

Sometimes I truly wish that you occupied that place in my life you used to, back in the day. But I've been thinking this morning about how different things are now than they used to be back then, and I think sometimes that my new life just doesn't allow for the kind of emotional engagement you used to make me want to commit to.

Another big problem is that you represent for me the kind of engagement that requires (at least in my mind) some optimism and psychic wherewithall that I just don't have right now. I fear that if I feed you too many posts I'll have to face the cringing whiny pessimist you reveal all too clearly to me that I've become.

And, yes blog, I know that this state and status is temporary. I know too that it's created and fed by chronic pain and things like looking at my fingers and finding out that somewhere along the line two of them have become misshapen by arthritis. See what I mean about whiny?

So, it appears that for now the options are clear:
a) stop blogging-whiny little bitch
b) blog and whine and blog and whine with the full speed ahead narcissism I know I'm fully capable of
c) blog about the positive aspects of having chronic pain and my active search for help from various medical and "pseudo" medical"
d) replace "positive" (above, c) with negative, even though it becomes a restating of a).
e) lay off blogging for awhile
Which will I choose? Who knows? For now, I gotta go cozy up to my Saunders Lumbar traction machine.
MNYAGG

My Thoughts on Having a Wedding . . .

1) It still scares me, but much less than it used to.
2) I'm pretty darn excited that I'm gonna do it.
3) I can't imagine making all those wedding planning decisions because it took me I dunno maybe a year to decide on the paint for my upstairs bedroom. Also I've never been a bride at a real wedding before, much less a frumpy middle aged one.
4) One thing I know I want -- kazoos for everybody.

In short, my thoughts on the reorganization of SUNYIT

There are some great opportunities for humor in my work place; let's face it sometimes we laugh to avoid the alternative. In this the first throes of my school's restructure, I feel like going to work is almost surreal. There are all the everyday things like what will I do when I actually need some more chalk (insert legal pads, insert dry erase markers, insert staples), and there are the more abstract things like wow I felt bad for the adjuncts I talked to yesterday who somehow hadn't been told that they actually have two mailboxes now, one in an at that time yet to be disclosed location.

So for many agita seems to reign supreme at the SUNY Institute of Technology, whether it be about the semantics of our new transitional place of work or about the political intrigue that inevitably accompanies such an undertaking. As for me, I seem to be turning to the sense of humor that has gotten me through so many things, as evidenced by the following email I sent to the print shop last week asking for copies of my syllabi. The recipient's name has been left out to protect his/her anonymity. It went like this:

Subject: Knock, Knock . . .
(and in the body of the text): Who's there?
Orange
Orange who?
Orange you glad the faculty are back to drive you crazy?

Okay, so it's not that funny in the retelling; frankly it wasn't that funny to begin with. But it is my hope that this semester I can find some way to step out of the line of fire from people who might (understandably) get worked into a lather at the drop of a hat. My students just don't need an hysterical teacher.

One of the things I'll be doing to relieve stress is attending the following events at The Other Side on Genesee St. in Utica next door to Cafe Domenico:

Wednesday, September 15, 2010, 7:30 p.m. The Imagining America series that brings in scholars from Hamilton College into the city to give talks, Chautauqua-style, from their areas of expertise, especially the humanities and arts. The 3rd season is to be launched with a talk by Peter Cannavo, associate professor of Government, titled "Green Citizenship: Environmentalism and Civic Virtue in an Age of Oil Spills and Tea Parties."

Sunday, 9/19/10 6:30-8:30 p.m. Climate Change Forum with Ken Mazlen. Cal Ken, 734-9076 for more information. This forum will be held regularly on third Sundays each month.

There are a ton of things to do at The Other Side, so if you want to either escape or engage check it out. Personally, I plan to do both.

In other news: Coming soon to the Factory Times Issue One, an in depth article about SUNYIT's restructure. I don't know about you all, but I can't wait. Jess, I'm gonna need that game night to start SOON.

Coming soon to MNYAGG: what do students in Dr. Murphy's business communications and creative writing classes say about the new "system" at their school?




Subject

Chronic Pain

Yep, that's me sometimes. And sometimes it's because of the aforementioned title. If you know me more than casually, you know that I live with chronic pain from what I sometimes call the triumvirate of evil: fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, and osteoporosis. I know the last ailment in that group is supposed to be painless, but I think it's responsible for the weak hollow feeling that I swear resides in my bones and not in my muscles.

And if you know me in person, you know that while I do talk about pain, sometimesit seems to me ad nauseum, I am also loathe to accept it, to call it for example "my pain".

But it is my pain, and chronic pain changes the way we live our lives. The facts are these: one, while there are places in my body that always hurt every day (neck, lower back and feet) there are also places that hurt intermittently; two, if I talked about pain, that would seem to me linguistically imprecise because it's the combination of types of pain(s) (stinging, aching, and sharp) that really kicks my butt, so to speak; finally, the problem of pain is, for me, compounded by things like my hands and feet don't work in the morning, so I stumble around and drop things a lot.

What I'm doing about it:
Well, I get a Boniva shot every three months. I take Zyflamend, CoQ10 and calcium every day and even tried Savella until the side effects became unbearable. I take ibuprophen and acetaminophen together when it's impossible to function without it. I stretch and try to do yoga, but I've given up walking for now because it makes my legs hurt too much the next day.

What I'm going to do about it:
I'm going to start acupuncture and in November I'm going to a neurologist my rheumatologist is sending me to.

I have recently learned that even though I thought bizarre cross doctor situations were little more than fodder for internet discussion groups and lifetime movies, you can (well, I can) become embroiled in some ridiculousness. My general practitioner, I found out recently, does not believe in rheumatologists or fibromyalgia. So I was treated to a lecture, just what I needed. My rheumatologist's physicians assistant seemed cranky at best the last time I was there a month or so ago and blamed everything on the "fibro". Everything that is until we got to the part where I said my feet won't hold me up first thing in the morning.

What I feel about writing this right:
Yeah, I feel like a whiner; I admit it. I would like to be the same woman who was able to ignore chronic pain for the 15 or so years I've had it, but it just didn't hurt so damn badly then. Maybe all that "ignorance" is part of why my pain has now become so hard to manage.

Why I'm writing this right now:
Well I was hoping that maybe someone would do a google search, see this blog, and read this and get some information about what I'm doing to keep afloat.
Murf

Essay: The Love of Old Houses

I went back to work yesterday, that is to do the teaching part. I was worried that I would fall apart if somebody expressed his/her condolences. And by mid morning somebody did. And it was okay. And it made me think, really think, about that word that Mark Doty uses as the centerpiece of "Essay: The Love of Old Houses", the word "dwelling".

This one word with its multiple meanings is a source of comfort for Doty as he mourns the death of his longtime partner Wally Roberts. Published in 2002, the poem has been a source (no pun intended even though the book that contains it is titled Source, honest)of comfort for me as I've transitioned from west to east, from one old house to another, giving up so much and acquiring so much in the process.

The problem for me is that "dwelling" also means thinking too much when I stay in my dwelling too much. And that means hashing and rehashing all the sad and frustrating things that have come down the pike over the last few years.

But guess what?

I made it.

I talked to approximately 67 students in the course of nine hours, and we had a blast.

I went home and reread a letter from a student thanking me for all I'd done for her and remembered how easy and natural it was for me to help shape her education and how lucky I was to be able to do so.

If this post seems scattered and disorganized I guess it's because it's one of those times when I can't really tell you how I feel in words. If you want to know how sad and hopeful I feel, you should probably read Doty's poem. Heck, I think everybody should read it at:
http://books.google.com
Have a good one!

MNYAGG

Child Abandonment

. . . that's what I ouggta take my kids to court over. Pinhead's moving to Boston and Bighead's going back to Portland on Tuesday. DOES ANYBODY EVER CONSIDER THE MOM? Yeah I know; they're grownups.

Speaking of kids, I saw my ex roomie Sam yesterday. She's visiting with the man in her life (son Jonathan), and it was great to see her and great to meet him. He is adorable and full of personality, just the kind of kid I like. Sam's doing a great job.

I go back to work Tuesday. Everything's a first for me these days, and this is no exception: first semester back to teaching since dad died. I often tell stories about my family in my memoir class, but this semester I'll likely have to avoid that: too soon, too much.

Well, that's it for now,
MNYAGG

Back to Blogging?

Hello Blog,
I have to admit I haven't thought of you much at all lately. But reading Clark's blog and reading some of my old posts reminded me that there is life after the death of one's father, so here goes:
1) I can't sleep again, whah!
2) Missy smells really bad today for some reason.
3) I still love Missy despite the disgusting aroma wafting off of her.
4) I can't give her a bath because it's raining.
5) I can't go to Ithaca with D and Li today because it's raining and I'm too tired (see 1 above)
6) Vincent is adorable, mostly because he doesn't stink.
7) I'm feeling sorry for myself (in case you couldn't guess from reading 1-5 above).
8) A really bad smell just came off of Missy, so I have to go give her a bath NOW.

How'd I do for my first time back?

NJ, I love ya, but come on . . .

Since I've been staying here (for two weeks now) we haven't really had a "Jersey Day". That's the kind of day when you wake up and feel the air outside pressing in on the screen window. It's the kind of day that doesn't go well, weather wise. Sometimes rain will fall, and if you've lived somewhere else where rain means a cooling down, you'll think okay, now it's gonna cool down. Likely it will not.

Today is gonna be one of those days, with an expected high of 88 degrees. It'll make me think of summer days long ago when I went from lap to lap trying to find someone patient enough to let me sit on them and add to their discomfort. It'll make me think of car trips with no air conditioning during which I also went from lap to lap as we set out for exotic locations like the Bronx and Long Island. And later it'll make me think about how my father let me sit on his lap on the front porch as he told scary stories to neighborhood kids gathered at his feet: stories he made up on the spot. I'll be sharing some of those with you.

I guess if you have memories like I have, even "Jersey Days" are good days.
MNYAGG

I'd Like To Share This With You

I decided to post my "This I Believe" essay because it captures my parents' marriage and how much they love each other.


My parents are getting old; even by our new techno-medically induced standards, at ninety-seven and eighty-eight, they’re really getting old. They still live in the same suburban New Jersey home where I grew up. I’m four hours away in central New York, that rust belt of broken down towns and tenuous local economies.

Sometimes I worry about my parents a lot; always I worry at least a little. I worry about everything from dishonest plumbers to slippery front steps and basement stairs. But somehow they keep going. When serious medical concerns come and go, they continue to prop each other up.

My parents met when my mother was invited to my father’s sister’s wedding next door to where she lived in the Bronx. My father, a soldier in WWII, was home on leave from the Philippines, and when he returned to duty they corresponded in letters now neatly bundled in the attic. They had three kids right away, left the city for New Jersey and years later had another child, me.

I grew up in the 70s, before the Garden State came into its own, when we were still ashamed to be New Jerseyians. In high school it was always a source of discontent; the sameness, the same lack of identity in every north Jersey town wore me out. So I left and went to the West and worked on my superior attitude. I rhapsodized about the openness, the big blue sky, later the feeling I got from raising my kids in such a safe place. My family put up with running commentary about Jersey’s dirty air and overcrowding when I came for visits.

But by the time I finished graduate school I was ready to leave the rural West; accompanying the big sky was a rampant conservatism that I just couldn’t even understand. So there I was at 42 years old, running away to home in a way, but things had changed. I am now the middle aged child of really old parents, not the overindulged much younger one.

Sitting on my parents’ couch I overheard my father say something that I know I’ll always keep with me, as sappy and nostalgic as that might sound. As he bade my mother goodnight, he said “goodnight my dear; dream only of me.” With those words, I, the interloper on the couch, was reminded that there really is so much more to life that what we see on the surface as we rush every day from one important thing to another: as we fill our lives with the trappings of success.

I believe sometimes it’s the things we overhear that have the greatest impact on us. I think when we’re reminded inadvertently that people love each other profoundly we gain access to something important we can remember when we worry or become disgruntled in this time of fear. I believe that right now in history it’s more important than ever to overhear because we might be thrilled and inspired with what our ears pick up.

Thanks for reading,
MNYAGG

My father . . .

was a very good man. I will miss him terribly. He passed away Saturday morning. When things settle down, I'll begin posting some things that I'd like you to know about him. Until then,
MNYAGG

Well, what can I say?

I'm in New Jersey with the Murphys. The hospice people are here. They are wonderful. My father is comfortable, on oxygen and morphine. I'm glad I'm here with him.

Imaginary Lover

If you read my blog, you know that I often make reference to a significant other, one "D". You may have wondered how come he never posts. You may have even begun to think that he doesn't exist, or is a cover for my closeted lesbianism (after all many people seem to think I'm gay when they first meet me), or that Clark is actually my boyfriend.

Yes, my significant other is a private person, but he does exist. Last night he cooked me dinner at my house because I didn't feel well. As a matter of fact, he came in, didn't bother me, and fixed dinner in my appliance-impoverished kitchen quietly and without complaint while I watched Up on my laptop in bed.

He's great, and I hope that any of you who know him will chime in and verify his existence. I'll give you bonus points if you can (without google) name the band from whose song my post title comes.

Tomorrow I'm putting up a little quiz I'm designing to see how "out the box" you are, so tune in.

MNYAGG

The 2 Cat Couple

I'm at D's house where I am listening to Miss Sophie (his cat) meow by turns pitiously and angrily because she is in the kennel about to go to the vet. Getting her in the kennel revealed what appeared to be an extra set of legs containing an extra set of claws that clamped themselves on the sides of the kennel door. I really do think I saw six legs, maybe eight.

Earlier today Vincent Murphy (my cat, not my father) decided to jump up and chase a bug or something -- on the curtains in my office. I wish I'd had a camera for the nanosecond his claws were stuck in the weave.

We are a two cat (and of course one dog) couple, D and I. How cosmopolitan, how twenty-first century, how middle aged. We love our pets, but I think we deal with their traumas differently. D apologized to Sophie all the way out the door just now, and no doubt he is gently tryting to calm her right now as he drives to the vet. I, on the other hand, put Vincent's carrier (which he too does not like to go into) on the backseat and tell him to "shut it" as I drive to our destination. Come to think of it, that's what I do with my father Vincent Murphy in the car (I'm joking!). One thing our cats have in common: they are both charmers once they get out of their carriers. They're that cute.

Do you have any cute pet stories? Come on, share why don't cha?

It's like thunder, lightnin'

Last night Missy was so upset about the thunderstorm that she couldn't eat the benadryl-loaded hot dog that I placed under the bed where she was cowering. Cowering, panting, shaking, hyperventilating, she was doing it all right underneath me while I was trying to sleep. When she eventually came to the side of the bed where I'd placed the hot dog, I grabbed her collar and pulled her the rest of the way out, out the bedroom door into my office, whereupon I closed the door to my room and tried to go to sleep. By then the storm was long over. So my little bundle of nerves got medicated after the fact, but I'm sure she had a good night's sleep. I am a bad pet owner.

I know I said I wouldn't be blogging, but thanks to Clinton's bird population, which rises early and noisily (5:30) I seem to have a chunk of time. Aren't I the lucky one.

Thank you Clark and Lena for reminding me that you're "out there", on the Internet that is.

Today is stating off humid and stuffy, as I remind myself that my love of humidity is what brought me back to the East. I am going to spend some time looking at my unpublished poetry (which is most of my poetry, after all) to select four to send to the Rattle poetry contest, even though I know:
I do not stand a chance of winning.
I am a fool who will be out $25.00 for trying.
My best poem has already been published and is therefore ineligible.
A better known poet will win.
I would sell both my children (easy to say when they're 29 and 27) to even get an honorable mention.
My time might be better spent walking the dog or weeding that one last flower bed.
I will enter anyway and be genuinely hurt and confused when I do not win or place.
Even as I typed all the above, I had a fantasy wherein I won and accepted a huge award as well as the cash prize they give. I MEAN HUGE!

That's the way my brain works, so conflicted it is.

Have a peaceful day wherever you are.

The Real Burnouts

played a great show at the Tram in Utica last night. They are so talented. Tofu Delux played after them, and they were great. And people say there's nothing to do in Utica!

Yes I love you, but . . .

I love my blog. I love it even though I suspect nobody reads it. It's a good "place" for me to come and talk about what's on my mind.

This summer I'm teaching two classes, jam packed into one month writing classes to be exact. So if you don't see me for awhile, that's because I'm either online doing bus com or in the classroom (3 and 1/2 hours Monday through Thursday) doing creative writing. I'm not whining (well maybe a little); I'm just saying I'll see ya blog, whenever I can.
MNYAGG

Too nice to blog?

I'm afraid so. Today we went to Green Lakes State Park. Thank you Governor Patterson for not closing it yet. Tomorrow is the series finale of LOST, and the Lost Tribe (as we like to call ourselves) is picking up a few extras for the event at my house that starts at 4:00. I'm making Lentils Iraqi style in honor of Sayid. We'll have mango pie and chicken enchiladas. Can you guess which characters those two dishes will honor?

If you haven't yet, get outside. I don't know what it's like in Idaho (Clark?) but central New York is stunning. If you wanna join us tomorrow, bring a lawn chair and a dish to pass.

Happy Weekend,
MNYAGG

Summer Reading

I always start a book when I start my grading. It's a bad habit that I started years ago, but somehow I think it works for me. Yes, I am jumping the gun because really I can't sit and read when there's a stack of papers to grade. But I can use the book as a carrot, my reward for finishing my grading.

That's what I did with the book First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. It was hard to read at times because Loung Ung's story is so emotionally wrenching. But all in all it was worth reading.

Next up: Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer, who is fast becoming one of my favorite authors. I just finished watching the moving for the third time this morning and can't wait to get the book. I know I should be working on my online class, which opens for viewing today, but it'll get done. It's only 8:00 and that's what the rest of the day is for.

This summer I am also going to listen to my second book on tape, and maybe more will follow. I guess I should say book on cd. Last summer I drove around and on trips listening to To Kill a Mockingbird, a book I never would have read. Listening to it was a pleasure. So does anybody out there have suggestions for an audio book or two?

Well, it's time to get to work, ANGEL (the online system, not the television series) awaits me. Tomorrow I think I'll blog about LOST as we head toward Sunday's series finale.

Peace Out,
MNYAGG