Hunters Be Damned

The page one headline below the fold in the Star-Tribune was as follows: "New target: Famale hunters." Yes, and if I were looking for a companion, girlfriend, mate, or just plain sex buddy, I would certainly demand that she be able to kill, for no reason, at least one, probably more, of the sundry creatures besides humans that "share" the earth with us. Yes, she'd have to be able to trap, shoot, stab, hook, or even kill with an arrow some gentle creature covered with fur. Maybe she could start with cats, since there are so damned many of them!

When I saw that headline, I was disgusted. I know I live in macho-man, hunter country here in Minnesota, but do we need more killers, more takers of life of any kind, than we already have? I don't think so. Today we need more people in this country who don't want to kill anything. This headline took me back to my childhood in Alabama, from where each summer, my grandmother and I would drive to where my grandfather was working as a brickmason supervisor repairing blast furnaces in steel mills all across this nation of ours.

One particular trip took us to Lynchburg, Virginia, no doubt the home of many hunters bumping into each other. My grandmother and I went to the movies one night, as my grandfather was much too tired after a day of hot, difficult work. And the movie we saw was Bambi. I was 7 years old, and I probably don't need to tell you how much it affected me. But I will anyway! Afterwards, as she and I sat across from each other in a booth in a drugstore (do you remember soda fountains in drugstores?), she noticed I was very quiet. When she asked what was wrong with me, I burst into tears and blurted, "They killed Bambi's mother." And I didn't become a hunter. I recently saw a "personality" in this country say the same thing, that Bambi kept him from killing animals for sport. Good for him.

I have two cousins, decent human beings, who live in North Alabama and whose mother was my favorite aunt, my biological father's sister. I was in the older cousin's home many years ago, and I noticed a book of Bible stories for children sitting on an end table. Then I looked up and saw one of the several deer heads he had mounted and hanging on his wall. To me it was incongruous, to say the least. Just after I moved to Los Angeles in 1987, I was taking a course at The American Film Institute titled "Writing About the Movies," a course designed to help us evaluate books and movie scripts, to learn which ones (we hoped) to recommend for a film. Much to my great pleasure, one of the speakers' father had produced Bambi for Walt Disney, and I was able to tell her just how much the movie had meant to me. It was one of those magical moments that we need more of.

The number of hunters, however, does not need to increase! Hunters be damned!

Coming Attractions

At 4:17 A. M., on Friday, September 27, 1940, I was born in The Holy Name of Jesus Hospital in Gasden, Alabama. My mother later told me that she laughed out loud when she first saw me. I'm glad that she got at least one laugh because of me.

And it takes only minimal skills in arithmetic to see that I'll be 67 years old next month. This comes at something of a surprise to me, as I never really thought about, or believed I would ever be, this damned old. But here I am, a certified senior citizen, though my head doesn't believe it. Further, at this age, when one's head won't tell the truth, one's body certainly will. I am today, all things considered, at least grateful to be on this side of the great beyond.

This birthday will definitely be celebrated. Though my wife doesn't know it yet, I'm going to purchase an ice cream cake for myself, not only to celebrate my birthday but to celebrate losing over 30 pounds in the last few months. Sensible, huh? Well, it makes sense to me; besides, I can rationalize darned near anything. No gifts, please, just ice cream.

But the largest part of our celebration will be another trip to Orchestra Hall in downtown Minneapolis to hear the Minnesota Orchestra entertain us and itself with Beethoven's 9th Symphony. Standing alone, this work is magnificent. I'm further awed, however, with the knowledge that Beethoven never heard this symphony performed. He was totally deaf when he composed it. And when he conducted it, he had to be turned around by an orchestra member to "see" the waves of applause that the audience gave back to him. It truly is an "Ode to Joy."

I wrote in a previous post that the music on my first Orchestra Hall trip didn't lift my spirits as I thought it would. But the fault wasn't in the music; the fault was in me. My mood was dark, and truthfully, the seats in Orchestra Hall are some of the most uncomfortable theatre seats I've ever sat in. Now that my physical pain is being relieved, I'll surely enjoy the music more. I'll also take my own, special ordered seat cushion, the one I'm sitting on now as I write. This is a world-class orchestra, and I look forward to sharing my birthday with them. I plan to talk about music more in later postings, and I thank you for being here!

Rational-Emotive Therapy

Albert Ellis, PhD, co-author of the book A New Guide to Rational Living, says "...almost the only sustained and 'unbearable' misery that we accept as legitimate or justifiable results from prolonged and undownable physical pain. You needlessly manufacture virtually all other prolonged agony." While I accept physical pain as a legitimate basis for misery, there may also be one or two other reasons for misery, though that's for another posting.

What happened to me during the recent very dark period in my life was that I was suffering from untreated chronic physical pain, which compounded the depression I already had. And when I found a pain clinic with professionals who listened and prescribed medication that actually relieves, the darkness began to lift. Another reason that the darkness began to lift is that my son telephoned me and offered to be my sounding board if need be. He also suggested that I go to A New Guide to Rational Living, as it spoke quite clearly to other aspects of my discomfort. I had read it years ago, then again later, during difficult emotional times, and it had helped then. So I ordered another copy (I couldn't find the copy I had had for over 20 years). And he was absolutely right -- it helped. As I mentioned some weeks back, my son recently took a Master of Science in Psychology, and as his second (after himself) "patient,"I am quite pleased.

It helped that he called to see how I was doing and to suggest the book. It further helped that he called a second time last week to check up on me. I'm certainly not suggesting that this one book is "the answer." But it's an intelligent, rational approach to human behavior which I needed to peruse again. And between the medication and the rational thinking I've been exposed to these last few days, I feel better than I did when I wrote what I thought might be my final blog posting. I go again Thursday to the pain clinic, where my medication will probably be adjusted. And I'm so grateful that I don't feel so damned lousy today, for several days, actually.

Thank you to my M. D., my C. M. T., and thank you to my son. I know I have other work to do on my depression, but thank you all three!

Prescription

Had I remained in the black hole I found myself in, I wouldn't be writing this. But I didn't. I found some relief, some relief for the constant, battering physical pain I was in. I actually found a physician in Minnesota who believes in getting patients in as soon as possible and also believes in prescribing medications that have a good probability of relieving pain. And so he treated me. I now have 2 prescriptions for medications that don't contain Tylenol and thereby don't damage my liver. They are, however, medications that no other doctor I've been to or spoken to was ready to prescribe, and they work. The relief is palbable. And it so lifted my spirit that a physician I was talking to truly understood the debillitating effects of chronic pain. I can't express how relieved I am. After years and years ...

Last Post

This is my last post. I no longer labor under the illusion that there's anything left to be happy about. I feel no contentment, and I certainly feel no joy. Not even Mendelssohn and Mozart last Friday eve could ease the pain. Angels' wings should be able to balm and console, but they could not. At the risk of being a second-hand plagiarist, I leave you with a quote from Franz Kafka, taken from a newspaper article about a woman who posted it on her blog just before she eliminated all her pain: "We are as forlorn as children lost in the wood. When you stand in front of me, what do you know of the grief that is in me and what do I know of yours? And if I were to cast myself down before you and tell you, what more would you know about me than you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful?" Thank you for reading.

Orchestra Hall

Tomorrow night my wife and I will be at Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis, provided we can get there from here after yesterday's bridge collapse, to hear the Minnesota Orchestra and its soloist, a woman I'm not familiar with, entertain us with Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto, his only one. If you haven't heard it, listen carefully and fully -- and be swept away by its sheer Romanticism. That's always a good way to be swept away. I'll write more about this night out afterwards. As for you, dear reader, go listen!

July is Finished

Whew! I got through July alive. For a tiny while, I wasn't so sure. The depression comes in huge waves and more often than ever in my life. The medication isn't working very well. And I'm not sure all the talk in the world will help, but then, neither are the people who are licensed to talk to me. The way out appears obvious. God, I feel awful. Going to Birmingham didn't help.