Tomorrow we'll meet with the neurosurgeon to discuss the results of the recent brain MRI, and where we'll go from here. We can either let it ride for another 30 to 45-days, or we can go ahead with treatment right away. We're anxious to hear this doctor's opinion.
Until then it's just forging ahead with life as normal, or as normal as life gets.
Today we hope to do a little visiting in Red Lion. It's been too long, quite frankly, since we've been over. If today wouldn't work out for some reason, then it's going to be soon.
I have to ride the bike today. It's always tough for me to get started with exercise. But once I'm started I'm on my way and I push myself hard.
I hope to do a little Saturday cleaning around the house.
I still have a few piles of newspaper clippings, photos, artwork, and stuff from the past to try to sort into some kind of sensible order.
It's a typical Saturday. That's just the way I like it though. Life can be exciting enough.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
We'll Take That
My oncologist called from his cell phone yesterday from an airport. He was flying to Salt Lake City to help a friend who had taken ill.
Barb answered the call. After a brief, "Hello. How is everyone?" the doctor asked to speak to me.
This put both of us into a little panic attack. We both thought if the doctor is calling from an airport the day after my MRI of the brain that this could not be good news.
First the oncologist asked me how I was doing. I thought to myself, well I'm feeling good but is there a reason I shouldn't be? But I said to him that I've been feeling quite well, quite strong all things considered. I told him that I thought I've been doing well lately.
He said "Good."
Then he told me that the results of my MRI were exactly the same as the last MRI. That was good news.
There are three small lesions in the brain (really small) that we wanted to watch for a month, rather than just jump in and treat them. We wanted to see if they would get bigger, and how much bigger. We wanted to see if additional lesions would show up. We wanted to see if by some miracle the lesions might shrink.
They didn't do anything. They are all exactly the same as 45-days ago.
So we were celebrating.
We'll meet with the neurosurgeon on Monday to discuss what we want to do from here.
Barb answered the call. After a brief, "Hello. How is everyone?" the doctor asked to speak to me.
This put both of us into a little panic attack. We both thought if the doctor is calling from an airport the day after my MRI of the brain that this could not be good news.
First the oncologist asked me how I was doing. I thought to myself, well I'm feeling good but is there a reason I shouldn't be? But I said to him that I've been feeling quite well, quite strong all things considered. I told him that I thought I've been doing well lately.
He said "Good."
Then he told me that the results of my MRI were exactly the same as the last MRI. That was good news.
There are three small lesions in the brain (really small) that we wanted to watch for a month, rather than just jump in and treat them. We wanted to see if they would get bigger, and how much bigger. We wanted to see if additional lesions would show up. We wanted to see if by some miracle the lesions might shrink.
They didn't do anything. They are all exactly the same as 45-days ago.
So we were celebrating.
We'll meet with the neurosurgeon on Monday to discuss what we want to do from here.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Line It Up, Get It Done
I'm in a productive mood. I got back to exercising after about a week or two off. Wow, am I stiff this morning.
My soccer coach used to say that it takes a month to get into shape, and three days to fall out of shape. I believe that.
It's the turn for the bicycle this morning. I still don't feel quite good enough with my balance to actually take the bike out for a ride. But I have it set-up in the workout room to ride while watching the morning news. The news usually fires me up enough to pedal hard.
I had the MRI of my brain yesterday around noon. To me, no news is good news there. If they see something that they feel needs immediate attention they'll call. Otherwise I'll find out what everything looks like on Monday when Barb and I meet with the new neurosurgeon.
Not a very exciting day ahead in Marietta. It's just one of those taking care of business days, bills, correspondence, odds and ends. But as I've said many times, I'll take boring anytime. What's all the racing all about?
My soccer coach used to say that it takes a month to get into shape, and three days to fall out of shape. I believe that.
It's the turn for the bicycle this morning. I still don't feel quite good enough with my balance to actually take the bike out for a ride. But I have it set-up in the workout room to ride while watching the morning news. The news usually fires me up enough to pedal hard.
I had the MRI of my brain yesterday around noon. To me, no news is good news there. If they see something that they feel needs immediate attention they'll call. Otherwise I'll find out what everything looks like on Monday when Barb and I meet with the new neurosurgeon.
Not a very exciting day ahead in Marietta. It's just one of those taking care of business days, bills, correspondence, odds and ends. But as I've said many times, I'll take boring anytime. What's all the racing all about?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Looking Back
I've been going through a lot of clips and tidbits from my past recently. I'm trying to get them all in some sort of order, rather than just a huge, heaping pile filling up a cupboard in our office.
There is everything from my passport when I traveled to Ireland on a soccer trip in my early teenage years, to newspaper articles from basketball and soccer exploits in high school. It takes me back.
Typically I'm not much for living in the past. My philosophy is to not live in the past, and to never live with regrets, but to always look forward, to wake up and make the most of every day.
But just for fun I enjoy going through all this stuff. My Mom has kept after me to protect all of this stuff and get it into some kind of book for protection.
I'm often told that I never change. Looking at some of these old photos and newspaper articles, I guess that I haven't changed that much. I look a lot today like I did when I was a senior in high school.
Don't ask me how I've pulled that off. I don't know. I stay active. I always see myself as young. Although I keep getting reminders that I am indeed getting older.
After I chased a bunch of kids off my sidewalk the other day I thought to myself, "Wow, now I'm the grumpy old man chasing the kids away from my property."
I've also been on a networking site known as "Facebook" recently and that's connected me to a few people from my past as well. We had a fairly dysfunctional class at ELCO High School and were never a real cohesive unit. It was a rebelious time and we were a group of individuals, rather than individuals in a collective group.
During my senior year the school canceled virtually all activities due to concerns of general mischief and mayhem. We had no dances, no bonfire for homecoming, really nothing beyond the big items like prom and graduation. School administrators even threatened to cancel graduation. But the parents stepped in to assure that took place as planned.
So it's difficult connecting with many people from the past. It's hard finding many people from high school since folks have splintered out and many have left the area for more opportunities elsewhere.
Today I have an MRI of the brain scheduled for noon. The MRI should be very telling concerning the rate of growth and propagation of tumors in the brain. The brain is the main challenge right now in moving forward with this fight against cancer.
I've felt strong throughout the month of May, so I feel strong entering this MRI. The radiologists will have to look back to compare with today to chart our course forward from here. I guess history can always teach you something about how to best move forward.
There is everything from my passport when I traveled to Ireland on a soccer trip in my early teenage years, to newspaper articles from basketball and soccer exploits in high school. It takes me back.
Typically I'm not much for living in the past. My philosophy is to not live in the past, and to never live with regrets, but to always look forward, to wake up and make the most of every day.
But just for fun I enjoy going through all this stuff. My Mom has kept after me to protect all of this stuff and get it into some kind of book for protection.
I'm often told that I never change. Looking at some of these old photos and newspaper articles, I guess that I haven't changed that much. I look a lot today like I did when I was a senior in high school.
Don't ask me how I've pulled that off. I don't know. I stay active. I always see myself as young. Although I keep getting reminders that I am indeed getting older.
After I chased a bunch of kids off my sidewalk the other day I thought to myself, "Wow, now I'm the grumpy old man chasing the kids away from my property."
I've also been on a networking site known as "Facebook" recently and that's connected me to a few people from my past as well. We had a fairly dysfunctional class at ELCO High School and were never a real cohesive unit. It was a rebelious time and we were a group of individuals, rather than individuals in a collective group.
During my senior year the school canceled virtually all activities due to concerns of general mischief and mayhem. We had no dances, no bonfire for homecoming, really nothing beyond the big items like prom and graduation. School administrators even threatened to cancel graduation. But the parents stepped in to assure that took place as planned.
So it's difficult connecting with many people from the past. It's hard finding many people from high school since folks have splintered out and many have left the area for more opportunities elsewhere.
Today I have an MRI of the brain scheduled for noon. The MRI should be very telling concerning the rate of growth and propagation of tumors in the brain. The brain is the main challenge right now in moving forward with this fight against cancer.
I've felt strong throughout the month of May, so I feel strong entering this MRI. The radiologists will have to look back to compare with today to chart our course forward from here. I guess history can always teach you something about how to best move forward.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Back to Work
I'm guessing that today will not be the most productive day of the year in America. Everybody is coming off a three-day weekend and will probably be a little slow at getting started today.
Actually, I'm counting on it. I have to have my driver's license photo taken and I'm hoping that the crowd scene at the driver's license center isn't too bad. Typically it's terribly over-crowded and the wait is long and punishingly boring.
I know that the centers in Harrisburg and Lancaster are both always crowded. Last time I was in the Lancaster center there was an Indian or Pakastani man arguing quite loudly about how the identification he had should be accepted. He argued for quite awhile. But they weren't budging.
I'm going to try to sneak over to the driver's license center in Lebanon, in hopes that I'll meet less of a crowd, and less of a wait. We'll see how that goes.
But going to Lebanon also allows me to swing by Golf Road in Myerstown and drop off a couple of window air conditioners. Now that we have central air installed we have five window air conditioners just taking up space in the basement. If they can find good homes I'm more than happy to part with them for free, with no guarantees.
My Mom knows two people who could use a little a/c so I'm going to try to drop off two with her today. She's assured me that there are men lined up to install them for two ladies in town. I'm thrilled just to see them put to good use.
We had our rocking parade through town yesterday. Actually it was a little better than year's past. But it's still not much to write about.
Probably the most exciting aspect of the parade was watching five-year old Rodney up to his usual antics across the street, and all over the block. This kid is BAD.
Rodney had a plastic bag to collect as much thrown candy as possible. Bored before the parade started he pulled the bag over his head until someone finally warned him that this wasn't wise.
He didn't just chase down candy on his side of the street. He ran all over. He ran out in front of fire trucks, bands, anything. Does he have no fear or no brains? I think it's a toss-up, a little of both.
His parents were right there. Mom would try to control him. Once she slapped him. Rodney slapped her back. Dad didn't do much. He just kind of laughed at him.
Suddenly Rodney appeared at the entrance to their apartment with a full gallon of milk. He started drinking right out of the bottle, right there on the sidewalk, spilling it all over himself. Dad grabbed the bottle quick.
This is not a normal kid. There were kids all up and down the block. But there was only one kid acting like Rodney.
After the parade was over I peeked out the front window one more time to see how the crowd was clearing. Suddenly I saw a Harley tooling down the street (a fixture in any Marietta parade) and there was Rodney chasing it at full speed, right down the middle of the street.
Actually, I'm counting on it. I have to have my driver's license photo taken and I'm hoping that the crowd scene at the driver's license center isn't too bad. Typically it's terribly over-crowded and the wait is long and punishingly boring.
I know that the centers in Harrisburg and Lancaster are both always crowded. Last time I was in the Lancaster center there was an Indian or Pakastani man arguing quite loudly about how the identification he had should be accepted. He argued for quite awhile. But they weren't budging.
I'm going to try to sneak over to the driver's license center in Lebanon, in hopes that I'll meet less of a crowd, and less of a wait. We'll see how that goes.
But going to Lebanon also allows me to swing by Golf Road in Myerstown and drop off a couple of window air conditioners. Now that we have central air installed we have five window air conditioners just taking up space in the basement. If they can find good homes I'm more than happy to part with them for free, with no guarantees.
My Mom knows two people who could use a little a/c so I'm going to try to drop off two with her today. She's assured me that there are men lined up to install them for two ladies in town. I'm thrilled just to see them put to good use.
We had our rocking parade through town yesterday. Actually it was a little better than year's past. But it's still not much to write about.
Probably the most exciting aspect of the parade was watching five-year old Rodney up to his usual antics across the street, and all over the block. This kid is BAD.
Rodney had a plastic bag to collect as much thrown candy as possible. Bored before the parade started he pulled the bag over his head until someone finally warned him that this wasn't wise.
He didn't just chase down candy on his side of the street. He ran all over. He ran out in front of fire trucks, bands, anything. Does he have no fear or no brains? I think it's a toss-up, a little of both.
His parents were right there. Mom would try to control him. Once she slapped him. Rodney slapped her back. Dad didn't do much. He just kind of laughed at him.
Suddenly Rodney appeared at the entrance to their apartment with a full gallon of milk. He started drinking right out of the bottle, right there on the sidewalk, spilling it all over himself. Dad grabbed the bottle quick.
This is not a normal kid. There were kids all up and down the block. But there was only one kid acting like Rodney.
After the parade was over I peeked out the front window one more time to see how the crowd was clearing. Suddenly I saw a Harley tooling down the street (a fixture in any Marietta parade) and there was Rodney chasing it at full speed, right down the middle of the street.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Thank You
Whether you're for or against some of the actions our military has taken over the years, there really is no question about how thankful we should all be to all of those who have served.
Our soldiers have nothing to do with the debates that may go on in Congress or the Pentagon, they're just carrying out orders. War is not pretty. But our soldiers carry it out with more grace and care then any other.
Nothing in life is perfect. Mistakes are made. But those who risk their lives to protect our freedom and our way of life are endlessly in our debt. If you don't support Washington, please still support Private Joe Smith from Topeka, Kansas.
To all of those who have served in the military - thank you.
Our flag is flying in front of our house proudly this morning.
Our soldiers have nothing to do with the debates that may go on in Congress or the Pentagon, they're just carrying out orders. War is not pretty. But our soldiers carry it out with more grace and care then any other.
Nothing in life is perfect. Mistakes are made. But those who risk their lives to protect our freedom and our way of life are endlessly in our debt. If you don't support Washington, please still support Private Joe Smith from Topeka, Kansas.
To all of those who have served in the military - thank you.
Our flag is flying in front of our house proudly this morning.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Nature of Things
All my life mosquitoes have had a field-day with me. I never feel them land on me. They absolutely, positively love to dine on me. And I ended up with big, swollen, itchy bumps all over the place, all summer long.
The strange thing was when I was diagnosed with cancer, and started on chemotherapy, I noticed that I never got a mosquito bite again. Not one bite. Never.
This was so odd to me.
I knew people who never got bit by mosquitoes. I knew one gentleman who claimed that if a mosquito would bite him the mosquito would drop and die right there. I've known people like me who get bit all over, all the time.
Body chemistry can be so delicate. A lot of medicine is all about chemistry. It's amazing that just a little pill, of precisely measured components, can affect and alter the body as a whole - or even specific targets.
The chemotherapy I take is just a regular sized capsule that I take with a glass of water once a day. The components in this capsule somehow target cancer concentrations, by seeking out cells that are reproducing at the fastest rates, and it cuts off blood and protein supplies to these cells - thus killing them.
Amazing.
The past few weeks I have noticed something else amazing. The mosquitos are starting to bite me again. I had a huge, swollen, itchy lump on my left thigh last night.
The strange thing was when I was diagnosed with cancer, and started on chemotherapy, I noticed that I never got a mosquito bite again. Not one bite. Never.
This was so odd to me.
I knew people who never got bit by mosquitoes. I knew one gentleman who claimed that if a mosquito would bite him the mosquito would drop and die right there. I've known people like me who get bit all over, all the time.
Body chemistry can be so delicate. A lot of medicine is all about chemistry. It's amazing that just a little pill, of precisely measured components, can affect and alter the body as a whole - or even specific targets.
The chemotherapy I take is just a regular sized capsule that I take with a glass of water once a day. The components in this capsule somehow target cancer concentrations, by seeking out cells that are reproducing at the fastest rates, and it cuts off blood and protein supplies to these cells - thus killing them.
Amazing.
The past few weeks I have noticed something else amazing. The mosquitos are starting to bite me again. I had a huge, swollen, itchy lump on my left thigh last night.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Good Meeting with the Doctor
First of all, I need to say how great it was to see Muk this past weekend. Muk was up from Florida to visit with my Dad and family, and to attend the Myerstown High School reunion. My Mom and Muk were kind enough to visit us here in Marietta.
It was great to see her.
"Muk" is Martha, my aunt, my father's sister. They tell me when I was tiny and tried to say Martha I instead said "Muk," and it stuck. (shrugging shoulders) It's always worked for me.
We're glad to hear that Muk is safely and comfortably back in Florida.
Barb and I met with the oncologist yesterday. He's really been an outstanding doctor. And we had a very good meeting yesterday.
He gave me a good lookover like always and told me that everything checks out. The evidence right now suggests that the chemo Sutent is working well on the "disease" and keeping everything in control.
My eating's good, digestion is good, energy has been pretty high, May has been a pretty strong month.
The plan is to have a CT scan after every three-months of Sutent. The next one would be due in July. Instead of a CT scan the doc would like to do a PET scan, and we think that's a good idea.
A PET scan is just like a CT scan but with an added bonus. They inject me with radioactive sugar, let the sugar work through my body for an hour, then let the scanner check for areas in the body that are actively utilizing the radioactive sugar. Those areas light up on the scan an indicate probable active cancer activity.
The oncologist feels that some of my tumors that have shown on CT scans may now actually be just dead tissue, still showing on the CT scan but difficult to differentiate from active cancer. The PET scan will show the active areas. It's a good idea. He's a sharp doctor. I'm in good hands.
The ongoing challenge this year will be the "seeding" of the cancer in the brain. It's there now. It's not just a fluke instance.
But we're not without options, especially in the hands of a new neurosurgeon.
We "broke up" with our now former neurosurgeon. At least it seemed like breaking up with a girlfriend. It was odd.
We weren't happy with him quite frankly. He was the first doctor to put me on a powerful steroid known as Decadron, and he did so without any instructions or guidance. This thing is so powerful you have to ween off it very gradually. I pulled right off cold from high doses and paid the price for it.
I never was warned that Decadron often causes "thrush," a fungal growth in the mouth. You guessed it. I caught it.
He basically never communicated at all.
The final straw was when he suggested a second round of whole brain radiation. It's an absolute no-no. A second round is virtually assured of causing permanent brain damage.
After this neurosurgeon learned that I was going to switch to another, he called me at home. It was like breaking up with a girlfriend, as I mentioned.
He told me that I was making a huge mistake, that I was really screwing up. He told me the doctor I was switching to was just a "trainee." He begged me to reconsider.
It was really strange.
I felt obliged to share this story with my oncologist.
"Jim, what is your gut feeling on this thing?" the doctor asked me.
"I think I'm a dollar sign," I said, "and the doctor is upset about losing business."
"You got it," the doctor answered. I could tell from his reaction that he was disgusted by it, and had already run into this situation with another patient.
There are great doctors out there, and there are not-so-great doctors out there. There are doctors that relate well to me, but may not to you. But one thing I've certainly learned from my experience is to work on getting the best health team around you that's right for you. It can make such a difference.
It was great to see her.
"Muk" is Martha, my aunt, my father's sister. They tell me when I was tiny and tried to say Martha I instead said "Muk," and it stuck. (shrugging shoulders) It's always worked for me.
We're glad to hear that Muk is safely and comfortably back in Florida.
Barb and I met with the oncologist yesterday. He's really been an outstanding doctor. And we had a very good meeting yesterday.
He gave me a good lookover like always and told me that everything checks out. The evidence right now suggests that the chemo Sutent is working well on the "disease" and keeping everything in control.
My eating's good, digestion is good, energy has been pretty high, May has been a pretty strong month.
The plan is to have a CT scan after every three-months of Sutent. The next one would be due in July. Instead of a CT scan the doc would like to do a PET scan, and we think that's a good idea.
A PET scan is just like a CT scan but with an added bonus. They inject me with radioactive sugar, let the sugar work through my body for an hour, then let the scanner check for areas in the body that are actively utilizing the radioactive sugar. Those areas light up on the scan an indicate probable active cancer activity.
The oncologist feels that some of my tumors that have shown on CT scans may now actually be just dead tissue, still showing on the CT scan but difficult to differentiate from active cancer. The PET scan will show the active areas. It's a good idea. He's a sharp doctor. I'm in good hands.
The ongoing challenge this year will be the "seeding" of the cancer in the brain. It's there now. It's not just a fluke instance.
But we're not without options, especially in the hands of a new neurosurgeon.
We "broke up" with our now former neurosurgeon. At least it seemed like breaking up with a girlfriend. It was odd.
We weren't happy with him quite frankly. He was the first doctor to put me on a powerful steroid known as Decadron, and he did so without any instructions or guidance. This thing is so powerful you have to ween off it very gradually. I pulled right off cold from high doses and paid the price for it.
I never was warned that Decadron often causes "thrush," a fungal growth in the mouth. You guessed it. I caught it.
He basically never communicated at all.
The final straw was when he suggested a second round of whole brain radiation. It's an absolute no-no. A second round is virtually assured of causing permanent brain damage.
After this neurosurgeon learned that I was going to switch to another, he called me at home. It was like breaking up with a girlfriend, as I mentioned.
He told me that I was making a huge mistake, that I was really screwing up. He told me the doctor I was switching to was just a "trainee." He begged me to reconsider.
It was really strange.
I felt obliged to share this story with my oncologist.
"Jim, what is your gut feeling on this thing?" the doctor asked me.
"I think I'm a dollar sign," I said, "and the doctor is upset about losing business."
"You got it," the doctor answered. I could tell from his reaction that he was disgusted by it, and had already run into this situation with another patient.
There are great doctors out there, and there are not-so-great doctors out there. There are doctors that relate well to me, but may not to you. But one thing I've certainly learned from my experience is to work on getting the best health team around you that's right for you. It can make such a difference.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Tough Decisions
I've been following my Dad's progress as closely as I can. It's a tough time for the family. It's been a tough time for my Mom.
On one hand, we all want to see my Dad come back home. On the other hand, we all want to ensure that he's safe. As in everything in life there are pluses and minuses on both sides.
My Dad did try to get up from his wheelchair two-days ago and fell again. He was alright. But the number of his falls in recent times tells us that there will be more falls to come. He still refuses to use a walker or even a cane. With his memory problems I'm not even sure that he remembers his falls. Possibly if he remembered these falls he would be more apt to use the walker or the cane.
The memory issues are unique. My Dad is fixated on his career - accounting. He often asks for his papers. He asks for his wallet. He asks to go to the post office. He trys to call meetings to discuss non-existent financial issues. It's all very peculiar. The mind is a marvel that we're far from understanding.
It's hard for all of us because we all know who my Dad truly is, and always has been, and it's not what he is now. He's a rock, a constant calm among any storm, someone who is wise and witty, and someone who could always be depended upon.
Now it's our turn to take care of him.
But where is the best place for my Dad?
If he comes home will he start cooking something on the stove and forget about it? It's happened already. Will he take it upon himself to burn trash and almost set the yard on fire? It's happened already. Will he take another fall and injure himself. Inevitably it will happen.
Alone with my Mom is it even conceivable that she could track him night and day making sure that every move of his is watched? She would never be able to sleep again.
At Spang Crest they have a full staff of trained nurses. They have my Dad rigged with alarms so if he tries to get up and start walking around without supervision the staff is alerted immediately. They have doctors to regularly check up on him.
More and more it looks like coming home may not be the best option for my Dad's general health and safety. Ultimately it will be up to my Mom. It's a very trying and difficult decision. But I know she will do what is best for my Dad. And she will have all of our support each and every step of the way.
On one hand, we all want to see my Dad come back home. On the other hand, we all want to ensure that he's safe. As in everything in life there are pluses and minuses on both sides.
My Dad did try to get up from his wheelchair two-days ago and fell again. He was alright. But the number of his falls in recent times tells us that there will be more falls to come. He still refuses to use a walker or even a cane. With his memory problems I'm not even sure that he remembers his falls. Possibly if he remembered these falls he would be more apt to use the walker or the cane.
The memory issues are unique. My Dad is fixated on his career - accounting. He often asks for his papers. He asks for his wallet. He asks to go to the post office. He trys to call meetings to discuss non-existent financial issues. It's all very peculiar. The mind is a marvel that we're far from understanding.
It's hard for all of us because we all know who my Dad truly is, and always has been, and it's not what he is now. He's a rock, a constant calm among any storm, someone who is wise and witty, and someone who could always be depended upon.
Now it's our turn to take care of him.
But where is the best place for my Dad?
If he comes home will he start cooking something on the stove and forget about it? It's happened already. Will he take it upon himself to burn trash and almost set the yard on fire? It's happened already. Will he take another fall and injure himself. Inevitably it will happen.
Alone with my Mom is it even conceivable that she could track him night and day making sure that every move of his is watched? She would never be able to sleep again.
At Spang Crest they have a full staff of trained nurses. They have my Dad rigged with alarms so if he tries to get up and start walking around without supervision the staff is alerted immediately. They have doctors to regularly check up on him.
More and more it looks like coming home may not be the best option for my Dad's general health and safety. Ultimately it will be up to my Mom. It's a very trying and difficult decision. But I know she will do what is best for my Dad. And she will have all of our support each and every step of the way.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Life is Like the Ocean
For a long time, don't ask me why, I've always equated life to the ocean. As you stand there in the surf, you never know what's coming next. A lull can suddenly be broken by a big, strong wave and knock you over. Don't ever turn your back on the ocean...or life. It might surprise you.
Us humans are interesting creatures. If you've ever stopped to look at an ant mound, that's us on the Earth. We're everywhere.
We've dominated. We've cultivated. We've destroyed.
I honestly believe that for the most part we believe that we are in control of nature, rather than at the mercy of it. We build a major city beneath sea level, flaunting our egos over nature with locks and levees to control water itself.
Two of the most expensive pieces of real estate in this country are both built on landfills, Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco and Manhattan in New York City.
I've tried to control my backyard and have had some successes and some failures, and I noticed that the decisions are made by nature. I am just a pawn.
The azaleas were getting more sun than they liked. The butterfly bush wasn't getting enough sun. The ferns are doubling in number every year.
I'm trying to read my backyard like the ocean. Pay attention, watch for what nature is dictating, work out my timing, try to be in the right spot at the right time, and then ride that wave all the way to shore kicking and screaming with elation and joy.
I'd love to get a grand vegetable garden going. But we have too much shade and very little consistent sun. The shade is great for keeping the house and property cool during the hot, humid summers. But it's not to great for cucumbers.
I have to have some tomato plants though. There's just nothing like a fresh tomato, ripened on the vine, and picked right out of your own yard.
It's on our schedule for this morning.
Tomorrow Barb and I will meet with the oncologist for a regularly scheduled appointment. Everything has been going pretty well for me this month. But we will have some assorted things to discuss, always something to discuss.
We work hard to make nature our servant, rather than us being a servant of nature.
Us humans are interesting creatures. If you've ever stopped to look at an ant mound, that's us on the Earth. We're everywhere.
We've dominated. We've cultivated. We've destroyed.
I honestly believe that for the most part we believe that we are in control of nature, rather than at the mercy of it. We build a major city beneath sea level, flaunting our egos over nature with locks and levees to control water itself.
Two of the most expensive pieces of real estate in this country are both built on landfills, Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco and Manhattan in New York City.
I've tried to control my backyard and have had some successes and some failures, and I noticed that the decisions are made by nature. I am just a pawn.
The azaleas were getting more sun than they liked. The butterfly bush wasn't getting enough sun. The ferns are doubling in number every year.
I'm trying to read my backyard like the ocean. Pay attention, watch for what nature is dictating, work out my timing, try to be in the right spot at the right time, and then ride that wave all the way to shore kicking and screaming with elation and joy.
I'd love to get a grand vegetable garden going. But we have too much shade and very little consistent sun. The shade is great for keeping the house and property cool during the hot, humid summers. But it's not to great for cucumbers.
I have to have some tomato plants though. There's just nothing like a fresh tomato, ripened on the vine, and picked right out of your own yard.
It's on our schedule for this morning.
Tomorrow Barb and I will meet with the oncologist for a regularly scheduled appointment. Everything has been going pretty well for me this month. But we will have some assorted things to discuss, always something to discuss.
We work hard to make nature our servant, rather than us being a servant of nature.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Our Favorite Day!
A little sarcasm there, we really don't care for the grocery store that much.
Today is grocery day, which means a trip to the butcher, to the grocery store, and we even have to stop at the vet's to get Freckle's food.
I don't know what it is about the grocery store, but it almost always wears me out. It's not like anything I'm doing is that difficult. I think I usually start feeling the fatique when we get into the cleaning solutions stuff aisle, followed directly by the beauty and health products aisle.
It reminds me of when my Mom took me into women's clothing sections at the department store and I was so bored I could cry.
But Barb and I almost always remind each other on our way in the store, "Let's make the most of it." And we do.
Barb's got the list and is in charge of picking out everything we need. I'm in charge of packing the cart neatly to take greatest advantage of the space available. We always, always, forget one thing, just one.
I do my best to stay out of people's way, and try to ensure that I don't get run over by anyone. The store we go to has carts with little cars attached to the front of the cart. A child can sit in the car and pretend he's driving. Some Moms like to use this feature as a weapon.
"My kid's in the front and I'm not stopping so you better get out of the way!"
I dive into the spices and hear her growl as she wheels past.
The butcher really isn't that busy during a weekday mid-morning. They know us. We're regulars. We talk and joke while they make sure we're getting the freshest sheet of bacon.
Not an exciting day in Marietta.
But there will likely be chocolate chip cookies on my kitchen counter by noon today. That's enough to get me plenty excited.
Today is grocery day, which means a trip to the butcher, to the grocery store, and we even have to stop at the vet's to get Freckle's food.
I don't know what it is about the grocery store, but it almost always wears me out. It's not like anything I'm doing is that difficult. I think I usually start feeling the fatique when we get into the cleaning solutions stuff aisle, followed directly by the beauty and health products aisle.
It reminds me of when my Mom took me into women's clothing sections at the department store and I was so bored I could cry.
But Barb and I almost always remind each other on our way in the store, "Let's make the most of it." And we do.
Barb's got the list and is in charge of picking out everything we need. I'm in charge of packing the cart neatly to take greatest advantage of the space available. We always, always, forget one thing, just one.
I do my best to stay out of people's way, and try to ensure that I don't get run over by anyone. The store we go to has carts with little cars attached to the front of the cart. A child can sit in the car and pretend he's driving. Some Moms like to use this feature as a weapon.
"My kid's in the front and I'm not stopping so you better get out of the way!"
I dive into the spices and hear her growl as she wheels past.
The butcher really isn't that busy during a weekday mid-morning. They know us. We're regulars. We talk and joke while they make sure we're getting the freshest sheet of bacon.
Not an exciting day in Marietta.
But there will likely be chocolate chip cookies on my kitchen counter by noon today. That's enough to get me plenty excited.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Ellis and the Cougar
Ellis stopped by for a visit on Saturday and as he came storming through the kitchen he saw me and asked "Where's the cougar?"
By cougar, Ellis meant Freckles, our big, unsocial, tom cat.
Ellis first mission when he comes to our house is always to find Freckles. He likes when Freckles hisses and shows his teeth. He thinks it's cool.
I happened to know exactly where Freckles was hiding, so I asked Ellis to follow me and I'd help him find the "cougar."
Freckles was behind a small bookshelf that is behind my desk. I could only see his eyes and the top of his ears.
"Now be very quiet," I said to Ellis. I sneaked up towards Freckles. Ellis started to tip toe too. I stopped about five-feet short of the cat and quietly pointed him out to Ellis.
Ellis smiled. He was thrilled to see him.
I explained to Ellis that we shouldn't get too close. And after studying Freckles for a minute I convinced Ellis that we should leave him be and return to the kitchen.
Or did I convince him.
In a minute or two I felt a pull at my shorts. It was Ellis. He had snuck back over to visit Freckles some more.
"I got a little closer to him," Ellis said, full of excitement. "He looked at me and went 'HISSSSSS'." Ellis showed his teeth and tried to mimic the cougar.
Ellis was happy.
Saturday was Marietta Day here in town. We're right in the heart of it. There's some good food, and a lot for sale from both out-of-town vendors and residents' yard sales. I like the food, and I like to people watch. We've got a lot of strange characters in this town.
The best part is having great family and friends stop by. The Painters stopped by and I haven't seen them for awhile. Also "Cookie" and her beau stopped in for a visit. It was great to see Cookie again. I just love the fact that we have a friend named "Cookie."
Alyssa was here, and Susan and Bill, and Debbie and Ellis, and it was great to see them all.
Bill disappeared on me after the first sausage sandwich (with the works). Later I had discovered that he had gone out back and fixed some copper pipe to repair our outdoor spicket.
I was really hoping that he'd just enjoy the food and relax. He certainly deserves it. But Barb and I are both very grateful to Bill for not just fixing this, but all the things he does.
Sunday Muk came to town for a visit. We would have traveled to Myerstown. But my Mom did want to see our new furniture.
It was great to see Muk. She's always been so supportive, loving and caring. She's quite a woman.
Every now and then in college I would get a note from the postman that I had an oversized package to pick-up at the post office. When I would pick it up it would be a shoe box full of brownies, or banana bread, or cookies, and it was from Muk.
Through my cancer fight Muk never hesitates to call with support or send a card to remind us that she is thinking of us.
She is golden. She is magic.
With the family and friends I have around me, how can't I be the luckiest guy in the world?
By cougar, Ellis meant Freckles, our big, unsocial, tom cat.
Ellis first mission when he comes to our house is always to find Freckles. He likes when Freckles hisses and shows his teeth. He thinks it's cool.
I happened to know exactly where Freckles was hiding, so I asked Ellis to follow me and I'd help him find the "cougar."
Freckles was behind a small bookshelf that is behind my desk. I could only see his eyes and the top of his ears.
"Now be very quiet," I said to Ellis. I sneaked up towards Freckles. Ellis started to tip toe too. I stopped about five-feet short of the cat and quietly pointed him out to Ellis.
Ellis smiled. He was thrilled to see him.
I explained to Ellis that we shouldn't get too close. And after studying Freckles for a minute I convinced Ellis that we should leave him be and return to the kitchen.
Or did I convince him.
In a minute or two I felt a pull at my shorts. It was Ellis. He had snuck back over to visit Freckles some more.
"I got a little closer to him," Ellis said, full of excitement. "He looked at me and went 'HISSSSSS'." Ellis showed his teeth and tried to mimic the cougar.
Ellis was happy.
Saturday was Marietta Day here in town. We're right in the heart of it. There's some good food, and a lot for sale from both out-of-town vendors and residents' yard sales. I like the food, and I like to people watch. We've got a lot of strange characters in this town.
The best part is having great family and friends stop by. The Painters stopped by and I haven't seen them for awhile. Also "Cookie" and her beau stopped in for a visit. It was great to see Cookie again. I just love the fact that we have a friend named "Cookie."
Alyssa was here, and Susan and Bill, and Debbie and Ellis, and it was great to see them all.
Bill disappeared on me after the first sausage sandwich (with the works). Later I had discovered that he had gone out back and fixed some copper pipe to repair our outdoor spicket.
I was really hoping that he'd just enjoy the food and relax. He certainly deserves it. But Barb and I are both very grateful to Bill for not just fixing this, but all the things he does.
Sunday Muk came to town for a visit. We would have traveled to Myerstown. But my Mom did want to see our new furniture.
It was great to see Muk. She's always been so supportive, loving and caring. She's quite a woman.
Every now and then in college I would get a note from the postman that I had an oversized package to pick-up at the post office. When I would pick it up it would be a shoe box full of brownies, or banana bread, or cookies, and it was from Muk.
Through my cancer fight Muk never hesitates to call with support or send a card to remind us that she is thinking of us.
She is golden. She is magic.
With the family and friends I have around me, how can't I be the luckiest guy in the world?
Friday, May 15, 2009
Quick Friday Update
I haven't gotten the 7 a.m. call this morning from the air conditioning contractors, even though it is quite soggy out this morning.
They had to cancel planned work yesterday because of rain. It's supposed to dry up today so I'm hoping things can get wrapped up today if possible.
If not, no biggie. These guys have been extremely polite and professional. I think they are the cleanest contractors I've ever worked with. They carry a big Shop-Vac with them everywhere and leave less dirt behind than Freckles the big, hairy cat.
We're going to tidy-up the house and yard today in case anyone stops by for Marietta Days tomorrow.
Alyssa brought up a very good point at our usual Thursday night get-together last evening when she asked, "Why do they call it Marietta Days? Isn't it just one day?"
She's right. It is only one day. Actually it's about six-hours of sausage sandwiches and french fries. I know they have other stuff too but I only care about the food. Please, please, please, let the crab cake sandwiches come back again this year!
I've been feeling pretty good through this month, pretty strong, all things considered. I mean I am looking at over two-years of continuous chemo treatments. That'll knock you around a little bit. But I'm big and dumb and I just keep grinding through it.
There is supposed to be a unique special on TV tonight. It's a film that Farrah Fawcett filmed of her own cancer struggle up to the point she is now, which reportedly isn't very good.
I don't know if I'll watch it or not. But I did set it up to record at the least.
I think I've already been living that film without having to watch. It may all be a little too familiar. But then again I may learn things from a different person's perspective. We'll see.
They had to cancel planned work yesterday because of rain. It's supposed to dry up today so I'm hoping things can get wrapped up today if possible.
If not, no biggie. These guys have been extremely polite and professional. I think they are the cleanest contractors I've ever worked with. They carry a big Shop-Vac with them everywhere and leave less dirt behind than Freckles the big, hairy cat.
We're going to tidy-up the house and yard today in case anyone stops by for Marietta Days tomorrow.
Alyssa brought up a very good point at our usual Thursday night get-together last evening when she asked, "Why do they call it Marietta Days? Isn't it just one day?"
She's right. It is only one day. Actually it's about six-hours of sausage sandwiches and french fries. I know they have other stuff too but I only care about the food. Please, please, please, let the crab cake sandwiches come back again this year!
I've been feeling pretty good through this month, pretty strong, all things considered. I mean I am looking at over two-years of continuous chemo treatments. That'll knock you around a little bit. But I'm big and dumb and I just keep grinding through it.
There is supposed to be a unique special on TV tonight. It's a film that Farrah Fawcett filmed of her own cancer struggle up to the point she is now, which reportedly isn't very good.
I don't know if I'll watch it or not. But I did set it up to record at the least.
I think I've already been living that film without having to watch. It may all be a little too familiar. But then again I may learn things from a different person's perspective. We'll see.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Walking Jukebox
Do you remember a show called the "Banana Splits?" It was a Saturday morning kids' show when I was young.
I was cooking dinner the other day, when unexplicably, I suddenly started singing the theme song to the Banana Splits.
"Tra la la, la la la la, tra la la, la la la la, we'll have fun for everyone. Lot's of fun for everyone."
Barb started cracking up.
Where did that song suddenly come from?
I swear that I do have an infliction. I have a million songs in my head and one can pop out at anytime. I might not know all the words. But that's alright. I seem to be able to make them up as I go.
This morning I started singing Joe Jackson's "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" I haven't heard that song for years and years. But, suddenly, there it was.
Barb knows lyrics. It amazes me how she memorizes songs. And I mean she has them down to a "T." Her memory fascinates me.
I'm more of a philosophical guy. I tend to study and look at big pictures and have to work hard to collect my facts and details.
Barb is just the opposite. She'd rather leave the big philosophical stuff alone. But she is all over the details.
It's tough. If I screw up and do something wrong...I guarantee that she will remember it. And she does...but she's pretty nice to me anyway.
Barb and I are different. But we're a team. We are one. We accept our weaknesses and strengths and try to compliment one another appropriately. We talk. We're best friends. We never argue. What's the point? We just find middle ground.
I'm not stubborn. I'll meet in the middle. I try to avoid conflict at all cost.
Quite frankly the only time I have to get worked up in life anymore is when I have yet another billing snafu with my health insurer. It seems like I'm always juggling a problem with Aetna.
I had to make a call this week. I've taken an approach of trying to be really nice to the customer service representatives even if they're not nice, nor smart, nor helpful. Getting them mad just seems to make things worse.
This week I have a bill that both the hospital and Aetna agree is not my responsibility. But since the hospital and Aetna do not agree on which one of them should accept responsibility for this billing they're just trying to brush it aside and hope that I will pay it.
As I entered my first in a series of phone calls to try to straighten this out for the third time, I said to Barb, "Well here goes two-hours of my life that I'll never get back."
Still no results.
I don't know. Are they asking me to get mad?
I was cooking dinner the other day, when unexplicably, I suddenly started singing the theme song to the Banana Splits.
"Tra la la, la la la la, tra la la, la la la la, we'll have fun for everyone. Lot's of fun for everyone."
Barb started cracking up.
Where did that song suddenly come from?
I swear that I do have an infliction. I have a million songs in my head and one can pop out at anytime. I might not know all the words. But that's alright. I seem to be able to make them up as I go.
This morning I started singing Joe Jackson's "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" I haven't heard that song for years and years. But, suddenly, there it was.
Barb knows lyrics. It amazes me how she memorizes songs. And I mean she has them down to a "T." Her memory fascinates me.
I'm more of a philosophical guy. I tend to study and look at big pictures and have to work hard to collect my facts and details.
Barb is just the opposite. She'd rather leave the big philosophical stuff alone. But she is all over the details.
It's tough. If I screw up and do something wrong...I guarantee that she will remember it. And she does...but she's pretty nice to me anyway.
Barb and I are different. But we're a team. We are one. We accept our weaknesses and strengths and try to compliment one another appropriately. We talk. We're best friends. We never argue. What's the point? We just find middle ground.
I'm not stubborn. I'll meet in the middle. I try to avoid conflict at all cost.
Quite frankly the only time I have to get worked up in life anymore is when I have yet another billing snafu with my health insurer. It seems like I'm always juggling a problem with Aetna.
I had to make a call this week. I've taken an approach of trying to be really nice to the customer service representatives even if they're not nice, nor smart, nor helpful. Getting them mad just seems to make things worse.
This week I have a bill that both the hospital and Aetna agree is not my responsibility. But since the hospital and Aetna do not agree on which one of them should accept responsibility for this billing they're just trying to brush it aside and hope that I will pay it.
As I entered my first in a series of phone calls to try to straighten this out for the third time, I said to Barb, "Well here goes two-hours of my life that I'll never get back."
Still no results.
I don't know. Are they asking me to get mad?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Economics
I'll never be a rich man.
I just don't have what it takes.
I had to take an Economics class at Ohio University. It was part of a core curriculum that every student had to take. It was not a strong subject for me.
It was a big class, one of those auditorium style classes with about 75 students or so. I slunched in my seat every class about mid-way through the seating. With alphabetical order seating all through high school, I've had enough of the front row.
One day the professor presented us with a situation. We owned a business and made a product that became very popular. Now what would our reaction be to this popularity, he asked? Would we raise our prices for the product? Or would we lower our prices for the product?
Suddenly he pointed at me and said, "Mr. Albert?"
Dang! He probably didn't like my slouching.
I thought about his question for a second, and I answered, "Well I guess if my product is popular I can afford to give my customers a break and lower prices."
"NO!" he screamed. "Please see me after class."
Oh man.
I met him after class and he gave me a little mini-lecture on how American economics work. If your product is popular, he explained, than you charge more because there will be more demand. It's all about suppy and demand, he said to my face of stone. He suggested we have a couple of one on one sessions in his office to make sure I passed his class.
I did meet with him on several occasions. We talked about such enthralling topics as "guns and butter," evidently a financial term to express the two different sides of spending.
I did fine in the class. I think I got a "B." Maybe it was a "C." I know it wasn't an "A."
But my mind still doesn't wrap around the ideals of American economics. To me it's just greed. If I had more money than I needed I would share it. I really don't have the killer instinct in the first place to want more, more, more.
I guess that makes me a poor example of an American. But I'm just hoping that it makes me a good example of a human being.
I just don't have what it takes.
I had to take an Economics class at Ohio University. It was part of a core curriculum that every student had to take. It was not a strong subject for me.
It was a big class, one of those auditorium style classes with about 75 students or so. I slunched in my seat every class about mid-way through the seating. With alphabetical order seating all through high school, I've had enough of the front row.
One day the professor presented us with a situation. We owned a business and made a product that became very popular. Now what would our reaction be to this popularity, he asked? Would we raise our prices for the product? Or would we lower our prices for the product?
Suddenly he pointed at me and said, "Mr. Albert?"
Dang! He probably didn't like my slouching.
I thought about his question for a second, and I answered, "Well I guess if my product is popular I can afford to give my customers a break and lower prices."
"NO!" he screamed. "Please see me after class."
Oh man.
I met him after class and he gave me a little mini-lecture on how American economics work. If your product is popular, he explained, than you charge more because there will be more demand. It's all about suppy and demand, he said to my face of stone. He suggested we have a couple of one on one sessions in his office to make sure I passed his class.
I did meet with him on several occasions. We talked about such enthralling topics as "guns and butter," evidently a financial term to express the two different sides of spending.
I did fine in the class. I think I got a "B." Maybe it was a "C." I know it wasn't an "A."
But my mind still doesn't wrap around the ideals of American economics. To me it's just greed. If I had more money than I needed I would share it. I really don't have the killer instinct in the first place to want more, more, more.
I guess that makes me a poor example of an American. But I'm just hoping that it makes me a good example of a human being.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
For This Week, It's Like a Regular Job
Anyone who has owned and run their own business knows it's not easy. You put in a lot of hours. You wear a lot of different hats. There can be a lot of pressure.
But there are positives too of course. The most important thing to me is that my fate is in my own hands. I'm not at the mercy of someone else. I take all responsibility. That's what I want.
I can also work at 3 a.m. or noon or after dinner, and I do. But I can also take a Tuesday off to do yardwork if my schedule permits.
It's my course to chart.
This week though, with the guys working on installing central air in the house I am on their schedule. I have to make sure they can get into the house to start at 7:30 in the morning, which means that I clock in at 7:30 a.m. too. A shower, breakfast, exercises, and my short commute to the business half of our house, all have to be taken care of before 7:30 a.m. when I clock-in and start work.
So far the construction work has gone smoothly. I don't want to jinx myself. But they have all the holes for vents cut except for one on the first floor. They're very neat and conscientious too. They have left no mess whatsoever in the wake of their drilling and sawing and cutting through years and years of woodwork, plaster and drywall.
These guys are very trustworthy. I'm sure I could just take off and run errands, or jump out into the backyard and pull some weeds. But I'm taking my regular work hours this week as an opportunity to try to work on redoing my Web site. It can be the greatest thing in the world (which it's not), but if you don't freshen it up and give people something new it gets boring fast. We've become a society of short attention spans.
Does anyone read anymore? Well I know some that still do.
Well I better get back to work. My boss is a terrible tyrant.
But there are positives too of course. The most important thing to me is that my fate is in my own hands. I'm not at the mercy of someone else. I take all responsibility. That's what I want.
I can also work at 3 a.m. or noon or after dinner, and I do. But I can also take a Tuesday off to do yardwork if my schedule permits.
It's my course to chart.
This week though, with the guys working on installing central air in the house I am on their schedule. I have to make sure they can get into the house to start at 7:30 in the morning, which means that I clock in at 7:30 a.m. too. A shower, breakfast, exercises, and my short commute to the business half of our house, all have to be taken care of before 7:30 a.m. when I clock-in and start work.
So far the construction work has gone smoothly. I don't want to jinx myself. But they have all the holes for vents cut except for one on the first floor. They're very neat and conscientious too. They have left no mess whatsoever in the wake of their drilling and sawing and cutting through years and years of woodwork, plaster and drywall.
These guys are very trustworthy. I'm sure I could just take off and run errands, or jump out into the backyard and pull some weeds. But I'm taking my regular work hours this week as an opportunity to try to work on redoing my Web site. It can be the greatest thing in the world (which it's not), but if you don't freshen it up and give people something new it gets boring fast. We've become a society of short attention spans.
Does anyone read anymore? Well I know some that still do.
Well I better get back to work. My boss is a terrible tyrant.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Bad Night for No Sleep
The guys arrived at 7:30 a.m. this morning to start installation of central air conditioning in this old house. The work is expected to last throughout the week.
I'm very relieved not to have to worry about installing five window air conditioner units this Spring. Three of them weren't too bad, but two of them were monsters. They sure cooled the place off. But they were monsters, very, very, heavy.
This is something we've been saving up for since we first bought this house. It's a challenging job since this house was built 200-years ago, and added to, and renovated, and added to again, and renovated again. For much of the last 100-years this house was the home to a print shop - the "Times Job Printing House."
The printing tradition of the house just told me that this was meant to be, since most of my career has been in printing, publishing and print design.
This place is funky. There's a little bit of everything going on.
I did wake up at 1:30 a.m. last night, and could not go back to sleep. I don't know why. I think my mine was just overactive. Once I was up, I was up, wide awake.
With the drills and the hammers and the saws, I do not stand much of a chance at a nap today. Maybe I'll go crawl into the back of the car and see if I can steal a power nap. lol
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Happy Mother's Day Mom
To what I consider to be the "Best" mother in the world. You only find out for yourself until you have your own kids how difficult raising them can be. I give my mother tons of credit how she handled three of us and all of us having different personalities. My brother and sister had always been the outgoing ones and myself, I was the loner and sometimes preferred to be by myself. It didn't matter what she had to deal with in regards her kids, she did the best job anyone could possibly do and still does to this day.
I became somewhat unruly in my late teens and I couldn't be more apologetic for that. My mother is a very forgiving person, because that is how she was raised. My mother and I have a great relationship now and I feel very lucky and blessed in that regard. There are alot of families that don't have that which is unfortunate, but true. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her and feel blessed that I have her in my life.
I may not write like Jim does, but I think I summed it up pretty well.
Love You Mom,
Barb
I became somewhat unruly in my late teens and I couldn't be more apologetic for that. My mother is a very forgiving person, because that is how she was raised. My mother and I have a great relationship now and I feel very lucky and blessed in that regard. There are alot of families that don't have that which is unfortunate, but true. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her and feel blessed that I have her in my life.
I may not write like Jim does, but I think I summed it up pretty well.
Love You Mom,
Barb
Mom
Where would I be without my Mom? Nowhere.
Who would have inspired me, lit a fire under me, encouraged me, put Band-aids on all my boo boos, exposed me to culture and opportunities, clothing on my back and shoes on my feet? I'm fairly certain that without my Mom I would have grown-up wearing only burlap sacks.
Burlap sacks would have been OK with me. But looking back, Mom just made everything that much better.
The first time a good friend of mine met my Mom he said later, "That is the toughest woman I have ever met."
My Mom is one tough lady. This is born and raised in Detroit, Michigan proper here, plopped into the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. What a mix!
When my Mom threatened my brother and sister and I with punishment, we believed it.
My Mom could threaten to sell us to sheep herders in the deserts of Africa where we would live off dry grass and work 32-hour days in the hot sun...and we would believe her.
But time tells all truths. In all truthfulness, my Mom is a big softy. She's a loving, caring, compassionate woman. I'm very lucky to call her Mom.
If we did get grounded to our room for a week. She'd break down after a couple hours and come back and talk to us before sending us back outside to play. We never expected this to happen. We were convinced we were on our way to the deserts of Africa. But she knew how to be tough enough to maintain discipline, while still loving us all dearly.
I played midget football when I was very young. I was pretty quick for a big guy, and had a good arm. Ultimately I was hoping to play quarterback.
Football went sour for me fast though. A couple of fathers had made their presence known at every practice, and they assured their sons positions they coveted, including the quarterback position.
I'll always remember going through some throwing and receiving drills. I lofted one to our best and fastest receiver streaking down the side line. It dropped right into his hands without breaking stride. He came back and said to me with disbelief on his face, "Why don't you play quarterback?"
"I don't know. I want to," I said.
I was lost in the politics of midget football (I can only imagine what it is like today!). I was a kid without a place. Suddenly the soccer pitch next door started to look pretty good.
My Mom could tell I wasn't happy. Mom's just have some kind of innate skill, some kind of e.s.p. They know everything.
I told her how it was going, and how it wasn't going.
She said, "Wait here," and slammed the door of the car as she made a bee-line towards one parent.
Now this guy was a big guy, a former football player himself, and quite a good one. I watched my Mom from the front passenger seat of the car. I couldn't hear a thing but I could tell that she was the one doing all the talking. She drilled him for a good five minutes. His jaw was wide open. She was giving him a verbal body slam. She left him stunned and speechless.
Back in the car and now driving away. I didn't say a word. I was proud of her. She stuck up for me, for our family. Thanks Mom. (smile)
I started to play soccer after that.
Who would have inspired me, lit a fire under me, encouraged me, put Band-aids on all my boo boos, exposed me to culture and opportunities, clothing on my back and shoes on my feet? I'm fairly certain that without my Mom I would have grown-up wearing only burlap sacks.
Burlap sacks would have been OK with me. But looking back, Mom just made everything that much better.
The first time a good friend of mine met my Mom he said later, "That is the toughest woman I have ever met."
My Mom is one tough lady. This is born and raised in Detroit, Michigan proper here, plopped into the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. What a mix!
When my Mom threatened my brother and sister and I with punishment, we believed it.
My Mom could threaten to sell us to sheep herders in the deserts of Africa where we would live off dry grass and work 32-hour days in the hot sun...and we would believe her.
But time tells all truths. In all truthfulness, my Mom is a big softy. She's a loving, caring, compassionate woman. I'm very lucky to call her Mom.
If we did get grounded to our room for a week. She'd break down after a couple hours and come back and talk to us before sending us back outside to play. We never expected this to happen. We were convinced we were on our way to the deserts of Africa. But she knew how to be tough enough to maintain discipline, while still loving us all dearly.
I played midget football when I was very young. I was pretty quick for a big guy, and had a good arm. Ultimately I was hoping to play quarterback.
Football went sour for me fast though. A couple of fathers had made their presence known at every practice, and they assured their sons positions they coveted, including the quarterback position.
I'll always remember going through some throwing and receiving drills. I lofted one to our best and fastest receiver streaking down the side line. It dropped right into his hands without breaking stride. He came back and said to me with disbelief on his face, "Why don't you play quarterback?"
"I don't know. I want to," I said.
I was lost in the politics of midget football (I can only imagine what it is like today!). I was a kid without a place. Suddenly the soccer pitch next door started to look pretty good.
My Mom could tell I wasn't happy. Mom's just have some kind of innate skill, some kind of e.s.p. They know everything.
I told her how it was going, and how it wasn't going.
She said, "Wait here," and slammed the door of the car as she made a bee-line towards one parent.
Now this guy was a big guy, a former football player himself, and quite a good one. I watched my Mom from the front passenger seat of the car. I couldn't hear a thing but I could tell that she was the one doing all the talking. She drilled him for a good five minutes. His jaw was wide open. She was giving him a verbal body slam. She left him stunned and speechless.
Back in the car and now driving away. I didn't say a word. I was proud of her. She stuck up for me, for our family. Thanks Mom. (smile)
I started to play soccer after that.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
The Sounds of Lawnmowers Fill the Air
After a wet start to the day yesterday, things finally started to dry out. Humanity emerged from every household and from every business.
Weeds were being pulled. New plantings were being placed with care. Fertilizers were being spread, and the distinctive smell of Lancaster County filled the air.
Let the lawnmowers roll!
It took at least three laps to cut down the "hay" in my backyard. It wore me down. But it felt good. I predicted that I would be sore this morning. But (shrugging shoulders) so far so good.
I did have enough left to fill the bird feeder. Birds are so sloppy. They spill about 90-percent of what they eat. The bird feeder is made for little song birds. So a food chain develops around the feeder with the smaller birds spilling seed to the ground for the larger birds.
This Spring we attracted our first gold finch to the feeder. The cardinals have been numerous recently. I haven't spotted a blue jay yet. Plus, I have to find my bird book (it's here somewhere) so I can tell you about all the other varieties we've been getting.
Marietta is getting ready for "Marietta Days." It's an annual Spring festival where Market Street, which runs in front of our house, is closed to auto traffic and filled with foot traffic. The streets are filled with a combination of yard sales, vendors stands, and food stands.
It's scheduled for next Saturday, rain or shine. Attendance is very dependent upon the weather. If it's nice outside, it will get quite crowded.
The food is great. If you like french fries, this is the place to be. Plus the deli across the street from us, annually makes their famous homemade sausage sandwiches. It is homemade sausage, not store bought. It's also covered in sauce, peppers and onions, at your request. And I request!
Unfortunately the vendors can be a little disappointing. There are some gems out there. There is an exception to every thing. But, well let's put it this way, if you're interested in buying counterfeit, knock-off merchandise, you could have a field day at Marietta Days.
I do wish the organizers would start weeding this element out. But I try to keep my mouth shut and smile. Plus they're keeping me fat and happy on those awesome sausage sandwiches.
Weeds were being pulled. New plantings were being placed with care. Fertilizers were being spread, and the distinctive smell of Lancaster County filled the air.
Let the lawnmowers roll!
It took at least three laps to cut down the "hay" in my backyard. It wore me down. But it felt good. I predicted that I would be sore this morning. But (shrugging shoulders) so far so good.
I did have enough left to fill the bird feeder. Birds are so sloppy. They spill about 90-percent of what they eat. The bird feeder is made for little song birds. So a food chain develops around the feeder with the smaller birds spilling seed to the ground for the larger birds.
This Spring we attracted our first gold finch to the feeder. The cardinals have been numerous recently. I haven't spotted a blue jay yet. Plus, I have to find my bird book (it's here somewhere) so I can tell you about all the other varieties we've been getting.
Marietta is getting ready for "Marietta Days." It's an annual Spring festival where Market Street, which runs in front of our house, is closed to auto traffic and filled with foot traffic. The streets are filled with a combination of yard sales, vendors stands, and food stands.
It's scheduled for next Saturday, rain or shine. Attendance is very dependent upon the weather. If it's nice outside, it will get quite crowded.
The food is great. If you like french fries, this is the place to be. Plus the deli across the street from us, annually makes their famous homemade sausage sandwiches. It is homemade sausage, not store bought. It's also covered in sauce, peppers and onions, at your request. And I request!
Unfortunately the vendors can be a little disappointing. There are some gems out there. There is an exception to every thing. But, well let's put it this way, if you're interested in buying counterfeit, knock-off merchandise, you could have a field day at Marietta Days.
I do wish the organizers would start weeding this element out. But I try to keep my mouth shut and smile. Plus they're keeping me fat and happy on those awesome sausage sandwiches.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Rain and Change
I'm going to have to go try to borrow some farm equipment from a local farmer to mow my lawn. Maybe a hay baler would do.
After a week of steady rain my grass is reaching extraordinary heights. It's a small lawn. I only have or need an old style manual lawn mower. This could be interesting.
I'm hoping that further rain holds off until after noon so I can have a go at it this morning.
The new furniture is in place and it has already upset Freckles routine.
We've bought Freckles a few toys over the years. Some have disappeared mysteriously (did he eat them?). Some have been torn apart. Some he doesn't like.
I've always been surprised though with his choice of favorite toy. It's a mouse. But it's a rough mouse. It's tough, very hard, wrapped in rope, and has some decent weight to it.
I tied a shoe string to the mouse's tail and tied it off on the back of a chair so it hung down, almost to the floor, but not quite to the floor.
Freckles loves this thing. He slaps it and gets it swinging. He'll let it smack right into his forehead. He's such a hammer head. He plays with it every day, multiple times a day.
With a new breakfast pub table in place, with new chairs, hanging the mouse back in its usual spot was impossible. I found a place to hang it in the dining room. But Freckles is lost. He had some regular routines that centered around that rough, hard, hanging mouse. He's so confused.
I'm trying to work with him the best I can.
After a week of steady rain my grass is reaching extraordinary heights. It's a small lawn. I only have or need an old style manual lawn mower. This could be interesting.
I'm hoping that further rain holds off until after noon so I can have a go at it this morning.
The new furniture is in place and it has already upset Freckles routine.
We've bought Freckles a few toys over the years. Some have disappeared mysteriously (did he eat them?). Some have been torn apart. Some he doesn't like.
I've always been surprised though with his choice of favorite toy. It's a mouse. But it's a rough mouse. It's tough, very hard, wrapped in rope, and has some decent weight to it.
I tied a shoe string to the mouse's tail and tied it off on the back of a chair so it hung down, almost to the floor, but not quite to the floor.
Freckles loves this thing. He slaps it and gets it swinging. He'll let it smack right into his forehead. He's such a hammer head. He plays with it every day, multiple times a day.
With a new breakfast pub table in place, with new chairs, hanging the mouse back in its usual spot was impossible. I found a place to hang it in the dining room. But Freckles is lost. He had some regular routines that centered around that rough, hard, hanging mouse. He's so confused.
I'm trying to work with him the best I can.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
"Rodney Alert"
We have a couple of apartments that surround our home. It's not the best scenario. It makes for an ever-revolving potpourri of human life for neighbors.
One thing we always seem to have in the neighborhood though, is a rambunctious, mischievious, five-year old boy - a real-life Dennis the Menace.
Early on in our time here I was sitting in my office working on a project when suddenly I heard this "BANG! Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang." It was a loud metallic bang followed by four or five smaller bangs in rapid succession.
It kept happening.
I hadn't a clue. So, of course, I opened the front door to the office and stepped out on the sidewalk.
I looked to the right - hmmmm, nothing. I looked to the left - and there was the neighbor boy waving vigorously at me and smiling from ear to ear.
"Do you want to play with me?" he yelled.
Then he chucked a baseball up onto this metal awning "BANG! Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang."
I shook my head, sinking it into my right hand.
On that day I was officially old. I had to be Mr. Wilson and scold Dennis the Menace.
He saw that I was frowning. I told him that he really shouldn't be doing that. A few more tosses later he packed it up and tore into some other unknown mischief.
That neighbor moved.
But our new Dennis the Menace has arrived.
This one is another five-year-old blonde, and yesterday I learned that his name is "Rodney." Rodney likes to sneak down from his apartment, that he shares with his Mom and Dad, and play on the sidewalks and in the street.
About a week ago I caught him sitting on a brick sidewalk, trying to pull the bricks out. His father ran across the street, picked him up and took him back home a moment later.
Yesterday we were in the middle of a delivery, when the delivery man reported that a small boy was trying to climb into his truck. It was Rodney. We chased him out of the truck, and then I found him moments later trying to pull the bricks out of my front stoop.
"Does your Mom and Dad know you're out here?" I asked him.
"Rodney, get back upstairs," one of the deli workers yelled coming out the front door.
Rodney started to scramble. He stopped a garbage truck and traffic in all directions as he crossed the street.
Not a good situation. We're officially on "Rodney Alert."
One thing we always seem to have in the neighborhood though, is a rambunctious, mischievious, five-year old boy - a real-life Dennis the Menace.
Early on in our time here I was sitting in my office working on a project when suddenly I heard this "BANG! Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang." It was a loud metallic bang followed by four or five smaller bangs in rapid succession.
It kept happening.
I hadn't a clue. So, of course, I opened the front door to the office and stepped out on the sidewalk.
I looked to the right - hmmmm, nothing. I looked to the left - and there was the neighbor boy waving vigorously at me and smiling from ear to ear.
"Do you want to play with me?" he yelled.
Then he chucked a baseball up onto this metal awning "BANG! Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang."
I shook my head, sinking it into my right hand.
On that day I was officially old. I had to be Mr. Wilson and scold Dennis the Menace.
He saw that I was frowning. I told him that he really shouldn't be doing that. A few more tosses later he packed it up and tore into some other unknown mischief.
That neighbor moved.
But our new Dennis the Menace has arrived.
This one is another five-year-old blonde, and yesterday I learned that his name is "Rodney." Rodney likes to sneak down from his apartment, that he shares with his Mom and Dad, and play on the sidewalks and in the street.
About a week ago I caught him sitting on a brick sidewalk, trying to pull the bricks out. His father ran across the street, picked him up and took him back home a moment later.
Yesterday we were in the middle of a delivery, when the delivery man reported that a small boy was trying to climb into his truck. It was Rodney. We chased him out of the truck, and then I found him moments later trying to pull the bricks out of my front stoop.
"Does your Mom and Dad know you're out here?" I asked him.
"Rodney, get back upstairs," one of the deli workers yelled coming out the front door.
Rodney started to scramble. He stopped a garbage truck and traffic in all directions as he crossed the street.
Not a good situation. We're officially on "Rodney Alert."
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Goodbye But Not Gone
We had a sofa, a small dining table with four chairs, and an arm chair that we wanted to get rid of. The sofa and dining table with chairs was still in good shape though, and we learned that the Salvation Army would take them.
We felt that it was certainly better that they would be put to good use than just help to fill up the landfill. So Barb called and arranged the pick-up for yesterday.
Typically when I run into someone who is about my height I notice it right away. Frankly I'm not used to having to look up to anyone, and it's rare that I actually go eye-to-eye with someone.
When the two furniture movers arrived from the Salvation Army yesterday I was just another tree in the woods. The two movers stepped in the house and I couldn't help myself. I said, "Whoa, you guys are big."
They were huge. Each was at least as tall as me, if not an inch or two taller. And each had 75- to 100-pounds on me. I guess now I understand better why I'm not always that approachable. Jeesh, I'd hate to get on these guys bad side.
But they were very professional, and very polite. They continually thanked us for donating this furniture to the Salvation Army, and kindly provided Barb with a receipt.
It was like two offensive tackles for Penn State showed up at my door.
The arm chair had seen its better days and we set that out for the landfill earlier this week. The chair was donated to me by a good friend many years ago. As we were carrying the chair a photograph of my friends son fell out of the lining in the back of the chair.
It wasn't just any picture. It was a classic. There was my good friend's son at about 2-years old, posing for the camera in nothing but diapers.
Right on que my friend called yesterday. I explained to him what I had found in his old chair.
"Now here's how it worked," I began to tell him. "If your son (who is now 16-years-old) pays me $100 I will give him this photo. If he doesn't, then I'll give the photo to all his friends."
He laughed heartily. He knows my sense of humor.
I first met this friend at a printer in Harrisburg where we both worked. I had just started and one warm Spring day I wore my shorts in to work. That morning, walking back into the press room all of a sudden I heard him call out from the other side of the room...
"Hey! Somebody call the Colonel. The chicken legs are out!"
We felt that it was certainly better that they would be put to good use than just help to fill up the landfill. So Barb called and arranged the pick-up for yesterday.
Typically when I run into someone who is about my height I notice it right away. Frankly I'm not used to having to look up to anyone, and it's rare that I actually go eye-to-eye with someone.
When the two furniture movers arrived from the Salvation Army yesterday I was just another tree in the woods. The two movers stepped in the house and I couldn't help myself. I said, "Whoa, you guys are big."
They were huge. Each was at least as tall as me, if not an inch or two taller. And each had 75- to 100-pounds on me. I guess now I understand better why I'm not always that approachable. Jeesh, I'd hate to get on these guys bad side.
But they were very professional, and very polite. They continually thanked us for donating this furniture to the Salvation Army, and kindly provided Barb with a receipt.
It was like two offensive tackles for Penn State showed up at my door.
The arm chair had seen its better days and we set that out for the landfill earlier this week. The chair was donated to me by a good friend many years ago. As we were carrying the chair a photograph of my friends son fell out of the lining in the back of the chair.
It wasn't just any picture. It was a classic. There was my good friend's son at about 2-years old, posing for the camera in nothing but diapers.
Right on que my friend called yesterday. I explained to him what I had found in his old chair.
"Now here's how it worked," I began to tell him. "If your son (who is now 16-years-old) pays me $100 I will give him this photo. If he doesn't, then I'll give the photo to all his friends."
He laughed heartily. He knows my sense of humor.
I first met this friend at a printer in Harrisburg where we both worked. I had just started and one warm Spring day I wore my shorts in to work. That morning, walking back into the press room all of a sudden I heard him call out from the other side of the room...
"Hey! Somebody call the Colonel. The chicken legs are out!"
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
This Isn't Kansas Anymore
Yesterday was rainy and raw, the third straight day of steady rains.
But nothing was going to keep me from visiting my Mom and Dad yesterday. It didn't matter if the weather was crappy. It didn't matter if I felt crappy. I was going.
And I went. And Barb graciously joined me.
We took off through the puddles, hit the bank, filled the FJ up with gas, and made a quick stop-over at the Norlanco Medical Center between Elizabethtown and Mt. Joy so I could have my monthly bloodwork done.
It was around lunchtime. We were directed straight back to the second waiting area, which was empty. This looked good.
But just then all the nurses took off for lunch, and patients quickly piled up. We waited for quite awhile to be called back to have the blood drawn.
I was now behind schedule and looking to make up time.
I guessed that I could take the road next to the medical center and likely cut across between Elizabethtown and Mt. Joy and connect with Route 72 eventually and sneak into Lebanon that way. Doing this, I figured, I could also spare the time to drive back into Elizabethtown or Mt. Joy to take one of the routes I usually take.
Barb, my awesome navigator, agreed that it was a sound idea.
And it would have worked.
If there was any such thing as a straight road in this area of Pennsylvania.
Many of the older, country roads in Pennsylvania follow property lines. Roads can, and often do, come to sudden 90-degree turns. A 90-degree turn isn't much of a problem for a horse and buggy afterall.
After we left the medical center, and drove beneath a major interstate, suddenly we were in the middle of nowhere, completely lost, somewhere we've never been before, surrounded by farms.
Even in the rain, it was beautiful countryside.
But I was on a mission. Barb may not drive, but she's paying attention from the passenger seat all the time. She has an excellent sense of direction. She also has an incredible memory and remembers things like road names like I never will.
Barb called every turn, at every intersection. Miraculously we ended up in Colebrook, just outside of Mt. Gretna, and snuck into northern Lebanon from there.
What a journey! I would have loved it on a nice day with nothing better to do. But I was feeling pressed on time, and dodging standing water on back country roads.
I dropped Barb off at the front door and parked the FJ before dashing through the rain to join her at the elevator, heading toward the second floor. We found my Mom and Dad in his rehab room at Spang Crest and I left out a big, "WHEW. We made it."
Physically, my Dad looks great. Everytime I've gone to see him he's progressively looked better and better, healthier and healthier, stronger and stronger.
He is stubborn about some things. But then if he wasn't, he wouldn't be a good Pennsylvania Dutchman, nor would he be my Dad.
Although he's working with two knee replacements, 82-years on the body, and balance that is not always on target, he just will not utilize the assistance of the walker. The nurses at the rehab facility do not trust him so they have him triggered with alarms. If, and when, he gets up alarms sound and nurses come running. They are worried that he will fall again.
I tried to convince him that the walker could be cool, that chicks would dig it. But he wasn't buying it.
He is getting stronger and stronger. That is good to see.
But the effects of small strokes have had effects on his thinking processes and his memory. It is tough for him, and all of us, because my Dad is a very intelligent man. And he is still a very intelligent man, it's just that the order and relevance of his toughts right now can be a little mixed up.
The thing my Dad thinks of most right now is finances. That's what you get for being an accountant your whole life I guess. That's all he wanted to talk to me about.
How much interest am I paying monthly on the loan? I don't have any loans.
How much did I still owe on the house? The house is paid for.
Who was paying for the bills at the house?
"Dad, you don't have to worry about that. It's being taken care of. You just have to concentrate on getting better and getting back home," I tried to convince him.
We visited for quite awhile. We had the pleasure of a surprise visit from my Mom's brother as well.
When we left it was still raining. I was tired and anxious to get back to Marietta. Heading out Route 72, over the turnpike and towards Manheim, we suddenly ran into a fire policeman directing all traffic off to the left, onto a small country road.
Oh man, here we go again.
We drove over hill and dale. We ended up in the woods somewhere between Mt. Gretna and Brickerville. We were completely lost in the Pennsylvania countryside.
There was no detour. There was no drive around or directions of any kind. The fire policeman just got rid of us all and the traffic splintered into the hills and woods in every direction.
I let Barb call all the turns, as always, and miraculously, after an extended trip through who-knows-where we came into the sqaure of Manheim from the east. Then it was a quick trip home to Marietta from there.
Not feeling rushed for time on the way home I could soak in the countryside a bit more. It was beautiful. It really was.
But nothing was going to keep me from visiting my Mom and Dad yesterday. It didn't matter if the weather was crappy. It didn't matter if I felt crappy. I was going.
And I went. And Barb graciously joined me.
We took off through the puddles, hit the bank, filled the FJ up with gas, and made a quick stop-over at the Norlanco Medical Center between Elizabethtown and Mt. Joy so I could have my monthly bloodwork done.
It was around lunchtime. We were directed straight back to the second waiting area, which was empty. This looked good.
But just then all the nurses took off for lunch, and patients quickly piled up. We waited for quite awhile to be called back to have the blood drawn.
I was now behind schedule and looking to make up time.
I guessed that I could take the road next to the medical center and likely cut across between Elizabethtown and Mt. Joy and connect with Route 72 eventually and sneak into Lebanon that way. Doing this, I figured, I could also spare the time to drive back into Elizabethtown or Mt. Joy to take one of the routes I usually take.
Barb, my awesome navigator, agreed that it was a sound idea.
And it would have worked.
If there was any such thing as a straight road in this area of Pennsylvania.
Many of the older, country roads in Pennsylvania follow property lines. Roads can, and often do, come to sudden 90-degree turns. A 90-degree turn isn't much of a problem for a horse and buggy afterall.
After we left the medical center, and drove beneath a major interstate, suddenly we were in the middle of nowhere, completely lost, somewhere we've never been before, surrounded by farms.
Even in the rain, it was beautiful countryside.
But I was on a mission. Barb may not drive, but she's paying attention from the passenger seat all the time. She has an excellent sense of direction. She also has an incredible memory and remembers things like road names like I never will.
Barb called every turn, at every intersection. Miraculously we ended up in Colebrook, just outside of Mt. Gretna, and snuck into northern Lebanon from there.
What a journey! I would have loved it on a nice day with nothing better to do. But I was feeling pressed on time, and dodging standing water on back country roads.
I dropped Barb off at the front door and parked the FJ before dashing through the rain to join her at the elevator, heading toward the second floor. We found my Mom and Dad in his rehab room at Spang Crest and I left out a big, "WHEW. We made it."
Physically, my Dad looks great. Everytime I've gone to see him he's progressively looked better and better, healthier and healthier, stronger and stronger.
He is stubborn about some things. But then if he wasn't, he wouldn't be a good Pennsylvania Dutchman, nor would he be my Dad.
Although he's working with two knee replacements, 82-years on the body, and balance that is not always on target, he just will not utilize the assistance of the walker. The nurses at the rehab facility do not trust him so they have him triggered with alarms. If, and when, he gets up alarms sound and nurses come running. They are worried that he will fall again.
I tried to convince him that the walker could be cool, that chicks would dig it. But he wasn't buying it.
He is getting stronger and stronger. That is good to see.
But the effects of small strokes have had effects on his thinking processes and his memory. It is tough for him, and all of us, because my Dad is a very intelligent man. And he is still a very intelligent man, it's just that the order and relevance of his toughts right now can be a little mixed up.
The thing my Dad thinks of most right now is finances. That's what you get for being an accountant your whole life I guess. That's all he wanted to talk to me about.
How much interest am I paying monthly on the loan? I don't have any loans.
How much did I still owe on the house? The house is paid for.
Who was paying for the bills at the house?
"Dad, you don't have to worry about that. It's being taken care of. You just have to concentrate on getting better and getting back home," I tried to convince him.
We visited for quite awhile. We had the pleasure of a surprise visit from my Mom's brother as well.
When we left it was still raining. I was tired and anxious to get back to Marietta. Heading out Route 72, over the turnpike and towards Manheim, we suddenly ran into a fire policeman directing all traffic off to the left, onto a small country road.
Oh man, here we go again.
We drove over hill and dale. We ended up in the woods somewhere between Mt. Gretna and Brickerville. We were completely lost in the Pennsylvania countryside.
There was no detour. There was no drive around or directions of any kind. The fire policeman just got rid of us all and the traffic splintered into the hills and woods in every direction.
I let Barb call all the turns, as always, and miraculously, after an extended trip through who-knows-where we came into the sqaure of Manheim from the east. Then it was a quick trip home to Marietta from there.
Not feeling rushed for time on the way home I could soak in the countryside a bit more. It was beautiful. It really was.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Rainy Monday
We're entering our third day of steady rain here in Marietta. It's making me feel lazy.
I have to snap out of the laziness though as we're entering a busy week ahead. The central air conditioning installation is due to start this week. And we're expecting a furniture delivery this week as well. And I have my normal odds and ends around the house and office to attack and accomplish (mostly "odds" like sanding a footer along our office doorway).
I've been trying to take advantage of the rain to do a little more work on the computer. I'm planning a bit of an overhaul on the Albert Design Studio Web site and have started that work. But I am my own worst critic.
All the serious cancer drugs seem to have some negative effects on my eyes, especially when I spend a few hours staring at the computer screen. I can feel the eyes tire, and shortly after I know they'll go blurry and I have to walk away. It's frustrating at times. But I keep hacking away at it.
Today Barb and I are going to run over to Spang Crest in Lebanon to visit my Dad. It's been too long since we've been able to get over. Nothing will keep me away today though.
Reports have been that physically my Dad continues to get stronger and stronger. Mentally he has shown some signs of improvement too, but it has been dotted with periods of confusion.
I look forward to being able to spend some time with him today. Afterall, my Dad is my hero.
All in all it should be a pretty busy and exciting week ahead. Since we bought this 200-year-old house we've continually strove to make improvements. It always feels good to check more improvements off the big list. This week should give us two more big checks on that list.
Also, it does feel good to get back into more design work again also. The internet continues to evolve so fast and so furious it's very interesting to try to keep up with. We will reach a day when we are all our own publishers, when we're all our own newspapers, magazines, radio and television stations.
Can you imagine it all in another 50-years?
I have to snap out of the laziness though as we're entering a busy week ahead. The central air conditioning installation is due to start this week. And we're expecting a furniture delivery this week as well. And I have my normal odds and ends around the house and office to attack and accomplish (mostly "odds" like sanding a footer along our office doorway).
I've been trying to take advantage of the rain to do a little more work on the computer. I'm planning a bit of an overhaul on the Albert Design Studio Web site and have started that work. But I am my own worst critic.
All the serious cancer drugs seem to have some negative effects on my eyes, especially when I spend a few hours staring at the computer screen. I can feel the eyes tire, and shortly after I know they'll go blurry and I have to walk away. It's frustrating at times. But I keep hacking away at it.
Today Barb and I are going to run over to Spang Crest in Lebanon to visit my Dad. It's been too long since we've been able to get over. Nothing will keep me away today though.
Reports have been that physically my Dad continues to get stronger and stronger. Mentally he has shown some signs of improvement too, but it has been dotted with periods of confusion.
I look forward to being able to spend some time with him today. Afterall, my Dad is my hero.
All in all it should be a pretty busy and exciting week ahead. Since we bought this 200-year-old house we've continually strove to make improvements. It always feels good to check more improvements off the big list. This week should give us two more big checks on that list.
Also, it does feel good to get back into more design work again also. The internet continues to evolve so fast and so furious it's very interesting to try to keep up with. We will reach a day when we are all our own publishers, when we're all our own newspapers, magazines, radio and television stations.
Can you imagine it all in another 50-years?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Don't Sweat the Small Stuff
When my Mom found out that the postman ripped our front screen door off the front of the house she advised that we bring it to the attention of the post office.
When Barb's Mom found out what the postman had done she recommended that we bring it to the attention of the post office.
When Alyssa found out (while vacationing in Florida) what the postman had done she said that we should tell the post office about it immediately.
Now it's not really a "screen" door. It's actually a handmade door, a wooden frame held together with dowels with a glass insert.
I felt that the postman (word on the street was that it was actually a postlady), was unnecessarily aggressive with our door. At the least, it's been agreed, that the person who left the door in shambles should have at least knocked on the door and said, "Oops. Sorry."
But I quickly got over it and decided not to sweat the small stuff.
Marietta is a real small town. It's easy to get people upset around here quickly. I'm a guy who tries to go the extra mile to keep the peace. Maybe that's my fault. But I'm a pretty relaxed and mellow guy.
When I first opened business here in Marietta I attended a local business association meeting. I was introducing myself to the handful of local business owners at the meeting, and explaining my business and what I do.
I tried to explain to the group that Marietta is important to me because the whole town is a reflection on my business, and my business is a reflection on the town. But I also added that my clients would come from the larger region of Harrisburg, Lancaster, York, Lebanon and Reading, and not from Marietta itself.
A week later someone in the association told me that everyone was talking about how I said that Marietta wasn't important to me and I didn't want clients from Marietta.
Jeesh. It doesn't take much sometimes.
So I repaired the door yesterday, and even ran out and bought a hand planer for $17 to shave a little off the bottom of the door so it doesn't stick. I looked at it as an opportunity to try to make a little improvement.
If people ask me what I'm working on around this old house, I can almost always say, "Well, whatever has broken most recently."
With Barb's help the door was rehung nicely yesterday. It made me notice that I could also do some sanding to a wooden footer below the door to help the door fit even better, and make everything look neater. That's on the list for today. But we'll see if the rainy weather allows for it.
We'll see how the postman treats the door this morning when the mail arrives.
I've lived in very big cities, and I've lived in very small towns. Both certainly have their strengths and weaknesses. But give me a small town any day. I'm still a pretty shy and reserved guy.
It's tough to be reserved in a small town where everyone always seems to know your business (or at least thinks they do). But I'm getting used to being a big dork that stands out like a sore thumb, that everyone always seems to recognize and remember.
Walking down the street, waving to a passing car beeping their horn, stopping to have a conversation with a neighbor working in the garden, there is a certain feeling of home in all of that.
When Barb's Mom found out what the postman had done she recommended that we bring it to the attention of the post office.
When Alyssa found out (while vacationing in Florida) what the postman had done she said that we should tell the post office about it immediately.
Now it's not really a "screen" door. It's actually a handmade door, a wooden frame held together with dowels with a glass insert.
I felt that the postman (word on the street was that it was actually a postlady), was unnecessarily aggressive with our door. At the least, it's been agreed, that the person who left the door in shambles should have at least knocked on the door and said, "Oops. Sorry."
But I quickly got over it and decided not to sweat the small stuff.
Marietta is a real small town. It's easy to get people upset around here quickly. I'm a guy who tries to go the extra mile to keep the peace. Maybe that's my fault. But I'm a pretty relaxed and mellow guy.
When I first opened business here in Marietta I attended a local business association meeting. I was introducing myself to the handful of local business owners at the meeting, and explaining my business and what I do.
I tried to explain to the group that Marietta is important to me because the whole town is a reflection on my business, and my business is a reflection on the town. But I also added that my clients would come from the larger region of Harrisburg, Lancaster, York, Lebanon and Reading, and not from Marietta itself.
A week later someone in the association told me that everyone was talking about how I said that Marietta wasn't important to me and I didn't want clients from Marietta.
Jeesh. It doesn't take much sometimes.
So I repaired the door yesterday, and even ran out and bought a hand planer for $17 to shave a little off the bottom of the door so it doesn't stick. I looked at it as an opportunity to try to make a little improvement.
If people ask me what I'm working on around this old house, I can almost always say, "Well, whatever has broken most recently."
With Barb's help the door was rehung nicely yesterday. It made me notice that I could also do some sanding to a wooden footer below the door to help the door fit even better, and make everything look neater. That's on the list for today. But we'll see if the rainy weather allows for it.
We'll see how the postman treats the door this morning when the mail arrives.
I've lived in very big cities, and I've lived in very small towns. Both certainly have their strengths and weaknesses. But give me a small town any day. I'm still a pretty shy and reserved guy.
It's tough to be reserved in a small town where everyone always seems to know your business (or at least thinks they do). But I'm getting used to being a big dork that stands out like a sore thumb, that everyone always seems to recognize and remember.
Walking down the street, waving to a passing car beeping their horn, stopping to have a conversation with a neighbor working in the garden, there is a certain feeling of home in all of that.
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