Some things, we all take for granted
When I was in Texas in the mid 1980's, I stumbled across what would become my favorite saying. As I was driving near the northern apex of I-410 in San Antonio, I noticed a marquis in front of a church (I don't remember the name or brand): "All sun and no rain makes a desert." That one stuck with me almost as long as the conversation I had about pain with my high school biology teacher (sadly, here again, my memory lapses (Woodrow Wilson High School, Long Beach California, about 1980-2ish, big guy with a beard, 2nd floor of that one building, pink (the building)))... oh, the conversation... I understood that he advocated not alleviating all pain from an injury. He said pain is the body's way of saying, "get off me... I hurt!" That was profound for a high-schooler.
As I slipped into midddle age in a country where health is assumed, I was due for a rude awakening. If you have read this post, you may have noticed that my most recent excuse for being a lazy slug involves a wacky disorder with my right eye. Wow. It has been two months since my imaginary friend first shoved a needle through my right eye (east to west). It seemed that I was doomed to ride cascading side effects of drug after drug on the way back to health; but then a change was made.
As my little daughter Sarah has been known to say (read in the cutest voice possible), "There, Daddy...Is that better?" I don't know exactly how to convey my joy at again being without pain. My smiles and laughter suddenly feel less of a mask, I have instant energy. Yay!
As I started the new regimen, we left on a camping trip. Coupla days in the woods with just our rolling apartment behind us. In all respects a wonderful trip.
While I can, at this point, only dream of triathlons or even fitness; peddling through the woods with my daughter in the Burley (bicycle trailer) was a wonderful workout. We spent some of Sunday examining Timberline lodge and inquiring about winter sports (some of my favorites) (looks like Sarah might get to have her first skiing lesson Thanksgivingish).
A great weekend for parents of youngsters is often punctuated by whining (Sarah assumes that because we are leaving the playground, we will never return and nothing will ever be fun again). Then ten minutes later, we set up the next activity to generate the pouty lip on departure. I must say, though, the high point was not exciting, exerting, or earth shattering. It was reading Dr. Seuss books by campfire (Sarah's hair was still wet, so I hope she doesn't catch her death of cold).
...But what of the coming morning? It appears that the sun is already shining (at least in my heart). How blessed I am. It is good to again comprehend normal as wonderous (the last time was soon after I discovered Prilosec; after that many years, I didn't even feel the heartburn until it went away).
As Pastor James Gleason from our church (Sonrise; Hillsboro Oregon) says, "Change your heart, change your mind, change your life!" All I have to do is hear the alarm in the morning and I am off to do all manner of beneficial yet stressful activities.
Enough for today, seeya tomorrow.