I’ve reblogged posts from my neice, Linda before. She always has something to say, and it’s never based on vicarious experience. She’s generous, direct, and funny. So, from the bottom of my heart – via my funny bone – I share this post for your benefit and for the possible benefit of those in your circles just in case you sense any tangible or intangible applicability.
I spent the entire weekend documenting everything I’ve tried for my MS. Thank God for iCal, my Amazon order history and the “purchase” file I keep in my email app. I’m not surprised by the vast majority of medicines, therapies and equipment as much as I’m shocked at what I forgot. For example I literally had no memory of taking an expensive medication as well as many treatments until stumbling upon them in my digital calendar.
At this point I need to stop, post and hit publish. Over the next few weeks I’ll be describing what’s been working for me these last two years. In the meantime if you have a specific question about what I’ve tried at any point feel free to ask in the comment section or message me.
And no, I didn’t have the courage to tally up how much this has cost me out of pocket.
I’m bookmarking this tool for my own benefit so that I can whip it out before I click on Publish from now on.
Yesterday’s post, i.e., the previous post, two guys looking through a telescope, more precisely, my commentary on that illustration, elicited a couple of useful comments that have served and will continue to serve as an important reminder for me to scrutinize how I write about what I draw much more carefully. The drawing said one thing; unfortunately, my commentary said something else; evidently, it said the complete opposite. And why? Because I hadn’t unzipped for myself either the paradigmatic or syntagmatic significance of what I meant to say, and instead I simply and quickly wrote something that I thought was funny. Not so.
I did go back revise the title of the post by inserting a reference to optical delusion. Too little, too late.
I’ll keep this heuristic tool, i.e., the quadrazipper, handy.
A blog post written by my friend, William Fisher, inspired this drawing. I encourage you to read it. William has a lot to say, and he always pumps up my head with images. You know the concept of “least or lowest common denominator?” William addresses our technical and cultural resistance to exploring and discovering the potential inclusiveness, simplicity, and universal meanings that lie therein. Where? At the symposium; but, is there a common gathering place, a common language? It’s as if we’re naturally or habitually inclined, ok, some of us more than others, to individuate, to pursue the greatest or highest uncommon denominator. Look, check out his blog. I’ll let you draw your own insights, but just don’t jump to any conclusions.
Macro- and micro-pilgrimages intrigue me. When you physically go from point A to point B, and in some cases from point C to point D and on and on, you’re not just sitting there daydreaming; you’re journeying, you’re walking, you’re crawling, you’re moving along a path, a way, which for some symbolizesThe Path or The Way.
Are there practical applications? There may well be. Here’s one I’ve considered for years. Clearly, the ecclesiological and mathematical wrinkles would need to be ironed out, but that’s why God made focus groups.
In closing, let’s us reflect upon the words of Dean Martin: “If you drink, don’t drive. Don’t even putt.”