Gone Again ….

Posted on March 27, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

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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Astoria, Breakfast, American Legion, and Laxatives

Posted on March 22, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

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

Posted on March 19, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That ends yesterday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Posted on March 12, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

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.

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.

The Common Cold, Sleep, and Pizza

Posted on March 2, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

This post is going to be short because I don’t have anything extraordinary to share with everyone.

First, yesterday I had two chances to share with you that I experienced a near perfect day of retirement. I spent the entire day in my jammies. Part of the reason for that was because I displayed the beginnings of bronchial pneumonia. the main reason, however, was because I just didn’t want to wear real clothes.

Diane totally disagreed with my medical diagnosis thinking, instead, that I simply had a cold, or a previously undiscovered virus of undetermined origin with unknown consequences whose most detrimental condition is a productive cough. Thankfully, it’s not the constant kind of coughing, but a cough just the same.

I’m sure I had a ‘second’ item to share, but can’t remember what it was. If I was concerned about editing this in a proper manner I’d get rid of the “First” but I’m not so I won’t so there. I’m not an editor.

Much of yesterday was spent trying to make my day so boring that whatever has ahold of me might find it necessary to seek a more exciting medium in which to propagate. As a result, it was very late when I finally put down my iPad for the night (like 0010 or so) and I was up and navigating at 0300. Diane will tell you it was 0230 and that she knew this because I checked my iPad to see what time it was. In case you don’t know, activating an iPad in a very dark room is like turning on the light switch. It’s very bright. My recollection of my awakening is different, and more correct, I’m sure.

The iPad did ignite, briefly, but not because i did it on purpose. I have a distant memory of entering my bathroom and checking the time on clock installed on the wall therein. It was 0300.

One of the reasons I got up is because I’ve been trying to wean myself of the sleep aid I’ve been taking for about the past 10 years, or more. To facilitate that, I’ve put myself on half rations, but it just isn’t working. If I don’t take my sleepy pill, I simply don’t sleep. Oddly that seems to be mainly true when I’m in the bed. On the couch, however, I can sleep nicely for hours. So, upon arising at 0300, that’s where I went and that’s where I stayed until 0900 with only a brief period of vertical alignment to let the dogs out around 0700.

Diane deemed me to be unfit to accompany her to church this morning, fearing that I might contaminate all those old folks with whatever it is I’ve contracted. So, I stayed home and rested. Some more. I have only vague recollections of brief periods of lucidity during Diane’s absence and beam more alert around 1200 when my stomach determined that it was time to ingest something nutritious. Without a clear plan for obtaining sustenance, i opted for another cup of coffee. I use creamer that contains enough sugar to kick-start pretty much anyone, but it still wasn’t enough. As I was sitting at my computer, pondering a bowl of nuts, or perhaps some fruit, Diane texted me to report she and her Mom went to Fultano’s Pizza after church and that she would be home with leftovers after they made a stop at Fred Meyers.

Excited about the prospect of warmed up pizza, I decided to not eat anything else until she arrived. By the time that happened I was very hungry, but delayed my feast until I helped her empty the Buick of the bags of food she purchased to get us through the next couple of weeks.

Then I reheated the pizza and had my feast. It was half of a small pizza, for which I was thankful because it was just the right amount. Had it been an entire pizza I would have surely eaten the entire thing and been miserable for the effort.

Now it’s almost 2100 and I plan to very soon ingest an entire sleeping pill and go to bed. Diane will, I’m sure, stay up to watch the Oscars which is currently being recorded.

I hope she doesn’t wake me up when she comes to bed. If she does I’m going to complain to someone. Not to Diane, of course. That wouldn’t be conducive to my currently fragile medical condition.

My “Golden” Post – # 555

Posted on February 18, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

Greetings and hallucinations to all on this momentous day. Who would have thought that 3 short years ago, or thereabouts, I’d make it this far. I was sure the WordPress moderators would have tired of me by now and just kicked me off for no reason other than they wanted to. Just for fun. But, they haven’t. Yet. So, I will continue until I’ve used up all the nouns, consonants, and adjectives, to name a few, that I can. Even if they don’t always make sense.

I have nothing special planned for this entry so don’t expect much. It will be the normal drivel that pops into my head when I touch my … when I touch my keyboard. Something just takes over. I’m sure all of you have had this same experience at some time or other … no thought involved, just type away and see what happens.

First, Diane is on Day 3 of an IBS attack and finds peace only in resting. I totally understand and let her be. Yesterday we talked about how awful IBS can be and I asked, “well, would you rather be sick at home, or in paradise?” She smiled and said, “paradise, of course.” So here we are. The upside is that we aren’t spending very much on food. At the moment I’m having crackers, Tillamook cheese, and water. I love that stuff, so it’s not tough. She will rally, I know, if neither of us push it.

Then we’ll go see the whales.

While flitting away the time I got on my Facebook account and did something I’ve wanted to do for a while now … go through Facebook’s list of suggested friends. I was amazed at how many there were who had crossed the ‘friend boundary’ by being friends with someone I was friends with. Merrily I clicked along, sending friend request after friend request to those who either had names I actually recognized, or those with whom Diane was already a friend. This took a lot of time and, as I got toward what I thought was the bottom of the list, the names became more and more obscure. You know, like you think you should know them but you aren’t quite sure, and some of the mutual friends aren’t familiar and you couldn’t remember ever friending them? Like that.

Throughout my journey, on that list, I kept seeing suggestions for friends who appeared to not have any friends at all. At least not mutual friends. They just stood sadly alone with no names listed in the adjacent column, and it began to concern me. In order to assuage this empathetic attack on my conscience, I decided to send friend requests to them, too.

At first I sent to them all but the list seemed to be never-ending so I switched to every other one. Still, it went on and on. Then to every third one until, finally, I apparently clicked on the wrong thing, or the Facebook ‘People’ noticed what was going on, and I was summarily dumped out to my home page.

Using that as an indicator that it was time to stop what I was doing, I did that. Now I’m here. But I’m still thinking about all those poor people who don’t appear to have friends. And, I wonder how their names wound up on that list. I suspect I’ll find out.

So, if you are reading this on my Facebook page, and don’t know me, it’s OK. We’re friends. Honest. You can trust me. Ask anyone.

Thinking about getting that ‘prompt’ to quit brings to mind how many events in my life are dictated by similar ‘prompts’. Like, I need a screw, or a bolt, so I go to my huge stash of screws and bolts to look for just the right one. Usually, I’m looking for an even number, like 2 or 4, but sometimes I only need one. It has to match one I already have, though. Normally I can’t find one just like the one I have, so I start digging around looking for matching screws or bolts. The rule is that the first group of 4 I find are the ones I’m supposed to use, and it works out surprisingly well. Sometimes I’ll find 3, the 4th one is illusive, so I’ll start another matching group, taking the first to make the cut.

On the rare occasions that I only need one, I’ll find what I think is the one I need then it magically falls from my hand disappearing either back into the screw/bolt box, or onto the shop floor. I take that as an indicator that I had the wrong one and go back to the box and, usually, quickly find a replacement. It’s pretty amazing.

Getting a parking place works the same way. If someone beats me to the spot I was looking at it means I wasn’t supposed to park there for some reason. I just get another one. Simple. A lot less stressful than jumping up and down in anger because that ‘jerk’ took ‘my’ spot. Karma, in response, usually kicks in and causes at least one of the cars they parked between to be too close, allowing the owner to rightfully slam their door into the parking thief because it’s the only way they can get into theirs. Ya know? It all works out.

I’m kinda looking at Diane’s situation in the same manner. If we were home and she had an attack like this, she’d be up and about feeling that it was necessary for her to be doing ‘something.’ Here, she can rest and get over it. Her concern, of course, is that I’m not having any fun. Well, I’ve done all this before, a couple of times, and I don’t feel cheated in even a small way. My concerns are with her.

I know … it makes me sound like a saint of some kind, right? Saint Jerrie just doesn’t have a ring of truth in it, however, so I’ll just stick with GMM. That’s a Good Married Man, as opposed to a BMM. Some BMMs are rightfully associated with a BBM, or Bad (pick a word) Movement.

I hear Diane navigating so it’s time to terminate this and see how things are going.

Hope you all have a great day.

Every day I wake up is awesome!

Oh ya! I didn’t really randomly send friend requests to all those strangers. I was very selective …

Hearts, Haircuts, Quilt Shows & Computers

Posted on February 15, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

As I sit here, on the verge of yet another adventure, I’m compelled to rid my brain of events from the past few days. The adventure, BTW, is a trip to the Big Island.

When I do this “stuff”, I try to do it in chronological order, because that’s how events should be reported. That doesn’t always work out, however, when the one reporting has a faulty memory module. Thankfully, I have a calendar into which I enter all pertinent data that I’m sure all of you are sitting on the edge of your seats, chomping at the bit, to hear about them.

The calendar works great, when I remember to enter the info. When I don’t, then it’s a crapshoot as to what you may see here.

So, I have my calendar up and here’s what I see …

Wednesday, February 12th, was Lincoln’s birthday, and the day Diane normally submits her Avon order. We don’t typically celebrate Lincoln’s birthday, and didn’t this time, either, but Diane orders Avon products every Wednesday. Without fail. She has a room full of it.

This was the day when I also got connected with my new Cardiac Event Monitor (CLEM). I know, there’s no “L” in it, but I wanted it to sound like a name, you know? So, now it’s Clem. It’s a nifty little device that I wear on my belt, like a phone but smaller, and it has three leads that snap on to those little round patches they use for EKGs and such. I put one each just under each clavicle, and the third goes under my left breast. I suppose you are surprised to learn I have a left breast since I am, I think, entirely male. However, since I heard that men can also get breast cancer, I’ve decided that’s what I need to call them. Also, the old I get, the more tempting it is to start wearing a sports bra.

With Clem properly connected, the device periodically flashes a very bright green light. Since I’m forced to wear it 24/7 for the next month, the light revealed a point of contention between my need to wear it and Diane’s need to sleep. After the first night she reported that the blinking “lasered” her eyeballs all night long. Thereafter, I ensured the device was tucked under the covers.

Associated with this device is another device that looks suspiciously like a smart phone. Indeed, it’s connected via AT&T to a monitoring facility somewhere in the world where concerned techs keep an eye on things and ensure users are doing OK. That was my understanding, anyway. To test it, I switch the wires around once in a while to see if anyone’s watching. So far I’ve not received any phone calls to ask me what’s going on so apparently I’m either using a placebo device, or no one really cares. I’ve been assured, however, that they will definitely care if I don’t return all the devices to them in 30 days. To the tune of about $2500. This tells me they are at least keeping track of who the device was issued to. The upshot of all this is that everywhere I go, I blink. It’s especially entertaining at night, walking around in our unlit front yard, when I take the dogs out.

Oh ya! My doctor wanted me to get the monitor to see if they could associate my brief dizzy spells to cardiac events, not because I’m having a heart attack. I am, however, in the zone for things like that because I’m terrible about what I eat, and don’t eat, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility. At the last office visit, where she prescribed the monitor, she also told me she wanted a daily log of my blood pressure at our next visit. I’ll tell you about that a little later down the page.

Wednesday was also a day to visit my new physical therapist for an evaluation. As many of you may remember, Diane and I spent a lot of time on the road visiting the VA Hospital, on Pill Hill, in Portland, for PT but the final determination was that my right shoulder, though it hurts, doesn’t really have a problem. It’s muscular. I left that round of therapy thinking I was just going to have to deal with it the rest of my pitiful life, like I do the other pains I have. It doesn’t hurt unless I move it certain ways, so I just don’t move it “that” way. Simple. But, my doctor asked about it, and I had to tell her, so she referred me to a local PT shop. At least it’s not a 80 mile round trip to get it done.

The evaluation determined that my Long Biceps Tendon, and my Supraspinatuas Tendon are rubbing against the Coracoid process. I could take that to mean I may not have a Bursa in my right shoulder, but that wasn’t mentioned. Since it’s not fatal, I will proceed with the new set of exercises and see how things go. I like the new PT guy a lot because he’s got “Dr.” in front of his name and the exercise picture he gave me is of a real person, not a stick figure. That’s quality in my book. So, there’s hope.

Thursday, February 15th, was my normal day for coffee with the MELCA guys. MELCA, for the uninitiated, is Men of the Evangelical Church of America. It isn’t a real group, except for us, because Larry L felt the need to have something to do when the WELCA ladies do “stuff.” We visit at the Kozy Korner, drinking coffee, harassing the waitresses, and solving pretty much all of the world’s problems. It’s fulfilling. Sadly, no one listens to our solutions, except the table full of catholic nuns who also meet on Thursday mornings. We know they listen because they look sideways at us sometimes.

On this day I was late because I paid a visit to my barber who, you may remember, was absent all last week due to a family emergency. Indeed it was. His 84-year-old Mother passed away due to complications from bone cancer. He’s really good at explaining everything. Turns out that all old people, who do not die outright from an affliction, like a heart attack, usually succumb to pneumonia because of the way the body reacts to everything that’s going on with whatever disease they have. So, his Mom didn’t pass directly because of the bone cancer, but because of the complications it caused with her body chemistry. This is good to know, and a really good reason to keep your breathing apparatus in good working order, like, by not smoking.

When I showed up for coffee, just about the time everyone was ready to leave, they all got refills and stuck around for another round of discussion.

Friday, February 14th, of course, was Valentine’s Day. I heard some guy on the radio station I listen to say that Valentine’s Day is a celebration to point out all of those who do not have a significant other, or words to that effect. Kind of self-centered, and not at all in alignment with all those retailers selling candy to anyone who buys it with the hope of making points with pretty much anyone. I take it this person has never tried that and, instead, chose to view it as a direct insult to the fact that he wasn’t attached somehow. I bet he has a dog, though.

Diane and I don’t celebrate days like this any more because candy tends to rot our remaining teeth. We don’t even get cards for each other. However, since this day was also the first day of the 34th Annual Bethany Quilt Show, and Diane is President of the WELCA group, she spent all day at the church while I just ran willy nilly around town.

Friday was also the two-week follow with my doctor. I printed out my BP chart from the free app I downloaded to my iPad, and presented it to her thinking it was not good. Turns out my BP goal is to keep it below 140/90, which I managed to do almost all the time. It’s always good to visit my doctor because it affords me a chance to say “Hi” to Kristin, my daughter’s, Jennifer’s, sister-in-law. I think that qualifies her as my semi-daughter-in-law. Either way, she’s family and it’s always fun to see her smiley face.

After my appointment, I stopped at Walgreens and purchased some Valentine Peeps for Diane and delivered them to her at church. She loves peeps, especially the little yellow chicken ones at Easter. I also got her two Butterfinger candy bars. The big ones. I knew Walgreens had them because Jack got some for Wynette from there. Walgreens is right next to ACE where Jack works most of the time.

I didn’t get anything … but that’s OK. Really, it is.

While I was at church I made an effort to resolve the issue that’s keeping the office computer from connecting to the internet. There were actually two problems – one with the computer, and one with the DSL modem. I talked with the CenturyLink tech for a while and convinced him we needed a new one. It’s going to arrive Monday, but that’s Washington’s, and Shene’s birthday, so it may not show up until Tuesday. Shene will be 21. I don’t know how old Washington will be. Really old, for sure.

That brings us to …

Saturday, February 15th, the day we fly away to Hawaii. It’s almost 1230 now, and about time to get packed. Jennifer is taking us to the airport where we will spend the evening at Embassy Suites. We’ll catch the shuttle from there to the airport in the morning for our 0700, or something, flight to Kona.

I may add more later, I may not, but I will keep every abreast of our activities over the next week. If it interests you, please read. If it’s boring, share it with someone with whom you have a grudge to settle. That’ll teach ’em to mess with you.

It’s raining here, and may be raining in Hawaii, but who cares? Now I have to go finishing packing.

I’ll leave you with some photos of the quilt show and some of the folks who made it work …

This is Nancy …

Barb & Pat …

My lovely Valentine, Diane …

… and the cooks, Valerie & Mary …

Doctor Visits, Basketball, & Quilt Shows

Posted on February 5, 2014 by Jerrie Cate

It’s Wednesday, in case anyone’s interested. The past two days have been inordinately long, in my head, so I thought it was later in the week. Then I looked at a calendar. I usually don’t do that because I typically just don’t care what day it is, unless it’s a day I’m scheduled to see my doctor. Or go to the lab to visit my phlebotomist … or the guy who runs the X-ray machine.

That’s what I did on Monday and Tuesday.

Monday I had a regular checkup with my doctor to whom I shared pretty much everything Diane told me to tell her. Normally I’m not very good at that because these appointments sneak up and catch me by surprise, so I go into the office totally unprepared. I don’t know what to say. So, I go out thinking everything is OK. Then I have to make another appointment when Diane finds out that I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. This time I tricked her. I studied a list of things I was supposed to share and got nearly all of them.

First, after my visit with the doctor, she sent me to the lab where I gave up five files of blood, and got an X-ray of my shoulder. I was brave because I watched the phlebotomist slowly insert an incredibly big needle into my arm, then search for an available vein that might willingly give up the required amount of blood. I didn’t flinch. Not once. All five little tubes were filled and I was released to visit the X-ray machine.

Since this lab is located in St. Helens, there was no wait for either event. I got to the Blood Chair before I had a chance to consider the possible complications of getting someone who really, really enjoys sticking needles in people vs. someone who is a bit tentative about it. I’ll take the one who enjoys it every time over he tentative one. Yessir.

As soon as I was released from the Needle Lady I was whisked into the big room for a picture of my shoulder. The entire process took about 3 minutes for both events. Gotta love a small town.

Then I went home.

Shortly after arriving, through the magic of technology, the results of all those tests were available for my viewing, in my account, on the Legacy Website. Nifty. Turns out all that blood revealed that the only thing “iffy” was my A1C which was a bit elevated at 6.1. That means, of course, that I’m no longer allowed to snack on candy throughout the day. So, I won’t. I’ll eat cheese, instead. And bacon. Lots of bacon.

Things were going well yesterday until the handy Legacy Web Site alerted me that my doctor realized that I was overdue for my pneumonia shot. Not only overdue, I’ve never had one that I can recall. So, it was back to the clinic so Kimberly, the doctor’s assistance, could give me the shot.

A little sidebar, here, to explain that it’s always a joy to visit the clinic because I get to see Kristin. Since she’s my daughter’s, Jennifer’s, sister-in-law, Kristin is almost a daughter. Always a pleasure, Kristin. I said that because she sometimes reads this when she finds herself without something meaningful to do.

Now, that pneumonia show. Kimberly did a good job and I left to go straighten up the Lion’s newspaper collection boxes, then went home to work on the old truck for a while.

Since the truck is outside, and the weather here is very cold right now, it didn’t take long for my hands to go numb, even though I was wearing gloves. I kept working, though, and managed to get the windshield wiper motor reinstalled, connected, and tested. I’m happy to report that it works. On both speeds.

After the motor was running, I went to work to get the new turn signal switch installed but the cold proved to be a bit much so I had to quit. Well, had I put it all together correctly, the first time, I might have finished it. Instead, I did it 3-4 times because I chose to try to remember where all those parts went, and in which order.

As a challenge, while tearing everything apart, I just put all the screws and loose parts into a cardboard box so I would have to dig around for what I thought the next part should be. Finally, had to resort to looking at the book I have that shows the proper order. With pictures. I do well with pictures.

Still, the cold drove me indoors when I started dropping things into the grass around the truck. I lost a couple of them and felt it was time to stop. I figured a couple of losses wouldn’t hurt, but three could potentially make it necessary to find replacements when it came time to stick everything back together. I felt this was especially important since I wasn’t sure if the missing parts are for the steering column, or not.

About the time I got back in the house, the pneumonia shot woke up. My arm hadn’t hurt until then, or at least I didn’t notice it, but when I attempted to take off my dirty work shirt, I was made painfully aware of where Kimberly had stabbed me. My arm started swelling up, and Diane insisted that I would “work it out.”

I tried, I really did, but to get my right arm up into the air required the use of my left arm to raise it. Still, I did it, sniffling the entire time. I asked Diane if her pneumonia shot hurt that bad and she said, “yes, but you never knew, did you?”

That told me a lot. Mainly, it told me to stop whining and deal with it. So, I did, in a manner of speaking. I kept whining, but toned it down a lot so that only I could hear it, most of the time. Those shots hurt. Don’t believe anyone who tells you they don’t.

Today the arm still hurts, but not nearly as bad as yesterday afternoon. It’s useable, which is good, because I committed to go help clean the church this afternoon in preparation for the 34th Annual Bethany Quilt Show which will be this coming Friday and Saturday. It’s got to be cleaned today, however, because tomorrow pretty much anyone who has made a quilt, at some point in their life, will ring it in for display. It’s quite a process to get everything set up.

Every year they have a featured quilter. I don’t know who it is this year, but last year it was a lady named Wynette, whom most of you know. I’ve heard many entertaining stories, from Jack, about the travels involved, all over the United States, to obtain the exact right color and pattern for her beautiful quilts. Having a wife who quilts isn’t for the light-hearted, let me tell you. So far, Diane hasn’t taken up quilting. Instead, she sells Avon. That’s an OK thing because it keeps me in cream that makes me feel pretty.

Oh! I almost forgot. My blood pressure was high when I visited the doc so now I’m on the hook to provide her with a daily log of checks I make. That will be due when I visit her on Valentine’s day. I’m going to put little heart graphics all over the log, and print it out for her. Kind of appropriate, don’t you think?

Yesterday, to end the day, I went to another of Lydia’s basketball games. They lost, 45-33, but it was a really good effort on their part. Lydia knocked down the girl she was guarding, a couple of times, which was awesome. Contact basketball. What fun.

Gotta stop now and see if I can get out of my jammies and into my clothes for the church cleaning evolution. Though she’s sick, again, Diane will also go because, as the WELCA President, she feels totally responsible for the quilt show. She doesn’t take that lightly.

My Root Canal

Posted on December 11, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

I haven’t had a root canal in quite a while, so a few months ago I decided to make an appointment to get one done. That took an initial appointment so my dentist, Dr. Grimm (his real name) and I could agree on which tooth he should work on. He applied something super cold to various teeth, to see if any of them made me jump out of the chair, and he hit it on the third one. We agreed that was the tooth.

So, the appointment was made for today, at 1300, and that’s where I spent my afternoon visiting with Tracy and the good doctor. All of the dentists I’ve visited in the past palmed off root canals to another practice that specializes in them which incurs another office visit. My dentist, however, is a many of many trades and works in an office that provides all required services from start to stop. I like the change because it’s going to get done faster and I’ll only have one guy to blame if things go south on this tooth which was put out of its misery right at 1310, or so. That’s when I got the needle. A really long one.

After Dr. Grimm was almost finished, Tracy was kind enough to snap this photo of me on my iPad.

I was pleasantly pleased to note that nothing was hanging out of my nose. That’s one of my main concerns when I visit the dentist because I know, for sure, that’s where they always look first. I guess that’s a little weird, but I’m OK with weird, as most of you know.

The red and white things are probes that are stuck into the roots so they would show up nicely on the x-ray Tracy took. Three roots were cleaned out so I don’t know where the blue probe went, unless it was deemed unnecessary for the x-ray. After ensuring himself things were progressing as planned, the Good Doctor proceeded to fill them with nifty little sticks of gutta-percha which is a latex material used to waterproof underwater cables during the last half of the nineteenth century. When it was first used in dentistry is not documented on the link, but I suspect it was not long after companies began making latex gloves for surgical procedures.

A large industry, whose name escapes me at the moment, was created around the many uses for gutta-percha, including a niche for dentists, and latex gloves used in many surgical procedures, including those for dentists who do not like slobber on their tender skin while working on teeth.

Latex gloves became very popular and, as all popular things do, also became a problem when it came time to dispose of them. Considering that anyone in the medical industry, and those who refinish furniture, use these gloves in mass quantities, you can appreciate what a burden this created for the dumps littering the world. Burning them wasn’t a solution, either, because doing so created a medical problem for pretty much anything that breathes. So, someone began collecting all the discarded latex gloves, melted them down, and began making condoms out of them as a way of helping curb the soaring world population and to ensure young girls still in school did not become impregnated before her parents told her it was OK to do so.

One day an enterprising dentist accidentally melted a brand new latex condom and, through a process only he knows, discovered that it worked well for filling reamed out roots in one’s teeth. Through this humble beginning, dentists quickly resorted to using virgin gutta-percha because none of them wanted to waste their expensive condoms by melting them down. Then, too, there were suspected cases that some dentists were using used condoms for this purpose. Such dentists were relieved of their rights to practice dentistry and forced to become lawyers who could only serve as pro-bono public defenders.

Now the process has been refined to the point where little, tiny gutta-percha slivers are used to obturate the empty space in the roots of a tooth after it has undergone endodontic therapy. Discovering that caused me a to question the use of that term, therapy. I mean, c’mon, they’re drilling large holes in teeth. How can that be therapy? Then, after a bit of serious thinking, I could only agree because they are, after all, ‘making it better.’ And that’s therapy, right?

Dr. Grimm filled three roots with gutta-percha, then broke out another entire set of little tiny rasps and began scraping the nerve from a 4th root he had found. Thankfully he found it before it was all closed up. Once done, he filled the 4th root with gutta-percha slivers, then applied a nifty little tool that melted them into the holes, sealing them from further incursion by bodily fluids. Then he topped it off with something else. I don’t know what it is, but it dried very quickly, it was ground off a bit, and I was sent on my way to schedule my next visit for the crown. That’s going to be on January 15th.

If you’ve read this far, not knowing just a little bit about how my little head works, most of what you’ve just read is not true. Not all, just most. I leave it to your discretion as to what parts you wish to believe.

Again, if you read this far, thanks. I appreciate it.

Kathie’s New Elbow

Posted on November 25, 2013 by Jerrie Cate

For those of you who know about Kathie’s new elbow, I want to share a picture she sent me. Actually, I’m going to share it with whoever wants to look at it. It’s pretty gnarly.

Silly me thought it was going to look more … well, you know … pink and human-like. Apparently elbow selection in San Francisco isn’t about political correctness but more like how the government selects companies for contracts … you know, favoritism when no one is looking, and lowest bidder when they are.

In Kathie’s case, her ‘new’ joint used to belong to the slowest person in the city. Everyone else got away.

Still, it’s very biconical and intimidating, don’t you think? Kathie calls it her “bendy brace” but I think it’s a permanent fixture. Can’t wait to see it. Rumor has it that Mike won’t need a jack if he gets a flat tire … Kathie can just lift the truck up while he changes it.