My father died of emphysema. I recall the day he explained the physiology of the disease. 

"The air sacs in my lungs have lost the elasticity to squeeze the carbon dioxide back out. It is not that I cannot inhale, the problem is that I cannot exhale."

This was of course the aftermath of forty years of smoking. I was aghast to hear from my mother that she and everyone else including the Red Cross sent cigarettes to the servicemen in WWII. No one understood the effects of tobacco in 1944. It feels like deja vu with GMOs. I shudder to think of the landslide of ramifications around the corner. 

Benjamin came home from the hospital this week and everything was humming along smoothly for most of the afternoon. He chatted about videos, and enjoyed both watermelon and ice cream. But not in the same bowl. He rewatched a video and took out the recycling. The silverware drawer was unkempt, and needed his attention, as did the compost bin. Benjamin was eager to right these wrongs. 

But then the electricity flickered off. The loss of power is one of his nemeses. His anger escalated like a siren, and we all pounced. John got him to put his hand on his belly and breathe.

"Deep breath..... now exhale. Again. Watch your hand rise as you breathe in, and go down when you breathe out." 

Thankfully, smoking has not been part of Ben's life, and his air sacs work fine. In a few minutes the anxiety left his body, making room for calmness to seep in.

The daily interactions of most relationships produce fumes that need to be expelled. The other day I was frustrated about something John did or did not do to my satisfaction, and I said as much to a friend. She was not blown away. Yet I felt as if the irritation had been released into the stratosphere. I could breathe in other, more energizing emotions.  John, for his part, had not done a thing to change.

But I had. Not only that, the power came back on.