Tag Relationships

Golden Oldies

Michael 17 Comments

I have an anniversary coming up. A silver anniversary. Rosemary and I will be together for 25 years this spring. I don’t bring her up too often in this blog, but you might remember me speaking of Rosemary on a couple occasions. She is my little red roadster, and is the longest adult relationship I’ve had.

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Have you been with any one, or any thing, for any appreciable length of time. We did an Uplift post at ROAMcare on long-lasting love. I was inspired to write it when I read an article in the local paper about how scientists have “figured out” what makes some relationships last. Actually the article had little to do with the headline. It was really a discussion about some scientific studies that are tracking the neural responses in long term relationship couples, but its bend, as is with much of what will pop up in the news in February, is toward romantic love, passion, and sexual attraction.

Considering we hadn’t read anything in mainstream media about the other 6 kinds of love, we thought we needed to point out that there are other long term relationships out there. Some even invovling people, like normal, regular, everyday people!

If you’d like to see what we had to say, pop on over and give But do you love me a quick read. While you’re there, consider joining the ROAMcare community and subscribe to have Uplift delivered to your email as soon as it hits the website. In addition to an Uplift release every Wednesday, you will also receive weekly our Monday Moment of Motivation and the email exclusive Flashback Friday repost of one of our most loved publications every Friday. All free and available now at ROAMcare.org.

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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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Plan, Check, Do

Michael 2 Comments
  In the very nearly eight years that I’ve been sharing my sometimes questionable mind with you I’ve rarely brought up religion. Maybe a half-dozen times and then probably just at Christmas or Easter not that I’m only Christmas or Easter religious, but it’s not a topic I often speak or write about. Today there seems no escaping it, not that it needs escaped from of course.
   Unless you live in a world devoid of internet access and by virtue of you reading this we know that’s not true, or unless you have been out of the country this week and even then you probably still reached back with that internet access that we know you have, you’ve gotten to read about the newest controversy, that is how dare Ellen DeGeneres sit next to President George W. Bush and at a baseball game, a social event even, of all places.
   If you should happen to be scrolling through the archives here you know we’re approaching the one-year anniversary of the mass murders at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, the deadliest such event at any religious setting.
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   I’m sure you’re now asking yourself what do these two events have to do with each other? Less than a year ago people were posting all over social media how we have to love one another, respect one another, live in harmony with each other. In the past few days some of those same people had commented how could someone like Ellen socialize with someone like George W. knowing his past and their differences? And they did it with less than loving, respectful, or harmonious words. Ellen’s initial response to the comments that you don’t have to agree with someone to like him or her or even to be civil to that person or group of people was met with even more outrage. And then a post or two later whether on Twitter or Facebook or in the comments section to a news article, those same people we’re counting the ways they were going to commemorate the Tree of Life tragedy with love and respect, and in the spirit that we are all the same and belong together.
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   It takes so much more than words whether spoken, printed, or typed and sent into the interwebs. It’s the action that matters. No matter if you are agreeing, disagreeing, clarifying, or condemning, some true action is needed if you’re expecting change. Or even love and respect.
   I probably would have just read all of the posts, become frustrated at the consistent contradictory reactions of people, then had a second cup of coffee and let it be forgotten before the day’s end. But then that’s where religion snuck in. It was right there in front of me in today’s Gospel, “…ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be open to you.” (Luke 11:9) These three are interconnected, not independent. It doesn’t stop at ask.
   If you’re having trouble thinking theologically, consider the business maxim, “plan, check, do.” Ask is step one, it’s the plan. What do we want? Do we want to live in harmony? Do we want to punish somebody for past offenses? Do we want to love our neighbor? The second step you seek, or checking the plan. How do we get what we want? How much do we need to be happy? How severe should the punishment be? Can we get away with just liking our neighbor? And then you have to act on it. You have to knock on the door and announce how you will do your plan. Sometimes that plan means you have to change, you have to be more in tune with others, you have to love more. It’s not always going to be the other person who has to adjust to be in harmony with you. In fact, more often than not the one doing the work will be you.
   So whether it’s being civil to someone, loving your neighbor, or rethinking past times when you’ve been less than those, now is probably a good time to plan, check, and do.
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Saving Congress

Michael 1 Comment

Did you get your deal on Amazon Prime Days. Maybe you picked picked up a special price on a Summer Black Friday at Best Buy. Or maybe you’re still cashing in on the Christmas in July savings at Target. As a consumer nation we are nothing if we aren’t a bunch of sheep.

That’s really not a horrible thing. I picked up a collector edition of a book I’ve been eyeing on a Thrift Books this week while grabbing a couple kitchen gadgets at Macy’s.com. Following the path of a bunch of other bargain hunters chasing sales thought up by other companies at another time of the year saved me over $70. That’s a month Internet service.

Unfortunately as a nation we are still a bunch of sheep when it comes to things like political alliances. I’m sure other than for George Washington and probably Gerald Ford, political mudslinging at our highest offices has been going on since the 1700s. (George and Jerry get excluded because neither one really had aspirations of becoming President as much as just were the benefactors (or victims) of circumstances. Recently though through the “miracle” of social media can the common man act as stupid as the ones we elect to office. In the years that started with a “1” it took organized efforts and multiple layers of volunteers to get people to believe their preferred politician was one miracle short of sainthood. Today that happens with blinding speed matched only by the efforts to convince followers that their least favorite politician is two steps ahead of the devil for the race to evil emperor.

We no longer care about right or wrong, truth or lie, sense or nonsense. If we read it on-line, particularly if it was posted by somebody we know well to have had a drink with or want to know well enough to buy a round of drinks for, we eat it up like sugar coated, double dipped, sprinkle laden ice cream in a waffle cone. I’m quite convinced many of not most of us know the tenets of the political party with which we identify or the actual background of its “stars players.” In my state a bill passed by the state legislature that, among other reforms including the purchase of new voting machines (which it could ill afford financially) was vetoed by the governor because it also called for the elimination of the single lever straight party voting option. Considering how Congress has itself voted with a straight party mentality for this century that shouldn’t have been a surprise coming from a politician.

I think I have a solution that can actually result in more amicable relations among all parties (apparent there actually are more than two), eliminate party voting mentality, and save us enough money to actually pay for things like health care, infrastructure, or education.

First we eliminate Congress. That’s not exactly right, we eliminate the Congressional presence in Washington. Since they have clearly demonstrated since 2001 that our elected officials – Representatives and Senators – vote en bloc however the leaders want them to vote there is no need for them in Washington. They can stay in their districts were they can actually serve the people by helping with disability forms, selecting Medicare supplement plans, and going to the occasional Fourth of July picnic. Back in Washington each house gets two representatives, one from each party who can hash out their own deals and compromises without the distraction of party rhetoric.

Second we forbid all elected officials from using social media and prepared press releases. If anybody wants to communicate with their constituents, and it is only their constituents they should be communicating with, they must do it in person. Because all but four representatives will be in their home districts that will not pose any burden. Further, if somebody already elected to an office wants to give up that office to run for another office, then he or she or other must actually give up their office. No ignoring their work so they can apply for another job.

Now here’s where the real fun stuff happens. Did you know the average average salary for the rank and file Congressman is $174,000. Majority and minority leaders of the House and Senate make $193,400. The Speaker of the House is the highest paid member of Congress at $223,500. (These are 2016 figures. A handful of websites reporting these salaries mention these salaries are comparable to mid-level managers in the private sector. They go on to say that Congress has not accepted a raise since 2009. I was firmly in the middle of mid level management and I can tell you I would have had to work almost two full years before I made $174,000 in 2009 dollars.) In addition, Congressmen are permitted to make up to 15% of their salary from outside salary sources like with the law firm they all seem to still belong to. There is no limit on non-salary sources of income such as interest, dividends, and honoraria. And of course they all get money to run their offices.

The staff allowance for members of the House of Representatives depends on the size of his district which is determined by the official U. S. Census but in 2016 the average allowance was $1,268,520. That’s not the total. That’s per representative. That’s almost 1.3 million dollars. Times 435 representatives that’s $551.8 million dollars. That’s over a half a billion dollars. For office expenses. Per year. Senators in 2016 averaged $3,306,570 allowance per Senator. The math here is pretty simple. That comes out to $330,657,000 for the full senate. Every year we spend over $882 million to staff representatives’ offices. If we eliminate half of their offices by limiting Congressional work to the local office that will save us $441 million.

And finally, because they all like to remind us of what our founding fathers meant when they said something, they should be paid like them. Not in 1789 dollars. That would be cruel. In 1789 a Senator only made $50 a day and had to cover his own expenses except for postage for official correspondence. They did get lunch though. Note that salary was not per year or per session, it was per day. Today’s Congress should be paid likewise. When a member shows up he or she or undecided can punch a clock and get paid for the days worked. Assuming 225 working days per year. That’s $773 per day. I think that’s more than fair. But since 2001 Congress has average only 138 legislative days per year the average Congressman can expect to take in about $107,000 per year. This will save us $35,845,000. Added to the $441 million we already saved we are now $477 million ahead.

That’s close enough to a half a billion for me. That’s about as much as the CDC gets for immunization research. Congress  might not still be worth the trouble they cause but maybe now we can find a cure for them!

Coming soon…Fixing the Presidency.

Capitol

Every Day Is a Great Day

Michael 4 Comments
Hockey season started yesterday. I was there for it. In my seat, the one I’ve occupied for the past couple of years. It’s not a bad seat. Over the years I’ve sat in several spots around the arena. Lower bowl, upper bowl, center ice, behind the net, on the dots. In the old arena. In the new arena. None are bad seats. Amidst a handful of people in my little section amidst the 19,000 or so seats all occupied by people in their little sections we sat in not bad seats there just to see a hockey game. No other agenda, hidden, assumed, obvious, or imagined. Just hockey.
But before the game we stopped to pay respects to those who lost lives and loved ones in Las Vegas and all 19,000 were silent. Every one. Silent. Then we paid respects to the flag and all 19,000 sang. Every one. Singing. And I thought how once again all I know about being a gentleman I learned from hockey and how I was once so moved by that realization that I posted my thoughts on it right here. And I thought, just as “Badger” Bob Johnson knew every day is a great day for hockey, that every day is a great day to learn from hockey.
So I’m doing today something I’ve never done before. I’m reprinting “Everything I Know About Being a Gentleman I Learned From Hockey.”

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EVERYTHING I KNOW ABOUT BEING A GENTLEMAN I LEARNED FROM HOCKEY

Originally posted November 26, 2016

When I was at the hockey game this weekend I got to thinking how much as a society we can learn from hockey. Yes, the sport that is the butt of the joke “I went to a fight last night and a hockey game broke out,” is the same sport that can be our pattern for good behavior.

Stay with me for a minute or two and think about this. It started at the singing of the national anthem. I’ve been to many hockey, baseball, football, and soccer games. Only at the hockey games have I ever been in an arena filled with people actually singing along. Only at the hockey games are all of the players reverent to the tradition of honoring the country where they just happen to be playing even though they come from around the world – Canada, Russia, Germany, Sweden, Finland, even a few Americans.

A decent dose of nationalism notwithstanding, hockey has much to offer the gentility. Even those fights. Or rather any infraction. If a player breaks the rules he is personally penalized for it. Ground isn’t given or relinquished like on a battlefield, free throws or kicks aren’t awarded to the aggrieved party like victors in a tort battle. Nope, if you do something wrong you pay the consequences and are removed from play for a specified period in segregation from the rest of your teammates. No challenges, no arguments, no time off for good behavior. Do the crime. Pay the time. In the penalty box. Try doing that to a school child who bullies and you’ll have some civil liberty group claiming you’re hurting the bully by singling him out.

Hockey is good at singling out people but in a good way. At last Saturday’s game the opposing team has two members who had previously played for the home team. During a short break in the action a short montage of those two players was shown on the scoreboard screens and they were welcomed back by the PA announcer. And were cheered and applauded by the fans in attendance. There weren’t seen as “the enemy.” Rather they were friends who had moved away to take another job and were greeted as friends back for a day.

While play is going on in a hockey game play goes on in a hockey game. Only if the puck is shot outside the playing ice, at a rules infraction, or after a goal is scored does play stop. Otherwise, the clock keeps moving and play continues. Much like life. If you’re lucky you might get to ask for one time out but mostly you’re at the mercy of the march of time. Play begins. After a while play ends. If you play well between them, you’ll be ok.

The point of hockey is to score goals. Sometimes goals are scored ridiculously easily, sometimes goals seem to be scored only because of divine intervention. Most times, goals are a result of working together, paying attention to details, and wanting to score more than the opposing team wants to stop you from scoring. There is no rule that says after one team scores the other team gets to try. It all goes back to center ice and starts out with a new drop of the puck. If the team that just scored controls the puck and immediately scores again, oh well.

Since we’re talking about scoring, the rules of hockey recognize that it takes more than an individual to score goals. Hockey is the only sport where players are equally recognized not just for scoring goals but for assisting others who score goals. Maybe you should remember that the next time someone at work says you’ve done a good job.

handshakeThe ultimate good job is winning the championship. The NHL hockey championship tournament is a grueling event. After an 82 game regular season, the top 16 teams (8 from each conference) play a four round best of seven elimination tournament. It takes twenty winning games to win the championship. That’s nearly 25% as long as the regular season. It could take as long as 28 games to play to the finish. That’s like playing another third of a season. After each round only one team moves on. And for each round, every year, for as many years as the tournament has ever been played, and for as many years as the tournament will ever be played, when that one team wins that fourth game and is ready to move on, they and the team whose season has ended meet at center ice and every player on each team shakes the hand of his opponent player and coach, wishing them well as they move on and thanking them for a game well played. No gloating. No whining. No whimpering. Only accepting.

So you go to a fight and a hockey game breaks out. It could be a lot worse.

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So there you go. Everything you need to know about being a gentleman, or a lady. Courtesy of the folks who brought you hockey. They’re not bad lessons if I say so myself. And I think even Badger Bob would agree.

 

Looking Good

Michael 6 Comments

I’m going to do something today that I usually don’t. I’m ranting. Well…not exactly ranting. A rant implies wild and impassioned speech. I may be passionate about a bunch of stuff but I’m not wild. I’m not even undomesticated. So I’m not exactly ranting but I am upset. Maybe even a little annoyed.

I just read a post – no, that’s not true either – I just read two-thirds of a post, supposedly to make me, as one with a chronic illness, feel magnanimous towards those who have the nerve to say to me,  “You look good.”  Apparently before I had the benefit of the sensitivity of whoever wrote that drivel, err…. that post, I was supposed to be bothered, irked, and/or insulted by that comment. Really?!?

Yes, I have a chronic condition. Three actually. If you’ve read this for a time you know I have kidney disease and am on dialysis (and the specific target of the aforementioned post). I am also told that I am a cancer survivor though one really never survives as much as finds a way to eliminate its immediate danger. For me that meant the physical removal of the cancer and along with it two and parts of third internal organ while now still learning how to live without otherwise vital body parts. The third is a one of those rare diseases that is so rare you don’t even get to see commercials on TV for drugs that might or not might not improve my chance at a normal life. Instead that one has been kept at bay for 15 years or so by a relatively dangerous drug regimen that probably helped me join the ranks of the first two chronic conditions that I mentioned but at least it kept me alive long enough to develop them. Anyway, when someone tells me that I look good I say thank you. Apparently I’ve been doing that wrong.

If I read the part of the article that I read correctly, I read that first I should consider that the person who is telling me how wonderful I appear doesn’t mean anything insensitive by it. He or she probably doesn’t know how painful and depressing my ailment is. Ailments are. Next I should consider exactly how well I know this person. Perhaps some people are mistaking my healthy appearance for a healthy appearance because they don’t know the full extent of my painful and depressing ailment. Or ailments. Then I should thank them for their thoughtfulness but gently remind them how painful and depressing my ailment really is. Are. Is. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do after that because that’s when I threw my tablet across the room. (After making sure I was aiming it at a very soft pillow. I might have been annoyed but I’m not crazy.) (Not even wild.)

So, since I was unable to finish that drivel, err…. that post, let me tell you how to respond when someone comes up to you, whether or not you have a chronic condition, and whether or not he or she does, and says, “You look good.”  Say thank you and repay the compliment.

By that way, you’re looking pretty good. Have a nice day.

The Hi Guys

Michael 6 Comments

“’S’up.” “Hey” A nod up. Then another. One went east, one west. And the world kept turning. Thanks in part to the Hi Guys.

The Hi Guys are those guys (generically speaking of course – guys, gals, hims, hers, undecideds, too young to tell, too old to matter, too desperate to care – all of those) those guys are the guys that nod a “hello” to a perfect stranger one meets walking down the road, crossing a lobby, waiting for an elevator, or standing in front of or behind in a really long, really slow line – or on the line if that’s your geographic preference.

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Drawing by me. Can’t you tell?

It’s just a nod, a recognition that says “Hey, you too are human and we are all part of a team and I recognize your contribution even if I don’t know you, don’t care if I ever know you, might never see you again, and will be just as happy if I do or if I don’t.” Sometimes that’s really hard to do. It’s easy to give that little finger wave over the steering wheel when you see a neighbor taking the dog for a walk along your own street on your way to work in the morning. But to acknowledge a total stranger, no, more than that, to show value to a total stranger is quite another.

Think of the number of times you run across somebody you don’t know versus the number you do of the number you do. (It might be awkward but if you parse that sentence you’ll see it works. Just like the Hi Guys!) An Oxford University study (Oxford, really) confirmed that the human brain can manage only 150 friendships. A simple “Hey, how ya doin’?” can expand your circle to unknown numbers. And make you smile at the same time.

Remember when you were a baby – probably not but you probably have seen babies. When a baby smiles at someone and makes that baby gurgle that only babies can make, everybody smiles back. Even me, and I’m usually fairly grouchy. So if a baby, who probably doesn’t understand that the world needs a little help to keep turning, can make a total stranger smile and feel good even for just a second or two, you can do it also.

So, keep the world turning. Become a Hi Guy*!

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

*I thought of this a couple of days ago when I was running into the store and stopped at the entrance to let a fellow carrying a double armload of grocery bags come out of the doorway before I went in. I didn’t expect a thank you for anything since I didn’t do anything. The door was automatic and wide enough for both of us.  As I passed him on my way through I did my usual nod and said something like hi or h’lo (the local equivalent of hello). He paused and sort of half-turned and said back to me, “Hey. Thanks.” And smiled. A real smile. I thought to myself, wow, somebody really does pay attention to that half-grunt I make now and then. That could be blog-worthy. Well, after I wrote this I thought I’d do a quick search for “Hi Guy.” I don’t know why, I just did. Maybe because I’m getting sort of up there in years and things sometime mean different things now than then. And sure enough I found something. My go to for stuff like this, the Urban Dictionary, defines “Hi Guy” pretty succinctly as a salutation to a man or woman. Clean enough for my purpose. Then I went one step further and plugged it into Google. There I found a link to “Lingomash” pronouncing that my Hi Guy in slang means “(1)Excl. When something outrages (sic) or unusual occurs. (2)Excl. When you don’t agree with one’s actions.“ Well that’s not right at all. Since I don’t have anything else to write about I’m going to ask that if you know “Hi Guy” as this completely antithetical twist to what I just wrote, could you please not tell anybody else. Thanks.

Oh, and one more thing. Some of you might remember “Hi, guy!” from the Right Guard commercials of the 1970s when two guys share a medicine cabinet and every morning they “bump into” each other in the bathroom. They were great. One guy would open the cabinet on his side of the wall and the other would be there and he bursts out with “Hi, guy!” It went on for years and the actor (Chuck McCann, an already well established actor) became known as the Right Guard Hi Guy. Except that in the very first commercial of the series he never said “Hi, guy.” If you should be wondering, here’s a link to it. Hi Guy.  (by Genius via YouTube)

I just realized my “post script” is longer than “letter.” I should stop now. In fact, I will. Really.

Desperately Seeking Closure

Michael 1 Comment

Did you draw your mother’s ire when as a kid you left (or if you still are a kid, leave) the door open when you came in from outside? Or let the refrigerator hang open? Or had an array of dresser draws intrude into your room, socks spilling onto the floor? Well, I didn’t. Not back then. Oh, I wasn’t perfect either. I probably had a door stay open to the elements on an urgent run from outdoor playing when all the trees were taken. (What can I say? The rest of the neighborhood kids weren’t perfect either.) But now I’ve turned into a man with seemingly not enough strength to get a cupboard door closed all the way.

If you were to look into my kitchen after I cooked up a good healthy breakfast you would find the refrigerator closed but not quite completely, the silverware drawer open, the cabinet where the oatmeal resides with its lid half-cocked not shut quite all the way, and the dishwasher where the used plates and tableware have been carefully placed quite uncarefully left ajar. Certainly the cabinets where the plates and glasses are stored would be similarly left agape except that those items are stored in racks on the counter. There are even times when the under-sink cabinet chemicals remain unshielded when I take the time to wipe down the counter after enjoying my healthy if a bit harried morning meal.Door

This carelessness isn’t restricted to the kitchen. In the bathroom drawers and doors are more likely to be open than closed upon entering. (I am good about lowering the toilet seat. Years of living in predominantly female households will do that.) In the bedroom the dresser drawers are almost always opened just a crack. Somehow even the roll top on the desk that now qualifies as my longest lasting relationship never quite makes it all the way to the writing surface, even with gravity helping along my now apparently feeble shutting action. The front door manages to get closed but on a nice day with the patio in use that door stands as great a chance of being as open during the night as it was during the day since I’ll often go to bed and simply forget there is a door there. (Note to potential local burglars, there’s nothing behind that unlatched entrance worth taking except perhaps the aforementioned rolltop desk which is much too heavy for one person to handle. Especially if that one person has a strong desire to maintain a certain level of stealth. And baby making ability.)

This failure to get doors, drawers, and other front pieces into their fully secure positions can’t be age related, can it? Certainly it’s not because I forget to secure the offending openings, patio access notwithstanding. I’d not think it’s a strength issue since I seem to do well enough with car doors which are certainly heavier than veneered particle board cabinet doors. I’d say perhaps it’s a laziness thing but does it really take any more effort to push a drawer that last quarter inch than not? Could it be that I’ve developed this propensity to leaving things standing open sometime after adolescence and just had a sufficiently active adulthood that I didn’t notice I was leaving doors and drawers open until recently now that I have more time to hang around the not closed openings? That seems doubtful in that you would imagine at some time I would walk into a hanging drawer front or notice the milk had soured from a refrigerator left open for an entire week’s worth of work days. No, age doesn’t seem to be a factor here other than one of coincidence.

I think the culprits are the house fairies that I had been hoping would have shown up during those years of weeks’ worth of work days to do things like clean the counters and match the socks tossed haphazardly into the dresser. They finally got around to me on their list of houses to work on and when they got here found that everything they had been dispatched to do is now being dealt with. Since house fairies are notoriously reticent to leave a place once they have been assigned, they are obviously looking for something to do, cook, eat, write, or wash, and they leave the room within which they are so searching somewhat hastily upon my entrance. The doors and drawers are left open just a smidge because, let’s be blunt about it, fairies don’t take up that much space and can get in and out of places through just a crack. That clearly explains the cabinets and dressers and even the desk doors and drawers that seem to never make it completely closed.

There. I feel better about it already. All except for that patio door business. I think I might have to take the blame for that one.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Looking Back

Michael Leave a comment

Sometime toward the end of last year I mentioned the Real Reality Show Blog turned five years old. That happened on November 7 but I didn’t get around to mentioning it until much later that month. Shortly after that it became December and life got turned upside down for me. Again. I ended 2016 two days shy of actually being home from three separate hospital stays during the last month of last year. Hanging around for so many days in a hospital bed leaves one with only so many things to do. Read. Watch TV. Work a crossword puzzle or two. Roll over on top of the nurse call button. Think about life.

I hate thinking about life. Here’s why. Why is because thinking about life interferes with life. While I was lying about wondering “what had I done to deserve this” I got to thinking of life and the life I specifically had last year.

It started celebrating the end of the holiday season in a strange place. For the first time in 29 years I wasn’t in my old, wonderful house with a Christmas tree in every room highlighted by the 12 foot job under the cathedral ceiling of the natural wood finished sun room. And worst of all, I didn’t have all 37 of my nativities displayed. That’s because for the first Christmas after 29 years I was celebrating it in a miniscule one bedroom apartment so I could move about and function better in my new “challenged,” – screw that, make it disabled! – state. But then but the end of the year I got used to those not that miniscule quarters, I got used to working around the complex, I got used to hanging out at the pool, I got used to my new neighbors, and I missed those, that, and them when I wasn’t there in December.

In April I turned 60. I didn’t think anything of it. But for some reason my sisters thought I should have a party to celebrate that milestone. I look at milestones for birthdays years like 16, 21, 30, maybe 50, definitely 75, and by all means every year from 80 on. But I figured, why not. At least I knew I’d get a more extravagant meal than I was planning for myself and maybe even cake. Now, it happened that the last party I had thrown for me to celebrate a birthday was indeed at 30. (Hold that thought.) The selected venue for last year’s event had a guest limit of 25.I got to thinking how I was going to limit a guest list to 25. I pulled out my address book and mentally started drafting explanations to those who wouldn’t make the cut. After much serious review, and even more serious reflection, I handed my sister a list of 22 names. Thirty years previous there were three times that many people on hand to commemorate my becoming a thirtysomething. Had I or anyone got around to hosting a 50 year party I could imagine at least one guest for each lived year. Now, I couldn’t scrape up two dozen friends to watch me move another year closer to Medicare. And then the day came and those few all showed up and I realized these were mostly the same people who were around to see me turn 16 and a few years later, 21, and would have been among the crowd at 50. Friends. Old friends, close friends, real friends. Friends who saw me move not only from year to year but from trials to successes to failures to challenges to successes to every high, low, dull, and exciting phase of life. My life. And I hope they’ll all be there for 75, 80, and every one from then on.

Sometime in August I was at a routine doctor appointment. One of those that you get ready for a week before by going from lab to x-ray to CT to have as much of your insides available for the doctor to review as your outsides when you get there. She looked at the numbers and then at me and then back at the numbers and declared that I had a year, maybe, before my kidneys would go the way of so much else in my insides and I’d need the use of a dialysis machine to do what comes naturally to most others after a couple of cups of coffee. She was off by just a little. About 8 months. It was, in fact, while I was thinking all this in the hospital sometime in early December after I had been transported back to my hospital room from the dialysis unit after the second or maybe third of what would become a new thrice weekly event for me. But it wasn’t that much later that I reminded myself that the reason any doctors were even looking at lab and x-ray and CT scan results for the state my kidneys was that 15 years ago I was diagnosed with a pretty rare, chronic condition that feeds of internal organs like kidneys and if they found just the right treatment for me I had a 37% chance of living longer than three years. Somehow they hit it right and I was one of the lucky ones who got at least 12 more years so I could have a birthday party in a non-milestone year and all I had to do now was give up a dozen hours a week that I wasn’t doing anything with anyway and maybe make it to 75, 80, and a few more after that.

See, those are just a few reasons why I hate all this “looking back.” It just ends up finding the silver lining instead of dwelling on the uncontrollable like human beings are supposed to do. And it means I spent the entire 500th post of the RRSB talking about me. Instead of talking about the me you got to see in the past 500 posts. I guess I’ll do that next time.

Hmm. Five hundred. Not as compelling as 75, or 80, or all the numbers that come after that. But I bet somewhere there’s a word for that.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

No, They Aren’t People Too

Michael Leave a comment

“We love our pets too,” the sign began.  After that there were a half-dozen examples of how much the authors of the sign loved their and others’ pets.  It finished with, “so please understand us when we say, no pets allowed.”  It was, and presumably still is a fair warning.  That sign is sharing space with the doorway to a used construction emporium.  An indoor junkyard if you will.

All throughout the building are stacks of windows, doors slid into stands, boxes of hinges and door pulls and faucet handles, rows of bath tubs, racks of counter tops, mountains of marble slabs, and hangers of hanging lamps.  Everywhere there are things made of wood, metal, glass, and porcelain.  All covered in the same dust the previous owners left and many with rusty connectors, sharp corners, and other things that hurt.  And right over there picking his way through the used kitchen counter tops on his way to the door frames is a middle-aged man attached by a leash to a forbidden dog.

He had to have seen the sign.  You couldn’t get in without seeing it.  And a sign that large means that something once happened and there should be no chance of letting it happen again.  He had to have seen it.  But he probably said to himself as his breezed on by, that was meant for people with animals.  His dog is a people.  His buddy.  His pal.  He wasn’t going to leave his best friend in a car while he perused the once heat producing radiators.  And he certainly wasn’t going to leave his only friend at home while he enjoyed his day of exploration among the once water-filled toilets.  Nope, he didn’t get to be his age and survive all alone without the help of his furry friend.  He certainly wasn’t going to turn his back on him on his only day away from the office just because he couldn’t find the right color lavatory sink at the home remodeling center.

Both of We love animals.  Together we span over 100 pet years.  At some point our houses have been home to dogs, cats, hamsters, rabbits, fish, crabs, and for a very brief time even a snake although technically he was a runaway.  Our pets have always held that special place in our hearts and our homes that are special to our pets also.  They’ve shared our spaces and our affections.  Our pet affections.  And pet spaces.  They didn’t go on vacations with us, and they don’t go to work with us.  When we see a sign that says “no dogs allowed” we don’t take that to mean no regular, aka other people’s dogs allowed.

Pets are pets.  They aren’t surrogate children.  They aren’t surrogate spouses.  They aren’t the exception to the rule.  If a tower of ceramic tiles is going to fall and the “special” dog happens to be standing there when they do, they aren’t going to stop in midair and wait for “special” to make his way clear of the danger aisle.

We don’t feel sorry for the person who can’t manage long term human relationships and has to settle for the four legged variety.   We feel sorry for the four legged variety stuck with the human who thinks “living a dog’s life” is a bad thing.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?