Oak Street Natural Market

Natural Life Article

March/April 2009

Carry on!

          “The necessity of the times, more than ever, calls for our utmost circumspection, deliberation, fortitude, and perseverance.” 

          Who could have imagined these sage words spoken in 1771 by Sam Adams, one of our country’s founding fathers, would be so pertinent over two hundred years later.  But really, why not?

          The common thread I perceive in the current global economic crisis, from media reports of impending doom to quivering personal conversations about it with friends, is a feeling of hopelessness and fear.  It’s one thing to remember FDR’s famous, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself” radio address, and quite another to reach deep down into your gut to confront and challenge that gnawing emotion.  Yet confront it we must.  Hamlet would still be pacing to and fro, muttering “to be or not to be” if he didn’t finally have to face his life and take action.

          If your own life seems to be just a series of random events over which you have no control, then you are certainly fated to be the rudderless little ship buffeted by the Furies.  It’s easy then to blame others for whatever happens to you, the “no-fault” syndrome. 

          I have a friend David who is a financial advisor for a major brokerage firm.  He said lately his job has become more that of a “father/confessor” to Baby Boomers.  They did well financially in the 90s and retired early at age fifty to live the good life.  But now as they watch their wealth dissipate with each day’s stock reports, they become angry and fearful, and demand that my friend do something to allow them to continue living the way they did two years ago.

          David, who is younger than his clients, hits them with tough love.  He tells them if they continue living as they do, they will have to go back to work.  Some break down at this news and cry in his office, wondering why this terrible thing has happened to them.  Others become angry and blame David for mismanaging their funds.  He says it is rare that a Boomer client faces the current situation and calmly assesses the next step.

          The Baby Boomer generation, born in the years following World War II, is one of the largest population explosions in history.  They have affected politics, culture, and finances in their evolutionary process.  “Change” is the byword for their passage.  And with all change comes identity confrontation, both external and internal.  It’s the internal that fascinates me.

          We seem to allow ourselves to be defined by our jobs.  “What do you do?” is usually the second or third question we ask a new acquaintance.  Not, “what do you feel?” or “what is your idea of life?”  Yet our jobs are usually something over which we have ceded control.  Most of us have bosses of some kind, whether a human one, deadlines, or financial commitments.  None of us are “free” in the old hippie-dippy sense of the word.  So it’s interesting that this job that requires so much investment of our time, and that we can’t really control, is how many of us see ourselves.

          Follow it through.  What are some of the most repeated headlines right now?  “More jobs lost last month.”  “Unemployment rate expected to climb even higher.”  “Major corporation lays off 20,000.”  If our job is lost or altered, what is life making us face about who we are?  This is not to downgrade the seriousness of the challenge of financial upheaval, perhaps even ruin.  But one customer said to me the other day that losing his job has forced him to take inventory of his life.  And as trite as it may sound, he has a renewed appreciation for his family, health and shared community.  He has also returned to his spiritual practices to refocus his personal goals.

          You’ve probably heard the term “market correction” used in reference to the financial world.  It means an economically painful change has to occur to move forward.  I believe we are all going through a “life correction.”  The fact that no one is immune to this challenge and that it came upon us so swiftly indicates to me that we’re all getting one massive learning lesson here.

          People who remain disconnected from why certain events happen to them can often be heard saying, “I was entitled to that extra pay!” or “he owed that to me after how long I worked there.”  That attitude can be a roadblock to development of the heart.  I think there is a dangerous line we walk in a free society founded on the principle that all men have equal opportunity to excel.  You can either blame others (a socialist tenet), or keep your eye on the goal, taking responsibility for your actions.  When we strive individually to move forward, we have to recognize that our progress is internally measured by our own sense of purpose and desire to be the best we can be. 

          Get out of yourself and your concerns.  Volunteer to help someone in more dire straits than you.  Work with hospice, Meals on Wheels, or donate to Friends of the Community in Livingston.  Every community has organizations that were created to help those who need support.

          Don’t forget to appreciate the beauty of life around you in nature, music, or art.  An internal detox or “spring cleaning” as we laughingly refer to it in my stores, can work wonders to renew your vigor for the challenge.

          Life will continue to throw curve balls.  Harry Truman recalled an ancient Chinese proverb when describing what is was like to be president.  He said it was like riding a tiger.  A man has to keep on riding or be swallowed.  Perseverance in the face of all obstacles is an essential ingredient in human progress.

          Think of the Tortoise and the Hare, the Little Engine That Could.  Or keep this quaint little poem (author unknown) pasted on your mirror.  Leave bread crumbs of encouragement to mark your journey through the darkness of the Fear Forest.  When you emerge, you’ll see the light was really all around you the whole time!

You Mustn’t Quit!

          When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

          When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,

          When the funds are low and the debts are high

          And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

          When care is pressing you down a bit,

          Rest! if you must—but never quit.

          Life is queer with its twists and turns,

          As every one of us sometimes learns,

          And many a failure turns about

          When he might have won if he’d stuck it out:

          Stick to your task, though the pace seems slow—

          You may succeed with one more blow.

          Success is failure turned inside out—

          The silver tint of the clouds of doubt—

          And you never can tell how close you are,

          It may be near when it seems afar;

          So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit—

          It’s when things seem worst that YOU MUSTN’T QUIT.

Natural Life Article

March/April 2006

Trial by Fire

          I recently returned from a quick trip to visit my brother in Chicago.  At age sixty, this man is numbered among the first of the Baby Boomers, a child of the ‘50s who had a killer 45rpm record collection of The Everley Brothers and Elvis.  He drove a perfect powder blue Corvette convertible.  And in the last six months, he has been diagnosed with ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s Disease, as it is more commonly known.

          That’s a death sentence, folks.  Incurable disease.  Cause unknown.

          What is happening to health in our society?  Doesn’t it seem that every one of us now personally knows someone fighting a deadly disease?  I remember years ago when cancer was something you knew existed but rarely encountered firsthand.  Today, we go from grief to grief as we help family and friends walk these treacherous journeys, or walk them ourselves.  Yet the lessons we learn from these experiences expand our sense of compassion and humanity in ways like no other.  And I have much to learn from my brother.

          Joe and I have never been really close.  He joined the Navy right out of high school when I entered my teen years.  As he was a product of the ‘50s, I definitely was a child of the ‘60s, and sometimes the gap between us seemed enormous.  He served his country in uniform at the same age I later marched in protest against the war in Vietnam.  He has always been a good, decent man working to support his family, while I traveled the rebellious highways of the hippie years and the unconventional life of an actor in New York.

          He married young while still in the Navy and I served as his best man at barely seventeen years of age.  I didn’t have any sense of what an honor that was at the time.  It still amazes me today that he chose me, and I wish I had a copy of my toast to him and his new bride Carol.  I’m curious to know what that young version of myself perceived of this stalwart man.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t see the strength and fine heart that now sustain him on his final path.

          When we hear that someone close to us is battling a potentially deadly illness, we’re buffeted by many emotions.  Recently, a friend said to me that she didn’t know what to say to someone who is dying.  Yet aren’t we all headed for that transition?  You bet!  I think eastern spiritual traditions sometimes keep a more open awareness of death as a process of life.  Here in the West, we’re focused on achievement and materialism to a degree we often think we’re invincible.  Maybe that’s why we’re so confounded by the thought of someone disappearing who has always been a part of our life.

          A short time ago, my brother’s oldest son died suddenly at the age of 33, perhaps from a brain aneurysm.  It’s been said the most difficult trial to endure is the death of your own child.  I will never forget witnessing my brother holding the form of his grown son in his arms for his final farewell.  The tenderness and delicacy of his expression of love told me exactly what kind of man he is.

          Where did the phrase “trial by fire” come from, anyway?  I always think of those pots the artist forms from soft clay. Bake them in the oven and retain the shape in solid form.  We are all definitely baking in the oven.  What is good and true in each of us is made real by the application of fire.  The fire takes many forms.  Job difficulties.  Monetary problems.  Health challenges.  And untimely death.  Yet life also brings us those cool sips of comforting water in the midst of the heat.

          A week before my nephew passed away, my brother’s other son and wife gave birth to their family’s first grandchild, beautiful Ellen.  The joy and unfiltered love this child brought to her family have served as pure grace in these months of hardship.  And now with the progression of Joe’s terminal illness, another grandchild is on the way.

          I was surprised and delighted on my recent visit when Joe and Carol joked about selling his incredible tool collection at a garage sale after he’s gone.  I loved their ability to be lighthearted about their trial.  Joe has even begun what he calls “Household Maintenance 101” for Carol.  Since they married so young and Joe was always the handyman around the house, he's determined that Carol master the basics of home care so she will be self-sufficient when he’s gone.  He greets her at the door with a wrench in his hand when she returns from a long day at work and announces, “Today, we’re learning how to fix a toilet.”  In exhausted tears, she resignedly follows him to the bathroom.

The looks of comfort they exchanged with one another when we spoke of the road ahead touched me deeply.  For the first time in our lives together, my brother and I spoke of beliefs and visions and what a surprise, it turned out we thought pretty much the same.  How ‘bout that?

For all of men’s differences, we walk the same road.  Whether we are the one currently being “fired” or are the support system to one who is, the name of the game is compassion.  The ability to walk in our brother’s moccasins is a holy tradition, without which we are poorer in spirit.  Yes, deadly disease may be on the rise, but perhaps one of the reasons is to expand our hearts and give comfort to those who are suffering.

Here’s a perspective for you.  My friend Bill told me when he was a young health care professional in San Francisco, he and some others put together a program to give aid to the homeless.  He happened to meet the incredible saint Mother Theresa who was visiting the city.  When she heard of their program, she said to Bill, “I wish I could serve others that way.”  Bill was incredulous.  Here was a woman whose entire life was dedicated to helping others in suffering, and she wished she could work with them?  He said it was a lesson in humility and compassion that he’s never forgotten.

What is your current trial?  I’m sure it must seem quite difficult.  If it didn’t, it wouldn’t be a trial and you wouldn’t be feeling the heat, right?  We will all take our turns in the oven!  Yet heat also brings us warmth and its light can illumine our perceptions.  So while we’re baking away, reflect on the beautiful form of your own particular “vase” when you are finally removed from the kiln.  You, my friend, will be a singular work of art.

Natural Life Article

January/February 2009

Trial by Fire, Part II

          Almost three years ago, I wrote in this column of my oldest brother’s battle with the incurable illness known as ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s Disease.  I spoke then of how each of us, in a manner unique to our individual lives, must undergo physical trials as a form of “firing” in the great kiln or oven of life.

          Here is what I wrote of my brother back then:

          “At age sixty, this man is numbered among the first of the Baby Boomers, a child of the ‘50s who had a killer 45rpm record collection of The Everley Brothers and Elvis.  He drove a perfect powder blue ’59 Corvette convertible.

          Joe and I have never been really close.  He joined the Navy right out of high school when I entered my teen years.  As he was a product of the ‘50s, I definitely was a child of the ‘60s, and sometimes the gap between us seemed enormous.  He served his country in uniform at the same age I later marched in protest against the war in Vietnam.  He has always been a good, decent man working to support his family.

          For all of men’s differences, we walk the same road.  Whether we are the one currently being “fired” or are the support system to one who is, the name of the game is compassion.  The ability to walk in our brother’s moccasins is a holy tradition, without which we are poorer in spirit.  Yes, deadly disease may be on the rise, but perhaps one of the reasons is to expand our hearts and give comfort to those who are suffering.”

Well, Joe is now much further down that road of suffering.  The cruel disease ALS is sometimes described as “Alzheimer’s with awareness,” meaning as his bodily functions deteriorate one by one, his brain stays as sharp as ever.  Because the speed of his physical degeneration has increased, I determined recently to carve out time to return to Chicago and be with him.  As I flew toward the Midwest, I remembered that I also wrote three years ago:

          “Today, we go from grief to grief as we help family and friends walk these treacherous journeys, or walk them ourselves.  Yet the lessons we learn from these experiences expand our sense of compassion and humanity in ways like no other.  And I have much to learn from my brother.”

Joe is no longer able to live at home.  The disease has robbed him of easy mobility.  The simplest movements like standing and walking that we take for granted are mini-Mt. Everest’s to him.  He can no longer speak or swallow.   And even though diminishing muscular strength is guaranteed by ALS, Joe continues to try to push the limits of his ability to stand or get out of bed on his own, much to the consternation of his wife and caregivers.  Seems that several times he’s landed on the floor and has been unable to get up or even summon help.

A delicate daily negotiation takes place between family members serving as caregivers for their terminally-diagnosed loved ones.  Black and white does not exist and decisions are agonizingly reached in massive grey areas.  Especially difficult is the decision to move a family member to an outside facility with continuous care.  None of our relationships are perfect, and a health crisis only underscores the weaker areas of our interactions.  I observed my sister-in-law Carol struggling to balance the exhausting schedule of fulltime job, medical paperwork and loving support with the emotionally-charged undercurrent coming from Joe that he had been railroaded into leaving his home.

Yet the issues she was being asked to answer were every bit as difficult as Joe’s daily struggles:  how do we pay for this; what questions do I ask the doctor; are they taking good care of him when I can’t be there; have I done the right thing; how can I keep my own health, sanity and work together in order to be the “strong one.”  Our caregivers are undergoing their own simultaneous trial by fire.

I discovered a remarkable thing about my brother which I would have missed if I hadn’t made this trip.  It began at one particular low-spirited moment when Joe painstakingly typed out on his large keyboard with the one knuckle out of ten that he still controlled, “I should have died a long time ago.” 

His remark served as the catalyst for a spirited argument between us, if you can call his process of typing one letter at a time with a knuckle “spirited.”  I, of course, took the expected position of listing all the reasons he obviously still needed to live.  Joe outlined the life losses that bolstered his statement, especially including the unexpected death several years ago of his beloved eldest son.

I must admit some of my reasons seemed a bit trite, like from a Lifetime Movie of the Week.  They were along the line “if you had died before this, you wouldn’t have known your grandkids.”  True, but not as immediate a resolution as I would have wished.

We tabled the debate somewhat inconclusively since Joe wanted me to wheel him out of his room to take me on a tour of the facility.  He is in a huge convalescent center with hundreds of people of all ages in every form of debilitation.  Most of us become uncomfortable witnessing so much suffering, but this was the scene of the remarkable revelation about my brother as we rolled down the crowded hallways.

This man who had always led a somewhat quiet life with few friends, and most enjoyed time alone in his woodshop or working on his beloved model cars, was literally greeted by every person we passed.  Seemingly comatose patients in wheelchairs with heads on their chests would rouse themselves to say, “Hi, Joe!” as we passed by.  Maintenance men looked up from their repair work with a “Hey, Worobec!”  No kidding, just about every person from patient to caregiver gave a shout-out to Joe.  It was almost humorous, as if it had been rehearsed beforehand.  He responded to every greeting with a smile and a gnarled thumbs-up signal.  A tangible exchange of good will trailed our passage.  I must say it was one of the most moving moments of my life to witness this.

When we returned to his room, I asked Joe why so many people seemed to know him and responded to him, especially considering he can’t even talk!  He typed out that when he arrived at the facility, he made the decision to be cheerful because it seemed that that was what everyone needed more of.

Bingo!  We agreed that his very presence and his decision to give cheer where it was most needed had to be his uncontested reason for being alive.  It was almost ridiculously obvious that he was a vital component in the care giving process of his new community.

The events of our life are a river moving forward inexorably.  Once we’re on the water, the only real choice we have is struggling against the current or going with the flow.  Where is the line that separates acceptance of fate versus fighting for survival?  Sure, the end game of Joe’s condition is death, but isn’t that really the same verdict for all of us?  So maybe what’s more important is how we use the time we’ve been given till that final moment is reached. 

          Let’s always remember to salute our loved ones to their faces whenever we can.  Bravery and courage are abundantly present in the myriad small tasks that make up our days.  Why should we wait till someone is no longer here physically to recall all the good stories about them after they’ve passed on?  Sure, those tales help us cope with the grief of loss, but wouldn’t you like to receive your friends’ and family’s appreciation while you’re still here?  That’s exactly what I heard all those folks in their wheelchairs saying to Joe:  “Hey, Buddy!  You’re doing the work!  You’re making it through another day!”

          Start your new year with this resolve:  instead of just thinking good thoughts about those close to you, take the time to let them know how special they are.  Don’t save their “eulogy” for later.

          That’s why I’m writing this column right now.  This is for you, big brother.  As you read my words, Joe, know that your cheerfulness is even spreading a bit farther with every person who reads this story.  If you reach even one other person with your good heart, your life is worthwhile.  And

Pal, you’ve already multiplied that a hundredfold.