Category Archives: Food

Medford to Travis AFB

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Unlike almost every other trip we’ve ever taken, in our life, we hit the road early. We’ve tried numerous times in the past, but something almost always interfered with “the plan”. As a result, we usually wound up arriving at our next stop after dark. Now, I’m not talking about the really old travel days when we simply drove for endless hours and didn’t start looking for a place for the night until night was falling. No, I’m talking about a trip that’s planned from start to stop with reasonable stopping points. Diane’s a great planner, but she can’t plan for unexpected events that cause delays … like diarrhea, for example. You can’t plan for that.

So, getting on the road at 0830 this morning, was great. First stop, before hitting the freeway, was Dutch Bros., for good coffee, then McDonald’s for breakfast sandwiches. Then we hit the freeway.

Even though the trip was spent mostly in the rain, we knew a sanctuary wasn’t far ahead. The plan was to arrive at 1400 and we did that, precisely, the earliest time we could check in to our new room. The closer we got to our destination, the better the weather got until, upon arrival, the sun was shining brightly and it was pleasantly warm … like 68 degrees.

Instead of using Google Maps to guide us in, I used Waze, a very handy application that routes users around traffic jams. Instead of taking us to the main gate at Travis, it took us along the back roads, through rolling hills covered with future steaks, to the North Gate of the base. From the gate we passed some incredible base housing. Everything looks brand new. Diane thinks I should have spent my career in the Air Force instead of the Navy.

Still, she’s very happy to be back on a base. She swoons at the sound of a fighter jet, or the smell of navy ship.

I digress …

Waze directed us right to the Air Force Inn on Travis Ave. I checked in, we parked, and went to ensure the room was adequate. Considering that everything on the base looks brand new, as previously mentioned, i wasn’t too concerned. I think the Inn is pretty new. It’s a lot like really nice Holiday Inn, but with smaller beds. Still, it’s nice.

After ensuring there was little chance of being attacked by California Bed Bugs we went out to tour the base. Not all of it, of course. Just the part with the food court. Before going there, however, we went by the base dining facility to see if we could eat there, but it was only 1500 and they don’t open until 1630. That’s when the food court became a more viable choice.

It was easy to find because on pretty much every military base, now days, there’s a food court attached to the base exchange. As if to make a point, it was also true in this case. I wasn’t surprised.

We stopped by the Manchurian WOK and got a plate of orange chicken, noodles, and vegetables. With it we got two forks and two glasses for water. In all, dinner cost us $7.99.

Then we took a tour of the exchange. While doing that, Jack texted me so I sent him some pictures. He used to be stationed here, a long time ago. I need to take a picture of the old DC-3 that’s on display in the middle of a traffic circle between the exchange and commissary. I think it’s one he worked on once. That’s a guess, of course, but who knows?

From the exchange we dropped by the commissary to get a few treats. For later.

Then we went back to the , carried about 60% of everything in the Buick to the room then Diane made us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for supper.

Now I will close, leaving you with a few photos of the day …

First, is somewhere on I-5 in the Redding area. I would have taken a picture of Shasta Lake but it was raining too hard. The lake is really sad because it’s probably 100 feet or so lower than normal. Pretty amazing. Also, it was a bit windy.

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Next is just a selfie of the two of us so I could show you that Diane doesn’t always watch the road. But, she’s a good driver. Really.

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Finally, here’s the view from our room. We’re on the 4th floor, the top floor, directly above the lobby. Looks new, doesn’t it?

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Gone Again ….

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Here we are heading south once again. Medford is our destination. Before leaving we stopped at Good Sam to visit my new best friend, an orthopedic doctor. He wanted to have an up close and personal look at my shoulder …

… News Flash! our car turned 80,000 miles at mile post 248, a little south of Salem … now, back to our regularly scheduled program …

… because it hurts all the time. It’s been hurting since about 1995, or so. In all that time not one of the many doctors I’ve seen recommended that I see an ortho doc. Instead, they send me to physical therapy. I’ve done that many times. It was my last therapist who thought an ortho referral would be a good idea.

The final result is that I have a torn rotator cuff and the only way to fix it is surgery that has only an 80% success rate. So, I can choose to do nothing and live with the pain, or give the surgeon a shot at it. So, I’m seeking wisdom from those of you who have had this experience. I know one fellow who would like to choke the doctor who operated on his shoulder, but he’s only one example. So, what should I do?

When we left Portland it was raining big time. We don’t care. Really, we don’t, because it will be sunny on the southern extreme of the trip.

At 1338 we pulled off the freeway for gas and lunch in Albany. We gassed up at Freddie’s for $3.489 a gallon. Since we got 13.682 gallons, it cost us $47.74. It’s always fun when the value is a palindrome. I love those things. There’s something mystical about them. I know all those values are true because I’m looking right at the receipt. I could have done it in my head, though. Really. I could have, given enough time. And a pencil.

For lunch we chose Sizzler because we like Sizzler. We just got the all you can eat salad bar, like we do at the Longview Sizzler. It’s very filling.

I rested for a while after going over lunch in my head. I had 5 pieces of dead chicken, a salad, clam chowder (not so good), fake nachos, and ice cream. Oh, and a piece of cheesy toast.The trip to Medford was uneventful. Only occasional torrential torrents of rain that made it necessary to slow down to the speed limit until they went away. We made it to the Rodeway Inn right at 1800.  Since I was the passenger, like normal, I checked in, like normal. Ted, the check-in guy, was very nice and really surprised me when he gave me keys to room 111.

That interesting because about 5 years ago we stayed at this motel, in the same room. Amazing. I mean, the place was almost empty and he put us in the room we had that long ago. It must mean something. Maybe we should have purchased a Power Ball ticket, or something.

Instead, we went to Wal*Mart to wander around a bit. Diane also needed to get some kitchen tools to replace those she didn’t have time to pack because she dropped all of her pills on the floor next to her toilet. Yes, that’s true. Unlike me, she chose to not dust them off and put them away. Instead, she simply tossed the wet ones in the trash. I guess that works since little boys don’t use her toilet. I could be wrong on that … she may have just tossed them all.

Once we returned from our trek around Wal*Mart, Diane microed some tomato soup which we had with out Tillamook cheese and ordinary saltines. Since we’re on a budget, that’s as good as it gets. We’re on rations until April 1st.

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Budgets, How to Save $$, and Lent

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I spent most of today fiddling with my budget spreadsheet, shifting things around so the numbers worked … you know, kinda like statistics. After a while, it all started to click into place which concerns me a bit because I’m a terrible accountant type person. So, the proof of whether or not it’s going to work will be determined when we run our of money on our vacation.

On the upside of the money issue, I got a call today from Hudson Garbage to ask me if I knew I had a large credit balance on my account. I didn’t know that. The lady told me it was in excess of $500 which took me a bit by surprised. Learning this, you may wonder why I’m the one paying the bills, right? Well, turns out the $45 bill I’ve been paying every month, for a long time, only has to be paid every other month, on the odd ones. Plus, the bill is $52 and change, not $45. The lady asked if I wanted to just apply it to the next year’s worth of service. I told her no, just send it back so I can factor it into my budget as newly found money. The question I should have asked is “why did it take so long for you to discover this?” That’s a moot point at this time.

So, for those of you who wish to stash away a few bucks, just double pay one of your bills and let it ride until they figure it out. The danger is, of course, they may never find out, or may to just choose to ignore the overage. It’s a crap shoot, perfect for the garbage company account.

Diane cut her lip today opening a zip lock bag. Now, I’ve injured myself in some pretty interesting ways over the years, but that’s a new one. I must take a step back and humbly bow to one who totally outdid me on creative ways to make yourself bleed. In her defense, she didn’t have to show me, but she did so it’s fair game.

At 1600 I had to get dressed for church to attend our Lenten service. I spent the day in my pajamas. While talking with the Comcast Lady, to arrange a cable install at the church, I mentioned that I was in my pajamas and she proclaimed that she, also, spends most of her work day in hers. We had quite a long, revealing conversation.

Now it’s late. We’re leaving for vacation right after my 1100 orthopedic appointment tomorrow, and I haven’t packed yet. Think that’s going to wait until tomorrow. I can’t tell you where we’re going, or how long we’ll be gone because Diane doesn’t want anyone to empty the place in our absence. Rest assured, however, they neighbors keep a close eye on strangers and they all have guns.

In parting, here’s a picture of the lunch Diane made me. It’s 5 pancakes, two eggs, and three pieces of bacon cut in half. I cut all the bacon in half so it would fit into one of those large ziploc bags.

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My Rectum, and Dead Chicken Parts

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Today a gastro doctor shoved a TV camera up butt and took a bunch of photos. I was going to share them, but Diane cautioned me against that saying it probably wasn’t a good idea. I tried to share it with the entire family at dinner this afternoon, too, but that was deemed inappropriate. In retrospect, I can see how that might upset some folks and probably shouldn’t have done that. But, I did, and must suffer the consequences.

The reason everyone was at our house for dinner was to celebrate Lydia’s 15th birthday. It’s really not until Wednesday the 26th, but we celebrated early to trick her. It didn’t work, but that’s OK because everyone had a good time. Like normal, everyone talked at once so the only conversation any of us could participate in was with the person next to us, or we could just sit and listen to the loudest one. It’s very entertaining, and it wears me out. Still, it’s good fun.

Diane cooked dead chicken, Lydia’s request, and it was great. It was oven-fried. We also had asparagus, corn, baked potatoes, salad, and rolls. This is the first real meal I’ve had since Friday … but I’m getting ahead of myself a little …

It was a brutal weekend.

I already told you about Saturday, which wasn’t really too bad, but Sunday was liquids only day. I drank chicken broth, water, and had jello for dessert. This was repeated over and over throughout the day until about 1900 when all eating had to cease. I ate an entire package of jello by myself. It was orange, not one of the colors frowned upon by gastroenterologists. Those are the purple, blue, and red ones. The day ended at 1600 when I washed down two Dulcolax tablets. The tablets are very small so it was like two little periods punctuating the end of my liquid intake until 1700. Then I got to drink a 10 oz bottle of Magnesium Citrate, a new taste treat for me. It was pretty much the most horrible tasting stuff I’ve ever had. Truly, it was. I was given 30 minutes to get it all down, and I used every second of it. There were no consequences listed for going over the allotted 30 minutes, but I wasn’t about to find out. Doctor’s orders, you know.

Next on the list was Gatorade, into which Diane had already added the Miralax. This started at 1800 and I was required to ingest 32 oz, through a straw, 8 oz every 15-20 minutes. After the citrate stuff, the Gatorade tasted pretty darn good, even though it was served at room temperature. I was given the option, earlier in the day, to have it refrigerated, but didn’t think it would matter. Not being a Gatorade fan, I’ve made a determination that the colder it is, the better.

Knowing I’d just ingested a potentially volatile combination of laxatives, I put on my quick release pajamas and positioned myself where I had a clear shot at one of our bathrooms. The whole event turned out to be quite anticlimactic because nothing exciting happened. I was in control the entire evening, then went to bed and slept soundly for 6 hours before it was necessary to arise and finish off the remaining 32 oz of Gatorade laced with Miralax.

I had to get up at 0630 this morning to finish off the mixture. Since that batch spent the night in the refrigerator, it was nice and cold which produced my determination mentioned above. Being cold, and the only thing I was allowed to ingest, through a straw, 8 oz at a time, I pretended it was better than it really was. After it was gone, I did my best to get some more rest on the couch. There were some restful moments, but Panzee and Breezie took turns going outside. Until Breezie figured out that beating on the glass got someone’s attention, it was easy to ignore her and I could rest longer. Then Panzee started doing it, too.

At 1015 Diane made sure I was up so I could be dressed in time for our 1030 launch to make it to the gastro place by 1130, my designated check-in time. The procedure was going to take at least 2 hours so I shooed Diane away to go do something a little more interesting than sitting around in the waiting room for me. The nurse took her phone number so she could call her back for my ride home.

Shortly after Diane left, I was called to the back room where all the magic happens.

I was escorted to my very own little bed, separated from a lot of other beds just like it by curtains. On the bed was a pad onto which I was told to sit, by Joann, who asked me a ton of very personal questions which I answered correctly. I was pretty sure they were all correct, anyway, because she didn’t scold me or give me “that look” that makes you want to rethink your answer. One thing that concerned her was that I was put on a laxative regimen different from the one ordered by the doctor. The one I should have done was considered to be a little easier on the kidneys than the one I was told to do. I was told it was an easy mistake to make because the little boxes that needed to be checked, for each process, were right next to each other. That eased my mind considerably because I was sure all the other boxes had proper separation to disallow the probability of getting the wrong one.

After the questions, she told me to strip and put on the backless gown. Not wanting to get on her bad side, I proceeded, but she said I could wait until she left. She did, and discreetly pulled the curtain across the end of the bed giving me a small feeling of privacy. I folded all my clothes up and stuffed them into the locker provided, and put on the gown. Then I took it off, put my clothes back on, and went to the bathroom for the last time. Then I repeated the stripping part.

Once properly donned in the gown, and my socks, I reclined on the bed and covered up with the sheet, as directed. Shortly thereafter, Joann came back with a tray on which I knew were things that would hurt me, but I remained brave. Of main concern was the IV she had to install.

Her first attempt in my wrist area failed so she had to try again. Being dehydrated like I was, didn’t help the situation and I understood that so felt no animosity toward her. I didn’t tell her, however, that I only scream on the third try. She laughed, thinking it was a joke, which was OK. It put her in a good frame of mind and helped her, I’m sure, get the second attempt properly installed a little further up my arm.

After a short wait, I was wheeled away, deeper into the building where the REAL fun happens. Once in my designated room I was greeted by Devon, my anesthesiologist. He asked a few questions, then explained that he would be administering propofol, one of the drugs used on Michael Jackson. This didn’t bother me, however, because I was in a medical environment full of ethical practitioners. I was going to be just fine and I wouldn’t remember anything that happened.

Once Dr. Sleven appeared, he who would control the procedure, Devon approached and said, “here we go,” and attached a syringe to my IV port. He squeezed a little in and said I’d feel the effect right away and be out in 15 seconds. The feeling was quite interesting because I had the sensation of dull needles pushing on all surfaces of my body, felt myself drift a little … then I woke up back in my little curtained off area in the prep room about an hour later. Interestingly, I dreamed during the procedure, but don’t remember what about.

The effects of the drug dissipated quickly and I was back to normal in about 10 minutes. I guess that’s a subjective term, “normal”, but I felt pretty good. A different nurse appeared to remove the IV and got me some juice, then I was allowed to dress and retire to the waiting room. Just as I sat down, Diane walked in. Perfect timing. Shortly afterward, Dr. Sleven called me back to discuss what he discovered on his trip up my rectum.

The news was good, but he put me on another 5 year recall, instead of 10, because he found one polyp which he removed. He didn’t think it was a problem, but it will still be biopsied. He gave me an entire page with photos of various parts of my colon which I might frame and hang on the wall to enjoy. It could be a topic of conversation. But, I won’t do that because I know it wouldn’t be a good idea. I’d share them, because I think they are pretty typical, but won’t because I don’t wish to anger my leader. Besides, it should be a private thing, right?

Right!

As soon as we got home from the hospital, Diane started cooking everything in sight in preparation for Lydia’s BD dinner. It was a festive time, as previously reported. All the kids are growing up so quickly. Lydia’s going to be 15, next month Jeran will be 14, and Cedric will be 17 in June. Where does the time go.

Now it’s almost 2300 and time for bed. So, there I must go. Diane said … first, here are some photos I can share …

Lydia and her cake …

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Lydia and Gilligan hamming it up for the camera …

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Gilligan inserting a little of her inner self, and a glimpse of the future “Rocker” …DSC_9250

Baylee’s and Gilligan’s ride. This was as they were leaving. We got a report later that the trailer was rolled when they were almost home, but damage was minimal.

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Astoria, Breakfast, American Legion, and Laxatives

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Greetings Everyone. If you’ve missed me, I’m sorry. If you didn’t know I’ve been missing, that’s OK. Lots of people don’t notice when I’m missing or just don’t care if they do. That’s OK, too. I’m easily missed.

Let’s see. What kind of compelling information can I share that might influence your moral compasses?

……. after many minutes of sitting here thinking about that, I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t know enough about anything that would influence anyone’s moral compass. At least not in a positive way. Therefore, I’m moving on to what I remember and/or what I can find in my calendar.

On Thursday I suffered through a round of golf with Doug and Lyle. It was admittedly one of my more miserable attempts at golfing so I won’t even go there. The best thing about it was it was another beautiful day. Cold, but beautiful.

After leaving the golf course, I stopped to see Don and Judy on my way home. We hadn’t talked for a while so it was time. They’re doing OK. It was good to see them, as it always is.

Once home, I installed myself into my paint spattered jeans, held up by my stretchy tape measure suspenders, and one of my older PGE shirts, also paint spattered. They matched. These are the clothes I wear when there’s a possibility I’ll find something useful to do around the house. It happens sometimes. Regarding Thursday, I don’t have any memory of doing anything useful. Just the golf. I’m sure I did something memorable. I bet Diane knows, but I’m not going to ask her because he would be a sign of weakness.

Friday I was given an opportunity to redeem myself on the golf course but I declined.  Although the odds were that I’d improve on Thursday’s results, there was no guarantee, so why flirt with fate for an unpredictable outcome? Instead, I reacquired my work uniform and went to the apple tree residue surrounding our burn pile. There was an enormous pile of intertwined branches that I reported on previously. They’ve been there a while, like all winter, so you may have missed it. What was very interesting to me was that these branches, seemingly dead when I hacked them from the tree, then layed on the ground throughout the winter, had blossoms that were blooming. Amazing. I suppose I should have taken a photo, huh?

My goal was to turn them all into ashes which required that I once again manually place the zillion pieces on the pile. First, however, I placed a couple of cardboard into which I tossed a bunch of wadded up paper from the residue of Diane’s files. Much of it was from many years ago and no longer necessary. The final result was that I managed to dispense with about 80% of the branches with only one match. It was a magnificent fire. My eyes will never be the same again. That’s because I was victimized by the age-old wives tale that smoke follows beauty. No place was safe for me as the smoke sought me out no matter where I located myself around the fire. I held my little eyes squished shut for long periods of time, but had to stop because it quickly became apparent that doing so made me quite dizzy. I had visions of collapsing into the fire, igniting my favorite work shirt, causing serious damage to my tender skin. This caused me to move away from the fire, creeping in sporadically to add branches to the pile. Eventually there was nothing left to move. Just myself, back to the house, for supper.

Before eating dinner, I sat in my chair for a bit, relaxing before my shower. As I sat there, relaxing, I put my hands behind my head, exposing my tender underarms to any casual observer. Turns out Diane observed that my shirt had huge holes in the armpit area because the seams were giving up. She commanded me to immediately remove myself, disrobe, take my shower, and throw my holey shirt in the trash. So, I did. I took my shower and carefully placed my sacred shirt into the garbage container in her bathroom.

This morning Doug showed up just before 0930, as arranged, to ride with us to the American Legion District Meeting in Astoria. We picked up Diane’s mom on the way to give her a day in the sun. It was an absolutely beautiful one, too.

On the way, we stopped at the Berry Path Restaurant in Westport, home of the Wahkiakum County Ferry, the only ferry on the Columbia River that crosses the Columbia between Oregon and Washington. There are others that cross the Columbia, interspersed between the numerous bridges and dams, but this one is ours. On the Oregon side we call it the Westport Ferry. It’s a cutie.

The Berry Patch Restaurant has always been one of our favorite places to eat on Highway 30. Doug had one pancake which was about 10 inches across and perfectly done. Diane’s Mom, Jean, had two pieces of toast because she had eaten shortly before we picked her up for the trip. If you’re ever out this direction, it’s a place you must stop to visit for either a great meal, or to purchase some of their incredible jams, jellies, and pies.

With breakfast out of the way, we continued our westward journey to Astoria, arriving about an hour early for our 1300 meeting. The high point of the meeting was a slide show presented by Sgt. 1st Class Steven Buck and him relating his story as the Casualty Assistance Officer who coordinated the safe return of recently returned remains from a plane that crashed in Papua New Guinea in 1943. It’s quite a story about an NCO’s tireless efforts that brought closure to the entire crew of B-17 “Naughty but Nice”.

During the meeting, Diane and her Mom visited Fort Stevens and spent a relaxing time, in the car, at one of the beach access parking lots watching kids cavorting on the beach and playing in the water. Since the temperature was in the 50’s, I guess the water wouldn’t seem all that cold, but I’m sure it was. I remember many cold sunny days playing in that surf when I wore kid’s clothes.

The trip home was uneventful with the exception of the having Doug in back so I had someone to talk with. Normally when we take Diane’s mom for a ride, I’m all alone back there.

Today is the one prior to my colonoscopy where I must not eat nuts, seeds, or anything colored. I can eat all the way up to midnight, and I may do just that because tomorrow is liquids only. I can eat all the jello I desire, and I will, because in the evening I begin ingesting 64 ounces of Gatorade laced with laxatives, a cocktail with a kick. Instead of Gatorade, I could have used Propel, a much more appropriately named choice for the purpose, but Diane said it had too much sodium. So, it’s Gatorade.

Then, the real fun begins.

Colonoscopys, This & Next, Food, Softball, and Soup

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Yesterday was another crappy day in paradise … it sprinkled a bit early on, then the sun came out and nearly blinded us when Diane drove me to my visit at the Gastroenterology Clinic in Portland. I was summoned, as a prelude to my need for a colonoscopy, in order to see how big my anus is. Apparently they have new HD cameras and needed to know if it was big enough to accommodate the new equipment. I found this interesting because things like that are generally getting smaller, not bigger. Fortunately, due to years of practice at ‘being’ an anus, it was determined that mine could, indeed, receive the probe. I heard someone say they thought they might even be able to insert two probes and take a 3D shot of my innards.

None of that’s true, of course. Truth is, since I will be unconscious during this procedure, they could shove a small chair in there and I’d never know it but I’m pretty confident they won’t because I’m not gonna sign the waiver.

Apparently the meeting went well because I was escorted to the lady who makes the appointments and they had one for next Monday, so I took it. The next available appointment was in May and I didn’t want to wait that long. I brought Diane in to ensure I’d made the correct choice and she assured me I had. So, the appointment Lady gave me a stack of instructions on what I had to do to prepare for this incredible experience. It starts next Friday and involves drinking gallons of Gatorade, water, and a couple of innocent looking pills. I’ve done this before so know what it’s all about. For those of you who haven’t had a colonoscopy, I’ll leave it at that in order to not spoil the ending for you. I will say, however, you will lose a bit of weight. Not much, and maybe only temporarily, perhaps, but you’ll lose it.

Sunday is my day for liquids only which makes enjoying Lydia’s 15th birthday celebration problematic, but I’ll make up for it on Monday. Maybe.

While writing about “next” Sunday, and “this” Friday, I’m compelled to share my belief about all of that, and why I think everyone else in the world is wrong about how those words are used in conjunction with identifying days of the week.

For example, if Diane were to tell me that I needed to do some “next Friday,” I would do it “this Friday” because, in this context, this=next to me. I mean, next Friday means the very next one I encounter. The word “this” shouldn’t even be allowed in the same sentence with days of the week.

Being slightly educated, however, I know that when Diane says “next Friday,” she really means the Friday “next week,” not the next one in sequence. In her parlance, that would be “this Friday.” Additionally, “a week from next Friday,” since today is Wednesday, actually means the third Friday from the day after tomorrow. Had the speaker meant that, however, they would have phrased it as “a week from Friday.” In this case, the “this” is silent.

All of this interpolation about which day is really being referenced makes my head hurt a little, so I’ve simplified the process by asking the speaker to clarify themselves. Normally I get an incredulous look that means, “surely you must be kidding?” I’m surely not. I need to know if “next” Friday is really the next one, or is it the Friday after next?

Conversations like this quickly deteriorate to the point where Diane explains that I’m a little bit mentally unstable and it’s not a good idea to continue the discussion. So, it ends. I admit that I’m totally aware of what the speaker means, but the play on words disturbs me and I find it necessary to do my part to educate the masses on how properly use the language. Jack and I practice this all the time, when we’re in close proximity, by doing what he calls “Correct Speak.” It’s all about taking everything literally, which is really simple for us.

I suppose there’s a lot of history involved with mixing ‘this’ and ‘next’ with days of the week, but I’m not going to bother doing any reasearch on it. Whatever it may be isn’t something I’ll agree with so I’ll just stick to my guns and do it the correct way, at least to me.

On the way home from the hospital, we stopped by Curtis Trailers and picked one out for future use. They had 2014 models, but we’ll need a 2016 version. That’s when we decided to buy one. We’ll wait.

Then we hightailed it to St. Helens to watch Lydia’s first high school softball game. She’s on the JV team so they played on the Campbell Park fields not far from our home. Diane dropped me off then went home to check on the dogs.

It was an exciting game that our girls, the Lady Lions, lost 9-7. Lydia played 3rd base and made a number of outs. She was the 2nd batter in the lineup and the coach had her bunt every time she was up. She moved runners around, but never got on base. Hopefully the next game coach will let her hit away. She can do that. Next game is next Friday, or ‘this’ Friday if you’re one of ‘those’ folks.

That ends yesterday.

Today I made phone calls to clarify ‘things’, made a trip to Comcast to change our programming package, a trip to CRPUD (Columbia River People’s Utility District) to get our billing on a program for equal monthly payments, and a visit to the local Chevrolet dealer to visit with my friend Steve.

When I got home, I discovered that Diane had been busy cooking, and treated me to another one of her wonderful concoctions. It was a stunning tuna, cheese, peas, and onion casserole. Just great! I love pretty much anything with noodles in it. Considering it had melted cheese in it, I asked Diane if, maybe, we could shape some of it into squares, let them cool down, and make sandwiches out of them, but she didn’t think it would work. Since she was the cook, I’ll leave it at that. I’m still curious, though. Bet it’d work. A tuna casserole sandwich …

After that, Diane and I sat face to face for a couple of hours but never once saw each other’s face. We’ve rearranged the computer room, pushing our desks together, so we’re no longer back to back. My 27″ iMac blocks pretty much everything in front of me so I’d have to stand up, or slide way right, to look Diane in the eye. She’d have to slide way left.

This evening we attended another Wednesday Lenten service preceded by soup and bread. Sandy made some excellent potato, ham, and cheese soup.

I’ve just used up my quota of words, so need to quit.

Safeway Deli Food, Panzee, Insurance, Silverado, Cardio, & Golf

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It’s been four days since I’ve propped myself up at this keyboard and a lot has happened. That doesn’t mean this will be jammed packed with interesting information because the memory problem remains a factor. I do, however, have a calendar into which I’ve recently begun to add events so I can recall. Now all I need to do is figure out the code I used in the shorthand.

Let’s see … Sunday was normal. No change, there. We went to church, brought Mom home for lunch, and watch “stuff” on TV. We did change it up a bit for lunch by getting Chinese food from the Safeway deli on the way home. It’s pretty good stuff. Broccoli Beef, Orange Chicken, Fried Rice, Noodles, and Spring Rolls. Really, really good. That’s all I remember.

On Monday I had a 1000 appointment at Midway Vet for Panzee for some shot updates and an exam. It was all good, although we had to sit and wait until almost 1100 to be seen. That was OK because Panzee was the best looking dog in the place so we were just fine sitting there looking awesome. She’s a sweetheart and very well-mannered. In dog years she’s about 85 which may account for all of that. Doc said he thought she was between 5-7 years old in people years, but she’s really 12-13 and in terrific shape.  Now, if she were only bald so she couldn’t shed.

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Tuesday I met with Heather, my new insurance agent who runs American Family Insurance here in town. I switched from Allstate who has been our choice for 20-25 years. AmFam beats them hands down so I switched everything to them. It was a good choice. Heather already seems like a family member. Could be because she also insures Jennifer and family, and has been friends with Jeff for years. That, and she’s got the same last name as my barber, though they claim to not know each other.

After working with Heather, I stopped by Emmert Motors to look at Diane’s new pickup. It’s a 2014 Silverado 1500 High Country that was just put on the lot. All the right colors and bells & whistles. Yes, Diane’s been wanting a pickup for a long time but we’ve been fiddling around with these old Winnebagos for too long and have decided it’s time to be more reasonable and divest ourselves of those projects. That also applies to the old 1968 truck, if anyone’s interested. We are parring down in preparation for another leisurely trip around the USA. News at 11 on that.

From the pickup I made my presence known at the Legacy Health Clinic for my 1430 appointment with my new cardiologist. We had a great visit and he learned a lot about what makes me tick. As a result, he’s scheduling me for a stress test in conjunction with an echocardiogram. I get to watch my heart beat during the process which he said is “wicked cool.” I really like him and trust that if he manages to give me a heart attack during this process he can bring me back from the brink. It that does happen, I suspect I will be able to witness the event in living color. Don’t know when that will be, but I’ll be sure to report on it.

Later in the day on Tuesday, my good friend Doug dropped by to talk about some American Legion “stuff”, and to report that Wednesday, today, was going to be the nicest day of the year so we had to go play golf. He, JP, and Lyle were teeing off at 1000. Knowing we wouldn’t be able to finish a round in just two hours I had to beg off because I had a 1200 PT appointment for my shoulder. So, he made a command decision to move tee time back to 0900.

This morning, at 0730, Doug called to say Lyle couldn’t make it at 0900 so I agreed to just join them at 1000 and leave when I had to go for my PT. On the way to the golf course, I stopped by the PT place and inquired about changing my appointment due to conflicting engagements. Crystal and Terry were happy to oblige, so I was good to go.

It was an incredibly beautiful day. Clear, sunny and warm. Just perfect. I started off pretty good and finished the first hole in single digits. That’s a goal I don’t normally achieve. From there I kinda fiddled around, hitting the ball badly like I usually do, then something clicked and I started swinging slower and actually watched the ball throughout my entire swing. It’s amazing what happens when you do that. The ball actually went straight, and I started to look like a real golfer. I kinda felt like one, too. Turns out I was the only one in the group to par a hole, and I bogied 3-4 others. When the count was done Lyle and I tied at 52, JP had 53 and Doug had a 54. Very unusual because I never beat, or tie, those guys. This is for nine holes, by the way. We don’t do 18 like real golfers because it’s just too far. And, for us, low 50’s is good, especially for JP and me because we have 36 handicaps. We’re really that bad. But, we have a great time.

After the game we headed to Fultano’s in Scappoose for lunch. I called Diane to see if she wanted to join us, but she was having a good time pawing through ‘stuff’ at the senior center store in St. Helens and declined. Then I called Jack’s cell, which he didn’t answer, I was sure, because he was working. Then I called his house and got Wynette who confirmed that. So, I asked her out to lunch and she accepted.

Lunch was great and we had a good visit with all the Peal brothers, Jerry, JP, and Doug. Then I took Wynette home and went to work on Jack’s laptop. I was supposed to call him yesterday afternoon, but forgot. He called me while I was getting dressed after seeing the cardiologist and literally caught me with my pants down. I suppose I could have ignored the call, but didn’t, and asked if I could call back, which I didn’t do.

He had a unique problem which baffled me for the entire time I was there. He has a Verizon hot spot for his phone and internet because he’s too far away from any kind of reasonably priced cable installation. It works really well both at home, and on the road. I couldn’t, however, get his computer to connect to it. The little wireless light just wouldn’t turn the correct color, white, indicating connection and internet access. I tried everything I could think of and wasn’t having any luck at all.

Then, around 1630, Diane texted me asking if I’d run off into a ditch or something because I’d been gone for about 7 hours. It was a reasonable question, and I was amazed that so much time had passed by unnoticed as I fought with Jack’s laptop. Then, right as I answered Diane’s text, apologizing for not letting her know what I was doing, Jack’s laptop connected and everything appeared to work just like normal. It makes me wonder, a lot, if only Diane had texted me earlier, if the laptop would have worked then. It was like magic. I walked away without a clue about what made it finally work, except for Diane’s scathing text.

From there I went right to Church for our Lenten Service. Diane made her excellent vegetable soup.

Kathryn showed up with chicken noodle soup, and three guests … her son John, his fiancé Brittany, and her son Dominick. I sat next to John and, obeying my inquisitive nature, inquired about the musical note on his hand asking if he was a musician. “Percussion,” he said to which I replied that “I played the snare drum in my high school band.” Just one drum, not a set like he surely does. This conversation continued to reveal layers of substance. Then I mentioned the Trojan Swamp Monster band that our son Jeff is working with. Turns out John knows Jeff, Logan, and Shene, and visited our old house down by the river at some point in the past. I do not remember meeting him, but apparently we did.

Just one more “Small World” indicator for me. For Jeff, his name is John Wold. Remember?

Now it’s late and I must reattach my heart monitor and retire for the night.

I’ll leave you with an image that just never gets old. This is looking back up the 5th fairway with Mt. St. Helens gleaming bright. Life is good.
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Vegetable Soup, Computers, and PT

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Last Thursday Diane made the absolutely best Vegetable Soup I’ve ever had the pleasure of ingesting. It was so good that I ate two big bowls full. I also ate two pieces of toast with each bowl. Like normal, I asked her if she used a recipe and she said, “No.” Then I asked her if she could recreate this masterpiece and she said, “I don’t know.” These are pretty standard answers for those questions because Diane improvises most everything she cooks, and she doesn’t taste anything while she’s doing it. I’m the taster.

Now, having said all of that, I gotta tell you that she’s never given me a bad meal. They are all good, and it’s exciting because we can have the same meal multiple times in a row and they are all different. Take Sloppy Joe’s, for instance. Or Meat Loaf. Or Beef Stew. In subtle ways, they are different every time which always gives us at least one topic for dinner conversation … what’s different about this version? Always good, and always fun.

The soup? Including the three dishes mentioned above, it’s joined their ranks as one of my favorites. Now I have four of them. Life is good.

While the soup was cooking, I spent some time visiting with the MELCA guys over coffee at the Kozy Korner. Like normal, it was an eventful visit where we once again solved many of the world’s problems. Sadly, attempts to notify the appropriate authorities with these solutions were met with a disagreeable level of snickering and other forms of  degrading noises, so we ceased our efforts.

Then we had some more coffee.

The rest of Thursday was a blur of un-memorable activity of one sort or another.

Friday morning I had a date with Pam’s computer because it had issues. It was a new one for me so, therefore, a challenge. I spent a couple of hours fiddling with it at her house and couldn’t resolve it so disconnected it and took it to the car so I could dismantle it at my house.

Then I went to Physical Therapy where Derek & Patrick teamed up on me to bend my right arm into positions I don’t normally bend it. The reason I don’t is because it hurts. For that reason, over the years, I discovered ways to do things, like comb my hair, without using the offending muscles. As a result, over those very same years, the offending muscle has lost it’s ability do the things muscles normally do. Like, move my arm in a specific direction. Now, in order to please my doctor, and the physical therapists she unleaded upon me, I find it necessary to work on resurrecting the offending muscle. The good news is that with a little bit of manipulation, Derek and Patrick were able to improve the function indicating there’s hope we can regain use of the muscle. I’d tell you which muscle it is, but I have no idea which one it is. All I know is it’s the one that doesn’t work when I hook a large yellow rubber band to a door knob and attempt to stretch it while keeping my elbow next to my body. I face the door with the doorknob on my left, my right forearm sticking straight out from my body, then moving my arm to the right, away from my belly button. That part doesn’t hurt, it just doesn’t work. I guess making it work will help resolve the pain problems. We’ll see how that goes.

After returning home, it became imperative that we rearrange all of the furniture in the living room. It was imperative because it’s what Diane wanted to do. Now the living room has a totally different, open look to it. But, it still has too much furniture in it, so there will be another evolution in the near future. I will be on alert.

Yesterday evening I attended my monthly American Legion meeting at the Moose Club on Old Portland Road in Warren. I know you probably don’t care where it’s at but I was compelled to add that bit of information. Now you know.

Since I didn’t have time to eat supper before rushing off to my meeting, I was hungry. Thankfully Diane had mixed up some tuna for a sandwich and there was enough left for me to have half a sandwich. She doesn’t use relish when making tuna salad, so I mixed some in the remaining tuna and slathered it on a piece of bread. On the way to my chair I felt it would be a good idea to wrap the sandwich in a paper towel to keep from dropping bits on the carpet. That’s a  sure way to get into huge trouble in this house. Just ask Diane because it’s her rule.

I was near the counter top, a couple of steps away from the roll of paper towels, but there was one laying right there in front of me. Grabbing it, I wrapped it around my sandwich and sat down to eat it while we watched whatever Diane was watching on TV. As I was working my way through the sandwich, folding the towel out of the way, I noticed the paper towel had an odd texture. When the sandwich was gone, I folded the towel in half and wiped the residue from my lips. It was then that I detected a distinctly un-paper towel like aroma that caused me to give it a closer look.

There were some dark spots on it which, upon closer examination, revealed themselves to be spots of dust. Then I rechecked the towel’s texture and everything started clicking with regard to all the clues I had received.

Turns out the paper towel I grabbed was really a Swiffer sheet that Diane had used to dust all the furniture in the living room as we put it back in place. Then she conveniently tossed on the counter instead of into the trash.

After discovering what I had wrapped my sandwich in, I got the distinct taste of dust and, perhaps, Pledge, in my mouth that kind of ruined the sandwich for me. So I ate an apple.

I think she left it there on purpose to see what would happen.

Either that, or she knew the bread was dusty.

Losing Things, Nicks & Dings, and a Sandwich

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This morning, when checking my email, I was once again amazed to discover that someone took the time to read what scribble. That happens every day, actually, but this morning’s offering caused me to consider putting more thought into what I share. I can only believe that adding the word “Karma” into the title prompted a look by Gede Prama. Whatever the reason, it added another layer of blessings onto my  already overflowing life. Check him out and let me know if you think I’m nuts.

No, scratch that … just let me know if you find his messages helpful.

Now, about pain …

I endure it every day in some manner, as I suspect pretty much every one does. Sometimes it’s so faint I barely notice it. Then there are times when it becomes the only thing I can think about, willing it to end, willing myself to get beyond it and move along. We’ve all had those, I know. Like, when you stub your bare toe, really hard, into an immovable object. That hurts like crazy, doesn’t it? I’ve done that. I’ve also hit the end of my big toe with a hammer, so hard I actually thought I was going to die from the pain. This is a story I’ve told before, buried in an ancient post, so will not repeat it.

A lot of the pain I experience, however, isn’t self-inflicted because of stupid things I do,  but rather as a result of Karma, I believe. I’m being punished for some deed that I failed to recognize as one that was not aligned with universal acceptance. Sometimes the sin isn’t readily apparent, taking days, perhaps, to resolve into a meaningful understanding of what I did wrong. Consequently, I’m fated to repeat the errors until the consequences of my actions are hammered home, so to speak, until I’m forced to consider my moves carefully.

That’s tough for me to do because I’m a pretty spontaneous person. That trait is directly attributable to many of the injuries I’ve sustained over the years. I just didn’t think ahead far enough to figure out the possibilities of my actions.

I drop and spill stuff all the time, but not all of those events cause me to change directions like that socket did. Like, a cup of coffee, for instance. Granted, it makes me   immediately change direction to seek something with which to clean it up, but it doesn’t deter me from my primary object which was probably getting to the bathroom. before something more exciting took precedence. Sometimes the spilled coffee is ignored for a moment, or two, before getting adequate attention.

During this downhill side of life the spontaneity is less physical and more spoken or written. The physical side has shown me that, since moving from vertical to horizontal is becoming increasingly more difficult because of complaining joints, it’s not a good thing when I drop “stuff.” Like that socket I spoke of yesterday. I’m confident I’ll find it, eventually, but dropping it caused me to move on to something different. This half of the journey has proven to be a bit less painful, also. Partly because I’m slower, and actually think about what I’m going to do, most of the time. And, partly because many of the pain receptors in the parts I’ve injured the most, over the years, no longer transmit. They are simply worn out. Oh, they let me know I’ve done something wrong, but not to the point of hopping up and down until the pain subsides. It’s more of a warning that I should look, for instance, at the elbow side of my right arm after slamming it into the bracket that holds the hood up on my pickup. I did that yesterday, too. It was a warning shot, I’m sure, just before dropping the socket, but I didn’t recognize it as a message at the time. It hurt, I looked, and didn’t see any blood seeping into my long-sleeved short, so went about business.

Then, dropped the socket. A more stern warning from my limbic system that things aren’t going well.

Then, last night, after a pretty successful period of time playing with power saws in the basement, I received another shot across my bow, the reason for which I have not yet discovered.

We were eating dinner. Jeran was there. Diane had cooked up some really great pieces of deceased chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. We all sat down at the table and things were progressing well until I was compelled to rise out of my chair to visit the kitchen for some reason which I can’t remember.

Attaining a vertical position from a seated position, especially while sitting on a chair, is not a complex move because you have both arms and legs to use to make it work mechanically in a symmetrical manner. I, however, was forced to make the move with only one leg, because the pain receptors in my right foot went on full alert.

After a rapid intake of air, the body’s response that enables one to vocally alert any one in the vicinity about the severity of the situation, I reached down to investigate the cause.

Here’s what I found firmly attached to the bottom of my foot …

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I had to yank it out. Kinda reminded me of the time Mike Friday jumped off my bed (we were kids, and he’s a cousin) and wound up with an embroidery needle stuck all the way through one of his toes.

Kinda makes you want to hop around on one foot, doesn’t it?

The immediate message I received, and the one that is probably the one intended, is that I actually should wear something on my feet, even in the safety of my own home. There could be, however, a more meaningful meaning that I’ve yet to realize. I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out.

Yesterday, for lunch, Diane made us a “Fat Tuesday” meal of pancakes. She made enough of them that we were able to do it again today.

Since I don’t have a photo of that meal, I’ll share this one of the supper I had night before yesterday …

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Jewel will appreciate this one because it’s your standard fried egg, potato patty, and spam sandwich. It was awesome. A Hawaiian favorite, at least from the spam perspective.

Trucks, Karma, Kids, & Wood

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Today I started my work day working on the pickup but it didn’t last very long. The reason for that is I let Karma dictate the direction my day goes. My task was simply to get the truck started after sitting for a while, but that let to me dismantling a bunch of stuff, and fiddling with a bunch of wires. It wasn’t going well at all. Finally, two things happened that made it evident I was supposed to go find something else to do.

First, while taking the wire connection off the firewall side of the fuse block, I dropped my 3/8″ socket that was attached to my only 3″ extension. I’m pretty sure it dropped to the ground under the truck, into the 8″ deep grass that’s grown there since I parked the truck, but I couldn’t find it.

Considering this devastating loss a minor setback, I found something else to do that only involved a phillips screwdriver. Since the screw I wished to remove was large, and too hard to turn by hand, I used my 1/4″ socket into which I inserted the phillips head. After I got the screw out, the bit also fell into the grass.

That’s when I wrapped everything up, took my tools inside, and went to work on my work bench project. It’s been sitting idle for a couple of months because it seems I was either overly involved doing “other” things, or I was not motivated to go down all 15 stairs into the basement. Today, with the truck project an abject failure, I made the effort, and hammered together a bunch of wood I’d already cut in anticipation of this moment.

Although I have extremely limited space in which to work, I found a way to get it done. Well, not done, exactly, but at least well on the way. Soon, very soon, I’ll have another expanse of horizontal surface on which to stack all that stuff that used to hang on the peg board. At the moment it’s all over the floor making it difficult to get around. I’d include a picture but I’m pretty sure both of the California Mike’s would find totally unacceptable, boarding on the obscene. It’s not pretty. But, it’s getting better. Honest, it is.

When it’s finished, it will have hidey holes for all the power tools and maybe event some extra drawers in which to store things I only use once or twice a year. With all those things actually put away, I don’t know what I’m going do with the time I’ll save by not having to move a pile of “stuff” each time I want to do something. Right now it’s just a way of life for me. Has been for years. That, and looking for my tape measure, or a pencil, every time I need to measure something. Next time those things are on sale, I’m going to buy 6 or 7 of them and just leave them lying around all over the place so one is always handy. I know, I could hook it on my pants, but I don’t like doing that. I have a tool belt/pouch thing, too, but that’s like work. Jeff gave me a really good tool belt once, but I didn’t use it enough so he took it back. Can’t say I blame him. It was a nice one.

Jeran came to visit this evening because the rest of the family was doing things that he wasn’t part of. We had dinner together and then we played board games until Jennifer came to get him. I have to point out that, though he tried very hard, Jeran went home a loser. He didn’t win even one game.

I guess he really didn’t go home a loser because Ozzie allowed Jeran to pet him, something he’s never done before. Maybe Ozzie took exception to the ‘loser’ label. Whatever the reason, Jeran was delighted that he was allowed to touch Oz without fear of getting his hand ripped off.

Lydia is wearing contacts, now, and is really excited about it. She’s cute like normal but more so because now it’s easier to see her eye makeup.

We don’t know what Cedric was doing. I think he must have moved to Arizona. I’m not sure. Haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe Jennifer will fill us in.

I don’t think that I mentioned that I mowed our yard a few days ago. That’s because I felt bad about being able to do that when all the rest of the country is having such terrible weather. I could have mowed it again today, if I wanted to. It was dry and 60-something. Very balmy and spring-ish-like. I can say that because the heather and forsythia are blooming, a sure sign that spring is just around the corner.

Now I’m told it’s time for bed. It’s 2245 and I have absolutely no business being on the computer this late at night. I should be in bed, like all the other old people I know.