That time I tried to meditate

This morning I returned home from a routine visit to the doctor determined to keep an open mind about his suggestion that I try some meditation. That he might recommend this at some point was no surprise; I caught a glimpse of the prayer flags in his office the first time I saw him a few years ago.

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

I decided to give it a try on my lunch break. As he said, guided meditations are easy to find on YouTube and elsewhere. I got down to business, found a short video, and decided I could easily spare five minutes.

Nearly every second of that time, one of the first few words the guy’s soothing voice said ran through my brain, again and again and again.

Thank you for gifting yourself these next few minutes.

This was not relaxing. I want those five minutes back, dammit.

I grudgingly admit that people have used “gift” as a verb for a long time, but I’m one of the people Merriam-Webster mentions here. It was good to see I’m not alone, but I do imagine I should probably go meditate some more.

Take it easy, my friends.


What can a white guy do?

You want to do something to support people who are out protesting police brutality and other manifestations of racism, but you don’t know what to do.

You are far from alone.

Since I don’t have the answers, I’m passing along something a colleague shared this morning. Maybe you will find it useful.



Not all died for freedom

Image by luxstorm from Pixabay

On this Memorial Day, as we remember and honor the men and women who fought and died in wars to preserve our freedom, we also remember and honor those who fought and died in our other wars. We often forget on days like this that not all wars are just, which makes lost lives all the more tragic.

Despite the idiotic “Happy Memorial Day!” tweet by our impeached president, ads touting special Memorial Day sales on nearly everything, fun cookouts and other shallowness and joy at having a day off from work, this is not a day of celebration. It is a day to commemorate loss, bravery and sacrifice. It is an observance.

I wish you all a peaceful day of reflection.


Mrs. Smith: my SU, my LP, the LOMY

An article about weddings caught my eye this morning in the Denver Post. (I would link to it but it doesn’t seem to be online yet.) That a story about weddings would catch my eye is unusual and I’m not sure why this one did. Maybe because we received a “save the date” note by snail mail yesterday about our niece’s November wedding in California, or that a wedding this summer in New Jersey won’t be happening because of coronavirus, or that our own 41st wedding anniversary is a few days from now.

The LOMY on top of Mt. Elbert, Colorado.

When I say “our,” I’m referring to me and Mrs. Smith, which brings me to the point. The article mentioned the disfavor “Mrs.” has taken on among many women.That’s not a new development, but it occurred to me some might not appreciate my referring to Mrs. Smith as Mrs. Smith.

I am not overly concerned about this because I readily acknowledge that her identity is uniquely her own and in no way dependent on me. She chose to change her last name to mine only after our son was born and the medical community in eastern Iowa proved to be too easily confused to deal with the situation.

Probably overthinking any risk to her privacy – and hoping to avoid causing her unnecessary embarrassment at being associated with yours truly – I later began referring to her as Mrs. Smith in blog posts as a way to avoid using her first name.

In any event, now that this has come to my attention, I will do my best to refer to my spousal unit not as Mrs. Smith but as either my spousal unit (SU), my Life Partner (LP), or the Love of My Life (LOMY).

My LP, by the way, has a perfectly lovely first name.