Happy and worry-free is the only way to be
The Stanwood/Camano News did me the honor of publishing the following article last Tuesday. My title was Don’t Worry, but I like the liberties they took. They did a nice job with the rhyme and it will certainly fare far better in search engines. HAPPY and WORRY are great, but FREE…that was a stroke of genius. Wish I could think *SEO like that.
You will find this article is as much about chiropractic wellness as it is worry, but then, in my life most things are.
A Fun Passing Note: Over the last few years this local news paper has published just about everything I’ve sent them, but my favorite was to see one of my health and wellness articles in there. That might not seem too amazing, since everything I’ve sent them is on health and wellness. What was amazing is that this particular article was published sans the last third of its text and placed in the Auto and Motor section! If anybody is curious, I might be tempted to post it in this blog, but I’d need to know what version you’d like; the one for you, or your car?
Happy and worry-free is the only way to be
In my quest for fitness I do this thing about twice a week where I strap on a pair of running shoes and set out on foot determined to make it around a four mile loop. There was a time when I’d sprint four miles, but speed doesn’t seem so important anymore. That’s why I normally jog were its flat, chug up the hills and walk down the other side.
The house was quiet one morning, so I decided to “run around the block.” There is plenty of woods along the route and when it’s dark, it’s really dark and I always forget a flashlight, but I know the way and the road is straight and fairly smooth. Just shy of the half way point the dawn broke free of the mountains and I was glad to see the subtle hues of red spill across the sky. There was nobody to share the eerie glow with, in fact I’d not seen another person or a car since I began. Probably the early birds were already gone for the day and the sleepyheads remained snug in their beds. The lack of activity was a little unsettling as I walked alone down a small hill and reflected.
The moment didn’t last long as the dim light and all of the red disappeared. Clouds pushed tight against the Cascades. I could still see; my eyes had become accustomed to the low light, but still I wished I’d waited another fifteen minutes as I plunged through another canopy of trees. Hills mean – chug!, so I put my thoughts behind me and raced up the incline, heart pounding and lungs straining for air. Breaking out of the shadows, I reached the top of the hill and was relieved to slow my pace as I started my decent. Then I froze in my tracks.
A chill ran down my spine as the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. There was no way to get out of this. It was right behind me. It’s growl was breathy and resonated loud against the quiet. My guess was coyote, but in the back of my mind I thought cougar – rabid dog? Slowly I turned, knowing I couldn’t outrun any beast with twice the legs.
Nothing was there! But there was that awful noise again. Heart still pounding, I laughed out loud when I looked down at my feet to see a wildly panting French Bulldog barely a foot tall. “Arthur, you scared me.” Reaching down I petted my little friend. When I run I usually see Arthur at the bottom of the hill and give him a pat on the head and a scratch under the chin. This day his short legs worked hard running up the hill to get my attention. Genetics is not on the little dogs side for running and the pug nose combined with exertion led to his terrible growling sound. “Go home now. No sneaking up on me next time.”
Over the next couple miles I chuckled to myself about my silly concern, about my physical response to worry, about the unfounded fear. It got me thinking. How often are we concerned about things that never come to pass. How often in life is our worry unfounded? Do we furrow our brow, loose sleep and pine away over silly concerns?
I know many people are concerned over aging. It seems normal in our culture to worry about growing old. Isn’t it ironic that the stress from worry actually contributes to dysfunctional aging? The best way to approach the aging process is to focus on health and well-being. Life is not meant to be consumed with worries and concerns about sickness and disease. So when we strive to achieve wellness, we not only avoid many problems that go along with dysfunctional aging, but enjoy the collateral benefit of an active, fulfilling life.
Chiropractic wellness care is vital in our pursuit of a quality life experience. Freeing interference to the delicate spinal nerves in order to created harmony throughout the body is the goal of chiropractic. Exercise, eating right, rest and a positive mental and spiritual attitude are also important. Work diligently for wellness now and in the future and remember these famous words. “Don’t worry. Be happy.”
*Search Engine Optimization
London and Scotland — Beyond Expectations — Part Five: “Falkirk”
If you’ve been reading my “Travel” posts, you know by know that Eli and I loved our trip to London and Scotland. The people were terrific and the countryside, architecture and history phenomenal! However, I must confess a singular disappointment – or is it frustration? Actually, to be truthful, I’m still dealing with it. Most people probably think it’s not a big thing and maybe it is a little over the top for me to be so disturbed by it. But in truth, I am.
Now, I feel it’s only right to share my disappointment with you. However, if I told you what it is right now that would deprive you from the same emotion, that feeling of frustration – or is it dismay? – that I felt upon leaving the Highland and arriving in Falkirk.
Try to understand that I was anticipating something and it never materialized. While it was not enough to ruin our trip, it did leave a void that is still not satisfied. Now that I have carefully crafted that same sense of expectation in you, the devoted reader, I feel it is only proper that I somehow generate the feeling of dismay… or is it resentment?, in you. Therefore, I will not say what it is quite yet. Perhaps, I’ll taunt you with hints now and again. Maybe I’ll even throw you a bone that will allow you to guess what it is, but ultimately you will just have to feel my pain.
In my defense for doing this, is my sincere desire that you understand what I’ve been going through and this is the only tool which will come close to getting you to that point. Go ahead and send scathing comments. I can take it. You should know in advance that I am SORRY for doing this, but it is for your own good. Just remember, I never even got a, “Sorry” from Scotland or any of its representatives.
Both before and after our trip to Scotland, one of the most common questions I am asked is, “Are you a golfer?” The answer is “No.” I understand that Scotland is a Mecca for certain sects of the religion of golf. However, we never really paid much attention to any golf courses we passed. Guess I saw one in Inverness, but they really don’t impress me too much. I’ve never even held a golf club unless there was a “windmill shot” somewhere in the course. So as for golfing and Scotland, I’m not much help. However, Eli and I did have an amusing golf related experience while preparing to board the southbound train in Aviemore.
Our train left a little after eight in the morning. We were the first ones to the station and crossed over the picturesque bridge to get on the correct side of the train. Neither Eli nor I are great morning people, but even we were awake by the time we made it out on the platform. Standing, with backpacks propped up against our legs we stared in amazement as a boisterous foursome bust through the doors opposite us. For a moment they stood there staring back at us, seemingly confused as to why we where on the other side of the tracks. Then the platform manager repeated the same thing he had told us minutes before.
It was clear that two of the group were the dads the other two were their – just out of high school – sons. Judging from the large bag of golf clubs draped over each shoulder and the golf shoes in hand it was also clear they where heading off to have a day on the links. As if choreographed, they each set down their golf bags and a round of beer’s appeared, laughter ensued and they made their way over to our side of the tracks. After a few minutes the bottles where empties, they asked again when the train was arriving. “What tha ‘ell.” One of the dads joked. The rest all laughed as they reached out to receive his offer of another round. The train came and we never saw them again, but I do wonder what their tee time was.
Even in other ways the train ride from Aviemore to Falkirk was an eye opener. The tracks meander for a long while through unpopulated areas. Skirting hills and piercing valleys there is a peaceful quiet that makes you wonder what century you’re in. The sleepy trance slowly lifts as sure signs of a town appear; there is a serpentine rock fence leading to a ruin, too small to be an ancient castle, but the remains of what someone once called “home” distracts from the sheep dotting the pasture. It’s no surprise to see a steeple marking the town just up ahead. Just when you get to thinking that the Clearances might still be ripping people out of the highlands you see a man in boots and a cap walking with a black and white dog (Do dogs come in any other color in Scotland?). Then, as if to put our mind at ease we pass children playing, oblivious to the train, ensconced in solid color sweaters their mothers put them in earlier in the day. As with most of the villages, this one is too small to warrant a stop and before long the sheep become more visible than signs of human habitation, the rocky pastureland returns as if nothing had happened.
By the time this scenario repeats itself a half dozen times you are surprised to see anything different. My daydream of someday returning with my wife and riding from village to village by bicycle faded as the scenery began to change. Whether finally I noticed or simply turning a corner caused the stage to change, I don’t know, but our train did pick up speed as large open fields, set aside for hay crops, dominated the landscape. Here and there we’d see some Angus cattle loafing on muddy paddocks next to steel barns — just like home. By then the romance of the Highlands had given way to better soil and the security and efficiency of the business of agriculture. In time even that turned eagerly to examples of light industry and commercial enterprise. Only then, did our train seem to have a reason to stop.
Still, the Central Highlands would have been yet another wonderful place to spend a month. We had to settle for a day. Ever notice how some people just radiate one of their character traits? Friendliness, kindness, hope, sympathy, frankness…? A young woman and her father joined the train in Stirling and situated themselves in the seats beside us at the same table. The man was not old, maybe mid fifties, but was hesitant in his movements and speech. He carefully metered his behavior like someone who had been retrained to use foreign nerves for new purposes. While there were no obvious physical signs, I’d judge he had suffered a stroke or some brain damage years ago and was doing quite well considering what he had been through. His daughter was stunning. Upon first glance, few would pick her out as such. While her complexion was pure and fresh and her smile complimented the soft blue of her eyes, she would probably not draw most people’s attention upon passing. There was no ‘bling’ in her frame, clothes, or actions that said anything other than… “If you see a poised, twenty year old woman, that’s good, because that’s exactly what I am.”
“So, big deal,” you should be asking. “Why even comment?” That’s a good question and I certainly would have forgotten it, had she not opened her mouth. I had been dozing prior to that stop and found no reason to wake up fully as the couple took their seats. Then she began speaking to her father and immediately I came out of my trance, to find myself in another. Her voice was lovely. That’s all there is to it. She spoke to her father in a gentle tone with a warm, pleasant lilt that instantly conveyed her love and respect for him and at the same time entertained and soothed him. I was floored! So much so, I opened my eyes and searched Eli sitting across from me for his reaction. He was mesmerized and it was obvious he was trying hard not to stare across the table into her warmth.
After a couple minutes they settled into a quiet politeness that we saw so often in the trains in the UK and in time I found a question to ask, just to engage our new neighbors in conversation (read: to hear her again). Her father acted interested, but mostly silent, as his daughter delighted Eli and I in dispassionate, but lovely prose.
All too soon, our chance meeting came to an end, our stop had arrived and we reluctantly left the train at the Falkirk station. We both smiled as we stepped off the train into the brisk sun. Deep in that special corner of our mind, the place reservered for relvelation, was the knowledge that we had met the quintessential Scottish lass.
Ranald was our key to Falkirk. How we met was totally a surprise to me. After finding out we were heading to Scotland my mom gave me a letter written by her cousin in 1954, about her trip to Scotland. I cannot seem to hang on to anything for more that a couple of years, but I’m glad my mom is not like that. Reading the letter helped me get some ideas for our trip. The first thing I did was to Google the name of the family farm. It seemed like a reasonable thing to do, as it was the last place in Scotland that my ancestors lived. Don’t know what I expected, but in the day when you get a half a million hits on an obscure search phrase, I was surprised to find only four mentions of the farm’s name. Three of them somehow related back to Ranald and all were threads over five years old. I grabbed Ranald’s and one other email address and sent off unsolicited notes to them (something that I have gone years without doing) with info about who I was and a couple of questions of a general nature about the farm.
Before a couple days passed I was corresponding to with Ranald and Steve, a distant cousin from a branch of the family that went to Australia instead of Canada. Steve, my relative actually had pictures of the farm and even one of my mom and aunt in the 1940’s (courtesy of his grandmother’s brother who stayed in contact with my grandmother). It’s fun to find lost family and make connections, although the whole genealogy thing gets overwhelming very fast.
Ranald, while not family, turned out to be from Falkirk, is a “Resident Historian” (maybe unofficial, maybe not) and in true Scottish fashion is very active in civic activities and perpetuating his deeply thought-out opinions regarding problems in the area. We rendezvoused at a parking point not far from the station and there began our fabulous adventure with a new friend.
We walked the site of the Battle of Falkirk Muir, which took place in January 1746. Here Bonnie Prince Charlie’s Jacobites defeated Government forces pursuing them. No doubt I had a few ancestors who were celebrating that night, and since I’m here today, I’d guess at least one went home the next day instead of dieing with honor later on, as that was the Princes last victory. A very interesting read about this battle, the bloodshed to come, and everything else Scottish is How the Scots Invented the Modern World by Arthur Herman. Then we skipped past one of the many places that the Antonine Wall is still visible. Constructed during the reign of the roman Emperor Antonius Pius (138 AD – 161 AD) the wall runs across Scotland at its narrowest point. Unlike Hadrian’s Wall the Antonine Wall was built of turf fronted by a ditch 12 feet deep and from what I’ve gathered, actually seemed to work to keep the early tribal “Scots” out of the “civilized” world.
These days no visit to this area is complete without a look at the Falkirk Wheel. Quite the engineering marvel. But by this time, I was chomping at the bit to get back to my roots and see the farm my great grandmother left over a hundred years ago. Our quick new friend and tour guide anticipated my desire to get on with things and we set off to Yonderhaugh. It is still an active family farm, only the family is no longer the Finlay’s. For over seventy years Ian’s family has lived and farmed this fertile bottomland not far from the River Carron. He remembers the visit in 1954 of my mom’s cousin (the one who wrote the letter she saved)! What a fun and delightful man, and his wife Sandra totally is his compliment in graciousness and class. After a quick look around and sharing some pictures of the place, we were invited in as if we were kin. We sat at a Formica topped kitchen table and told stories and laughed while Sandra tempted us with shortbread cookies, sweet bread and tea. All things must come to an end and we exchanged email addresses and said our long goodbyes. “You Americans are great-ones for huggin.” Sandra remarked as she hugged me back. After a few pictures, we left with happy hearts.
One last stop. It was the parish church (Church of Scotland – read: Presbyterian) not far from the farm. It likely was the church (Kirk) that my family frequented as they were born, grew and died in this open valley. The history is lost on me. Ranald knew more about the life and ways of my ancestors than I will ever know. There is something about local knowledge. As we drove past the site of the famous Carron Iron Works, he said, “During hard times your relatives probably worked there.” And then before the thought of eighteenth century hardships and labor practices sunk in, he turned his attention to a very ’sixties-modern’ car dealership turned furniture store and added, “its shameful.” Looking concerned, as if responsible, he then motioned to an ill kept seventeenth century three story building, that would have been torn down long ago had they not been built with castle like methods. Sorely disappointed and knowing more about the politics than could be conveyed, he added, “It awful the way they ruin things…no care.” Some things are universal and we got the idea. We see it here too. Buildings, like neighborhoods and cities are like people when it comes to decline. If nothing is done to improve…it will not.
First Hint: Ranald’s disappointment is not the one I was referring to at the beginning of this post. Guess you’ll have to read on. Next stop is Edinburgh. Okay, that really was not a hint. So in fairness I’ll provide one. When told about my disappointment, Ian (the farmer) suggested that it probably was because of recent (last three or four years) government agricultural regulations.
Recycled, Vital Trash: Epigenetics; Can Darwin Finally Die?
Okay, I’m sorry to do this to you, but once again, it’s for your own good. There are a variety of things at play here.
First, I’ve been eagerly involved in more house remodeling projects. Actually I’m getting pretty handy. I have a builder friend, who after seeing my work offered to hire me at $10 an hour. Wow! I told him I cannot be had for less than $11… and I’d want one of those leather toolbelts with the suspenders as a perk. The negotiation is on!
This imbalance in my life has led to procrastination in other areas…namely, I’m way behind in reports, which need to be written so my office can get paid for services rendered. So, today is the day I’ve set aside to catch up. It is my hope to create harmony and balance in my life once again.
But wait! My blog has been ignored for two weeks. (Not that too many people are actually reading it yet…I know they will. Thank YOU, by the way! Tell all your friends.) So I decided to do what most writers do when they get overwhelmed… pull something out of the past.
As I was perusing through articles I wrote years ago, the one you are about to read struck me as almost prophetic. This is an article that was published in June of 2001. You decide.
I will leave it with you now and hope you fall for its truth. Not wanting to procrastinate any further, I will keep it in its pre-blog, original state, and make comments (after I get caught up on my other work) at a later date.
Enjoy,
Ray
Vital Trash
by Dr. Ray Pope
Perhaps it’s been a long time since you took a biology class, but probably it’s been within the last fifty years. It’s likely you were taught the importance, in fact the predominance of DNA in determining all aspects of our heredity, including characteristics, behavior, aptitude and of course, weaknesses. Guess what? You were taught wrong!
Since Watson and Crick revealed the double helix configuration of DNA, scientists and others have used genes to explain everything from Darwinian evolution to sexual orientation. Well, unfortunately mankind is not going to get excused so easily. In the last half of the twentieth century, scientists and medical researchers were busy isolating cells on Petri dishes, piercing the cellular membrane, sucking the nucleus out, separating the chromosomes and discarding the proteins and telling us that the DNA is who we are. Sorry! We are much more.
Amid the veiled disappointment in the Human Genome Project, numerous researchers are stepping forward to suggest that the focus on DNA has been an interesting diversion, but one that has largely missed the mark. Actually, it is the proteins that researches have been throwing away for years that control the expression of the DNA. It is the cell membrane that regulates the intracellular system and its products. It is the common interaction of communities of cells that establishes and motivates the environment of the tissues. It is the various communication networks and nerve system that create the synergy of cellular expression and coordination. Ultimately, it is our environment that determines the expression of the genetic code. It is the cellular environment that dictates which part of the DNA blueprint is used. Wow!
Take a look at environment. If you’re thinking trees, fish and rocks, think again. Environment includes what you put into your body…water and food. Environment includes what challenges you expose your body to…exercise. Environment includes what you perceive in your mind…vision and attitude, and environment includes how you treat yourself…rest and restoration.
These things are dynamic, they are within your ability to change. Therefore, you determine the environment in which your body operates and you create the environment your body responds to. In essence, you choose your life expression. An awesome responsibility? You bet.
Will you choose a positive environment? One with optimized nerve function, a sound diet, vigorous exercise, positive mental attitude and sufficient rest? Or, will it be destructive and strain the limits of your body’s ability to adapt and function properly. So, what is it going to be? The choice is yours.
Copyright © 2001 Ray Pope. All rights reserved.
