Life is Good

"Your blood pressure's 150 over 90," the doctor said. "You need to get that down."

I shrugged. My BP has always been high.

"Let's try some relaxation exercises and see what happens," he said. He was a holistic kind of guy: an MD and a homeopath both.

I said sure. It was the '80s, and San Francisco. So he walked me through five minutes of calming routines and took my BP again. 140 over 85.

"I bet if we went again, we could get it down to 130," he told me. "You need to take up meditation."

"I've tried it," I told him. "I don't stick with it."

"Okay," he said, not missing a beat. "Then I want you to buy a La-Z-Boy recliner and sit in it for 20 minutes twice a day."

"What good is that going to do? It's a chair."

"You ever sit in one? I've got terminal cancer patients in so much pain they can't sleep. But they can sleep in a La-Z-Boy.

"Just sit in it. Don't read, or talk or watch television. Don't do anything. Just sit for 20 minutes. Twice a day."

Now this is America; so if you tell somebody they can solve a problem by buying something and doing nothing, you'll have their complete and utter attention. I'm no exception to the rule. And yet I am a cynic.

But he was a good doctor, a real healer, and I trusted him. Painkillers and antibiotics had their place in his world, but he didn't believe that drugs were the best cure for every single thing. And after all these years, neither do I.

And that is why a La-Z-Boy recliner has crouched in the corner of my living room for the past 25 years. I'm on number two. And no, he didn't write me a prescription.

In truth I never did sit in the La-Z-Boy twice a day as the doc recommended. But there were years when I managed once a day. I would stumble out of the car after a grueling day of tension and deadlines and fall into the La-Z-Boy's gentle embrace and just -- sit. Often I didn't make the 20 minutes without falling asleep. It was a lifesaver.

But these past few years, not so much. The La-Z-Boy sits in a far corner, out of mind. And after a day of chaos at work, we come home, feed cats, make dinner, eat dinner, do laundry. And of course the tube is on throughout, and the Internet beckons. Few of these things are calming. Especially the news and politics shows.

And I still can't meditate. I'm one of the most distractable people on the planet. There are too many things to do, or to worry about not doing. And very few of them are things that I really want to do. I don't want to know what my blood pressure is.

A couple of weeks ago the local court system called me to jury duty. And as is usual with such things, we the prospective jurors spent a lot of time waiting outside the courtroom.

And as the jurors settled onto the benches provided, the cell phones came out; texts were read, and sent. iPads and Kindles slid from purses and backpacks, and even a few books and magazines appeared. Few were willing to spend a single minute waiting without some sort of distraction.

I'd brought nothing. And I found myself glorying in the boredom. There was nothing to do, no useful thing I should accomplish, no media tugging at my sleeve for attention. I unfocused my eyes and stared at the wall.

Before I knew it, 20 minutes had passed and the bailiff was calling us to court. I had just stood there and breathed, and remembered that it was good to be alive. I've had vacations that weren't that relaxing.

And the world did not fall apart because I spent a few minutes not worrying about it.

We should pay attention to the problems of the world; but there must always be time for affirmations of the positive. Affirmations of life. Here's my latest affirmation:


I have always enjoyed food excessively. We all need it, of course, but I lovingly remember the tastes and smells from meals that vanished down the gullet decades ago.

Last night I cut myself a slice of the superlative raisin-nut rye bread produced by Gayle's Bakery in Capitola. The crusty, almost-burnt taste of the rye contrasts with the moist sweetness of the baked raisins bursting in your mouth as you chew.

I slapped a thick slice of butter on top and bit in. Waves of sweet and rough flavors joined with the creaminess of the butter, and in that moment I knew beyond any doubt that life is good. It had to be. Otherwise, such bread could not exist.

I suggest to you, then, that you affirm life in similar ways. Even if those ways are unwise, imprudent, expensive, or fattening. Enjoy the world; it is good. Though never forget that it could be better.

And yes, I've just had two more slices of that raisin bread. With lots of butter. Cholesterol be damned. Life is good.