This Friday It Will End

This Friday It Will End

Dear reader, allow me to let you in on a little secret.  There is a difference between confidence and a sense of self-worth.

I am a confident person.  I believe in myself and my actions.  Others respect and seek my opinion. However, I can sometimes question my self-worth.  Let me tell you more.

You may know from reading past post that I was the last child in a family of five children. The 60s was a time when parents told it as it was, without a lot of sugar coating. I knew that I was not considered an asset or a surprise blessing. Add a significant stress when I was a freshman in high school, and you have a recipe for a very angry teenager.  My life could have turned out very differently than it did.

Thankfully, I had some great people in my extended life who saw something in me.  They felt that I was different, in a good way. Individuals, often in the form of teachers, would seek me out and take me under their wing.  For whatever reason, a number of them told me that I was destined for great things.  Dear reader, I have no idea what those folks saw in me. I was mad and felt that the world didn’t give a damn about me.  Despite my angst, these guides would find me, talk to me, like me, value me.  They believed in me, and I wanted to believe them. Eventually, I realized that I wasn’t bound to my past;  I could determine my future.  I would not wallow in what others had done or not done to/for me.

The way that these two opposing forces impacted me was significant.  I started to define my self-worth based on what I could accomplish, especially what I could provide to others. I have spent my life being productive, and I have felt good about myself because of it.  

However, there is a negative side to such an approach.  When you are not providing a service, you feel like you are no longer needed or wanted.  Dear reader, I have had this hypothesis proved at times, but disproved many more. When I am in a normal state of mind, I know that there are people in my life who care about me.  Like my past angels, they see something in me that they connect to. That quality is not about what I can do for them; it is about who I am.  They like me for me.

Unfortunately, in times of stress, the logical part of me submits to my primitive fears.  A stressful time is upon me, my partial retirement.  

I told my friend and business partner Ralph, that I did NOT want any retirement celebration. My stressed mind felt that it would be an imposition for others to attend.  I could not imagine that they would want to gather for the sole purpose of wishing me well.  I was retiring; I no longer had anything to offer them. Ralph continued to push, despite every reason I could come up with.  Finally, I told him the truth.  “Why would anyone want to celebrate with me?”

Ralph, would not budge and he finally resorted to contacting my wife Julie about it.  With mounting pressure, I gave in, but I imagined that I would be standing in an empty room. I imagined myself feeling awkward, then embarrassed, and ashamed.  What would my wife and kids think of me?  Would they be ashamed of me too?

Old tapes are hard to suppress under great stress. I gave in to Raph’s pressure, and parties were going to happen. It was my fault for saying yes, but it was too late now.  I called upon my psychological toolkit. “By this time next month, it will all be over.  I will heal from the embarrassment.  I am strong.  I can only be hurt if I allow myself to be hurt.” and so it went.

I was already getting contrary evidence from my patients.  Notes and cards of thanks, little gifts of appreciation.  “Doc, please find me someone just like you to take your place.”  It felt wonderful, but my fear was great.

Last Sunday the festivities started, a reception at a special restaurant, everyone showed. Docs from the practice, docs that had long left, my former business partner Steve, my sister who worked at Genesis and her husband, and of course my wife and kids.  Balloons bobbed, champagne flowed, and forks clicked on plates full of food.  People reminisce and told stories from the past.  My good advice, my bad guitar playing, my crazy socks… and so it went.  I felt cared for.  The room had been booked for 2 hours, at hour 3 we finally exited.

The next day was an office reception; fear once again welled up in me.  The room was packed; the party was put together with thought and care.  I’m known for getting packages from Amazon; my retirement cake looked like Amazon boxes.  They even made one of the layers sugar-free, as I no longer eat sugar.  People took pictures, asked questions, made conversation. I was presented with a beautiful memory book that the staff created for me.  It contained letters from doctors, therapist, and patients who I had served.  I opened the scrapbook style book and saw the care that each page was created with.  I thought that I would burst out into tears, so I closed it with the promise that it would be explored when I was in a better state of mind.

At the end of my last office hours day, a patient dropped off a poem that she wrote for me.  It was clever and sweet, more tears.

Today is Thursday.  Tonight my office voicemail gets redirected.  I’ll call the office once or twice tomorrow to approve prescription refills.  This Friday at 5 PM my private practice career will end. I will still be working at another workplace a few days a week, but my private practice will be behind me.  I remember when I received my letter of acceptance to Northwestern University’s medical school in 1978.  The whole world was before me.  Another chapter has now closed.

I continue to be taught lessons if I allow myself to listen.  I know many of you who will read this have little or no faith in a Higher Power.  I am not trying to convert you.  However, I see God in my life on a daily basis.  Once again He has stressed me and pushed me to the limit so I could learn and challenge my false beliefs.  Amazing.

A wonderful goodbye celebration.
A retirement cake in the shape of an Amazon package.
A beautiful scrapbook of memories.
Right after seeing the last patient of my private practice career.
A beautiful poem from a patient.
A life built on paper.




First Snow

First Snow.

My alarm went off at 3:40 AM, and as usual, I hit the snooze bar. I was tired today as I had been out late last night. Julie took me out to the fancy Waterleaf restaurant in neighboring Glen Ellyn. She made the reservations at least two months earlier. The meal was a celebration dinner for my semi-retirement.

The five-course feast had an Eastern European theme. I love this kind of food, but almost never eat it. It was even more interesting to have an upscale slant on what typically would be considered peasant food. Dumplings, duck, pickled fruit, the list went on.

A big meal served late at night tends to make me want to sleep in, and I was eager to continually hit the snooze bar this morning. Instead, I put my feet on the ground and weaved my way to the bathroom.

Downstairs I checked my phone for the weather report. Twenty-one degrees and snow! I dropped a Keurig capsule in the coffee maker and cut up a Honeycrisp apple. On the cut up fruit I smeared some peanut butter. Breakfast.

We have had unseasonably warm weather in the Upper Midwest, and the thought of walking in 21 degrees was a bit daunting. I employed a simple psychological tactic to get me out the door; I wrote that I would go walking on Facebook. I’m a responsible guy who tries to honor his commitments, and I knew that such a post would get me moving.

I was already wearing a heavy Woolrich plaid, but also threw on one of the few sweaters that I own my navy blue cardigan. Then scarf, hat, coat, and gloves. The ducks came out of the hall closet since my running shoes are not good in any precipitation.

Out the door I went looking like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I was bulky but warm.

There is something magical about walking in the dark after a snow. Even a dusting quiets the streets. Everything looks clean and new. My thoughts ran on as I tried to redirect myself to pray and meditate.  This was a losing battle, and I gave into the moment and allowed myself to savor the frigid air.

I’m now at Starbucks, my usual morning haunt. My friend Tom stopped in to chat, but only for a few moments as he has to supervise a kitchen demolition this morning. He looked at the photo of the menu that I sent him from yesterday’s Eastern European feast. “Mike, there should be an accent on this letter, and that h should be a z.” Tom is the Polish version of me, and like me, he is a little OCD. My mornings are always brighter after a little kaffeeklatsch with him.

And so my day starts. In a moment I’ll pack my computer in my leather messenger bag, put on my layers, and head out the door for the walk back home.

Today is a day of telepsychiatry from my basement studio. Tonight I’ll make dinner with my kids; Swiss steak, corn, mashed potatoes, rolls and butter, and a salad.

I am a fortunate man

A dusting of snow quiets the streets.
A five-course feast.


They Didn’t Teach Me

They Didn’t Teach Me

Yesterday I finished seeing patients around 6 PM.  I brought up my charts to the front reception area and returned to my office for a quick re-appraisal.  I’m trying to move out items without making the place look like a space under construction.  

On Monday I took a big 1930s style floor standing radio home.  Yesterday, it was the Ficus.  My former partner, Ralph will be taking over my office space and would like to move in before the end of the year.

Tonight my wife is taking me out to a fancy restaurant.  This weekend will be my last on-call for Genesis. Sunday there will be a little get-together at Mesa Sabinka, a fancy tapas (not topless!) bar. Monday, there will be a reception at the office.

Monday and Tuesday will be my last patient contact days at Genesis.  Dozens of goodbyes.  It shocks me how long I have been seeing many of my patients.  Ten, twenty, thirty years.  I have treated them and at times their spouses and kids.  Thirty years!  It shocks me.

There seems to be a similar theme when they thank me and tell me how I helped them.  It surprises me because what meant most to my patients was something that I didn’t give them with actual thought.  

Yes, many thanked me for getting them on the right medicine or keeping them out of the hospital.  However, most thanked me for not judging them.  For listening to them.  For guiding them without controlling them.  For being there.  For returning their phone calls.  For caring about them.

My mind focused on symptoms, medications, side effects, drug interactions, psychodynamic interpretations.  I wanted to deliver a superior service.  They needed this from me, but what they needed more was a connection with someone who would accept them, not judge them or try to control them.  They came back when their insurance changed and had to pay out-of-pocket.  They came back when they moved out of state.  They came back for the connection.

I spent four years in medical school and four years in residency.  This was after college and grad school.  Fourteen years of formal education learning anatomy and physiology, biochemistry, pathology, psychopharmacology.  Each piece of knowledge integrated into the next.  Fourteen years… and the aspects of my care that were most significant to many of my patients was something that I was not taught in a single class.  Perhaps it should be.

How many of us need to feel heard, accepted, and understood?  How many of us feel ignored, rejected, and misunderstood? How little it takes to be compassionate and accepting.  Why is it that we do the opposite with those people who we care for?

It is likely that some of my patients would never have needed to see me if they had someone who listened to them in their life. Fourteen years of education, thirty years as a doctor.  Moving forward, leaving behind.  More lessons learned.

The radio and ficus are now in my telepsychiatry studio.


Do I Need A Handler?

Do I Need A Handler?

I don’t really like change; I like predictability.  In fact, I have spent much of my life discerning how things that appear to be unpredictable are, to a high degree, predictable.

As an expert in human behavior, it is clear that even reactive people have only a limited set of “reactions.”  I’m not saying that I can forecast the future or have the insight to predict a person’s impulsive behavior.  However, once you get to know a person you can see their behavioral patterns emerge.  Reactive people tend to respond in more reactive ways.  I tend to react in predictable ways.  Some people like my steady consistency, others find it boring.  But I digress.

I now am entering the two-week countdown to the end of my private practice.  Everyone is congratulating me on my impending retirement.  They are asking, “What next?” Those who know me understand that I won’t spend my new-found time oscillating in a rocking chair.  However, dear reader, I am also asking the same question of myself.  In fact, I have been thinking about this question for years.  I have come up with, modified, and discarded some ideas.

A part of this problem is predicated on my ambivalence.  In my formative years, people (teachers mostly) told me that I was destined for great things. Hear that a few times and you start to believe it.  I have squandered an opportunity or two to do “great things” over the course of my life.  I think the “great things” portion of my life is over.  I lived my professional life doing what I felt that I should do, rather than living up to some artificial (and likely untrue) expectation. I believed that I should be a practicing doctor, who spent at least a part of his time providing services to the underserved.  I am steadfast that this was the right thing for me to do, but hardly “great things” worthy.

The current status of my retirement will only give me two extra days a week.  This is limiting.  I am battling with the idea of doing something significant vs. something significant to me. What is meaningful to me varies.  Some of it is trivial, some not.

I have started the process of organizing things in my home.  Doing these mundane tasks offers some satisfaction, but organization always tends to move back to disorganization.  The pantry that I spent two days cleaning a few months ago is once again in chaos… And so it goes.

With that said, there is a satisfaction doing concrete and time-limited tasks.  I have tackled a number of these tasks over the last year.  I have much more to do. Some I accomplished with my friend, Tom.  Others, by myself or with the help of my kids.  A few with my wife.  

But I digress again…

It is clear to me that I’m having difficulty writing this piece.  I think that it must create a subconscious angst in me.  It is one thing to dream of doing something; it is another thing to do it.

Beyond the mundane tasks, I have creative goals.  I want to get back to playing my guitar.  I am toying with taking guitar lessons. Oddly, I feel like I need to get better at playing before I take lessons, as I don’t want to waste the teacher’s time.  I know this is ridiculous.  I am thinking about learning a foreign language.  A monumental task as I have terrible auditory discrimination and even worse short-term memory.  I want to expand some of my current creative outlets. I wonder if my friend Tom would let me help him a bit.  It would be exciting to allow myself to learn from someone.

None of the above seem sufficient to me.

OK, I’m stalling. Let’s get down to business…

As I had mentioned in past posts, I was a creative little kid before I discovered science.  I could come up with fantastic stories, I could play the piano by ear, I could build and create things.  I gave up most of that when I decided to move my life in an analytic direction.

I come from a family of writers and creators.  I want to write and create.  I have always had the desire to combine multiple interests into something bigger. What, I have no idea.

I continue to try to improve my writing, but I don’t have a clear voice.  I take nice photographs, but I don’t have a distinct style.  A part of me fights having a particular voice or style as I don’t want to be limited.  I know that this ambiguity is not the road to success.

I also know that I have a passion to know the stories of others.  I see the extraordinary in the ordinary.  The uncommon in common. The treasure in the discarded.  How do I join all of these together?

I want to explore places, connect with people.  I have come up with dozens of ideas, but I have been unable to move forward due to fear and lack of protocol.  

When I founded Genesis 25 years ago, I did it with other partners.  One loved business; the other was an extrovert with superior people skills.  I came to the table with creative, technical, and problem-solving skills.  Together, we formed a formattable package.  Each complementing the other.  I think I need that now.

I need a person (or people) who have the skills that I lack.  I need to brainstorm ideas.  I need someone with connections to help me achieve my goals.  I need someone who can take my ideas and help me turn them into something that would be relatable to others, not just to me. I need a compassionate handler. I need a lot.

I have no idea how to find such a person or group.  I have no idea why anyone would want to help me in this pursuit.  I just know that this is the missing link.  The link to take me to the next step.

My life has been characterized by being fully independent and a self-learner.  My HIgher Power has slowly moved me in a new direction where I have been asking others for help.  This process has been both wonderful and terrifying to me.  When I build my courage to ask for help my childhood tapes play loudly.  I wait to hear, “I’m busy.”  “Don’t bother me.” “That can’t be done.” “Why do you want to do that!” In reality what I typically hear is, “Sure.” “Let me try.” “No problem.”  I need to use my psychological awareness to move past my old garbage and into a brave new world.  However, I need a bit of a miracle to know who or what to turn to for this great adventure.

I find life so interesting and complex.  Onward and upward.  Turn every disadvantage into an advantage. God, show me the way.


Does Size Really Matter?

Do you wonder if size really matters? Is bigger always better? If you think that is the case I would like to dispel that belief.  In fact, I would propose that sometimes a smaller size can be more comfortable, and if handled properly a smaller size can provide experiences that are more difficult to achieve with a larger one.  Well, at least that is my opinion.


My cousin Ken stood in front of the group. He welcomed everyone and offered a freestyle blessing that ended with the classic, “Bless us Oh Lord, and these Thy gifts.”  It was the kick off for Droby Fest, year 18.

What is Droby Fest? I guess you first have to know what a droby is.  A droby is a Slovak fresh sausage made of rice, potatoes, and various meats.  It is usually seasoned with salt, pepper, and sage.  It is most often baked, typically with bacon wrapped around it. Like many ethnic sausages it sounds terrible, but tastes delicious.  

The droby sausage is a connection to my ethnic past.  It is something that you can’t buy in a store, it has to be made.  The process is fairly labor intensive and involves grinding all of the ingredients several times, and then stuffing them into sausage casing.  Apparently, there are multiple recipes for droby.  At least that is what  my internet research has indicated. My family’s version contains pork and various organ meats in addition to the starches.


Growing up it was expected to actively participate in celebrations with my extended family.  Major holidays, Communions, Confirmations, they were all events to be shared with aunts, uncles, and cousins.  As our families grew the mass get togethers ended, and for decades I lost contact with my cousins.

The generation before ours was dying, and it seemed like the only time that cousins would see each other were at funerals.  Those contacts consisted of a few minutes of catching up.  At one such event my sister Nancy was talking to my cousin Ken.  “We should have a family reunion picnic,” she said.  And we all started to reconnect.

We now get together multiple times a year.  My cousins Ken and his sister Kris have become the event organizers. There is the monthly Bunco game, the summer Kuna Kampout, the fall KFR (Kuna family reunion) picnic, Pierogi making day, and of course the Christmastime Droby Fest.

We usually do have droby sausage as part of the buffet style Droby Fest meal, but the title is more about getting together with family and celebrating who we are. I used to be embarrassed to be Eastern European,  I so wanted to have a surname that reflected a more Anglo heritage. However, I now am grateful for who I am and proud of my extended family who are sophisticated and accomplished.


The attendees for Droby Fest can vary.  All are welcome, and any relative of anyone is invited.  Really, anyone is invited to partake in the conversation and food.  The only request is to bring a dish or two to pass.  Some people will cook, others buy.  There is always plenty.

I expected a big turnout this year.  The weather was mild and there wasn’t a hint of snow in the forecast.  I was surprised to discover that the crowd was smaller than in times past.  Some of this was accounted by the lack of my first degree relatives.  Several were vacationing, others had obligations.  

This fact was a potential problem for me, introvert Mike.  I naturally gravitate to my immediate family during such events, but most of them were missing.  

Dear reader, as I had told you many times, take a disadvantage and turn it into an advantage.  I really like my cousins and the smaller size of the group plus the lack of my usual cohorts gave me the opportunity to have more in depth connections with them.  

I had a nice long conversation with my cousin Ken.  Ken is one of those people who the more you know him, the more you like him.  His delightful wife, Kathy happily gave me a photography lighting kit that they were no longer using.  

I got to chat with my cousin Steve (always “Stevie” to me) and his wife Sharon.  Stevie talked about his father’s experience in WWII, and reminisced about growing up in the 1960s and 70s.  

For the first time in memory I talked with my second cousin Victoria and her Brit husband, Paul.  We shared stories about how we met our respective spouses.  

Cousin Kathy recounted her recipe for mock clotted cream (something that you can’t buy in the states, due to some sort of pasteurization rule).  Cousin Rudy told me that his photo was on the Portillo’s web site… and so it went.

By having a smaller group I was able to mingle more, and touch base with a lot of wonderful people in a way that I usually would not.

Large groups are great, but sometimes a smaller sized group is just what the doctor ordered.  It can be easier to do some things with a smaller size.

On the way home I commented to my wife,  “I really have a nice family.”  “I always thought that,” Julie replied.

A small Droby Fest

Tis The Season

I no longer try to hide it, I admit it.  I am an introvert.  As I have said in many other posts, I DO like people.  However, the larger the group the more recharge time I need.

I have hosted Thanksgiving for my wife’s family for over 25 years.  They now hail from 5 states, and when they visit it is for a multi-day stay. Over time the group has grown and now some stay in hotels, but we still provide meals and a central meeting place for all.

Our menus have routinized over the years, as has our preparation procedures.  No one needs a menu to know what will be served on Thanksgiving day or the Friday and Saturday afterward.  Preparing for Thanksgiving is still a task, but nothing like it was in the early days.

Typically by Saturday afternoon the entire group will vacate, and my family will regroup with quiet activities accompanied by the comfort of Thanksgiving leftovers.  

This Saturday also included my 50th grade school reunion.  The singular grade school student who I have kept up with is my lifelong friend, John.  John spends much of the year living in the sunny state of Florida, but I knew that he would be back in the greater Chicagoland area for the holidays.  Unfortunately, John would not budge on going to the reunion.  He was not interested, and no effort on my part would convince him.  

It is always good to have a wingman for such events.  A person to push forward when you want to throttle back. I was grateful that my wife was willing to accompany me.  Without her participation, I would have likely stayed home.  

The event was pleasant but strained my introverted personality.  I am not sure what my goal was in attending, but I know what it wasn’t.  I definitely was not there to come back as the “successful doctor.”  I had not seen these people since the 20th reunion over 30 years ago, and I wanted to know what happened to the folks who I had spent 8 formative years with. I was surprised that a lot of the attendees not only remembered that I had become a doctor but even knew some of my recent activities. I felt a bit embarrassed by it, but their comments were genuine. That felt good.

My classmates were nice, welcoming, warm.  When we got up and did a group share we mostly talked about our kids and grandkids, rather than our careers. We had moved past peacocking our accomplishments.  

It was after midnight by the time I fell asleep.  My friend Tom was already on my early Sunday morning schedule.  Tom is one of the very few people who does not drain me.  In fact, he tends to have the opposite effect.  So, at 3:50 AM with less than 4 hours of sleep I was up and dressed.  I arrived at Tom’s house at 5 AM with Dunkin Donuts coffee in hand.  We talked, did some work on his blog, talked some more, looked at guitars on a resale website, he made breakfast for us…. and so the morning went.  

I was on time for the 11:15 church service at Community Christian.  The topic was on being an authentic friend, how appropriate!  It was a good sermon, but I found myself nodding off.  I thought this indiscretion was completely undercover, but Julie mentioned it as soon as we left the building.

After a nap, I managed to clean the house, pack up the leftover turkey, and do other mundane chores.  This was a busy weekend for me, with more busy weekends to follow.

I would hardly call myself a social butterfly, but most of my weekends into early January are booked.  Many of them with multiple activities.  Normally, I would have mixed feelings about this, as I use my weekends to recharge from the work week.  However, in less than 3 weeks I will leave private practice and this will open up two weekdays on my schedule.  I am facing the holidays with new vigor because of this.

With that said, I am still cautious with my time.  I want to enjoy the upcoming events and not turn them into holiday obligations (holigations?).  

This week marks more goodbyes to my patients.  I can’t say that it is getting any easier. However, I feel that my Higher Power is giving me a subtle message that it will be OK. Despite my shyness, there are people who seem to like me and want to connect with me.  I am so grateful that they are willing to reach out to me in various ways, as I seem to lack that ability.  My wife’s family, old classmates, my dear friend Tom, my lifelong chum John.  Yesterday my friend and former business partner Ralph reminded me that he still wants to get together with me after I leave Genesis.

Dear reader, I continue to move forward one foot in front of the other.  The future is misty, but there does seem to be a dim light at the end of the tunnel.  Every week it becomes just a bit brighter.  My Higher Power seems to be telling me, “Hey Mike, I have stood by you all of this time.  What would make you think that I’m going to abandon you now?”

Marching forward I face my future. I’ll get by with a little help from my friends.

Mike Kuna, Revised Version b

Mike Kuna, Revised Version b

I write this at 5:44 AM on Monday morning, November 20, 2017. A significant date, both typical and also unique.

The typical aspect of November 20, 2017, is that it is the Monday before Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday.  The weekend was spent with a little extra cleaning, as guests are coming Wednesday evening.  We raked leaves, although that job always seems futile.  I did my usual Thanksgiving walk-around, replacing burnt out light bulbs. My wife Julie made sure that there was extra toilet paper in the bathrooms. I dusted the tops of the picture frames and started the heater in our sunroom.  It will take a couple days for the room to heat up and we will need all of the space possible as over 20 people will be with us for a couple of days.

Julie and I went to Gordon’s, a restaurant supply store, to start the purchasing process.  A big turkey and a boneless Turkey breast for Thanksgiving Thursday, a giant bag of frozen stuffed pasta shells  for Black Friday dinner.  First store, several hundred dollars down… more shopping to come.  My main concern is will the rock-hard frozen turkey thaw in time for Thursday?  Let’s hope, otherwise, we will be serving beans and franks to our guests.

The unique aspect of November 20, 2017, is that this Monday marks the one month date for the end of my private practice.  Everyone said that the last year would go fast.  Time seemed to move at a glacial speed in January.  Now, time is moving at light speed.

Patients who I haven’t seen for several years are calling trying to set up appointments with me. Their cases are closed and they need to be referred on, there are no more appointment slots left on my schedule.

I spent the last year worrying about the impact of my leaving on patients, some who I have known for decades.  I neglected the impact that leaving would have on me.  Imagine yourself as a trusted friend/counselor who knows someone for 10 to 30 years.  You are told things that no one else knows.  You witness the other person’s triumphs and tragedies.  At times you are given the privilege to watch them grow from acting-out teenagers to solid middle-aged adults.  It is impossible not to develop a connection with them.  I have always kept up my professional boundaries, but I will miss many of these individuals.  

I am burdened by experiencing loss on a 30-minute appointment schedule.  I  get through one loss, in walks another and the process starts over again.  I have to be the strong one, the one giving comfort and reassurance.  That is my job.  

Most patients want to know what I will do in my retirement.  Over the last few months I have been a bit freer with my personal information.  Anonymity no longer has the importance that it once did. Most people congratulate me, some offer me retirement advice, a few offer comments of comfort.  They must be picking up some of my concealed stress.

Today I will see patients from 8 AM to 8 PM.  That’s a lot of goodbyes.  I’ll do it all over again tomorrow.  Four more weeks, time to define Mike Kuna version b.

Next Thursday

Next Thursday

It is Sunday morning.  The Sunday before Thanksgiving.  My clock radio clicks on at 3:40 AM and I hit the snooze bar, but I don’t sleep.  Ten minutes later I listen to a few seconds of a BBC program reappropriated to an American market.  I click the reset button.

I decide to get up.  Teeth brushed, face washed, clothes on; I head downstairs.  The upstairs was unusually hot last night, and now I know why.  When my last child came home yesterday they didn’t close the front door completely and it was now open.  We were heating Naperville last night.  

My first concern is for the cat, who can be adventurous.  She prances down the stairs to say good morning to me.  I am relieved as I tell her good morning.  I know her motives, she has me well trained and soon will receive a cat treat.  I close the door and briefly worry about a mischief of field mice using last night’s open door opportunity to appropriate a new warm home.  

I power up the coffee maker and prepare a banana smeared with peanut butter. I wander into my study.  There I sit in front of my computer and do a quick catchup.  Email, mostly useless. Facebook, mostly reposts.  YouTube, the usual fare.  

I don my coat and hat and head out the door.  Thanksgiving will be in a few days and there is still much to do.  The guest will start to arrive on Wednesday and will leave either on Friday or Saturday.  I believe that this is the 26th year that we will be hosting the holiday for my wife’s family.  Dinner for 20.  After all of these years it is routine, but still, slightly anxiety provoking.  The group has grown a bit with the addition of one niece’s new husband, and the other’s fiance.  We will be missing my nephew Jack, who is on assignment in London this year.  Soon the house will be abuzz with activity.

I am feeling grateful this Thanksgiving.  I am feeling fortunate.  In about 4 weeks I will partially retire from my work-life.  Short-term plans are forming as the date approaches.  I am grateful for my family. I am grateful for my extended family and friends. I ponder, what would my life be without them? The thought leaves me barren.

I am grateful that I feel healthy and younger than my chronological age.  I am not ready to spend my retirement indulging myself.  I’m not looking for a new career, but I know that there is more for me to do.  What exactly is still shrouded, I don’t feel done.

I write this from my usual station at the small round table next to the picture window at my Starbucks.  Soon, I’ll upload this post and be gone.  Padding back home, to a house still asleep.  Then church, then leaves to rake, then more tasks to ready the house.  I am grateful to have a reason to ready the house.  It will be good to see family.  I am thankful to you, dear reader, for taking the time to peruse this missive.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Asking For Help

Asking for help


It is almost impossible for me to ask someone for help, and I know why.  The result has been a blessing and a curse for me.

Being the last child in a large family there wasn’t a lot of resources left for me.  Energy had been spent raising my 4 siblings and the family was on “spin-down” by the time that I made my surprise entrance. My mother was exhausted, and my father was disinterested.  It really was as simple as that.

Like most boys I wanted my father’s attention.  Since he wasn’t trying to engage with me I tried to engage with him. I had given up on the “let’s toss a ball around,“ approach due to lack of success.  However, that didn’t stop me from trying other forays.  Asking for advice usually resulted in a negative response.  Often something like, “You don’t have problems, wait until you are an adult, then you will have problems.”  Crap!   

Asking for help on a project would initially be met with “Can’t you see I’m busy.” If that wouldn’t dissuade me I would encounter the “Why do you need to do that! ” shaming gambet. If I continued to push I would be told that the task at hand, “Couldn’t be done.” Dear reader, I’m not trying to cast my father in a negative light. I’m sure that there were times that he would help me,  I just can’t recall them. This was the 1960s, it is possible that I was experiencing the “children should be seen, but not heard,” method of parenting.

Often when I would bring a project to my father I already had an idea how to solve the problem.  I was looking for reassurance, methodology, and most importantly attention.  Early on I would take a “could not be done” project, do it myself, and return to my father expecting praise for my accomplishment. That did not happen

Over time my desire for approval turned into a demonstration of anger.  In my mind I would I would think, “You said it couldn’t be done.  Look, I did it.  What do you think of those apples!” Dear reader, understand that I’m normally not an angry individual.  In fact, I only think anger is useful when it acts as a catalyst for a positive change.

There was a part of me that liked the fact that I could do things that my father said were not possible.  It didn’t matter if his comments were meant to dismiss me, solving the problem gave me a sense of competency.  I started to assume that being told that something could not be done actually meant that the person asked either didn’t want to help me, or they couldn’t figure out the solution.  Just because they couldn’t figure out the solution didn’t mean that I could.  This was a gift that my father gave me.  He would tell me that something couldn’t be done, I would then do it.   

I came to believe that there were solutions to every problem.  Please understand that a solution can exist, but it may be impossible or impractical to implement.  However, when you think with this mindset you are open to many other possibilities. Perfect solutions that are impossible can lead to imperfect but useable options.

I stopped asking my father for help, but I didn’t stop solving problems. People seek me out because of this ability.  In fact, my professional career is based on problem-solving.

Everyone has negatives in their lives, you can define yourself by those events, or you can use them to push yourself forward.  In good, there is always some bad.  In bad, there is always some good.  I believe that it is better to think of an event as just an event, and to not assign a “good” or “bad” label on it. Learn from life’s events and use them to your advantage.

Yes, I am good at coming up with solutions.  I have been good at teaching myself how to do things.  I am independent, but I am not an island unto myself.

There are many benefits of asking others for help.  These range from social interaction to learning how to do something more effectively.  I taught myself how to play the guitar, but my overall skill and technique are limited. It would have been better to have had someone teach me this instrument.

I know that I need to achieve more balance in my life, and I have been slowly moving towards allowing myself to ask for help from others. I am trying to broaden my circle of “helpers” as courage allows.This process has been risky for me because I still sting from my childhood experience. I do not want to feel shamed, foolish or like a burden.

I have close connections with my siblings, their spouses, and their children.  On occasion, I will ask them for their help. These connections have been there for me.  I know that if they are able they will help me.  With that said, I only ask them for their help rarely.

I frequently ask my immediate family for help.  I would say that in this respect my behavior is normal and healthy.  I help my kids by giving them rides, they help me by raking the leaves.  My wife takes my shirts to the cleaners, I fix her computer problems.  In my family,  I give and take help multiple times a day.  Family connections are… well, family.  I think this security has made it easier for me to ask for help from them.

This has not been the case with other connections that I have.  I have been good at giving help, but not good at asking for help. I know that my fear is irrational.  When I help someone and they are appreciative I feel great.  I feel closer to that person and proud that I can offer them assistance. Intellectually, I know that the converse is true.  However, knowledge does not always translate into action.

If you have been reading my blog you know that I have a very close friend named Tom. Tom is a general contractor and we met when he was doing some extensive remodeling in my home.  Over the number of months that my remodel took to complete we had many interactions and moved from friendly to friendship.  Initially, I offered to help Tom with his sorry looking website. Tom took me up on that offer and we completely rebuilt his site together.  

Tom has many skills that I lack, but the thought of asking him to help with a project would have been unimaginable to me. Over time Tom made offers to help me with a variety of things. Like me, Tom is a helper. As our friendship grew, so did my trust. Trust is a wonderful antidote when it comes to fear of rejection and shame.

You may recall from a previous post that I recently bought an inexpensive computer desk from Amazon.  That desk arrived a few weeks ago.  It was in a giant flat rectangular box that was so heavy that I could barely slide it from my front stoop and into my living room.

The box sat for over a week until I had the courage to open it.  When I did I was met with dozens of cut out pieces of particle board, hundreds of fasteners, and a multipage “easy to assemble” guide. The front of the box said, “Easy to assemble” and noted that the only tools needed were a single screwdriver and a hammer.  Who were they kidding?  My heart started to race, and I closed the box. What had I gotten myself into?

The next day Tom was visiting at my house, and in a typical Tom fashion, he made a sarcastic comment about the huge box creating a hazard in my living room.  Being a general contractor Tom has many construction skills.  However, he also has his likes and dislikes. In the past, he had told me that he hated the tedium of putting Ikea type furniture together.  “It drives me crazy.  Buy the better stuff. Buy it once and have it forever,”  he said.

There was Tom, the box, and me.  Without hesitation I said, “Will you help me put this thing together?”  Without hesitation Tom said, “Sure.” He returned the next day with tools.  We took out piece after piece of particle board, poured out a huge bag of fasteners, and set to work.  I watched him as he put post-A into socket B and twist cam 1 into hole 3.  Soon my son Will joined us and we all sat on the floor. Tom doing most of the work, Will and I trying to find pieces and interpret directions.  In addition to helping, I was watching.  How much glue should be applied to a joint?  How tight should the screws be tightened?. This wasn’t me having a friend do my job, I was learning from an expert.  I was allowing myself to be taught.

Like most projects of this nature, the estimated time to assemble and the actual time were wildly different.  Soon a number of hours had passed and Tom had to leave to take care of another obligation.  The superstructure of the desk was completed, but there was still more to do.

Will and I set to it. I felt more confident because I had been watching and learning. The X shaped metal bracket was screwed in.  Then the decorative back of the desk.  After that we assembled the drawers, only making a few minor mistakes here and there.  Finally, we stood back from our project and looked… looked at my new completed computer desk.  Tom started it, I watched, Will and I finished it… done.

That was not the first time that I let Tom help me, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.  The desk project will be a happy memory.  Three guys together, sometimes working, sometimes laughing, sometimes swearing.

When I initially opened that big box full of odd pieces of wood I thought to myself, “This is impossible, it can’t be done.”  But dear reader there is a solution to every problem.  Sometimes that solution is asking for help from a friend.



The $100 Computer Experiment

The main reason why I created the blog was to become more transparent about my feelings via writing.  To put out to the greater public what was going on in my head.  The idea being that this would allow me to hopefully write more authentic compositions in the future.

When I write this blog it is usually with little planning.  I write what the spirit moves me to write in that moment.  My rule is if I write it, I post it. Not doing so would defeat my overall blog objective.

I am always thinking of and solving problems in my head. Some are significant, most are not. Problem-solving interests me. There are some people who enjoy solving puzzles, I like solving problems. What came out in today’s writing was a “problem” that I have been thinking about for the last few weeks. One of my “Why?” “What if?” or “How would I solve that?” kind of problem.  

Here we go…

I acquired my first home computer in 1983, a Commodore 64. Since then there have been many others.  I bought off-the-shelf computers from Circuit City, modified them, and assembled the first computer network for Genesis Clinical Services in 1992.  I hand built video editing workstations In the early 2000s.  I even constructed my own multibay DVD replicating computer In the mid-2000s.

Microsoft introduced the Windows Vista operating system in 2006, a textbook example of introducing a product before it was ready for release.  My love affair with Windows quickly went sour with constant computer crashes and software conflicts.  I made the switch to Apple around that time, and never looked back.  Apple computers are well built, well designed, and… well, expensive.

That expense seems to be ever growing as Apple continues along a path defining itself not only by its technology but also its luxury branding.  Even an old doctor like me has to take a deep breath when it comes to purchasing the next upgrade. Overall, Windows machines are less costly, but the powerful ones are still pricey.  

So, where am I going with all of this?  

My current  thought problem:

Computers have gone from household status symbols to necessary devices.  We do everything on our computers.  Although today’s smartphones are powerful, laptops are still the preferred machine for many tasks.  You would not expect your high school student to type a term paper on their smartphone!

Computers have become integrated into daily life to such a degree that they have gone from being a shared family resource to a personal use item.  My children do almost all of their schoolwork on computers.  It would be impossible for them to share a single device. 

In 2017 if you do not have ready access to a computer you are at a clear disadvantage.  As more services go online it is expected that you can easily connect and interact with them. Shopping, news, music, schoolwork, banking, media consumption, social media, email, the list is endless. A family of 4 with limited resources may be able to buy a single computer, but they would be hardpressed to afford two or three MacBooks or similarly expensive Windows machines.

Low-cost alternatives have emerged to bridge this gap.  Chromebooks were introduced by Google in 2011.  These laptops use a very lightweight operating system (OS) that serves as a framework to support Google’s Chrome browser.  Google supplies the OS with its integrated browser for free to computer manufacturers. This allows those manufacturers to produce low cost, but functional laptops. In return, Google receives precious user data. Chrome OS is updated every 6 weeks and becomes evermore mature and useful.  

Chrome OS has moved from being an industry joke to becoming the second most popular computer operating system in the US, surpassing Apple’s Mac OS. Computers running Chrome OS have become the dominant computer in schools, and Chromebooks are often the top-selling laptops on Amazon.  This is not because they are particularly powerful, it is because they can easily handle basic tasks, are simple to manage, and are dirt cheap.

The meteoric growth of Chromebooks has caught the eye of Google’s competitor, Microsoft. In an unprecedented move, Microsoft now allows its flagship Windows 10 operating system to be loaded on low powered computing devices, free of charge. Because of this, there is now an explosion of low powered “Cloudbook” laptops and tablets running Windows 10. Cloudbooks and Chromebooks have some differences, but their overall purpose and audience are the same. Cheap computing with a heavy emphasis on using the web. In other words, the everyday tasks that most of us use a computer for.

Technology has evolved allowing the use of low cost and highly efficient microprocessors to run both Chromebooks and Cloudbooks.  Companies like Rockchip from China buy off-the-shelf chip designs from ARM and produce inexpensive RISC microprocessors for use in a variety of computing devices, including laptops. Intel has countered by providing their own inexpensive Atom/Celeron chips. Because of their simpler design and lower transistor counts, these types of CPUs use very little power and produce little heat.  This results in very long battery life and quiet fanless operation.

The combination of cheap components combined with a free operating system has resulted in a plethora of Chromebooks and Cloudbooks that can be had for $200 or less. We are finally in an age where almost everyone can afford a computer.  Computers have gone the way of the microwave oven and the tabletop television; high tech products at bargain basement prices.

Both Chromebooks and Cloudbooks are powerful enough for day-to-day computing tasks.  However, if you want to do sophisticated video editing, photo editing, or audio mixing, you are going to have to pony up the cash for a Mac or a high-end Windows PC.

$200 is inexpensive, but what is the lowest price that you can spend and still have a usable computer for basic needs?  That has been the question that I have been pondering. Perhaps there is a student who needs a computer but has extremely low funds. Perhaps there is a retiree on a very tight budget. These individuals may have an absolute limit on what they can spend.  They don’t have the option of spending an extra $50 on a machine, even if the additional cost would provide a significant performance boost.

Question: Can you purchase a workable computer for less than $100?  A device that would be capable of all basic required tasks? Facebook, online banking, YouTube, Netflix, streaming music, web surfing, email, office documents, etcetera?

Many of my interests involve computers.  I have a YouTube channel, an audio podcast, and this blog. In addition, I’m an avid photographer. These are hobbies that require high computing resources.  For these needs, I usually use a Mac Pro or a MacBook Pro.

Question: Are there ways to use this lesser technology such as Chromebooks and Cloudbooks to approximate the tasks that I do on my more expensive computers?  The operative word is “approximate” as I already tax my high-end devices with my computing needs.

So what are the sub $100 choices?  It is impossible to get a working Mac for $100 or less.  Any traditional Windows computer at a $100 price point would be trash.  It is possible to mount a Linux OS on an old Windows computer, but how many people know how to do that?  It may be possible to get a used, but workable Cloudbook for less than $100. Unfortunately, my search could not find one priced at $100 or less.

It is possible to find Chromebooks at or below $100.  These are often off-lease machines that are “seller refurbished.”  A term that likely means that the seller did a quick once over and then washed the unit off with some Windex.

In fact, I’m typing on such a low-cost computer to write this post.  I’m using an off-lease Chromebook that was “seller refurbished” and was purchased off of eBay for a total cost of $68 (including shipping). I’m using the free/online Google Docs to compose this post on a computer that is less costly than a family meal at a mediocre restaurant. In addition, I’ll also edit and post a photo for this blog and embed my YouTube video on “Chrome vs. Cloud Computers,” below the post. Lastly, I’ll manage and update my WordPress (blog) website. A pretty good test for a cheap computer.  As an aside, as I’m typing this post I’m listening to streaming music from my $68 computer, which is wirelessly transmitting straight-ahead jazz to my Bluetooth earbuds!

Does my $68 computer have flaws?  Yes.  Am I limited in what I can do with my $68 computer? Yes.  However, I am able to do some amazing things with it.

During the next phase of my exploration, I will try to record, edit and post my audio podcast. I’ll also try to see if I can create some sort of YouTube video using it.  These projects are more complicated and demanding and will push the limits of this basic technology. Hopefully, not to its breaking point. My plan is to combine all of my results into a summary video on my YouTube Saving Savvy Channel. There are other geeks out there that enjoy this kind of stuff, just like me.

My first computing device was a basic Texas Instrument SR 10 calculator.  I bought it in 1973 for $129.00. That would be over $700 in today’s money. The converse of this would determine the cost of this $69 computer in 1973 money. That would be $12! Twelve dollars for a device significantly more powerful than the computer used on the first lunar lander.

This week’s thought problem is still in progress, but the basic parameters and methodology are set.  At problem completion, I will breathe a sigh of relief.  But, then there is always the next problem, whatever it may be. So many problems to solve, and so little time to solve them. I guess they keep me out of trouble!

Aside:  Dr. Julie hopefully reading this post will give you some insight on why we have so much junk in our basement! 😉  

My $68 computer