My Favorite Christmas Song.

Too good not to share.

 

 

He's Leaving Me.

Of course it didn't come as a surprise. He's been hinting subtly and not so subtly for at least three years. It was obvious his feelings were changing, but I chose to stick my head in the sand and not address the real possibility that he would leave me. 

He was no longer happy in his job and I knew that would eventually affect our relationship.  He was having personal family issues and I knew those were also tearing him away. 

But I couldn't let myself imagine my life without him. 

Our relationship began thirty years ago. Looking back now, I realize we were both kids. 

I think back in the ways that he changed my life, and in some cases literally saved it. In fact he was the deciding factor in my decision on dissolving my first marriage. That wasn't his intention, of course, but his advice at a critical time in my life, changed it completely. 

He was there for me then. He was there for me in my worst times of my life.  He has known nearly ever aspect of my life. 

I saw him for what is likely the last time ever yesterday. As I was driving away, I noted the dreary looking day matched my heartbreak over losing one of what I feel like has been one my best friends, someone I could always count on.   I wished him the best and insisted on a goodbye hug. 

I doubt I can ever replace him. Sure, there will be someone new eventually. But right now I doubt I can ever replace the relationship that has been torn away. But I'll go on. I have to. 

We talked about his wife's condition.  She was also a family doc and had to quit a couple years ago because of early onset Alzheimer's. We talked about the disaster of Obamacare. He made his political preferences known to me years ago.  He was a conservative Christian. 

He was more than just my family doctor. He was my friend. Never to be replaced.  

Carlton in Ferguson.

If Alphonso would teach the protestors this dance, we might that not have these race issues in Missouri. 

STOP

It was around the time of Columbine when we noticed the neighbor's teenage son began wearing the goth attire. When he and his friends would hang out in the driveway sporting their long black coats and dark pants, I wondered how one could see their sons expressing themselves by donning the same clothing of Klebold and Harris and not take some type of action.

I remember being especially freaked out one day when I came home to find that the boy and three of his friends were sitting on top of their garage roof. Now obviously I might have been a little too sensitive because of the recent events. And in fact, the boy never caused a bit of trouble in the neighborhood.

Within a few months, the goth fad had faded and nothing horrible happened at the local school.

By the time the boy had graduated, he had turned into a very polite young man who then joined the service.

It was a stark contrast to see the young man come home on leave in his distinguished uniform. I vowed not to be so judgmental when kids go through phases although truthfully I probably haven't changed enough.

Since we live "in the country" according to some, we do not regularly visit with our neighbors, mainly seeing them as they mow their lawns or wave as we pass them going to the mailbox and exchanging Christmas cards once a year.

It wasn't long before we heard that the boy was going to be deployed to Iraq. I remember seeing him in the backyard shortly before his deployment playing with their dog. He was no longer a boy, of course, instead he was a fit young man and I wondered what he might face in his future.

After Iraq, he was deployed to Afghanistan. There had been some neighborhood rumors that he was given some top secret assignments possibly involving assassinations but I still don't know how true those rumors were.

In the last few years, he had come home and began his life outside of military life. Other than a few brief times of seeing him and his girlfriend coming or going to his parents house next door, we knew very little of what his life has become.

A few short weeks ago, Bob noticed him taking out an infant carrier from his car when he and his girlfriend would visit his parents.

And while I fully admit we actually knew very little about his life, we were still shocked when Bob got a text from one of the other neighbors the other night that said that Jeremy had taken his own life.

Suicide is just so heartbreaking. It leaves such and ache that screams, "WHY?"

We cannot imagine what our neighbors are going through. I don't even want to imagine what they are going through.

You want to be able to ease their pain, to make it all go away for people that we really barely know. Of course we can't. About an hour ago, we carted over some food in hopes to make some small dent in their misery. It's impossible of course. Looking into the father's eyes as he thanked us for the food was like looking into the depths of hell, where nightmares seep out of your dreams and attack your very soul.

We came home and wept for their pain, knowing it will never go away for them. I wish people who were contemplating suicide could look at the eyes of their loved ones before they make that choice that can never go away.

 

Thank a Vet Today

Yes. Yes. I know I've been MIA for some time now. And I don't really have an excuse. 

But I'll make one anyway. About a month ago I updated my IPad to IOS 8. And boy, was that a mistake. It's a buggy as the Obamacare website. 

Want to see how buggy?  Here's a pic of my keyboard when I'm trying to type something.  The keyboard also likes to hide the field you are typing in. 

I cannot see what I'm typing. And when I know I've made a mistake, attempting to backspace in a blind field is next to impossible. 

But enough whining and complaining. 

I want to extend my deepest gratitude to all Veterans today. We can never repay their sacrifice. 

When Bill Maher is Right.

Which I would never had believed.

Apparently he talked with Charlie Rose this week according to Real Clear Politics.

Read for yourself.

BILL MAHER: I saw Howard Dean on TV the other day and he said something along the order, he said the people in ISIS -- he said I'm about as Islamic as they are, you know, distancing the vast numbers of Islamic people around the world from them. That's just not true.

CHARLIE ROSE: It is true.

MAHER: It is not true, Charlie. There is a connecting tissue between --

ROSE: Behind every Muslim is a future member of some radical?

MAHER: Let me finish.

ROSE: I was doing that.

MAHER: There are illiberal beliefs that are held by vast numbers of Muslim people that --

ROSE: A vast number of Christians too.

MAHER: No, that's not true. Not true. Vast numbers of Christians do not believe that if you leave the Christian religion you should be killed for it. Vast numbers of Christians do not treat women as second class citizens. Vast numbers of Christians --

ROSE: I agree with that --

MAHER: -- do not believe if you draw a picture of Jesus Christ you should get killed for it. So yes, does ISIS do Khmer Rouge-like activities where they just kill people indiscriminately who aren't just like them? Yes. And would most Muslim people in the world do that or condone that? No.

ROSE: No.

MAHER: But most Muslim people in the world do condone violence just for what you think.

ROSE: How do you know that?

MAHER: They do. First of all they say it. They shout it.

ROSE: Vast majorities of Muslims say that?

MAHER: Absolutely. There was a Pew poll in Egypt done a few years ago -- 82% said, I think, stoning is the appropriate punishment for adultery. Over 80% thought death was the appropriate punishment for leaving the Muslim religion. I'm sure you know these things.

ROSE: Well I do. But I don't believe --

MAHER: So to claim that this religion is like other religions is just naive and plain wrong. It is not like other religious. The New York Times pointed out in an op-ed a couple weeks ago that in Saudi Arabia just since August 4th, they think it was, they have beheaded 19 people. Most for non-violent crimes including homosexuality.

ROSE: I know that they cut the hands off the thief.

MAHER: Right, okay, so we're upset that ISIS is beheading people which we should be upset about but Saudi Arabia does it and they're our good friends because they have oil. Okay. But they do it too. This is the center of the religion. I'm not saying -

ROSE: But they're now fighting against ISIS too. They're joining us in the fight. As is the Emirates. As is Jordan. They are all Muslim countries.

MAHER: Well, they are both fighting ISIS and they are for ISIS.

ROSE: Well, it's not the government. I mean, some of them --

MAHER: Certainly the governments.

ROSE: It's a bit like today about Qatar. The big story today in The New York Timesabout Qatar. And some guy there is supporting, who is a Muslim --

MAHER: But I mean in Mecca where infidels, non-Muslims, are not even allowed in the holy parts of the city. I mean, right there, we don't have that example in other religions. They do behead people. Now if they were beheading people in Vatican City, which is the equivalent of Mecca, don't you think there would be a bigger outcry about it? So this is the soft bigotry of low expectations with Muslim people. When they do crazy things and believe crazy things, somehow it's not talked about nearly as much.

ROSE: Would you come to the table and debate this with a moderate Muslim?

MAHER: Find one, yes. Find one.

ROSE: I promise you I'll find one.

MAHER: Find a Muslim --

ROSE: I do believe that what we see with ISIS is not representative of --

MAHER: As I said, connecting tissue.

ROSE: -- not representative of the Islamic religion. I don't think the Koran teaches them to do these kinds of things.

MAHER: Well you're wrong about that. The Koran absolutely has on every page stuff that's horrible about how the infidels should be treated. But for example again ISIS says that they should perform genital mutilation on all women 11-46. Would most Muslims agree with that? No. Or carry it out? No.

But as Ayaan Hirsi Ali points out, she says --

ROSE: I wouldn't expect for her to --

MAHER: And she would know better than --

ROSE: Exactly.

MAHER: But can we really say --

ROSE: She's been a victim.

MAHER: -- women are treated equally in the Muslim world? I mean, their testimony in court is very often counted as half. They need permission to leave the house in some places.

ROSE: But a lot of moderate Muslims would say in fact one of the things that we need to modernize is the idea of the way we treat women.

MAHER: But in this country, if you just use the wrong word about women, they go nuts. And all these other countries --

ROSE: As they should.

MAHER: -- they're doing things like making them wear burqas and I hear liberals say things like, 'they want to.' They want to. They've been brainwashed. It's like saying a street walker wants to do that.

White Hot Anger

Here Comes the White Hot Anger

Come let it wash over me like the hot steaming lava from a volcano. 

I let myself one day every year to feel the rage. 

I understand some handle it differently. That's okay. I consider it like grief. Everyone grieves differently. No way is right and no way is wrong, just don't judge another's ability to handle it. 

For me. I want. No. I NEED to feel white hot anger every year. It is my tribute to those people that the spawn of satan were allowed to destroy. 

And here we are now having videos played out of Americans beings beheaded by the bastards that managed to escape the gates of hell and currently are allowed to reside on this earth. 

What's even worse?  The idiots that believe the radical Islamists are being discriminated against. 

So let me grieve. It may not be your method of dealing with this life altering event. But it is mine. 

One day out of 365. The victims deserve at least that. 

Amongst the Mangroves

I flipped the channel over to ID (formally Court TV) just a few minutes ago and when the show mentioned something about mangroves a memory of our first trip to Cancun came rushing back. 

Not this one.

Same trip but an unexpected adventure on our last full day there. 

I had originally thought we would take one of our four day to go see the Mayan ruins, but none of my fellow travelers had any interest. When my sister-in-law tried to insist we go because I wanted it, I explained I would feel much worse dragging three people to somewhere they didn't want to be than not going at all. 

So that left us with nothing to do our last full day. Normally that is really what I would prefer, but everyone wanted to do something. 

We asked around and someone suggested we rent a boat with a driver across from the hotel. When we went to book a few hours trip, the guy assured us the "captain" spoke perfect English. 

He was right. The guy spoke perfect English as long as the word was a simple, "hi". Other than that the was zero ability to communicate with a fairly gruff grouchy overweight "Captain". 

The four of us loaded into the boat and not realizing that we really shouldn't wear sunscreen because it kills the fish and we set off. Our guide wasn't happy when we attempted to apply the sunscreen. I guess it would have been better to fry like a lobster out in the gulf. 

We puttered around the outskirts of Cancun with the man pointed and attempting a bit of broken conversation but most of what he was trying to say was completely lost in translation. 

When he pointed to a green "island" type of growth out in the water, the only thing I could understand was "mangroves". 

He slowly pointed the boat in the direction of the floating island and we could see there was actually a small water pathway between the islands.  And in we went. The water path was narrow, really only enough room for one boat. 

About 5 feet into the path, I could feel a small bead of sweat start to form on my upper lip. 

Something didn't feel right. 

I realized that we were now in a very small boat in the middle of Gulf of Mexico and between two large mangroves, both of which hid us from everyone. This was before the age of Internet access and Facebook checkins. And we had paid the boat rental in cash.   We literally could have dropped off the face of the earth and no one, ever would know what happened to us. 

I then realized we had made a very bad stupid tourist decision. Here were two middle age couples like sitting ducks in a boat with a complete stranger. And we even more stupidly had a couple of nice sized diamonds sitting on our left hands that sparkled brightly in the Mexican sun. 

Suddenly I could see the future as if it was being filmed by some horror director. 

Just as I was doing my best to stop imagining some silly graphic crime scene, the guide began to slow the boat. I began to look around the small hull for weapons. 

I could see it all play out in my mind. The guy would suddenly appear with a gun. Quickly shoot my brother-in-law, since he was the biggest. Turn the gun to my husband next. And then that leaves two women, alone, hidden between the mangroves with no ability to protect themselves. First go the rings we should have left behind either back home or at least in the room safe and then I didn't even want to think about what would happen next. 

By the time the boat came to a complete stop within the mangroves, I was nearly panicked. Everyone else on the bait looked perfectly calm. 

Then the guide was able to ask something about taking a swim. Ummm, no not so much. My BIL asked about gators and he assured him there were none. My BIL remove off the boat as did the guide. It was only then I released the tight grip I had on my beach bag, as of it held some magical potion that would ward off bad stuff. 

They swam for a couple of minutes and then they both got back on the boat. 

I finally realized I thought we were likely safe. Why bother with the swimming if you're goal was to rape and plunder?  

The guide then steered the boat farther in as we poked our way through. Just a minute later we saw a baby gator sunning himself on a low mangrove branch. 

Ummm, excuse me. Thought there were not gators in here. If we have a baby sitting there, his momma couldn't be far away. I was glad I didn't jump in the water. 

That was certainly the highlight of the boat trip, but certainly not the end of the craziness of the day. We were to go snorkeling. I had been before, not far off the beach. But this guy decided the best stop was right between Cancun and Isla Majeres. 

This is when I made the mistake of getting off the boat first. The water was very deep and the waves were high. I am normally the adventurous type, but the waves were quickly carrying me away from the boat and I attempted a couple of times to snorkel, but the minute I would barely out my face down in the water, I could just see another big wave overtaking my snorkel. Of course that didn't happen, but as soon as I would pop my head out of the water, there was another swell. At one point the boat was getting close to me and Mr. Guideman gunned the engine and I thought for sure I would lose an arm or a leg in the propeller. 

I finally did enough signaling that I was just DONE. I wanted back in the boat.   

Finally after all that, he managed to take us close to the beach at Isla Majeres and my BIL and I spent 15 minutes of boring snorkeling. 

I was never so glad to get off a boat on my life. 

The Smell of the Sistine Chapel

 

 

I Don't Get It

I was pretty adamant about it. 

I refused to give in to all the hype a couple years back. I'd just roll my eyes whenever I would hear something on TV or refuse to read an article about what the latest craze was that was making all the middle aged ladies I knew lose their minds. 

And one day I was having lunch with a young friend of mine. She insisted I had to have it. 

So, I reluctantly bought it on my Nook. 

Should I sum up my review here or should I make you wait. 

Nah.  I won't put you through the misery I endured. 

It was the worst purchase I have ever made in my life. And after reading to final page, fully expecting that surely at some point there would be one single redeeming sentence in the whole damned thing, I found out I was wrong. If only I had stuck to my original principle and not given the author one single penny of my money.  

Hell, I would rather have given it to Michael Moore. And that's saying something. 

So now, all those rabid women who read the book are back at it. Because some idiot decided to make it into a MOVIE. Gad. Now I have to listen to all those same women drone on and on about who played Grey. 

I could only care less if they had cast Johnny Depp. Thank God, that psycho never made a penny from me. 

Ok, I understand all the idiotic sex scenes described in the book sent some horny old and apparently young women crazy, but I still didn't get it. 

Since I had originally heard many middle aged women talk about Fifty Shades of Crap (sorry, I cannot bring myself to say what should never be mentioned), I had assumed it was some erotic mid-age crisis drivel. 

And again, I was wrong. 

Instead the female lead was nothing but a fresh young newly-graduated college chick. And instead of following in the footsteps of all these crazed empowered feminists, she becomes some neurotic sex slave to a man that is several years older than her. 

That's it. The entire novel is nothing but this chick getting smacked, beaten and sex-slaved by this idiotic character. 

What the hell happened?  

I am NOT a feminist. Mainly because I think they are all idiotic Sandra Fluke wannabes. And that crappy book just proved it. 

I mean if feminists really believe the crap they spiel, then why didn't even one of them complain about this book?

I mean, here is this supposed smart college graduate who instead a of even attempting to become a functional part of society instead decides to be hit and whipped and controlled by this older man. She is not to have a job, see her friends and she must answer her phone the minute her "master" wants to screw her after he's finished with his female sex torture room. 

And not one radical feminist that I heard screamed foul. Not one. 

There was a deafening Bill Clinton silence. 

Feminists, my ass. 

Just Get Over It.

I just must be in a weird mood lately. 

Like in the last year "lately". 

I have all these things to blog about all day long. Imaginary writings during the day that if someone would invent a damned app that would just auto fill this blog would leave you in awe of my amazing talent. 

But when I sit in my chair, which is way too often nowdays, I don't accomplish anything. 

Sometimes I'm working on this new "secondary" career so that I no longer spend months and months at someone else's beck and call and will allow us the freedom to winter far from this frozen hell.  

Sometimes, I'm playing some idiotic game on my IPad that I would never admit to in real life. 

Sometimes, well most times, I'm facebooking.  

Which should bring me to the subject of how horrible it was to learn that two of my five readers have been Facebook friends and have left me out. 

Ok.  That's just a joke. I HATE Facebook drama and decided to poke fun at Dana and Coffey on her post about drama bloggers. 

Which exhaustedly brings me around to my original intent. 

I stay away from drama. My family doesn't do drama and I attempt, at nearly all costs to avoid it everywhere. Not always possible, but it's certainly better than it has been in years.  And somehow tonight I fell. No, that's not right,  I inserted myself into a situation on Facebook with a friend who posted his rant about a bumper sticker. 

Now one would think from reading this blog o' mine that it was a political argument. 

But I refrain from political discussions on Facebook.  And I quickly unfriend anyone who feels it necessary on a daily basis to post cartoons or make comments about my political beliefs. 

Anyway, here was the first part of the exchange.  

This was written by a guy that grew up in my hometown and who, until recently shared many of the same beliefs as I. He has recently had some life changes and I have been sensing this "turning liberal" mantra coming from him. 

"I have a rant (again) and well, quite frankly, it is sure to piss some of you off. And well, I'm sorry about that, but it will not change my attitude. I just saw a pickup truck with a bumper sticker that read "US Army, Vietnam Veteran, You NEVER welcomed us home"

First off, thank you for your service. I cannot express enough how much your service means to me as an American. But here's my issue. The Vietnam War was 40 years ago. The majority of the folks who never welcomed you home are either deceased or at the very least no longer a player in the public or private sectors. You will be the first one to tell a young black man that he needs to get over his ancestors being slaves because that is ancient history and we have made amends to them. Well sir, it's time for you to get over the fact that you were never welcomed home. Every President since Reagan has honored your service. Each one of them has done something to memorialize your service. Many memorials across this great country have been built to show you this generation does care and we do thank you. It's time for you to move past it and allow your heart to heal."

I read it earlier and started to dismiss it. 

And yet tonight it really started to irk me. 

And then I read what a friend of his wrote. 

"Also the same ones that tell us to suck it up they faught real war...they aren't comparable really two very different animals...but both WAR, how does the type of fight entitle you to be "more" scarred. Dont get me wrong love and respect the road they paved for me, but like you didn't want judged don't judge us. We dont choose the WAR."

I thought about my response for a minute. 

As I said, I don't do drama and I normally just ignore things that can get heated in a Facebook discussion. 

But tonight I wasn't in that kind of mood.  Maybe because I have respected this man up until this point. So I was honest. And I worded my response as I would any other good friend. If you're my friend and the time has come for real words, then expect them from me. 

So I wrote the following. 

"Ok. I am going to vehemently disagree with you here. 

I don't know of any Nam Vets who take this attitude. None. All of them that I know have quietly lived their lives and never used Vietnam as an excuse. 

What is happening now is that many are getting into their retirement years. And that leaves more time on their hands. Which means that they are just now experiencing a lot of the PTSD symptoms that they had suppressed up until now. 

It may have been 40 years for you and I, but it's every night for some of these guys. 

No one living today lived through slavery, so your comparison fails miserably. 

Just getting over isn't so easy when you have spent your life trying to forget the bad memories and just when they should be able to relax and enjoy themselves, they are haunted by horrible nightmares. 

And just so you know, none of those guys CHOSE WAR!

They were drafted. They didn't get a choice like today's vets got. 

They were forced to fight by their own government. 

And instead of hating America, they love it even more. 

Much more that those of us able to bitch about a bumper sticker. 

Because they watched their buddies die beside them on a horrible Christmas Eve in 1969. And they listened to the screams all night long and were unable to help them because of the incoming fire. 

Most likely you saw a bumper sticker placed there by a spouse. Who knows full well the horror of that war. Because she's seen her husband suffer through the late onslaught of PTSD. 

Enjoy your freedom."

Of course that set off a £!%#storm. Especially from the chick who thinks the Vietnam Vets chose the war they "faught" in. 

A couple of women had lost brothers in Vietnam and they agreed with me. 

The last straw was when my friend who posted the original rant came back on and said he had the utmost respect but I had missed the point. 

Here's the great thing about Facebook.  If someone is really starting to get on your nerves, there is about three keystrokes to delete them from your life. 

And with that I was done. 

However he must have noticed because within about 2 minutes he deleted the entire post. 

Yeah, I certainly missed his point. And glad I did. 

The Greatest Play in Baseball Had Nothing to do With the Game

 

The Rockets Red Glare

Yeah, it's my annual July 4th post. I really tried not to get so irritated about all the stories going around this year about being courteous of veterans during the 4th celebration of fireworks.
I couldn't help it. Of course I appreciate what our veterans have gone through, however I guarantee today's young veterans never saw the kind of action my uncles did. Pretty sure most didn't see what my husband saw. But it was a fad this year to be aware of the terror the sound of fireworks causes veterans. I AM aware of it. Because of the following story. And you will note that my uncle never, not once told us kids not to participate in the festivities. Maybe I'm being heartless, but I remember that this hero didn't whine to the local news about jumping out of his skin when he heard firecrackers.

Uncle Bob would always come outdoors and sit in a lounge chair on those long ago July 4th celebrations when we would visit our cousins during the dog days of summer. We had spent our days walking along the uneven sidewalks of Loogootee to get Mister Mistys and toward dusk we'd gather in their small backyard that still had our cardboard box houses we had built from refrigerator and other appliance boxes we found in the back alley of a local store.

Invariably someone would end up stepping on a still hot sparkler some rugrat had dropped in the yard. Then the firecrackers would come out. They were set off in bunches, still tangled together or individually, a single loud pop here or there. As we kids would be running around the yard, Uncle Bob would remain sitting in his chair. Occasionally when I would turn my head from all the celebrating I would notice that his hands would be clutching the plastic arms of the chair and his eyes would close when the bang of the firecrackers and bottle rockets would explode.

I can still picture him sitting there, visably wincing as each bang seemed to get louder.  Even as a kid I knew why he winced, but I sure didn't appreciate what it took for him to sit there and be reminded of his days in Sicily. 

I wish now I had taken the time to sit down with him and hear what it was like fighting in WWII.  To hear of the battles and the reason he had a Purple Heart that I never saw until the day of his funeral.

I wish I knew.  I wish I had understood.  I wish I could thank him now for his service to our country.  But wasn't the innocence of not understanding, of living free and carefree exactly what he fought for?  That I COULD take my freedom for granted as a child.  Didn't he fight so I would never know the horrors of living under tyranny?

Happy Independence Day everyone.  I hope we never forget the sacrifices the thousands of "Uncle Bob's" that have provided us the opportunity to live in the greatest nation on earth. 



Attitude Adjustment

She was easily the worst player on the team. She was a bit heavier than most of the other teenagers and quiet certainly much more awkward. 

Most of the other players would have probably overlooked her lack of ability, however she made it even worse by having a horrible attitude when she messed up. It was the pticher's fault, it was the coach's fault. If was everyone's fault except Jenny's. 

The league was sponsored by the Optimist Club and coached by some of the players' fathers. All the parents would hold their breath whenever Jenny was up to bat. We all knew she would not hit the ball and start complaining. I felt for her some, because I had zero talent, but I only played when I forced to and knew it was my lack of talent that made me lousy in any sports when I was young. 

Right before school started that year, Jenny went for a routine school physical so she could play in some other sport during the school year.  

A simple routine physical. 

The doc didn't like what he was sensing. Tests ordered. And they found a brain tumor that had not yet developed any symptoms. 

They performed surgery to remove the tumor. And Jenny was left with a severe inability to move most of her right side. 

After she recovered, she walked as if she was falling with every step of her right foot. She could move her right hand, but in doing so, left no doubt she would be struggling for the rest of her life. But the surgery had saved her life. 

The next summer she again showed up to the Girl's Optimist Softball League. 

But she was no longer the old Jenny. 

All the parents sat back and held their breath when she got up to bat.  Everyone had remembered her from the prior years and now with some fairly severe disabilities, no one knew what to expect. 

Of course she missed a couple. And everyone was surprised when she would start laughing if she missed. We all wondered what happened to Jenny?  She stood there now after going through an incredible year and just when you expected her attitude to be bad, she was laughing. And enjoying herself. 

When she got a hit, she would attempt to run as fast as she could. Of course most times, she didn't make it, but she would just smile and walk off the field. 

Surviving a brain tumor changed her. Being saddled with a disability seemed to have allowed Jenny to enjoy life. 

I still remember one attempt to run to the base left her falling and rolling along the baseline. There was a collective gasp when she didn't appear to be able to get up. But then we realized why. She was laughing so hard, she couldn't. When she finally got done being tickled about wiping out in the game, she got up, brushed the dirt off and laughed all the way back to the dugout. 

I had almost forgotten about Jenny until I was driving past her dad's business yesterday. He has a yard sign that he uses for his business. 

Yesterday the sign read, "Congratulations Jenny on becoming an RN. ". 

The sign made me smile thinking about her. 

You just never know what kind of tragedy in your life might just change it forever. And sometimes it actually might be for the better in a lot of ways. 

Just Two Wild and Crazy Guys

Looking like they stepped out of a tuxedo ad. 

Am I right?

I'm in There Somewhere

One More Day

Sick of it

Another life lost too soon from cancer. Life is short people. Live it now! Hate that all I can seem to write about are people dying. And I realize my life has been touched less than some others. But it still sucks.

It's not about a three day weekend

 

 

Yes I KNOW

It's been almost a month since I posted anything. I don't know why I can't seem to make myself post something. I have no excuse.

Early this morning we were awakened by horrible yelping, barking and animals screaming. Pretty certain a whole pack of coyotes were attacking and killing one of our neighbor's dogs. It only lasted about 20 seconds. At the end, it sounded almost like hyenas and then one lone long wolf sounding howl.

Poor doggy.

When B&W does miracles

I want to think I really do look like this, but the mirror and other pictures tell me this is just a mirage. 

And Bob really does look this good most of the time. Particularly on those rare occasions when he wears a suit. 

One pic was our favorite, the other was the photographer's favorite. 

Which one looks better?

Easter Sunday

Yeah. I know.

I've been missing. I have to finish my story. 

In the meantime, we are leaving to go north tomorrow and this winter has been amazing. Remind me it write about that too. 

Just read that the  BLM  has backed off of the Bundy case (for now). 

Now don't get me wrong, he can't ignore paying his grazing fees. Or whatever they are called.  I haven't researched a lot of this story, but that gave them a reason to do what they were doing. 

But I wonder. 

Several years back I heard this horrible preacher (you know the kind) on the radio. He was pastor over a large congregation in Indy. Let's just put it this way, he was only a shade better than Westboro. An extreme type who said over and over that people who played music in their church were going to hell. 

I'm serious. 

That's what he claimed over the radio. He said Jesus didn't give us permission to play music. Yeah, he was that screwed up. 

So his church was making him very rich. And as the church grew and hired staff and teachers, he claimed they weren't employees. Directed their performance. Check. Directed their hours. Check. Paid them as regular employees. Check. 

Why did he do that?  Because that way he didn't have to pay the employer portion of the social security tax. When his employees went to file their taxes, he also had not supplied them with a 1099. Until H & R Block told the employees that they needed at least a 1099.  He kept reciting the H & R Block "authority" as proof they were not employees. 

Give me a break. H & R Block?   They are flunkies.  They get a couple weeks of training.  They are NOT CPAs, they are not the Internal Revenue Service, they are not tax attorneys. 

So the church started issuing 1099's to employees. After several years, the IRS started knocking on the church's door. Hey, youhave about a 100 employees. They are not independent contractors. They are employees. That means a W-2. You need to start collecting 1/2 of the social security tax and PAY 1/2 of the social security tax. 

That is NOT the church income tax exemption, which he first tried to claim. It's the normal employer social security tax (or equivalent for churches) portion. 

Well Psycho Minister refused. 

And after years and years of arguing, the Feds finally came calling. 

It broke into the local stations saying the IRS had directed the church to shut down. And the vigilance started. Dozens of people showed up at the church and would not leave. It looked as though there would be a big showdown. 

What happened instead?  The Federal Marshall didn't show up. 

Took about two weeks of nothing but a few committed followers of this idiot to decide they didn't need to stand watch in the church. 

One sunny morning, without so much as a whisper, the Federal Marshall walked into the church door and shut it down. 

So I wonder if that's what might be happening on the Bundy case. 

I just read about a thousand people showed up at this ranch. Of course they would back off. 

I'm sure this guy has his reasons, but the stupid grazing fees gave the federal government a reason to shut him down. I could have stood firmly behind him if they were claiming it was only about the turtle. But he has allowed them an opportunity for an excuse. 

Anyway. What got me going was something in the story about people abiding by the free speech zones the government has set up on the ranch. 

We hear this claim about free speech zones on college campuses all the time now days. 

Last time I checked AMERICA was a free speech zone. 

Thank You Vietnam Vets

Part 3 of ...... Will this story ever end?

Part two here.

What I am about to say will not make sense to a lot of people.  

I had planned to be there with my brothers as Bill was nearing the end. I wanted to be there. I know first hand how incredibly hard it is to care for someone during their last days. Yet, it is also incredibly awesome, in the true meaning of awe. 

When my dad passed away from liver cancer in 1992, all four of us kids and my mother stood next to the hospital bed that sat in the middle of the their living room and held him as he slipped the surly bonds of this earth. It was horrible and yet, it was amazing. 

I realize that this will be a hard concept for anyone who has not held the hand of a loved one while they were dying. 

Is there any greater gift you can give someone than giving them comfort while they are dying?  I'll admit I have been blessed with an amazing family, however that connection of providing each other comfort in the worst of times has forged a bond that will never be broken. 

So, I wanted to be there. I knew that although my brothers knew what they were about to face, two people would not be enough assistance to get through the last stretch. When I had Bill sign the living will we had a very frank discussion regarding the end of his life. He worried that someone would call 911 and/or attempt to keep him alive. He also talked about getting someone to assist him in hurrying it along. I explained that if he expected one of us to assist in his suicide, that would likely be a line we could not cross.  However if he was in the thralls of dying, it was different. "You forget, we've been through this before".  We would let him die in peace. And in love. 

So I had planned on being there. 

As March was moving into its third week last year, I however was dealing with things at home. Some of you might remember that exactly on this day last year, Bob was facing a major surgery to extract a tumor on his spine. The man who never is sick or injured was dealing with spending his first days in a hospital since he was born. He was nervous. And there were people in his family making it worse by causing unnecessary drama.  

And it was during that time that Bill's body was surrendering to that damned disease we call cancer. 

I, like Bill's oldest brother, had important health isssues to deal with at home.  

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Early morning on March 22, 2013, we arrived at the hospital to await Bob's surgery. The docs had indicated it would take 3 to 4 hours and he would be hospitized 4 to 5 days.   My brother Mark had intended to come to the hospital. But he had other priorities.  He had become Bill's main caregiver as Bill's final hours were coming to pass. 

Both of us felt tugged in two directions. Yet we both knew where we needed to be. 

Thankfully two of my nieces (my other brother's girls) stepped in. That afternoon Bill was in incredible pain and ended up doubled over laying on the floor of his bedroom. Mark and one of my nieces laid down beside him for hours.   He wouldn't get in bed and he did not want to be moved. So the three of them laid in the floor.  

When hospice arrived, they were able to get him back in bed and tell them the end was coming very soon. 

I talked with Mark late that night as Bob was resting in his hospital bed and I was sitting up on my makeshift chairbed where we would stay for the next five days. I hated that I was unable to be there for them, but of course everyone understood I was where I needed to be and the timing was what it was. 

As I cried and told my brother I loved him, I told him to call me when it was "time".  My brother's youngest daughter had gone home and her older sister had taken over the watch in the house. They had arranged a schedule to switch in a few hours. 

Around 1, I was awakened by my phone ringing. I scrambled out of the hospital room to not awaken Bob. 

Bill had passed. His struggle was finally over.  My niece had just turned over her shift to Mark. 

I told Mark I would call Bill's brother. The one sleeping at home because his sweet bride was undergoing chemo battling her own cancer.   Although his voice was slightly groggy, I could tell that he knew when he saw my name on the caller ID what the news would be. While I hated delivering the news, I felt it was the least I could do for my brothers since I had not been there to help. 

Unfortunately, the story doesn't stop there.   And now that it is now one year later makes it even harder to tell. 

Part Two of ?

See Part One here.

Of course everything was difficult. Finding a doc that will not only accept a new patient, but one that is dying is nearly impossible in our area. And oddly enough, you have to be referred to Hospice. You can't just pick up the phone, have your records transferred and get access to the service. 

Bill's family asked me to assist him with arranging his finances. In my view, that also required making sure COBRA was continued. The problem, as my brothers were also finding out, was that either the cancer was attacking Bill's mind or he was so overwhelmed with his past and current situation that it was difficult to determine exactly what he had done or not done. 

As the weeks moved on, he grew worse and worse. I had him make out a living will, a "dying" will and a POA for accessing his health care. I didn't want to get a POA for his finances. Although he had nothing and was deep in debt, he had a pension from his previous employer. He had insisted that he had sent the paperwork to his employer for both the COBRA and the pension, but I could not get him to produce copies. 

One frustrating evening I had gone to my brothers' to get some paperwork. Thankfully I was finally able to contact his employer. Also thankfully the HR director knew of Bill's situation and gave me information that helped in accessing the COBRA and the paperwork to get access to his pension.  When I asked my brothers where Bill's mail was, they said they had given it to him. I told them to stop giving him mail. He never knew where it was and was rather secretive about the paperwork even though he readily accepted my help.  When I asked for the pension paperwork, he gave me papers regarding his original diagnosis, some three years ago. 

As my brothers were dealing with trying to take care of this dying man physically, I was in contact quite a bit with his older brother, attempting to give them what financial advice I could.  

Sometime in early February last year, it was apparent Bill would not last much longer. His brother told me he and his sweet Tennessee bride and their sons were planning on visiting in late March. 

In my role, I felt I needed to be extremely direct. Not only with Bill, but with his family. I explained that I thought that would be too late. I wasn't sure he would still be alive in those six weeks. His brother took my assessment to heart and arranged to come visit, alone just a couple of weeks later. 

As I sat at my brothers' table that day, Bill had rallied back and was able to produce all of the paperwork we needed to get things rolling. I wondered if my cousin thought I had been exaggerating. However the rallying only lasted one day and before his brother headed back home, he was again in really bad shape. 

His brother planned to return again as they had originally planned in late March. 

And from there the story takes an even more tragic turn. 

In late February, the brother and his sweet bride were going for their normal morning run. She had been out of breath for some time, enough to go to the doctor who sent her to the hospital. Where they found a tremendous amount of fluid on those perfectly healthy lungs. A liter and a half. 

And it was cancerous. 

How can that be?  

This woman was in incredible shape. She ate right, never smoked, ran several miles every day.  Not to mention that it just didn't seem fair.  The world is bereft of such sweet people. She was kind, gentle, sweet and loving. She was only 49. How did she get lung cancer?

After the diagnosis, the doctor explained that her cancer was not curable but was certainly treatable. He indicated he had patients that had been diagnosed ten years ago. The treatment was occasional rounds of chemo. There was some hope. Not great news, but not devastating either. 

Obviously the family trip in March would be out for my cousin. His wife needed to start chemo right away and although his brother was dying, he had to be there for his "child bride" as he lovingly called her. 

The next few weeks Bill grew steadily worse. Hospice was finally engaged and began regular visits. By then, my brother Mark was a full time nurse to a very belligerent patient. Since Bill had been a nurse, he was insistent he knew what he should be taking and when. But his mind was going quickly. 

The great thing about Hospice is not only the care they give the patient,but the counseling they give the family. Mark has described it as more like an intervention. They counseled him on how to deal with a stubborn dying man. They also adjusted Bill's medication to keep him more sedated since the end was nearing. 

We Interrupt This Program.....

To bring you breaking news. 

Five years ago today I started this do-nothing blog of mine. 

I've written some posts that were really good, in my opinion.  Maybe five or so. Averaging one a year.  So so. Can't say I've really learned anything. And I don't have a multitude of readers, but I suppose that wasn't my intent to begin with. 

What I can say is I feel like I've "met" some really good people through this self-absorbed medium.  Only once have I "gotten burned" in that the little jerk just invented everything about his blog and life. Why someone would expend so much energy doing that is beyond me.  What I find even more annoying are those people who create multiple persona online and then comment on blogs (not mine). Sometimes they even end up arguing with themselves or forget which persona they are logged in under and out themselves. Only Sally Fields made a good Sybil. These people are just ignorant. 

I'm working on Part Two of the story below. There is much to tell, so I'm struggling with not getting bogged down in the details. Hopefully I can finish it before we leave for a cruise this coming Sunday. 

Five years ago I would have never believed we would have escaped the winter this year, FINALLY.  

Loving it down here. 

So I have nothing profound today, which isn't much different that other posts.  We went to an outlet mall to get a few things for the cruise today.  It just reminded me of why I hate to shop.  

On the way home Bob stopped at Micky D's to grab a quick hamburger. He paid at the first window and then drove up to the second. The girl there was holding a sack (of course) but then asked, "Is this yours?"  Considering we didn't know for sure what was in the sack, it was kinda a hard question to answer. 

That was not quite as odd as when I pulled up to the Taco Bell drive through in Greenwood years ago and ordered over the little speaker thingy. Then the guy asked me, "Is this to go?"   

Part One. - of two or three.

He made bad choices nearly all of his life. Maybe he felt left out. The middle child of three boys each with a wicked sense of humor, he sometimes seemed to fall into the invisible category.  Two years younger than the oldest boy and four years older than one who literally was reading encyclopedias by the age of three. 

All three were exceptionally talented. Whether it be art, music, you name it. Like a lot of children of the 60's and 70's, they each rebelled in some manner, but he outdid his brothers. Sometimes going missing for months.  He burnt some bridges with his addictions and horrible money habits. Something he seemed to regret later, but not enough to actually make permanent changes. 

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Even in her early twenties, she exuded the epitome of true southern charm. Her refined southern Tennessee accent captured most immediately. Her gentle nature never seemed to waver. But she was strongly independent too.  Everyone who knew her spoke of how amazingly sweet she was.  She loved to cook, all healthy food, hiked, biked and ran. 

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His missing years were known only to his immediate family and not even them at times. Eventually he settled down and began to work on straightening his life out. He married a lady in the service, adopted her daughter and began to study to become a nurse.   

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After college, she began her career with a company as a computer programmer. Shortly thereafter she attracted the attention of a graphics designer, eleven years her senior.   He was the eldest child of three boys with a wicked sense of humor and he described her as magical from the start. They married and traveled before settling down and raising two boys of their own. 

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We arrived in Nashville's Centennial Park early that morning. A midway mini-family reunion, if you will.  We Hoosiers staked out our claim on the picnic tables, pulling three together and covering them with table clothes.  Although it was still early, the International Festival was beginning to get crowded so we went in pairs to grab some early grub. 

When I returned, I saw that the crowd had begun to try to take over the tables we had covered, encroaching on our predetermined space. I was a bit irked that several had sat at the tables that we had set up in advance knowing we would have around 14 in total when everyone arrived. 

Since we had started out early, I was hungry even at 10 in the morning. I sat in the middle of the tables and began to eat the roasted chicken I found at one of the booths. I noticed my sister talking with a guy I was sure was trying to invade our space. She was showing him her camera when he looked over at me. When I looked up, he said, "Hi". 

I resisted shrugging my shoulders and instead said a tolerable, "Hi" back to him and went back to my chicken. I thought it was odd when my sister seemed surprised and said, "All she said was 'hi'?"  I looked up again because I didn't know why she seemed so welcoming to this stranger who surely wanted to nab our picnic spot. 

When I looked at his face I realized he was a very attractive man I estimated to be in his mid-forties. And then it dawned on me.   I had not seen him in close to 30 years. Standing before me was Bill, my long lost cousin, the middle child of three wickedly funny boys. I jumped up to hug this guy who had seemingly emerged from the other side.  The in-between years for him were up and down, but appeared to be settled down. He was not in his mid-forties, but 54 and ruggedly handsome. He was still wickedly funny, but I managed to make him laugh when I asked him how many face lifts he had.  Considering he spent several years abusing his body, I was surprised how how young he looked. 

He was by then married to a young girl more than 20 years his junior, his third wife. They appeared happy and we were all delighted to be reunited with our missing cousin and his young wife.  From first appearances it seemed that he had beaten the odds. He had a successful career and talked about his regrets over his past choices. 

A couple hours later, his older brother arrived from Alabama with his two boys and sweet Tennessee wife. Even 20 years after their wedding, he still referred to her as his bride.  They were obscenely compatible and their boys, by then teenagers, were amazingly polite and sweet. Unlike his younger brother, we had remained close and were delighted whenever we could arrange our schedules to spend some time together with them. 

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Within just a few weeks after our Nashville reunion, Bill was diagnosed with stage IV esophgeal cancer. The treatment was long and brutal but apparently successful. The radiation left him extremely weak, his throat nearly raw and aged him over a dozen years. Eating most things caused uncontrollable coughing. He lived mainly on drinking Boost. 

After his recovery and return to work, his young wife fled off to California and left him with a big house he could not afford and the mounting money issues that he had never controlled. The next year left him in total despair, working double shifts, attempting to get his strength and weight back. Working 80 hour weeks in a psych unit burned more calories than he could take in. 

He researched several methods of suicide, planning it in detail. However he knew that many of those who attempt it end up drooling vegetables when they do it incorrectly.  His family was extremely worried about him, alone now in Nashville and they knew the depression was overtaking him. 

Reconnecting after decades, Bill and my brother began talking for several hours on the phone. Even working overtime, Bill could not possibly dig himself out the debt and the huge house payment. My brother finally convinced Bill to move to Indiana and live with him.   Everyone breathed a sigh of relief that things would get better.  

Two weeks before the move, they found the cancer had returned. 

Knowing he could not survive the side effects he had from the first treatment again, he opted to just let nature take it's course. 

When I first saw him after the move a year ago last November, I was shocked by his skeletal appearance. He could not have weighed 100 pounds.  And he had come to Indiana to not die alone. 

I'm Wordless so I thought I Would Post Some Weirdness

(I wrote the following in the middle of the night, the first night we arrived here in Fort Myers.)

There were only a handful of people in the class when I sat down in the chair.  The teacher said there would be a quiz. Dang it, I forgot about the quiz and was sure I'd blow it. 

I went to get some paper from the notebook I carried in and there were no blank pages left. The quiz was only two questions. I saw Chris, the guy next to me handed his quiz in and left. He was a guy I worked with several years ago. I then realized the quiz was only two questions, the first one was simple, the second one was about politics. I really wanted to answer the questions and kept asking around for anyone with extra paper. 

Then instead of missing paper, I was missing a pencil. While I was scrounging around for the pencil, the teacher told me not to bother. That Chris was the only one who turned in a paper, so she wasn't counting the quiz anyway. 

But I really wanted to complete the quiz, since I'm a political junky. 

Then, instead of it being a class, I realized I was at my job. For some strange reason I had to go into work at 9:30 at night but it had been tough trying to figure out where to park because I didn't know where the classroom was in this big university. 

It was supposed to be a quick trip into work, but before I knew it, it was 12:30 a.m.  I saw the company President leaving. Which was a guy I worked with last year. I ended up working until 1:30 and he was already coming back into work. I found this odd since he barely worked an eight hour day in real life. 

I was heading out of the building trying to find the right exit, when I was talking to a couple girls and they were looking out at the roof of another building at one of our better looking coworkers. It seemed to have been an enjoyable pastime. 

As I was trying to figure my way back to wherever it was I parked the car, I was wheeling a cart, much like the one we used to carry in our suitcases in the hotel Saturday night. I was going to use the cart to step up into our SUV.  Two male coworkers that I didn't recognize got into the elevator with me and for some strange reason they made me a bit nervous. they didn't want me to have the cart and I felt like I was going to need it for protection against them. They told me I could use their small step stool to get in my car and they wheeled the cart off the elevator. I worried I wouldn't be able to use the step stool to throw at them if I needed to. 

I told them I needed the step stool for the truck because I had back surgery. I have never had back surgery, but Bob did last year. 

I didn't end up using the cart, either for protection or for stepping up into the car.   When I got in the passenger seat, I was trying to figure out how Bob knew what time to pick me up since I hadn't called him to tell him I was ready. Nothing came to mind that I had driven myself to work, so why would he be picking me up. 

We were driving through a small town between our house and the grocery I like to go through when I realized that we had Bob's ex-wife in the car with us. 

I woke up to the sound of the sprinklers going off outside our bedroom window which we left open last night. 

My dreams never make any sense at all. 

If this doesn't scare the hell out of you, you are in the wrong country

Not Buying It.

So this guy was supposedly drifting out in the sea for the past 14 months. He can't remember his town in El Salvador or his phone number. 

All I can say is he must have had some REALLY good sunscreen. Looks rather pale to me. 

Thirty Six Years Ago

I was still living with my parents, had my first full time job as a billing clerk at Visiting Nurses Association when this hit. 

The drifts on our country road were higher than my head. It was the snowiest January on record for Indiana. 

Don't ask me why all these googled pics are black and white. We DID have color film in 1978. 

Ok. The color pics look almost the same as the black and white. 

It literally took until June for some of the snow piles to melt. 

Three weeks ago tomorrow (Sunday) we arrived here on sunny Fort Myers. It's been very cool just after we arrived. I've only had one day a spent a few hours at the pool. We. Still haven't made it to the beach. Supposed to be 80 degrees here on Monday, so that will be our first beach day. 

In the meantime, Indy is closing on that record snowfall January. It is now the second snowiest January on record and they have been experiencing sub zero temps. Only just a few more inches of snow this week and it will top 1978. 

To say I am not complaining about the cool temps here is an understatement. 

I HATE Indiana winters. Apparently I would have hated this winter only second to 1978. So far.