Category Archives: Health

Dealing With Adversity

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Today we had a terrific time visiting with new friends Nickie and Mary Louise (not their real names). I call them new friends because before today they were more like “friendly people we know.” I can say that, because it’s really true, but Diane has more of a long-term connection with them. Today, however, all that changed when they visited us so Nickie could loan me his a book … “The Frozen Shoulder Workbook” by Clair Davies, NCTMB which was published in 2006. I readily admit that I have no idea what NCTMB stands for but I’m confident they mean something important because the letters are all upper case, like MD, and unlike PhD, or Dr.

Nickie brought it to me because of the problem I’ve been having with my right shoulder and he wanted to share with me the story of his own shoulder. It was a generous thing to do and, after our visit, made me understand that it’s just the way Nickie is. I mentioned that Diane has more of a connection and that’s because her parents knew Nickie’s parents. They all lived in Warren and it’s common knowledge, in Columbia County, at least, that everyone in Warren knows each other. Part of that familiarity is due to the fact that most of the older residents are related to each other.

We visited for a long time in our living room. This is a rare event for us because that’s where the big TV is and it’s almost always on when we’re home. Sitting there, visiting, each in our own comfy chair just talking, was just great, and very informative. I got Nickie’s story and it is amazing. Not only does it involve political intrigue, it’s about overcoming incredible frustration caused by terrible medical care that’s the result of government control of an insurance company that dictates required treatment in order for someone to return to work. It’s intentionally complicated, in my opinion, in order to force patients to extract themselves by the most expedient means possible.

Nickie’s journey started with a fairly simple issue with his shoulder that escalated over a few years to a complex series of medical issues. That he’s relaxed, and pretty stress-free, speaks volumes about his fortitude. During this time, Nickie was admitted to the hospital a number of times as the result of doctor visits, and also because of emergency issues. He kept his wrist bands to document this tumultuous time in his life, and attached them to a metal ring normally used for making wreaths. He ran out of room so attached more of them to a long chain.

Maybe my words aren’t very convincing, but this should be …

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Amazing, right?

We talked through lunch and finally made a unanimous decision to go out and get something. Burgerville was the choice where we all got Tillamook Cheeseburgers. Have I ever told you how good those things are?

It was a very good, very informative day. At the end, I decided that the little pain I have in my shoulder isn’t really a big deal.

However, I’m still going to read “The Frozen Shoulder Workbook”.

He’ll Have To Go

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This morning I was on “American Idol”, for some inexplicable reason. Well, not really on the show, but going for my audition. Throughout the entire trip from the waiting room, to the that little room they lock you in before you get the call, I was first extremely perplexed about why I was auditioning because there is no way anyone who is actively conscience would mistake me for a singer.

As I was propelled, with a ‘guide’ on either side of me, holding my arms, I became less perplexed and started worrying about what I was going to sing for the Judges. My first thought was something by Fredrick Nelson because he was only 4 years older than me and I liked his songs. “Travelin Man” came to mind, perhaps because I know most of the words.

“No,” I thought, “I need something more mellow.” Then Jim Reeves popped his head up and suggested “He’ll Have To Go”, another song  that I know most of the words to. Thinking this would be a better choice, I took Jim’s advice and discarded Ricky. Maybe another day for him.

For some reason the trip to the little booth took a while so I had ample time to practice, getting my routine down pat. Toward the end of the trip I thought I was sounding pretty good, especially on those low notes. With little fanfare, I was tossed into that little room and the door slammed.

I was alone, waiting for the green light. I waited, and waited, and waited, then it finally came on. I reached for the doorknob, turned it very slowly, and pushed the door open, steeling myself to give the performance of my life, to do something I wasn’t prepared to do. Clearing my throat, I stood a little straighter, confidently pushed the door open, and marched into the bathroom.

Then I woke up.

Isn’t it funny how your brain interprets the meaning of a distended bladder, and a groaning bowel?

Once awake, I grabbed Ozzie from the bed, went to the back door and released him into the wild. Panzee and Breezie readily followed. While waiting for them to return, I staggered around the kitchen a bit, fixing the dog’s bowls of pouch food to complete their morning routine. Not being fully alert, I mistakenly put Ozzie’s in the big bowl, and Panzee’s in the small bowl. I’ve done that before, but fixed it before serving. This morning I just left it as is and let them have at it. Then I fixed a cup of day old coffee for myself, stuffed it in the microwave, and went to the bathroom to complete the morning routine.

Turns out I really did have a world-class performance to give after all. Because of that, “He’ll Have To Go” was a good choice.

Since I haven’t been taking my fibre, as directed, it took a while and I had to reheat my coffee when done.

Now I’m comfortably waiting for my next performance. Maybe I should tune up my guitar and play along with it.

That would be a nice touch.

Fun In The Sun & Popcorn

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Today was another relaxing one. We got up at our new normal time, 0730-ish, then fiddled around, drinking coffee and reading, until 1000-ish. At that time we decided it was time to eat so I got busy cooking. With permission, I decided it was time for eggs, bacon, fried potatoes and toast. As luck would have it, Diane baked two potatoes yesterday but we only ate one of them so we had one I could hack to pieces and fry them.

Before dismantling the potato, I got the bacon going so I’d have some grease in which to fry the potato. Diane may have preferred that I fry them in butter, or Crisco, but I didn’t want to. I was in charge. I did, however, fry the eggs in butter. That’s Diane’s choice. I, personally, prefer anything that needs to be fried to be fried in bacon grease. I even fry up sausage patties in bacon grease.

Breakfast was awesome, then Diane bundled up for our trip to Del Mar and the car show. Me? I wore shorts and a t-shirt. Admittedly, it was a brave thing to do because the breeze coming through the windows was a bit on the chilly side.

Having previously agreed that we would take a train to Solano Beach, then walk to the Del Mar Fairgrounds, we meticulously checked, and rechecked the schedule to ensure we knew what we were doing. You see, there are about four trains that ply the rails between LA and San Diego with many commuter stops along the way. Interestingly, though they whiz by within a few blocks of our temporary residence, they are not a distraction.

Armed with all this information, we set out for the Oceanside Transit Center, a fairly large complex from which we could exit the area on any of the trains, or busses. Once we arrived, we joined some other neophyte train riders to catch the 1228 train to Solano Beach. An attractive young transit policewoman loudly informed everyone that the next train for our chosen stop wasn’t until 1432, a three-hour wait. I had a brief education by the young lady who pointed out the error in my thinking process that led us to believe we had actually figured out how to read the complicated schedule.

At this point, Diane and I looked at each other, for the first time in days, and voiced our concern about having to wait for three hours for the planned trip to the custom car show. Then we started talking, another rare event, and learned that we were both victims of the dreaded GOTM syndrome. That’s the one where one of us agrees to do something they think the other one really wants to do, like in the story about The Gift Of The Magi. Remember that one? Well, turns out we both thought going to the custom car show because we thought the other person really wanted to attend the show. After talking about this for a while we came to the conclusion that neither of us really wanted to spend time indoors, walking around for hours looking at custom cars. We’ve seen lots of custom cars in the past so we determined that our time would be better spent walking around Oceanside’s back streets to see what we could see, so that’s what we did. We wandered, all the way north, almost to the far end of The Strand.

Then we had to walk all the way back. It was really a nice walk, however, and neither of us was hurting worse than normal at the finish line. Still, we found it necessary to rest for the remainder of the afternoon which turned chillier making our choice to stay inside a good one.

Later, I made some popcorn, for myself because Diane doesn’t eat it, and it brought up the merits of making good choices about which bowls to use. You see, one previous day I selected a bowl from the counter, dried it out, dumped my popcorn in it and plopped myself on the sofa. Diane said, “did you wash the bowl?” I replied, it was wet so I just dried it out. “You know, don’t you,” she asked, “that I soaked my feet in that bowl?” In no way intimidated, I responded, “yes, but you did it twice an I rinsed it between soaks.” She pointed out, “but, Jerrie! I cleaned the polish off my toes with acetone in that bowl!” Sniffing the bowl, I didn’t detect a hint of acetone, so figured all was good.

Although I didn’t look Directly at Diane, I know for a fact that she stared at me with furrowed brow for longer than normal, then went back to what she was doing.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to be OK, but one never knows, does one?

Now we’re just in a wait and see mode to discover if I come down with some sort of exotic athlete’s foot kind of thing in the back of my throat. On the off-chance I do, I’m reading about foot fungus medicine on-line to see if it’s a bad thing to ingest. Looks good, so far

DAV Thrift Store & Del Mar Hot Rod Show

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Today, in the extremely bright sunshine, we walked  to the DAV Thrift Store that resides on the Pacific Coast Highway, somewhere in Oceanside. I don’t know specifically ‘where’ in Oceanside, just that it’s south of us.

We embarked on this journey after breakfast so we were nourished, unlikely to faint away from the physical aspect of the endeavor. Had I known, at the time, that the one-way distance to our destination was 1.7 miles away, I may have given it a second thought.

To those of you who walk on a regular basis, that’s no big deal, right? Well, to me, a person who ‘talks’ about walking more than ‘doing’ it, 1.7 miles is a pretty good hike. Making it even worse, there was the trip home making it a whopping 3.4 miles! That’s a long ways. I know that one of the Nancy’s I know walks that far between snacks, and probably thinks I’m overreacting to the distance. Now I’ll admit that I wasn’t aware of the distance involved at the onset of this trek. Diane kept that a secret until we made it back to our abode.

Making it even more profound, was that I added at least another mile to that by leaving Diane to browse while I backtracked to an O’Reilly automotive store we passed on the way. I did that because I needed some R-134 refrigerant for the Buick. The A/C quit working right about the time we hit warmer weather on our way. This happened the last time we took a trip south, when the Buick was still under warranty, and nothing was found to be wrong. They just recharged the system and it worked fine. Until now. Now, considering that we don’t use the A/C during the winter, maybe it failed right away and we just didn’t know it.

So, thinking I knew the solution to the current problem, I went to O’Reilly’s to get the recharge kit. It cost over $53 which includes a $10 core charge for the can. After getting it, I walked back to the DVA place and entered the store just as Diane was checking out. She stuffed everything in the handle bag she thoughtfully brought to make it easier for me to carry. She just knew I would because I’m that kind of guy. I carry stuff for her. Open doors, too.

Then we started the journey back to the condo. About half way Diane’s knee started acting up so I had to carry her. It was necessary to stop frequently so she could rest because holding the bag made her arm tired. And, though the front of me is soft a cushy, my back is still bony and uncomfortable for her to ride on. She’s never been one to take piggy back ride so I’ve never really felt a need to concentrate on developing a fat back. After today, I find it necessary to rethink that.

Once back in our room, Diane started working on lunch. I was allowed to help by making the salad. I regret not taking a photo, but eating it was more importing than documenting it at the time. She broiled an enormous steak, cooked some asparagus, and baked a couple of potatoes. It was totally awesome! I, of course, was forced to eat everything that Diane couldn’t consume. That’s a large factor in my development of a cushy front side. I’ve had to do that our entire married life. I’ve been very well fed because I had to do that for the kids, too.

Now it’s late, the laundry is done, folded and put away, and we’re just sitting around eating candy and drinking wine

Life is pretty good.

Tomorrow the plan is to seek out the Del Mar Fairgrounds to wander amongst a reported 2500 custom vehicles built before 1972. I guess it’s a big deal so we’re going to find out. We actually got a little sample of what will be there during out walk from downtown. Just as we neared our destination, we heard the unmistakable rumbling of some modified engines and turned to see a line of about 30 customs coming up the street. We watched, they all waved at us, and we waved back. They drove past our facility, took a left at the stop sign, then turned left on “S The Strand”. Apparently this is a fun thing to do and we got to see them twice because there are no buildings next to our condo complex, allowing us to watch us them cruise down The Strand. Very colorful and pleasing.

Now I must rest. I’ve got a nearly 5 mile walk to get over. Next time I’ll ask how far it is before agreeing to go.

I’ll leave you with photos of this cafe we found today. It’s named after our daughter, Jennie.
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This was painted on the side of the building. It faces a paved, vacant lot right on the Pacific Coast Highway, that had a price tag of $499,999.00. That’s vacant, as in without a building on it, as if it’s bargain.
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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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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.

Gear Head Stuff & Karma

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Now, I’m not a real Gear Head, Like Don, but I try. Sometime’s I’m even successful which surprises me when it happens. Such was the case today when, left unsupervised, while Diane took her Mom to the doctor to check out her head, I left the house brimming with confidence that I would accomplish my missions.

One of them was the old ’68 truck. As you may remember, I left it in a shambles with no electricity making it to the necessary wires that would ignite the engine. So, this morning, I went to work as if it wasn’t a problem, put it all back together, and it actually started right up. Oh, there’s a few extra wires hanging around, and I didn’t reinstall the radio or the heater controls, but it works. So do the turn signals, and the windshield wipers, the reason for dismantling it in the first place. One of the added benefits of getting the truck going was that I was able to move it so I could find the socket I dropped a couple of weeks ago. Many of you are probably surprised that I remembered to look for it.

I share this news as though everything went just as smooth as glass, but that’s not the case. I discovered what happens when the tiny little tube isn’t reconnected to the oil pressure gauge. Any guesses? Well, lets just say I’m no longer allowed to wear those sneakers in the house, and I’ll probably have to toss the socks I was wearing.

That reminds me … I should probably connect the speedo, too.

But it runs in an excellent manner.

From the truck I went directly to the ’79 Winnebago. It’s a tough bugger to get started but I know the trick. First I removed the engine cover inside the cab. Then I plunked myself into the driver’s seat and removed the air cleaner cover. That’s necessary in order to spray starting fluid into the carburetor, which I did. This is complicated, however, by the tricky ignition I’ve got. Actually, it’s not tricky. I had a button connected to the starter at some point in time, and it fell off one day. Since I’ve not found it necessary to reinstall it, I just turn the key on and hold the wires together, spraying starting fluid in the carburetor, until something ignites. So far, using that method, the only thing that ignites is the fuel in the engine. That’s because I really don’t spray while the engine is turning.

It started pretty quickly, surprising me, so I let it set and run until the exhausts quick smoking. That didn’t take as long as normal, either.

Then, I moved next door to the ’73 Winnebago to see if I could get it started. I know it will run, but it hasn’t been started in a while so I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

First, I needed to install one of the batteries just happen to have in the garage. There are three of them, and they all, happily still had a full charge which was applied before I gave my old battery charger away.

Before I took the battery out, however, I decided to do a little pruning. The border trees I parked next to were in the way so I just whacked a bunch of branches off until I could access the battery tray.

With the battery in place I randomly attached two of the four wires in the vicinity and achieved a satisfying spark indicating ‘something’ was connected. Back in the cabin, no matter how hard I turned the ignition key, I couldn’t get it to do anything. So, I went back out and disconnected the battery cables and contemplated which two to connect next. While pondering, I checked the battery terminals, noticing that they are a bit corroded, and the terminal ends of the cables previously used. Turns out the spark i achieved was thankfully brief because had it actually made adequate contact the battery would have imploded. The two I chose first created a direct short between the terminals.

The second and third time I was more careful. I discovered which two powered the 12V lighting, but using the 2nd positive cable still did not result in ignition. So, I figured Karma was telling me to go do something else. So, I did.

I removed the ’79 rig from the driveway so Diane’s Bunco Babes will be able to park 4 vehicles on the house side of the street. The latecomers will have to park across the street.

Now it’s getting late and I must terminate my activity for the day. Lydia has her first high school softball game today at 1630 and I must be there. I have 1.5 hours to get ready. Sadly, I can only watch 1/2 an hour of it because I have another PT session at 1700. Another reason I must quit is because Diane made it back home and reported that I “stink” of mechanical stuff and must wash.

So, I’ll do that.

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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