Category House and Home

one of one-plus

Michael 11 Comments

Last week I took a shot at regaling you with tales of spending a week in the hospital and coming home alone. Naturally the perfect followup to that would be (to take a shot at) regaling you with tales of spending that recovery week not quite alone. Yes, even though I made a big thing out of how hard it is to not be well and be alone, versus when you are a one of two, I wasn’t completely alone in my recovery week. Not quite not alone but definitely not alone.

I closed last week’s post with, “When one of two is missing, the void seems bigger than when one of one is gone. And when one of one returns, the welcome home is much less welcoming. I can probably write an entire post on that. Maybe I will someday.” Never to not pick up such a tempting gauntlet as that, I will accept my own challenge. Sort of.

First, to those who had asked, I am fine and anticipate I will grow even finer as the days march by. I made it through the first week out of the hospital without returning to the hospital and that’s not something I can say about all of my discharges. Fortunately, I had a lot of help. As I said, I was not completely alone last week. I had help. Not “one of two” help, maybe more like “one of one-plus.” Between my daughter and my sisters for some physical assistances and a handful of friends for mental, emotional, and at times even comical support, the week moved along faster than I figured it would.

It is a big boost when someone you typically connect with primarily through text messages makes time in her schedule to call at least once a day every day to check on how things are going. It is as big an aid to recovery as having someone stop in to do the heavy lifting portions of the never-ending household chores that one with a newly prescribed 5 pound lifting limit and prohibitions against bending and stretching cannot take on alone. Yes, it is not a secret that physical recovery does not happen, or happens very slowly, without mental and emotional recovery tagging along.

I recall that first discharge from so many years ago, the physical helpers were there but there was a distinct void where someone, some ones, or anyone who might call just to see how things were going could have been. What was most disheartening was that there should have been at least one someone, but the call that came rather than a message of support was of the “I didn’t sign up to be a nursemaid” type. And with it a rather rapid descent from the stratospheric one of two to the heartbreaking loneliness of a one of less than one.

Fortunately, over the years I discovered a handful of contenders willing to be part of my one of one-plus entourage. True, the other one of a one of one-plus won’t be there to help you into bed, or to wake you when your due for medication or a dressing change, or tell you, “Sit still! I’m perfectly capable of making us breakfast,” as I imagine the other one of one of two would, somehow it is easy to imagine they would if things might had been just a bit different. And a one of one-plus will always be there on the other end of a phone call or text message, or email, or even a card or letter when you least expect it, or at least when you least are thinking about it for a while and add to your emotional recovery.

The best one of one-pluses are those who take their role seriously, as seriously as a one of two partner would. Maybe even more. Let’s face it, a lot of one of two partnerships exist because of some compromise or even a little unspoken quid pro quo. Sometimes a lot of quid pro quo. A one of one-plus is more selfless and unconditional. There is nothing you are getting back for your love and concern except maybe someone’s love and concern. A friend of mine, a one of one-plus with me, said “Being one of one can be isolating. Being one of two is ideal. But being one of many makes a community. We all need each other and do better when we feel cared for and important to somebody.” I suppose if we put all my one of one-pluses together we can make a “one of many” community. (Now that might make for an interesting blog too. In fact, that sounds like just the thing we’d post at the ROAMcare blog, Uplift!  Maybe you should make a note in your calendar to check that out this Wednesday.)

Speaking of Uplift! In the latest post we wondered, if “In case” added to your declaration is a positive account of caution and a potential response to a situation, is “just in case” just a poor excuse for a poor choice? Read it here to see what we had to say about that.

Hey, here’s an extra thought if you know someone who could use a hand and you’re feeling one-plus-like. Dinners that can be heated and eaten are great but think outside the oven. Rides to labs or tests are great stress relievers and don’t often run unpredictably late like a doctor appointment may. And back in the food arena, if your someone is a big breakfast eater, a prepared morning meal is just as appreciated, if not more than an evening meal. A French toast casserole, or stack of frozen waffles makes a nice change for someone who may be too unsteady in the morning even to work a bowl of microwave oatmeal. My best meal “gift” ever was a bag of frozen breakfast burritos my daughter worked up. A few minutes in the microwave and a cup of yogurt with fresh fruit and I had a breakfast that kept me well through lunch and the only thing I needed to work was a spoon.

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one of one

Michael 13 Comments

The chances are very good that while you were reading last week’s post, I was in the hospital. I don’t know how I ever decided on the time, but for years I have had the posts scheduled to published between 4 and 4:30 prevailing eastern time Monday mornings. Last Monday at 7:30 in the morning I was in route to the emergency room. I’d say don’t worry, it’s nothing serious, but seriously, can you ever say that with a straight face with an emergency room visit a part of the equation. But I can say, don’t worry. I’ve been down that road before.

There are parts of me that pretty much resemble a high school science experiment and to be perfectly honest, work just about as well. Things leak, things creak, sometimes things need a better tightening than the local mechanic, er the office physician can provide. So please don’t worry. In fact, that’s kind of the whole point to this post.

I have a feeling I’ve said sometime before that I had never been inside a hospital other than to work or to visit someone in one for the first 55 years of my life. No broken bones, no falling off bikes, no unexpected allergic reactions. Once I did take a nasty fall while rappelling but that was dealt with in a first aid tent so I’m not going to count that. No, that first part, probably first and second parts of my life, involved minimal medical management. But man did I make up for it since. And all that time, I’ve done it without a significant or even insignificant other at home, rolling bandages, and preparing for my return with anxious anticipation, overflowing TLC, and bowlsful of chicken soup. Nope. Just me.

Oh, please don’t mistake that for self-pity nor misunderstand that nobody is in some home, some where worrying a tad that I return to my home. And they will even stop by with chicken soup or its 21st century equivalent. But there will not be that person who when she might step out into the porch for the day’s mail, holler back to the neighbor “No, he’s not on a trip but was admitted to the hospital a couple days ago. How nice of you to notice and ask. I’ll be sure to tell him you did.”

Kind of funny isn’t it.  An odd thing to think about. But it’s been thought before. I had one hospitalization that went on for several weeks. At the time, it wasn’t unusual for me to be away for some days at a time for something work related. No one might have even realized I wasn’t at a conference in Las Vegas until the priest on the second Sunday I was in the hospital included me when he asked for prayers for our sick parishioners. I know no one would have noticed because that’s exactly what my next-door neighbors said when they popped in to visit that Sunday afternoon.

When one of two is missing, the void seems bigger than when one of one is gone. And when one of one returns, the welcome home is much less welcoming. I can probably write an entire post on that. Maybe I will someday. Not today. Today I’m going to try to get to sleep a little earlier than usual. Yesterday was my first full day home. Hopefully whenever you get around to reading this, I am still home.

Gene Kranz was the director of NASA mission operations and is noted for the modern mantra, failure is not an option. Or is it? We say what we think in the latest Uplift!

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Encore again

Michael 7 Comments

Don’t look at me like that. I thought I was done too, but you know, sometimes it takes more than one trip to the curb.

When I’m not writing or speaking, I’m reading or listening. Listening to a really good speaker is fun because I can imagine what the speaker was doing or going through as I hear the words, see the movement, and feel the emotions as the speech unfolds. It gets interesting when the speaker speaks with an accent unlike mine. (Yes, we all have accents. Ask anybody who didn’t grow up in your block!) When the speaker’s first language is something other than English, I rarely have trouble understanding the words. While listening to a speaker who speaks English other than American English, I may have to listen a little closer but it too usually is not a problem (except for someone from Georgia who still isn’t sure the North won). But a writer who writes in English other than American English…well, I’m sorry, but I’m just not enough of a world traveler to be comfortable reading “colour” and not want to correct it to “color.” I’m getting better. It only took 60 some years of reading but I am getting used to the alternate spellings and the odd idioms, but, but … but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to “maths.” It makes more sense than the American “math,” given that it’s a shortened form of “mathematics,” but it just sounds too weird. There. I said it.

I walked into my daughter’s house a day last week and everything, everything was out of the kitchen cabinets and on the counters. (You remember her, the human the dog let join him on vacation in last week’s post.) “Moving?” I hesitatingly asked. “Oh good. I’m doing it right,” was her reply. Apparently, it’s a new (to me) cleaning strategy. When you want to do a serious declutter, make like you’re moving to a smaller home. If you wouldn’t take it to your new downsized abode, don’t put it back in the cabinet. I kind of like that. It seems much better than what some people refer to the Shinto method of decluttering. Hold something and if doesn’t bring joy to your life you don’t need it in your life. I have no proof of it, but looking at the sequence of events, I’m pretty sure that’s how I became an ex-husband.

A morning news article one day last week brought home the closeness of winter in a big way, which is most impressive considering it is not yet autumn. Folks at Pikes Peak woke up to six inches of snow. Here at the base of the mountains on the other side of the country we’ve been having cool nights and days alternating between deluge like rain and desert like heat. A wonderful combination to make weeds along the sides of the road flourish and flower.  They make a very pretty contrast the orange barrels that typically line the highways as an homage to the states that actually maintain their roads.

Yesterday was Constitution Day in the U.S.A.. If you missed it, don’t worry. Almost everyone did, including the local governments who order the fireworks displays for every other holiday or event you can imagine. Let’s travel through time. On July 4, 1776, the colonies’ representatives to the Continental Congress (the Second Continental Congress to be specific) signed off on the Declaration of Independence. [Yay, fireworks!] So we had a country, sort of, but no framework for the government to uh govern it. On November 15, 1777, that same Congress approved the Articles of Confederation that went into effect on March 1, 1781 when all the states ratified it. [Yay, but hold the fireworks.] The Articles established a framework, but it was more a frame of balsa instead of steel. In other words, it wasn’t terribly strong. From the government’s point of view. It treated the 13 states as 13 states, 13 independent states (as in little individual countries) bound together by the “Perpetual Union.” (Yep, that’s what it was called.) Then in May of 1787, a new batch of representatives from those sort of independent states saw the Articles needed a bit of an overhaul, and maybe they were a little rash not letting the central government do too much. So they convened the Constitutional Convention. Instead of fixing, they rewrote, and on September 17, 1787, the states’ representatives signed off on the new Constitution of the United States. [Yay! But wait, still no fireworks.] Finally on June 21, 1788, the required number of states needed to ratify the Constitution had done so and now we had a government to go along with the country. [Yay, but the fireworks people got tired of waiting (like we need another summer holiday anyway).] And so, in 2004 (yes, 2004!) Congress approved September 17 to be Constitution Day (technically Constitution and Citizenship Day) because why not. [Yay, still no fireworks but we’ll have them for Black Friday instead.]

Also for those residing in the U.S.A., today (September 18 to be clear in case you’re not reading this today), is National Cheeseburger Day! “Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger.” (Bonus points if you can identify from whence that line comes.)  Discounts throughout this great land of ours can be had from penny burgers to full price but we have a new flavor. Check here for what is certainly an incomplete list of participating burger bistros.

And I bring this up only because it is so stupid it begs to be included.

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At least it wasn’t a handgun.

I certainly hope my brain is empty now. It would be nice if my sinuses followed suit, but you know, seasons change and all that.

How about changing your mind set whenever you stop and question, “What if..” You know the What-Ifs. The questions that start with “what if” and end with tragedy. We say we have the right answer to any What-If that comes your way. Check out our latest Uplift! for how we do it!

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words matter

Michael 5 Comments

This week I was proof-reading the post that will be published this Wednesday, August 30 on Uplift! the ROAMcare blog. It’s about saying what you mean, meaning what you say, the joy you feel when you can, and the consequences when you don’t. As I started writing the first draft for this post, I had no inkling the two would intertwine. This post, like the previous two posts to this blog, was to be about words, though not necessarily the saying and meaning of them. In between the reading and the writing of these two blog posts, I was also reading some local news. There was an incident here in town involving a man barricaded in a house, and suddenly, I found an overlap.

  • The barricaded gentleman was the target of an order of eviction. Rather than accepting the paperwork, he fired on the sheriff deputies attempting to serve the order. And that began a 6+ hour standoff during which thousands of rounds of ammunition were fired. The county Sheriff reported that the suspect was pronounced dead at the scene. What does that have to do with words? One moment please. I did some further investigating. 
  • Checking the sports pages, a local college football booster donates $20 million to the college athletic department to enhance the school’s football program. The same donor previously founded a collective of like minded donors to set money aside for Name Image and Likeness payments for the school’s athletes. I know, one more time. What’s that have to do with words? Please hold.
  • A local Home Depot was reported to have been the victim of theft. “Thousands of dollars worth of equipment was stolen from a local Home Depot, police say,” the report begins, then it continues, “State troopers say two men and a woman were responsible for the thefts. Two microwaves, a stove, a gas grill and a John Deere riding mower were all stolen from the store.” The report goes on. “The thieves are also believed to have taken drinks. Overall, the stolen goods were worth $4,697.60.” One of these words is not like the other. Don’t go away. We’ll be right back. 
  • And an oldie but a goodie. Earlier this month a man was stopped by TSA agents at the local airport with a fully loaded 9mm handgun and 2 additional loaded magazines for a total of 22 rounds of ammunition. He forgot. Two words. Yeah, right.

Let’s look at the words used. 

Working backwards, yeah, right. Come on guy, just say you don’t trust women to recognize you’re happy to see them so you keep a gun in your pocket.

The report of the theft at the outsized home center knew exactly, what was stolen, the value of what was stolen, and who stole it, yet they aren’t quite sure about those couple drinks that are missing. Was the reporter on a word count and needed those eight words to satisfy the editor’s line budget?

Enhancements to the athletic department that also references the the NCAA NIL policy. Sounds like a personnel budget to me.

And the one that started me down this rabbit hole. One person inside a building. Thousands of shots from inside the building. And with all deference to the presumption of innocence, “the suspect?”

Isn’t it time we start saying what we mean?

Now, other than the common theory of say what you mean, mean what you say, this is nothing like the ROAMcare post will read. If you want to know how post that comes out, be one of the ones to read it as soon as that post comes out. You can subscribe to Uplift! here.

Speaking of words, the words “good enough” don’t conjure thoughts of expert performance, but is good enough ever good enough? We explore times when it might, and when it definitely isn’t, in the most recent Uplift! The approximate reading time is just 3 minutes

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Hack no

Michael 13 Comments

After last week’s mini diatribe (would that be a monotribe?) I started thinking about word usage more than usual. As one who writes and speaks, words are my tools, and usage has to be precise if I expect to be understood. I decided if I could bump off any word, have it struck from all dictionaries, pulled from thesauri, and eliminated from internet searches, the one that stands out more than any other as offensive to my ears, more so than even the inappropriate use of weaponize, practicability, and disenfranchisement that will escalate over the next 15 months, that one word would be “hack” when used as a tip, hint, or suggestion. (A word I’d like you to consider not considering is “run-on” as in sentence.)

The word hack comes to us from Middle English, hakeney, a horse used for riding. It has been in common use as hackney, a horse of small stature appropriate for riding or pulling a small carriage (versus one used for plowing or pulling wagons) since the 1600s, perhaps earlier. Hack, the obviously shortened version, it along with its adjectival form hackneyed, almost immediately took on more sinister uses.

The hackney pulled carriages became a favorite for rides for hire throughout London, the horse and carriage combination commonly called a hack (which is why we still call taxis, cars for hire, hacks), and anything or anyone offering himself or his property out for hire, also was considered a hack. At this same time, the hackney pulled carriages became so prolific, hackneyed was coined to describe anything commonplace.

Hack continued to grace the pages of English dictionaries as a carriage or vehicle for hire or, in a pejorative way, one of common upbringing, skills, or expectations, and it continued without much controversy as such until Americans got involved. Through the early twentieth century, hacks here were also cabs and commoners but we expanded hack to refer to one who did the bare minimum to earn his pay in almost any field, whether a hack writer or a hack surgeon. And then, just about mid-century, something weird happened. Hack took its turn as a verb in American verbiage, as in, “That’s too much for me, I just can’t hack it anymore.” And that may (MAY) be its entry into computerese.

Mid-century computer programming was a long, difficult, and often trial and error experience. Those who were successful at programming proudly claimed they could hack it. And hack, hacker, and hacking became positive references to those proficient with the inner workings of computers and programming languages. About the time Matthew Broderick was changing grades for him and his high school sweetie, hacking with reference to computers, regained its negative connotation.

None of this explains why today, hack is synonymous with a handy dandy household hint. Etymologically there is no connection. Yet today there will be no less than 48 billion headlines in cyberspace addressing life hacks, kitchen hacks, productivity hacks, dating hacks, health and beauty hacks, and probably hacking hacks. Perhaps 48 billion is a tad hyperbolic. I’ll check for a writing hack on how to get large numbers across in dramatic fashion.

Perhaps it is as one Quorum user suggests, “It sounds edgier. “Tips” are merely interesting and useful. “Hacks” sounds as though you’ve been devious and insightful, perhaps even forbidden. “Hacker” used to be somebody with exceptional skill at computers. “Hacking in” to a computer system was something that required a lot of knowledge and cleverness. “Hacks” carries some of that sense of astuteness, along with some of that sense of having inside information that others don’t have. So it makes people feel important.” He goes on to say, “To me they just sound like a…” but I’ll stop there. This is a family blog. I’d had to get hacked and have my posting privileges revoked.

Etymologically, bias is assuming something. Cognitive biases, nobody listening or discussing, assumes outcomes based on past behavior and can have significant consequences. In the most recent Uplift!, we discuss how with respectful communication we can live, work, and play well together. Take 4 minutes to read it and see if you agree.

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Things people didn’t say

Michael 13 Comments

I’ve spent much of the last week out, in public even! A variety of appointments and a need to replenish my gas tanks and cupboards has had me at more offices, stores, and service centers than usual (and even some fast food drive thru lanes and coffee shops). And all of them presented some great opportunities to make us aware of some things that desperately need said.

Before I start down the path from which they may be no return, here is something I never hear anybody say and you all really should be saying. “Let’s see what’s happening on the Blessitude Instagram page.” Blessitude is run by a most dear friend of mine who since January of 2019 has been posting images of hearts out in the world, proof that we are precious and loved. She describes Blessitude as the art of being gratefully blessed. Her photography is as special as the imagines she captures. There’s nothing for sale, nothing being asked for. It’s just a place to see His beauty that surrounds us, the precious and the loved. Here are a couple samples of her latest finds.

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Now, on with the rant, errr I mean discussion. Actually not so much a discussion, just the thoughts you know these people are thinking and would probably show up in a little balloon above their heads if they were in the comics section – where some certainly belong!

  • “Do you think it’s a good idea to wear a nose ring, especially one that looks like it was last used by a large bull, while I wait on tables?”
  • “Yes, the ad says buy three tires, get one free, and that’s why we have to charge you $75 for the valve stem for each wheel and naturally if we put that in the ad too, you’d realize you just paid $300 for that free $250 tire. Did we also mention balancing is extra?”
  • “Thank you for filling out this 8 page questionnaire. If you have a seat someone will take you to another room and ask you all the same questions.”

The above on the way in, the below on the way out.

“And here’s your reminder card for your next appointment. Don’t worry about getting here on time let alone the fifteen minutes early like that card says as the doctor is always running late. Next time ask for the first appointment of the day. That one he’s at least ha a shot of getting close to.”

  • “Of course there’s a lot more ice cream in the back, and probably even the flavor you want. Come back tomorrow when it’s not on sale. We’ll have it out then.”
  • “Please don’t try to confuse me giving me 8 dollar bills and two pennies to pay $7.27. If I knew math I’d have been an engineer like my mother wanted me to. Besides, it gives me a headache.”
  • “I really should stockpile some generic posts for when life gets busy because of a variety of appointments and a need to replenish my gas tanks and cupboards that had me at more offices, stores, and service centers than usual”

You know something else people say but don’t say often enough. “Hi. How are you. Nice day, Isn’t it?” We talk about how kindness counts, that it is a natural part of living, never out of place, and should be a habit, not just some random act, in the latest Uplift!  We write them to take only 3 or 4 minutes to read so there’s always time for an uplifting message. Nothing for sale there. Just some motivation to help you  through your day.

Rockets Loud Blare

Michael 9 Comments

Sunday afternoon I was having dinner with my daughter and her dog. Nature was putting on a fireworks display that rivaled what man made for the Fourth of July. The dog didn’t seem to mind the booming thunder. He would stop, tilt his head to one side, and lift an ear but then go right back to trying to get all the frozen fruit out of his treat. According to the daughter, he was not so calm with the artificial noise makers the previous week. Those he didn’t trust quite as much as these that he must have sensed were part of the natural scheme of things. I can’t say I blame him. If I could invent a firecracker that had the beauty of the modern displays without all that blasted noise, or noisy blasts, I may not end up a millionaire, but I’d like it a lot more.

That got us to talking about fireworks and the best backyards of the ones we collectively have had to be able to see the downtown display and from there, somehow, into stories about about hospitals. No it wasn’t a natural progression but most of our conversations follow no natural progression and we are quite proud of that. Or at least we tolerate it.

It happens to be that ten years ago, the Fourth of July 2013, was the last Fourth that I was out actually somewhere with the intent to see a fireworks display. Two days later, I had the first of the many major surgeries that changed my life forever. I don’t think that’s why I haven’t been out to see fireworks since, content to watch them from the relative comfort of a backyard deck chair, but that’s the sequence of events. Proof again that just because B follows A, A does not necessarily cause B. Anyway, that’s how we got from thunder to fireworks to hospitals and hospital stays. Somehow, I managed to have a story that wraps that all together, with a nice ribbon, and a big bow in top. Of course I do.

It was New Years Eve, I don’t recall what year and I don’t recall why I was there, but some year in the not too distant past, after 2013 but before 2023, I was admitted to a just barely suburban hospital. I say just barely suburban because on a good day, you can walk from the hospitals front door to the city boundary. Anyway…on this particular day, I walked no where except to the emergency room and there just from the parking lot or maybe from my doctor’s office located in the medical office building next door to the hospital, and to make a long story short (I know…too late), I was admitted for some reason or other. I was wheeled up to the room, looked out the window and had an unobstructed view of downtown. (I should mention that the hospital sits on a hill so I was also looking down into downtown.) (Quite appropriate, don’t you think?) (And now, back to our show.)

Later that evening, just after dusk, my visitors and I were treated to a front row seat to the first set of fireworks. (Yes, first set. At the time (I don’t know if they still do) the city sponsored two New Years Eve fireworks displays, the first dubbed “the family show” just after dusk, and the second, at midnight just as the countdown reached zero.) Later that evening I stayed up to watch the midnight fireworks too and then settled in for the night.

As I said, I don’t remember why I was there but it had nothing to do with my heart. I know that because the following morning, New Years Day, a nurse came in and asked why I was there, that was the cardiac floor and I didn’t seem to have any heart problems. I agreed I didn’t, and that all the work that had been down to me up till then was in the general area below the belt. I was transferred to the general surgery unit and never again saw the downtown fireworks so clearly as that night. Nor so quietly either.

Taking charge of your emotions is a good thing to do. Taking charge in moderation might be the best way you can do it. We explain why we think so in the latest Uplift! (Reading time 3 minutes)

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Try to remember

Michael 12 Comments

I often amaze myself at some of the things I remember and some of the things I forget. I reminded myself of the odd things I recall over the weekend while putting on a pair of walking shoes. I have always, or for at least  since I was 5 or 6, put both shoes on then tie both shoes. I know some people will don one shoe and tie it, then do the same with the other. (Can you actually “don” a shoe or does don imply something going over you rather than something you put yourself into? Hmm. I’ll look that up sometime and probably turn it into a blog post.) (Anyway…) I also always put the right shoe on first. I wonder if that’s because I’m left handed, but maybe not because I’m not exclusively left handed. I write, eat, and paint with my left hand but I play sports right handed. I can bat in baseball either left or right handed but it doesn’t much matter because I’m not that good at it from either side. My forte on the ball field was behind the plate, and there I wore my catcher’s mitt on my left hand and threw with my right. Things with a racket like tennis, ping pong, badminton, and probably pickle ball if I ever took that up, I play right handed, but I wonder like with a baseball bat, if I could handle a racket in either hand. I golf right handed but since I really don’t see the point of golf, that was very seldom and very long ago. Of course the piano is played with both hands so I fit right in there. Where was I again? Oh yes….

I often amaze myself at some of the things I remember and some of the things I forget. While putting on a pair of walking shoes I suddenly, without warning, reminded myself why I put both shoes on then tie them. Years and years and years and years and years ago (I am getting up there!) as I was putting on the right shoe and then tying it, then the doing the same with the left shoe, an older, wiser one told me I shouldn’t do it that way. I had never thought of it and by then I probably had no preference, being only 5 or 6 at the time. But the older brother of the boy across the street who I always played with cautioned us against such reckless dressing. I can still hear him. “What happens if you get halfway through and a fire starts right behind you. You’re going to run out of the building and into the street with just one shoe on. If you put both shoes on and then tie them, if you get halfway through when that fire starts and you run out of the building, you’ll have both shoes on. But you better stop to tie them as soon as you can or you might trip.” Now, he was all of 10, maybe 11 years old, twice as old as we were. How could we not heed advice like that for a lifetime. And I still don(?) both my shoes then tie them.

On the other hand, last week I was in the store in front of the light bulb display. Lightbulbs are getting very complicated. There are fluorescent, halogen, HD, LED, and very once in a very great while, an old fashioned incandescent. I needed to replace a bulb in a lamp that I would typically put a 60 watt bulb into. Bulbs today don’t come in those old standard wattages we learned as youngsters. 100 watt for reading, 25 for appliances, 5 watt for night lights, 60 for everything else except the three way bulbs which never seemed to work anyway. Now they are odd numbers like 17 and 23 watt when they’re even marked in wattages. More often, light bulbs now are labeled in something called lumens. What’s a lumen anyway? Spellcheck doesn’t even know from lumens! When that trend started a few years ago, I took the time to learn the equivalent desired luminosity for each typical lamp and its intended use. But now, standing in front of rows and rows of light bulbs, could I remember what number I needed in lumens? Nope. All I could hope for was that one of the cartons would say “60 watt equivalent.” Seeing none that were, I moved on to the next item on the list. Shoelaces.

Now, did those shoes have 3 or 4 holes?

Everyday be fun, fulfilling, and meaningful because there is fun, fulfillment, and meaning in everything we do! We know, and we said why we believe so in the most recent Uplift! Take a peek. It’s only a 3 minute read.

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A real job for Artificial Intelligence

Michael 7 Comments

A few months ago I came up with a few suggestions for how to work Artificial Intelligence into our lives. I have a few more, starting with making some sense of my WordPress subscriptions.

Most of the blog posts I read, I read in my email. For me it’s just easier as I can read a post, review the morning headlines, read a post, see which neighborhood was the scene of a shooting, read a post, check out the daily specials at Keurig, Lowe’s, and the local garden center, and then wrap up breakfast with a read of one more post. Last week I noticed my mailbox was quite thin on blog posts.

Given that it was Memorial Day week, the official day of remembering mattress sales, propane grill specials, and summer vacation deals, I thought a little more than nothing about it and assumed some of my favorite bloggers were taking a needed break. As the week went on, a few posts popped up, but the offerings were not even close to meager. A quick check on the WordPress Reader revealed some of the posts were there, but not in my mailbox, the couple that showed up in mailbox were not there in my Reader feed, and three lucky souls had their blogs in neither place. A quick back search through my subscriptions found them still active. Further investigation found I was no longer subscribed to many of the blogs and I began the arduous process of figuring out to which I was still subscribed, of those which was I still to receive notice, and of those was my contact information intact and correct.

So if you noticed some bizarre activity like me subscribing, unsubscribing, or maybe even doubly subscribing to your blogs, I offer my apologies while I continue to rebuild my subscription list.

And I offer, blog subscription maintenance as a fantastic job for some overachieving AI assistant.You know, maybe that’s the only one for this week.I mean, if it can figure out WordPress, it’s done plenty to earn my respect!

Can you be happy without being joyful? Can you be filled with joy and not be happy? The most recent Uplift! takes a closer look at these emotions.

Approximate reading time – 4 minutes

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Do it for the dog

Michael 12 Comments

This weekend I got to do something I haven’t done for probably close to 20 years. Stay alone – overnight – away from home – with a dog! [woof]

Throughout my adult life, there had always been some sort of animal living with us. (Considering some family members you could say that has been true for my entire life, but that’s a different post for a different day.) When the last dog who had my name on her license as owner went to that big off leash park in the sky, I was already battling Wegener’s and was having difficulty keeping a strong hand on the care part of the care and feeding of pets. I knew my limits, and pet owner was not within them.

Not so though for my daughter who continued the tradition and is and has been for many years the proud dog mom of a now maybe 6 or 7 year old pointer/husky/yeti. There have been times that I have been called upon to provide doggie day care services and have successfully and enjoyably fulfilled those duties, not to mention the meeting the daily expectations of proud grandpop to the grandpup. But when the daughter needs dog sitting of the extended overnight sort, I am not the one called into service. Not that I wouldn’t, I just couldn’t. Let’s say if I were to take the dog for his evening or morning stroll, and upon spotting a follow member of the canine community, or one of the more feisty neighborhood rabbits, and he so decided to pursue fellow canine or feisty rabbit, he would never be accused of being in violation of the leash laws, being firmly attached to a strong, appropriate length lead. It would nevertheless be a questionable defense as it would be very unlikely that the other end would still be firmly attached to my right hand.

Thus, when the daughter anticipates overnight travel (that doesn’t involve an airplane (he doesn’t do well much higher than ground level)) she considers pet friendly destinations or arranges alternate billeting for the pupster. For this occasion she was unable to secure either and I was called and asked if I felt up to just one night with the little fellow. “Of course I can” I replied and oh so nearly convincingly told myself I could do it. Given that she has a fenced in backyard and I don’t, and that the dog, although getting older by the day, still thinks of himself as young and energetic, it was decided I would visit him rather than he stay with me.

And that is how I found myself, Saturday morning, packing an overnight bag including laptop (with drafts for 2 articles and a speech all due within the next month) and heading out the door for the quarter mile walk to the daughter’s domicile. And straight into a pouring rain. A veritable downpour. A like “pair up the animals and ready the Ark” type rain. Concern for the environment be dammed, I headed straight up the driveway and plopped myself behind the wheel of my car for the short but soggy trip, and even that seemed not quite up to the challenge but I don’t own a boat. I felt right then that the next 36 hour period was going to be a mismatch. Unfortunately, when I could be accused of either hyperbole or understatement, I tend toward understating.

To make a long story short (I know, too late), he enjoyed our time together immensely! He was at his tail waggingest, face lickingest, muddy pawed jumpingest best behavior, which for him, are all the things that exhibit good behavior. He never tried to take advantage of an unsuspecting keeper and ate very little of my meals off my plate when his bowl was filled with yummy kibble (and only when I wasn’t watching), did not hide the television remote too well among his toys, and let me have the pillow in bed Saturday night which was only fair since he was using my legs as his. All in all he seemed to have enjoyed my company.

Me? Well I did get to unpack my laptop though never actually opened it, only had to go outside once to forcibly drag him back inside when he refused to come in after treeing some unsuspecting woodland creature, and discovered the desktop cup warmer I got my daughter as part of her Christmas stocking last year works really well. I guess you could say I seemed to have enjoyed his company too!

Well, that dog story was a good story of perseverance. Sort of. Here’s a better one in the most recent Uplift! We know we can do it, whatever the “it” may be, but someone else feels we can’t, but we will try anyway. Because the realty is we believe in ourselves. And reality is more important than feelings. Approximate reading time – 3 minutes

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