Love Archives - Wut Javia

I Miss My Mom

And She’s Not Even Gone

Reports of my Mother’s condition have been positive lately. Yes, she is frail and sleeps almost constantly. But her vitals have been good and she continues to take some nourishment. Some reports have her awake late at night watching TV in the lounge. Really, though, there is not much left of her but skin and bones.

That includes her cognitive mind. She continues to be kind and sweet to those she encounters in the memory care unit. She vaguely recognizes my sisters when they go to visit. She remembers some events from her past but can’t remember her family. Sometimes, she hears from her Mother. Her Mother tells her she is ready for Mom to come home.

For me, Mom has been gone for a while. I’ve made my peace with in-person goodbyes a few times now. I haven’t been to Atlanta for nearly a year to see her again. In some ways it is difficult to say goodbye to her again. She doesn’t know the difference if I’m not there.

I miss my Mom! I keep wanting to call her but she has no, nor can she use a phone. Not for anything special. Just to talk with her like I used to, chatting about what’s going on in our lives. I am happy to have Cathy to share my life. And I enjoy talking with my sisters and brother on a regular basis. Sharing our children’s and grandchildren’s lives is a blessing. But it’s just different. I feel for all of you who have lost your parents, whether in their due time or prematurely. It is difficult to accept the braking bond between child and mother.

I have experienced the gradual decline of someone dear to me. The eventuality and inevitability of death. It hurts to go through it again. Fortunately, Mom is not in serious pain. Her dementia often alleviates her stress over losing her mind. It didn’t for a while, but its progression anesthetizes her from most thought. She seems content to stare at the TV. She also watches the hustle and bustle of others like herself and the staff that guards and keeps them.

Mom is well on her way to the age of one hundred one years. None of us thought she’d live this long. There have been several episodes within the past year when we assumed it was the end. Now, finally, I am planning to return to Atlanta to see her. Not to take care of her estate, nor for a celebration of life. Just another visit at the end of which I will have to say goodbye again.

So I continue to miss my Mom. I believe I will miss her even during the visit. I know I will miss her when she is finally at rest. She is the last of the family’s age group. Too quickly it will be our turn. In some cases, it already is.

Catching Up On Life – Again

Starting Now and Filling In

Cathy and I got home from our honeymoon at Jackson Lake Lodge in the Tetons last Sunday. Since then we’ve been settling into our married life and working on all of the logistics of combining and consolidating our lives. Who knew there are sequencing issues with changing one’s name? I suppose, those of you who have had to change your names. Sorry!

Yes. We got married! It’s been a thrill and long anticipated. I asked Cathy to marry me on Valentine’s Day, in writing, on the card she gave me. She took little time to say yes. But she answered in writing the next day on the same card. I believe she is keeping that card.

The Tetons opportunity came up last November. A deal we could not resist. Little did we know then that it would be our honeymoon destination. But with upcoming anniversaries for the passing of our spouses in April and May, we decided to try to sandwich our wedding between May and the latter part July.

On July 21st we held a small wedding with some of our children and grandchildren, and a few close friends. We’ve been attending St. Stephen Lutheran Church in Urbandale for several months now. It’s a gracious and loving environment with a wonderful pastor. So we decided to invite Pastor Andrea Myers to officiate the wedding, at our new home. On Friday the 18th, Pastor Andrea informed us that she was diagnosed with Acute Leukemia. She needed to be in Rochester the following Monday (the 21st) for tests, and to begin treatment. Thankfully, Associate Pastor Chris Lang stepped in to perform the ceremony. Our thoughts and prayers continue for Pastor Andrea as she endures the first round of chemo regimens. And we pray for a speedy and complete recovery.

Cathy and I spent our teen years in the same neighborhood. Both of our last names began with “Ja”. Because of this, we were placed in the same homerooms for both Junior and Senior High School. We didn’t socialize back then. But we were aware of each other. We reconnected through our 50th reunion website. Cathy posted that she had lost her husband to a fast-growing cancer. I offered my condolences and empathy, having recently been through a similar loss. When we met for dinner in June of 2024, we quickly recognized our common interests. It didn’t take long for us to notice the attraction.

Obviously, there is so much that happened between June of 2024 and July of 2025. I might get to some stories about us in later posts. Here I will say that our upbringing, our common neighborhood and school, and our years of life experiences have all led us to each other. Our love is for each other, as we are. Sharing our remaining years together is our passion. Yet we are always mindful of our losses of Pam and Craig. We have mutual respect for our grieving. We embrace each other’s loved ones and friends as we move forward into our future. We are truly blessed.

“Hello It’s Me”

“I’ve thought about you for a long, long time.”

Hello It’s Me by Todd Rundgren, 1972

Did you miss me?

I like this song. Though it is a bit sad. The music is great – I began thinking about blogging again this week. It’s been since the middle of March when I suggested I would be coming out with something big. It was supposed to be a commemoration of five years of wutjavia.com.

But life continues to unfold in unexpected ways. We all know change is inevitable. Whether a function of the times or of age, the speed and frequency of changes seems to be accelerating. Thus, I have been away from here for a while. And the post reminiscing about Wut Javia will have to wait. For now I turn my attention to the near future while keeping connection with my recent past.

The third anniversary of Pam’s passing is approaching. I have many reminders of its coming. I have many thoughts about its arrival.

When I left the bridge on May 12th last year, I told Pam I didn’t know if I’d be back. I had no idea what direction my life would head. I knew only that I was planning to move forward. Keeping Pam, and our past, in my thoughts and heart.

I have written about or alluded to some of the ways my life has changed since then. I moved closer to my son. I began a relationship with a woman. I vaguely knew Cathy from my past. She lost her husband just over a year ago.

Cathy and I have grown close and are making plans for our future together. It’s a good thing! We share many things in common. Our high school experience, the neighborhood where we grew up. Past acquaintances and friends. We also share much in our present. By far the least of which is the loss of our spouses.

As we learn about each other, we realize that former influences shaped who we are. They developed a basis for our compatibility. Our personalities jibe. But with enough differences to keep our relationship interesting. We enjoy music and nature. We contemplate God and the universe. We keep each other on our toes, so to speak.

I relay these things to you as pretext to what is soon to come. Cathy just experienced the first anniversary of her husband’s death. I am about to experience the third anniversary of Pam’s. Thus, I have asked Cathy to join me at the bridge in Nebraska. Three years ago, I poured Pam’s ashes over the bridge, into the stream that runs into her family’s heritage farm. Cathy enthusiastically agreed to come.

As Pam was dying, and after she did, I promised her that I would live the rest of my life. Not merely exist in grief. It is fitting that I share this solemn, heartfelt time with Cathy. In some sense I hope that it is a loving transition from my past to my future. A future that Pam told me would be. One I didn’t think was possible. On where I could love again.

Hello, it’s me. I still love you. I still think about you. I am moving ahead with a life without you in it. A life I know you would want for me. Your life too early ending.

Radio…

…Silence

Bemusing my inability to produce a post last week, I thought of radio silence. And just the way my mind works, I spontaneously bounced related radio topics around in my head. Still, I am approaching another week’s deadline without sufficient brain waves (or bandwidth) to get this out on time.

But let me give it a try and hopefully offer something worth reading for another week. Here are just a few of the balls that bounced through my cerebral cavity.

…Wave

“Radio waves are a type of electromagnetic radiation. A radio wave has a much longer wavelength than visible light. Humans use radio waves extensively for communications.”

University Corporation for Atmospheric Research (UCAR)

We’ve all known about radio waves our entire lives. Their existence was proven by Heinrich Hertz in 1887. We’ve enjoyed radio waves through, well, radios and other audio devices. Radios were one of the most influential communicators before television (and after the telegraph). The frequency of various electromagnetic waves is thus measured in Hertz (Hz).

Of course we think of other kinds of waves. Brain waves. Waves of the ocean. Light waves. These are just a few. Come to think of it, my hair has always been wavy. I guess that’s frequent too 😉 .

…Frequency

Going beyond radio waves here. The video included with the above link gives an easy-to-understand explanation of frequency. Obviously, frequency has a plethora of other uses in our daily lives. I go to the grocery store too frequently! Yet I eat fruits and vegetables far too infrequently. You get the picture.

Frequency played an important role in my development during my formative preteen and teenage years. Frequency Modulated (FM) radio offered a distinct music venue. It was separate from the popular Amplitude Modulated (AM) radio stations. These stations were full of bubblegum pop and paid commercials.

KFMG radio introduced me to the deep tracks of Yes, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, Led Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd. They played songs from many other less known bands too. The station exist still today. But I’m not sure of their repertoire now.

Transistor…

When I was born, as far as I know, all radios were powered with electricity running through vacuum tubes. Some were large with multiple speakers for high, medium, and low tones. Some were small, still using vacuum tubes, but with less power and fewer or smaller speakers. But none were portable. All were plugged in to an electrical outlet.

It turns out that the first transistor radio was built in 1954, the same year I was born. The Regency TR-1 was released in October of that year. It is “…a semiconductor device with three connections, capable of amplification in addition to rectification. A portable radio using circuits containing transistors rather than vacuum tubes.” Game changer!

Boom boxes, the Walkman, and many computerized innovations began with the development of the transistor radio. All in my lifetime!

So what?! What does all this have to do with you?

Not much really. Unless you can relate to either the strange workings of my verbose (musing of a wandering) mind. Or you relate to the nostalgia of developing technology or rock and roll music. Regardless, it’s been fun to think about and ultimately to write about. Hopefully, I can avoid many weeks of radio silence as I sway “through this fairyland of love.”

See you next week – I hope.

Whew! I almost made it. Just a few minutes late.

Happy Pounds

I have gained weight. It seemed gradual. Yet it only took about six months to gain ten pounds! I met someone about the time I moved. Well, we knew each other way back when. So we actually reconnected last summer. Since that time we have grown a deep friendship and romance. It is good!

Apparently, I suffered from a grief diet before that. At least I must have eaten differently. I suppose meals for one and restaurant leftovers were kind to my middle. And I was exercising – a lot! Exercise was an escape. Or rather, provided me with time to think and work through my grief. Walking was a mindless task. Leaving me ample cognitive space.

Since last summer my partner and I spend more time enjoying various activities. We sip coffee, cook meals, and sit for hours talking and laughing. And we enjoy desserts – a lot! I call them happy pounds because I am happier now than I have been for a very long time!

Consequences

It’s a lethal combination. More food, less exercise. Though laughing is good for the countenance, it doesn’t burn many calories. And not just any calories. Sweets! Wonderful sugar-filled frozen cream with plenty of chocolate, fudge, caramel, and – did I mention cream?

Consequently, the pounds. A bit of a rounder face. The tighter fit of pants and shirts. The grimace when looking in the mirror. It’s bad enough to see the aging face, the wider body, the age spots, the wrinkles. And now the mass!

But it’s not just that. It’s a feeling. A little sluggish. Heavier breathing when going up the stairs. It may be my imagination, but I think I can feel it in my muscles and joints. I am still working on a few medical issues that I ignored while caring for my wife. I worry that I might be compounding those problems by ignoring how I eat!

All Things In Moderation

I wasn’t eating poorly before. I vastly changed the proportion of vegetables to red meat. I ate more fruits and drank less alcohol. I have continued that trend. I have not, though, decreased portions nor paid attention to the extra not-so-good foods I’ve added to my diet.

About a week ago, my partner got a wake up call, so to speak. Without any detail, suffice it to say that a change in diet is needed. And I don’t want her to do it alone. Nor will the changes be bad for me.

For the first time in my life I am seriously reading nutrition labels. Fats, carbs, sugars. Even vitamins! I’ve always been a “calculator.” Now I direct some of that energy to meal planning. Healthy proteins. Fewer carbs. Plenty of fiber. It looks like this:

The pamphlet is from NovoCare, an educational branch of Novo Nordisk. I know it’s probably big Pharma, but at least it’s educational. Here is the complete PDF document to download:

booklet-planning-healthy-meals Download

I’ve lost two pounds in a week! Most of the loss is from not eating sugary, calorie-laden desserts. But making better food choices and eating in moderation are essential to a healthy diet. I have always told people that almost anything is okay in moderation. Don’t eat too much. Don’t drink too much or often. Okay, just DON’T smoke!

All things in moderation. And for those of you who are of a younger generation, it’s better to realize it now. Don’t wait for time to knock some sense into you. It may be too late!

Compelling Topic

I have been writing this blog for five years now. Consistently for the last three. I have told you about some of my deepest pains, fears, and frustrations. All with the recognition and hope that you, my faithful readers, can relate to my joy and suffering. Or at least empathize with me. My hope is to enlighten and educate. And for us all to enjoy the writing and the reading. I have the same intent with this message.

Be well!

Not In Silence Do I Sit

First Concentration Camp!

This week marked the 80th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in Poland on January 27th, 1945. My family background and upbringing keep me painfully aware of the Nazi Holocaust. Without even having to think of it, the words of this heading came to mind.

My public and private statements reflect my angst during and since the recent presidential election. Rhetoric from our now president and his minions echoed so closely the Nazi propaganda of the 1930’s. Though I tried, I could not contain my concern.

I uttered “The first concentration camp!” out loud when I heard the news that tridiot plans to house illegal immigrants at Guantanamo Bay. Thus elevating my fear, disgust, and concern for our future as a democratic union.

We have not completely devolved into a dictatorial regime. There are many who fight by legal means. There are many who speak up and/or contribute to the cause of freedom from tyranny. As some say, “There are still some guardrails in place.”

There are nearly as many who voted against the destructive power grab. There are more who mistakenly didn’t vote their conscience. None of us know what will come of the next four years. But we cannot let this evil prevail.

That’s all I will say about this now. I didn’t want to bring it up. But I could not stay silent.

Faith Journey – Is God real in my life

I describe myself as having a complicated faith journey. Without going into too much detail, let me give some background for this topic. Until about twenty years ago I was deeply entrenched in the congregation to which I belonged. I was active in its government. Active in worship. Active in relationships. Circumstances began to change as my wife and I started to burn out from commitment. After all, we had given an abundance of time and resources.

When we moved to another city we tried to connect with what we hoped was a similar church community. We also planned to limit our involvement. That didn’t work well. We didn’t connect with people there and they never reached out to us in welcome.

I found myself searching for tangible evidence of God, and found none. I questioned His existence. I even wrote songs about my challenges of belief. When Pam fell ill, I concentrated solely on her and just put God aside. Clearly, if He existed, He wasn’t in my good graces.

After her death, I began to wonder again whether God is real. My logical mind can’t wrap around the concept of an all-knowing, all-creating sentient being. A benevolent yet demanding lord.

Yet I wanted to believe. I still do. I clearly had in the past. There is some comfort in knowing a gracious God who watches over me and mine, who knows what’s happening to mankind (nod to the first topic), and will somehow, some day, make it right.

Recent twists and turns in my life lead me to try once again to reconnect with God. I’ve even been praying a little. I’m attending different churches in hopes of making fresh connection. Though I question the very nature of the God to which I direct my prayers. Yet I hope. I hope my prayers are heard. I hope God loves us. I hope for good things.

I won’t go into any religious dogma or doctrines. Nor will I try to parse the Bible for any reason. Let alone to twist it to my whims. I won’t, in this space, argue the socio-political issues and stances that are shaping our world today.

What I want, what I need, is to understand how God is in my life. I need to recognize His presence. I need some evidence. All the while knowing that believing requires faith. The hope is for things we can’t see. And I’m not talking about heaven or hell. I’m talking about life here on this earth!

I suspect these words will evoke many differing opinions on belief in God. I am aware that my readers believe in different forms of, or faith in God. Some may want to save me or correct my errant ways. Not my problem. Those with true compassion and empathy can accept who I am and where I am in my faith journey.

So comment if you will. But I hope you will be understanding and kind. I suspect I am not the only one with shaken belief. Not the only one with doubts welling up due to personal circumstances and our human condition.

I guess I’ve said my piece. Laid it out for you to “see.” I hope it’s not a mistake. Amen!

Claire – An Inspiration!

I have the pleasure, honor, and responsibility of chauffeuring my stepgranddaughter, Claire, to her eyesight therapy. Once or twice a week I take her to ChildeServe. I have to get up and ready much earlier than normally I would. She is always ready. Her walker waiting outside. Her backpack on as she comes out the door.

We take about 20 minutes to get there. It’s been cold and windy, but no bad weather so far. We are both still waking up as we make the trek across town. Some conversation, but mostly it’s me sipping coffee and she telling me what’s up for the day.

Wednesday she shared that the family is going to Florida in March. She and her siblings just found out about it this past week. We talk about what we’ve been eating, what’s up for the weekend. Ben and Emily took their permit driver’s tests on Saturday. It’s a big deal.

Claire is eleven. She has Cerebral Palsy (CP). She has trouble walking. She wears braces. She uses a walker, though not around the house. Claire has survived several surgeries attempting to correct the combination of variations in growth of bone, muscle, and tendon. She works hard to take care of herself and contribute to the shared needs of her family of seven. I have had the privilege of being a part of her extended family for several years. I have watched her grow.

The first time I was at their house, Claire came bounding down the stairs head first. She moved in a controlled, bumpy slide. A huge grin on her face. I’ve rarely seen her without that grin since. But now she walks, with effort, up and down those same stairs.

I have other relatives with disabilities. I’ve seen the challenges families have caring for a child with mental or physical limitations. So I was not taken aback by Claire’s condition. But I’m sure that others’ reactions and responses are different. I know that Claire is painfully aware of how others look at her.

I sit in the waiting room at ChildServe. I am stunned at the number and myriad challenges of the young people and their parents. They come for different, often multiple, kinds of therapy. Claire also receives physical and occupational therapy on a weekly basis. She has most of her life.

(I should probably explain something here. Claire’s eye work. Her eyesight is okay. She has a visual processing disorder. Her brain decides to offer a narrow window of vision. It, for instance, limits her peripheral vision. Unfortunately, the brain decides when and where to concentrate that narrow window. Thus, she is working with a therapist to retrain the brain to increase that window and help her control it. Claire is also challenged with fine motor skill difficulties. Further complicating how she learns in school. Tough stuff!)

Claire is not afraid to stand up for herself. I don’t think she’s always been that way. Wednesday she took her school work to share with her sight therapist. She wants to show her therapist what she is doing in a specific class. She also wants to share the challenges she has with a teacher. This teacher seems not to know how to accommodate her. Unlike a physical disability, a processing disorder is not noticeable to others.

Claire expressed anxiety as we rode from ChildServe to her school. She planned to confront her teacher, armed with the guidance given by her therapist. Claire had written an email to her teacher and received a reply. She recognized that her teacher had good intentions. But she also feels that her teacher’s solutions are not responsive to her needs. Suggestions to use a typing device to take notes or speech-to-text options are not effective. Claire still can’t keep up.

I don’t know yet how that conversation turned out. I’ll try to follow up in a future post.

Which brings me around to the inspiration. As I said, Claire has grown. Physically, sure. But also in maturity. Most notable in our car ride conversations is her vocabulary. And she uses it well. Claire is articulate and expressive. She knows what she wants to say and explains herself well. Sometimes it takes time to process how to respond to a question. I love that she does. She thinks before she speaks. Something we should all aspire to.

Anyone who spends time with Claire surely can see past the physical appearance brought on by her CP. It is still a tragedy to judge a book by its cover. Claire’s looks are maturing. Her radiantly smiling face is transitioning from that of a child to one of a young woman. She carries herself, both physically and mentally, with dignity and confidence. She is not afraid of who she is. She embraces her qualities. She wants, needs, and looks for acceptance by others. Not so different from everyone else.

I am so impressed with Claire. I am a better person for knowing her and sharing her life – with all of her struggles. I hope by writing this message that I can expand people’s understanding of living with disability. People’s acceptance of everyone for who they are. Whether their challenges are physical, cognitive, or emotional. Claire reminds me again that we all are human. We all have worth. We all deserve respect and understanding. I hope you understand me. I hope you join in recognition and acceptance.

Claire, atop Rendezvous Mountain, 2023

Past, Present, and Future

Read if you will. Or just accept my wishes that you have had a good holiday season, and for a happy, healthy new year!

This contemplative message comes to you as we transition from religious and national holidays of the season to celebrating the beginning of a new year. I am unsure of its edifying value. Mostly I muse and wander, skirting around feelings that have emerged as another post-Pam holiday season approached. Read if you will. Or just accept my wishes that you have had a good holiday season, and for a happy, healthy new year!

Past
Present
Future
Living in the Past, Present, and Future

Past

Youth have no past of their own. Few, if any, memories to dwell on. They learn of their past from those within their circles. Family, family friends, school, religious affiliations. Youth develop a past as they age. They typically become aware in their teens. And while learning their past, they start to question. Some learn life’s lessons early through both happy and tragic experiences.

Adults carry their past with them as they bound along life’s highways and byways. All the while adding to the volume and depth of past experiences. The past molds their outlook on life. It impacts their decisions. It is integral to their thought processes. Their past is both a blessing and a curse.

Later in life our early past often lies latent. Only surfacing when reminded. More recent past begins to emerge as repeat experiences. Sometimes melding and becoming confused as intermingling fibers of new and well-worn clothing. The past continues to guide us. And yet we have forgotten so much!

The past is both a teacher and a burden to the aged. Wisdom comes from how we reconcile the past. Yet its weight is always upon us as we navigate what’s left of our lives.

Back to the Top

Present

We live in the present. Or do we? We meet each day anew. Yesterday is in the past. Tomorrow is unknown.

Youth experience each day with little expectation. Their limited past is of little help for the day. They rely on their wits and those whom they accept as having wisdom enough to guide them. Parents, siblings, peers. At the end of the day, they have added good and/or ill experiences to their past. Youth have yet to deeply contemplate the future.

Adults navigate life’s trials and tribulations. Relationships, work, family, social interactions. Though somewhat guided by the past, they are enough to fill the day. The past can straighten life’s paths or obscure roads from vision. The past can lift up or bring down. It does both from time to time. Each day’s decisions are based on past experience and hopes and dreams of the future.

The past envelops us as a binding or a blanket as it becomes the greater part of our life span. More of the day is spent remembering. We can be suffocated by it. We can embrace it. But we can’t escape it. Days are filled with memories. We remember past hopes and dreams for the future. We are on a destiny train to the future.

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Future

Youth do not understand the future. They have no experience to lead them on. Their concept of the future is forever. Their view of the future is couched in their learned past. They start to look to the future as they gather past experience. They develop a concept of what life will bring.

Adults look to the future from instinct. The drive to survive presses notions of sustenance, shelter, procreation. Adults develop plans. Some detail their every move while others press on with vague notions of direction. Aspirations. Hopes. Goals. Wishes. All are looking to the future.

Aging changes future perspective. The future is shorter. It is finite. Aspirations, hopes, goals, and wishes are either fulfilled or lost in the past. The future looks more toward legacy. What will be left behind to lend wisdom to others’ pasts? There is both fulfillment and emptiness as we contemplate Days of Future Past ¹.

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Living in the Past, Present, and Future

Personally, this year’s season is a true mixture of the past, present, and future. I am aware of the weight and the wisdom of my past. Memories of holidays from my youth and adulthood mingle with my recent past. They include loved ones who are either gone or far away. We can no longer celebrate as once we did. Decorations, cards, and gifts now recall those memories. Memories of what was and is no more.

At the same time I feel excitement and contentment for what is now my life. New love, new friends, new surroundings add to the joy of being closer to family. Each day is new unto itself. Retirement affords me to choose to do, or not do, the daily tasks before me – within reason. I am thankful for the day.

As in the past, my present hope for your future is a happy, healthy new year!

Past
Present
Future
Living in the Past, Present, and Future

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Album by the Moody Blues ↩︎

More Musings…

Word of the Week – Confabulate
Music – The Other Non-addictive, Mood-altering, Non-substance

Word of the Week – Confabulate

Let me first say that I tried to guess the meaning of confabulate before looking it up. I thought it meant something along the lines of blowing something way out of proportion. I thought my definition was a stretch. The “con” part seemed contradictory to making more out of something. But I took a shot. I wasn’t close!

According to Merriam Webster, confabulate is “to exchange viewpoints or seek advice for the purpose of finding a solution to a problem.” Synonyms include consult, confer, discuss, talk. It’s so common it seems we do it all the time!

Some confabulation is short. Like attempts to bring someone’s words to the surface – like an emotional response. Other confabulations, it seems, try to help develop a theme or a plot, or even a memory.

I can relate to confabulation with my age peers. Like me, they are having difficulty with recall of names, places, and people. We laugh at the effort it takes two or more people to remember any particular thing. We laugh to mask the fear that we are no longer at the top of our game. The reality of the effects of aging.

We often confabulate about where to go or what to eat. We confabulate to figure out how to deal with the weather. I am particularly honored when I get a text or a call from a friend or relative asking for my opinion or to help work through a difficult decision.

But I think I’m making light of the term. Webster’s explains the use of confabulate in much more serious context. Go there to find in-depth understanding. I just like the word as either a verb (confabulate) or a noun (confabulation). And thus ends the discourse on The Word of the Week.

Music – The Other Non-Addictive, Mood-altering, Non-substance

This image arrived in my text threads this week:

I take issue with the first descriptor in the above list. I believe I am addicted to music! Not just making it. Also listening. Music is so ingrained in me. Typically, I am silently (or not so silently) humming or singing a tune in my head. I wonder how I would get along without music!

Lyrics constantly pop into my head as I am listening and talking with others. Sometimes they are completely out of context. The topic of the song and our discussion are not close to the same. I blare out the lyrics in tune. Often they become a play on words. This also leads to research and confabulation to figure out the title and/or artist.

Music is definitely mood-altering. Again I say, “I wonder how I would get along without” it! Religious music had an early influence on my life. That influence changed with the works of Bob Dylan. The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, The Moody Blues, and many more also shaped it. It is often the music of my teens and twenties that come to mind in any given situation. Music of the 80’s and 90’s bounce around in my brain. Though I am less influenced by their genres.

Where would I be without my music?! I wrote my earliest, simplistic song while still in high school. I’ve written for and about women. I’ve written about family and friends. I’ve written about dreams and real experiences. Writing and playing my lyrical and/or instrumental music is cathartic! Music has seen me through some of my most difficult times. Aided my recovery. Given me purpose. It is a non-drug medicine!

Common side effects include but are not limited to uncontrolled head bobbing, toe tapping, finger snapping, selective hearing impairment and persistent melody flashbacks

I may have already covered “persistent melody flashbacks.” The rest is soooooo true! You know it is. Sing along. Even out of tune. Out of range. Out of time. You know you do it. It can’t be helped. Music is likely the most potent, readily available panacea for emotional injury. It requires no prescription. You need no insurance. If you are like me, you might not even need a fix. It’s just there!

I’ve done my share of drugs, drunk my share of spirits. Now I do yoga from time to time. I exercise often. Music may be addictive, mood-altering, and sometimes without physical form. But it is clearly one of the most valuable manifestations of human endeavors. If by some chance you are not hooked, I urge you to listen. Take it in. Let it flow through your veins. I doubt you will be disappointed. It may help you heal.

Word of the Week – Confabulate
Music – The Other Non-addictive, Mood-altering, Non-substance

In My Dreams

Old Abodes and Broken Highways tells the story of a recurring dream mixed with real experience. I find myself in a low-rent tenement area of some unknown yet large city. I don’t know how I got there. I fear unfamiliar and antagonistic people. The area is under the complicated structure of a highway mix master. This structure includes elevated, unfinished highways. High up in the air, they simply stop. They evoke an image of cars driving off the end. I have seen such highways in the Dallas Texas area. They are familiar. That angst is real.

Other recurring dreams find me trying to get somewhere, probably home. Sometimes I’m traveling across multiple states on unknown highways trying to figure out the map or GPS. Other times I try to find the right bridge. I need to get onto it and then off to reach the parking lot at an airport. Often those include images of waiting anxiously for flights that don’t take off. Or, worse yet, I am trapped inside. The prop-jet climbs from the terminal. We are in the midst of giant jets that nearly knock us out of the sky.

I am not alone. Sometimes I recognize people around me. Often I talk with people I don’t know. In living rooms, lobbies, terminals. All strange and uncomfortable.

In this particular dream, the discourse turns philosophical as I share my thoughts with a total stranger. “What if we lived forever? Would it not be better to be completely open with everyone we meet? Should we keep our innermost secrets to ourselves for eternity? Or would we all be better off just being real?”

“On the other hand”, said the stranger. “Would it not be better to keep those very personal thoughts to yourself? Everyone would see you differently with the knowledge.”

“Think of it like heaven”, I said. “In heaven, we are told, there is no fear, no anger. There are no tears. There is only happiness, peace, and joy. How can it be that we hold secrets from each other? Should they, would they, not be known?

“Would we even have dark thoughts? Things we want to hide or not share? Why must we wait for heaven to be real, to be whole, to love unconditionally?”

Waking up, I could not shake these thoughts. Surely, I am not alone in keeping thoughts to myself. It’s not that I have bad thoughts to hide. Though sometimes I am less than kind in my view of others. Often I feel that I would hurt this or that person by sharing what I am thinking. “If you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.” My parents used to say.

But we spend so much energy trying to say the right thing. In fact, our whole society has devolved into forming our discourse to avoid any potential criticism, abuse, or defamation. I certainly don’t want to offend, just as I don’t like others’ offensive characterizations.

Obviously, this is only a mind exercise brought on by an unreal dream. Yet it does make me ponder life better lived if we just accept each other as we are. Surely someone will say, “In your dreams!”