It was just one of those passing thoughts. A memory from the 1950's, when we were returing from Hawaii. We spent some time with my grandmother, my great-aunt Georgia, and my great-uncle Henry in Long Beach, CA, and we were on our way to San Diego, for my dad's new assignment. I can remember the "highway" that ran through Camp Pendleton from Capistrano to Oceanside. It wasn't the multi-lane freeway back then, parts of the old highway are used as frontage roads, so you can still see them. When we were on the road, it was two lane blacktop with very few places allowing passing, but the young Marines, emboldened by alcohol, would always take foolish risks.
I was in the "way back," the cargo area of a 1956 Ford station wagon. It was '56, or '57. so I was five or six, and my older sisters were in the back seat. Cars didn't have seat belts back then, so we were all "loose" inside the car. I was looking forward, and only just caught the headlamp of another car bouncing off the rear quarter panel of the wagon. Suddenly, the car tilted to the right, my dad was steering the car on the right two wheels, and he yelled, "Everyone lean left!"
I clamored ove some luggage, trying to wedge myself between the bags and the left rear wheel well. My sisters screamed, but tried to get as far over as they could, and just as suddenly, we were back on four wheels, my dad braking for the accident that had occurred a few cars in front of us. The car full of young Marines had hit a number of vehicles as it careened down the highway, cars traveling in both directions, mostly fender dings, but a couple of harder impacts until it launched over the trunk of a stopped vehicle, and came down on its top some 100 feet further down the beach. We were briefly detained as witnesses, and duly gave our statements to a CHP officer. The only damage to the station wagon was a paint smudge and a chip, so we were on our way pretty quickly.
I don't know why that came back, but it woke me up a couple of days ago.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Some Random Thoughts
A old friend recently asked me to "spill my guts," and offer up something that people don't really know about me. I admitted to being a classical music affectionado, although everyone who knows me thinks I am a classic rock-guy. I also admitted to attending a dozen (at least) symphony concerts before ever going to a rock show, and that is true.
My parents bought their first house in 1957 for something like $8,500. It was a "3BR/2BA, Ranch," located at the top of a small hill, on a circle in Vallejo. At the time, Vallejo had a fair symphony orchestra, and they would have a "concert season," during which they would perform at the Hogan Junior High Theater, every other week, doing Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, and my favorite, Motzart. My parents bought season tickets for both the symphony seasons and the play season put on by the local players. I was too young to be left in the care of my 14 and 10 year old sisters, so I had to get dressed up; sports coat, slacks, white shirt and tie, to go with my folks to the symphony and the theater. Six years old.
That's how people appeared in public back then. Look at some of the old live-audience shows back in the late '50's and early '60's, all the men have ties, all the women have their hair done, and are wearing nice dresses. One simply did not appear in public unless properly attired. I blame my generation for the changes that followed.
Yeah, the graduates of the late 1960's and early 1970's. We are the ones who fought all the battles, and never got credit for making a change. Worse yet, by the time the changes got enacted, we were all 21, so it didn't matter to us. We fought the fights; we did the civil disobedience thing and got arrested; we took the backlash of a society that feared change worse than anything, and we got nothing. Yes, we got the voting age lowered, we got out of a war we never belonged in, we got society to go beyond conformity and the associated "-isms" that accompany that line of thinking, and to start looking at the value of "different," rather than to what harm it could bring. So what came next, logically, was all our fault.
It seemed to center around "different," and the argument that different wasn't a moral judgement... it was just... different. Pretty soon, we have casinos in California, and cities that can no longer protect the lives of its citizens. OK, neither has anything do do with each other, but that's the situation out here in the West. Just over in Dodge City... oops, I mean Stockton... there was a double homicide on Sunday, bringing the number of murders in the city to 53, 55 if the ones in critical condition fail to improve. People are not even safe in their own homes in Stockton. It's a war, and the "good guys" are losing. Losing badly.
I hope people are watching Stockton. The city's decent into Hell is a forecast of the future in California. Our governor want us to raise our own taxes. He's so convinced that we'll do it, he's put it to a vote. Spending in the Golden State is out of control. The Governor and Legislature keep writing checks for money we don't have. What happens when the one-time "fourth largest economy" goes bankrupt? The international effects will be devastating, and it will cripple any economic recovery in the US. Proposition 30, the "I want to raise my own taxes so the government can say they didn't do it" Act. I already pay the highest over-all taxes in the Nation, I don't think I'll choose to raise taxes with my vote. Of course, this is California: Land of Fruits and Nuts... I can only pray that there are enough people who tell the State "NO!"
My parents bought their first house in 1957 for something like $8,500. It was a "3BR/2BA, Ranch," located at the top of a small hill, on a circle in Vallejo. At the time, Vallejo had a fair symphony orchestra, and they would have a "concert season," during which they would perform at the Hogan Junior High Theater, every other week, doing Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, and my favorite, Motzart. My parents bought season tickets for both the symphony seasons and the play season put on by the local players. I was too young to be left in the care of my 14 and 10 year old sisters, so I had to get dressed up; sports coat, slacks, white shirt and tie, to go with my folks to the symphony and the theater. Six years old.
That's how people appeared in public back then. Look at some of the old live-audience shows back in the late '50's and early '60's, all the men have ties, all the women have their hair done, and are wearing nice dresses. One simply did not appear in public unless properly attired. I blame my generation for the changes that followed.
Yeah, the graduates of the late 1960's and early 1970's. We are the ones who fought all the battles, and never got credit for making a change. Worse yet, by the time the changes got enacted, we were all 21, so it didn't matter to us. We fought the fights; we did the civil disobedience thing and got arrested; we took the backlash of a society that feared change worse than anything, and we got nothing. Yes, we got the voting age lowered, we got out of a war we never belonged in, we got society to go beyond conformity and the associated "-isms" that accompany that line of thinking, and to start looking at the value of "different," rather than to what harm it could bring. So what came next, logically, was all our fault.
It seemed to center around "different," and the argument that different wasn't a moral judgement... it was just... different. Pretty soon, we have casinos in California, and cities that can no longer protect the lives of its citizens. OK, neither has anything do do with each other, but that's the situation out here in the West. Just over in Dodge City... oops, I mean Stockton... there was a double homicide on Sunday, bringing the number of murders in the city to 53, 55 if the ones in critical condition fail to improve. People are not even safe in their own homes in Stockton. It's a war, and the "good guys" are losing. Losing badly.
I hope people are watching Stockton. The city's decent into Hell is a forecast of the future in California. Our governor want us to raise our own taxes. He's so convinced that we'll do it, he's put it to a vote. Spending in the Golden State is out of control. The Governor and Legislature keep writing checks for money we don't have. What happens when the one-time "fourth largest economy" goes bankrupt? The international effects will be devastating, and it will cripple any economic recovery in the US. Proposition 30, the "I want to raise my own taxes so the government can say they didn't do it" Act. I already pay the highest over-all taxes in the Nation, I don't think I'll choose to raise taxes with my vote. Of course, this is California: Land of Fruits and Nuts... I can only pray that there are enough people who tell the State "NO!"
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Perfection
During the TBS broadcast of the Reds vs. Giants, Game 5, or perhaps in the wrap-up show after the game, someone made this comment:
"You only have to bat 1.000 in two things; flying and brain surgery. In everything else, you can go four for five."
I liked it the moment I heard it, and asked Mary if she had heard the comment. I like it so much, I intend to steal it, like a good public school teacher, and make it my own.
"You only have to bat 1.000 in two things; flying and brain surgery. In everything else, you can go four for five."
I liked it the moment I heard it, and asked Mary if she had heard the comment. I like it so much, I intend to steal it, like a good public school teacher, and make it my own.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Welcome to My World
I have had a pulled muscle in my back since June, when I played "Good Samaritan," and got hurt for my efforts. I don't blame the old guy; it was my choice to stop and get involved. I actually kind of laughed about it, kind of; I recognized the humor, even my original doctor chuckled when I told him how I hurt myself. After a while, it pissed me off, a little, that every one's first response to my pain was to laugh. Laughter may be the best medicine, but it was pure voodoo at that point. I really did hurt myself, doggone it, and I'm in a lot of pain.
I got sent to a physical therapy clinic not far away, and would get heat, muscle stimulation, and a massage, then exercises. It was working OK, I was feeling better, but on my last visit, the masseuse hurt me, possibly tearing some additional muscles in my back. I don't want to sue her; I don't want her fired; I just want to get my back fixed, so it won't hurt in that spot, too. I got my last ESI on July 30th, so pain-wise I was doing as well as I can, and somewhere around the latter part of August, I did something to re-aggrivate that injury. I've been in some pretty incredible pain since we got back from Yosemite the week after Labor Day.
I don't blame camping. It may not have been the best thing I could have done, but it certainly didn't hurt me. I actually noticed the pain had returned on Labor Day weekend, so it definitely wasn't the camping. Too many good things came out of that trip to wish we hadn't done it. Since that time, however, it has gotten worse and worse, to the point where I am losing my appitite, and sleep only in short bits because of this stupid torn muscle.
I have decent pain meds, and never take anything close to the maximum daily dosage, so I have room to up the meds a little. Whirlpool baths help for a little while, as do heating pads, Icy/Hot, SalonPas, lidoderm patches, and the usual topical stuff, but it's at night that things get really bad.
Sleeping in my bed is impossible. It turns out that it is actually an ancient torture device covered with memory foam. For all I know, that may actually be the case, as I haven't been able to get comfortable in it for weeks. On the few occassions I do fall asleep, I usually turn over wrong, or sleep in an awkward position, and I'm almost crippled from it by morning. Fortunately, we have a very comfortable reclining couch, and I can create the support points to at least get some sleep. Tonight I'm going to try a "Zero-Gravity Recliner" that we bought last year. It has a small pillow on it that is a perfect lumbar support, so I'm going to try that tonight.
Meanwhile, I do what I can to try to get through it. My dad, who wasn't a religious person, once told me that he would become a thithe-paying Mormon if I could answer one question for him. "If life is so wonderful, why does it have to hurt so much at the end?" At age 61, I think I'm able to answer that question, it's just my dad passed three and a half years ago, so I can't share it with him right now. I will, though, someday.
Mankind was given one perfect person. His name, on Earth, was Jesus of Nazareth; He is the Son of God. He came to us to teach us, by example, how to live our lives in such a way that we may return to His presence someday. Time and time again, we are given examples of how He lived His life, and we are told to do what He would do. At the end of his Eartly life, Jesus experienced enormous pain in Gethsemane, to the point where he bled through every pore. Mere men could not survive that experience, so we are given, as promised, sufficient to our needs, but not enough to kill us. Plus, we get to have it longer; we do not know how long He suffered for us, but it certainly didn't encompass his "Golden Years". Maybe we can't survive bleeding from every pore; we can certainly carry our pain for a long time. Suffering over the decades what he experienced for us in an instant. I'll take the long-term payments, thank you very much.
That would have been my answer. Maybe if I'd found it sooner, his last words wouldn't have been, "Oh Shhhh..."
I got sent to a physical therapy clinic not far away, and would get heat, muscle stimulation, and a massage, then exercises. It was working OK, I was feeling better, but on my last visit, the masseuse hurt me, possibly tearing some additional muscles in my back. I don't want to sue her; I don't want her fired; I just want to get my back fixed, so it won't hurt in that spot, too. I got my last ESI on July 30th, so pain-wise I was doing as well as I can, and somewhere around the latter part of August, I did something to re-aggrivate that injury. I've been in some pretty incredible pain since we got back from Yosemite the week after Labor Day.
I don't blame camping. It may not have been the best thing I could have done, but it certainly didn't hurt me. I actually noticed the pain had returned on Labor Day weekend, so it definitely wasn't the camping. Too many good things came out of that trip to wish we hadn't done it. Since that time, however, it has gotten worse and worse, to the point where I am losing my appitite, and sleep only in short bits because of this stupid torn muscle.
I have decent pain meds, and never take anything close to the maximum daily dosage, so I have room to up the meds a little. Whirlpool baths help for a little while, as do heating pads, Icy/Hot, SalonPas, lidoderm patches, and the usual topical stuff, but it's at night that things get really bad.
Sleeping in my bed is impossible. It turns out that it is actually an ancient torture device covered with memory foam. For all I know, that may actually be the case, as I haven't been able to get comfortable in it for weeks. On the few occassions I do fall asleep, I usually turn over wrong, or sleep in an awkward position, and I'm almost crippled from it by morning. Fortunately, we have a very comfortable reclining couch, and I can create the support points to at least get some sleep. Tonight I'm going to try a "Zero-Gravity Recliner" that we bought last year. It has a small pillow on it that is a perfect lumbar support, so I'm going to try that tonight.
Meanwhile, I do what I can to try to get through it. My dad, who wasn't a religious person, once told me that he would become a thithe-paying Mormon if I could answer one question for him. "If life is so wonderful, why does it have to hurt so much at the end?" At age 61, I think I'm able to answer that question, it's just my dad passed three and a half years ago, so I can't share it with him right now. I will, though, someday.
Mankind was given one perfect person. His name, on Earth, was Jesus of Nazareth; He is the Son of God. He came to us to teach us, by example, how to live our lives in such a way that we may return to His presence someday. Time and time again, we are given examples of how He lived His life, and we are told to do what He would do. At the end of his Eartly life, Jesus experienced enormous pain in Gethsemane, to the point where he bled through every pore. Mere men could not survive that experience, so we are given, as promised, sufficient to our needs, but not enough to kill us. Plus, we get to have it longer; we do not know how long He suffered for us, but it certainly didn't encompass his "Golden Years". Maybe we can't survive bleeding from every pore; we can certainly carry our pain for a long time. Suffering over the decades what he experienced for us in an instant. I'll take the long-term payments, thank you very much.
That would have been my answer. Maybe if I'd found it sooner, his last words wouldn't have been, "Oh Shhhh..."
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