Because I’m not a scientist, I’m always concerned when I attempt to describe scientific terms in my articles and speeches that scientists all over the world will wrap their heads in sterile bandages in order to keep their brains from exploding. As a trained musician, it’s probably similar to my watching some famous actor who doesn’t know the basics of directing an orchestra pretending to direct by waving their arms in bizarre circles.(Actually, Richard Dreyfuss, did a great job in “Mr. Holland’s Opus,” but he was one of the only stars who seemed to bother to learn to actually conduct.)

Well, today’s scientific word is telomere. My first exposure to this term was back in 2007 when Dr. Dean Ornish began quizzing one of the scientists atthe Chan Soon-Shiong Institute for Molecular Medicine in Windber (then the Windber Research Institute). He talked to him about telomeres and their potential relationship to heart disease. In 2009, scientists from UCSF, Johns Hopkins, and Harvard shared the Nobel Prize for their findings in telomere research. In 2013, Dr. Ornish and his colleagues at the Preventive Medicine Research Institute and the University of California San Francisco published an article in The Lancet, the British Journal of Medicine, that discussed their findings. “Comprehensive lifestyle changes may increase the length of telomeres which can be an indication of biological age over time.” (ht tps://www.ucsf.edu/ news/2013/09/108886/lifestylechanges-may-lengthen-telomeres-measure-cell-aging) Stay with me, please!

Telomeres are found at the ends of human chromosomes and are described by Dr. Ornish as similar to the plastic ends of shoe laces that keep those shoe laces from unraveling. Similarly, the telomeres help to keep our DNA and chromosomes from unraveling. As our telomeres get shorter, our lives tend to get shorter. “So what?” you may be asking.

Well, here’s whereIstart looking like Jimmy Stewart in “The Glenn Miller Story,” waving my arms all over the place. The bottom line is that researchers have found that telomeres may very well contribute to a kind of anti-aging and lengthening of our lives. They’re not exactly the Fountain of Youth, but they certainly seem to be heading us toward that water source.

Simply put, if we can lengthen our telomeres, we can potentially extend our existence here on Earth. Why am I writing about this? Well, a few columns ago I wrote about Tranquility Gardens located immediately off Rockwood Lane in Upper Yoder Township, and a few days later, a friend sent me a news story from the Alberta Health Services from 2014 outlining the fact that, for the first time, researchers have shown that practicing mindfulness meditation or being involved in a support group has a positive physical impact at the cellular level in breast cancer survivors.

What is that positive physical impact you might ask? The article from the University of Calgary went on to explain that the group working out of Alberta Health Services’ Tom Baker Cancer Centre and the University of Calgary Department of Oncology has demonstrated that telomeres maintain their length in breast cancer survivors who practice meditation or are involved in support groups, while these same telomeres shorten in a comparison group without any intervention.

In other words, if you meditate, you may lengthen your life. With this in mind, think about those meditation gardens. No, you don’t have to go to a garden to meditate; you can meditate anywhere. But why not take advantage of the rippling brooks, the beautiful flowers, the butterflies, and labyrinth? Why not at least try to lengthen your own telomeres. You don’t have to wait until you’re sick to attempt to help yourself.

Diet, exercise, stress management, and group support is not rocket science. Anyone can learn to conduct a march, and anyone can learn to meditate, to do a little self-healing, self-nurturing, and selfcare. It’s just over the river and through the woods.

I’ve known Steve Purich for a decade and a half, but I never really knew him until last Friday afternoon. Steve’s Father, an Orthodox priest, was forced to flee the Eastern Block in the mid-40s when the Communists took over. Consequently, Steve and his sister spent the next 12 years living first in tiny shacks and finally in a one-bedroom house that was home to about a dozen other family members. Every one of these kids ended up as successful professionals: physicians, attorneys, dentists, and business people. And that’s where this story begins.

Steve, too, was a successful businessman who, although Johnstown-based, was an international traveler. As it turns out, he was a student of world philosophies and ideologies, too. During his travels, he became exceptionally curious about ruins and, more importantly, their back stories. He wanted to know what worked in each civilization. He was inquisitive about the beliefs that helped these societies forge their way through each level of intellectual development and growth. This journey led him to create Tranquility Gardens.

It’s a retreat center unlike any other: a center for self-discovery, spiritual growth, and character building that, once experienced, provides a very clear message. That message is HOPE–hope for mankind and hope for the future.

In order to visualize this special place, just think of a location where there are butterfly and dragonfly habitats, a labyrinth, meandering walking trails filled with both authentic and replicated ruins from ancient civilizations, and a collection of life-altering learning and educational opportunities all tucked into nearly 10 acres of beauty, boulders, and bountiful Nature. And that’s just the beginning.

You’ll also find the philosophies and beliefs of many of the greatest thinkers in world history presented to you in succinct carvings on understated stone tablets or on breathtaking, multi-colored mosaics in various meditation areas. The street to this hidden yet very public treasure requires you to turn left off Rockwood Lane in Upper Yoder Township onto a short gravel and dirt road. Returning to pavement you’ll see the water running freely through the streams filling small reflecting ponds and creating little waterfalls. Less than 100 yards away are inexplicably large rock formations to be appreciated in their magnificent splendor.

Now, add a glimpse into the similarities subtly displayed among the practices and beliefs of people from all cultures–India, Asia, the Roman Empire, Africa, Western Europe, the United States, the Middle East, the Native Americans–and you quickly see unifying threads of sanity spoken by all civilizations that have helped us survive to date.

You will see that it’s a non-violent, education-based journey into peaceful places to explore the words of Socrates, Martin Luther King, Aristotle, Confucius, and a myriad of other brilliant people who said things like, “Enlightenment, happiness, peace, and beauty come from within.” It’s not a message of narcissism, but one of strength through knowledge, through perseverance, through education, and through practices of mind-calming and focus.

Steve doesn’t restrict access to his personal garden because he truly wants to donate it to an organization that “gets it,” an organization that will embrace the transformational opportunities presented to each person who walks these grounds. I’m anxious to see who actually does get it because it’s difficult to be recognized as a genius in your home area, but Steve is a genius who has planted plenty of those proverbial diamonds in his own backyard.

When you wrap all of this in a rags to riches story that ends in extreme generosity and caring for the future of mankind, it’s critical to realize that Steve’s primary messages at this self-constructed slice of Pennsylvania paradise is simple … if I did it, so can you.

What a week and a half it’s been. My family and I have been subjected to a level of callousness that seems to be more the norm than the exception now. While preparing for a business trip to Seattle, my son and I attempted to find an alternate flight that did not take nine hours and fly us through storms in Texas. He reached an agent who abruptly told us there were no good alternatives, and if we did take a flight that would save us a few minutes, it would cost us an additional combined $778. We are both top tier frequent fliers. He’s logged the most flights and I’m not far behind, but that just didn’t matter. My son hung up, looked at me and said, “Customer service?” No legroom, no arm room, and little butt room in middle seats, between two fat guys. I had an unbelievable urge to move the entire trip.

The trip home was a lot worse. We sat for 50 minutes past our designated departure time with no access to restrooms and no explanations as to why life had been placed on hold. Mechanical difficulties?

That departure interruption put us practically in the eye of a major tornado heading from Iowa to Chicago. We flew in circles for another hour. We had been seat bound for an equivalent flight to Istanbul, Turkey. When we finally landed, we were told that our next flight, the last flight to Pittsburgh, had been cancelled.

As we deplaned, we were given a pink slip and told that we would get a deal on a room if, in fact, there were any rooms left anywhere. No one answered that number, ever, and the airline service lines looked like admission queues to the Beyoncé concert. Because it was 11:30 p.m., and we had to be back at the airport at  5a.m., and the TSA lines were averaging three hours, it made no sense to leave, sleep for a few hours, and return to stand in line. So, we sat on hard seats under sunshine bright artificial lights with arbitrary TSA announcements from the overhead speakers blaring all night long.

Then over the holiday weekend we were all scheduled to take a family boat ride. The weather was predicted to be 70 percent good, and all of the weather apps showed clear skies ahead. We checked with the appropriate authorities too, and then headed out onto the Ohio River. Five minutes later with six children and five adults on board, we were in the middle of “The Perfect Storm.” There was violent lightning, blinding rain, floating trees, and high waves rocking us like a cork in a bathtub. So much for dependable weather predicting from the authorities.

In a parallel world, another family member was placed in that circle of medical care hell that I wrote about in my book, “Taking the Hell Out of Healthcare,” where a week and a half of waiting for a diagnosis turned into an eternity. When the definitive, long-awaited appointment arrived, the receptionist said, “Your appointment was earlier today, and we can’t take you now.” There was no explanation, no apology, no excuses, no flexibility, and no attempt to ease any of the stress caused from waiting for what might have been a life-defining diagnosis. (Things eventually turned out okay.)

Too big to fail? Too dumb to care? Too insensitive to at least make an attempt to be helpful? Too arrogant to explain? Too stressed to realize that their jobs were directly tied to our collective experiences?

This seems to be the norm in a service-reliant country that is no longer service-oriented. These inconveniences may seem minuscule, and as my old business partner used to say, “No one died today,” but once we stop delivering service, we will be replaced with E-Z Passes, ATMs and automated everything as we sit at home and cry in our too-big-to-fail tasteless beer.

We’re people who need people . . . or not?

Where’s my driverless Google cab?

I’m sure that you’ve all heard the news about the latest killer bug that was discovered in Pennsylvania last week, but I’m not sure if everyone completely understands the potential ramifications of this obtuse announcement.

My life began just about the time that antibiotics started to catch on in this country. Yes, penicillin was discovered back in 1928, but just like everything science related in medicine, it took about 20 years for its use to become widely accepted.

As a kid my earaches, my bronchitis, and just about everything else that was infection related resulted in either a visit from or a visit to Dr. Colvin. He would perform his medical diagnostics, pick up what, as a small child, looked like a horse-sized hypodermic with its reusable needle, wipe it with a little alcohol, plunge it into the rubber topped medicine bottle, and draw the white antibiotic into the body of the instrument.  He would squirt out any air and then plunge the dull needle into either my butt or my little arm.

I cried the first 50 or so times that this ritual took place, but by the time I was 10, the shots happened less often, and I had begun to toughen up a little.  The injection pain was the same, but the reaction was limited because of the knowledge that I’d be feeling better soon from whatever was making me sick.  It was magic.

Remember, I’m not a scientist or a physician, but close your eyes and imagine that it’s 1927.  Imagine that your earache cannot be touched by Dr. Colvin’s magic needle.  Worse than that, imagine that there are no antis that can touch your biotics.  That, my friends, is no simple problem.

So, if there are now certifiably untouchable infections, we are potentially beginning a new reality of humankind where the actual thinning of the herd could begin. Doomsday can come in many forms: having government leaders who believe that the nuclear alternative is a viable option; total ignorance and denial of global warming leading to the lack of potable water and a limited food supply and starvation; or an asteroid.  What, however, if the most common day-to-day paper cut or respiratory infection might put us or our loved ones in real peril?

Why am I writing this very disturbing column? I’m writing it because we truly have created a perilous and uncertain scenario for ourselves.  Some of this has been because of what my friend Tony refers to as savage capitalism, in which the companies that produce soap products preyed on our ignorance and fears and made everything antibacterial thus creating more resistance in pathogens.

Then there were our kind-hearted or over-stressed medical professionals who simply said yes to every worried patient or parent’s request for antibiotics, even when an antibiotic was clearly not called for.

And finally, there were political decisions that have been made in the last several decades that have led to lost opportunity costs in not only education and infrastructure, but also in science and medicine.  When we make decisions to be at war continuously, we immediately give up opportunities to direct more funds into future health and science cures.

Are there new antibiotics to be discovered out there in the rainforests, in the deep seas, and in remote caves? No doubt there are.  But when we continue to dedicate more and more money to war or other forms of corporate greed, we limit our opportunities in other areas.  We’ve seen serious cuts in research funding for the National Institutes of Health, the Center for Disease Control, and even military health defense. Creating war without funding war means that our bridges will fail, our schools will underperform, and we won’t have antibiotics. Every action has a reaction.

Please cover your mouth when you sneeze.