Monday, December 29, 2003
Friday, December 26, 2003
Woke up this morning with a start!
Overslept, I had.
Panicing I am, yup, yup.
To town, lickety split.
Dropped off the anchor,
to toil amid the bone fields.
While I a langorous breakfast took,
surveying news with coffee and cream.
Thence to the druggist with script in hand,
seeking this and that for ills and chills
and rushing pell-mell to the grocery,
to see what's doing there,
paying fat cat canadian power brokers
for the energy that brings this
stinking poem home to you.
2. What was your biggest disappointment?
The day the ATM ate my card...
3. What do you hope the new year brings?
Fewer bills, more checks.
4. Will you be making any New Year's resolutions? If yes, what will they be?
Nope... from past experience I know it is futile.
5. What are your plans for New Year's Eve?
A quiet evening at home with my wife..... if she has to work the next day. Else she'll be off to an orgy and I'll be entertaining my mistress at a fancy hotel in Montreal... NOT!
The bells, the bells... that is, the Salvation Army solicitors have packed up their buckets and bells for another year. All stores were closed here save convenience stores under 1500 s.f. (part of Maine's "Blue Laws") so traffic into town on Christmas Day was nil. Not so in the evening - seemed like everyone just HAD to go to the movies, or Grandma's, or out to eat. For a major State and National holiday, as well as a seemingly major event in the lives of those who participate in the dominant religion hereabouts, there sure was a bargeload of traffic for a non-work day.
On the road this morning I came swooping along in the snow flurries and flew over a hill and into a valley and Whoopsadaisy!!!! there was no traction left as I slid across the culvert and up the other side. As fast as you can say "Bob's your Uncle," little one, I was back onto wet pavement and fishtailing along as the traction had returned with a vengance. Once we'd managed to remove the seat covers from our bottoms and slowed for the stop sign onto the main road, it was "No hassles, mon," all the way into Bangor. This little bit of snow flurry has covered all of the ugliness exposed by the inch of rain and snow-eating fog of gargantuan proportions which consumed us on Christmas Day. The cellar has about 4 inches of water (nature abhors a vacuum, don'tcha know, and what else is a cellar but a stormwater collection basin to Mother Nature?) so the feral kitties (aka "The Dirty Dozen") are all huddled on the porch for warmth in a vain attempt at staying dry. Willow-the-Wonder-Dog daintily minces through the mud in the dooryard to the old snowbanks left by plowing to make her deposit on the "Universal Excrement Exchange Formerly Known As A Lawn."
That's life down here on the funny farm. Hope Santa fulfilled your wishes whilst he emptied your pocketbook. And may all your spirits be on ice!
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
If you are feeling extra specially charitable, the Derosset Family lost their home and pets to fire last weekend. Visit the web site and make a donation, eh?
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
Friday, December 12, 2003
1. Do you enjoy the cold weather and snow for the holidays? While it often seems like it wouldn't be Christmas without snow and frost bitten nose, toes and fingers, the fact is, I could really do without the winter weather.
2. What is your ideal holiday celebration? How, where, with whom would you celebrate to make things perfect? My ideal holiday celebration would involve swim suits, scuba tanks, Jamaican Rum and hot women. I'll settle for ersatz eggnog at home with my wife as we toast our toes on the kerosene stove.
3. Do you do have any holiday traditions? Nope, other than only 1 in 5 years sees us with the desire to put up a tree. All of our children and grandchildren live so far away that we rarely bother decorating.
4. Do you do anything to help the needy? What do you mean? I AM needy.
5. What one gift would you like for yourself? World Peace. No, really. Just once in my lifetime I'd like to go to sleep without war or the specter of impending nuclear doom hovering over our heads.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oy, Oy, Oy! Christmas in Oz is often a joy. Take the the Aussie version of "Jingle Bells" fer instance:
Dashing through the bush,
in a rusty Holden Ute,
Kicking up the dust,
esky in the boot,
Kelpie by my side,
singing Christmas songs,
It's Summer time and I am in
my singlet, shorts and thongs
Oh! Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way,
Christmas in Australia
on a scorching summers day, Hey!
Jingle bells, jingle bells, Christmas time is beaut!,
Oh what fun it is to ride in a rusty Holden Ute.
Mayhap you wonder what brought this on? It was -5º F. this morning when I got up. Wife complained the seat was solid when she went out to start the car as both of us (me and the car) are slow starters in the morning. Driving her to work I remarked on our "SpongeBob square tires" as we thumped up the hill leaving out of the driveway on tires with Aramid belts which have taken the profile of the ground they rested upon overnight in the cold. On mornings like this, I check out the weather reports of warmer climes, like Western Australia to ease the ache in my bones.
Thanks and a tip of le chapeau to "Lockergnome Windows Fanatics" newsletter which referenced the "Christmas in Australia" site this morning.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
"Joe, don't worry about it. You aren't the first doctor to sleep with one of their patients and you won't be the last. And you're single.Let it go. "
But invariably the other voice would bring him back to reality:
"Joe, you're a Vet."
Monday, December 08, 2003
Sunday, December 07, 2003
we all got together at the usual place,
like we usually do.
we tried something different.....
Peanut Butter Bagels and goldfish stew!
From a folk song I heard in 1968 - unsure of the author.
SWMBO* and I spent Saturday night at the local Emergency Room. This is not how I recommend spending that oh so precious night of the weekend. This was the culmination of hours of nagging by the aforementioned significant other as well as my brother and various stepchildren and inlaws/outlaws and the doctor covering for my physician.
By now you may have a suspicion I didn't want to go. You'd be right on the money, Sherlock.
Actually, the problem started on Friday evening. It had been a long day and I was tired by early evening. Upon sitting down to supper I discovered I was having some difficulty with swallowing. My lips didn't want to cooperate on the right side of my face. I figured it was just muscle strain as it felt sort of like I couldn't open my mouth all the way -- like when your jaw is having a cramp, y'know? So, being a guy, I just ignored it and proceeded to stuff my face as best I could, trying hard to minimize the slurping from uncooperative lips.
So I ignored the problem and come Saturday morning I can't get my eye to work as it should on the right side. But there's a blizzard coming and the snowplow has to be fired up and readied to do battle with that nasty white stuff. No mean feat as it hasn't moved from where it was parked after losing its last battle with the tag team of Jack Frost and Mother Nature. Gas needs to be got. Wipers must be found. Battery needs charging. Then comes climbing up into the cavernous engine compartment (it's a 1978 3/4 ton 4X4, 350 c.i. with a 4 barrel Holley) and priming the carburetor as there's a hole in the suction line from the tank to the fuel pump that will necessitate complete removal of the tank to repair - one of those "roundtuit" jobs for another day.
Keep in mind it's 11 degrees and the breeze is blowing. So the fact my eye is drying out doesn't bother me - it's windy, after all. And the stiff neck and pain behind the ear - that's OK, too - must have strained it. Except it turns out that wifey has noted the bloodshot eye and the slack jaw and has been on the phone all morning rousing the (ire of) troops. Coffee break time brings an irate stepdaughter who accuses me of not thinking of her wellbeing - seems that if I croak then she'd have to take care of her mother and she wouldn't want THAT in a million years.
Huh? Where in hell did that come from?
Well, trust me to procrastinate some more until the other half is near frantic enough to pull out all the stops. First, she has my brother threaten me. Then the doctor. So finally, I relent. With 2 inches of snow on the ground and more promised, off to the ER we go, slipping and sliding along merrily. More waiting in the waiting room. At Reception. In the cubicle.
Nurse Jim interrogates me and then opines, "Looks like Bell's Palsey to me." I've been at this job for over a week and that's what I think the Doc will say. Get undressed put this "johnnie" on and wait for him on the bed."
More waiting, this time with my back exposed to the wall. In bounces Tigger, er, Dahwayne, the P.A. "Nurse Jim tells me you are competing for Bell's palsy Poster Boy."
Oh joy. A jokester. "Grrr -- hold still so I can beat you," thinks I. But no, Dahwayne stands there with his full arm and shoulder Eagle tattoo flexing, up and down, as he literally squirms in his scrubs, picture of 30 y.o. health and vitality, intoning how he has been on the job for more than a week (ER catchphrase of the day?) and that there was nothing to be done except keep the eye moist when sleeping with saline eyedrops and a patch taped over the eye. "Things'll resolve themselves in a couple three months or more and that recurrences, er, recur."
Nurse Jim returns, shows me "how to patch up" and tells me to get dressed and "get outta here." No one has examined me. Why the phreak did I have to get undressed in the first place? Oh well. On with the clothes and out the door. White knuckle it home on greasy roads in low visibility. But wife is relieved. I suppose that's worth the aggravation and expense. It's only Bell's palsy, not a stroke or TIA.
Frank Ruiz, 57 of Tampa, Florida and AOL Hometown's Journal On Whining Well was found dead in his apartment on Saturday. He is survived by his two children and a plethora of friends and acquaintances.
Frank was a writer by profession, obsession and trade. He came up in the ranks of the newspaper business. Like all writers, he was working on a novel. Frank was a complicated man and didn't always know right from wrong. People he loved, people who loved him along the way often were badly hurt by his emotional carelessness. Frank was an alcoholic. He came to an understanding of his disease only recently and in some ways he was still in denial.
Above all else, Frank was a mensch -- a human's human. He will be missed.
They say the winds will begin in earnest any second now. It seems the solid 25 mph, gusting to 35 mph was merely a prelude to what daylight will bring in just an hour or two - steady winds in the 40-plus range with higher gusts. Oh joy. Most things are cancelled. Town plow has blocked the end of the driveway, burying the nose of the car so only the flourescent green alien atop the antenna is visible.
Remind me why I still live in Maine.....
Saturday, November 29, 2003
2. What was the last thing you purchased? 4 - 2 liter Diet Coke (decaffeinated)
3. Do you prefer shopping online or at an actual store? Why? Online - no pressure.
4. Did you get an allowance as a child? How much was it? Yep - started at a quarter and worked up from there (it was the '50's and 60's - a quarter bought all the candy one needed for a week)
5. What was the last thing you regret purchasing? A size large Stohlquist dry suit - I promptly gained enough weight to require an extra large! This was a major purchase and the inability to earn a living now means I won't get to go kayaking in the winter again until I lose weight. And that isn't happening, due to the lack of kayaking.
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Anywho, it is also traditional -- with a small "t" -- for bloggers to declare the thing(s) they are thankful for. While not a long-standing tradition, blogging being only a few years old as an activity embraced by many, its a good one. I'll be giving thanks for my wife. She entered my life only six years ago come December and while there are huge chunks of those years no longer available to memory, the memories that remain are primarily of her. I also give serious thanks for my life. It was only a couple of years ago that I was "dead" on an operating table as surgeons performed open heart surgery. Not something I'd recommend to anyone for grins and giggles, but there was one immediate benefit beyond the restoration of blood flow to my brain and body: a week of morphine made giving up my 35-plus year addiction to cigarettes much easier than it would have been otherwise.
Now, if I could just kick this morphine addiction.....
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
I (like many of you) have been thinking about our military in Iraq - the men and women in infantry and on the ground in Tikrit and Baghdad and other dangerous places. What kind of Thanksgiving will they have? Their families will sorely miss them this year around the groaning board come Thursday.
Hereabouts another 300 or so folks are getting ready to ship out. Gone is the sense of excitement and anticipation I sensed in the first batch to go last spring. This bunch are somber, sober and reluctant to talk about anticipated conditions. These are my neighbors and acquaintances -- men and women I served for many years. Quite a few fear for their lives. Even more worry about those left behind. No one I have spoken with that's been called up appears to welcome the intrusion of this war in their ordered existence -- and yet all speak with confidence about the job they have ahead of them. I am proud of them.
Many question where US policy will lead us -- but none of those in military service I've prodded over coffee have been willing to discuss Bush's leadership or lack thereof. This is a far cry from the bitchin' and grousin' I heard from some of these same troops upon return from "Desert Storm." Before, it was about O-I-L. This time it isn't so clear. Some think they are helping to liberate Iraq. Others see it as mopping up what we failed to do the first time around. Most seem to think its a futile effort they have no chance of avoiding, so they'd rather not talk about it, thank you.
Wish them well. If you pray, include them in yours. Theirs will be a bleak Thanksgiving this year.
Sunday, November 23, 2003
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
That is not to say he isn't guilty of the allegations levied nor is it a suggestion that these crimes against children don't happen every day all over this world. I'll leave the courts to decide the question of Jackson's innocence. I'll leave the court of public opinion to struggle with what to do about child molestors in general.
But while I stumble off to the couch for a post-prandial snooze, I wonder at the absolute stupidity I have observed coming from "NeverNeverLand Ranch" and its denizens.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
SWMBO has gone off and obtained employment at a new venue, new days and most importantly, new times. She is now in the ranks of the Treatment Nurse, doing wound care and giving, well, treatments, injections, salves, unguents, and the like (as opposed to the job of Med Nurse, which basically involves passing pills and elixers.)
This is a major change after having been a Charge Nuurse for the past 5 years followed by a stint as Shift Supervisor. It's a return to being a peon, with no significant responsibilities for the day-to-day functioning of the facility.
Most important is the fact this is a day job from 6:30 AM until 3:15 PM, Monday through Friday. This is so close to the American societal employment norm that we are experiencing shell-shock. Not to mention a severe readjustment of circadian rhythms. Neither of us have lived aught but a 3 to 11existence for over 5 years now. There is this blinding light in the sky that has me completely flumoxed. I can not see with out wearing dark glasses. And sleep? I know Pam over to Onegirlsheadnoise thinks her sleep cycle is pooched right now but she wouldn't believe what my body has been doing to me. I seem to have stabilized, finally, on surviving on 3 hours of sleep per night, with narcoleptic naps as my body sees fit. I am afraid to operate machinery. One minute I'm here but the next may find me in that peculiar state where I think I am awake, but given the genuinely bizarre thoughts and sights I can but conclude I am actually asleep. My legs, indeed my whole body is swollen, bloated in fact. My mind feels like it has been stuffed with shaving foam or whipped creme, perhaps. It's like a 24/7 hangover.
So that's why I haven't been writing. Sleep overcomes me almost immediately upon sitting myself in front of the keyboard. I arise moments or hours later, frozen from knees down, stiff and sore and cranky. If this be what everybody else lives like on a daily basis, they have my sincere sympathy, but I don't think I want to live like this.
Friday, November 14, 2003
Literally thousands of folks have availed themselves of the workshops to learn new techniques and to improve their understanding of photography. The MPW was started originally by a grant from the Eastman Kodak Foundation and Kodak has been an active partner until recently.
I hope someone or a group of peoples come forward to carry on the tradition of excellence begun by Dave. The loss forever of the MPW is something I don't wish upon the photographic world.
39. I'll take Shakespeare for 1000, Alex.
38. Duct tape won't fix that.
37. Lisa Marie was lucky to catch Michael.
36. Come to think of it, I'll have a Heineken.
35. We don't keep firearms in this house.
34. Has anybody seen the sideburns trimmer?
33. You can't feed that to the dog.
32. I thought Graceland was tacky.
31. No kids in the back of the pickup, it's just not safe.
30. Wrasslin's fake.
29. Honey, did you mail that donation to Greenpeace?
28. We're vegetarians.
27. Do you think my gut is too big?
26. I'll have grapefruit and grapes instead of biscuits and gravy.
25. Honey, we don't need another dog.
24. Who's Richard Petty?
23. Give me the small bag of pork rinds.
22. Too many deer heads detract from the decor.
21. Spittin is such a nasty habit.
20. I just couldn't find a thing at Walmart today.
19. Trim the fat off that steak.
18. Cappuccino tastes better than espresso.
17. The tires on that truck are too big.
16. I'll have the arugula and radicchio salad.
15. I've got it all on the C drive.
14. Unsweetened tea tastes better.
13. Would you like your salmon poached or broiled?
12. My fiance, Bobbie Jo, is registered at Tiffany's.
11. I've got two cases of Zima for the Super Bowl.
10. Little Debbie snack cakes have too many fat grams.
08. She's too young to be wearing a bikini.
07. Does the salad bar have bean sprouts?
06. Hey, here's an episode of "Hee Haw" that we haven't seen.
05. I don't have a favorite college team.
04. Be sure to bring my salad dressing on the side.
03. I believe you cooked those green beans too long.
02. Those shorts ought to be a little longer, Daisy.
01. Nope, no more for me. I'm drivin tonight.
* With apologies to Jeff Foxworthy, whom I suspect is the spiritual father of these items, if not the actual author.
Thursday, November 13, 2003
"We" used to mean the "Terror Trio" -- the thought of Billy, Ricky and Howie getting together in their homes caused palpitations in my grandmother's hearts (I'd previously been enough to kill off the only living grandpa shortly after my arrival).
Alas, Ricky is no longer with us. Little brother discovered his corpse one fine day in June 2000. Now he's haunted by the memory. Not sure whether it was accidental (he had diabetes and epilepsy and a history of not taking care of himself) or intentional -- the process of decay made it impossible to tell for certain. He was, by all reports, rebuilding his life after an unsuccessful suicide attempt 10 months earlier.
Neither Howard nor I are in the best of health and we are both over the hump and sliding down Occam's Razor into a vat of rubbing alcohol. I suspect that if a car accident, heart attack or stroke don't claim us then suicide probably will. We have both seen and come to understand the horror of life in nursing homes and assisted living facilities. While that type of existence might be fine for most, we are both reclusive curmudgeons. Just the thought of living with that many people again causes shudders down the spine (and in my case a fit of apoplexy). Death by Colt is much to be preferred.
Don't get me wrong -- neither of us are ready to do the deed any time soon. Its just that the horror of Alzheimer's, for instance, is enough that neither of us would be willing to allow the disease to progress as far as it has in the case described by Ms. Ross in her journal regarding her sister's losing battle with the disease.
Then again, no one's getting out of existence alive, are they?
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
It started out as Armistice Day in remembrance of the end of the war we call World War One and of those cut down in aid of our allies. It was a truly horrid, horrible war and I am still troubled by my memories of the veterans of that conflict I knew in my childhood. They were hollow, haunted men -- never quite able to leave the horrors of the battlefields behind them.
As I grew from boyhood games of "Cowboys and Injuns" and that all-time favorite of little boys, the generic "War" whether it be with wooden sword and fiberboard shield or makeshift stick guns and pine cone grenades, I started to recognize the quiet sadness in the World War II veterans and the seething rage hidden behind the placid exteriors of the Korean War vets. On June 1, 1954, the Congress declared that henceforth November 11 would be set aside and dedicated to the remembrance of the United States Veteran.
Veterans of the Cold War understand that rage, too. Theirs was a conflict of nerves and economies over ideologies fought by well-meaning sycophants hidden away in underground bunkers and boardrooms. "What's good for the 'military/industrial complex' is good for America" was the watchword.
The sixties brought us the Bay of Pigs and the brinkmanship of Nikita Khruschev and John Kennedy, Lyndon Baines Johnson's attempt at greatness in Vietnam and Richard Nixon's forays into Cambodia and Laos. The veterans of those conflicts have a much tougher time holding their head high. But they certainly understand the sadness and rage of their comrades.
Beirut. Grenada. Nicaragua. Desert Storm. Serbia and Bosnia. Somalia. And now Iraq. There seems to be no lack of venues requiring our presence. Millions of men and women have served in the armed forces of these United States. Your mothers and fathers and theirs. My brothers and sisters and yours. My children. Your grandchildren. Thousands upon thousands have died in service in the past 86 years, since that fateful day in November 1917. Honor them all for they have served and sacrificed so others would not have to.
Thursday, October 30, 2003
Which Heinlein Book Should You Have Been A Character In?
By The Way, I see that Master of the (AOL) Blogverse John Scalzi has decided to start recycling other blogger's stuff without credit (down boy - just messing with your head!).
So here's a fun site to play with: "Which Heinlein Book Should You Have Been A Character In?" is a cute quiz at Quizilla by dunkelza..... It's perfectly suited for theft by the MOB.
And a special thank you to Twiddlybits who reminded me of this fun site!
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Monday, October 27, 2003
Making out one's "Last Will and Testament" is right up there in importance with "Advance Directives" and "Do No Resuscitate" orders. It's your last chance to tell the world where to get off and how deep to travel. It is the guide your survivors have to your holdings and how they're to be distributed. When you have children, a Will affords you the opportunity to specify to one and all (particularly to the folks at Child Welfare, who have their own ideas of who is suitable) who is to carry on in your absence.
There isn't a single one of us who will get out of existence alive. So why is the natural response to the process of making ones' wishes known nausea and uneasiness?
Sunday, October 26, 2003
Well, here are the photos I mentioned in "Wild Turkey Redux" a couple of weeks ago. I finally picked them up at Sam's. I was saddened to discover that only two came out. So it goes -- I was shooting handheld from inside the car through the windshield. Best I can do under the circumstances as the shot literally ran away with every passing second it took to get the camera out, open, turned on and aimed.
Shot with a Minolta Freedom 50 on Fujicolor 200 AF/center weighted.
This entry has 2 comments:
Comment from olddog299 - 10/31/03 5:06 AM
Comment from sepintx - 10/27/03 9:53 PM
Dick and Jane were playing at school one day when Jane decided to have a "Show and Tell."
Dick starts it off by saying "I have a big Marble," as he holds out a shiny Agate.
Not to be outdone, Jane responds, "That's nothing. I have six Strikers," as she holds out her hand full of blue-grey stainless steel ball bearings.
"Well, I have ten carrot sticks!" exclaimed Dick, opening his dinner pail for her scrutiny.
"So what? I have a box of raisins and a cupcake in MY lunch box!" Jane replies while opening hers for inspection.
Frustrated, Dick thinks a minute, then unzips his trousers and waggling his appendage at Jane, says "I have one of these, and you don't!"
Triumphantly, Jane drops her panties in the dirt, stares haughtily at Dick and points to her crotch, "I have a vagina. And with one of these, I can get as many of those as I want!
Saturday, October 25, 2003
This entry has 1 comments:
That's just the kind of sick website that makes the internet grand! Too funny, some of the recipes look pretty good without the pets. Reminds me of this:
Comment from sepintx - 10/26/03 1:16 AM
Thursday, October 23, 2003
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
In the first 27 years of my life
I lived in 3 countries,
9 of the United States,
1 of the Canadian Provinces, eh?
and a Partridge In A Pear Tree.
In the second 27 years of my
passage on this ball of mud
I lived right here.
Raised 2 kids.
Killed a marriage.
Buried my father and a brother.
Remarried and chased skirts
in between numero uno und dos.
I'm ready to move around again.
Itchy feet and wanderlust
constantly annoy me,
fiddle with my awareness,
upset my satisfaction,
thwart my aspirations
to grow old with dignity and grace.
Just when I ran out of money
and the ability to make more.
Now doesn't THAT just suck the hairy wazoo?
* Sincere apologies to Robert D. Putnam, whose recent book http://www.bowlingalone.com bears the title "Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community" (Simon and Schuster, ©2000, New York,NY) bears not one wit of resemblance to the more recent 'poem' above.
Sucks the hairy wazoo, indeed!! :P
Comment from slowmotionlife - 10/25/03 5:00 PM
The snow is coming down steadily in big, fat clumps of flakes. The sky is the color the mystery writers call 'leaden,' a medium-dark gray. It's nipply out, too. I can see the deputy rubbing his shaved head to wipe off the melting snow -- he's been yelling at one of the kids in the back of the van, from the looks of it. I've had run-ins with this kid before and he isn't pleasant (the deputy -- not the kidlet in the van). Then again, having raised more than my fair share of step-teens, I'm sure the kidlet has mouthed off once too many times in the past and is reaping his just rewards.
Did I mention the bloody snow? The Mrs. called in a panic about 3 PM as she hates driving in this stuff, being a delicate hothouse Louisiana Cajun gal, don'tcha know? I reminded her she'd tamed blizzards in the same vehicle last winter and she can just 'cowboy up' (as the Red Sox were saying all season) and deal. (On second thought, I suspect it's going to be a mite frosty inside as well as out tonight after she gets home. Maybe I ought to order some flowers to go with that foot-in-mouth I'll be gnawing for dinner?)
That's what life looks like in my neighborhood this afternoon. Whassup in your hood, homey?
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Slowly, sadly, I climb upon my soapbox here in AOL Hometown and say to you the following:
A little less than two hours ago, authorized by hastily drafted bill passed by the Florida Legislature, Florida Governor Jeb Bush signed an order requiring the re-commencement of feeding of a 39-year old woman in coma for the past several years, in spite of the stated remembrance of her wishes by her husband.
Regardless of where you stand on the issue of "Right-to-die," this case points up only one thing of true importance. If you want your wishes carried out if you were to be suddenly stricken and unable to captain your life as you see fit, then you must prepare for the potentiality. First, prepare directions to your loved ones in the form of Advance Orders, also known as Advance Directives. Don't forget the potential need for Advance Psychiatric Orders, too. And if, like me, you have no desire to be resuscitated in the event you are unable to communicate your wishes to others, make sure you have clear Do Not Resuscitate orders (also known as DNR orders) written in accordance with your state's laws. But the job isn't done, yet. Next, you must educate your family, your doctors, and your attorney about your wishes. Have in depth discussions with your Primary Care Physician as there are permutations which should be explored and discussed. Do you want resuscitation on the operating table while having surgery to reduce your pain, for instance?
Explain your wishes in detail and discuss your reasons with your family members. If it appears that any one has any reservations about your choices, for your sake, do NOT place them in a position where they can exercise their will over you. If that means appointing someone other than your spouse or children to make decisions, do it now, while you have control over the situation. Look at the case cited above, by way of example. It's husband pitted against the wishes of parents and siblings. Again, I can't stress this enough. Do not allow anyone to be in a position of power over the disposition of your life if they can not be trusted 100% to carry out your wishes. When dealing with your family members, it may be necessary to back up your wishes by putting some "If - then" statements in your Will regarding noncompliance, again in accordance with your state's laws.
Additional things you can do, particularly if you choose not to receive resuscitation. Get a tattoo placed on your chest over your heart that states "No CPR." Wear a Medical Alerting bracelet or necklace that states the same thing. Understand clearly that first responders and EMS are not required and indeed, may not be allowed by state law to follow your wishes in this regards in the field. But many will abide by your wishes when they are protected by the clear expression of those wishes, especially if your wishes are spelled out clearly, even if unconscious.
Don't let another's religion or politics intrude upon your life in an unwanted fashion. Act before its necessary. Thinking about your own death may make you feel funny for a short while but its nothing compared to a lifetime of being a vegetable with tubes sprouting from every orifice. Or, it may be you'd much prefer life as a tuber to the alternative. And how will your family know unless you have written it all down for them to see?
Thank you for your time and your tomatoes.
Unfortunately, the same goes for organ and tissue donation. It's not enough to put "organ donor" on your driver's liscense. You have to convince your family that it's what you WANT. Without their consent, it won't be done. Put everything in writing! Discuss your wishes with more than just one family member. Make it very clear what you want BEFORE something happens. This story is such an unfortunate one. Thank you for the information.
Comment from slowmotionlife - 10/25/03 5:05 PM
It's the title of my latest book. This time, its an autobiography and sure to sell well to my fans. Strangely, they haven't figured out who I am yet. Or maybe they have and just don't care. Yeah, that's it. No wonder my editor laughed when I asked for an advance!
The title comes from my earliest remembered experience -- falling into the Rittenhaus's swimming pool at 11 months of age.
Due to the continued absurd limits upon AOL Journals entries, this post continues below. Don't you just love the way it breaks your train of thought?
"Of course, I'd played in the pool with my Mom and Dad, but somehow this August afternoon I managed to crawl away from the sand box and fell unnoticed into the Olympic-sized pool I'd later visit daily to learn how to swim in. I was small enough that my head didn't show above the edge of the pool. My folks used to tell me about finding me happily paddling around under the diving board, buoyed by the air trapped in the rubber pants over my diaper, but sinking lower and lower as the cloth diaper inexorably absorbed the pool water. All I remember is the shock of falling into the cold water followed by a blissful period spent staring at the clouds while paddling about, then the hullabaloo as adults around the pool started shouting and screaming and then someone snatched me from the water scaring me half to death and nearly drowning me with their tears and blubbering and then I cried too, as I was afraid and I didn't know why.
"From a purely pragmatic standpoint, my excursion in Poseidon's Realm brought immediate change for the better in the way the Rittenhaus's positioned their pool furniture. A new concrete patio was built at the shallow end of the pool, along with a new, much larger cabana with a fenced play area for us toddlers to muck about in while our mothers soaked up the sun and the gin and the gossip in the sure knowledge that the wee bairns were safe inside of the corral with the Rittenhaus's own nanny watching over us all as their attack-trained German Shepherd Dog lay at the gate to the enclosure.
"Now, the Rittenhaus's were the Holy Grail to us poor white folk [ed. note. Irony Detector alert. They were Jewish.]. They lived on a beautiful estate with its own farm, vineyards, horses and pigs and all sorts of fowl, including peacocks, tucked back in the woods away from the main road. The Main House was a 16th century stone beauty, fabulously maintained, with detached stone carriage house and servants quarters and tobacco houses and barns. That is, they lived there when they weren't in their townhouse in Philadelphia or their pied a terrae in New York, where Mr. Rittenhaus made his living as an impresario and producer on Broadway..."
So. Would YOU give me an advance?
This entry has 1 comments:
Comment from maydeeday - 10/21/03 7:41 PM
No doubt you are all aware of Eric Idle's 'Greedy Ba$tard Tour' now wending its way around North America. Seems I wasn't, and so am highly amused by the title of the tour. Even more amusing is Eric's diary of the tour as it makes it way from theater to theater. Don't miss it. (I am so facile - at times I frighten myself!) And for a different take on the tour, check out the diary by stage manager and recording artist in her own right, Gilli Moon.
Monday, October 20, 2003
Boston Red Sox lost their pennant bid in the seventh game after a hard fight in extra innings. Nothing to be ashamed about. I was saddened to see it happen even though I'm only a fair weather fan of the team and baseball in general. Still, who wins the World Series no longer interests me if Boston isn't in the running.
George W. Bush complains the "Media" is biased in its reporting of the goings on in Iraq. And just what does he think "embedded reporting" is, anyways?
Jeff Gordon, Driver of the Dupont 24 car in the NASCAR Winston Cup Series did it again yesterday at the 1/2 mile oval in Martinsville. Kewl!
The local movie pundit Chris Smith pans Clint Eastwood's new movie released this past weekend, "Mystic River." Seems he thinks there isn't sufficient attention paid to characterization, particularly the female cast members. Not having seen it yet, I can only conjecture that he's got his head up his ass again. If you've seen the movie, let me know your thoughts.
I went to see an Endocrinologist this morning. She wasn't impressed with my health, my girth, my eating habits, my exercise regimen or my appearance. I can only hope she likes my check.
Finally, Christmas Rant #263. Wherein we find our hero attempting to purchase miscellaneous items like soda, socks, shoes and crackers from a harried checker at Wal-Mart. She looks me in the eye and straightfaced asks, "Would you like to put these on Christmas Lay-away?"
Have a good day. And remember, let's be safe out there!