My Friday Story

Eating the Cookie, by: guest columnist Rachel Naomi Remen

Another of my patients, a successful businessman, tells me that before his cancer he would become depressed unless things went a certain way. Happiness was "having the cookie." If you had the cookie, things were good. If you didn't have the cookie, life wasn't worth a damn. Unfortunately, the cookie kept changing. Some of the time it was money, sometimes power, sometimes sex. At other times, it was the new car, the biggest contract, and the most prestigious address. A year and a half after his diagnosis of prostate cancer he sits shaking his head ruefully. "It's like I stopped learning how to live after I was a kid. When I give my son a cookie, he is happy. If I take the cookie away or it breaks, he is unhappy.

But he is two and a half and I am forty-three. It's taken me this long to understand that the cookie will never make me happy for long. The minute you have the cookie it starts to crumble or you start to worry about it crumbling or about someone trying to take it away from you. You know, you have to give up a lot of things to take care of the cookie, to keep it from crumbling and be sure that no one takes it away from you. You may not even get a chance to eat it because you are so busy just trying not to lose it. Having the cookie is not what life is about."

My patient laughs and says cancer has changed him. For the first time he is happy. No matter if his business is doing well or not, no matter if he wins or loses at golf. "Two years ago, cancer asked me, 'Okay, what's important? What is really important?' Well, life is important. Life. Life any way you can have it. Life with the coo! kie. Life without the cookie. Happiness does not have anything to do with the cookie, it has to do with being alive. Before, who made the time?" He pauses thoughtfully. "Damn, I guess life is the cookie."This story courtesy of
http://www.homeholidaysfamilyandfun.com

A post card from St. Louis.

This is a post card for you from St. Louis.

I'm here for a tradeshow. Surprisingly, I found that I had the afternoon off. I walked alone down to the riverfront and couldn't resist the pull of the great Arch of St. Louis. Along with high school kids from around the country, I waited in long lines for my turn to go through security. Once inside, more long lines awaited me for a ride to the top of the Arch. Although I had hoped to go to the top, I decided today was not the day. Anyway, it would be more fun with my kids.

The journey to St. Louis was a difficult one. It started in Minneapolis, where I caught an ATA flight to Chicago Midway, and then had to wait about 3 hours for a connecting Southwest flight to St. Louis. I had never flown Southwest before. Their prices are low, but so is the cost of riding in a packed cattle car. They're probably no worse than any other airline these days. It's been ten months since I last traveled. I have to say, I am surprised that the experience has become even more inhumane, rude, cramped, smelly and invasive than the last time I flew. I guess if it's got to be that way, then you might as well fly Southwest. Why pay more to anyone else, when they'll treat you like a cow for so much less money?

I arrived in St. Louis late, around 11 pm. I was wired for adventure for some reason, and even though I could have taken a cab from the airport to downtown for about $35, I decided to try the Metrolink train for about $3.

The ride was mostly uneventful. The old driver of the train liked to talk on the loudspeaker, and gave excellent instructions. The train was about half full of working class people coming off the late shift at work. At one stop a man and two women boarded, yelling and screaming at each other, crying and laughing, comforting each other and then slapping; they seemed to fly from one emotion to the other. Since I could hardly understand their accent, I can't tell you what was up with them. They got off at the next station, thankfully. I studied the other characters on the train, wondering what they did for a living, who they were going home to.

It's good for me to get outside of my comfort zone. Hearing the sounds, voices and accents, smelling the smells, seeing what's similar to home, and what's different.

I'm not used to having time on my own, to explore. I accept today as a gift, a chance to indulge to my own free will for a period of time. I'm reminded of a parakeet I used to own. I'd let him out of his cage once in a while. He would fly frantically all over the house, stretching his wings before taking his usual perch atop the window drapes. There he would sit for a spell, watching the activity below him. Eventually, he'd fly back to his cage on his own and remain there, even with the door wide open. Maybe I'm a little like that bird; at this point in my life, a little bit of adventure is ok, but I don't don't crave it the way I used to. And after this trip is over, I'll be looking forward to getting back to my cage. My cage is comfortable, and full of love. Time on my own seems wasted in some respects -- I'd rather be spending it with the kids.

$8 Trillion and counting

I just wanted to let you know that the U.S. national debt is about to trip over the odometer to $8 trillion. As they say in England, that's "Eight thousand billion."

Click here to see if it's tripped yet: http://www.brillig.com/debt_clock/

If you are a U.S. citizen, your share of this debt is nearly $28,000. This is your children's future being spent by your government to buy your vote today.

Talk among friends

I've been working for a Canadian company since May. I take a lot of friendly crap for being a American employee. Americans and Canadians get along well when we're out drinking beer. But if you read the Canadian newspapers and listen to the comments made on Canadian talk radio, you might conclude that we're enemies. Every Canadian I've talked to hates Bush, and they're still ticked off about that Afghanistan bombing thing. I've been up to Winnipeg about a dozen times since May. If ever I need to be jailed, please lock me up in Canada.

Here's an IM exchange from today with I guy I work with...

Jason says:
We still think you guys are the devil incarnate

Scott says:
didn't you read the memo? We're locking down the border because of fears we could be overrun by vicious Canadian hoards infected with mad-cow disease and waiving 2x4s of subsidized pine lumber, swooping down and overrunning our Super Targets and Kmarts, clogging the checkout lines and paying with strengthening Canadian currency, and diluting our money supply with your pennies and nickels!

Scott says:
So much to fear, so little time...

Jason says:
Who told you of our diabolical plot!

Jason says:
BTW, we were actually planning on riding our mad cows across the boarder sort of a "Braveheart" kinda thing

Scott says:
That would cool. I'd like to see that on CNN.

Jason says:
yeah, maximum terror inducement

Jason says:
the one down fall is its damn hard to saddle a mad cow

Scott says:
And damn hard for American's to spot a Canadian, unless they're speakin' french or riding a mad cow.

Why God sends us snow

Chalk it up to global warming if you want to, or maybe it's global cooling... I forget.
I'm writing this from a table a Carribou Coffee, looking out the window at at white flakes of snow being whipped through the air. October 6 is too early for this kind of weather, even for Minnesota.

On Sunday, the kids were running through the yard sprinkler, picking flowers and chasing butterflies. It was 88 degrees and sunny. By Tuesday snow was in the forecast and by Wednesday, it was here.

It's hard to say what life is going to bring our way from day to day. I've learned that it's important to find a way to smile no matter the weather.

My oldest boy (the first grader) is having a hard time grasping why he couldn't wear shorts to school today. It doesn't seem fair to me either, going from shorts and t-shirts to long pants and winter jacket in the course of a few days.

"Dad," he demanded, "why does God send us snow?"

I thought as fast as I could (the God questions always scare me -- they're a big responsibility), and the best answer I could muster was, "If wasn't for the cold snowy days, how ever would you be able to appreciate the beautiful days he sends us?"

That seemed to satisfy him.

You have a great day...