Puppy Paw Problems

Some of you may know that during high school I had a three-legged dog, named Doober when he had four legs and then nicknamed Tripod when he went down to three. Well, yesterday I thought I was going to have yet another three-legged pup. On Monday morning, Colby was mysteriously not using one of his front paws. When we would touch it, he'd yelp, and then something drastic happened: he didn't want to eat dinner. That's when we really knew something was wrong. At first, we assumed it was just tender from a long jog on Sunday, but then the swelling began, and it went from bad to worse.

Joy and didn't want to pay ridiculous amounts of money at the vet, but then again, we also wanted our dog to keep all four legs if possible. After some serious consulting (thanks Wightmans!), we decided to take him in to see what the vet had to say. Well, they said a huge number, and I looked at the vet and asked her to give me a worst-case scenario if we didn't do anything. She looked at me in horror, and exclaimed, "Honestly, he could lose a leg." At this point, Joy and I burst into laughter (Joy actually burst into laughter mixed with tears), and I explained to the vet that she shouldn't try to tell me dogs need to have all four legs, because I know perfectly well they can manage with fewer. The previous horror in her face escalated, and Joy says she's not surprised they didn't just take our dog from us and deem us eternally unfit owners.

To make a long and dramatic day at the vet's a little shorter, here's the run-down: Colby had to have an abscess drained, which resulted in an inch-and-a-half cut oozing with blood and puss. Fun. We told them we'd do this before taking x-rays or thinking about a broken bone, which is what they tried to get us to do at first. Well, so far we think we made a good decision. Colby has been home for 24 hours now and is recovering marvelously. Yes, we still carry him up and down the stairs and try to limit his activity, but he's definitely using his foot, and dinner is back to its previously esteemed position in his day, although now there are pills hidden amongst the goods.

Best (or worst) of all: Colby has to wear one of those silly dog collars that make it so that Colby's tongue can't reach his foot. He looks like Queen Elizabeth. The thing is huge, and he keeps banging into stuff and tripping over it. He's so silly. I've attached a picture so you can see exactly what we're dealing with. There's also a picture from when we get up at 5:30 in the morning to soak his foot in Epsom salt. You can clearly see how happy I am about it. I am such a puppy daddy, and at some level, I kinda love it. I just hope his foot heals completely and I can still go to Trinity in the fall.

Jamison: "An Unquiet Mind"

Kay Redfield Jamison is a leading scholar on manic-depressive illness (she prefers the term "manic-depressive disorder" over the now-used "bipolar disorder") who is a professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University after working at UCLA. What makes Jamison unique is that she is not only a top-notch scholar, but she herself suffers from manic-depression and this book is her personal memoir. She blends personal narratives with clinical insight, comfortably weaving between the academic and the intimate. It's a wonderful piece of work, and an instrumental resource in the literature. I'm not sure how many families will find solace from a psychopathology textbook; I am certain many have found solace from this harrowing account offering both honesty and hope.

For those who live with manic-depressive illness, there is a sense that life is real. There are real highs and real lows, inextricably linked because one inevitably follows the other. Jamison writes with striking poignancy as she describes the depths of depression and the elations of mania. She describes the constant battle of daily medication (for her and most other manic-depressives, lithium) as well as the challenge of self-disclosure to faculty, colleagues, lovers. Some handle the disclosure beautifully, while others never get past the stigma so often associated with mental illness. And yet, although there is a certain stigma, she does not shy away from the beauty that can be found in the convoluted basin of mental illness: "Manic-depression is a disease that both kills and gives life. Fire, by its nature, both creates and destroys" (p. 123).

In the Epilogue of the book, Jamison explores "whether, given the choice, I would choose to have manic-depressive illness" (p. 217). There are many reasons why she would not, particularly if lithium or other medications were unavailable or unhelpful. And while I do not in any way wish to downplay the seriousness, pain, and challenge associated with any mental illness, I find Jamison's hopeful conclusion and introspective acceptance (gratitude?) ridiculously beautiful. Jamison, after all, is not only a Professor of Psychiatry, but also Honorary Professor of English at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland:

"So why would I want anything to do with this illness [after listing reasons why she would not choose to be manic-depressive]? Because I honestly believe that as a result of it I have felt of it I have felt more things, more deeply; had more experiences, more intently; loved more, and been more loved; laughed more often for having cried more often; appreciated more the springs, for all the winters; worm death 'as close as dungarees,' appreciated it--and life--more; seen the finest and the most terrible in people, and slowly learned the values of caring, loyalty, and seeing things through. I have seen the breadth and depth and width of my mind and heart and seen how frail they both are, and how ultimately unknowable they both are..." (p. 218).

Ambrose: "To America"

I am moving along on my reading list. Last week or so, I knocked off another book, completing Stephen Ambrose's "To America: Personal Reflections of an Historian," a book that has sat on my bookshelf for years. It was worth the wait. An enjoyable read through Ambrose's personal thoughts regarding various people and events he's studied and written about. The reader traverses through a variety of United States events and personas, each one giving some insight into America past, present, and future.

It was a pleasure to read a historian discuss his personal reactions to various topics and people. What I found most intriguing was Ambrose's admission that history changes simply because those who study, write, and teach history change in how they view particular events or individuals. As a social science, the historian cannot help but place some sort of himself or herself into the work. It may color history some, but I think it makes it a little more interesting too.

Perhaps the most interesting thing (this may be an exaggeration) may be found in the book's subtitle: "Personal Reflections of an Historian." That's right... it's "an Historian." This threw me off, but I trusted some editor knows much more than I about the English language and the usage of "a" or "an." Well, I did a little online grammar research, and found that apparently there is no real consensus for words that begin with "h." Apparently, since the "h" is often said softly, "an" can be appropriate. Mark Twain, however, disagreed, saying that true American writers would use "a historian" rather than "an historian" and get rid of the pretense. I personally like a little pretense every now and then, and next time I'm in class or clinical supervision, I want to ask about "an hallucination" and see the others try to correct me or scoff at my grammar. Now that'll make history.

Roof

I was painting windows from a roof today. I promise you, I almost fell off. Happy Weekend.

CampFest 280

This past weekend was glorious. Joy and I left Chicago early Friday afternoon (I got out of an afternoon of stripping wallpaper!) and headed to Wisconsin for some camping. The event had been planned for months with the Cosgroves and Lentschers, and the weekend was beautiful. Although, somehow, camping turned into having a site by a lake with a ridiculously-extravagent RV complete with TVs (yes, plural), fridge, A/C, and satellite radio. And while the Lentschers and Cosgroves slept inside (they say they didn't use the A/C or TVs, but Joy and I aren't so sure), Joy and I decided to sleep in the tent. I never pass on my opportunities to use my headlamp.

First of all, I love camping food. We made tacos in a bag, brats, burgers, and even egg sandwiches. Second, I love campfires. I love to simply sit with my eyes glazed over as I watch the flames, or watch Becca throw in all sorts of (environmentally-dangerous) items into the blaze. Third, you get to be away from the city and out in something a little more wild. You can see stars, you can hear bugs, you can use an outhouse.

Normally, I hate getting up in the morning. I can sleep as late as I possibly can and still moan when I drag myself to the shower. Normally, a shower is what I must have to function through the day, and I'm amazed at how different I am when I'm camping. Sure, it's difficult to sleep late when the sun shines so brightly in the tent, but I love those peaceful mornings at a campsite. I can grab a book or my Bible, sit on the dock, go for a little morning stroll, start a fire. It's a wonderful start to a wonderful day, and I relish getting up before others to simply spend some time by myself. Dare I say it refreshes ones soul?

On Saturday morning, I was up early, did some reading, and then went for an early-morning kayak trip around the lake with Joy. Saturday afternoon was spent hiking around Devil's Lake before a short swim afterwards to rejuvenate the body (and get off all the sweat). On Sunday morning, there were sounds of thunder, so we began to clear the campsite just as it began to pour. It was raining so hard that (as has happened on about four other occasions), the rain began to come through the sides of my sunroof as we drove away. We went to the Lentscher residence, and as the sky cleared up, we got on the boat and did a little water skiing and wake-boarding. I water skied like never before, and drove home a happy little camper. CampFest 280 was a wonderful start to the summer. Now if only I didn't have to go back to stripping wallpaper...

Victor the Volvo: 200,000 and Beyond

I am delighted to say that earlier this week, my car reached that milestone of 200,000 miles. Victor the Volvo has been nothing but joy for me. I, of course, have only put on about 40,000 of those miles, but I gotta say that I love the car. For one thing, it’s tremendously reliable. Sure, it’s had a couple of flat tires and once even caught fire at a gas station, and at one point was given a pretty poor diagnosis, but the car simply keep going without a problem. Amazingly, in the almost-three years since I’ve had the car, it’s never once been broken down and never gets anything more than the regular oil change. Now that’s a good car.

And to be even more sentimental regarding this amazing ’92 creation, I must say that there are countless times when I drive it with a complete sense of gratitude. You see, Victor the Volvo was given to me. It was a generous act of Christian charity (and when I say charity, I mean charity in the sense of “faith, hope, and charity, and the greatest of these is charity” and not in the sense of “oh my, look at him, that poor desolate soul”), and one that I am blessed to be frequently reminded of every time I start my car. I can only hope to be as generous in spirit as so many others have been to me.

I never know how long I’ll have my car. Sometimes I get little scares that it might be approaching its end, but then it surprisingly overcomes and purrs (and sometimes screeches) with pleasure. At my agency, we pick up a lot of our clients. Some of my clients mock my car, scoffing at its lack of air conditioning or lamenting that the sun roof doesn’t actually open. I simply look at them and tell them that this car has aged well, and I can only hope that they do the same.

Frankl: "Man's Search For Meaning"

Victor Frankl’s seminal work “Man’s Search for Meaning” has sold over 12 millions of copies since its original publication in 1959, and I would say deservedly so. Frankl writes about his experiences in various Nazi death camps, and later became a psychological theorist, outlining what he calls logotherapy, maintaining that our primary drive in life is not for pleasure (alla Freud) or power (alla Adler), but finds the “striving to find a meaning in one’s life is the primary motivational force in man” (p. 99). Frankl handles the difficult task of outlining how meaning must also be found in suffering. He writes: “In some way, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning such as the meaning of a sacrifice” (p. 113). Although Frankl was a Jew, I can’t read that last sentence without thinking of Jesus, a man certainly familiar with sorrow and suffering. A few pages later, I find resonance with Frankl again: “What is demanded of man is not, as some existential philosophers teach, to endure the meaninglessness of life, but rather to bear his incapacity to grasp its unconditional meaningfulness in rational terms” (p. 118). I find it tremendously powerful that it was during, through, and after experiencing the death camps that Frankl writes about this meaningfulness, and I believe it’s impossible to live a life devoid of any sense of meaning. Even for those existential philosophers waxing eloquent about life’s meaninglessness, one must wonder how they live with such a worldview and why they spend so much effort in stating that life has no meaning. If that really is the case, what is the meaning in explaining life’s meaninglessness?

Frankl also writes that “when we are no longer able to change a situation…we are challenged to change ourselves” (p. 112, italics mine). Now there’s a bite worth swallowing. This has ramifications for me as a counselor (it’s ironic how the client wants you to change everyone around them but themselves), but I can’t neglect what it means for me personally. We all want things in the world to change. At least I hope we all do. And I don’t actually think that’s a problem (what if we thought everything was just as it should be and nothing should be changed?), but I have to recognize that I might just be part of the problem too. I’ve been painting this summer, and overall, I enjoy the work. I’m not the fastest painter, and I’m certainly not the best painter, but I think I work hard and try my best. But I keep getting paint all over myself: my clothes, my hair, my legs, my arms. The other day I came home to take a shower, and when I took of my shirt, there was paint on my chest, and I was thoroughly confused as to how it found its way under my shirt. Well, here’s the deal: I can keep getting confused, can keep changing my clothes and taking a shower, or I can do something truly remarkable--I can change the way I paint. It’s only in becoming better as a painter (refined, if you will) that I’ll ever find myself with a little less paint on my body. You may roll your eyes at my little analogy, but you try getting all that oil paint off of your chest and then come back and tell me you don’t want to bother to just change yourself and the way you paint.

Colby Jack

I am pleased to announce that Joy and I have a dog. As regular readers of this blog will recall, Joy and I have been thinking about getting a dog for some time now. We looked at hundreds of dogs online and then went to a few shelters to look at some dogs. (Including one that threw up while we were talking with the vet. Needless to say, that dog was not brought home.) At one shelter, we narrowed the dogs we were looked at to our top three, and after playing with #1, we decided to not even bother looking at the other two.

Colby Jack is his name, and yes, he’s named after the cheese. Some time ago, Joy and I decided that perhaps we’d name our dogs after cheeses. You know, there are so many good cheeses out there, and no matter what Joy says, you can’t name a child Colby Jack. We have other names ready for the future: Reggie (Parmigiano-Reggiano), Zola (Gorgonzola), and Brie (uh, Brie). Feel free to suggest others. If you think that naming a dog after a cheese is a little odd (and I’m not suggesting you shouldn't think this), perhaps it’s worth noting that the name the shelter gave this puppy was Silly Dilly.

We don’t know a ton about our little dog since we got him from a shelter, but he’s about 6 months old and is a Lab/Retriever mix. We are beaming parents, and he’s positively beautiful. He is housebroken and is doing very well in training. So far he will sit and stay and then I can walk all the way to the other side of the apartment before telling him to come. Hopefully there is more training to come.

It feels great to have a dog. I love dogs and they usually love me. Dogs usually love anyone who will love them, and I find that endearing. Even as I type this, Colby is laying at my feet, his big eyes searching for mine every few minutes. If I go anywhere in the apartment, he’s sure to follow. Even when I’m in the bathroom, bless him. I think he’s smart, although twice he’s gone running into glass doors. He steps back, shakes his head, and looks at me laughing at him. What a silly dilly, that Colby Jack.

2007 Summer Reading List

To respond to one of my faithful reader's questions, here is my summer reading list. I chose 12 books from various arenas, and I'm pretty excited about the many pages ahead. We'll see come September how many I actually get through:

1. A Generous Orthodoxy: Brian McLaren (Already done! See post below.)

2. Man's Search for Meaning: Victor Frankl (I just finished this one and will be writing about it soon.)

3. The Chronicles of Narnia: C.S. Lewis (I'm LOVING re-reading these books and am currently on 6 of 7.)

4. Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare: Stephen Greenblatt

5. To America: Personal Reflections of an Historian: Stephen E. Ambrose (Two books with "Stephen" as authors, and they even spell it the right way!)

6. The Bell Curve: Intelligence and Class Structure in American Life: Richard J. Herrnstein and Charles Murray. (This well-documented and often-sited book comes in at 900 pages. While it covers much more than the idea of race and intelligence, this controversial area is what it is most known for.)

7. Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys: Dan Kindlon and Michael Thompson

8. Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger: Moving from Affluence to Generosity: Ronald J. Sider

9. An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness: Kay Redfield Jamison (The classic book on bipolar disorder [manic-depressive disorder] written by a leading scholar in the area who shares her personal experience with the disorder.)

10. The Real Face of Atheism: Ravi Zacharias

11. Surrendering to Marriage: Husbands, Wives, and Other Imperfections: Iris Krasnow

12. Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith: Rob Bell

That's a lot of reading, with many more books waiting in the wings. I better get started. Happy June!