Anger-Shmanger #59

Morning Friend,

Before you go ahead and pop a vessel over burnt toast, bad drivers or uncooperative co-workers today, you might want to take a look at anger from a "cooler" and somewhat enlightened perspective.

Now because I'm no medical expert I've dug up some interesting facts on the physiology of anger that should be of interest, especially if you happen to be a "frequent flyer", ( as in "off the handle"?).

The following is from an article by Vijai P. Sharma, Ph.D...

"As America's number one killer, heart attacks account for nearly half of all deaths in U. S. Every year, over twice as many people die of heart attack as from all types of cancer combined. Other conditions being equal, a person given to angry outbursts and high hostility is at a higher risk of a heart attack, or even death than a person with low anger and hostility. We must remember that anger does more inward damage than can be seen by the naked eye. Anger hurts the angry more than it does the object of the anger. There is an oriental saying, that goes, "You will not be punished for your anger. You will be punished by your anger." This is a physical fact!

Let's look at the physiology of anger. During an outburst of anger, heart rate goes up to 180 beats per minute or even higher compared to the regular heart rate averaging about 80. The blood pressure too goes up, 220 to 130 or even higher, compared to normal readings of 120 to 80. Other harmful physical and chemical changes take place. Body uses up sugar extremely fast creating a sugar deficiency. As a result an angry person shakes in anger.

In the primitive order of the animal world, anger, aggression, and assault are one and the same thing. The body just knows that it is in a "fighting" mode in which it may be injured and bleeding may occur. To safeguard itself in the case of excessive bleeding, the angry person's body releases chemicals to coagulate (clot) the blood, therefore blood clots form more quickly than usual. Now a truly dangerous situation is at hand, that is, ( 1 ) bleeding has not occurred, and (2) a clot is formed which can potentially travel to any organ of the body, including, the brain or the heart.

In a fit of uncontrollable anger, in the case of a heart patient, the heart can suddenly stop due to that clot floating up to the heart and getting lodged there. In another case, heart arteries can squeeze off hard enough to choke off the supply of oxygen to the heart which can cause severe chest pains, creating the well known condition of "angina pectoris." A stroke can also occur when a person in an uncontrollable fit of anger bursts an artery in the brain. This is how anger can hurt the subject more than it does the object of the anger".

Now you're probably wondering my friend, how on such a gorgeous Autumn day with everything coming up roses in my life, why I'd choose to address such a tempestuous topic?

Well first of all it's nice to be able to write "about" anger as opposed to "writing angrily because I'm angry".

If I had to be angry to write, than I certainly wouldn't get much writing done, if any?

Besides the market is already flush with furious editorialists and curmudgeonly commentators looking to incite and infect the masses with their virulence.

MY goals are more along the lines of "shared enlightenment"...and of course a little "fun" :)

Not that there wasn't a time when I was frustrated and bitter and mad at the world. ( 1579 days ago actually !)

In those dark days, everything and everyone was against me from the weatherman to the government.

My health was failing, everyone around me were idiots and my Spiritual light was barely flickering.

And if there's a common thread to be found amongst "angry" people, ( besides the fact they usually die early from some sort of "blown gasket"), is the fact that it's ALWAYS SOMEONE ELSE'S FAULT!

You would think that in a world where one is completely perfect and blameless; mere PREY to the whims and folly of the imperfect world outside, that one would be better off and safer, staying at home and getting drunk? ( which is what I did actually. )

Strangely enough though, you reach a point in that so-called "safe" place and realize there's nobody around to get angry at, because you're alone.

The only one left to vent, rail and rant against is that bloodshot mess, staring forlornly at you in the mirror.

And if, at that moment you have the wherewithal to do an ACCOUNTING, you will realize all the previous anger has been sadly misplaced, misdirected, AND as it turns out, miss-USED.

The problem is NOT, the government, the weather, bad drivers, over-zealous police, your boss, your neighbor, bad luck, ill-will or misfortune!

The problem is YOU....being ANGRY instead of ACCOUNTABLE!

Getting angry changes nothing in life, ( except your cardiac function as Dr. Sharma told us ).

However, if the source of your anger is something that you can realistically change, and inducing such intensely powerful physiological symptoms already, then why not HARNESS that energy and put it behind a plow of RESOLVE?

You see just such an example of this in today's accompanying picture of good old Abraham "Harvesting Tomatoes in the Snow".

An unexpected "mini-storm" a week or so ago caught me with my harvesting "pants down" so to speak and I had obviously waited too long to pick the last of my tomatoes.

"#$&%(@)-WEATHER !!!!" , was my first instinctive thought of course, but from that angry energy I quickly decided that "all was not lost" and readied to conduct a "salvage mission" at first light.

The slightly soggy mission was a "sweet" success, owing in part to the hardiness of the Good Lord's tomatoes, and the calm resolve of his grateful friend!

And a few days later the #&*%$ weather turned nice enough to wear shorts again ( still ) !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( mellow)

Ex-Tree-dinary #58

*NOTE: the following has been rated "P" by the Op/Ed Writers Society as it "may contain poetry or some form of writing laid out to look like it". (This is a public service announcement...."you're welcome"! A.S.)

Morning Friend,

I am humbled by nature.

And affected greatly by the seasons; CONTENT in Winter, EXCITED in Spring, GRATEFUL in Summer, and ....?

The FALL, used to be a severely depressing time for me, and it had nothing to do with the impending six months of local climate and terrain not unlike that found on Earth's moon. ( the dark side of it! )

No it was more a case of NOT being humbled, touched, moved or affected by nature in any way at all.

It was a case of living UN-naturally, and therefore not exalting the ever-changing, ever-beauteous seasons, but lamenting them.

Like a squirrel that had caroused all summer and not squirreled away anything for the Winter, my "nutty" existence was completely contradictory to what is considered natural behavior.

Sometimes my friend, a simple walk amongst the teeming life of the woods is a humbling reminder that I am but a tree in God's forest, and thrive best when not breaking, Nature's laws.

If I may, a little excerpt from what a little "cabin winterizing with Pop" over the weekend brought to mind whilst cavorting in the breath-taking woods of Traverse Bay!

Ex-Tree-dinary by tutall

I am yet breathless from an adventure

whereupon I walked upon

a beautiful carpet of late-fallen leaves

I heard summer summer's whispering wind

bid farewell coolly and coyly

as if to say, "See ya...later?"

The air heavy with the scent of harvest

was smoke-tinged

and wondrously familiar

In the eerie silence of the deep woods

gnarly tree limbs creaked

like an old man's bones

I saw beneath the blaze of color

that the forest's finery

had been but a mirage

The green skirt of earth's burlesque summer

lay strewn and kicked aside

by the naked trees

The once sensuous siren boughs

now hags' claws clutching

at falling beauty

In the tepid light of the low Autumn sun

the forest holds its' breath

gilded in patient bark amour

The long dark Knight of Winter is approaching

upon a hellish white steed

of icy mayhem

The trees are sentinels in stoic stances

guarding the hasty retreat

of those shelter-bound

There are casualties of fire and wind and time

and tears freely flow

nourishing the land with hope

Mighty treetops melt into the stage

as on exquisite cue

until Spring's curtain call

The long darkening shadows of Autumn

are cold empty specters

best left behind

The upturned eyes of the squinting trees

ever stare

at the life-giving sun

Never a backwards glance give they

at shadows behind

and beneath

I am yet breathless from my adventure

where I found the light of Nature

within God's sight

And the light fairly lit up my soul

and the beautiful carpet

of late-fallen leaves

Love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Tree-mendously)

Ever fore #57

Morning Friend,

Here’s a “story” to put you asleep once the leftover turkey runs out.!

I was unable to obtain the services of Robert Bateman for the accompanying "artwork"; in fact the primitive scrawling is probably the least "Bateman-esque" you are likely to find !? ( "Crude but Effective Expressionist"? )

I image you’ll be able to glean any number of my underlying psychiatric issues from this "fairy tale"?, but on the whole I think it nicely reflects the afterglow I’m feeling after a blessed weekend of shared thankfulness, unabashed generosity of spirit, and a true bounty of loving nourishment.

May God bless my friend, all whose hearts are hearths of comfort and everlasting, ever-glowing, ever-giving love...evermore.

Ever fore by tImMy

The young moth took off along with her first breaths of life and soared as the breeze breathed purpose into her furtive and uncertain path.

It was dusk and the growing darkness only added to the already fearful moth’s sense of dread. She flitted aimlessly from branch to flower trying in vain to capture the warm coattails of the setting sun but soon realized it was setting faster than her spirits.

She finally settled upon a warm mossy rock that had been baking in the warm afternoon sunlight and she relished in its’ comfort as the air cooled around her. The moth innately knew that this lovely place – while a haven for the sun’s rays – left her vulnerable to predators such as the birds she heard madly chirping nearby.

She flew off the now cooling rock keeping as low to the ground as the strengthening wind would allow; her senses taut in desperation to find some form of light and accompanying warmth.

The young moth soon found herself faltering in the shroud of the darkening woods. It was getting cold….as cold as the graying light. She feebly thought of making a dash toward the dimly lit moon but realized thoughtfully that its reflected light held little comfort to a shivering moth whose waning strength was hardly up to such a journey!

Suddenly a wisp of wind tinged with wood-smoke painted the air and she flew off eagerly towards the tangy source. The wind ruffled and strained her beating wings and she fought and won several losing battles having to double back time and time again; the smell getting stronger….the essence getting closer….the feel getting nearer….and then….the SIGHT!

A blazing five-foot bonfire had been abandoned by some careless revelers and to the young moth’s delight there was no sign of their returning!

Gorgeous multi-colored flames lashed out and sucked the chill from the air, exhaling a blast of serious heat that drew the young creature forward like a fluttering mindless drone.

The warmth, the color, the smell and the crackling sounds were pure Ambrosia to the moth-maiden who, in her weakened delirious condition was about to fly head-long into the fiery abyss.

“Hold on there young lady!!!....”

The moth stopped dead in mid-flight - the booming voice like an invisible wall in front of her.

“What in the heck do you think you’re doing?”

Weak with shock and surprise, the moth fluttered to the forest floor at the outer edge of the bonfire’s seething heat and gasped, “ I….I…don’t know….I….who are you?”

“Well….last time I checked, I’m a fine strapping eight hundred degree crackling burning bonfire that would probably do little more than just singe your pretty and foolish wings you silly moth!”

“I am not a silly moth. I am just young and didn’t know better….but I’m thankful nonetheless for your consideration in saving me and showing me the error of my way. I’d surely enjoy the warmth of your company! Is there any way I can possibly pay you!?”

She now basked in the glow of the bonfire inching as close as she dare hardly believing she was actually having a conversation with it/him!?

A gust of wind stirred a vast wave of flame and a shower of sparks that the moth thought was meant as an end to their conversation but as she prepared to fly off the bonfire’s voice froze her with his its’ plea.

“I’m sorry about the wind….how it scared you. But I’d surely wish you’d stay!? That’s how you could… pay, though I hardly think you owe me anything…and if you’d like, I could tell you some stories!....before I…have to go.”

The aftermath of the sudden wind gusts had diminished the bonfire significantly and the moth found herself able to move ever closer, somewhat dangerously as the hot embers tickled her wings.

“Where do you have to go?” she asked with an uneasy sense of dread about her new and appealing “friend”.

“I’m not sure!? I was once ablaze with fiery strength and burning passion...it was like daylight in this clearing! But now....I’m weakening....burning up I suppose!? But never you mind....I’ve got SOME stories to share with you! Wonderful tall tales, and funny jokes and yarns of exploits and adventure that have been told and cherished right here at my very feet!! I’ll try my best to edit for content, since you’re so young and all! Some things in this life you’re better off finding out as you go!”

The bonfire’s tone reflected his own intensity as he shared his stories and his warmth with the enraptured moth. She reddened with embarrassment ( as much as a moth can I suppose!), and flushed with delightful laughter as he re-told the bonfire stories and fireside jokes he’d experienced.

The night passed quickly and giddily, as the bonfire relished the rapt joyousness of his precocious new friend. ( as it often does, among friends.)

With the passing of the night came the realization that the bonfire was dying. His voice had weakened like the fire that had battled the darkness through the cold hours. His spirit began to wane as his strength faltered like the flickering flames.

“I think I’ve...run out of stories... young lady.” The voice a mirror of the ashes soon to become cold in the silent fire pit.

“This has been....you have been....I....”, the last spoken in a breath swallowed up by the breeze.

“You can’t go!”, the frightened young moth was now dangerously close to the bonfire’s coals and hanging on to his words for dear life.

“Please don’t leave me Mister Bonfire!!!!....I....I love you!!!”

There was nothing in response but a dreadful silence as smoke wisped and then wafted from the blinking embers.

Frantically the moth rose up, her wings desperately fanning the cooling charred wood, pleading for a spark of response.

“Mister Bonfire!...Mister Bonfire!?....my love, please say something!”

Seeing one last glowing ember amongst the ashes, she saw with clarity and pure certainty, her beckoning destiny. How she was alive....how she was saved....how she had lived, and learned, and loved was owed to this fading force of life shared – and fulfilled.

The night is not dark by the fire of love, nor cold in its' company or lonely in its' memory.

The young moth hovered briefly, whispered his name one last time, and then flew headlong into the smoldering coal, bursting into tiny flume of fire...her last conscious feelings were those of the loving warmth of his embrace...and the eternal comfort of his words, “ I love you too!”

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe....

love a long as you live (extraordinarily)

Grab Grass and Growl #56

Morning Friend,

Amongst the veritable cornucopia of topics I could discuss this morning, none seems more appropriate, ( given the time of year, and my wont to write about things I am passionate about), than Football.

Now perhaps you're not a fan of the game?

Perhaps you're not interested in anything "sports-minded" this morning?

Before you go reaching for the "delete" button, let me assure you this is not about the "sport" of the game, but rather its' ESSENCE.

Having played the game at a high level until a nasty shoulder separation, separated me, from aspirations of one day playing professionally, I consider myself qualified to expound on the "Ballet of Violence", that is football.

Despite shrinking student enrollments, the number of teams in our province's High School Football League reached a record 30 teams this year.

This is not only reflective of the game's popularity amongst fans and players, but of its' innate "character building value" by parents and school administrators.

A football program is costly to run, but factored into the thousands of dollars required to outfit a few dozen players are the intrinsic benefits to the school's spirit and community pride.

From my perspective, the dollar value is insignificant when one considers the incalculable value of the Life Lessons and immeasurable character development the sport offers.

One might say that any team sport is essentially a worthwhile tool in teaching good values such a teamwork and commitment, but in no other sport but football, are these lessons HAMMERED home with such agonizing aplomb, and succinct savagery.

Many who watch a 60 minute game are unaware of the countless torturous hours the players have spent in preparation.

Just the act of "stretching" ( a painstaking and strenuous affair essential for performance and injury prevention ), can take up to an hour and is done before every practice as well as games.

As you're watching players get tackled and practically bent in half in the process and you're wondering how they survive the ordeal, it's because they stretched themselves nearly in half before game time.

Hand in hand with flexibility goes supreme physical conditioning; the result of months in the weight room, endless hours of drills, and miles of running, followed by more miles of running.

I wouldn't go as far to suggest that my High School coach, the irrepressible and dynamically deranged Len Sitter, had sadistic tendencies, but his maniacal demeanor would almost soften to a happy grimace when there was PAIN in the air.

He lobbied fiercely against draining the mosquito-infested swamp behind the practice field at St. Paul's because of its' ergonomic suitability for "dry-land training".

Like all beloved and respected coaches though, he had the ability to unearth the "man within the boy".

And while there are of late some women playing football at the college level in the U.S., football is an extremely violent, Manly game.

It is a game of split-second precision and raw power.

It is a game requiring intense courage and poetic coordination.

It is a game with nurtures selfless temerity and extreme physical and mental toughness.

It is a game about which the late great Earl "the Earthquake" Lunsford coined the phrase, "Grab grass and growl!" ; in reference I suppose to its' primitive and yet poignantly earthy essence.

It is a game which develops camaraderie and builds character.

It is a game where success is measured not in individual performance but by TEAM excellence.

It is a game mirroring life's lessons which I'd venture to say has passed by the "troubled" youth we read about in the papers these days; kids that are grabbing the wrong kind of grass and "prowling", not growling.

And while there is a rare few professional ball players who aren't perfect role models for kids today, the truth is most of them are.

Booze and drugs are not synonymous with success in any endeavor in life, but least of all in the rigorously demanding game of football.

To coin a phrase from an old 1950's Blue Bomber fight song,

"...we're the boys from the Bomber Crew,

we don't smoke and we don't chew

and we don't go with girls that DO!"

Now you might be saying my friend, that your boy is too "slight" or "timid" for such a maelstrom of vigor?

Well if you look at the "handsome" nappy-headed young #79 with the "baleful stare", in the accompanying photo, you'll see a skinny-as-all-get out "bean pole" with the gentle heart of a lamb.

But put him out on a football field and that lad became transformed into a rampagingly fearless 165 pound wrecking ball with the heart of a pissed off lion!

And he most CERTAINLY did his best to avoid any of the aforementioned "girls that DO" !

love tImMy:/

Laugh as much as you breathe...

Love as long as you live ( Crusading!)