Body Bound

 

In the Star Trek episode, “Return to Tomorrow,” the cast find themselves in the presence of three spheres that contain the essence of telepathic beings that have been in this state since their planet was devastated.  They wish, for a temporary basis, to swap with three people to once again feel what it is like to have a body, to experience life and to see if they can create artificial bodies for themselves.  I remember seeing this episode as a child and it always stuck with me the idea that if we were to lose our capacities, we would ultimately end up like the three beings – a sentient mind without the functionality of the body, forever bound in a sphere.

Science-fiction is funny in a way that when you are introduced to the thoughts, concepts and imaginations of the writer, the stories always seem fantastical, providing us with new ideas to think about.  In the time since that episode first appeared on television (1968), our world has changed considerably.  While we may not (yet) be able to move our minds into newer bodies, technology and science has provided the ability to extend lives beyond the lifespans of the 1960’s.  When my parents were children, no one would have believe that one of the greatest people in astrophysics and cosmology, Steven Hawking, would see the universe bound to his wheel chair, communicate through a speech generating device and produce theoretical breakthroughs.  Man’s ability to persevere, succeed and overcome obstacles is amazing!

But what happens when you have had a lifetime of multiple physical skills and then, at a mature age, things stop working as you have been used to?  How quick can one make the required adjustments to overcome the new challenges before them.  Blessed with sight, sound, mobility, etc., it is hard to fathom how to handle diminished or lost abilities.  As a 58 year old, I can safely say that there are times where I can “feel” like my body cannot do some of the things that it used to, has aches and pains that come and go, and, does not react quite as quick as it did 25 years ago.  Growing up, we had a German Shepherd, Tippi, who at a later point in life began to show signs typical of the breed – hip dysplasia.  As the condition worsened, the vet finally told us that she is mentally sound and knows that she will have to begin dragging her back legs.  Sadly, we made the “humane” decision to put her to sleep.  What we can do for our pets, we cannot do for ourselves.  From a religious point of view, our life is precious.  While science helped Mr. Hawkins and for many people, it has helped to allow new chances on a productive life.  For others, not so much.

When I was younger, I was fascinated by the beings in that Star Trek episode.  It made me think that once the body goes, we are left with only our essence…our minds.  The only way to preserve that seemed to be answered in a made for TV sci-fi episode.  I am definitely not telepathic, so that would not be a solution and I would be trapped in a “vessel” until science could figure out how to create an artificial body to drop my brain into.  Whether a sphere, or some other container, the key word would be trapped.  At the end of the day, the real lesson is to take care of ourselves, remember to stop and smell the roses and be kind to the other people we meet along the way.

The Story of Our Lives

My Dad recently asked me the question, “How much do you know about your grandparents?”  I thought for a few minutes and answered honestly, “Some.”  My Dad sighed and responded, “There are some stories that I am the only one that knows them.”  This exchange made me think – how much do my children know about their grandparents?  How about my grandparents?  Oddly enough…about their own parents’ stories from before they were born?

I had the unique opportunity to know my four grandparents.  That ended at the age of fifteen, when I lost both of my grandmothers within a year.  I do have memories of them and remember some of the stories from their lives.  I remember a few more stories as told by my maternal grandmother, as it seemed she was also still finding family members.  My maternal grandfather had a bad stroke shortly after she died and remained homebound and needed help the remainder of his life.  He was a good storyteller and came from a large colorful family.  But once he was sick, his speech also suffered.  My paternal grandfather, the only grandparent Debbie met, died just after Rebecca was born, which meant that I had the opportunity to have an adult relationship with him.  Naturally, as of today, I know most about his growing up poor in Europe, moving to America in 1920, his many jobs and his life in general (he lived the American dream). 

Most of what my children know of my grandparents comes from me.  As with most oral histories, the actual stories begin to get diluted, some of the holes in the stories get replaced (sometime consciously, sometimes not) and stories transform into legendary tales or family folklore.  All of us grow up hearing them and we all try to pass our favorite stories on.  In my house, some of the legendary tales my brothers and I always laughed at are greeted with blank stares from my girls followed by the question, “Why would you know that?”  And generally speaking, the stories about myself, while told in all seriousness, cause them to laugh at me, and keep getting recycled (always at my expense).  For example, I shared that my parents taught us how to dance for my Bar Mitzvah, specifically the Waltz.  That has given them hours of endless laughter, wondering who else in the world Waltzes in the basement and why is it that the only goofball that did so was their father (my brothers conveniently do not remember this).

I realized that the stories, however they remember them, are the stories that they will carry with them and become the tales that they will tell.  I remember my grandfather relating a scary story from the mid-1920’s.  He and a few friends were out driving in a car when the car got slammed into on the side by another car.  At that point in time, the cars were not made heavy duty like today and split in half, the front going in one direction and the back going in another.  As they got out of the car, the drivers of the other car were gangsters of some sort and the threat they gave buried any further action.  To this day, I only have the image of the car breaking in half and going in two different directions like a cartoon and I am laughing while typing.  I asked my dad to fill in the blanks.  He remembered the friend’s name (Sam Katz), he laughed and was fuzzy on the rest of the story.

These are the stories of my life; I am sure my girls will pass on the stories that made them laugh, taught them a lesson or inspired them. 

Every Day is Groundhog’s Day

As we head into February, the thought of living life where every day is Ground Hog’s Day has become a reality.  Ten and a half months ago, I remember wondering how we would be able to live in a lock down world, where we minimize our time leaving our homes, work from home and limit in-person social interaction (outdoors and 6+ feet).  After all of this time, the “new” normal has taken hold and we have all found new ways to live our lives, interact with friends, methods of entertainment and the way we work.  I talk about looking forward to the day we can go back to “business as usual” and recently was talking to someone who cannot wait to get out of his house and be face-to-face with potential clients.

Oddly enough, I have recently been feeling a new type of anxiety – one of leaving the house.  I am OK with going to the local Shop-Rite and some of the other places nearby so that we can function.  But the moment something new comes up.  For example, I just got my haircut which was something that I usually would do when my hair reached a certain length and started getting unruly.  With the number back up at new high levels, I have held off on going.  Yes, some friends started to refer to me as “Shaggy.”  The last time I went was in mid-September.  Living within a realm of Groundhog’s Day, that would have happened somewhere on the fringes of my memory.  I started to have some anxiety around going and leaving my house to someplace different.  In the back of my mind, I began to wonder, are my fears real or perceived?

Fear, according to Merriam-Webster, is ”to be afraid.”  One of the base emotions that drives us is fear (the other would be love), the sense of danger that is one of the triggers that helps us to protect ourselves.  For some, fear can be stifling.  For example, if there is a severe lightning storm, the anxiety caused by the fear of getting electrocuted could save our lives.  That is an example where the anxiety has a real underlying fear.  Logically, I knew that there was nothing to fear in getting my haircut.  The place that I go minimizes the people in the place, everyone is masked and safe protocols are followed.  Still, I was leaving my bubble of safety.  By the time I pulled up to the place, donned my mask and walked up to the door, I was my usual chipper self, without a hint of anxiety.  My fear was perceived. 

We have become so home-bound, we forget that the things that we treated as normal still go on.  People  shop safely, fly safely and for the most part, do the right thing.  If you are uncomfortable by the one or two people who are acting selfish (as in inconsiderate of the people around them), avoid those places.  Tomorrow I will wake up, like every other day, and engage in the same routines as the days before, as if it was Ground Hog’s Day.  Oh yeah, I forgot…it will really be Groundhog’s Day!