I don't know how far to drill down into this subject, but boy, am I under stress this week.
I do not deal with stress well. Never have. When I taught high school, a field trip was enough to send me into mild panic state. Responsible for thirty children—other peoples' children—me? Something had clearly gone awry in arrangements. The kids would of course be fine out in the big world, but I'd be a Woody-Allen-level neurotic mess, fantasizing kidnappers, pederasts, terrorists, and sundry open manhole covers—and what the heck, meteors—and coming back three or four short in the head count. I remember an unidentified voice from the back of a field-trip bus: "Look at Mike, he's all frazzled, the poor dear." Pronounced "fuh-razzled." Impertinent, but correct, and funny.
As a parent volunteer for a school zoo trip when my son was five, I was responsible for him and only two other five-year-olds. Easy, right? Not so fast. One of the other children was presented to me in a harness, on a leash. I was quietly a bit appalled at this—he's a child, not an animal. Well, an hour later, if any of the teachers had tried to take that leash away from me, I would have bared my fangs and snarled. That kid was such a pinball it took every ounce of concentration I had to keep up with the three of them—at least Whirling Dervishes keep one foot planted—and you couldn't let your guard down for twelve seconds. Zoo? No, thanks. You go. The thought of zoos still kinda makes me want to sit down and rest, to be honest.
The great pioneer of the biologic effects of stress was Hans Selye, an endocrinologist. His idiosyncratic and rather charming book The Stress of Life was an early classic. Interestingly, the term "stress," which Selye coined, and which is almost universally accepted today in many languages, was supposed to be "strain"—Selye blamed his poor English for the fact that he came up with the wrong word! It's the right word now, of course.
I do need to write the story of Zander's birth someday (can't do it as a blog, as I had earlier hoped—just too difficult that way. Gave that a good try, though). It was by far the worst stress (and strain) I've ever felt. This week is mild by comparison. But still, I can feel I'm wrapped about three times too tight right now. Not quite myself.
In school a long time ago we were asked to specify an ambition, and I wrote a little set piece about wanting to find a small tree, on a grassy knoll, on a hot but pleasant day, and sit there, in the shade, and watch the fleecy clouds go by, and do nothing but think. I meant it as a joke, at the time, but I've never forgotten that vision I conjured for myself of that state of happiness. It has some power for me. It does appeal.
The old man he catches the fish in the morning
He rides the river every day
I sit on the bank and I holler when he passes
"Hey, old man, are they biting today?"
I wake up in the morning, thinking 'bout my troubles
I go down to the water and they pass away
And when the old man comes a-floating down the river
"Hey, old man, are they biting today?"
Now here we've got a thing that keeps on rolling
It ain't heavy, don't take it that way
The old man and me, we got a good thing going
He gets his fish and I sit all day
He gets his fish and I sit all day.
—J.J. Cale, "The Old Man and Me"
Amazon reviewers recommend The End of Stress As We Know It 
Mike
"Open Mike," usually off-topic, was on-topic today in the original post (see below) so I thought I'd add another that strays off-topic like this feature is supposed to. I suppose I shouldn't stress about it, though.
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