THE DAY HAS COME

I got good news and bad news. The statement if greatly over used. So let me say, I received positive news mixed in sadness. I talked with Janet’s grandson today. It was a solemn discussion that brought the mixed feelings.

It was probably two months ago when she and I had an extended discussion about the extensive use of tubes and machines and all the rest of paraphernalia they hooks us to just to keep the body pumping blood and the heart beating. I copied out an article a few days ago entitled “Americans are Treated, and Over treated, to Death” written by AP medical writer, Marilyn Marchione. It’s a five-page report, so I will only reprint the first illustration.

“The doctors finally let Rosaria Vandenberg go home.
For the first time in months, she was able to touch her 2-year-old daughter who had been afraid of the tubes and machines in the hospital. The little girl climbed up onto her mother's bed, surrounded by family photos, toys and the comfort of home. They shared one last tender moment together before Vandenberg slipped back into unconsciousness.
Vandenberg, 32, died the next day.”

Vandenberg endured two surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation for an incurable brain tumor before dying. She was cut off from her daughter when she could have been home with her daughter near her.

“Americans increasingly are treated to death, spending more time in hospitals in their final days, trying last-ditch treatments that often buy only weeks of time and racking up bills that have made medical care a leading cause of bankruptcies.” And as Janet and I talked — abandon all quality of life.

Janet lost her balance entering on the bottom step of a bus. She fell over backwards and while falling, tried to protect her incredible cheesecake she was taking to a family gathering. Her body is badly bruised. The back of her head was split open requiring eight stitches. They were very concerned about possible swelling. The main drama is over. There is brain damage. Janet’s speech is slurred. They wanted to send her for therapy. How long would that take? That was unknown, but because she is 93 there was fear it cold be a very extended period of hard work.

Bless Janet. She said no. That was what we talked about and she has blessed the socks off me by her decision. There were complications. She would have to be hooked up to who knows what. Janet said she was tried. She no longer wanted to struggle. Some are saying, “She gave up.” She and I see it differently. Janet is ready to go home. She is looking forward to the future. Her future includes seeing Jesus and her husband. She finds that exciting.

She needs help and care. The damage she experienced is more sever than first noticed. She struggles to speak and follow conversations. The doctors wanted her to remain in the hospital. No, she would not do that. She is in the same hospice care facility where she volunteered for years. They will give her special care. She is resting comfortably and gathering her family and friends around to say goodbye. I am going to see her tomorrow. She is a wonderful lady. She had this important end of life discussion with her family some time ago. They all agreed with her decision to let go of her grip on this life and advance without passing go or collecting $200 right to her eternal reward. She is only being hydrated. She prefers to wait with those who love her gathered around. It will not be long now.

Plan to tell her how much I loved her, enjoyed her humor, appreciated our talks and will miss her cheesecakes and potato chip cookie’s. I may also ask if she has any in her freezer. I will tell her I will follow later and look forward to seeing her again and that it will not be long until she experiences total healing. No more pain, no more sorrow, no more struggle. She is indeed blessed. I am blessed to have known her.

Goodbye my dear friend. I’ll see you on the other side.

THE END IS COMING

It is hard to believe that such hot news is not being discussed in the halls, lounges and bathroom. But everyone is virtually silent. Word is getting around that the manager and her husband, the maintenance man, have resigned and are leaving July 6. It is obvious that not everyone knows they’re leaving, but the talkers all know. But it is quiet talk softly on the sides. There is great disappointment. Things have never worked so well. That’s a good thing.

I spent a great deal of time with them this morning. We are just good friends. A few people have chipped in to given them a framed print of one of my drawings — specifically his favorite one. (See new photo on the side). We talked about their move to central Florida. His wife is always cold here. Admittedly it is consistently cooler here than many parts of the USA. We get very little snow in the winter, but because we live in a rain forest, it takes a long time till it warms up and stops dripping. We are still waiting for summer. Isn’t not that we haven’t had some nice days. We have, and we loved both of them. We are unsure if it has gone back to early spring or if fall is coming. Tree leaves are not falling so I guess it is still spring.

We talked about independent senior centers and I learned we are not dramatically different. The bickering here is not very different than the college dorm. It happens in any close living situation. There are conflicts, most of which are easily solved. There are the stubborn ones who refuse to change. In college they don’t return the next semester or get kicked out of school. Here, they leave of their own freewill or they get evicted. I have been amazed how similar the living situation is. The biggest different is we are more set in our ways that college students and we don’t stay up so late. On the other hand, we do beat them up in the morning.

Our BBQ on the 4th of July will give our residents the opportunity to say goodbye. The management has made no move to tell us of the departure or even set a date and time when they will arrive with the big announcement. They feel like we all know and do not need an explanation. We don’t all know, but will find out soon enough. We do want an explanation, but it will likely bring very little satisfaction.

It’s like everyone has a little secret and they talk in quiet tones hesitantly hoping not to pass on information the other still may not know. It’s hoot (old people say hoot). The one surprise in conversation is the number of people talking about flooding the administrative office with work orders, complaints, questions and who knows what else. They want to overwhelm them. It’s probably more talk than do, but there is the handful that will tell them in no uncertain terms what they think of our loss. So will those who are happy. As for me, I plan to take notes, and repeat the drama with a bit of flourish for my own amusement and yours.

UNFULFILLED PROPHESY

My prophetic gifts are rapidly collapsing. This morning was the second time in one weekend when I, with confidence, mis-predicted what would happen. Please don’t stone me. I’m not worth the rocks. I walked into coffee expecting to hear plenty of talk about the pending departure of our beloved manager and maintenance man. The silence was deafening. It almost knocked me off my chair. Gail was there and she just shook her head “no” and the conversation about ancient healing remedies continued. It seems we all had the same things rubbed on us or poured down out throats. More about that in another posting.

As is typical of a non-gossipy morning, people wandered in and out. Chas rode in on his motorized wheelchair with his quilting materials in hand. That always means he wants to talk or hear what is going on. The maintenance man came into the kitchen and Maria casually walked out to greet him AND learn all she could about our pending loss. By the time she returned she had to catch us up on all the latest. Chas told her they were leaving, but both Gail and I played ignorant, but with only the four of us there for a while, we were caught up on the latest. The latest was nothing more than what we all knew, just from a newer source. They will be leaving July 5.

We decided to give them a print of one of my drawing. There was one in particular that they really liked. Besides, a print from me would be cheap. Chas paid for a frame. This was a great weekend for frames. Joann’s had them at 60% off. I hope that price is still there by this weekend when I get paid. I really want to pick up a few more.

LATER THE SAME DAY

Our fearless leaders returned from the other complex they also serve (maybe for the last time). Corporate leaders were there to bid them a found farewell. They couldn’t help it; they had to take a swipe at the manager. “We will be hiring a maintenance replacement, but no manager. And it will not be a couple. One wants to work and the other does not.” I’m surprised they didn’t walk out then and there.

At least they had some sore of farewell. So far, nothing is scheduled like that here. That’s what caused the fuss this afternoon. Why aren’t we having a farewell party? Well, they like them better than us. We are called the worst complex in the system. At least we have a title. Makes me feel important.

The newsletter has not been printed yet. It may be held up because I scheduled a Fourth of July BBQ and birthday celebration. That was a little bold. We normally have a tenants meeting once a month, but because our fearless leaders are leaving before our normal meeting time, nothing was planned. So I planned it. That should tick someone off. We don’t need them. They might even pull the BBQ announcement, but it’s a holiday and the corporate bosses won’t come here. We will have the BBQ anyway and talk about how to overthrow those dictators. I know that’s a really bold statement, but I didn’t really mean it.

THE PLOT THICKENS

“You’re not much. You’ve lost your muchness.” So said the Mad Hatter to Alice in Tim Burton’s production of Alice In Wonderland. I love the line. I admit I don’t know exactly what the muchness is that I have lost, but it feels important. I have lost plenty of other things over the years; muchness has to be one of them. But maybe not!

As best I could tell from the context Alice had lost of little bit of what made Alice, Alice. Not so much her physical being, but that was part of it. She was exceptional large at this point in the story. The Hatter had seen her small enough to stuff in a teapot (he even made a little dress for her), and like a giant — how she appeared at this point. What seems to have changed for the moment was a degree of confidence, or boldness, or confidence in who she was.

Muchness seems to be flying out the window today as word finally began to spread that our Maintenance man and his wife the manager are leaving. Gail and I decided to say nothing. Of the women in the other building who knew one is gone for the weekend and the other is with family. That only leaves Chas. Gail and I were making little side bets on when he would let the news fly. When his muchness would leave.

Frankly, we both lost. There was a gathering of about 20 folks for a special dinner last night and neither of us could believe we would get through the night without the gossip flying around the room. We were both prepared to be shocked. What? They’re leaving? When? Did they get fired? Did they quite? Well, I have been expecting it for some time. We all knew they weren’t happy. I will be sorry to see them go. I like them a lot. Low and behold, the room was silent on the subject.

I was away for the day for the birthday of granddaughter #2. I could here voices as I returned. The loudest was of Maria and Chas. They were rather animated. I had a suspicion the cat was out of the bag. It may have only escaped a bit. They were actually playing dominos. I wandered over to the puzzle table. Gail wasn’t playing so she joined me. I mouthed the words, “Do they know?” She nodded her head yes.

Chas left shortly after I arrived. A few minutes later, Maria came over to report that the couple was leaving. She said she got it from Chas. Can you believe everything he says? No, but I’m sure this is true. I asked no more questions. I wanted to wait for the big news tomorrow. The gathering at coffee break will be large. Word will seep though door and phone lines tonight and many more will want all the details. If the letter is at our door when we wake, there will be lots of speculation. If word is not out yet there will be still be lots of speculation — without any knowledge.

You gotta love it. I live for days like this. It will be better than any soap opera. The tension will build. Anxiety, joy, jubilation, depression, anger. It will all be there. The ending will be open. It really doesn’t matter. This drama will have no ending and the plot will thicken and take many a screwball turn. You can’t write this stuff. It would not be believable. To make a good movie just add murder, the police and maybe a few drugs. The plot is here. Who knows? This might become a good book. I would have to lie a bit, but as far as you know, I’m doing that now. NOT!

SADNESS PREVAILS

This isn’t the end of the line, but we often say you can see it from here. Independent living is frequently thought of as the step before the last step. While some residents have passed away here, modern medicine has found plenty of ways to help us linger on. So most will leave here for an extended care facility. Independent living is not a depressing place, but when one goes down, it is an incredibly caring place.

Edna was taken away Tuesday morning at 7:30 a.m. by ambulance. It was another stroke. She has had several. This is just the latest. By noon, word was everywhere. What can we do? Can we visit? What about her cat? Who can we call? Some pray, others gather information, and one cares for her cat. The hard thing for residents is that no one can get information from the hospital. None of us are family. We don’t see it that way. To us, Edna is family. Love and concern surrounds her and her family. We just want to know how she is. We want her to come back. We want her to heal.

Word came down today that she would be moved to a convalescence home. Her speech is slurred. She has been there twice and returned both times to great relief and joy. Of course, we want that this time. But the mood is depressed. The sense is that she may have moved to her final physical home on earth. What set the tone was hearing that her family had her baptized this morning. While she is not Catholic, it is being called “The Last Rites.” Few see hope. That leads to a solemn spirit on the grounds.

Edna lives in the main building. The sense of gloom has been extended with the accident Janet had yesterday. We are not exactly sure how it happened except that it was at the bus. She lost her balance and left over backwards hitting her head on the cement. We do not know if she was getting on the bus, waiting for the bus or what. Janet is 93. If she were younger, she would be home today. But her age is against her. She is a shining light in our building. She has an excellent sense of humor, volunteers at a convalescence home caring for the “old people.” She also makes the most amazing cheesecake I have ever tasted. She is a kind, loving and very helpful person.

She had a very small cut on the back of her head. She had 6-7 stitches. She is not allowed visitors. Her speech is still muddled. Her words are clear, but mixed up. She is not following conversations. We are told we might be able to see her on Monday. But they are keeping her under observation. The main concern is the possibility of swelling. We are very concerned for her and praying she will return.

We are not naive. No one believes they will love forever and I have not yet met anyone who wants to live forever. But we are reflective. About the only conversation around here is about these friends. It also brings on much speculation about the others with serious health concerns. There are concerns about end of life issues. It is interesting that while some fear death, most seem to welcome the possibility. No one wants pain, but most do not want to be tied to machines and they want life to end here, because there is still life here. There is still a sense of normality here. We are rarely sitting around waiting for the end to come. We still have a future and are looking forward.

MAJOR LOSS

If it’s OK to say all hell is breaking loose, then it is. Our maintenance man and his wife, the manager, have turned in their resignation and will leave on July 6th to return to Florida. He is the most skilled maintenance man this place has ever had. She was never given any authority to do anything. No one likes to be micro managed.

Most of us know the real meaning of this pending change. There will be no leadership here at all. The corporate office is a government entity. We are not residents or clients. We are their biggest problem. I learned today that with every complaint that comes to them they hate us just a little more. They are so angry that they say no to everything as a matter of principle. My philosophy has just become it is better to get forgiveness than permission. I know I can sound contrite if necessary.

Managements deafening silence has now grown to a roar. They are angry that some residents already know of the pending departure. They wanted to be able to tell us and control the reaction. Too late! The reaction is anger and growing angrier. It is already believed they were fired. Ridiculous. That would never have happened. They quit because of how they were treated by upper management. Especially how his wife was being treated. She was depressed, hurt, and getting ill often. The husband had to rescue his poor wife. I for one am glad to see a man stand up for his family.

Their resignation was always just a matter of time. She was never appreciated. The final camel back breaking straw came after a meeting he had with the director. He and his wife were out on their nightly walk about two hours after work when he was called to the office immediately. They interrupted the walk and went together. She was tired, had a difficult day and did not smile once while her husband was being corrected. The following day she was called in and chastised for not smiling. The day after that, he turned in his two-week notice. He did not tell his wife until after he did it. That act affirmed his love for her. She loved it. Because she knew he did it for her.

Today they began telling people they were close to of their resignation. They will be deeply missed. We will not know how much they will be missed until a month or two after they are gone. Their departure will be felt. Sheer panic has not set in yet, but will most likely be in full force by Monday or Tuesday, Word will be everywhere by then. The fireworks will begin and most likely continue throughout the month of July.

As for me, I still love this place. With all the crap about to be thrown around I continue to believe most people here are kind. But they are also people who are hurting emotionally and physically. Some are clearly facing end of life issues. Some are lonely. Some are frightened. Some will be lost without someone on the grounds to turn too. One woman locks herself out of her room once or twice a week. The corporation charges $85 to get them back in. She has never been charged and will not be able to afford what will most likely come her way. We know she should not be here, but she is.

I know I cannot make this the Happiest Place on Earth. Disney has that motto sewed up. But I want to do my best to make this a happier place on earth. That’s doable. We lasted a year without on ground help. We planned our own activities, organized our own group meals and created our own outings. We can rise again. Some will see it as rising out of the ashes. If so, lets shake the dust off and get moving.

I WILL NOT TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER

How on earth did we ever reach a place where a single person controls the fate of all the rest? They call it democracy, but in reality only one person is voting. If it keeps up we are going to have to throw all the coffee in the bay.

If one person has fears or concerns, everything is stopped. We are planning a Christmas Bazaar and were given the permission to proceed. We began making plans. We drew up a floor plan, proposed advertizing, and made plans to address the concerns we anticipated. Frankly, nothing came up that we did not anticipate. But when word got out, they believed that strangers coming into our building posed a physical threat to our residents. I guess they thought there would be a robbery, a rape or they just might be seen by the evil eyed stranger. We are going to do it, but in a must less desirable space.

It’s true that if access were gained to the elevator and/or stairs, a stranger could access the resident floors. But we planned blocks and guards at all the potential escape routes. That is not good enough. What if these horrible people get around our guards? What if a resident leaves their stove on and starts a fire. We could all be killed. What if the elevator sticks between floors and the people get claustrophobia? Maybe we should remove the elevator. The fear has stopped the installation of entrance doors that would make it significantly easier for those in wheelchairs to gain entry. Security lights installed in a dark area of the property were significantly delayed because the light might shine in someone’s window. A group wanted to paint the windows for the holidays, but someone might not be able to see through the window. The plan was not even considered. Besides, we would make a mess. WHAT? Do none of us have enough sense to clean up after ourselves? The no’s have it.

The corporate leadership continues to reduce and eliminates positions. That happens when stupidity and working outside the corporate guidelines costs the company $42 million. And, no, they don’t have it.

When I arrived we had a full time manager. We now have one who works only 8 hours a week. She cannot keep up with the required paper work in that amount of time. The social coordinator position has been terminated. It really doesn’t matter because she was spread so thin amongst all the facilities that we were lucky to have one event a month planned.

Now they want the residents to be responsible for their own entertainment. Good idea, but if one person does not like the plan, it will be closed down. Since nearly everyone has at least one enemy, I am bracing myself for every event to be canceled. In the last manger-less period Maria and I planned and executed almost everything. She doesn’t want to do it again because the criticism is so painful. I don’t really like the condemnation, but since more people will enjoy the event than will resist it, I refuse to be shut down by one angry depressed semi human being.

I have always believed it is easier to get forgiveness than permission. That is about to become my new motto. There will be no more corporate van. No one has been trained to drive it and load wheelchair residents. I regret that those three residents will be excluded from some events, but I have a van and can take six. I’ll plan day trips. I’ll announce the movies I’m going see and fill my van. I’ll plan going out to breakfast, lunch or dinner and fill my van. I’ll BBQ once a week or every other week for those who bring their own meat. We will lawn bowl, organize a walking club and get more table games going. And we will succeed because we will never tell management what we are doing. They will have to catch us in the act. Great. This feels like college. We will be sneaking and planning and hoping not to get caught. It will be a blast. I was rather successful at it in my college days.

They can say no, but they will not take my joy or enthusiasm for life away. I am only one, but I am a capable one — and sneaky.

THE VISITOR

I had a terrific visit today from a once-up-on-time young friend of mine his wife and a papoose by the name of Head on Fire, very curly and very bright red/orange and it the sun it looks like you should throw a blanket over him to put the fire out. This might be appropriate, as he loved fire trucks. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! Us old people like history returning to us. We live in the past and remember that better than what happens today. That’s why I write now. Who knows what I might remember tomorrow.

It was fun to meet his wife. She seems to be a wonderful match and they are a delightful couple, but there was nothing like Head on Fire. He was so much fun I want to ask my daughter for another grandchild, but I’m afraid it might end our good relationship. He is a typical little boy who seemed to make his parents somewhat nervous by his antics. Actually, they did vey well and I was torn between talking to the parents, catching up with dad and not missing a single moment of him. He ordered Tortellini at the bistro. What kid orders Tortellini? Duh! What do I know? It is their version of Macaroni and Cheese. Had a great time and loved the reconnect.

I returned to find the front porch full of people enjoying the warmth of the sun. Around here we live by the motto, “here today, gone tomorrow “ This was out first 75-degree day in over 271 days (No I was not counting, TV reported this). I could not believe that when I heard it. No wonder everyone was weather depressed.

I’m terrible about passing on those forwarded email’s I get from friends. I enjoy them, but feel like I’m being ordered to pass it on. My rebellious nature says, NO. I got this from my buddy in Canada. Since it says exactly how I feel and in a much less sarcastic way, I thought I would pass it along through my blog rather than two-dozen forwarded messages. It is from a bold national leader – the Prime Minister of Australia.

Prime Minister Kevin Rudd - Australia 


“Muslims who want to live under Islamic Sharia law were told on Wednesday, March 17th to get out of Australia, as the government targeted radicals in a bid to head off potential terror attacks. Separately, Rudd angered some Australian Muslims on Wednesday by saying he supported spy agencies monitoring the nation's mosques. Quote: 
 
'IMMIGRANTS, NOT AUSTRALIANS, MUST ADAPT. Take It Or Leave It. 
I am tired of this nation worrying about whether we are offending some individual or their culture. Since the terrorist attacks on Bali, we have experienced a surge in patriotism by the majority of Australians. ' 
'This culture has been developed over two centuries of struggles, trials and victories by millions of men and women who have sought freedom' 
 
 'We speak mainly ENGLISH, not Spanish, Lebanese, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, or any other language. Therefore, if you wish to become part of our society, Learn the language!' 
 
 'Most Australians believe in God. This is not some Christian, right wing, political push, but a fact, because Christian men and women, on Christian principles, founded this nation, and this is clearly documented. It is certainly appropriate to display it on the walls of our schools. If God offends you, then I suggest you consider another part of the world as your new home, because God is part of our culture.' 
’we will accept your beliefs, and will not question why. All we ask is that you accept ours, and live in harmony and peaceful enjoyment with us.' 'This is OUR COUNTRY, OUR LAND, and OUR LIFESTYLE, and we will allow you every opportunity to enjoy all this. But once you are done complaining, whining, and griping about Our Flag, Our Pledge, Our Christian beliefs, or Our Way of Life, I highly encourage you take advantage of one other great Australian freedom, 'THE RIGHT TO LEAVE'.' 
 
'If you aren't happy here then LEAVE. We didn't force you to come here. You asked to be here. So accept the country YOU accepted.'

Amen, Glory Hallelujah. I would love to hear this from an American Leader, but I’m not going to hold my breath,

NEW RECRUITS

There’s something nice about receiving new residents. They change the dynamic by adding new life and a new perspective. They also bring new forms of entertainment. New arrivals are watched like hawks for the first few months. Every move is scrutinized and evaluated for flaws and idiosyncrasies. Like junior higher’s we are looking to exploit their weaknesses. Cut them off at the knees so to speak. We know they are not as good as we are. We know they will not be allowed into the top tiers of the sanctified old timers. They must want to be accepted and bow to the unwritten code and then we might include them. But they cannot just walk in. We have rules. Who do they thing they are anyway?

I myself had to pound down doors to be accepted. I had to prove myself worthy and find acceptable ways of contributing to the life flow of this institution. I had to learn to be a giver and not a taker only. I was expected to join in the gossip and condemnation of those less worth. I failed to do that, but cracked the door in other ways. I worked at being the class clown. You know, the guy who covers his pain and deep anxiety with self-condemnation and wit. While we were without a manager for nearly a year I planned and carried out various organized events. That was not the way. I clearly over stepped my bounds and became hated. Who did I think I was that I could just take over? Others had ideas. Others had plans. Others wanted to be in charge. The criticism was overwhelming. I stopped everything. That made their condemnation even easier. What’s wrong with him? He doesn’t do anything around here. We liked the BBQ’s and games that were planned. He has no right to stop.

Ahhh! The joy of community living! A manager arrived and there was someone else to attack. A small but growing army of discontents want the manager fired. She is not contributing, as she should. Of course she is being compared to a previous full time manager and this one is only allowed 8 hours a week at The Home. Add to that the home office social coordinator position has been eliminated and no one has or is going to be hired for the position. Since our manager would not have the work time to take the group on trips, she has not been trained to drive the bus and load the wheelchair residents. No more bus.

Things just get better and better! That brings me back to the entertainment value of some new residents. Mabel is an adorable 92 year old who is straight as a rod, dresses from the fifties, does not see well and imagines things. At the moment she is very disturbed by the man who comes into her apartment every night and takes her things. She does not know exactly what he is taking, but it is her things. She has a solution. She writes him notes each night asking him not to take her things and return what he has already taken. A few are trying to convince her that is no one is coming into her apartment, others encourage her to continue to write notes but most just laugh. We like laughing.

Mabel is convinced there is a water leak in her kitchen sink. The maintenance man had tried to show her that she is not turning to faucet completely off. However, she continues to fill 405 plastic bottles a night with water from her drip. She graciously places them outside the maintenance man’s apartment door that then must be careful not to trip over them when he leaves. How thoughtful.

Frank is more than one fry short of a Happy Meal. He should not be here. He cannot care for himself. He is not allowed to make meals in his apartment so he is gone everyday for most of the day on his daily rounds of finding free food prepared for him. Weekends are tough. He has taken to calling out his window at neighborhood noises he does not like. Most are so far away the calling would do no good. He just annoys his neighbors. If you show him any kindness he is your friend for life. Many are trying to figure out how to escape his clutches.

Just a typical day at The Home! So you can see why I love it here so much, the entertainment value along is worth the price of admission.

FATHERS DAY

It was a terrific Fathers Day. Filled with fun, laughter and exhaustion. The family picked me up at 10:00 and we headed north to a beautiful little historic town on the coast. We went for a enactment of a Civil War battle. The grandkids were hilarious. We were closer to the Northern Armies end then that of the confederates. It began with excessively loud cannon noises and a multitude of crying screaming babies and small children. The noise was so frightening that the kids attempted to match the canons decibels. The combination was deafening. The cannons never really stopped, but the kids disappeared. Who knows, maybe the cannons got them.

The battle started slowly with my grandkids yelling for them to get on with it. They did “get on with it” but not one was dying. They yelled for them to die. It was slow coming, but they finally began to die. But they didn’t stay dead. They were down for only a few seconds before they were in the battle again. That was troublesome to the kids. Why don’t they just die? My feeling exactly! So I said, maybe it was because the ground was damp and cold. It shouldn’t matter. They are dead. Well even the dead want to be warm. Very troubling! Especially since some of the shooting was only 20 feet apart. I just assumed that most of these soldiers on both sides were terrible shots.

After a grand tour of the Northern Army living quarters we headed down south. We had tickets to see The Sound Of Music in a fascinating outdoor theater set deep in the forest. I wanted to go, but after all the walking, I doubted I could make it back up their hill. I was having so much fun I decided to take a chance.

We got KFC on the way to the forest theater, We ran to my apartment to attempt to eat within 10 minutes (We were running late), Use the restroom and got out of there. I went to college cafeterias. I can eat in 10 minutes. We also picked up some more blankets.

What a weird and wonderful place. The path to the theater was very steep and was a walk of about 10 minutes each way. Fortunately, they had a shuttle service to transport the weak, physically unable and out of shape people like me to the bottom. They dropped me off in a mud hole at the back of the stage. I had no idea any backstage could be so primitive. There were curtains hung between trees for dressing rooms. It was fundamentally completely open and one porta potty to serve the entire cast. I hope no one was sick before a show.

This whole experience was new to me. Instructions said to bring blankets and lawn chairs. The seats were all ground level. I mean the auditorium was stair stepped up, but you sat on the ground or the blankets you brought. We brought lawn chairs but not the acceptable type. They wanted you to bring beach type chairs. I brought a regular full sized folding chair. I tried a beach chair they had available, but the back was so low I would never have make it through the show. Eventually they found a place I could sit.

It was a terrific all volunteer community show. The theater has been under continuous operation for 88 years. That helped me understand the backstage area. There have been no improvements in 88 years. There were very good voices and sound was wonderful. What a wonderful time we all had.
As we got to my place they gave me a wonderful fathers day gift. My daughter will be taking me to Seattle to see a Broadway production of Joseph and His Wonderful Technicolor Dream Coat. This is my absolutely mostest, favoritest, Broadway musical. You cannot walk out without tapping your feet. It tells the story of the Biblical Joseph very well with almost every style of music implemented by Andrew Lloyd Webber to communicate. Love, love, love it. It is such a happy show.

The day could not have been better.

A THREESOME

Have you ever been in a conversation near people who have nothing to do with the conversation, but have plenty to say? We have three women who all feel a need to put their three cents into any conversation whether they know what the topic is or not. They always correct, clarify deny and argue about the subject. Thankfully, I was not involved but sitting on the side trying not to laugh out loud.

Gail was having a pleasant conversation with the maintenance man about the water in our building. Gail lives over me and had asked me if my water tasted funny. As a matter of fact it had. However, I’m not reliable as the last time it tasted funny I had taken it with my pills and if I don’t get my pills all down at one there are two that taste awful. With all the nice flavors out there why can’t we have pills that taste good? I like vanilla, cherry, strawberry and blueberry.

Wayne was explaining that it couldn’t be the pipes as they are all copper. He wondered if was coming from the hot water tank, but it’s the cold water that tastes weird. Dear, dear Clare from building 2 was the first to help the conversation along. No, the pipes are plastic and there is nothing wrong with the water here. Our area is recognized as having the best tasting water in the whole area. Maria said that was two years ago. I only drink bottled water. That should have been the end of her contribution. We really didn’t even need that much. But she continued, it is probably rust in the pipes. It can’t be rust as there is no lead in our water system. Back to Clara, there must be as I get this brownish color coming from my pipes. Maria reminds Clara that we are talking about the other building. Meanwhile, Gail and Wayne cannot get a work in edgewise. Beside, Clara was defending the water a minute ago.

Wayne walked away after telling Clara you are going to have to call that in for repairs.
Dixie arrived to add her wonderful insights. The water here is terrible. Too many chemicals! Everything is old and falling apart. I would be surprised if roots haven’t split the pipes and dirt is in our system. And another adds her laundry is not always clean. I think that may have everything to do with how you wash them and not the water at all. It went on and Dixie, Clara and Maria continued to raise their voices and interrupt each other without solving a thing.

Meanwhile Gail and Wayne hook up, go to check her apartment and the problem is dirt in the filter at the end of the tap. He changed it and all is well. I ended up changing my own. I have some maintenance skills.

I went back about an hour later and the three buttinski’s are still at each other. I didn’t stay.

We had a picnic on our front porch today, as it was National Picnic Day. Naturally it was almost too cold to be out there. Picnics are to be pleasant enjoyable little gathering so I pretended it was a beautiful day and did not wear a sweatshirt. I was proud of my self. I lasted thirty minutes before the shivering got sever and the teeth chattering was interrupting the conversation and my shaking looked like palsy. This was a no host event. I know what that means. Maria will take charge. When I arrived she is directing people to get chairs, set up her TV trays and spread out along the railing. I got dirty looks because I wasn’t there earlier. I was on time, but not ahead of time. It was obvious she wanted to be the center of the conversation and all activities. She sat in the center where all could hear She was loud, talking so much and telling so many stories little conversations were developing on the fringes of the gathering. That only caused her to repeat her stories because everyone did not hear her the first time. She brought extra food for those who came with nothing. Since everyone brought her own she was busy trying to force her food on other. The great thing about extra food was Janet brought the best desserts. Everyone raved about the butterscotch squares and not one comments in the celery and chips. I knew I had to be gone before the end.

Maybe I was shaking from the shenanigans and not the cold. I went and had a nap. These days wear me out.

LINES

I am tired of lines. I’m even more tired of being in lines behind talkers and women from another world. I don’t care if it’s a grocery store, bank or art supply store. I don’t want to be behind anyone who is personal friends with the cashier, working on dating them or becoming their best friend. All I want to do is pay for my things and leave. My patience had never been terrific and it almost disappears in lines. Haven’t they learned anything about lines from their trip to Disneyland? Keep it moving.

The talkers have their elbows on the counter are laughing and smiling and having a grand old time. They never once turn to see the crowd developing behind them. In this case I also blame the cashier. They see the line building and refuse to do a thing about it. They would be fired at Disneyland. They could tell their friend about the about the person in line who appears to be fainting because of how long they have been in the line. Then there might be understanding. But that never happens. Both of them are oblivious to anything but their own conversation. If the customer pulls out pictures of any kind, I am going to scream. When they get to the list of their relatives and how each is doing I want to tackle them out of the way. Can’t they see that steam is coming out of the top of my head?

While the talkers are the worst, the daydreamers are right up there at the top. These are the people who have no idea they will ever be asked to pay for their purchase. They watch the cashier total everything or stare off into space, see it all completely bagged and wait until the total is announced before they even begin looking for how they will pay. These are usually the women from another world. They carry purses that have everything in them including the kitchen sink. They have to unpack their suitcase and begin to look like they are preparing for a strip search to find the missing wallet or check book.

If they are paying with cash, they are going with pay with the exact amount down to the very penny. That means dumping their coins onto the counter and counting it at least twice to make sure it is correct. When the customer has completed the process of counting it out. The cashier takes over. Thankfully, she is somewhat faster.

The ones paying with their credit card are just as bad. Am I the only ones who keep my cards to a minimum? Has it not occurred to them to begin the search for the elusive card before they even left home? Is it really necessary to have a choice of 30-50 different cards? Do they not know they need both a stores discount card and a credit card? Do they not know they can’t use Safeway’s discount card at Albertsons? Don’t they know that it is the after work rush and every till is open and has a line down every aisle? Are they blind? Have they ever thought ahead about anything in their lives? Get a move on it and get out.

But the absolute worse line stopper is the one who will pay by check. They need to go to a remedial course on paying by check. I look forward to the day checks are gone for good. Find the checkbook while the cashier is checking through your items. Fill out the date, the name of the store and sign it while you are waiting. How hard is that? Do you know haw annoying you are? Do you have any idea what those behind you in line think of you? Have you completely given up being concerned about other people’s opinion of you? Maybe you have. Then think about this. Care about those behind you. Care about what you are doing with other people’s time. Care about the tantrum I am about to have. Care about the names I am about to call you. Care about the scene I am going to create because I blame you for my complete breakdown.

All right. I admit I am a very self-controlled human being. But I have bad thoughts and they are about you and your self-centered ignorant ways. You are a selfish, thoughtless sub human being and I would scream and yell and make a humongous scene if I weren’t the only one in the line that isn’t in a hurry to go anywhere. I’m retired and have all the time in the world. You are lucky I am the one right behind you. Now, just move along and get out of my way.

MUSICALLY CHALLENGED

I love it. Our little park down the road is hopping today. I was coming back home from a Doctors appointment (typical outing for t=folks at The Home) and hit a snag when I came off the freeway. From freeway to The Home is typically a trip of 5 minutes. Today it was 22 minutes. It was so bad I was sure there just had to be a horrible accident. It was backed up on the exit road. When I got on that road it was backed up at the curve. When I came around the curve the straightaway was jammed. How bad was this accident. When I finally reach my right hand turn that would head me to The Home and pass the park, it is packed with teens. An end of the year get out of school party sponsored by a group of area churches was well under way.

While I am a nosey old man, I did not stop nor have I walked down to check it out. I just asked those around here of some who are nosier (is that a word?) than I. There are plenty around. The event began at noon and will last until 8:00 tonight. While the park is four blocks away, it is not necessary for me to go down to hear the music. As with most concerts as the park, all I can really hear is the beat. I wouldn’t even know they existed without the drums. There are booths of all kinds, food, music, and the bay of course, but it’s way to cold to go in the water unless you are a Canadian. They’re nuts about glacier fed lakes. I shiver thinking about it.

The traffic coming and going past my apartment is massive. I know there are more than a hundred. One Know-It-All (I mean that in the kindest way) said they are expecting a thousand or more teens. I know there are at least seven more kids on their way. They just walked by my window. The present singer I can hear. However, I have never cared for singers (I use that word liberally) who shout the words with no key even in mind. I think the music (again I use the word Liberally) is supposed to carry the melody. I didn’t know that drums could ever carry the melody, but I was never a music major.

I did take a conducting class once. I apparently needed two more credits in something or other and the only thing that would fit my schedule was choral conducting. It wasn’t a bad class. Yes, I am a little musically challenged, but got to listen to music of all types and practice waving my arms to the beat. I grasp the idea pretty good, but actually working with a choir would be a killer. We had to conduct the Hallelujah Chorus with the school choir as guinea pigs. They were not to come in if I did not bring them in. I was counting on them being such good singer who knew the piece so well they would sing even If my conducting was, shall we say, off key. Wrong. They had a great deal of self-control. There were several silent moments. So much for their help! I decided a “C” grade was not good enough to become a choir director. But I really liked waving my arms to the beat of the music. So much that even now when I really enjoy a piece on the radio or CD, I conduct it by myself. I guess I’m pretty good. These groups are always right on.

My new bride convinced me to sing a duet with her in her home church. I was young and foolish. I don’t understand it, but I was never asked again. She sang in several different groups after our debut. But not being asked hurt my feelings. I couldn’t understand why they would not want a slightly off key, shaky legged guy perspiring profusely to sing for them. I really didn’t ever want to do it again. I can’t believe I ever did it in the first place, but it would still have been nice to be asked.

I could try out for American Idol, but I’ve noticed they are prejudiced against old people. Age discrimination. I don’t understand why they choose they ones they do. I mean, I can scream and sing off key. I had kids and picked up screaming naturally. Also, I am off key naturally. At least I could compete in the park. I guess I’m just too old.

WORRY WORKS

I know nothing about the mechanics of cars. Dad tried to teach me. He and my three brothers talked cars but I always believed God created mechanics for things like that. So when I have a funny noise I do what any red blooded mechanical incompetent would do – I panic! I can’t just take the car in. I have to plan for it. While I call Costco the minimum $200 store, auto repair starts at $500. I don’t have $500. So rather than taking the car in right away, I worry about it. I know worrying works. My mother worried about everything and nothing she ever worried about came to pass. It’s a form of protection. I finally got a couple hundred dollars ahead and decided I needed to find out what the damage might be. You know — to plan ahead.

Taking a deep breathe and with fear in my stomach and probably the beginnings of an ulcer, I took it to the only place I know. My son-in-law recommended this place. It was a very slow day. So far so good! The owner came out, looked it over, listened to it, drove it around and put it up on a hoist. He sounded like a doctor. Humm! Ohhh! Ahem! I see. Then he talked with a flashlight and a screwdriver that doubled as a pointer. See this screw here. Yes. And this screw here. Yes. And this spot over here. Yes. Well, see this spot, there should be a screw here and there isn't one. It broke off. Nissans are notorious for having those screws break. My mind runs wild. You are going to have to have that fixed at some time. You are going to blow a gasket and then you are going to have to pull the air conditioner and lift part of the engine to repair that. Very expensive. Yes, expensive. Anything over $200 is very expensive to me, but those noises sounded like they were going to climb high over the typical auto repair minimum. I’m thinking $1,000 maybe $2,000. You know with this economy it is always better to fix a car than get another one. Yes and it is cheaper to have no car at all. But I want my car.

Now I’m afraid, very afraid. Sweat begins to run off my forehead. Of course we were standing in the sun on a very hot day. Maybe it was just the heat. But, He says, I wouldn’t do that now. There’s no leak. You can wait on that. The obvious sound of relief slips through my lips. My legs get weak. I reach for the car to hang on. I am relieved.

Now look over here. See what looks like wood chips. I hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out, but there were wood chips on top of my engine. They look fresh. That’s a mouse nest. You’re kidding. No, they climb up in there when the engine is warm. He fishes around with his flashlight and says I see a piece of a Starbucks cup, wood chips, paper bag, straw and part of a Costco bag. I had no idea mice shopped at Starbucks and Costco. I’ll tell you this. Mice must be highly over paid. OK, bad joke.

He dug around some more and finally said here’s the problem. This hose has been gnawed on and is leaking. It needs to be replaced. The mice were chewing through a water hose connecting to my heater. So that’s why my car would heat only off and on during the winter. You mean you are just now bringing the car in? Sheepishly I nod my head. I did not want to give an enthusiastic response to that question.

He called one of his guys over and told him what needed to be done and mentioned it would be done in 30 minutes. A hose. That shouldn’t be to bad, and it wasn’t. This shop has no such thing as a waiting room, so I sat in a chair next to the boss and he told me all about his fishing trips and the size of various fish he has caught. I did everything I could to seem interested. See, it’s not just cars I care little about; I have no interest in fishing either, but I will eat what you catch. I don’t know what he thought about me, but I was struggling to sound interested. Fortunately, as enthusiasm was waning, the job finished.

I now fully accept the one thing that my mother tried to teach me years ago. Worry works. I only spent $49 on that repair. Whew!

COMPETITION

I worked evaluating and training churches for 19 years. I read a friends blog this morning and it triggered thoughts from an old article I wrote several years ago.

As part of my work I was sent to some of the biggest church training seminaries in the country. I attended a personal conflicts course (twice actually) in which the leader had deducted from Scripture nearly every conceivable problem and created various number of steps to fix, heal, cure each issues. There was another in the Midwest that had a very professional, even Broadway style feel to music and theater bits. The audience watched and maybe even stood up and cheered at the end of the show. Yet another had multiple campus (their word, not mine) all pastored by the same guy (sorry, preacher).

I looked at the health and wealth churches, exclusion churches, liberal churches, traditional churches, evangelical churches, conservative churches, Catholic churches and many more. Frankly I didn’t enter one growing, emerging, developing, renewal church that didn’t have something about it that I liked. But let me tell you about what I hated, yes hated about them all. You see the ones I was sent to or chose to visit were training centers. People gathered from all over the country to see what made these churches work so they could take that home and replicate that success in their church.

I was appalled. Not at the success of the churches — more power to them. But I was appalled at all the people who took copious notes and went home and attempted to replicate what they saw and heard as though it were Gods new plan for the church.

One of the first places I saw where was happening was in a Southern California church that became a haven for the Christian hippy movement. They launched the careers of a number of recording artists. I don’t know that any other church succeeded that way. This movement changed the way church attendees dressed. Suits and dresses were out, jeans and shorts were in. Organs were out. Keyboards, drums and guitars were in. The “steps” man was filling enormous coliseums everywhere. He was adored and emulated and created a whole separate movement that brought dissension into many churches. The division was over education. The people were not saying they were of God, but of Paul, Barnabus, or Apollo (he was the cute one).

When I would visit these returning pastors with their glowing reports I had one question, “What had God asked you to do.” That wasn’t the question many wanted to hear. They launched into their replicated ministries and many even joined new associations like the Association for Steps, The Association of Folk Music, and The Association of Professional churches (they bought theater lights, installed curtains) and set up competition with Starbucks in their lobbies.

The most beautiful church had a large parking lot and you could drive in and listen to the sermon on your radio. They were also on TV, so I could not understand why anyone would throw on clothes when you could sit at home in your underwear.

None of these things bothered me if God told them to do it. But far too many were copying others success without grasping full obedience. They loved the success. I listened, as people no longer cared about theology, but the quality of the nursery. Do they have an excellent youth pastor or a large youth group? What about the music? Is it contemporary? Does it have an Organ? What about drums? Will the speaker tickle my fancy? Does the preacher wear a suit, a robe or preach in jeans?

I read a very funny script in the 70’s about a shop were people picked the kind religion they wanted. They could get exactly what they liked including a God to their liking. They could get rid of the hypocrites and crying babies if they wanted. They could order food around tables while enjoying the “worship team of their choice and style.” It is happening.

Maybe churches have always been competitive, but I watched leaders jump on the latest hot thing while attempting to draw in more people than the next church. All would deny that numbers were important, but denominational leadership came from large churches. They served on the committees, they traveled the world, and they win the elections. Large was successful. If a church only had 50 it was due for redevelopment (making it bigger). The largest churches of all denominations look more like one another than their organizational stripe. They down play the distinctives that have marked them as different to have more appeal to the masses. New buildings and a large campus says come here. We have what it takes. Mind you, unless you are one the leaders in the church, that pastor will never be your pastor. He will not officiate at your wedding or your funeral. He will not visit you in the hospital or at your home. He will smile shake your hand and never know anything about you. He is the corporate leader. He is the president, the CEO, the big man. You may be proud of him, love him, and invite others to hear him. His church may be the best thing since sliced bread. But there may be another dozen churches in the area as good or better and when he leaves you will “try them out.” Church is rarely a commitment; it is a fast food restaurant and the flavor of the day.

I don’t blame the people. I blame us — the leaders. Many have no idea what God wants them to do. I wore out on the competition. I worked in the bigger is better churches. I was at the top of my game. But I envied the smaller and middle-sized churches where the pastor was the Sheppard of the flock. He knew them and they knew him. The biggies don’t know if you are there or not. You can hide. That is another reason we like them. We can get out taste of church medicine when we want, fish when we want, sleep in when want. We are anonymous.

I know this was a change from what I normally write, but it was on my heart.

JUST IN CASE

What a beautiful day in the Northwest. The sun was shining, the temperature a balmy 68. I was stuck inside. I have been packing up prints for my show this weekend. I rarely sell anything, but spend more than I make just to be ready in case I sell something. I can’t believe how many things I do just incase. And sometimes it is very expensive.

Take for instance travel. I used to pack suitcases in a just in case style. Do you have any idea how much stuff I would drag along on a trip just incase? Of course you do. You travel. Even for a weekend I would take way too much. The weather may be warm, cold, rainy, nice or bad. Better take a raincoat. I might need a suit. Do I take a brief case? How much do I need in my shaving kit? I know women have it worse, so many outfits from which to choose. So many choices to make just in case. Most of what we take on any trip is over kill.

I used to coordinate tours groups for a college where I once taught. Most people over pack and do it just so they can have 2-3 outfits a day. Why? We allowed them one small suitcase and told them not to take anything you cannot carry with one hand up a long flight of stairs. You never know where you will be for the night. Some suitcases were so large a trained team would go through the suitcase a day before departure and take unnecessary items out. Gasps where heard throughout the land.

We watched some carry the suitcase to the checkroom dragging it behind. And who do you expect will carry that suitcase? I don’t know. There’s a staircase right here. I want to see you carry that up the stairs with one hand. After 4-5 five steps they were panting and looking for someone to help them. No one is going to help you. You can’t depend on the guys they will most likely be billeted somewhere else. Manufactures have made it easier to haul your closet. It’s called wheels. Times have changed. But the airlines are now pushing us back to basics. Up to $100 per suitcase each way. You might be able to travel with nothing and buy what you need when yoo get there.

There was never a need for a dozen different outfits. Tout groups were told “you are in a different place every night. The only people who know what you wore the day before are with you and they are wearing the same thing they wore the day before.” Get over it. Just wash things out more often. Take clothing you can wash in a sink or wear a long time. Jeans don’t show the dirt. Some people got so good they have practiced carrying a small suitcase their whole life. One girl went to Irian Jaya for thee months with a very small backpack.

I taught the lessons. I should have known better. Man did I over pack at my first traveling job. It took several trips before I finally figured out I needed a change of shirts, socks and underwear. Even for three days. And I needed very little in a shaving kit. I could fit everything I would really need in a briefcase and if I forgot something I could buy it on the road. I have a friend who keeps very little. She says why store it; I can buy it again when I need it.

I buy it again anyway because I can’t find what I stored when I need it. I tried to learn when I moved to my small apartment. I thought I did great. No, I failed. When I got here I had to get rid of more. The longer I am here, the more I discard. No more just in case storage. I won’t be able to find it anyway. I put things in safe places that are safe especially from me. When the art show is over, I expect I will have 50 or so matted and packed prints I will have to store. I made many because I wasn’t sure which ones to choose so made some of all of them. In case one print sold, I made several of what I think are my best ones. Based on history, I will bring them all home. But I made them up just in case. I guess I will never get over that bad habit. Now, where did I put my passport? I know, in a safe place.

RULES, RULES, RULES

Churches and rules: Not a typical conversation at coffee around The Home, but really fun. I love hearing people’s attitude toward church and their gripes about it. I could probably add my own. I sometimes feel like Groucho Marx’s (and I paraphrase) I wouldn’t want to go to any church that would accept me.

It started when Gladys mentioned she had gone to church with her daughter-in-law. Don’t know where her son was.

Gladys is around 80 years old and has beautiful white hair. She does a nice job with makeup. Not too heavy, it adds to her beauty. She wore a necklace, earrings, and a very attractive pair of slacks and top. She really looked very nice. When going out she always looks great. Guess what the sermon was about? Jezebel and her harlot ways! I knew this would be good, but Gladys was crushed. Everything she did to get ready for church was condemned as wicked. The sermon attacked everything about her as sinful. They might as well have put her on stage and pointed out what not to do to believe in Christ. Get that makeup off, remove that distracting ornamentation, don’t wear slacks or color your hair. She made it on one point. Her hair is not colored. She will never walk in that church again. Me either. I know it is not PC to condemn anyone or any believes, but they were just plain WRONG. Where did they get those ideas?

I know it’s not exactly unusual. If the church I attended as a child were holding to the same traditions I would have run away and joined the circus. I always liked the trapeze.

She looked around and only then realized she was the only one in slacks, She was also the only one with makeup and jewelry. She wanted to crawl under the bench. They might as well have put her on stage and pointed out what a good Christian should not look like. Many stared at her. She missed the sign that should have read HEATHEN NOT WELCOME.

This launched us into a discussion of church rules. So I asked if they required a hat. No. WHAT! They missed the only one that might be defensible. Mennonite women wear the white, net like caps to cover their matching buns. In some cases only married men have to have beards (not me. I like a goatee, but a full beard itches like crazy). Jewish men wear skullcaps and some even have their prayer shawls hanging under their black suit jackets and little boxes around their necks. No they are not for the pills they need later. Speaking of pills, some eschew doctors, others psychiatry. Then there are the groups with the multiple wives. Probably fun for the guys, but what about the women? And how can they afford all those wives and children? One family kept me broke.

How can so many come up with so many screwball ideas and hoops to jump through just for people to go to church? Because we are human! Because we want guidelines for acceptance and for exclusion! Because we have too much time on our hands so can sit around making up rules. May as well be politicians. They make lots of rules.

There are almost as many extraneous rules for the various churches as the government has useless laws on the books. With all the brilliance of mankind and the outstanding inventions we continue to create useless rules. Rules, rules, rules! Many churches seem to be determined to add extra steps to get to Jesus. I don’t know why they make it so hard. I don’t know why so many want to slam the door on seekers. “I know that you have had seven husbands and the one you live with now is not your husband.” “Go and sin no more.” But first remove your makeup, take off your jewelry, and get married before I can accept you. Get real. Open the doors and invite those in the highways and byways to come to the banquet. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.

A NIGHT OUT

I hung out with the grandkids this evening. I love it. I also wonder if I was that much fun as a kid. I doubt it. You know, hard times and all. I do know I was great at building forts with blankets, chairs, tables and sofa cushions. Maybe not great, but I was at least prolific, nearly daily during one winter.

The two youngest grandkids are exceptionally loving. It’s part of their manipulative charm. I’m not going to say they use that skill all the time, but I won’t deny it’s very effective. They are soon to be 9 and 10. From the moment they see me they come running with hugs and kisses and make me feel warm all over. If I’m going to be with them at bedtime, that is step one in getting me to let them stay up late. Like I said: very effective.

The older one left for soccer practice when mom left for the graduation at my son-in-laws school. So I only had the two for an hour. My granddaughter finished watching a Disney TV show and then went to her room to clean it. While I was surprised, no shocked, I never checked on her so she probably got hooked on a book. I heard nothing. But it is kind of hard to hear over my grandson. He is loud and talks faster than his tongue can move. I think he should go into sales. He pulled out his legos (almost enough to open his own Legoland) and we began building together. I tend to build things somewhat symmetrical, orderly. As usual he commented on how neat it was. He’s very complimentary. He then took it, looked it over and added his own ideas until it looked nothing like what I had started. Then he had the nerve to tell me I did a good job. More butter for later.

At 7:00 we had to go pickup granddaughter #1 from her soccer practice. We parked at the end of the field where we could watch practice through the mist that developing. The other two also were working up a head of steam laughing, poking, pushing, pinching, tickling, and generally annoying one another in what seemed to be good fun.

The soccer queen arrived and announced she was tired and wanted to go to sleep. She’s 13. So I asked her if she wanted me to drop her off at home before the rest of us went to Dairy Queen. She wasn’t that tired. Numbers 2 and 3 picked up speed with their previous activities and I could see steam coming from #1’s nostrils and ears. It was contained somewhat at DQ, but absolutely explored in the van ride back home. They were driving #1 crazy and I thought it was rather funny. I tried to help #1 by asking them to quiet down and give us a little peace and quiet. I might as well have said nothing. I tried again by saying, if you don’t quiet down; I’m going to make you give me the ice cream back. You can’t do that. We already ate it. Then I’ll stick my finer down you throats until you throw it all up. After a round of Oooo’s and yuks, the laugher and noise and annoying behavior #1 felt jumped up another 2-3 notches It was hard for me to help her any longer as it kept getting more humorous all the time. My only hope was to drive faster.

We survived to get home and play Sorry. Number 1 went to her room. The rest of us had a wonderful laugh fest. The game was incidental. One recommendation. If each of your grandkids has farted and laughed until they were blue in the face, do not follow suit as I did. They exploded and I could not contain it either. I love nights like this.

A SHINING EXAMPLE

“The divorce of Al and Tipper Gore is proof that marriage is not meant to last.” WHAT! Who said that? I was driving to Michael’s for art supplies when I nearly ran into a stop light at those radio words. I don’t know who said it. Was it the host, a guest, or some moron on the phone? That’s the problem with talk radio, I often only half listen. But that comment grabbed me by the throat and threw me to the pavement. I couldn’t believe anyone would put the whole case for marriage on the shoulders of the Gore’s. It’s true he has an Academy Award and a Pulitzer, but lets not get into that foolishness. Who are the Gore’s that their marriage is so central to the marriages of the world let alone the USA?

What if all relationships guidelines were established on one sample? If we are going to do that, why not choose me? I could be that sample on which all male relationship guidelines are established. I’m average. I never won an Academy Award or Pulitzer. I did win a third place ribbon in 5th grade for a relay team. I also won a transistor radio from an Esso gas station (Canada). I won a participants certificate in a drawing contest. Oh, I did win an election (school president – that’s higher than Gore, isn’t it? He was only vice president..

My best friend in grade school was a black boy. All white men should have at least one black friend. I was in a square dance competition with Lillian. She’s black. All men should have danced with at least one black woman. I walked out on a girl at our first dance together. Men walk out on relationships. That’s true. I’m sorry, but she really annoyed me. I dated lots of girls in high school and once tried to date a different girl every night of the week for a whole month. At least that’s what my friends tell me. I still don’t believe it. I didn’t even know 30 women. I guess I was a player. All guys should be players (most are – nailed that one).

My first longer term relationship in college was with a very nice woman five years older than me and who wanted to get married. I was scared spit less and moved to Canada to go to school. All guys should run away from a relationship when a girl raises the issue of marriage too soon. Most do.

When I got to the Canadian college I sorta fell for a lovely Ontario girl. I guess I was somewhat crazy. I intended to drive from the central United States to Ontario and drive her back to Western Canada for the next school year. I can’t believe I was planning on doing that. What an idiot. Three weeks before school began she wrote me a Dear John letter. There is no one else, but it will not work between us. It’s me, not you. Ha! Of course it was me. She arrived at college three weeks later engaged. No, I take it back. It was her not me. Point: All guys should be dumped at least once.

I guess I wasn’t too broke up over it because I pulled out my yearbook to look and see whom I might be interested in. I picked out my best friends girlfriend. He was madly in love with her, but she was trying to dump him (inside information). That fall he hit a brick wall with the woman of my dreams and asked me to date her. He was convinced after dating me she would run back to him. Yikes. Who was I in his eyes? I guess disgusting enough to drive any woman back to hom. I told him I was willing to date her, but if she showed any interest in me, I was going to continue dating her. She did and I did and my friend never spoke to me again. I married that girl. It’s best to steal a friend’s girl.

We were engaged 19 months. Everyone should be engaged that long. Our children were both adopted. Everyone should adopt children.

OK, I give up. That sounds ridiculous. I know it. There was nothing about my life anyone should emulate. I am not the standard. And bless their hearts, neither are the Gores. Their divorce only means they could not get along and would not work it out. Marriage will 1ast.

THE NATIVES ARE RESTLESS

I’m a little annoyed — at myself. I had my Blog nearly written earlier today, got called away near the end and when I returned, it was gone. Gone I say gone. Being who I am, I walked away to work on the puzzle and when I came back I had no idea what I was writing about. Must have been very important.

The natives are restless. I can hear the drums beginning to beat in the distance. They are soft, but will certainly grow louder. I see fires glowing in the other building and expect chanting and dancing soon, very soon. I saw makeup being gathered in the commons room and know the war paint is coming. I want to see the battle, but think it might be safer if I just hide out in my apartment. I have a good excuse for hiding out. I have work yet to do for my art show.

Under no circumstances do I want to be caught in any kind of stampede. I hate war cries. The shrill screams and cries of anguished old people get on my nerves. Old people in war paint and war attire is a frightening site.

This has been building for quite a while. It is definitely a communication problem. No one is telling us anything. We have a monthly residents meeting and celebrate birthdays for the month at the same time. You would think things would have quieted down since our manager provides a free lunch out of her own pocket (very generous for someone on minimum wage). She also has a drawing for a gift basket she provides. A very cool gife basket that I want to win. Maybe some day — if war doesn’t break out. These should be an appeasement, but tribes gather in clusters at the meal plotting strategies and organizing for an attack. There was a day when resident concerns were brought up and they argued and fought over the issues even taking opposing positions just because they don’t like someone, But since it appears management has shut that down, enemies are joining ranks for a full out assault on a middle woman — our manager.

These days, nothing of significance is ever mentioned. We don’t know why the picnic tables have not been set out. And we are fighting mad over it. We have demanded doors that open easier for our wheelchair bound resident and again, they are silent. All we wanted to do was paint our windows with Christmas decorations and were only told NO – you will make a mess. We felt like kindergartners and we are fed up and won’t take it any more. We want to make a mess.

We would march on headquarters, but no one has the energy. We would sit in the director’s office and lock her out, but cannot climb the stairs. A writing campaign was suggested but most handwriting is not legible. Only a handful can type (I’m really not one of them, as you probably know). A petition was suggested, but there was no agreement on what was to be petitioned. But we are still mad and will not take it anymore.

So, apparently, a few old timers have decided to do what they have done in the past and mount a campaign to get rid of the manager. Mind you no one has given a single consideration to the difference between our last full time manager and the present 7 hours a week manager. They are the same and we expect the same work this one. Why is she so lazy? Why is she never in the office when I want to see her? Why doesn’t she tell us what is going on? Why doesn’t she let us argue and fight with each other in a public arena and hurt others feelings and make them angry? We want a fight and if we can’t get it we are going to get her fired. We don’t care if she is not allowed to make any decisions. We know her and must get rid of someone.

No one seems to remember that we were at each other’s throats with no one here. It was like selfish me oriented kindergarteners. We are unable to care for ourselves. We are unable to settle our own problems. We are helpless little children and we need our mommy to come and take care us. I still think we need a school principle and should reinstate the strap and dunce cap.

NOW, WHERE DID I PUT THAT?

Everyone misplaces something sometime, but people in The Home can misplace things right it front of their eyes. I’m not talking about imagination or in a stack, under something or in a drawer or cupboard. I mean right in front of your eyes. An item lying right where you are sitting or standing or appear to be looking. Right where you always leave it.

We got into a discussion this morning about items we lose. It seems that the more important it is the harder it is to find. The mind runs in circles and closes the eyes, or something like that. Maybe we are thinking of the item being somewhere else while staring at it. No, we are not blind, nor is our eyesight fading. We just can’t see. It’s a cloud or something.

One told the story of setting her keys down on the small table at the door like she always does. The difference was she set her purse in her bedroom when she normally sets them down together. She looked at the table and her purse was missing. Then she remembers she put her purse in the bedroom. She finds the purse and totally empties it (probably a good thing anyway) to find the keys. Panic sets in. She looks under the bed. She goes back to the small table. She looks under the table, in her kitchen, in the sides of her favorite chair, and on the floor following her trail. She calls her neighbor. Would you please come and help me find my keys. Her neighbor walks in and immediately sees the keys where they are always placed. How embarrassing! Almost everyone had a similar story.

Another lost her cell phone. Several of us we asked to call her phone. She could not hear it in her apartment. A friend had to come to the apartment and keep calling until it was found under a pile of clothes at the bottom of her closet. She had left it in the pocket of a pair of slacks.

The most dangerous thing for me is to put something in a safe place. Unfortunately I have never established a consistent “safe place.” Because it varies from item to item and the things that are put in safe places are seldom used. As a result I cannot remember where I put them. The last item I did that with was my passport. Obviously it should go in a safe place. But where! I knew where my expired passport was. It was not in a safe place. It took a lot of digging. I am not a fully organized human being. Just partially organized. I have always hated filing and retirement has not improved that one bit. I file in piles (Hey, great title for an organization book on filing)

I once lost a pay cheque (for my Canadian friends, and because I lost it there). I had already signed all four checks (for my American friends). When I got to the teller, I only had three. Naturally, like any normal human being. I panicked, and attempted to retrace my steps. I was sure I walked into the bank with it. But where was it? Maybe I signed it on my desk at my office. Off to the office I ran. Nowhere. After extensively searching my office and nearly cleaning it by filing my stacks, I gave up and decided to go to the bank and cash my other three for a total of $45. When I got to the teller I sheepishly asked if anyone had turned in my paycheck. Shock of all shocks, my signed check had been turned in and was deposited in my account. Thank you God for honest people. I had dropped it on the floor while in line for the teller. Yikes! That was my mortgage, groceries, utilities and all my monthly bills. I was already fearful for how I would manage. Worst of all, how was I going to tell my wife that I had lost our monthly check! What a dork. What an idiot. How could you do that? Don’t you ever pay attention to what you’re doing? That was all we had. How will we get through the month? I had given a great deal of thought to what my answer would be. “I don’t know.”

POPULARITY

I wasn’t as interested in being popular in high school as I was being accepted. I had gone to grade school with basically the same kids for nine years. We knew each other as well as any kid really knows another.

I was the “drawer” and the daydreamer. If teams were being picked for anything, I was always picked near the last. I wasn’t totally uncoordinated and I wanted to be good at baseball, softball, dodge-ball football and anything else where teams were picked. I hated being near the end of the line. I couldn’t even get picked near the beginning for spelling games. I wasn’t terrible, just average.

The only organized sport I ever played was little league football. I am sure I was allowed to play because they needed one more player. No one sat or the bench — ever. I was a hero only once. We were lined up at the enemy’s goal line and they were going to try and kick their way out of a pickle. Several on my team were yelling get the ball, get the ball. I was at right tackle, a position I did not play very well. It doesn’t matter. No one believed I played any position very well. On offence I was a receiver, but I never received anything. The ball was snapped and I rushed in like I was supposed to and I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks, and dropped to the ground holding my nose. The dust cleared and bodies unpiled and I was still on the ground. My nose is now bleeding and my team began cheering. They picked me up hoisted me on to the shoulders of a couple of guys and ran me to the sidelines. Apparently when I stopped the ball with my nose (no helmets in those days) I had also fallen on the ball for a touchdown. My nose hurt and I wanted to cry, but the guys were so happy so I tried to enjoy my one moment of football glory.

I was a “C” student in high school. I did a little better in art and mechanical drawing even though I erased a great deal. I had a choice of two high schools and chose the college prep school. Most of my classmates went to the Technical school where all my siblings attended. Told you I was different. I didn’t fit anywhere. I took a girl from grade school to the first school date. She informed me that we could dance the first song, but after that we should mingle. She mingled, I played wallflower with a few guys I had recently met who came alone and were there only to laugh at people.

My girl, and I use the term loosely, came near the end of the dance and announced she had met a senior and was going home with him. I already knew how to handle rejection. Grade school taught me that. I accepted it. A while later the guys asked if I wanted to go get a soda. It was that or leave alone. As we were leaving, she came and apologized and said she would go with me. With a nasty streak that raises its ugly head in my life occasionally, I said, no thank you. I’m going out with the guys. Can you imagine — we never spoke again! Boo, hoo, ho.

Skip to the present. I had a reasonable successful career and was generally well accepted. I had leadership positions so there was always someone who wanted me gone. But, like I said, I had been prepared for rejection.

What I was never trained for or prepared for was being the most popular guy in the crowd. I had to come to The Home get that honor. In a way it is no honor at all. There are only three guys here who will mix and socialize with the women. Of the three, I am the most outspoken and for some reason have become the class clown, a role I never played historically. Harlow has a small harem that is pretty consistent. He works puzzles in the other building with most of them. Chas has one woman in particular who is chasing him. Chas weighs over 500# and is wheelchair bound. She has been bold enough to tell him she could teach him a few sexual tricks. While he rejected that, he has not rejected her. That leaves me. I am fairly consistent about the time I go to coffee. Five to eight women show up when I do. If people want a group event or activity, I am always invited. I have become the life of the party, the jokester, the funny guy, and the one who will remove tension. I am happy with the role when it stops conflict, but mostly I just want to be the average guy that blends into the woodwork. Why did popularity have to come in The Home? Oh, I know— I have a van that seats seven.

MY WEEKEND

I love the weekends. There are no expectations. I cleaned my bathroom then headed upstairs to do my laundry. While it was spinning I pulled a 500 piece puzzle to see what I could accomplish while the machines do their work. Maria was the first to show. Why did you get such a small puzzle? Here we go again. Because I thought I might finish it while my laundry was going. I wanted to do that one closer to the Fourth of July. That’s only a month away. You should have waited. I didn’t wait, so what to you want me to do. Oh, go ahead. I guess it won’t hurt anything. I didn’t think it would.

A couple of other women came along and they all took off for the day. I didn’t even ask were they were going. It may be heartless, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be invited. I didn’t want to know and I don’t want the details the next time I see them. The weekend is mine.

Chas arrived a little later and began to talk while I picked away at the puzzle. We got talking about teen years. Apparently he spent some time in jail – a state facility. That’s usually major. He talked more about life in the jail and never mentioned what he did. He made it sound like fun. I have never thought of prison as fun. I always joked it would give me free board and room for the rest of my life (and there were times I needed that), but I never really wanted to try it out. At the time he was incarcerated the state was very active in training the inmates for future occupations. It was definitely a different day or a minimum-security prison as they were offering classes in auto shop, woodworking, plumbing, and sheet metal. I gulped. These all have dangerous tools. He laughed that even with the training they still could not get jobs in any of those industries when they were released because they were felons.

I had arrived in the puzzle area about 11:00 a.m. When Chas and I finished talking, it was 4:00. No wonder I was hungry. Chas deals with a lot of depression. I was worried that he was upset because Maria seemed to take over the care of his gardens. In fact she was bragging this morning about all the people she was helping by watering their plants. So I asked if they requested her help. No, I was just being helpful. She then gave a number of reasons why each of them needed her help. She never asked, or offered the service. She just did it. That should bring us to garden wars by Monday.

Not only did my clothes get dry, I finished the puzzle and connected with Chas on a deeper level. Now I brace myself for accusations that I didn’t leave any of the puzzle for others to work on.

No I didn’t. I guess I better be sent to my room for the rest of the weekend. However, I plan to sneak out for church.

ONE UPMANSHIP

Everyone probably knows someone or has a friend who loves this game. I remember playing it as a kid. The only way I could win was to lie. I suspect that is how most winning is done. How could one person have a big, better, more exciting, more frightening, more unusual story than anyone else regardless of the size of the group. I can accept that everyone can at some time have a better life experience than another, but not all the time. After the story teller has said too much, one never knows what to believe.

I have a friend like that. To start with she served in the Navy and has done a lot, been a lot of places and experienced more of life than most. In any enjoyable conversation, she will have the biggest conversation-ending story. No one can top her. No one tries anymore, but they give each other the look behind her back. Everyone knows the look: rolled eyes, snickers or a circled finger near the ear. We have all seen it, and probably done it at some time.

I am getting good at expressing serious doubt with my eyes and signals. So is my upstairs neighbor. There is a great deal of communication between our eyes. Our friend has eaten at every restaurant in the area and has a decided opinion about the food and a recommendation to the rest of us less experienced people. Usually we should not. eat there. The food is bad, the help lousy, and the cost too high.

If you grocery-shop with her she will check your basket and find you a better alternative to one or more items in your basket. In fact, if you shop anywhere with her she will find something you want that should be changed and will be forceful enough that many women change what they want so she will not be mad.

Spreading my questions over multiple trips, I have asked about dozens of restaurants we have passed. It may be hard to believe, but I have never asked about a single one where she has not had a meal. I figure that based on the number of questions I have asked she eats out 2-3 times a week. Unless someone takes her out and pays for her meals, she does not have enough money. She says she has friends who own some of these restaurants so they gave her free meals. I have asked if we could go there sometime and maybe get another free meal. Would you believe it, they don’t own the place any longer.

Today I was telling her that our family usually traveled by rail free, twice a year because dad worked for Union Pacific. This may be had to believe, but her uncle worked for Southern Pacific and they traveled all across the south making trips once a month. Wow! Southern Pacific was very generous. I took the contest a step further telling her my absolute favorite eating-place of all time is La Habatant. She had eaten there and thought it was terrific. So I asked, have you been to Canada? Yes, I’ve traveled all across the country. In which city did you visit La Habatant? Toronto! I didn’t know it was a chain. Yes, it’s in every major city in Canada. Even in the prairies? No not there. Oh! — It’s not a chain and it is in Regina. So there! I didn’t say that, but I rolled my eyes at myself.

I plan to tell her about my trip to the moon with NASA next. I’m sure she has been to mars. I do feel like stealing Jackie Gleason’s line to Alice as he doubled up his fist and leaned toward her, “To the moon, Alice, to the moon.”

TURN RIGHT! GO NOW!

The old habit is back again and in full force. Maria cannot see up close and things at a distance are somewhat fuzzy. She still knows when I should turn, when I should pull out in traffic and when and where I should turn.

I have been parking rather wide the past few weeks for our participation in Bread Wars. But it was raining yesterday and I wanted in close to the garage door so neither the bread or us would get soaked. I should have known it would come.

It starts with Jeezs. Then some cringing and finally “there’s no room for the pickup to get in. I am unable to answer without a snide remark. My wife had nearly cured me of that habit, but since her passing and with the quantity of stupidity around me, the old family trait is crawling back. I’m sorry to say, but I kind of like it. Why am I sorry? If I was really sorry, I could stop. The truth is I’m having a blast.

If he really can’t get in, he can park way over there and carry his breadboxes like we usually do. My backseat helper snickered and the recommendations ceased. When the pickup arrived, he twisted right in between the shrubbery and my van. He’s a very good driver and is often crowing about his prowess in backing up big rigs and trailers. I believe him so I want to test his ability from time to time, especially when it’s raining.

The third of the month is payday for old people. Social Security checks arrive. I usually do some shopping on the third or fourth of the month. Had to go out today. I was out of milk and I am a milk drinker. Also, my van was running on fumes. I often take a few people shopping with me who have no transportation. Maria was in my entourage. We need to go back to the Arco on the east side to get gas. It’s only 2.69 over there. I don’t know if I can make it. I have been running on empty for three days now. But it’s cheaper. Cheaper will mean nothing to me if I have to walk. I’m going to Safeway and see what there price is. They are the closest gas station to The Home.

It was slightly higher, but I always get a 3¢ per gallon discount so the price would be close. After I entered my cards I learned I had spent enough to get a 10¢ per gallon discount today which meant it beat the Arco price. Naturally I mentioned that when I got back in.

On the way to the gas station we passed Maria’s bank. She wanted to stop. I told her I would come back after getting gas. But you are driving right by it. Don’t worry. I’ll come back. It’s only a block to Safeway and I would have to cross traffic. Quiet, thankfully. We came back and left for our next stop to pay our cable bills. I pulled onto the main road and made a quick left (not the normal route) then swung onto a small road behind Walgreen. Do you have to pick something up? No this is the wrong way. It’s a short cut. No it isn’t. This is a parking lot. I know but it will open onto the road we need. No it won’t. You are going to have to come back. By that time I was at the cross street into the parking lot for the cable company. It was Quiet. There was one more direction coming. After we purchased our groceries, and I needed to pull across the busy street to head to The Home. Now! Now what? You could have made it. You’re kidding. No, just pop a wheely. You can’t be serious. You want me to take all our lives in my hands. No way. The on coming traffic will hit me first. Now if you were going to get it…. Don’t even think that. I was advised twice more to go when I doubted the wisdom of the move. Where you going in such a hurry? (I learned that from a policeman.) Nowhere! Right, and you have nothing to do but get home alive. That is my plan. OK, we can take out time.

OK! That sounded like victory to me.

OLD WIVES TALES

I got a bar of soap in the mail today. I am supposed to unwrap it and put it at the foot of my bed to relieve problems with nervous feet. I have not had time to do it yet. But I will try that to night. I may have a hard time knowing if it works as I don’t have nervous feet every night and if my feet sweat will my feet get soapy. I also wonder if I need a bar of soap for each foot. Am I to put soap bars at the bottom for when I am stretched out and maybe a little further up for when I go into the fetal position? So, I am still a little uncertain, but am willing to try it.

I know a lot of old wives here, and am wondering if I should take all their old wives tale advice. If this works maybe I should listen to the rest. I know I am supposed to feed a cold and starve a fever, but I’m not hungry when I have a cold and want chicken noodle soup when I have a fever. Everyone tells me chicken noodle soup is good for you when you are sick. I prefer Campbell’s at that time, but can’t stand noodle soup at any other time.

I never went in swimming until and hour after eating. Mom wouldn’t let me. Come to think of it she wouldn’t let me go in the water unless my navy trained older brother was with us. I would drown. Of course, I would have drowned. I didn’t know how to swim. And I am not likely to drown now, as I don’t really like the water. I like to be beside it, but not in it.

I totally disliked coffee, as a child so never drank it and guess my growth wasn’t stunted. I am the tallest member of my family. A sister was the second tallest and she hated it, but married a very tall guy so got over feeling bad when she eloped. My mother never forgave he for eloping. I didn’t care. When she got married I got my own bedroom and no longer had to share that tiny room and the three quarter bed with my little brother. He kept crossing over to my half so I had to keep hitting him. He hit back and so it went until one of us cried. That was usually me. He was little but tough.

I didn’t know what to do about chocolate as I loved chocolate and was horrified to learn it caused acne. Boy did I have acne. I promised God that if He would clear up my acne I would give up chocolate. Mother said it worked the other way around. Stop and your face will clear up. So I tried that. I stopped for a week and not one pimple disappeared. So I bought a whole bag of Hershey kisses and ate them all in one sitting. I didn’t get more pimples either. Boy was I confused.

I never liked spicy food so never worried about getting ulcers for eating it. However, I learned that stress also causes ulcers. I’ve had lots of stress in my life, but still no ulcers. Hasn’t stopped the doctor from finding something new at each visit that requires another prescription.

I didn’t like carrots, which are supposed to improve my eyesight. I guess that’s why I wear glasses now. I got my first pair at age 49 and the optometrist was surprised I had lasted so long without them, but he was just being nice. I probably still would not wear glasses had I ate carrots.

I was always confused about not going outside with my hair wet because of all the people who went swimming and never seemed to worry about catching a cold. Maybe it was really all about the weather and not the wet head.

We only had dim light at our house. Usually only one light on a cord with a chain hanging from the center of the bedroom, but I still used that light to keep tabs on the Adventures of Superman. TV was also bad for my eyes. We didn’t have TV, but Monday to Friday I went down to Irene’s for one hour to watch Howdy Doody and The Mickey Mouse Club. When we finally did get a TV I watched Gunsmoke on Saturday night with dad. Had to. Dad would fall asleep and he needed me to tell him what happened. I could not cross my eyes so they never stuck that way. That one worried me because I tried to cross my eyes but would get dizzy.

And finally, I am thankful I never went blind. I was a bad teenage boy. I do hope the soap cures my restless feet, but have no idea how I will know if it works.