Category Archives: Injuries

Another Day Another Wound

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So … as you know from my previous post, Diane isn’t home today and I was afforded another chance to drive myself to the emergency room. In order for me to legally take advantage of this brief window of opportunity I had to find a clever way to injure myself in such a manner that my honor wouldn’t be impinged.

Getting out my trusty hammer drill, I went to work on the curb I’ve been whittling at for a while in an attempt to make room to set a fence post. The first 6-7 holes were accomplished with no problem then I got cocky and locked the trigger on so I could hold the drill without squeezing it. Made things much easier, with less wear and tear, until the drill bit his a rough spot and I lost my grip. With the bit about 3 inches deep in cement, there was no way it was going to fall over. With the trigger locked on, there was also no way the drill was going to stop. Consequently, the drill quickly began spinning around the drill bit at a pretty impressive RPM, winding up the cord as it went. In an attempt to stop the rotation, I grabbed at it and wound up with my left wrist tied securely to the drill by the cord and twisted in a painful manner until I could reach the extension cord with my right hand and unplug the machine. During the unplugging effort, my right hand was also twisted and beat up so my current predicament is predictable.

My previously partially damaged opposed thumb on my right side is now mostly un-opposed to the point where manipulating a zipper or button a shirt is a challenge. And, my left wrist, though unbroken, isn’t in any kind of mood to bend any direction. Tomorrow things should start getting colorful at the points of injury. If they don’t, I’ll be very disappointed. I’m a firm believer that injuries of this nature should be punctuated with colorful bruises to commemorate the event. If they aren’t, I may be prone to seeking some colored pencils which I can use to create my own marks.

Here’s what happened to the drill …

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On a little lighter side, here’s where Ozzie lounged the entire time I was eating my supper soup in my recliner. He wasn’t waiting for me to drop anything … he just wanted a front row seat in case I was handing out samples … which I did.IMG_0364

I have to add, here, that injuring myself wasn’t the objective of my foray into the area of manual labor this afternoon. Things like that just seem to work out for me.

Wash Cloth Rules

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This morning I was retrained in how to tell which wash cloths on the shelf I’m legally allowed to use. Apparently there are rules regarding wash cloth selection that I’ve forgotten. Sometimes I will leave the hall light off and grab the first one I touch when reaching into the towel & wash cloth closet (T&WCC). That’s probably the way it works in most homes but I have no data to support that theory. Now that I’ve been properly re-educated, wash cloths have become more important in my life. I’ve lost the carefree notion that it is OK to use whatever’s available and now understand that I better watch my P’s and Q’s when making future selections.

Here’re the two washcloth rules, as I understand them …

  • Diane’s — New, Soft, Fluffy, Colored
  • Jerrie’s — Really thin, well-worn, look like they may have been white at some point in the past, are within one machine washing of hitting the rag-bag, weren’t colored when purchased

Simple, right? Perhaps my mistakes in grabbing the wrong cloths stems from a sense of unfairness. Seems like I could at least use the colored ones.

In an attempt to help me with this problem, I was reminded that Diane’s wash cloths are always on the left of the shelf. Anything to the right of her pile is fair game. Here’s what it looks like …

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Looking at that picture I’m sure all of you can see the reason why my grasp gravitates to the left pile, right? Isn’t it evident that going for the top of the pile on the right would result in serious injury to one’s knuckles by trying to extract the cloth on top. I will, however, abide by the rules with the hope that, one day, I, too, can legally use a new, soft, fluffy wash cloth.

Until then, in order to remove the immediate need for a wash cloth, I’ve decided to start using one of those sponges made for cleaning up grout on a tile job. You know, the ones that has a rough scrubby side and a soft side?

Or, better yet, maybe I’ll just use one of Diane’s really, really fluffy socks. She has lots of those because she has career ending cold feet. Since socks are always getting lost in the wash, i doubt she would miss one that doesn’t have a mate.

I’ll let you know.

Weather, Food, & Gout (again)

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This afternoon it was brought to my attention that I haven’t posted anything for a while. I actually knew that, but I didn’t realize it had been eight days.

Wow! Eight days! Who knew I could go that long without adding a post? I can only believe that I’m either slowing down, or my dementia is acting up, making me forget things a little more than normal. Whatever the reason, I’m back for a moment, and this one’s for you, Linda.

So, what’s been going on lately besides a lot of horrible weather everywhere except Oregon. We’ve been blessed with some excellent days. There was a day or two last week when we got caught in a downpour while driving, but normally it’s sunny and warm every day and cool at night. The downpour was terrible – we got hit by around 150 drops of rain and even had to use the windshield wipers once. I counted the drops so I know it’s true.

Now, what’s been going on? Is it ISIS or ISIL? I’m confused.

Last Sunday we partook of the Safeway Deli Chinese food selections, which we do quite frequently. It’s good food. Since I was sent to buy the meal, without complicated instructions, I chose a shrimp dish for me and the standard orange chicken for Diane and Mom. Oddly, there were more shrimp in that little bucket than I could eat at one sitting so I save the remainder for another meal. I think it was all saved until Tuesday when I finished it off. I knew it was a daring thing to do since I have the ability to contract gout and the reason is typically shellfish, but I had to have it. You know?

I don’t remember what happened on Monday, but think I may have finished painting the house. I’m not sure, but the painting got finished at some point during the week. Wednesday I went golfing with the Peal brothers. Like normal, I golfed badly and had a great time. I think Doug told me I hit the ball something like 60 times as we wandered around the nine holes. I actually hit it more than that, and it wasn’t always the same ball, but didn’t tell Doug so the extras didn’t make it to the score card. The rules we use consider that a legal tactic. Also, when anyone gets into double-digits on any given hole, who really cares?

Thursday Diane thought it might be a good idea to eat the container of Dungeness crab we had in the refrigerator since it was about to expire and crab doesn’t taste too good after it expires. So, we had home-made crab Louie’s, one of our favorite meals. We just love those things. We ate the crab knowing full-well that I was flirting with gout but it didn’t seem to matter to anyone.

Friday afternoon my right big toe woke up and let me know that it was aware I’d eaten shrimp AND crab during the week and it had no choice but to punish me for it. Saturday morning, when I was supposed to be helping my American Legion brothers at the Scappoose Sauerkraut Festival, my right big toe had other plans. Foremost was it’s decree that I would not be allowed to stand, or walk, without a great deal of pain. Consequently, I did neither all day long. I just sat around all day dreading bedtime. As if to prove a point, my toe chose to keep me awake most of the night with sharp, life-threatening, shooting pains all the way up my leg. It was brutal and forced me out of bed.

Retreating to my favorite spot for morning naps, it quickly became apparent that I wasn’t going to be safe anywhere. Then I went to the Man Room and sat in my computer chair, draping my foot on the arm of the couch. For safety, and because I’m afraid of the dark, I turned on the tiny little lamp next to my computer. About 10 minutes after doing that Diane wandered in and turned it off, not realizing I was sitting about 3 inches from her. She commented that the light woke her up and she went back to bed. I found this interesting because our bedroom is down a long hall and around a couple of corners from the Man Room, so that little light isn’t very noticeable.

But, to preserve the peace, I left the light off and returned to my napping place. In the end, I draped a cool washcloth over my foot and just closed my eyes. It seemed to work because I drifted off, waking only when Diane brought the dogs out for their morning sojourn into the yard to relieve themselves. We prefer they do that outside and they don’t mind.

This morning, Diane went to church with her Mom, leaving me home alone to suffer in silence. I considered a nap, but didn’t want to take a chance of alerting the toe to my improving health. I’m sure it knew, but didn’t want to take a chance by making a big deal of it. After church Diane called to warn me that she was bringing a couple of church ladies home with her, so I could provide some iPad instructions, and insisted that I exit my jammies and put on some underwear. I briefly considered wearing nothing but underwear but decided I didn’t have enough money to pay a lawyer for the divorce that surely would have happened had I done that. Instead, I put on one of my dress up T-shirts and a pair of shorts in addition to the underwear. It was a prudent thing to do, as it turns out.

Now it’s evening, Sunday Night Football is starting so it must be time to quit.

Hope all is well with all of you wherever you may be.

Today’s Lesson & My Finger

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At church this morning our First Reading, which was listed as the Second Reading, was from Romans 12:9-21. Nancy was the reader which was awesome because I’m supposed to be in charge of getting readers, but I never do it. There’s always someone stepping up to get it done, mainly Nancy and Diane. They save my bacon a lot.

Pastor commented that this reading could also serve as another list of commandments because they share a lot in common. It’s true, they do. I just have one comment, then I will move along.

The lesson starts out just fine with “Let love be genuine; …” then fades right in to an area that I’ve been taught my entire life to avoid when it continues, “hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; …”.

On the surface, the last part kind of evens out, but I’ve been taught to not “hate” anything. So, that’s a really harsh word for me to comprehend during church service. I can live with “don’t like,” and similar words of discontent, as can Diane. She just hates it when I say I hate something so I tend to not use it, when I remember.

The rest of the lesson is filled with flowery words that repeatedly state that we should just like each other, you know? It’s pretty simple stuff when you whittle it all down to the basics.

Yesterday it rained for the first time in the last year and a half. It was really refreshing. Cleared the air and settled the dust next to the garage where I’ve been moving rocks and dirt around for the last few weeks. It caused our new neighbors, Scott & Whitney, a little distress because they’re trying to paint their house. It was grey and they’re painting it a really nice green. Diane and I are really happy that I took down the trees between the houses because it’s easier to keep track of how they’re doing. Before it was all blocked by that huge overgrown hedge. What’s more significant about the rain was that none of it seeped into the old motor homes because I spent some time on the roof spreading around various kinds of sealant to ovoid that nasty mess.

In the process, because I chose to ignore the gloves laying next to my right knee, my right pointing finger suffered a life-threatening injury as I slowly smoothed out the sealant over an area of exposed aluminum roofing that did not want me to do it. It hurt a lot, but I had to do it because I felt the timing was just right for me to alter my finger print a little. Also, I couldn’t quit because I knew the rain was coming … the weather woman told me. Then, after filling all potential access points to the interior, I removed myself from the roof, picked up my tools, and put them all away. Then I went to work on my finger.

As you can see, it wound up a mess because I had to pick up some of the tools from the yard where I tossed them …

IMG_0090You can see the blood seeping through the grass stuck to my finger, but I ended that by scrubbing all the contaminated areas with turpentine. Although it hurt a great deal more than obtaining the cut, it served well to seal the leak in my body. After the first 15 minutes, or so, I was used to the pain of scrubbing the sealant that was clinging desperately to my hand. In all, it took about 30 minutes to make it all go away. In hindsight, I wonder if gasoline would have worked better.

Once I got the turpentine smell removed with soap and water, I was allowed to enter the house and relax a bit. I have no coherent memory of leaving the house again, so I guess I stayed inside and watched football the rest of the day. Being Saturday, I’m sure that’s what I did.

Today my finger is still sore, and it hurts to type but I was compelled to complete this missive so none of you would worry about me continue to leak, in case you heard about my mishap from someone with less knowledge about the incident.

Oh Ya … it really hasn’t been a year and a half since the last rain. It’s more like a couple of weeks. But, considering this is “rainy Oregon”, we’ve received surprisingly little rain. I believe Phoenix, AZ recently got more rain in a couple of hours than we’ve had all year. Interesting.

 

Manual Labor & Uranus

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Hi! It’s been a while and I’m sure everyone has been wondering where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. About all I can tell you, without crossing that fine line separating from … well … make-believe, is that I woke up in my own bed this morning with no memory of what transpired since the 18th. Consequently, what you about to read, should you choose to do so, is probably a complete fabrication.

Last Tuesday I spent part of the day recovering from a little computer work I did for Roberta, one of Wynette’s classmates from High School. I did that work on Monday and it’s something I haven’t done for a while so it made my brain tired.

During Tuesday afternoon I spent my time moving rocks and dirt from the side yard, by the garage, to various other places on the property. I know that’s all true because I can see where rocks and dirt are missing, and I can see where other places have more than they used to. The following days it is apparent that I continued this behavior, all the way through yesterday, except for the side trips we took to look at cars because Diane wants a new one. Not a NEW new one, but an OLD new one. Specifically, what she wants is a 2005 PT Cruiser GT convertible just like Nancy’s, but different. Diane wants a white one with a tan top. Like this …

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If you see one for sale, wherever you are, please let whoever owns it that Diane  wants it. Or, you can send her the contact info at d.j.cate@hotmail.com.

Besides all that work, and shopping for cars, we also had an opportunity to meet and get to know our new neighbors. They are: Scott, Whitney, Kye, Brooklyn, and Taylor (the dog). I’m sure I misspelled Kye’s name, but she’s a cute 3-years-old. Her younger sister is 1.5, or so. A very nice young family happy to be out of Hillsboro. Good neighbors. So far.

I think there was a moment of lucidity in the last few days where I called Scappoose Sand & Gravel and ordered a few yards of driveway gravel which explains the reason I moved so much dirt and gravel from the space that’s destined to received the new, clean gravel. It’s my understanding that it will be delivered on September 2nd. We’ll see how that works out. Once it’s delivered I’ll have to expend some manual labor to spread it out. Either that, or rent a really big power tool.

Outside the lucid moments I’m sure I made a couple of trips to Uranus. Something like that. I’m guessing, but it’s based on the fact that I mysteriously have a brand new roll of toilet paper in my bathroom where the last I knew it was half gone. So, it’s for sure got something to do with an anus of some sort. Probably mine. I’m not sure. I also have an injury on my chin that was, I sense, caused by an unprovoked attack by a piece of fencing I moved. There’s also a rhododendron injury beneath my left breast area that is pretty sore. I know it’s from a rhododendron because I’ve had them before. There’s no logical reason for me to suspect the fence for my chin injury but whenever I look at it I’m forced to cringe. So, it’s got to be guilty.

Today was a normal Sunday in many ways. Specifically, we got up and went to church. Then, instead of dropping by the Kozy Korner for lunch, Diane drove us to the Sizzler in Longview, Washington. She apparently read my mind because I’ve been hankering for a piece of dead cow and Sizzler is the best place to get some of that for a decent price. Diane’s Mom, Jean, had the salad bar, Diane had the chicken Malibu, and I had the 6 oz steak, all you can eat shrimp, and the salad bar. I was also hankering for some dead shrimp, so it worked out great. When it was all said and done, I’d consumed the steady, 45 shrimp, 3 pieces of dead chicken, a baked potato, and a soup bowl of ice cream. When eating at any establishment that allows you to serve your own ice cream, always use the soup bowls instead of those tiny little cups they provide. They have handles and they hold more ice cream.

Now it’s almost evening and I’m stuck in my recliner where I intend to stay until it’s time for bed. That will be in about 4 hours. We’ll be watching re-runs of “Big Bang Theory” until then. We’re halfway through season 3.

Nicks & Dings

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This morning, after visiting my doctor, where I was directed to provide urine and blood, I came home and worked a bit on some picture frames Diane brought home. She got them for the glass to cover some photos we purchased somewhere. One of the glass panes fit, the other one didn’t so the search much continue which doesn’t bother her at all.

During this evolution I decided to stab myself with a flat blade screwdriver, which I was using to pry out staples, and press in retainers for the one frame in which the glass fit. I pushed too hard, the blade slipped, and the blade went right in to the palm side base of my left pointing finger. It hurt a great deal causing me to clench my fist, and my teeth, for a bit as I danced around in the kitchen with my hand-held high to impede the flow of blood to a potentially fatal wound.

After a while, Diane asked, “Is it bleeding.”

With my fist still clenched I looked at the back of my hand and couldn’t find an exit wound, or blood, so responded, “I don’t know.”

“Hold your hand over the sink and look,” she said, so I did.

I opened my hand slowly so I could avoid the spurting blood that must surely be waiting because of the incredible amount of pain it caused, but nothing happened. There was only a tiny little spot where the blade broke some skin. It was disappointing. I can only believe that my lightning fast reflexes saved the day by staunching the flow, and minimized the size of the wound, before it could fully manifest. I attribute this to years of experience with such things.

We retreated to the bathroom, where the band aids are, so Diane could try out a new one she’s been holding for a while. It’s made for knuckles, but it worked perfectly to cover the little wound on the inside of my pointer.

As I was lamenting the disparity of pain to results ratio, for damage that didn’t even bleed, Diane said, “you should be proud of me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I didn’t laugh.”

Then she laughed.

So did I.

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 …

Portion Control & SHEDCO

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Portion control, of course, relates to food. In this case, it’s about why it just isn’t an issue when eating meatloaf. That’s what we had for lunch. I was tasked with cutting the left-over loaf and asked Diane if she just wanted to eat half. She said, “No! I just want a couple of pieces.” So, I cut her half in half, and my half in thirds. Apparently that was OK because I didn’t complain.

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I earned it, though, and so did Diane. We yanked a bunch of weeds out of the ground in our little fake garden plot. It’s a fake because the main crop is weeds, a stray blackberry vine, and a few walking onion plants that survived the winter. Maybe we’ll plant another tomato plant like we did in 2010.

We worked at this project before and after the epic meatloaf meal. Then we cleaned ourselves up and went to our scheduled Lion’s Club meeting. We don’t go to all the meetings so we’ll never get one of those perfect attendance awards many of the others get. That’s OK because we go to most of them. Tonight was a special night because Mary came to give a presentation on SHEDCO. I’ve mentioned it previously because she was scheduled to give her presentation last month but her spot was usurped by another presenter who was also there due to a communication error. Mary graciously stepped aside to accommodate the other presenter and agreed to reschedule for tonight. It was well worth the wait.

Mary is a University of Oregon graduate (go Ducks) who currently works with the city of St. Helens as a project manager for SHEDCO, the St. Helens Economic Development Corporation. The program is associated with the National Main Street Center which helps cities, big or small, redevelop their core areas. Typically, that means getting folks to rediscover the forgotten areas, and businesses, of their city that have been lost due to traffic flow. That’s a simplistic explanation, and probably doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s all I got.

In St. Helens’ case, Highway 30 has always been the way to get to St. Helens. The downtown area, where all the fun stuff is, has been ‘forgotten’, if you will, because of the numerous businesses that have line #30 past the roads that lead to the downtown area. The main street to get there is Columbia Blvd. I’m guessing it was named that because it leads travelers directly to the Columbia River. Back in the day, that’s where boats were constructed. Business was booming. St. Helens was destined to be the main deep water Oregon port on the Columbia River until someone flipped a coin, or paid off some politician, and that title went to Portland. Lots has happened since then and the current program is getting people involved to create a main street that makes them proud and gets folks downtown to fill the sidewalks. Diane and I do that quite often. It’s a great place to just roam around. They even have tours that take people around to the various areas used in the Twilight movie.

So, check out the SHEDCO and see what’s going on.

Now, for the important, breaking news, my Weekend Wound. I guess it really isn’t ‘breaking’, since it happened yesterday, and I actually forget about it until I look at my left hand. That’s where the burns are. I got the first one when I was directed to remove the first pizza from the oven. It was Baylee’s desire to have pizza, so that’s what Jeff & Heather got her. The burn was applied to the back of my wrist, just above where things bend, so it could have been worse. It was just a glancing injury so didn’t blister. It just hurt, really bad.

The second burn was administered to my left pointer and middle fingers when I was directed to remove the second pizza from the oven. You’d think they would learn to not ask me to do stuff like that, wouldn’t you? I mean, 425 degrees is really, really hot. and it hurts, a lot, when you bump your arm on that silver gasket thing that seals the door. The finger burns happened because I changed my approach to avoid contact with that gasket. I reached into the oven, with pads, putting one hand under the pizza and misjudged the distance between the oven rack just below the one holding the pizza. It looked like there was plenty of room, but there wasn’t. Consequently, I made excellent contact with the two mentioned fingers, burning the skin to a crispy light brown, about the shade of a well toasted marshmallow. Or the color of a done pizza crust. It was a 4th degree burn, for sure. I can say that because contact was long enough to make the blister, then burst it and cook it shut, sealing in my bodily fluids.

I’m confident I’ll heal just fine. I always have, so far, and have no reason to think otherwise. Apparently one of the blessings about getting older is that pain like I received doesn’t register in my mind as bad as, say, kneeling then getting back up. Or bending over, then establishing a vertical position. In the first case, knees protest. In the second, it’s the back. Burns? They heal and they don’t really hurt for very long because they kill all the nerve endings. Knees and backs? They’re going to hurt every time you bend then the wrong way, or maintain a position longer than necessary to do simple tasks … like pick up a penny in a parking lot.

Tomorrow Lydia has a double-header starting at 3:30, so if you’re in town, come on over to Campbell Park. After those games we can all go to our house for ice-cream and watch the Portland’s first game in the second round.

Go St. Helens High School softball teams, and Go Blazers!

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 …

DSC_9662

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”.