JOSEPH

I just love it when one encouraging moment leads to thoughts that bring great happiness. I’ve mentioned this before but I love the big Broadway musical. I had season tickets with a wonderful friend for several years. I enjoyed most of them. Never really understood “Phantom of the Opera” until I saw a non-musical film that explained things. That only made matters worse. Everyone said the music is so beautiful. AND… We often say to youth that it isn’t the music but what the music is saying. I agree the music is beautiful, but the story is perverted. Some lecherous old man living in the catacombs of the opera house lusts after the lead female singer and controls her. Sick.

On the other hand “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat” is up lifting and a top tapper. This morning at church the pastor spoke from the story of Joseph and quickly walked through the story. I hope he didn’t notice my toe tapping and the bright smiles I had from time to time. But as he mentioned each part, I heard in my head the music and lyrics of Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Weber. I couldn’t help it. The musical accompanied the message and I almost laughed out loud at some of the very fun music. I especially like “Go, Go Joseph” which is encouraging him to interpret Pharaoh’s dream. It’s done to a calypso beat so my shoulders were shaking a little. I was in the last row so only the ushers may have thought I was having a fit.

Walking to the church was the longest I have walked in several weeks. But I took my cane and waddled over hoping the physical therapy had helped some. It had. I came home with a lilt to my step. Of course I was tire when I got back. But it was worth it.

The message was very motivational. One issue addressed was praying for those in authority over us. Good idea. I'm sorry about the whining about the head office. I know their staff as been cut and they are finally getting back on track financially. The top woman is responsible for all this and she has taken a great deal of guff from us old grippers. I will be patience. It will be hard, but I can do it — I think.

Now I got to go back and listen to my Joseph CD. I may even dance a bit, oh and — pray.

POWER AND CONTROL

One of the many things I do around here is prepare a monthly newsletter. I’ve done this off and on since the 60’s. This one is an 11x17 layout with a large print calendar on the center pages, the personal story of one of our residents on the front with a photo and the back handles all the rest: update information, jokes, trivia, cartoons and other things to fill the page.

Somehow the deadline got away from me this month. The calendar was ready as I work on that throughout the month. Since I found a place to get a free phone with free minutes for the elderly poor, I had that written up. The rest was still to be done. I realized I did not have a persons profile and time was up. This was last Friday. The newsletter needed to be at our head office on Monday. So, I took a humorous article I had written and edited it to fit the page. Innocent drivel.

I got it done and it was at the office when they arrived on Monday morning. So far so good! The end of the workday came and went and nary a word did I hear. So I sent an email on Tuesday asking if they had received the proofs. Still silence. Wednesday morning I get an email from the manager asking that I remove the line “put them over my boxers.” It was about getting dressed. She believed people would be offended if that were included. I know how shocking the word “boxers” and it was a nothing line, a throw away. I dropped it, as I knew a fight would cause a problem.

They called me in when absolutely panicked about a joke I included in December about a woman getting welfare for her dogs. They were horrified, angry, hostile, and would certainly have considered tar and feathers is they though they might get away with it. (See joke at bottom of the page.) I understood, accepted responsibility, apologized and ripped my clothes and sat in ashes for a week. What more could they want?

They wanted absolute control of the paper. The top two dogs (pardon the expression) now read review and must approve every word I write. After all, they said, I use their paper, their ink, and their time at no expense to me. No kidding. I thought I was helping them. Wrong. This cartoon really knocked their socks off. After all, they are subject to getting government funds to help the poor (that means us) and they were now afraid they could lose their financial aid. Really!!!

I agreed or I would have to close the paper down. I considered that, but knew the residents would be up in arms. But these two are rarely in the office. The one lady who had been editing my material had let that slip through (she thought it was funny) has been taken off my support team. She also printed the newsletter. I don’t know what is happening now. Wednesday I got a note for four spelling corrections and a request to move an item. All minor. While my new editor does nothing to help me find these errors, as all were the wrong word spelled correctly. Took me over an hour to find them. My previous editor noted the page, column and paragraph. I liked that.

That was the last I heard. The newsletter goes out five days before the end of the month so people can make plans. I sent emails on Friday with no response. I went to the office just before closing. Nothing!

We have a sign up event scheduled for next Friday. I put up sign up sheets so people would have some idea this was coming. The details are in the newsletter. It may come Monday (I hope). However, my Monday is busy. I see my chiropractor, then physical therapy, then the fitting for my ankle support. It will be late in the day.

I have strange thoughts. Am I being punished? Am I being ignored? More likely the final approval has not come down from on high, as they are not in the office. Oh well, they have control. There’s nothing like control. I am but a humble servant who does all the hand wringing.

NEARING THE END

There’s been a round of bad news and some stupid news.

Elsie is a wonderful wheelchair bound gem of a lady who also happens to be a very talented artist. Her sketches of buildings are beautiful. She has been on oxygen since I have known her, but it has progressively gotten worse. She has pleaded with family and caregivers not to send her to the hospital she just wants to remain in her apartment. That is not going to happen. She was rushed to the hospital about a week ago because her legs had swollen to twice their normal size and she could barely breathe and she needed to be monitored. We learned today that she would not be coming back. They are going to try to keep that news from her. The powers that be believe it is in her best interests.

I am not in the loop to make decisions for Elsie, but if it were me. I would want to know regardless of what my druthers were. I doubt they can keep her very long before she figures it out. She has physical problems, not mental problems. They have moved her to a recovery center and she now has her cat with her. Doesn’t that say this is your new home?

Agnes has been having cancer treatments for several months now and her hair has recently grown back in and is a beautiful white and much more curly than previously. Of course she is crushed that she has had a set back.

Arlene has serious problems with her hip and walks one day and can barely move the next. I just never stops. Little helps relieve the pain.

That is the nature of living with and near older people. I have said this before, but since this is an independent living facility this is usually not the last stop on earth. Usually we are moved to the next step down the line to away the end. I know that sounds sad, but it is reality. None of us live forever and that topic comes up often. For some that brings fear, for others it is anticipation.

Now to put another spin on Elsie nearing that final day, the scavengers are already making plans for what they can get out of her apartment. I couldn’t believe it when one listed the things Elsie had that she hopes she can secure for herself. See, we also have vultures. No one mentioned the family. As was pointed out by one – none of the family really needs anything. Well, I have news for the vulture – she needs nothing herself.

It is complicated as some family members do give many of their loved ones things away. We also know that they should not set anything outside the apartment door, as it will be assumed they are up for grabs. Items to be given away disappear in seconds, not minutes. They only way to get first pick is to linger in the hallway during the cleaning phase.

I admit I find this practice strange. We all complain about how little space we have; yet some want more. I guess the best way to get more space in my own apartment is to set things outside my door. Now if I could only decide what to get rid of and how to booby trap it so it self destructs when they get it home.

NOTHING TO SAY

Have you ever been dry? Not thirsty where you need water. Not skin thirsty so you need six different moisturizers just to feel normal or even body thirsty when you need water running over you just to feel human again. I mean brain thirsty.

The last few days I have felt like I just returned from three months of summer vacation and the fourth grade teacher has asked us to write a one page essay on our summer vacation. If we had ever done anything interesting that might have been a fun assignment, but my family did the same ting every summer. Besides, I hated writing at the time in my life. I had nothing to say. I was not interesting. And my memory sucked.

Not much has really changed. My memory still sucks, but I make up for that with a vivid imagination. But don’t pass that around. I want my stories to appear real and true with only the names being changed to protect the guilty. And they are, you know. In reality I have had nothing to say the last few days. Mom always said; if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. I know that doesn’t really apply here, but it sounded intelligent at the time I wrote it.

I actually had several things to say, but by the time I got back to my room I could never remember what they were. Now that - I blame on old age. But of course, I blame nearly everything that I struggle with on old age. It’s great. At least I have a ready excuse for everything. If that doesn’t work I try memory loss – who are you? Do I know you? Where did you come from? Are you my daughter? The last one doesn’t work as well when talking to a man.

In my mind I still see myself as uninteresting. They tell me that has to do with low self esteem. What a shock – me? When I was teaching my college classes occasionally some student would say, can you repeat that? I assumed they wanted a quote. First, I was surprised anyone wanted a repeat of anything I said and second, I could never remember what I just said. Apparently my brightest moments came extemporaneously. At least they were never written down. Thankfully some other student usually wrote down that bright gem of gold I just delivered and even I was usually impressed. Not bad for thinking on my feet. Or is it not bad for under preparing. I don't know which it was.

I am trying to learn from Seinfeld. Just talk about nothing. How did it work for you today? I had fun.

BAREFOOT BANDIT

One of our areas most notorious desperadoes is Colton Harris-Moore better known as the barefoot bandit. Colt has a Facebook page with 34,994 fans. He has achieved folk hero status. He does not rob from the rich and give to the poor. He has indeed used all his stolen goods for his own benefit, but he seems to be a somewhat polite burglar. He often broke into vacation homes and stayed a few days eating what food he could find, sleeping in their beds and cleaning up after himself. I don’t know if that meant he washed the sheets and put clean ones on the bed, picked up around the house and washed the dishes but it does mean is was not especially destructive in his thievery. He was a very nice bad guy, you know, like the James brothers.

I got caught up in his story from Rolling Stone Magazine while waiting in the hospital for a wheelchair bound friend who fell out of her chair, banged her head and had been experiencing sever headaches and swelling. Some were fearful she might have suffered a concussion. She didn’t. But going to the hospital was the right thing.

While waiting I watched football until a five-year-old boy came to the waiting room walked right over and sat down beside me and offered to share his Pop Tart. We had a wonderful conversation as he got up and down on the chair, wandered around the small room and tried to tell me why he was there. In time he asked if there were any kid programs on TV. I couldn’t find one and he assured me they had them the last time he was here. He also told me how the room was arranged for his last visit. He missed the kid’s table that was right over there. Apparently his little sister is brought in often. After mom and grandma arrived he picked up Rolling Stone magazine brought it to me asking me to read something to him. I was somewhat stunned and thumbed through the magazine to see what I could find. Nothing. It didn’t matter as he wandered off and then the whole family left. I missed him the moment he left.

But having the magazine in my hand I searched for an article I might enjoy. There it was: Eight pages on Colton-Harris Moore. To summarize Wikipedia says:
"Colton A. "Colt" Harris-Moore (born March 22, 1991) is a former fugitive from Camano Island, Washington. He has been charged in the thefts of at least five small aircraft, a boat, and two cars and in the burglaries of at least 100 private residences in various locations around the Pacific Northwest of the United States and Canada. He fled to the Bahamas on July 4, 2010, allegedly in a plane stolen from Bloomington, Indiana.10 He was indicted on July 6, 2010 by a U.S. Federal Court in Seattle, Washington on charges of transporting another stolen aircraft in that state. Harris-Moore was arrested in Harbour Island, Bahamas on July 11, 2010, after police shot out the engine of the boat in which he was attempting to flee.5 Two days later, he was deported from Nassau, Bahamas to Miami, Florida and transferred on July 21 to SeaTac, Washington where he is awaiting trial.9

He became known as the "Barefoot Bandit" or "Barefoot Burglar" by reportedly committing some of his crimes barefoot, once leaving behind a chalk footprint. Despite the widely reported nickname, officials said that he more often wore shoes."

There are 183 supportive comments on his Facebook page. One reporter has or is about to publish a book. He didn’t even wait for the ending. But Colt has an interesting abusive start to life. He hated what drugs and alcohol did to his parents and never took up the habits. I guess they were good examples after all.

What is it about our joy for the one who gets away? I still read books and watch movies about Frank and Jesse James. When visiting Alcatraz I was most interested in Al Capone’s cell. I loved the movie “Catch Me if You Can!” Well, Colt was caught, this nice sweet and gentle young man who stole and damaged millions of dollars of planes, cars, electronics and food. I know the book will be good. I’ll pick it up at a second hand store. I’ll catch the movie on Netflix. I don’t want to miss a good story. I love the good guy winning, but many of us seem to enjoy a good story of evasion. I know I do.

CHURCH CLOSURE

It’s rare that I get involved in the same conversation with two different people on two different days and it has nothing to do with gossip. These people do not even know one another and it has nothing to do with The Home.

Some of you know that I was a denomination leader for thirteen years of my 35 years in church work. As part of that ministry I was involved in many discussions considering the concerns and issues facing very small churches. I never had the final say. But I visited some of these churches to discuss the issue with them. The possibility of closing any church is extremely painful. Most people believe that decision is a coldhearted choice based on shrinking numbers. Admittedly that is part of it, but the issues are greater than simple numbers.

On Thursday a lady asked me what I knew about the process of closing a church. Her home church in the Inland Empire appears to be on its last legs. Then on Friday I got an email from a buddy in the frozen north tundra of Canada where he is a serving a small church in his retirement years. The issue for both churches is similar, but not identical.

Anna’s home church has an attendance of about 20 on a Sunday. The mother denomination has made it clear they will not send them a pastor. No one under age 60 attends any longer and they have not experienced any new life (read growth) in over two years. And in my opinion, they are highly unlikely to attract new people.

While I am part of the “old” crowd there are a few things we need to accept. We are not likely to invited or attract a younger crowd. Churches are like families. They need new life to survive. It is not just the growth issue — it is survival. As we age we run out of energy and finances decline for most. Church buildings continue to need repairs, heat, electricity, lawn care, walks shoveled (in the north) and other essential services that get harder to provide as we age. And if there is still a mortgage, well lets just say they will need a benefactor. My friend’s church has another church sending them money monthly to keep them going. Few can afford to pay a pastor on top of these other expenses.

Sad to say, but its all over but for the sale of the building. In most cases leadership is just waiting for the last person to turn the lights out and lock the building.

My Canadian friend faces a different situation. He is there part time. The congregation is happy and satisfied. Since the entire group is in the same physical boat, they do not see the end coming yet. But the pastor drives a great distance 2-3 times a week to serve them. He is getting tired and will not be able to carry on much longer. They have an internal transfusion of money so can last longer, but has serious effort and much work on the pastors part, attendance remains the same.

These churches still have founding members and people who have invested they life in the success of “their” church. They have good memories and hold on to the dream of “the good old days” returning.

While some churches continue to survive and thrive, others face a family dispersal. They move, they quit, they attend elsewhere for what the new and larger church can provide for their family: programs, strong preaching, great music and a sense of life.

At times the denomination must come and say it is time to close the doors. That feels that same as one senior being told you must move to an assisted living facility. That move signals the end. The only thing left is your end. It is heart breaking.

It may signal nearing the end of your service on this earth, but it never means the end of the church. The church lives in the same flux as communities. They come and go they grow and shrink they flourish and decline. Our days of service come to an end, but God builds His church — just not like we had planned.

HOW WOULD I KNOW?

In February 1968 Andy Warhol exhibited his first international retrospective exhibition at the Moderna Museet gallery in Stockholm. The exhibition catalogue contained "In the future everybody will be world famous for fifteen minutes." The line began to bore Warhol in later years when interviewers kept asking him about it. In 1979 he did repeat it though, claiming that the line had truth - "my prediction from the sixties finally came true: In the future everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes."

I doubt my fifteen minutes is coming, but I might soon have fifteen seconds of fame of fame in a fifteen-mile radius. I was interviewed today by a reporter for the local paper to use in their question of the week. With that comes my photo and two sentences of my opinion. That’s a problem for someone who cannot distill a comment to a single sentence or two.

The question was: Do you think Obamacare should be repealed? I then launched into ten minutes of outstanding quotes explaining why the answer is neither yes nor no, but that is it so vague and fuzzy to those of us at The Home since all we want to really know is will this help us or hurt us. Even AARP is not clear enough to us, as so much in the bill is just totally confusing.

Of course, like all true Americans our concern is selfish. What will we get out of this? The answer: Who knows? Like so many things that come our way, it probably depends on the agent reading our 30-page application for benefits (slight exaggeration).

During the fifteen years I lived in Canada I crossed the Canadian USA border about twice a year. My family lived in the USA. It took almost no time to figure out the crossing guards (both sides) had the final say. Don’t tick them off. My experience with the US government benefits for old people is much the same. When I first arrived I went through a three-month application for extra assistance for medical expenses. I was approved. I got a new application three months later and was confused. I thought I had done that already. Wrong. My inability to read and understand government forms knocked my assistance out. I did not fill out my form in time or correctly. I made the mistake of writing to ask what this was for as I had filled out the form only three months ago. Well, I was now not eligible to apply for another quarter. I did three-months later and was turned down. I now made too much money. Nothing changed. My income was the same. My money in the bank was less than at the time of the first application.

I admit I do not know how these decisions are made. They did send me 3-4 pages explaining my rights of appeal. I did not appeal (my fault). This leads me to believe that the bill is so unclear that the peons who must administrate the rules cannot agree on interpretation, but they still have the right to decide.

This is a long way around to explain my understanding of the problem with Obamacare. It might be great. It might be the worst thing that could ever happen to Americans. The truth from my point of view is that no one likely knows. So what I want to know is how the gal making the decision on my application views the plan. It’s her decision that will affect ne, not the health care pundits.

WHEN YOU NEED MONEY NOW

Life can change in the blink of an eye. We all know it and probably experienced it — multiple times. It changed this week for Kiki and she needs help.

Kiki was married to a US military man. He brought her to the good ole’ USA after World War II. They lived on farmland in the middle of this big chunk of land removing her from the beauty of her island, their traditional foods and excellent public transportation. She never learned to drive and spent most of her life in near isolation as she learned English from the radio and TV.

A daughter was born and the marriage soured. Kiki divorced her husband but has lived comfortably on his military pension. However, he passed away on Saturday and the money will stop effective February 1. Joe remarried and his present wife will continue to get money from the estate, but Kiki’s financial assistance is over. She will now have less than 1/3 of her previous income.

There are plenty of people here with tons of advice about living on almost nothing. You learn along the way, but there is more assistance then you can imagine. She needs all the inforamti0on she can get right now. Her English is sometimes difficult to understand and she can struggle with comprehension. So beginning tomorrow I will bring a few people around to help her. She is starting from scratch.

She has Medicare, but nothing else. While she is at her doctors tomorrow I will pick up forms she will need from Social Security, Section 8 Housing, State assisted supplemental medical insurance, no premium prescriptions and another plan to help her never pay for prescriptions. She can get food stamps and will now qualify to visit the food bank. I have many of these plans, but her income will be below mine and she will qualify for maximum help. I just discovered a free phone and free 250 minutes a month for people meeting low income standards. Not everyone here qualifies, but she will.

The hardest will be to get on Section 8 for low-income housing. The certificates can be used at The Home, but the wait can take up to three years. That will be too long. I hope The Home will greatly reduce her income. You never know. They can do it of they choose.

This is a wonderful country. If you are willing to be frugal and live on what the government provides it can make a huge difference.

No doubt many of you will never need this kind of assistance, But just visiting any one of these offices and seeing the crowds will remind you that the poor we always have with us. A blessing of The Home is that we do take care of our own. She will be cared for through this transition. Her family will help some, but it will be her friends in The Home that will make the real difference. This is the great side of life in The Home.

PHYSICAL THERAPY

My mind flooded with memories of childhood activities today. The connection may seem weird but it was my first day of actual physical therapy. It was what they asked me to do that stirred the mind.

First they put me on a stationary bike for ten minutes. All that triggered was that I used to do this often when I had a “Y” membership. Never once thought of riding my bike as a kid. I had doubts I could make it for ten minutes but I surprised myself and actually enjoyed the movement. It didn’t hurt my hip or left foot.

Then they took me over to some parallel bars that were there only to catch me if I lost my balance. I needed the bars often. They started me on one inch thick and 18-inch square of form and all I was asked to do was stand still. Ha! Like I could. My feet wobbled and I leaned from one side to the other. Interestingly I did not go back and forth. I kept leaning to my right. It reminded me of standing on the bed with my younger brother and each of us trying to get the other to lose their balance. That activity was often a tie.

Then they laid out a strip of foam approximately the width of a cement block. I could see all the retaining walls I walked on, ran on and the step opening I jumped over. Of course those were solid. This time I could not do it. When I would place my left foot in front and needed to swing my right foot to the front I would lose my balance. I never made that transition once. I could move the other way. That was the first time I was aware I used my right foot for balance. It as just a suspicion at first, but the next event convinced me.

They placed a balance board in front of me. It was a square board with an air pocket between the board and the floor. They could make the supporting ball soft or hard, the softer the ball the harder to balance. At least I felt successful. My left foot never moved and I used the right one to keep my balance. I was now absolutely convinced my right leg was doing most of the work because it began to hurt. No wonder my right hip gives out first.

I loved the next board. It rocked from side to side. My dad made me a roller board in my early years. It was a round smooth log with a groove around the middle. On top of the log was placed a flat board with a rail through the middle that fit in the groove. You could rock to your hearts content from side to side. Again, they wanted me to try and stand still. My right leg began to give out, but I smiled at the memories.

It’s confirmed. My tired old left foot is giving out from over use and wear and tear. I have tended to walk on the outside edge all my life and it can no longer take the weight. Its nothing that losing 100# might not cure. I think for the first time I understood why every ankle sprain was on the left. Attempts at ice-skating or inline skating all ended by falling with that foot turning in and me falling. I laughed and passed it off as clumsy. I always accepted the twisted foot. I limped and walked just like dad. How bad could that be? I still feel that way. I can walk and I will soon have a brace to straighten that ankle and I will now have a new thing on which to blame all my problems. Until now I used old age. It will be nice to branch out.

BREAKAST

My mornings are rather normal. At least think so. I start my day with a simple breakfast. Since dairy has been eliminated from my diet, I eat more eggs. I make them as many different ways as I know and shake up the system with different meats or hash browns. The possible exception to my morning routine from many others is that I don’t usually get dressed until I have eaten. I turn on a morning show to catch the weather then make my breakfast and sit in my comfortable chair to eat.

So Friday morning we had a free breakfast in our dining room and I went over to make the pancakes. It may have been a dumb decision, but I decided to wear my pajamas. That is the way I eat my breakfast. Well, I actually put a little more on for this special occasion. I pulled on my lounging pants (PJ’s) over my boxers, put on my socks and slippers (it was cold outside), put on a T-shirt and put on my lovely new Christmas robe.

I did not make a very grand entrance as only one person was in the kitchen when I arrived. What happened to you, she said. What, I said? Your hair! You forgot to comb it. I’m in pajamas and a bathrobe and she notices that I didn’t comb my hair. What do you have to do to get real attention around here? As others arrived they neglected to mention my hair. Did you forget to get dressed? Didn’t you have time to get dressed? What happened to you? Are your clothes all dirty? Well, maybe!

Since I was in the kitchen most didn’t notice me unless they came to the window to get coffee. Those comments were “Why are you wearing your bathrobe.” Or “What happened to your hair?” They acted like it was strange. So do you get dressed before you eat breakfast? Not always, but then I don’t leave my apartment. I just wanted to do this so it would be a normal breakfast experience and thought others would do the same. You’re kidding, right? Yes I was kidding. I just wanted to shake up The Home and add a little levity to the morning. It was fun for me. I’m not sure about the others.

All I know is that I ate too much and was sick to my stomach later that night. So maybe I was crazy. They all said so.

BATTLE LINES DRAWN

Very interesting day! With weather patterns constantly changing, the morning always begins with what each person heard. Of course that depends on what station you were listening to, watching or what your own reading said. Maybe snow, maybe not. I’m still surprise at how hard it is to predict costal weather.

For me it was interesting because I spent much of the morning with Maria. I took her to her doctor and then on to get a transit application for handicapped bus service. She needs it so I hope it works for her.

It was a normal morning until the return home. I do not know what trigger the conversation, but I got a completely different side of the Chas – Olivia story. This report was all about how wrong Chas was and what he did to hurt Olivia. As Sergeant Schultz always said, “Interesting, Very interesting.” Indeed.

I decided not to challenge anything she said or argue with her but to play dumb and ask gently and leading questions. She would like just thinking she knew more than I. Whenever there is conflict and there is never a totally innocent party. Guilt seems to always spread around to all parties. This perspective put it all on Chas’ shoulders. He is a rotten, good for nothing, miserable human being — or so I am to believe. Olivia is a sweet, innocent, crushed human spirit because of the anger and harassment of this man.

I now see them both as completely split personalities.

Nearly all of Maria’s attack on Chas came from his time living in the other building. I agree he was a nasty and angry man. He seemed to be in an argument with someone all the time and there was very few of his words that were kind. He was under attack often, but he always gave it right back. Now that I know him better I am very aware of how much he has changed, however, maybe not enough.

Yes she did file a restraining order and according to Maria it was in force. Chas most likely contributed to that rumor because he over reacted (like usual) seeing certain words and not reading the entire paper. Olivia had no choice. She believes she was falsely blamed for things that were his fault and believed the management wanted her out of here. She had no choice but to seek a court order. Right!

Chas is loud, — Olivia is sneaky. Chas over reacts — Olivia manipulates. Chas has a habit of talking too much — Olivia is a gossip who does not always tell the truth. What I really learned from our discussion today is that Maria has a very bad memory and had bought in completely to Olivia’s story. Sides are being chosen, battle lines drawn, weapons being developed, gray and blue uniforms are being sewn, forts are being built, councils are meeting and couriers are moving secrets and plans back and forth behind enemy lines.

Meanwhile, I am forming my own country that will remain neutral. I am going to call it Switzerland-O-Lakes.

BLIND AS A BAT

I could talk about the weather again, but I’d just say we are having some.

Gail got a similar camera for Christmas to the one I bought so I went up to her place and we compared notes and took a few pictures. Gail is a little leery of computers so I was showing her how the two would work together (I’m so technologically savvy). She is going to need an extended cord to hook her camera to her computer. That made her nervous. She asked me about a symbol in her instruction book and where it was on her camera I didn’t have that one. Where was the flowerpot? She couldn’t see it.

In the meantime Maria had arrived and was trying to figure out what we were talking about. Maria had been a photographer for the Navy in her early years. I have seen some of her work and it is very good. When I also failed to find the flowerpot symbol she said she would find it. I know I have said this before, but just to remind you Maria is nearly blind. The whole time she was looking over and over the camera Gail was eyeing me with a smirk. I knew what she was thinking. Maria can’t even see. Well, in time she laid the camera down and left. She was barely out the door when Gail burst into laughter. Needless to say, Maria never found the symbol either.

So I looked at the camera again and tried to get it into better light. I can see that several buttons have impressions on them, Black indentations on black buttons. Miss a button when making a selection and you will hit two buttons. The tiny symbols and artsy keys are impossible for those of us with failing eyesight to see. Everything is getting smaller while our eyes are getting weaker.

I get a kick out of people demanding ever larger and larger TV’s while they are getting smaller and smaller. Go figure.

Later I went to do my laundry and as usual someone has begun another puzzle. They were laying out another dark dreary lifeless picture of nearly identically colored animals or muted flowers surrounded by a sea of green. I have never wanted a puzzle to challenge me — I want a puzzle to be bright, with lots contrasting colors that will be fun to do. Moat people want the challenge. And there was another challenging one being laid out. There was only one that fit my criteria so I started to lay it out and nearly had the border completed when Maria arrived to let me know one had already been begun. I’m not taking it down. There is room for two puzzles. If some want to do the green puzzle, they may or they can do this Christmas one I have begun. That ended it and I am happy and will actually go and work on my puzzle now. I can also be selfish.

So you can see, life goes on. The blind try to lead the blind. The controlling try to control (that’s me). And we continue to laugh at the absurd. There’s lots to laugh about.

GO SEAHAWKS

During have time of the Seattle vs. New Orleans football game where all my NW friends are excited and shocked the Seattle is leading I decided try my camera again. I took e everything apart reinstalled and reconnected everything (expecting nothing) and low and behold everything worked and I set my camera aside to charge. Yes, I want to know what was wrong yesterday. Yes it ticks me off that is was so easy that it all worked today. Yes, I am happy that everything was easy today. Divided personality.

I had to watch the end of the game and was a shocked (but pleased) that Seattle won. Then in the next game the colts get knocked out the Jets. I’m surprised that both Manning and Brees are both out already. These guys are great. Enough about football! Because of the games I never worked with my new camera. Probably tomorrow.

I haven’t been this excited about football since Ronnie Lancaster led the Saskatchewan Roughriders. I miss those guys.

I have been watching film series from Netflix called “Pillars of the Earth.” Netflix describes it this way:

“Political conflict, grand passions and epic ambition fuel this Golden Globe-nominated miniseries set in 12th-century England that centers on the struggles of Prior Philip (Matthew Macfadyen), who's devoted to seeing the construction of Kingsbridge Cathedral. Meanwhile, civil war is roiling Britain as the result of a struggle for succession among King Henry's heirs, with history's outcome hinging on a portentous secret. Ian McShane also stars.”

Disc two came today and now that football is over I need to watch the next three episodes of the series. It captured my attention in the first two episodes and now I have to wait till Monday to see the end. By the way, I hate the character Ian McShane plays and thoroughly enjoy the redhead boy who becomes a sculptor — I think there’s more to him.

ANYONE CAN DO IT

I used to be the go to guy. The one who could make the office equipment work, the one who could figure out how to make mimeograph work and get the masters on and off with little ink on my fingers. I could un-jam the photocopier. I could set the alarm clock. I could get the VCR clock off 12:00, and I could hook up the turntable to the speakers.

I don’t really know when it all changed. It wasn’t immediate. It slowly took over my life and knocked me out. In 2000 I began taking in boys as a proctor parent. Most understand the new technology and enjoyed hooking up anything I needed connected. I didn’t think much about it. Things were beginning to get complicated, they wanted to do it and I liked that it was a way for them to contribute to our lives together. It seemed like a win-win situation.

It is ten years later and I don’t know anything! I feel dumber than dumb. My fifteen year-old 35 mm camera gave up the ghost on Christmas day. I miss it all ready because I knew how it worked. But I decided not to get it fixed. Instead I decided it was time to move into the digital age.

I’m a member of Staples rewards and had accumulated near $78 in rewards that I could use toward any purchase. I went on line and looked at all the cameras, studied the features (and variety of colors) but the numbers, symbols and abbreviations only confused me more. I figured out that mega pixels meant the more there were the clearer the photo would be (I think). The numbers 3x, 5x etc. seemed to refer to magnification. Beyond that, I was lost.

I like Staples. I buy paper and toner there all the time. But I have yet to find a sales person who knows much beyond computers and printers. At least today no one was working who knew cameras. I was told but the clerk that the one I liked was a good one. I suspect I would have been told that no matter which one I selected. Cost was the most important. Get the most for the least — the American way.

The new technology practically programs it’s self, the clerk said. Yeah, right. I brought it home, read the entire manual (a new experience for me) and attempted to follow the directions. Problem one should never had happen, but the arrow on the camera drawing appeared to be pointing to the wrong place. Ten hours later I got the holding strap on (slight exaggeration). Step two was to install the battery. The directions were very clear. I should turn off the camera before installing the battery. Uhh! Without a battery how did I know if it was off or on? Assuming it was off I inserted the battery as directed having checked how it went in multiple times. I only went in one way. I then attached the charger using the proper cords and plugged it in. A battery charging light was to go on. No it didn’t. So I tried, tried and tried again. Nothing. No light. Multiple screams.

When I believe I may ultimately find a solution to a problem I have no difficulty with perseverance. But this time I am going to bed and will try again tomorrow. I know I’m from the dark ages but this little camera that does everything but start the morning coffee is not going to beat me. And if it does — I am not going to tell anyone. I’m going to call my nine-year-old grandson.

MY LEFT FOOT (sounds like a movie)

Go figure. After all the tests I have gone through in December, it’s the podiatrist that found a problem. He’s pretty sure, but there will be more tests.

The growing problem is one I have lived with all my life. I have never given it a second thought. I knew that I limped like my father. I walk like my father. I always guessed it was hereditary. It’s not like there haven’t been problems before. There have, but everyone has problems and mine seemed insignificant.

The first I recall having foot problems was when there was frostbite on my left foot. This may be hard to believe, but I got that as a student in Regina, Saskatchewan (the tropics no doubt) on a very cold day. My car was scheduled for repairs so I took it to a place on Albert St. with the intent of catching a bus back to the college. It was so cold I decided to walk along the bus route toward the school hoping to stay a little warmer. No bus ever came and I got back the college with my feet freezing. At least now I know when cold weather is coming. We’ve had a couple of nice days, but we are headed back to colder weather. My weather foot has predicted so.

As I got older more and more people commented about my limp. It never bothered me so I ignored it. In ’94 I had terrible pain in my left leg and was sent to a neurologist. He told me my right leg was shorter because the binding at the lower part of my spinal cord is tipped. He predicted that whatever the problem was with my leg it would pass. I told my chiropractor who would then lengthen my right leg every couple months or so. Everything was good again. But I ran out of money to see Dr. Dawson.

Facing back pains while here, I found another chiropractor and while he helps is some ways, he wasn’t able to help with my leg.

Surprise, surprise – I’m getting older and my doctored referred me to a podiatrist. My right hip gives in when walking any distance. My left foot hurts in less that a block as it feels like I am walking on its side. I’m falling apart. Except that all the other specialists say nothing is wrong. What do they know.

Well my right hip twists forward when I walk and my left foot is rolling under more and more and if something doesn’t change I’ll be doing even more sitting that I already do. When people sit with feet outstretched, they form a “V”. My feet are right leaning parallel bars. The inside foot muscle is tightening up and the outside muscle is getting looser. See I am falling apart.

They plan to fit me with a brace to try and correct these muscles to the right position. I’m laughing. Now that I am old and limping more they want to fix something I have lived with my entire life. I have my doubts, but am willing to go along if Social Security will cover it. Maybe I will enjoy walking again.

Don’t feel sorry for me. I have a full life am in a great place and enjoy all that I have. My issues are minor in the big scheme of things. I have nothing to complain about. However that may come later.

BUT IT'S SO OBVIOUS

Some peoples kids! You would think by retirement age they would grow up, be considerate, roll with the punches or just be understanding. Instead many just get more and more selfish and demanding and stupid.

The weather has been unseasonable cold. Having lived in Canada I consider winter here to be somewhat mild. However, it feels a lot like Canada this winter. We had a water leak that ran into a couple of open parking spots in quest parking. Rocky put salt on it yesterday and it melted. This morning he and another maintenance man where trying to find the source of the leak. More ice had developed. It wasn’t enough that the men were outside in the cold and icy weather Joyce came along to give them grief for the ice and explain how dangerous it was and that it should have been fixed yesterday.

The ice was not located in any direct path to anywhere important. While it was near the garage door, it blocked nothing. Men were outside presently trying to correct the problem, but Joyce found it necessary to go on and on about what they should have done yesterday and why it was a top priority and demand to know what took them so long. After all she parked near there and could have gotten hurt.

She made Rocky so mad he had to walk away to keep from giving her what-for right then and there. He tried multiple times to get her to be quiet and move along. She continued ranting about the obvious. If there didn’t know about the problem, why were they there fixing it.

What is wrong with people? Who died and put them in charge? Why do some think their priorities ought to be everyone’s priorities? Why would it be against the law to put masking tape over the mouths of these people?

I have had dealings with this woman and try to leave when I see her coming. She is confused by everything. She asks the dumbest questions. She pries into things not her concern. In other words she is a pain in the _ _ _.

They are installing a card swipe system for our garage door. It presently works off radio waves, but there are so many strong radio systems in the area that create problems for our door that it must be operated electronically. That is why there will be a change. No one knows why it has taken so long to find this out, but Joyce demanded an explanation. She also wanted to know: 1) would we have to get out of our car to operate it? (There is not enough room in the garage for everyone to park and her spot is outside). 2) Would her arm get wet? (Since she parks outside, her whole body will get wet). (3) Would we still use our present door buttons? (She does not have an opener). 4) And my favorite — would there be more spaces inside the garage? They shoot horses don’t they?

Like I say, some people’s kids. I assume she was always out to lunch, one fry short of a happy meal, one card short of a full deck. She has most likely always been confused. Her husband was no doubt extremely frustrated. All I know is that she is driving Rocky and many others crazy. When she says these things she looks totally bewildered. Maybe she really is, but is she also blind? Must she harass a person to do a job they are doing?

It’s a weird world after all (Sing to the tune of It’s a Small World).

RESOLUTIONS OR COMMITTEES

Happy New Year! Let’s get things straight right from the beginning. I do not make New Year’s resolutions. Never have never will! I have no objection to those who do. My opposition Has no basis in superstition, nor any in religious beliefs. I object because it would just be one more area in my life where I might have to face failure. If you don’t make any goals it is very hard to miss the mark.

I had a phase (more than a phase, most of my life) where I lived by goals, projections, plans, schedule’s. Didn’t mind it at all. It was all a necessary evil. It had nothing to do with resolutions, but my personal life and committees. The eleventh commandment should be “Thou Shalt Not Committee.”

I spent 40 years or more attending committees of all kinds. I have no idea how many, but probably 1-2 a week for 40 years. It that was close I sat through 4,160 committees meetings. People still want me to work with a committee or two. NO, NO, NO! The worst was sitting through the same information in four different committee’s with each being just an ever-larger number listening in. No one ever believed me that there was a simpler way.

It was in the seventies that I really began to dislike committees. I did them because it was my job. I was a young new youth pastor serving in Canada when I was invited to represent the country on the international youth ministry committee. My head swelled. I had only two years under my belt and I was going to the Mecca of our denomination in New York City. I was movin’ to the top quickly and it was only 1966.

My first trip took me through Minneapolis and on the JFK. I took a tow can to the train and rode that to Grand Central Station than caught a cab to my hotel. I had come from the furthest distance and had to arrive the night before. Everyone else was close to the city and would arrive then next morning. I got in early so went for a walk. I had not idea where I was. The hotel was directly across the street from our headquarters on 44th. I could see it from my room window. I headed out for a walk. Being from the west I had never seen so many people on the streets at night. I walked one block east to Broadway. I could see Times Square to the north and shops galore to the south. I walked down until I found Macy’s. There was a bagger or street entertainer on every corner. The road was a sea of taxis. Eventually I turned around and walked to Times Square and turned right onto 42nd. My sheltered life had a hole poked in the bubble. Wow! There was an entire block of porn on both sides. When I reached Madison I went back to my hotel.

The new morning at the committee meeting I was told never to go out in this area of town by myself. One of the guys offered to show me around that night. I kept my mouth shut as I had been out for nearly two hours, had no fear, and nothing happened. That night Glen took me for a walk. Four individuals who wanted money from us approached us. When we turned down 42nd Street two female prostitutes and one male prostitute approached us. He offered to take us both on. Glen also pointed out a large number of both uniformed and undercover cops. I didn’t notice prostitutes or cops on my walk. Go figure.

It took only part of the first day of meetings to realize I had been trapped. I hated the meeting. They were working on various constitutions and arguing over the use of certain words. Frankly I didn’t care. I wanted the constitutions thrown out. Any suggestion to that end constitutions were laughed at. This was the beginning of my lifetime dislike of committees.

Now there I have always enjoyed planning and creating with a lively group. I lead by consensus. Don’t remember ever having a vote. A decision was made when all agreed.

OK this wandered from the original topic. That should only better explain why I don’t make resolutions.