Good-bye Mercury Retrograde, Hello New Moon in Pisces

     

       So long, Mercury retrograde. You made my month the most passionate, sorrowful, contentious, and psychotic I have had in years.

       Hello New Moon in Pisces. Stephanie Austin of the ‘Mountain Astrologer’ has written this New Moon is asking us: “Why did I come to earth? What is my spiritual mission? Where do I need to trust my intuition and take a leap of faith?”

    
       Personally, I am tired of leaping, especially when there is no net. As far as coming to earth, I sometimes wish I had chosen another planet or galaxy. My spiritual mission is a blur making this three strikes. I can hear the universe is laughing at my hubris.

       So this New Moon in Pisces is asking us what feeds our souls. The apropos quote from Rumi is:

“You are a volume in the divine book,

A mirror to the power that created the universe

Whatever you want, ask it of yourself,

Whatever you are looking for can only be found,

Inside of you.”

Lent Me Your Soul

    Every good Catholic knows next week is Ash Wednesday or the beginning of Lent (also known as Quadragesima in Latin).  The Lenten season marks a forty day period of prayer, penance, repentance, and self-sacrifice in preparation for the celebration of Easter. For those of us observing Lent, it is a bummer six week trial where we volunteer to give up something of value to prove we still have some semblance of spiritual will power. There are days of abstinence from certain foods, designated times of fasting, and the ritual of the Stations of the Cross (think of it as a grisly repetitive procession reenacting the terminal stages of someone’s horrific death).

     For Lenten cheaters, one declares one is going to forego a habit, behavior, or tangible luxuries that look good on paper but in reality as no spiritual meaning whatsoever. This would be kind of like a Pharisee looking for a loophole. Another example of this would be a spinster saying she is going to give up dating.

    Why forty days? The number forty has always had mystical significance in Christian doctrine. Traditionally, Lent is the commemoration of the forty days Jesus spent fasting in the desert before outing himself as a spiritual master.  Other references to the number forty in the Bible from Wiki are: “the forty days Moses spent on Mount Sinai with God (Exodus 24:18); the forty days and nights Elijah spent walking to Mount Horeb (1 Kings 19:8); the forty days and nights God sent rain in the great flood of Noah (Genesis 7:4); the forty years the Hebrew people wandered in the desert while traveling to the Promised Land (Numbers 14:33); the forty days Jonah gave in his prophecy of judgment to the city of Nineveh in which to repent or be destroyed (Jonah 3:4), and finally, the belief that Jesus lay for forty hours in the tomb before his resurrection.” Catholicism may be one of the reasons for my attraction to numerology-it is loaded with repetitive numbers like seven, ten, and forty, etc. I suspect it also may be how the lottery system got started.

    Why would I, an ex-Catholic, observe Lent?  Obviously, I am not bucking for sainthood. Maybe it’s because it harkens back to rituals we do not allow ourselves to experience in this age of jam-packed schedules and constant distractions.  A period of time for reflection to gain insight about who we are in relationship to what runs us may be propitious. It may even change our minds, hearts, and habits.  

    So, what am I giving up for lent?  My soul. I am going to meditate, be kinder, let go, be forgiving, ask for forgiveness, make amends, and just try to be an all-around better human being. It may, however, be easier to just give up candy.

 

Cautiously Considering Courtship

     Okay, so far it has not gone well for me in the romance department. This morning I consulted with some male friends about courtship over breakfast and I walked away stymied. But it was not their fault-one of them was gay and the other one has been married over 20 years. Thinking about what went wrong for me in my first foray into intimacy, I decided it was time to create a list of things that impressed me about men in this bizarre age of techno-dating.

1. Good authentic verbal and written skills. Nothing makes me swoon more than an expressive scribe and a man of eloquent speech. The key to pulling this together is authenticity-the ability to harness the power of the 5^th chakra (throat/communication) with the genuine channeling of the 4^th chakra (heart/emotions). In layman’s terms, it’s good communication from the heart. It takes a confident and brave man to surrender to feeling. Where both men and women miss the boat on this is when the communication is not consistent with the behavior. The mismatch between the 5^th and the 4^th chakra interchanges produces confusion, frustration, and insecurity. When it does come together, watch the fireworks explode.

2. Good behavioral and body language. Be here now. No cell phones, no computers, no distractions, no clocks, and no thought of future responsibilities. Allow your body to relax, look into those windows of the soul, and risk touching. One of my suitors, knowing I was not interested in pursuing an intimate relationship with him, asked me for one last dance for our last encounter in the middle of my living room. It was one the most touching and romantic dances I have ever experienced. Don’t underestimate small gestures as incredibly affecting: hand holding, a sweet kiss on the cheek, a tender hug, etc. Emotional availability and vulnerability creates space for disarmament and intimacy. Nothing turns a woman off more than a man who acts like Data from Star Trek (though Data was at least grammatically correct and displayed acceptable manners).

3. Proper manners and social etiquette. This is an endangered art. It is more than please and thank you. Proper manners involve seating a woman first, opening doors, showing respect and common courtesy. A previous lover I lived with for 5 years always said ‘thank you’ to me every single time we made love. Now that’s what I call respect. Another of my suitors wrote me a note have the first time we made love about how much he appreciated the chance to be so open. It melted my heart. There is also an intuitive side to this, that is, knowing when and how to adapt to varying social situations appropriately. It’s not telling that off color joke at an important function or showing up late for anything. Hand in hand with this is knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

4. Demonstrations of affection (aka romance). This is no brainer but is frequently missed. Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, Holidays and just whenever occasions are opportune times to express how much the person of your affection means to you. I ended a relationship with a man, for among other reasons, he failed to recognize the importance my 50^th birthday. Whenever a suitor comes to visit me at my home, I require he bring me some small token of his affection. In this electronic age, I appreciate the sweet texts and email. Flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and music can also enhance the romance. There is also a fine line to this-one must have clear communications to know what is appropriate and what is excessive, smothering, or inappropriate. On a first date with what I though was a nice intuitive feeling sort of man, he told me I was sexually repressed and suggested we read a book about ‘Tantric Sex’ to open my blocked 2^nd chakra. It didn’t take me long to inform him I was not his pet sexual project.

5. Pheromonal magic. I have already told the story of my wonderful tenorio gay coworker whose aroma drives me wild. Every time I see him I am compelled to grab and smell him. Biochemistry is a powerful aphrodisiac. My last lover’s scent was so overwhelming to my olfactory senses, that I became orgasmic just smelling him as foreplay. Even now I can remember how intoxicated I became with his scent and the taste of his kiss. It makes me weak in the knees just thinking about it. I’ll take biochemistry over good technical sexual ability any day.

6. Sex and intimacy. We have very bad role models in this age of internet dating, immediate gratification, and ubiquitous porn. Everyone is in a hurry to get off. Technical prowess and proficiency are elevated over the dance of intimacy. Sorry, but this is just plain wrong. If technical proficiency is paramount, then all we would need is vibrators and blow-up dolls. The skill in being a good lover is communication, emotional trust, respect, receptivity, spontaneity, willingness, courage, and on and on. The dance always begins at the 6^th chakra with thinking and the visual cortex. If the mind is not engaged first, the rest is an obstacle course.

7. Fun and humor. Humor disarms the defenses, increases the endorphins, and throws stress right out the window. My preference would be to have a witty man over a Hollywood hunk (though I might reconsider this for Channing Tatum). Some of the most attractive men I have ever met were not handsome but magnetic because of their spirit of fun and gift for comedy. Playfulness and creating fun is mandatory in a world governed by logical computers. “A well-developed sense of humor is the pole that adds balance to your steps as you walk the tightrope of life -William Arthur Ward

Cześć to my Polish Readers

 
     When I started this blog I never thought I would see readers from Poland. Witam pana.
     My Polish compatriots are close to my heart as my father's family emigrated from Rytro, Poland, to Minneapolis,Minnesota in about 1908. Minneapolis has the second largest population of people of Polish descent in the United States. I have relatives who still live In Rytro on the original family farm near the Tatra mountains. All of my life I have wanted to visit where my grandparents farm was but have not had the opportunity as of yet. 
     In Minneapolis, I was raised in a Polish, Ukrainian, and German neighborhood. For many years I attended the local Polish church, Holy Cross, where I also went to parochial school. Though I am only half Polish, it had an incredible impact on my life. I am grateful to have been raised in such a rich culture.
     Na razie.





     


     

Dancing with Emotional Lability

emotional lability: a condition of excessive emotional reactions and frequent mood changes.

     Don’t you just love psychological terms that so aptly describe your day? Well this quaint colloquialism has pretty much summed up my week.

    Atira’s week began with a “Dear John” email from her intimate-phobic suitor whose subject line was, “We are just very, very different.” Though the demise of our brief affair was anticipated, not being of the techno-social age, I would have thought this man would have had the decency to have done this break-up face to face. A friend of mine joked, “Well, at least it wasn’t a text.” This was my first confrontation with how electronic communication replaces emotional civility and dignity with well-worded explanations.  

Rule #1: Never open suspicious email, especially ones with the subject line, “We are just very, very different.”

Lesson Learned: As a techno-neophyte in the age of emails and texts, I have learned one can peremptorily avoid any direct emotional consequences by succinctly zipping off a platitudinous email with feigned sincerity.

     Being from the old school of upper Midwestern social graces, one would never take this coward’s way out of a relationship. One would muster the courage to confront head on the messy emotions that go hand in hand with an ending. In this techno-social age, you never have to visually confront emotional upheaval. This produces a tremendous disconnect in how a person’s behavior impacts the feelings of another. Intellectualizing emails absolve the emotional callousness, injurious conduct, and unapologetic remorselessness created by technological invincibility. It all gets neatly swept under the carpet of an email. There is no mourning period with an instant email dismemberment. In the culture I am from, endings are seldom neat and immediate. Just as it took time to develop a relationship, it takes time to end one. That’s why they call it grieving. Circumventing this process is creating a culture of technological psychopaths.

Rule #2: No matter how raw or tumultuous an ending may be, confront these feelings directly in person to demonstrate emotional respect and worth for the person whose intimate connection you are about to sever. This shows compassion, emotional bravery, and the willingness to accept responsibility. Most of all it reinforces emotional sentience and personal integrity.

Lesson Learned: I can be summarily dismissed, wiped off the face of this planet, and replaced easily in techno-land. So much for technology improving our lives. The plus side of this is that I am becoming acclimated to being virtual. I may even consider joining Facebook to acquire more virtual friends.

     Back to where I started. Emotional lability has governed my week. More accurately, it is referred to as grieving but it feels like a procession of disconnected intense conflicting emotions. One-sided grieving without any response from my virtual suitor has left me holding the bag. There is no body to bury, no eulogy, and no sign of anything ever having existed between us.

Rule #3: No one has developed social etiquette for handling virtual grieving. However, since it is virtual, I could have just broken up with Benedict Cumberpatch, Timothy Olyphant, Michael Fassbender, or any man I have had fantasies about-wow, now I don't feel quite so bad.

Lesson Learned: I am a dos-based square peg in a turbo-charged iPad round pegged world.  

Homophilia Redefined

    After reaching critical mass from my Mercury retrograde tsunami, I visited a gay friend for tea and sympathy. Actually, it was white wine and Alfredo pizza but it had the same effect. Being of the same generation and from Minnesota, we share the same language, the same quirky Midwestern sense of humor, and an emotional bond most straight couples would envy. Throughout the evening, as we talked, laughed, and watched TV, I felt the dark curtain of my melancholia lifting. By the time I awoke this morning, I felt my tete a tete with my friend was like taking a gay antidepressant, without the pesky side effects. A calmer, more balanced woman emerged from the wreckage, simply by communing with a simpatico soul.

    Most women who have gay friends know they are indispensable. Straight women (SW) and gay men (GM) share an ineffable affinity. We know the world is run by straight white men who mostly disdain the notion of equality with anyone other than their gender and sexual preference. Life is a daily struggle proving we are just as intelligent, competent, and dynamic. We are constantly barraged by behavioral slights such as snickers, rolling eyes, shaken heads, and other visual cues of disapproval. Even when we are employed in workplaces which tout equality, we continue to experience a glass ceiling no one will admit that’s still there. When not at work, we must be vigilant in a world who sees us as less than, deserving any victimization for openly displaying our natures, and scorns us for demanding equality. Maybe this is why SW and GM connect so deeply: we know the harsh reality of existence on a planet run by oppressors. We may win rights from time to time to ameliorate this unconscionable situation, but in our hearts we know attitudes and behaviors are another matter.

    Homophilia is strictly defined as a noun, “being a homosexual”. However, another definition states it is, “advocating or supporting the interests, civil rights, and welfare of homosexuals”. I would like to propose another interpretation.

    Homophilia: the act of having affinity for or being in concert with one who is homosexual. It is an emotional, intellectual, and spiritual knowing of how being homosexual profoundly affects an individual in society. The intuitive understanding of this enables an unwavering compassionate bond of affection and respect for how homosexuality enhances the humanization of our culture. Homophilia incorporates the importance of advocating, supporting, and demanding the egalitarian civil rights of homosexuals which promotes their interests, welfare, and value to our global community.

      I want to dedicate this blog to my incredible gay friend on Madison Ave, and the rest of my gay harem, whom I love, cherish, and adore. Thank you for contributing so much to my life.   

      

Bitch Slapped by Mercury Retrograde

                                   

    As a Virgo whose ruling planet is in Mercury, every time it goes retrograde I take a beating. To add insult to injury, I am exalted in Mercury, which means my exacting 5^th chakra communication skills go down the toilet. Now that we are in a watery Pisces, Mercury retrograde is in its detriment sending me spinning into a vortex of emotionality, incoherency, and irrationality. I wish I could blame this on PMS or just a bad day.

    For those unfamiliar with astrology, here is a good description of what it is like to be exalted in Mercury from whereincity.com astrology:

“Mercury signifies advisory roles, strategists, business & commerce, research scholars, accountant, transporters, publishers, salesman, traders and diplomat etc. It signifies as friend and communicator with intelligence, rationality, imagination, wit, cleverness, skill, shrewdness, sound judgment, humor and flexibility. It has its best appearance in witty, fond of jokes and laughter. Its signification is attractive features, well-proportioned body, large eyes and witticism. It is the planet of your mental life. It shows how you receive, process and disseminate information.”

    One can imagine if all of the above became oppositionally defiant due to being retrograde what the result would be to one’s psyche. I am cast adrift in a sea of fog. There are no lighthouses, stars, or landmarks to guide me through this miasma. The only relief will come with the direct motion of Mercury on March 1^st. Until then, I remain in my survivor suit on the USS Mercury Retrograde.

Happy 60th Birthday, Karen!

    Happy 60^th Birthday Karen!

    Today is an auspicious event: the 60^th birthday of one of my dearest friends, Karen of Basalt, Colorado. In Eastern cultures, the 60^th birthday represents a landmark event worthy of celebration. It is believed 60 marks a complete circle in one’s life. The planets are placed in the same configuration as when you were born. Customarily, a big event is thrown celebrating your life where you begin your day eating long noodles, a symbol of an even longer life.

    Who is this marvelous woman? She is simply spectacular. I have known her for more than twenty years, having met her when we were both enduring bitter life scourges in northern Idaho. She is a party in a bottle, the funniest woman I have ever met, and has the soul of an artist. There are not enough adjectives to describe how much she brings to my life. We became so bonded that we made a pack that we both had to leave our God forsaken lives in Idaho before one or both of us died from the craziness of the place. She went to Colorado and a week later, I went to California.

    Here are just two incidents from our lives in Idaho that glued us together.

    Twenty years ago Karen was a bartender at a northern Idaho biker bar. Even though I was married, I would meet her there when she was working to escape my dreadful marriage. One Saturday night when she was working, I went to visit her to drink and dance. In my younger days, I was very becoming and attractive, delighting in dance to forget my sorrows at her bar. One night there was a row of men panting to dance with me but obviously too frightened to ask me. At the bar was an old logger, the father of one of the biker boys, who was into his eighties. I asked this elderly gentlemen to dance with me and he was fun. Karen, who was bartending, said to me the younger men at the bar, with mouths agape, were stunned to watch me dancing with this old fart. These guys could just not figure out why I would do this. Karen sat there and watched these guys and said to them, “Let’s hope that old man doesn’t get an erection, he might just fall over.”

    The second incident occurred at Karen’s Twin Lakes' cabin. During the early nineties, meth production in northern Idaho was being proliferated and distributed by the biker gangs who frequented Karen’s bar. For some reason, the biker guys (and their wives) really liked me and were actually sweet to me. Karen is a fierce Irish woman who did not go into this trafficking of meth at the bar. When she voiced this to the owner, it somehow got back to the biker gangs putting Karen at great personal risk. One day in April, she invited me to her house for her son’s birthday. I was stoked to have a reason to elude my oppressive husband, so I decided to be merry by bringing lots of birthday accoutrements to help celebrate the occasion. When I arrived in my white car dressed in all white I must have looked like an angel. There on her front lawn sat Karen with another bartending friend, surrounded by several of the biker wives from the bar. My first thought was they were all here for the birthday party. As I drew closer to this group, I was oblivious to what was really going on. In my zeal to be festive, I shouted out, “Snacks, I have snacks and coke (cola) for the party! Anyone want some?” What I did not see was Karen and her friend were blanched white with fear as these biker women were about to lay siege to them for causing problems with their meth business. Not knowing this was going on, I happily said “hi” to the women and asked them if they were going to stay for the party. Because I appeared so totally foolish, it dissolved their intention to exact their vendetta and they decided to leave. Still not getting what was going on, I said to them as they left, “Too bad you can’t stay, it’s going to be a fun party.” When the blood returned to Karen’s face, she and her friend knew my clueless loony entrance just saved them from having their asses whooped. Even today, Karen laughs how I looked like an angel that day rescuing her from what could have been a dire predicament.

    Here’s to my delightful friend with whom I shared many funny times. I love you, Karen.

Becoming Intimate with Intimacy Issues

    How cozy a cocoon of a self-imposed seclusion is. One can be the king or queen of an isolation palace providing total control and safety. There are no disappointments, no threats, and best of all, there is no fear. Life goes by steadily watching from ramparts others besieged by the emotional turmoil of their intimate relations. Observing this from afar, one can become arrogantly deluded with such rationales as, ‘it will never happen to me, I am smarter than that, or I am content not to have such upheaval disrupt my life.’ Sure, it can be lonely at times but the security from emotional incursion can be its own protective reinforcement.

    After ten years of existing in my comfortable monarchy of my sequestration, I met a man that I really like and scarier, he likes me. Though we are from very different worlds, we somehow connected on some quirky unexplainable level. It is as if divine intervention decided it no longer cared about my entrenched beliefs, it was going to put me into the forefront in the battle with my intimacy issues. And, in a delicious twist of irony, the universe also sent me a man with self-professed intimacy issues. I could have attracted a man without these problems but that would have been too easy. No, I have created an inescapable mirror forcing me to look at what my own defensive barriers are to unblocking my fourth chakra.

    The laundry list of my intimacy issues is probably no different than anyone else. However, now that I have to deal with them, they are a fist punch to my emotional core. They involve issues of trust, faith, surrender, powerlessness, vulnerability, receptivity, sexuality, and risk. I now have to feel things I haven’t had to feel in a decade. The battle armor has to dissolve, there is nowhere to hide, and I am scared. In order to move forward, I have to confront and release the past wounds which led to my reclusion. I am now being asked to suspend all of my reasons, considerations, and judgments to open myself up when my whole being is screaming at me to run or withdraw.

    Who is the man who is provoking such emotional dissonance? He is a man who, through my initial obtunded perceptions, was impenetrable. When I thought we had reached our final impasse, he courageously took some risks with me which left me astonished. Behind the shield of his defenses he became accessible, revealing a sensitive, tender, sweet, and warm man. His persistence and willingness deactivated my perimeter of vigilance. This created a safe environment for both of us to begin to become intimate.

    The unintended effect of being intimate again has produced shaktipat within me. Shaktipat is a Hindu ritual where a master confers spiritual or psychic energy upon an initiate to release kundalini energy. It feels like electroshock therapy to the heart and soul. The result has reduced my honed eloquent speech to babbling at times, has disengaged the GPS of my emotional sentience, and has routed me into the territory of the unknown. Everything I thought was certain is now uncertain. I would like to retreat back to my castle of solitude but that is no longer an option.

    My mirror image has the same intimacy issues, though he does a better job of compartmentalizing than I do and has admitted that. He can drown his feelings with intellectualizing and work. Being two sides of the same coin, I know all of his tricks. I can sense his fear, feel his withdrawal, and observe his questioning the validity of pursuing what he thinks is a mismatched relationship. What he does not understand is that I am doing the exact same thing. I am vulnerable because I cannot control any of this-I can only wait to see how it unfolds.

    One does not work through intimacy issues without risking being intimate. You can talk about it all day, and like fear issues; it will not subside until one comes face to face in vivo with the scary reality. It takes bravery, honesty, patience, and a willingness to encounter all those obstacles to your intimacy barriers. It means uncovering all the dirty laundry to find the beautiful garment that was once unblemished by cynicism, woundedness, pain, and fear. Most of all it takes time. In this age of immediate gratification, one has to allow the ebb and flow of this process without the pressure of instant results. Why? Because this risk involves great rewards. Isn’t that what we all are truly seeking?

    My favorite quote to describe this process comes from, of all people, Donald Rumsfeld. His quote is: “There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. There are things we don't know we don't know.” 

Please Don't Misunderstand Me

     I have always been a fan of the Myers-Briggs Temperament Indicator. For those unfamiliar with this test, it is a tool to gain insight how you and your significant others relate to the world around you. Unlike other psychological tests, this one reveals how you operate within your surrounding environment and is not couched in good or bad terms. The power in it lies with providing information on how you interact based on your temperament scores: are you introverted or extroverted, intuitive or sensing, thinking or feeling, judging or perceiving. These scores define who you are, what your needs are, what are some of your challenges, and how to ameliorate how your type interacts with the other fifteen types. You can easily find this test online-it only takes about 20 minutes to answer the ninety questions in the abridged version.

    Years ago I used Myers-Briggs frequently, when I was I Vocational Rehab Consultant, trying to find compatible employment for my caseload of injured workers. The vocational application of this test took weeks off discovering how my injured workers would work with me, what would motivate them to return to work, and how to inspire them to reenter the workforce in another vocation. I credit it with making me on of the top five Vocational Rehab Consultants for my stats on returning people to work.

    On a personal level, knowing your temperament enables you to understand how similarly and differently you collaborate with your world. For example, I am an Introverted, Intuitive, Thinker, with Judging. Even though I appear extroverted to the world, I need a fair amount of alone time to process internally my outside persona. Being an Intuitive Thinker allows me to cut through the red tape of crap, see the immediate solutions or the strategies needed for such, and uncannily read how others will either help or hinder progress.  Here is a far more comical description of INTJ I found off the internet:

“INTJ: The outside contractor

INTJs are solid, competent personalities who may seem aloof and even arrogant, but who are typically highly skilled in any field which interests them. INTJs are confident in their skills and knowledge, self-assured, and imaginative; their exceptional problem-solving skills make them ideal architects, auto mechanics, and tools of the evil empire. While it requires the driving will to conquer of an ENTJ to imagine the Death Star and the evil genius of an ENTP to invent its devastating weapons systems, the skill and technical prowess of the INTJ is what makes the whole thing work.

The INTJ sees life as a problem to be solved. For that reason, the INTJ is the person a company brings in from the outside to streamline production processes and identify redundant assets for termination. The INTJ's combination of analytical problem-solving skills and complete and utter disregard for the morality or consequences of his actions also make him ideal for the job of hatchet man, CIA operative, and helpdesk operator.
RECREATION: INTJs are often baffled by the strange and incomprehensible recreational rituals of other people, such as going to parties, watching television, and having sex. Instead, they prefer to spend their leisure time installing twin missile launchers in their cars to deter tailgaters and playing chess with megalomaniac CEOs of any corporation.
COMPATIBILITY: Silly person, INTJs don't have relationships! They may, however build their own friends.”

    Well said. Yes, we INTJs are the power behind the throne. People underestimate our surgical strategic ingenuity and depth of commitment. INTJs are the Masterminds, Field Marshals, Scientists, Organizers, and the Planners of the Myers-Briggs universe. However, we are sorely deficient in the facility of propagating romance and love. Rationality and compartmentalization consistently fails to make the top ten in the list of what most lovers are seeking. Though we are almost psychically adroit in reading people and situations, we are amazingly amaurotic when it comes to the nuisances of courtship.

    What started me on my journey for companionship was my electronic liaison with a cogent former university professor who left academia for crafting artisan beer. When his INTJ collided with mine, solar ejections emanated from our communications. But solar ejections can also fry electrical grids, leaving one powerless. Buried under all the intellectualizing, INTJs can unknowingly walk around with full body armor. Nothing can enter or exit. Sometimes though, we do forget to wear our bullet proof vest. The intellectual intimacy INTJs are craving does not always translate well to emotions. Here’s to those sure shot snipers who persist in believing we are more than just our brains.     

Blinded Me with Science

    Yesterday I attended a UCSD lecture called, “New Mass Spectrometry Tools to Battle Human Bacterial Pathogens”. First of all, let me tell you I am not a microbiologist, biochemist, or genomicist.  Why did I attend this erudite medical lecture that was clearly out of my intellectual league?  I have finally come to grips that I am a science groupie and I am attracted to unusual bits and bytes of scientific information.

  

    My fascination with science began when I was about six years of age. For fun, I used to read our library of encyclopedias and homespun medical books. I was totally entranced by the acquisition of facts. As I grew older and some of the facts changed, I became even more hypnotized by science’s shifting perceptions, accumulated knowledge, and global synthesis. Maybe this was all a manifestation of the neural connections in my youthful brain firing on all cylinders but I was hooked. Sometime later, I came to a fork in the road, choosing medicine and psychology as my primary science passions.  However my new focus did not prevent me from occasionally hanging out with my male astronomer friends for kicks or watching Nova on PBS. The groupie in me grew. This led me to having a varied career in medicine working in everything from medical social work, vocational rehabilitation, biofeedback/anxiety management, to circadian rhythm research. It  seems my career sunset will be my current job working in Immunization for UCSD, Department of Pediatrics.
     UCSD is a noble institution and prides itself on sharing the latest in medical discoveries to its staff. One day in my UCSD email I was notified the Department of Peds was doing a conference on “New Mass Spectrometry Tools to Battle Human Bacterial Pathogens”. Usually I ignore these events as they are too pedantic or just plain boring. But this one caught my eye. Every good medical science groupie knows bacteria are gaining superbug strength and may soon win the war of infectious disease. I was intrigued. So what do most medical groupies do when they don’t know something, they ask their Medical Director. My medical director doc is a very humble genius who knows everything about infectious disease. (He sat on the prestigious Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices for the CDC.) When I asked him about this lecture, he told me he knew little about it (shocking) but said I should go and report my findings back to him. That cinched it-if my genius doctor did not know about it I had to go.

    One of the things I like about UCSD, and the science people who work there, is that they are collegial. Even if they cannot quite figure out why an immunization person would come to their lecture, they are polite and gracious.The first person I met while I was waiting for the lecture to begin was the post-doc presenter. We struck up a conversation over the catered breakfast about his background and mine. When I asked him if I was going to understand his lecture, he assured me that it would be basic enough for me to comprehend. He obviously overrated my comprehension abilities.   
     The nomenclature of science, for the neophyte, is like hearing Russian when one only speaks English. Not having any background in microbiology, biochemistry, or genomics, all I heard were intermittent phrases like, profiling molecules, snippets, truncated, peptides, clusters, sporulating, and antibiotic. My brain worked overtime to follow the flow of concepts that were completely foreign to me. As I sat there struggling to connect the dots, I could see the rest of the audience smiling, nodding in approval, and being wowed by the implications of how this knowledge will impact the practice of medicine. What I deduced is UCSD is the worldwide mecca for dissecting pathogens through spectrometry and this didactic discovery about the molecular structure of these pathogens is changing the scientific paradigm of what we know about our greatest enemy. This shift in knowledge will eventually impact how these pathogens so easily develop resistance to antibiotics and provide treatments to stave off or prevent infectious disease. It will also have direct applications in the treatment of cancer and retroviruses like HIV. Of course, he may have said something entirely different but this was my translation. Some of this did get absorbed, instilling a profound appreciation for the intelligent bravery of these fine scientists. As a science groupie, one has to risk looking foolish to grasp heavy concepts like this. It does not deter me, though I wish I would have taken Russian in college.

Homage to Older Women

Now that I am a crone, I salute my fellow sisters.

We enjoy double entendres.

                   


    We still appreciate a good physique.

Some men continue to irritate us while others entertain us.

     
We know all too well who we are. Do you?

We have meaningful relationships with each other.

   We revel in our sexuality.

Good Bye Phillip Seymour Hoffman

Your life as a gifted artist was spectacular. In death, you do not deserve the media storm as a result of your addiction. Thank you for rising above the Hollywood handsome, the shallow chiseled bodies, and the vacant dazzling smiles to reveal the inner pathos of your characters. When you were on screen I could not take my eyes off of you. Consistently you outshone the less talented but more popular of your peers. Sometimes I wonder if you knew how affecting and brilliant you really were. I take solace in having your body of work on film. Rest in peace, Mr. Hoffman.

A Non-Romantic Valentine to My Loved Ones

    Valentine’s Day is approaching sending millions scurrying to Hallmark for the perfunctory manufactured notes expressing meaningful love. The restaurants will be full, the chocolates will be bought, and there will be proposals of marriage. When I was a child eons ago, this was an exciting holiday. My mother bought me valentine’s cards and cute boxes of candy hearts to dispense to my schoolmates. Ah, the joys of this holiday.

    Up north, Valentine’s Day also marks the nearing of the end of winter. Once Valentine’s Day rolled around, I used to anxiously await the lengthening of the days, the melting of the snow, and the welcoming of warmer weather. The dreary whites and grays which covered the prairie would soon give way to bursts of color. I dreamed of my cloistered indoor living existence ceasing and bounding in verdant greens.

    Now that I am a single seasoned crone, Valentine’s Day takes on a different meaning. Culturally, the older one gets the more one disappears in this youth and beauty oriented society. People forget love has no age limit. An elderly friend echoed this sentiment when I turned sixty proclaiming to me, “Welcome to the land of the disappeared.” So how will I be celebrating Valentine’s Day in this obsessed age of forever young?  I will be writing grateful valentines to my loved ones who have recognized I have not donned the cloak of invisibility.

    Every year I write incredibly tender valentines to my tribe. This is no easy feat for a woman who prefers thinking over feeling. My current valentine tradition began in 1991 when six important people in my life died unexpectedly within a six month period. To have so much taken from one suddenly is like standing up against an emotional tsunami. Even to this day, 1991 will forever reign as the saddest year of my life. For anyone who has experienced crushing unexplainable loss, the grieving is all consuming. Every morning I awoke crying, every night tears stained my pillow. I wondered if there would ever come a day when I did not weep. Then in 1992, the numbness and shock subsided enough to recognize there was still life abounding around me. That is when I made my vow to honor my loved ones who contribute in both large and small ways to my existence.

    On this Valentine’s Day I will most likely not have a suitor, receive chocolates, or get a proposal of marriage. I will, however, convey my deepest gratitude to my loved ones for the importance of their presence in my life.