Category Archives: Health

Digging in the dirt … again

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It was really nice and cool at 0500 this morning, perfect for dismantling weeds with minimal chance of heat stroke. Too bad I didn’t take advantage of that like I said I would. No, instead, I lounged on the couch, waiting for the coffee to finish. Since that didn’t happen until Diane attained a vertical orientation and went to work waiting on me as is her custom. She takes really good care of me and I appreciate it immensely. End result, the coffee wasn’t done until around 0830.

After chugging that first cup of coffee, followed quickly by a large glass of water, I donned my dry work clothes and headed outside to resume the battle for our back yard. We’re gaining because we’re using a flanking maneuver I read about in a comic book. You can’t beat the weed back by going at them in a lineal manner, like from left to right, because they will just fill in the gaps behind you as you progress. No, you must work from both sides as well as the top and bottom of your designated target area, moving back into previously weeded areas to pick up the stragglers. Conducting this war in dry weather is grueling because the weeds are so imbedded it’s like trying to rip apart a sidewalk to release them. They are much easier to pry from the soil right after it rains. It’s messier, for sure, but far mor easy.

Knowing this, logic says to water it all down before the assault but doing so adds considerably to the household deficit which is already in the trillions of dollars, as every knows. Still, it may be less expensive, in the long run, if I simply hook up one of my laser-guided sprinklers and douse the area for a short period of time, exchange my common work attire for a stealth swimming suit, and swoop in when they are least expecting me.

Sounds like a plan. For the moment, I’m recovering from this morning’s mission which left everything I’m wearing, soaking wet, a sure sign that I’ve exuded more than my allotted amount of perspiration for the morning. Rehydration is in progress. When my heart attains a more normal rhythm I will put on my cowboy hat and make one more dash into the war zone to retrieve the tools I left behind. I’m not worried about losing them because weeds do not have opposing thumbs. All they can do is surround things, making it difficult to extract. It’s sad, in a way, because you can almost hear little screams as their roots are pulled from the ground.

I know this battle will continue until I die because all those weeds need is just a teeny tiny little bit of root to remain in the ground in order for them to cover the landscape as soon as you turn your back. They love it, too, when it’s raining really hard, keeping us in side. It’s really annoying to look out and see them pointing and waving at us, sharing something humorous with their siblings, as we stand trapped inside, watching them grow just willy nilly all over the place.

The possible solution is a holistic weed killer Diane discovered that we’re going to try. Chemical warfare isn’t my normal choice for war but using holistic methods seems, to me, to be OK. It’s kind of a religious endeavor if it’s holistic. It’s made using 1 gallon of vinegar, 2 cups of Epsom salts, and 1/4 cup Dawn dish soap. Mix it all up, put it in a sprayer and share it with all your weeds. Their demise, I understand, is fairly quick and painless.

I’ll let you know if it works on black berry vines.

Now I must go perspire a little while longer.

Weeds & Teeth

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We had a beautiful sunrise this morning. The dogs woke me up just in time to see it at it’s most orangey so I know it’s true. It doesn’t last very long so the dogs have to really be on alert to ensure I don’t miss it.

After my morning nap, Diane and I went out back and got busy ripping weeds out of the ground. Her efforts were restricted to the edge of the patio, where the mower never goes, and I chose to dismember the four rhododendrons, one large bush with no name, a couple ferns, and a few smaller plants I’m not familiar with. I didn’t cut them all down, I just trimmed them from the bottom up until I could comfortably sit under them as I pruned without branches knocking off my cowboy hat. I wear that hat because it covers my ears nicely, keeping them from being fried by the ever increasingly hot sun. As a consequence of using this method for trimming, there is a nice distance between the bottom branches and the ground leaving no place for rats to hide. I use a similar method for pruning trees … I cut off all branches that touch my head when I drive under it with my lawn mower.

There’s more to do, but I had to quit so I could keep my appointment at the dentist. Today was teeth cleaning day.

So, I got my teeth cleaned. Along with it, I got an attaboy from both the dentist and my hygienist. Even though I do a good job taking care of my teeth, they still charged me a small fortune. The reason, I’m told, is because I’m on periodontal maintenance due to the fact that I used to be a little cavalier about brushing, flossing, and stuff like that. So, a normal $100 cleaning job costs me $260. I had a long discussion with the girls at the front desk about this, and the fact that instead of getting it done every six months at $100, they insist I get it done every four months for $260. Add in the dentist fee, and some x-rays, it balloons to $360. Prepaying, and being old gets me a 10% discount, which helps, and I’m only going every 5 months instead of 4. So, it’s a compromise.

Now you all know I have diseased teeth and gums and are probably wondering why Diane has kept me around for so long. It’s really not as bad as it sounds and I’ll pay the price because I plan to keep at least 8 or 9 of my teeth until I die at 111. That will require lots of flossing and brushing.

I’ve bared my soul to you and find it necessary to stop before I began to weep a little.

July 4th Update

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In addition to omitting some crucial information from the evening of July 4th, there has been a new development in the form of reduced physical abilities of one member of the household caused by over exuberant efforts playing catch with a much younger person who can throw pretty hard.

1st, the 4th …

As darkness began to fall, we noticed that people were making themselves comfortable in the back yard of our next door neighbor. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be unusual, but, considering that the house has been vacant for over a year, we found it interesting so I went to investigate. First, I looked to see what kind of vehicle was parked out front and determined that it belonged to Jack & Barbara, a young couple we met while they were checking out the view from house in the dark. This time they brought all three of their young children, and two older people who were obviously related in some manner. My guess is they were the grandparents, but I don’t know from which side.

I approached them by walking south down the west side of our garage, between our respective abodes. Since I ripped down the rotten fence between our properties, gaining access to the intruders was a simple matter and it quickly became apparent that they were, indeed, Jack and Barbara. Barbara was carrying their youngest son, Asher, and one thing led to another until we invited them over to help eat some of the enormous amount of food lying around in our kitchen. This gave them an opportunity to compare the view from our deck to the deck of the house they are considering as a their next home.

When Barbara walked into our home carrying Asher, who is 11 months old, she was accosted by Lydia & Maryssa who snatched the child out of her hands. Barbara didn’t appear to mind as Asher was passed back and forth between the girls and Cedric, who has a way with little kids. Asher wasn’t complaining about all the attention at all.

After visiting for a while, we sent Jack & Barbara on their way back to their prospective new home with a Ziploc bag full of watermelon parts. That was my idea, because no one else was eating it and it was a good watermelon. They left Asher with the kids and I’m pretty sure it was intentional because she returned briefly with his blanket, alerting the girls that he was probably going to fall asleep pretty soon, and he did.

It was an interesting encounter. If they truly do end up being our neighbors it will be a good thing. They are good kids. I know because I googled them.

Now, about the physical aspect of my current situation … I’m sure all the aches and pains I’m experiencing were caused when I play catch with Maryssa and Bob. That was three days ago, but the injuries are just now manifesting, serving as an abject lesson that I’m no longer 50 and can’t treat my body as if I were.

Therefore, when it comes time to play catch with Lydia, or Cedric, I will be more careful and throw underhand all the time instead of waiting until my torn rotator cuff rises up to get my attention.

My back hurts, too.

I also have a stomach ache … and Diane is fussy with me about all of it. I should have kept it a secret. She’s probably going to make me go to school tomorrow anyway.

It’s not as easy to be 70 as I thought it would be. Guess it’s time to act my age.

Parades, Relatives, & Injuries

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We watched an episode of “Black Box” the other day to see if it’s something we’d find interesting while all the shows we REALLY like are on hiatus for the summer. We decided it wasn’t a show we would watch with regularity, but one of us came away with new-found knowledge that made them believe I was, and always have been, a Confabulator.  That is me, of course, a person who practices Confabulation. I can hardly deny the label since I readily share that not much I say, or write, can honestly be viewed in a serious manner. Also, I kinda like the way the word rolls of my tongue … it’s just one of those words that’s fun to say.

Here’s a question for you … when relatives come to visit are they considered “company”? I ask because whenever we have company it’s necessary for us to clean parts of the house they will probably never see, but you just never know. With relatives, however, they can show up any time so there might not be time to clean. Then, there are relatives who make it known that they will be arriving on a specific date which casts them in to the role of company. It’s very confusing and I think there should be some sort of rule about how much effort people should put into making company comfortable. Complicating this issue is when seniority seeps into the equation. Should lower ranking relatives receive the same kind of attention as high-ranking ones? Something to ponder …

A couple of days ago it was raining so I wasn’t allowed to work outdoors. Instead, I went downstairs to reacquaint myself with various aspects of my shop area. It’s been neglected for a while … well, since I dismantled half my work bench … and needed some attention. I also needed to look things over to see if I remembered where some of my favorite, though rarely used, tools currently reside. It’s a known fact that tools move around all by themselves when ignored for a certain amount of time.

It took me a while to get started because, as is my nature, I couldn’t help but just stand in the middle of everything, looking around, trying to devise a plan that made sense. I do this all the time and it only bothers me a little bit. After a few minutes of staring at “stuff”, I give up and just start moving things around in a Zen kind of way, seeking satisfaction in locating things from one place to another until it just feels right. My ultimate goal was to get the floor clear so I could clean it up a little. Most of it was just sawdust and tiny bits of wood, one of which had retained a nail that used to attach it to another piece of wood. By the time I discovered that last piece, most of the floor was clean so I was able to call a temporary halt to the proceedings after pulling it out of the bottom of my left shoe. Even though I was wearing my comfy foam-soled shoes for safety, the nail penetrated all the way through into that crease where the ball of my foot turns into my big toe. It hurt a lot and caused me to immediately halt the downward pressure of my left foot, an act that would normally cause me to tumble. Oddly, this time I retained my vertical stance and was able to extract the offending nail with relative ease while standing on one leg. I know. You find that hard to believe. Me on one leg. But, I did it.

Then I limped upstairs to find a source of brighter light so I could assess the injury. Diane caught me before I got to a chair and said, in a manner that might make one feel as though they do stuff like that all the time, “what did you do now?”

I said, “I stepped on a nail.”

She said, “do you need a tetanus shot?”

I said, “no” because I think they last for about 10 years and I know, for sure, I’ve had about 5 of them in the last 10. I should be free of the fear of tetanus for the rest of my life.

“OK, she said,” lets see it. I removed my shoe and searched my new white sock fo signs of blood, but it was clean. Taking the sock off, I searched the area of penetration but couldn’t see anything that could possibly cause the amount of pain I felt on first contact.

“Squeeze it,” she said, so I did. After a bit of time, a tiny drop of blood was produced. It was hardly worth the effort. Still, it was necessary to install a small band aid to ensure I didn’t get blood on any of the numerous rugs scattered about the house. At this very moment, even though it’s been a few days, it’s very uncomfortable. It feels like part of my sock is wrinkled up under my toes, even when I’m barefoot.

After getting my bandage, I went back to work, relocating things from the floor to the top of my unfinished work bench in an effort to create some space on the floor so I could move around without shuffling my feet. Once that was done, I went to work relocating some large boards that were leaning against the front of my table saw. To do this required that I bend at the waist a bit, just enough to move my forehead into a nicely cut 45 bevel on a piece of the old mahogany baseboard laying on top of my table saw. Since I’ve had lots of experience with injuries of this type, I knew it hurt enough that I should apply immediate pressure to ensure I didn’t get blood in my eyes. Thankfully, Diane was in the room next to me, so I didn’t have to go seek a mirror to asses the extent of the damage. I just went to her and, as soon as she completed her customary eye roll, removed my hand and asked it if was bleeding. It was, but not as badly as I feared. There was blood, but from more of a scrape instead of a cut. It didn’t even need a band aid, but it got a bit of antibiotic salve which stings, by the way, when it melts and runs into your eye. Blood doesn’t sting at all.

Today I participated in the Scappoose Summerfest parade in, of all places, Scappoose. I was one of 10 flag bearers who led the parade directly behind the first police vehicle on the mile long parade route. I wore my American Legion hat, but could have just as easily worn my VFW hat because the flag bearers were a combination of both groups. I waited my turn and took the last flag available, which turned out to be the Navy flag. I found that interesting. Leading the parade were the American Flag, the POW Flag, and the Oregon State Flag. Behind them we remaining seven toted, from left to right, the VFW Flag, Coast Guard, Air Force, Army, Marine, Navy, and American Legion Flags. One of the younger guys with really long legs kept a verbal cadence going, but some of the shorter vets had a hard time stepping out as far as he did. Consequently, some of us got out of step once in a while. We made it to the end, however, and deemed it to be a good day’s work. It was fun being up front like that, and seeing the respect displayed to us and to the flags. Directly behind us flag bearers was a trailer full of local vets being pulled by Junior’s nice red Bronco, top down, even though it rained a bit.

On the way home I got a call from our friend Tom and learned that all is well in Hillsboro. That’s always good news. He said Linda is spending an inordinate amount of time on her feet because she’s so busy cutting hair so I might have to think twice about adding to her burden by choosing her as my new barber. Mine left town. The last haircut I had was at Camp Pendleton a few months ago. Diane thinks it’s time for another one.

Now I must stop and help search for the lost “suck it” bag. That’s the one you can put a duvet in and suck all the air out with a vacuum cleaner to make it take up less space. Neither of us have any idea where that bag went, however.

Plus, not having a clear definition of what status lower ranking visiting relatives have, in the way of special treatment, we have to stick to the current norm and put clean sheets on all the beds, paint a room or two, and power wash all the sidewalks. That must all be done today, if it’s going to get done, because they are arriving tomorrow.

Later …

My Angiogram

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This morning Diane’s alarm went off at 0400, alerting us that only one hour remained before we had to leave for Good Samaritan Hospital in Portland. Me, being more level-headed, and forbidden from ingesting protein in order to survive the day, had my alarm set for 0430. Had I slept in my clothes last night, and slept in the car, I would not have needed an alarm at all. But, I was forced to sleep in the bed which means it was necessary for me to clothe myself in attire suitable for a public appearance in spite of the early hour. I only needed about 3 minutes to do that, but got up before my alarm activated, spewing annoying church bells into my sleepy ears. That would have been just terrible.

I got up, stuffed myself into some dirty jeans, clean shirt, clean socks, and the sneakers I wore home from Idaho. Also, though I didn’t need them, Diane insisted that I wear underwear. Clean ones. So, I did. I also fixed a bag of ‘things’ in case I had to stay the night after my angiogram procedure.

Diane got us safely to the hospital in plenty of time, but had to toss me out in front while she went the park the Buick. I was the only patient in the place so got attention right away from the nice lady at the desk. She asked my name and birthday while I extracted all the photo ID’s and medical cards from my wallet. Being a good American, I have 4 photo ID’s and two medical cards so I was well prepared. I was disappointed that she didn’t look at any of them. Anyone who knew my name and birthday could have kidnapped me and hi-jacked my angiogram with no problem. I don’t know about you, but I think hospital security is severely lacking and there should be armed guards at all points of egress to ensure this doesn’t happen in the future. Metal detectors should also be installed to keep doctors from trying to sneak their homemade surgical tools into the facility. It is my misinformed understanding that there’s a black market for items like this where doctors trade homemade wears at tables outside all the operating theaters. It’s an unsubstantiated activity to which hospital administrators turn a blind eye because for them it’s money in their pockets since they don’t have to restock the shelves themselves. I haven’t heard that it’s true, but think administrators have an underground network of garage labs that sharpen and shine used tools to augment these black market activities.

After being semi-adequately identified at the check-in counter, and receiving my critical arm band that substantiated my identity, I sat in the hospital lobby for about 17-38 minutes before a nice lady showed up with a wheelchair to take me upstairs. She had some paperwork and confirmed that my armband was correct before releasing the brakes and heading for the elevator.

On the second floor I was wheeled into a large room full of hospital beds situated in such a manner that each of them could be  completely shielded for privacy by curtains hung from the ceiling by chains, just liken an emergency room. Unlike an emergency room, however, I was immediately placed into the care of Mary, my prep nurse, who pointed out the festive backless dress laying on my assigned bed and suggested that I shuck my street wear and insert myself into the garment. Instead of the standard blue design, mine was brown. My favorite color. Then she pulled the curtains around my bed and left me alone for a few minutes.

Alone, I removed my shoes, jeans, shirt and socks then my lovely bride stepped in and helped fasten the gown since I’ve not had a lot of experience tying knots behind my back. The clothing was placed into a large plastic bag that was spread over the top of my dress. It was placed under my bed as I attempted to climb onto the bed as directed. Before that happened, however, Diane had conducted a really quick inventory of the bag containing my clothes and said, “give me your underwear.” Reluctantly, I dropped them to the floor, picked them up and handed them to my bride. I’m sure I detected a smirk as she took them.

Mary returned with a tray of equipment, sat down next to the bed, then proceeded to put me at ease while she prepped me for an IV in my right hand. First, she gave me a tiny, barely felt poke with a numbing agent, waiting about 10 seconds, talking the entire time, then inserted the IV without me even knowing. It was truly amazing. The best IV I’ve ever had in my entire life. Really! It was amazing!

After the IV was in place, and taped down, Mary turned to the computer terminal assigned to my bed, and put me at ease by asking me a whole boat-load of personal questions which I answered, and elaborated on in great detail. When the quiz was completed, we had a very nice chat while she shaved off half the pubic hair above my right testicle. That’s my right, as I look down … your left if you were looking at me. It was an unexpected treat with an electric razor that caused the curly little pubes to fly all over the place. To remove the pubic debris, Mary wrapped a piece of duct tape around her right hand, sticky side out, and patted the area as if she was removing lint from her favorite pair of dress slacks. Though I didn’t look, I’m sure she got it all.

Then she gave me a Valium and told me the names of the four nurses and doctors into whose care I would shortly be placed. Sadly, I can’t remember them. I just know that I was left alone, with Diane, for about 40 minutes, during which time I napped. Then, one of the Angiogram Crew appeared, unlocked the wheels on my bed and away we went down the hallway.

The AR (angiogram room) was pretty impressive. I was wheeled next to the table where all the action was to take place. I know that’s true because that’s what the crew told me.

Once aligned with the stationary bed, I was helped off the mobile bed and placed into the necessary position defined by the operating crew. It was actually the same position I had attained on the mobile bed so it wasn’t difficult for me. I even made sure my dress was draped over each side of the table. This served two purposes … one, there were very warm blankies on the table, and two, it gave easy access for whatever the crew wanted to do. I was nearing the point where I didn’t really care what that might be.

Next to the table was an enormous television set that was displaying about six different views. I figured one of the areas of the screen was devoted to some cooking show, but I could be wrong. It may have been ESPN.

The Shawn-ster, according to the support crew for Dr. Patrick, would be there shortly but that didn’t happen until after Linda, I think, added some sleepy juice to my IV. Consequently, I don’t remember anything else until I woke up back in my mobile bed in the prep/recovery room with Mary and Diane by my side. Apparently I had a long talk with Dr. Patrick right after the procedure but that didn’t work out because he told Diane that he knew I wouldn’t remember it because my eyes kept rolling back in my head. Thankfully, he had the same conversation with Diane so the story was preserved and shared with me when I was awake enough to comprehend the English language.

The fact that I was back in prep/recovery meant nothing significant happened during the procedure. Diane said Dr. Patrick told her that all the arteries and veins around my heat are “pristine”. I had to look that up but instinctively knew it was a good thing. He didn’t find anything wrong and said I have the heart of a 9-year-old. Maybe he didn’t say that. Maybe it was Diane saying I acted like a 9-year-old. I disagree, of course. I think I act much older, like at least 17. Yes, easily 17.

When I was finally released, they rolled me to the front of hospital and helped insert me into the Buick then Diane drove me home where she cooked me a lovely lunch of fried eggs, oven fried hash brown patties, toast, coffee, milk and orange juice. And my pills.

Then I napped most of the afternoon and she fed me hotdogs and chile for dinner. Then we watched about 5 episodes of “Major Crimes”, one of our new favorite shows.

Now I must rest some more Diane insists. She almost won’t let me up to go to the bathroom but I warned her about the alternative of remaining in my chair. She’s being very stern with me about no doing much. There’s a clear adhesive over my incision so that we can judge whether or not it’s bleeding. I don’t know what they plugged my femoral artery with but it’s apparently working. Tomorrow Diane has to change the bandage so we will get to see the wound. I took a picture of it today, but Diane threatened me with divorce if I published it. So, I’ll have to shelve it for 7 years when the statute of limitations expires.

Wild Horse Casino Pendleton

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This morning Jim showed up at the hotel shortly after the sun came up. Thankfully, that’s about the time Jack gets up so he had company until I showed up around 0730. It would have been much later for me, but I actually set an alarm. It never had a chance to go off because I was awake, but I set it.

Jim and Jack were deep into a conversation that abruptly ended when I neared the table so I’m pretty sure they were talking about me. I sat down anyway, and started visiting right away.

Jim, who won’t use a computer, has a smart phone so it was pretty entertaining to sit there and watch him talk to it, asking rhetorical questions about the things that happened each time he made a selection on the screen. He can even text, now. That’s a major step up from the old dial phone he had a couple of months ago. We’re all very proud of him. He’s fun to watch.

Stopped by Killion’s in Ontario for lunch again, and we weren’t disappointed. This time we were waited on by Cassandra Killion herself. She’s one of the 4-5 daughters of the family that owns the restaurant. Very nice young lady on her third year of a five-year program to become a chemical engineer at a school in Rochester, NY. We all had a terrific visit with her.

Then we went to the Wild Horse Casino in Pendleton. Got different rooms, this time, and Diane can’t breath in it. Got an ionizer sent up so will see how that goes.

********** long pause here **********

It’s now 7:38 p.m. and we’re back from having a festive, entertaining dinner at Subway. Wynette had club, Diane had ham & cheese, I had an egg & bacon, and Jack had a club with no bread. In case you’re curious, Subway is located on the road leading into the casino. Consequently, we were the only customers in the small facility. The other half of the building contains a DQ which is where we went for dessert. Diane had a purple slushy, Wynette had a vanilla cone with a chocolate cap, and I had a chocolate malt. Jack didn’t get anything, but he ate some of Wy’s cone.

The topper for me was the last red vine that fell down next to the driver’s seat last Thursday. I would have left it there, but Diane’s straw fell down there and she wanted it so I mentioned the red vine. It was a bit hard, but still good.

We were gone from the room for more than hour because the ozonator thing has a 60 minute timer and it wasn’t running when we got back to the room. Thankfully, being out in the air gave the unit time to clean up the air in the room and Diane’s just fine, now.

I forgot to mention that we encountered a long stretch of burned ground on the east bound lanes that wasn’t there when we came over last Friday. It went on for a couple of miles and ended at the bare bones remains of a burned truck and travel trailer. All that was left was metal. It obviously was the cause of the burned ground.

Tomorrow we go home.

Golf & Matches

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Yesterday’s post was a bit of a downer and I apologize for that. It’s not my nature to get real personal or to relate anything that’s really true. I guess the subject got me thinking a little more than usual about all the “things” going on inside my scrawny chest cavity. I actually feel just fine. More precisely, I don’t feel any different from that which I have become accustomed to viewing as normal for me. It is what it is, ya know?

I golfed today. Didn’t do bad. Didn’t do good. Just had a good time. Jack couldn’t go because Wynette wouldn’t let him. I’m sure it has something to do with his sore and swollen hand. It wasn’t really Wynette who kept him home … it was just a good decision on his part.

On the way home from the golf course, I slowed down at Don’s house, but his shop was closed and his truck was missing so I just trundled along home. It was noonish so I figure he was at the tavern having lunch with his friends. It is Wednesday, after all.

Once home, I rid myself of golf clothing and donned my redneck lederhosen rig with the intention of setting my burn pile on fire. First, however, Diane made me eat lunch. That meant we had to watch one of our recorded TV shows. We always do that when we eat something, no matter what time of day it is. By the time I got outside, it was either 2 or 3 pm, but I lit the pile anyway. So, depending on when I started, in the course of 3 or 4 hours I burned all the evidence of the cedar trees to a crisp. I sat often, watching it burn down, then piled on more trees, sat, watched, piled, sat, etc., until there was nothing but a huge pile of ashes that is going to smolder for the next 4-5 days, I’m sure. All that’s left is stumps and a pile of large sticks which I kept for camp fires. We actually might go camping. You just never know.

Now I’m quitting because Diane just got back home and I don’t want to get caught on the computer. I am supposed to be at the burn pile, you know.

My angiogram, by the way, is next Wednesday at 0600. Yikes. Being that early they may not even need to sedate me.

Hearts & Softball

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This morning at 0930 I had a nice chat with my cardiologist about the results of my echo-stress test. That happened on May 5th. I had an earlier appointment for today’s meeting but the doctor kindly rescheduled due to some sort of conflict, or emergent event. Because of all that I figured today’s appointment was a routine followup. It was that, and then some. However, it would appear that I have a bit of a problem. It’s one that can be fixed, but it was a surprise.

After the doc told me what a terrific job I did with the stress test, and that the echo cardiogram revealed that my heart is in pretty good shape, just a little calcium on the flappers. Nothing to be concerned about there, but he was concerned about the way the tests ended way back there on May 5th.

That brings me to the reasons why I had the tests in the first place.

Years ago I went to the doc to report an odd pain I got at the base of my jaw whenever I  make one of my superhuman physical efforts at things like walking really, really fast, or when I get tingly things down my left arm when lifting heavy things. Really, this has been going on for years. Many of them. Ask Diane.

I’m not complaining, mind you, just reporting facts. Having those events actually helped me adopt a stress-free life which was good for me. I just decided that I wasn’t going to worry about anything no directly within my sphere of influence. I gotta tell you that it sure made life easy. Still does, actually.

Now, after today’s visit, I’m waiting for the doc’s office to call to tell me when I need to check in for my angiogram. Guess I have a blockage of some sorts and their going to find out what it is. Just don’t know when. I was told the chance that I’ll need bypass surgery is about 3% and that the solution would probably be one or more stents.

After that, Diane had a lot of time to wait for the St. Helens girls softball game against Rex Putnam. This was the game to find out who was going to play for first place. During our wait, we went to the movie and watch “Heaven is for real”.

It was another really defensive game, as expected. Over the course of 6 innings, Putnam scored 3 times to our 0. Then, all the sudden, it was St. Helens’ last at bat and they made it a very exciting one. They loaded the bases then got a hit that scored 2 leaving runners at 1st & second. Next hit was to shortstop who attempted to tag the runner on the way to 3rd, but lost the ball in the process. The runner continued toward home and was halfway there for the tying run when she stopped and returned to 3rd. We weren’t sure why. Next batter was out, game over. So, there will be no championship game this year for the Lady Lions, but they sure made it an interesting trip to this point. Next years should be a real hoot.

Now we’re home and it’s time for bed. Gotta golf tomorrow so need my rest.

Portland Trailblazers & Old Computers

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Just so you all know, Portland is up 2-0 in the playoffs against the Houston Rockets. In Houston. Doing it on the road makes it sweeter. During the season, Houston only lost 8 times at home, now this. Two in a row from an upstart team that many thought wouldn’t make it far. Flash in the pan. A passing thought.

Well, hang on to your hats because they’ll be playing the next two games in Portland starting Friday evening. Those two should be as entertaining as the last two. I just hope they don’t draw Bennett Sabatino as one of the referees because his whistle only seems to work for Portland’s opponents. Curious.

Tonight’s ref crew called Howard for travels, something he’s become accustom to most refs ignoring. It was refreshing.

Then there’s Lamarcus Aldridge … he’s had over 40 points in each game so far.

OK – that was at the end of a busy day. At least for Diane it was busy because she cleaned the house while I just sat around in the basement going through boxes and boxes of cords and various parts of computer equipment. I found about 10 desktop hard drives, two laptop hard drives, six CD players/burners, five 3.5 inch disk drives, and one 5.5 inch disk drive. Yes, I found a 5.5 inch disk drive. Many of you may have never seen one of those. It’s a true relic. One of those things that you will remember for life if you ever have the opportunity to install a program issued on 5.5 inch disks.

Loading program with 3.5 disks was also a lot of fun. Somewhere in my boxes is a Windows 3.0 on a 10 disk set of 3.5 disks.

My how things have changed.

I’ve also got an old Commodore 128 stowed in the original boxes. I keep thinking I’m going to break it out one day and fire it up just for fun. Once I get rid of all the extra stuff, I will do that.

Now it’s time for me to go to bed. I have my Echo/Stress Test tomorrow afternoon and I have to study.

G’nite.

Yoga

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I have my own yoga trainer and she sits right next to me at the computer. This makes it easy for me to observe the intricate movements so that I can emulate them at a later time. The goal, of course, is to obtain just a portion of the body control she has to maintain all those positions.

Many of them I have down pretty good, but this blatant display of flexibility is still beyond the limits of my aging body.

IMG_0274 IMG_0277 IMG_0279She makes it look so easy …