I never knew until today that Johnson County; Iowa had originally been named for a slaveholder. That has changed since the Johnson County Board of Supervisors voted to rename the county for distinguished African American scholar, Dr. Lulu Merle Johnson on June 24, 2021. Read the Iowa Now story for the details. The drive to rename the county for Dr. Johnson, an accomplished University of Iowa alumna, began last year with an on-line petition that gathered 1,000 signatures, led by David McCartney, an archivist in UI Libraries’ Special Collections.
According to the Iowa Now story, the drive to rename the county for Dr. Johnson was also in the context of the deaths of several African Americans by police officers earlier this year. It reminds me of another famous African American, James Alan McPherson, a long-time faculty member at the Iowa Writers Workshop, for whom a local neighborhood park was recently renamed. Part of the drive for that came from members of Black Lives Matter.
McPherson was written about in the book Invisible Hawkeyes: African Americans at the University of Iowa during the Long Civil Rights Era, edited by former UI faculty, Lena and Michael Hill. Although Dr. Johnson was not mentioned in their book, she certainly could have been because of her towering status as an educator, historian, and activist.
Support for the change also came from Leslie Schwalm, professor of gender, women’s and sexuality studies, and members of Dr. Johnson’s family.
Man, you know you’re retired when the most exciting event going on in a typical day is going out to get a haircut. It was an even bigger deal today because I haven’t been in a barber’s chair in about 35 years. Sena usually cuts my hair, but if I hadn’t gone out today to get a pro job haircut, I’d have very little else to write about except this poem that occurred to me last night.
I cannot say I know
That any UFO
Has an interstellar driver.
And if I then insist
No aliens exist,
Would you think I’m even wiser?
Weirdly, this doggerel is relevant since my head now reminds me of a bald alien. Don’t get me wrong, I actually think the stylist (I guess that’s what you call them nowadays) did a great job. I call it the Bullet Head cut or just the Bullet Head for short.
There were only two stylists and only one wore a mask. Masks were optional and since I’ve been fully vaccinated for almost 3 months, I left mine in my pocket.
My haircut took only 15 minutes. Did you want that sentence served with “literally?” OK here you go, but just this once: My haircut literally took only 15 minutes. I’ve never had such a fast haircut. On the other hand, I’ve had a lot shorter times sitting in barber shop waiting rooms. The shop takes walk-ins, if you’re willing to wait for at least an hour, often longer. The air-conditioning really worked. I was afraid to step outside to warm up a little because I didn’t know if that would remove me from my place on the wait list, which I could see on a video screen from my chair (along with the wait time, typically 90 minutes or more). Step to the right, step to the left, attempt to escape.
The other thing I was not hip to was that I could have checked in on-line using my smartphone. It also sounded like they would give you a jingle a few minutes ahead of your appointment time. I did it the old-fashioned way—and spent a long time reading the labels on hair care products. Ever wonder what’s in that tall red spray can labeled Big Sexy Hair? Me neither.
I know you’re wondering what clipper guard number the stylist used. It was a number 2, which typically leaves about a quarter inch length on a scalp which could burn under a noonday sun. But I like it. I got the senior discount and a coupon for next time. You probably want to know the name of the place; it was Great Clips. I would go back, especially if they turn the thermostat up. If you go, ask for the Bullet Head. Tell them I sent you.
We took a walk on the Terry Trueblood Trail yesterday and were struck by a goggle-eyed looking Tree Swallow, which was caused by the angle of the sunlight and the shot direction—we think. It reminded us of a big-eyed alien.
Partly because I’m kind of a Star Trek fan, I think many common birds have fascinating features which can make them seem almost alien. For example, the Common Yellowthroat has a weird call, which one author has described as “witchity-witchity-wichity-witchity” (Birds of Iowa: Field Guide by Stan Tekiela). We just managed to catch it–the bird’s call, not the bird.
The Eastern Kingbird is well known for its Klingon-like aggression. The Red-wing Blackbirds tend to dive bomb you if you get too close to their nest.
It was good to get outside. There are a lot of people who get credited with the quote “Keep looking up.” The one I remember is Jack Horkheimer, who used to host the public TV show Star Gazer.
The video below was made from footage of our visit to Arlington National Cemetery in 2015. At the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, each element of the guard’s routine has meaning, down to the number of steps taken up and down the black mat. According to the website:
“The Guard marches 21 steps down the black mat behind the Tomb, turns and faces east for 21 seconds, turns and faces north for 21 seconds, and then takes 21 steps down the mat. Next, the Guard executes a sharp “shoulder-arms” movement to place his/her weapon on the shoulder closest to the visitors, signifying that he or she stands between the Tomb and any possible threat. The number 21 symbolizes the highest symbolic military honor that can be bestowed: the 21-gun salute.”
Arlington National Cemetery YouTube video music attribution:
It’s a cool, sunny afternoon. The lawn has just been neatly mowed by hard-working, reliable people who use power mowers. We used to mow lawns at previous properties using old-time reel mowers. I should say my wife used to do the lion’s share of that while I was at the hospital, working as a consulting psychiatrist. Now that I’m retired, I sometimes just wonder what I’m good for.
But it’s not hard to remember what Memorial Day is for. I was never a soldier. I never knew anyone who died in war. I only talked with military recruiters in a time so long ago, I barely remember being that young. I think they knew I was not ready to die for my country. They didn’t scorn or openly reject me. They treated me with respect.
Though I know what grief is because I am bereft, I cannot imagine what it’s like to grieve the death of any loved one who perished in war.
All I know is that when I was young and thought I wanted to be in the armed forces, there were recruiters who saw through me and knew I did not want to be a soldier.
They knew I did not want to die thousands of miles from my home in a bloody field. They knew I did not want to be buried forever in a foreign graveyard.
They knew I could not be one of them. Yet they did not treat me like an outsider. Now all I can do is be grateful. Now what I can do is honor them in silence.
I finally got a picture of a fox not far from our property—but not close enough to get a good image. That said, it led me to do a little reading on the web about foxes. The most interesting item is the idea foxes might be able to locate prey under deep snow by using some kind of magnetic sense involving a protein in the retina called a cryptochrome. I’m not sure if this has been conclusively proven yet, but some scientists have said that this explains why foxes are able to find mice hiding in deep snowdrifts. They use a comical nose dive leap to catch them. It looks crazy, but it might increase their hunting success rate. Maybe that’s the origin of the expression “crazy like a fox”. Other animals, including bears, might be able to use this magnetic sense. Let’s hope not.
Bears don’t have a comical leap when they hunt. They’re anything but comical when they’re surprised. A land surveyor in Alaska surprised a brown bear recently and got badly mauled. The Associated Press news item title was “10 Seconds of Terror: Alaska man survives bear mauling.”
It’s a harrowing story although the man’s telling of it is almost eerily non-dramatic. He’s pretty matter-of-fact about the whole thing. It turns out he’s lived in Alaska for 40 years. He personally knows five other people who’ve been mauled by bears in Alaska. He even sounds like it would have been all the same to him if he’d been killed rather than injured. He didn’t sound like he was depressed or even unhappy, just calmly matter-of-fact.
That’s exactly how several Alaskans talk about what sounds like an absolute traffic jam of UFOs in the skies over the state. I guess I should call them Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (UAP) now that we have a government task force (The U.S. Office of Naval Intelligence) assigned to investigating them. It sounds a little crazy. I sometimes wonder if this might be an attempt to draw attention away from other things happening in the country that’s getting a lot of press. That might be crazy like a fox.
I’ve watched the show Aliens in Alaska a few times. Ordinary, everyday Alaskans tell their stories about the UAP they’ve witnessed. They all describe them in the same way the guy talked about getting mauled by a bear, even the ones who say they’d been abducted by aliens. One guy was pretty frank about his UAP story, and even joked that maybe he was putting himself at risk for getting hustled off to the Alaskan Psychiatric Institute (API). Most of the time, when people are telling these stories on other TV shows, they always seem to be a little hysterical, which makes them a little less convincing. But the way Alaskans tell their stories, it’s like hearing how they got mauled by a bear, no big deal (“…oh, and did I ever tell you how I won 10 straight games of cribbage, all with at least one perfect 29 score?”).
Come to think of it (for no particular reason), I’ve never heard of any episodes of bear mutilations. There are plenty of stories about cattle mutilations, which are often attributed to aliens. How come bears don’t get the same treatment? Maybe because they’d fight back. Getting back to that mauled land surveyor, when I was a land surveyor’s assistant back in the day in Iowa, the only trouble I had with animals was with pesky cows trying to tip our tripods over out in the fields—probably as revenge for cow-tipping. I didn’t tip cows. They never put the salad fork in the right place (rim shot).
Anyway, I saw a commercial recently made by Alaska Governor Mike Dunleavy, talking up Alaska as a major tourism destination, also touting the state as having one of the highest vaccination rates in the country for COVID-19, although that has been fact-checked. According to the commercial, among the many exhilarating experiences you can have in Alaska is to see the bears.
He didn’t mention the aliens (which I’d rather see than bears), even though it could be one of the biggest draws to the place given the soaring interest in UAP. Crazy like a fox.
I remember a scene in the 1979 movie The Jerk, starring Steve Martin as Navin. He was telling Marie (played by Bernadette Peters) about pizza in a cup. They were both eating pizza in a cup. At the time, this was funny because it was ludicrous to think of pizza being served in a cup. It was almost unthinkable. Now you can find recipes for pizza in a cup all over the web. Things have changed.
But what does that have to do with COVID-19 Long Haul Syndrome? As a retired consultation-liaison psychiatrist, I can tell you that it’s beginning to look like things have not changed when it comes to doctors thinking somebody has a psychiatric syndrome if he presents with symptoms that can’t be medically explained. In other words, it’s easier to invent pizza in a cup then to rethink the mind-body dualism puzzle.
That seems to be happening with COVID-19 Long Haulers. I’m beginning to see the telltale signs of somatoform-type labels eventually getting applied to patients who get mild symptoms that sound like COVID-19 early on, but which often don’t get severe enough to require hospitalization. They tend to be younger, and develop long-term symptoms, some lasting for over a year, that sound a lot like what many doctors used to page me about—medically unexplained symptoms (MUS). They have fatigue, often have breathlessness, and pain for which medical tests often turn up negative results. When doctors substitute other words for MUS that they believe are less stigmatizing, there is a predictable backlash by patients who reject the new, softer label. Pizza in a pan.
Further, I noticed a study sponsored by Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center listed on Clinical Trial dot gov called Mind Body Intervention for COVID-19 Long Haul Syndrome (first posted April 22, 2021). Participants will be assessed using the Somatic Symptom Scale-8 (SSS-8) which measures somatic symptom burden and was developed in the context of evaluating the DSM-5 somatic symptom disorder diagnosis. Pizza in a pan again.
I also found a comprehensive article on line, “The Medical System Should Have Been Prepared for Long COVID” by Alan Levinovitz, which presented a thorough description of the problem many patients have with physicians telling them their symptoms are “all in their heads.” Unfortunately, this now includes the symptoms of COVID-19 Long Haul Syndrome. In all fairness, I think most physicians try not to give patients that impression. For many years, I was often consulted to assist primary care and specialist physicians in “convincing” patients to think “both/and” about symptoms which could not be medically explained. In fact, that was part of my approach because, believe it or not, some patients were stuck in an “either/or” mindset about symptoms: physical vs psychological, body vs mind, eventually reaching invalidating conclusions like real vs not real. It’s not helpful, partly because physicians tend to get stuck in that mindset as well. We can’t seem to get the pizza out of the pan and into a cup.
Levinovitz mentions that some patients with COVID-19 Long Haul Syndrome have symptoms similar to another syndrome which had been linked to somatoform illness, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME/CFS). There is a great deal of information about it on the CDC website although the cause is still unknown. The CDC language treads very carefully on the issues of causation and treatment—and manage to draw a sort of dotted-line link between ME/CFS and COVID-19. It’s the same old pan.
Levinovitz also mentions Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), another poorly understood syndrome. I remember presenting a Grand Rounds about a patient with this POTS to my colleagues in the Psychiatry Department when I was an Assistant Professor. I invited the cardiologist who consulted me about the issue in one of his patients—who he suspected of having anxiety as the primary issue. Years later, I was consulted by another doctor about a different patient who definitely had abnormal test results (Tilt Table) consistent with POTS, did not suffer from anxiety, yet still thought psychiatry might have something to offer. The patient was puzzled but polite about why a psychiatrist was consulted. Pizza in the pan.
It’s very difficult for physicians to convey, in all humility, “I don’t know, but I still care.” The reasons why are complicated. The push for medical certainty, the packed medical clinic schedules, the limited time to spend with patients. It’s easy to say we must reimagine the way we practice medicine. It’s very hard to do. It’s a lot harder than reimagining the path from pizza in the traditional pan to pizza in a cup.
Hey, how ‘bout them Nielsen’s surveys? I can’t remember getting any Nielsen media rating surveys before I retired and I’ve gotten two of them since then. They send you a crisp, new dollar bill in the mail to entice participation. More likely, it elicits guilt. You’d return the dollar bill but not in the mail, would you? Is this some kind of rite of passage or what?
Technically, you’re not supposed to talk about whether or not you participated in the survey, but I saw one blogger’s post about his radio diary survey. Is there a penalty for admitting you’re a part of “Nielsen Family”? Are there Nielsen Enforcers who come to your house and break your kneecaps while listening to the Godfather soundtrack through their earbuds if you don’t obey the rule?
One white commenter thought Nielsen just targets old white guys for some reason. Then a black commenter pointed out that Nielsen mails the surveys to old black guys too, so it didn’t have anything to do with skin color—and he did it with a sense of humor. He speculated that Nielsen might just target grouchy old retired guys with strong opinions because we remember what the value of a dollar bill was back in the day.
It reminded me of what I used to listen to on the radio in my younger days. Back then, the radio was what you had to use to listen to music. Well, there was a TV music show called American Bandstand, hosted by Dick Clark. The format was pretty much young couples dancing to the latest tunes while the camera panned over the dancers randomly. I remember watching it one day and noticing the camera was moving a lot less randomly and kept focusing on a young blonde woman in the crowd in the middle of the dance floor. That is, it did until she made a very lewd gesture which immediately led to a return to very random camera meandering—and possibly higher Nielsen ratings.
I listened to the radio a lot when I was a kid. One of the local radio stations was KRIB, which the announcer always pronounced “K-OW-I-B because he talked so fast. Many of the songs were bad, so bad that a humorist named Dave Barry published a book about it in 1997, Dave Barry’s Book of Bad Songs. He’s a Miami Herald newspaper columnist who has written a lot of funny books. I had nearly all of them at one time, including the bad songs book. I have only a few now, including an autographed copy of one about getting older, Lessons from Lucy (2019).
One of the worst songs in my opinion was a 1976 tune “Blinded by the Light” by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band. It’s actually a cover of a song by Bruce Springsteen. I kept hearing a lyric I definitely thought was “wrapped up like a douche,” which I swear I never shared with anybody nor looked up on the web (or as Dave Barry would say, “I swear I am not making this up.”) until just today to discover I’m far from the only person to hear that. I also found out that kind of error is called a “mondegreen” (a mishearing of a phrase in a way that gives it a new meaning). The actual lyric was “revved up like a deuce.” That was the kind of bad song Dave Barry wrote about—although I don’t remember that specific song being in his book.
Nowadays I listen to KCCK (88.3 FM) for blues and jazz. Years ago, I used to listen to Da Friday Blues show starting at 6:00 p.m. every Friday. It was hosted by John Heim, who is still doing the show, even after a devastating accidental neck injury which left him paralyzed from the neck down a few years ago. He was hospitalized at The University of Iowa and his family and friends donated a lot of money to help him get to a rehab center in Omaha, Nebraska. John actually retired from teaching in 2004, but has been a DJ at KCCK for years because music means so much to him. He’s a brilliant example to retirees everywhere.
There’s a lot more to radio than Nielsen ratings, no disrespect to Nielsen Families everywhere—and just a reminder, I have no kneecaps worth breaking.
I’m probably busy as a beaver, especially now that I’ve read a short description of how a beaver builds a dam. The article is short on references; in fact, there are none to back up the unidentified author’s remarks. In fact, I suspect the article is fact-free, the only apparent purpose to create test questions for grade-school children.
The author says that, while beavers are busy when engaged in tree felling and dam building, they are disorganized, poor at planning the activities and often mess them up—even accidentally getting killed by falling timber.
By analogy then, since I retired last year, I’ve been about as busy as a beaver. When my frame of reference was working at the hospital as a consulting psychiatrist, I was extremely busy. I put on 3 to 4 miles and about 30 floors a day chasing consults all over an 800-bed hospital with 8 floors.
Now my typical day is very different. Staying physically fit is challenging. I exercise daily, but it’s hardly as demanding as when I was working. I start off with floor yoga to warm up. I hop on the stationary bike, which is not a Peloton or anything like it. There’s nobody in the display exhorting me to crush that Peloton. The digital mileage counter display doesn’t even work.
Next, I do bodyweight squats. My ankle and knee joints crackle and pop loudly, but as long as they don’t hurt, I imagine I’m fine. Next, I do curl and press exercises with a pair of 10-pound dumbbells. Then I do planks. After 3 sets of squats, etc., I get back on the bike. Following the exercises, I sit for mindfulness meditation. That whole business takes about an hour.
As far as beaver busyness, the only time I felled any timber was last summer, when I flirted with danger using a power pole saw trying to clear dead tree limbs left over from the derecho. That actually was a poorly planned activity and was certainly dangerous. I guess I was busy as a beaver then.
Is there such as a thing as being mentally busy as a beaver? Apparently not. Sena and I play cribbage now and then. Other than that, there’s always TV. I listen to music on the Music Choice Channel on TV. I like the Easy Listening and Light Classical stations. Each musical artist featured has several short biographical notes appear while the music plays. I practice doing mental subtractions when the artist’s birthdate appears. It’s the old borrowing method of subtraction you learn in grade school—unless nobody teaches that anymore. There are usually several grammatical and usage problems (worse than mine) with the information about artists and I practice recasting sentences. Sometimes they’ll mention a musician’s nickname, such as BullyboysquatlowjoocedewdliosityBrahms. Several of the classical musicians composed symphonies before they were potty-trained.
On the practical side, I watch the Weather Channel, following which are shows like Highway Thru Hell and Heavy Rescue 401. Those guys are really busy, dragging semi-trucks out of ditches in snowstorms in British Columbia. They operate 75-ton wreckers with rotating booms and winches which regularly spit their cables at anyone nearby.
I alternate the heavy wrecker shows with the Men in Black (MIB) movies, which poke fun at the UFO and alien themes (a welcome counterpoint to Ancient Aliens which takes itself too seriously). I was sure I was watching MIB movies way too much until I found all of the fans’ contributions to websites which list the many errors in the movies. Just google “MIB goofs.” You’ll see the triumphant announcement from those who somehow know what color scheme New York City streets signs had in 1969 and point out how wrong the movie is. On the other hand, I know what kinds of pies young Agent K and Agent J had in MIB 3 (apple with a “nasty piece of cheddar” and strawberry rhubarb, respectively).
I’ve been reading the short story collection Hue and Cry by James Alan McPherson with the idea that the entire book was new to me. So, I was stunned when I remembered the story, “A Solo Song: For Doc.” It has more than one layer of meaning, but on one level it’s about a Black railroad train waiter named Doc Craft who is forced into retirement. The narrator tries to teach a young waiter he calls youngblood learning the ropes about how the old school waiters made their work not just a job but a way of life. I was surprised to learn there was a television adaptation of the story made in 1982.
I must have read it in an anthology when I was a youngblood myself. It’s about racism but it’s also about aging, retirement, and change itself. It makes sense that I would feel differently about the story now that I’m older and retired.
I’m about a year into my retirement now and it has not been easy to adjust. Boredom and the search for a new meaning and purpose in my life still challenge me. While racism did not play a part in my decision to leave my profession, there is no doubt that things changed over my three-year phased retirement starting in 2017, dramatically so since the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020.
I thought I was still maintaining my skills as a psychiatric consultant in the general hospital. I was physically fit, in many cases better able to run up and down the stairs for 8 flights than the youngbloods. When they asked me why I became a consulting psychiatrist, I often told them that I “did it for the juice.” I guess that’s why Doc Craft did it.
Maybe I retired because I didn’t want to be pushed out. Doc Craft didn’t retire because he just wasn’t made for it. Sometimes this doc wonders….
Go Retire Psychiatrist 