Right before I joined the Church, I was on a deployment aboard the USS INDEPENDENCE (CV-62), to the Mediterranean Sea. I had been on part of a deployment a year earlier, and had learned that there were things one really needed to have, and one of those was a EUR-RAIL Pass, essentially, a six-month ticket to ride the European railroads, anywhere, anytime, for (in pre-1974 Dollars) $65.00. Every time we were in port, in Naples, Athens, Barcelona, wherever..., and I had a weekend off..., I would disappear. My Navy ID was my passport, and I got to places many of my shipmates didn't, because they didn't have the Pass.
The ship was in Naples, it was a US Holiday weekend, which meant that, since I had Duty on Thursday, nobody had to go in on Monday, my leave started on Tuesday... I had a three day head-start on a 4 day leave, to go North to Munich, just in time for the start of Oktoberfest! I had $650 I had saved, and going to a real Oktoberfest, was high on my bucket list.
Just so you know, this was before cell phones, before direct international dialing, before it was easy to "reach out an touch someone..." I had a signed leave authorization, checked out on Friday morning, valid for 7 days, but when I got back, the papers submitted would only charge me for 4 days of leave (it always helped to have a guy from your boot camp Company in Personnel). Now days, you call from Munich, I guess...
Friday morning, right after Muster, when the off-going Duty Section was released, I took the leave papers I submitted (for 4 days), went down to Personnel and swapped them for the 7 day papers, changed clothes, grabbed my "Liberty Bag," checked off the ship, and rode one of the first Liberty Launches of the day. I'd asked if some of the other guys, with Passes, if they wanted to go up for the start of Oktoberfest, and no one wanted to go... I asked a couple of guys I knew aboard the ship who didn't have the Pass, but had the money to buy a ticket, and go, but no one seemed to want to spend the time on the train.. So I was off to Munich, alone. It's not as bad as it seems, it was 1973, and people didn't mess with Americans (too much) in Europe.
Sure, there were, what I called, the "Language Game," where a National's ability to speak English decreased with an American's demands to "find someone who speaks English around here". From that previous partial-deployment, I learned that if you knew enough of just about any European Language to say, "I do not speak _____. Does anyone speak English?" in the local language, darn near everyone did. The ship had a civilian instructor aboard to teach PACE (Program for Afloat College Education) classes in Linguistics, and we had become friends as I would go to our ship's library, and study books on Elementary Languages, for Greek, Italian, and German, and he offered to help me master those phrases. Some guys learned to ask those questions in French, and had limited success, but I learned them in whatever the language was of the country we were going to, and never, not even once, had a hard time finding someone whom I could speak with.
It was a great plan, but it had one glaring weakness... Menus... I got on an early train, and reached Munich in the late-afternoon/early-evening, and I though I'd stop at the restaurant in the Station, and grab a bite... except the menu was in German, and my attempts to use my phrases in German were failing (I decided to take this trip four days before I left, and I looked at the book, but hadn't done a lot of practicing), when a gentleman, who had been sitting with a woman a couple of tables over, came up and asked me what the problem was, in English that showed little of the German influence. I told him I didn't read German, and just wanted to order something to eat. He helped me get my order placed, and went back to his table for a minute, and came back. He asked if he and his wife could join me, "for your luncheon". Being grateful for his help, I agreed very quickly. He got the waiter's attention, said a brief word in German, and sat down.
He introduced himself as Karl, and his wife as Helga, and said that they were grateful for the chance to practice their English, since they would soon be visiting their son, who was a student at an American university. We talked, Karl ordered us bier while we waited, and we talked for a long time, before, during, and after our meal. I found out that Karl was some kind of plumbing "magnate," in Munich, and owned his own chain of plumbing stores throughout West Germany, and that Helga spent time writing short stories, and some poetry that had been well received in the West (there was still a wall in Berlin at this time). About two hours, and at least three of Germany's best bier's, I realized I still didn't have a place to stay, and had gotten pretty hammered on the bier.
It was while I was saying "Thank you," Karl paid for everything, I asked, "What university does your son attend in America?"
Karl smiled and said that his son was going to be a Veterinarian, and was going to school at the University of California at Davis, obviously proud that his son had been accepted for study at such a good veterinary school. When I told him that Davis was only 20 miles from my home, everything changed...
Karl picked up my bag, and said for me to follow him. I told him that I had no idea where I was staying that night, and he said that he did. I told him I was on a budget, I had money, but I wasn't prepared to stay anyplace expensive. He looked back over his shoulder, a smiled as he said that I could definitely afford the place he was taking me, no matter what kind of budget I was on. It was just after dark, I was in a car, driving across Munich from the train station, and couldn't have found my way back to the station if I wanted to. Karl and Helga kept up a quiet dialogue in German, and Helga laughed a couple of times, as did Karl. Finally, we pull up to a gate, Karl taps in a code, the gate opens, and we drive up to what looked like one of those 5-star hotels, complete with a parking valet. We got out, and walked into this richly decorated room, which I assumed was the lobby, until Karl turned to me a said, "Welcome to our home."
I tried to be adamant, "No, you can't be serious. You don't know me, I don't really know anything about you, and I really am prepared to rent a room..."
At length, Karl put a hand up, and said, "Look, people in America treated our son Gunter very well. A couple met him in an airport restaurant, found out he was going to the university in Davis, and drove him up to the school. There was some mix-up about his dormitory assignment, and the people who Gunter had just met, offered to let him stay in their home until things got cleared up. It turned out, that the couple liked Gunter so much, they offered to rent him their... Granny Flat, is what they called it, it is a room with it's own entrance, kitchen, and WC, for a lot less than it would have cost him to stay in the dormitories. Helga and I had talked about doing the same thing for some one here, and you seemed to be a nice person, so we picked you. Since your home is near Davis, it seemed to be the perfect time..."
I quit objecting after a while. In the meantime, Karl took me around Munich, pointing out the various landmarks, and points of interest, stopping occasionally to step into a Biergarten, and have a liter or so... I remember stopping off at his office, in a really nice building, and him leaving a note for his secretary, and his assistant, that he would be out of the office for the next week. He called both of them from the office, and told them personally, so I thought the note-thing was rather redundant. He said that the notes had specific things for them to do, so they wouldn't have to remember where he wanted them to start. I guess German has a shorthand of its own... I got it, though. He was just reminding them who the Boss was, and making sure that they didn't get behind on their own work, he'd take care of his when he returned. He told me that during Oktoberfest, usually only a limited amount of business got transacted, particularly at the corporate level, "because bosses liked to party, too".
That was one of the last things I really remember, other than an acute hangover on the train back to Naples. Sitting on the train, I pulled out my wallet, to see how much money I had left... $650. It must have been a helluva party, not only do I not remember, it didn't cost me anything... How many people can say that?
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Saturday, April 15, 2017
I Wish to Thank...
... a guy named Gordon B. Hinckley for his service to the world, as President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and for his efforts to bring people back from the very edges of Mormonism. When he became President, in 1995, I was struggling with the Word of Wisdom in just about everyway one could. I drank, I smoked, I didn't go to Church because everyone "knew" what I was doing, and I felt like I was being shunned a lot.
We were in Paradise, CA, and I had just transferred from Butte College to Chico State. I went to school in the daytime, worked at a bowling alley 40 hours a week, and somehow made time to go to my son's baseball games, and other things associated with being a dad. After work, I would drink with my crew from the bowl, get home about 4am, be up at 8am, and go back down the hill to start it all over again. I went to school Monday thru Friday, and worked Wednesday thru Sunday, so unless there was a Monday holiday, I didn't have a day off for two years. Since Sacrament Meeting was at 8, and I usually still smelled a little like liquor, I didn't go to Church very often.
Then, right before my final semester, I was driving home, with a blood-alcohol level of .24 (three times the legal limit), and ran into the back end of a flatbed truck parked along the Skyway. I was thrown forward against the steering wheel, which pushed my glasses into my nose cutting both sides, getting bruised ribs from the seatbelt, and receiving several small cuts from the broken glass. That was all.
It was on the following day, when I went to the junk yard to see what my car looked like, I couldn't believe it... The corner of the flatbed hit the windshield right where the rear-view mirror is attached, and peeled the roof back behind the driver's seat. There was this jagged edge of metal, which had been the roof of my car, and somehow, it missed me. I WAS LUCKY TO BE ALIVE!!!
And then I thought, "Not lucky, blessed."
I got to thinking about all of the times, when we held family prayer, that someone asked that we be protected, and all of the times we'd been able to avoid serious injuries... There had to be a correlation...
In 1995, I had been out of AA for about 4 years, because they helped me find my spiritual side, and then refused to talk about anything but a "higher power" when I asked about God. There were so many conflicts, a serenity prayer that started, "God, grant me the serenity..." but if you talked about God, someone had to get up after you, and clarify that AA wasn't a religious fellowship. I was willing to play along, for a while, but it was like watching a mystery, and right before the killer is named, the movie is over... My spiritual side had been rekindled, and had begun to burn, and I couldn't get a single old drunk to talk about God. It also wasn't something I could take to my Bishop, or Priesthood leader; people just weren't trained to deal with problems like alcoholism.
Enter one Gordon B. Hinckley. I had listened to him for a number of years, speaking at General Conference as a member of the Twelve, and every single time, felt like he was talking just to me. Through his efforts, the Church began to recognize the fact that not everyone was able to live the Word of Wisdom easily. He organized a Committee to approach Alcoholics Anonymous, and ask if the Church could adapt AA's 12 Steps to become more Gospel/LDS amenable. AA gave them permission to put something together, for AA approval. After seeing the adaptation, AA gave their approval, and the Addiction Recovery Program went from being an idea, to a functioning Church Service Mission. Mary and I served as the Missionary Couple for ARP here in Vacaville. Just the fact that the Church decided to do something about Members with addiction problems meant a great deal to me.
Pres. Hinckley also identified a problem frequently encountered by new converts... I called it, "Dunk 'em and leave 'em," something I faced when I was first baptized. Before I was baptized, everyone was so nice to me, came up and shook my hand, welcoming me... After baptism, it was like I didn't exist. I had tons of questions, just because I was baptized didn't mean that I actually knew what it was like to be a Mormon, and the one LDS guy in my Division just shipped out to U of U to get his Bachelor's Degree, and become an Officer. It's a long story, and involves a porn dealing, LDS Group Leader, so my first 9 months as a Mormon were pretty messed up...
Most of my 44 years as a Member has been spent just going through the motions. Show up, take sacrament, go home, and not show up for weeks at a time... I felt that everyone knew stuff, that I just wasn't getting. The LDS guy from my Division used to play a game with the Missionaries, someone would pick a chapter in the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, or Pearl of Great Price, and the other would recite the Chapter Headings. I couldn't do that, heck, I still can't do that. I prayed, fairly often, to be forgiven for the things I had done wrong, and never felt like I was making any progress. Until 2003.
In 2003, we moved to Spokane, and I met our Ward's High Priest Group Leader, and let's just say that our lives paralleled in a lot of ways. We were attending the Priesthood Session of Conference, at the Spokane Valley Stake Building, sitting side by side, as we had become friends over the several months we'd been in Spokane, and Pres. Hinckley talked about listening for the answer to our prayers. What a novel concept! I guess, up to that point, I believed that my prayers were a one-way communication, just say them, and let God alone to do his work... We talked about listening for answers on the ride home, and I decided to try it sometime.
It struck me funny, when I prayed, once again, for forgiveness of my past sins, and actually stopped to listen for an answer, I could almost feel Him thumping me on the head, telling me to stop bringing up old business, I had been forgiven for that stuff the first time I asked. When I told my friend about the experience, it opened up a long, long conversation on the Atonement, and I finally understood a whole lot about what it means to be a Mormon. I took a lot away with me from our sojourn in Eastern Washington, and this is what I have learned:
The Church is perfect. The doctrine is perfect, the organization is modeled after Christ's own church, it has a Prophet at it's head, and it has a second witness of Jesus the Christ. The people, on the other hand, should probably get electroshock every so often. They gossip, they judge, they're hypocritical, and NONE of them are perfect, despite any airs they may put on. A year in a Bishopric taught me that.
I've gotten over the "Be ye therefore perfect," thing. For one, there's no freaking way that I am going to ever be perfect, except perhaps on the other side of the veil. I really can't "strive" to be perfect, hope to be perfect, or ever be considered perfect, other than being a perfectly bad example... The only thing I can hope, pray, or try for is to be a little better today, than I was yesterday. I realized that being a Mormon isn't a competition, in the eyes of God, we are all equal, and I'm good with that. I realized that being a Mormon doesn't give me any right to judge other people, but gives me the responsibility to view others as the Savior sees them.
After Spokane, I stayed active until 2013, when I had lung cancer surgery, which, when coupled with chronic back problems, kept me at home for most of the next three years. Ordinarily, I'd have slept in, watched football/baseball/golf on TV, and I did for a couple of months, until I felt a part of me slipping away. It was that spiritual part, it wasn't being nourished, and I was in real danger of losing it. I started having my own meetings, with talks from General Authorities (via the Ensign, and BYU Channel), but I really missed being with my Ward Family.
That spiritual side has been a part of me my whole life. It sustained me through some of the worst times imaginable, it has been a small ray of hope, a glimmer of pure light that shines in times of the deepest darkness. It's the side that tells me that Jesus is my Savior, that even though he was crucified in the flesh, he lives on, to guide me back to his presence. It's the side that tells me that through the Atonement, I can one day return to His presence, and hear those magnificent words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
We were in Paradise, CA, and I had just transferred from Butte College to Chico State. I went to school in the daytime, worked at a bowling alley 40 hours a week, and somehow made time to go to my son's baseball games, and other things associated with being a dad. After work, I would drink with my crew from the bowl, get home about 4am, be up at 8am, and go back down the hill to start it all over again. I went to school Monday thru Friday, and worked Wednesday thru Sunday, so unless there was a Monday holiday, I didn't have a day off for two years. Since Sacrament Meeting was at 8, and I usually still smelled a little like liquor, I didn't go to Church very often.
Then, right before my final semester, I was driving home, with a blood-alcohol level of .24 (three times the legal limit), and ran into the back end of a flatbed truck parked along the Skyway. I was thrown forward against the steering wheel, which pushed my glasses into my nose cutting both sides, getting bruised ribs from the seatbelt, and receiving several small cuts from the broken glass. That was all.
It was on the following day, when I went to the junk yard to see what my car looked like, I couldn't believe it... The corner of the flatbed hit the windshield right where the rear-view mirror is attached, and peeled the roof back behind the driver's seat. There was this jagged edge of metal, which had been the roof of my car, and somehow, it missed me. I WAS LUCKY TO BE ALIVE!!!
And then I thought, "Not lucky, blessed."
I got to thinking about all of the times, when we held family prayer, that someone asked that we be protected, and all of the times we'd been able to avoid serious injuries... There had to be a correlation...
In 1995, I had been out of AA for about 4 years, because they helped me find my spiritual side, and then refused to talk about anything but a "higher power" when I asked about God. There were so many conflicts, a serenity prayer that started, "God, grant me the serenity..." but if you talked about God, someone had to get up after you, and clarify that AA wasn't a religious fellowship. I was willing to play along, for a while, but it was like watching a mystery, and right before the killer is named, the movie is over... My spiritual side had been rekindled, and had begun to burn, and I couldn't get a single old drunk to talk about God. It also wasn't something I could take to my Bishop, or Priesthood leader; people just weren't trained to deal with problems like alcoholism.
Enter one Gordon B. Hinckley. I had listened to him for a number of years, speaking at General Conference as a member of the Twelve, and every single time, felt like he was talking just to me. Through his efforts, the Church began to recognize the fact that not everyone was able to live the Word of Wisdom easily. He organized a Committee to approach Alcoholics Anonymous, and ask if the Church could adapt AA's 12 Steps to become more Gospel/LDS amenable. AA gave them permission to put something together, for AA approval. After seeing the adaptation, AA gave their approval, and the Addiction Recovery Program went from being an idea, to a functioning Church Service Mission. Mary and I served as the Missionary Couple for ARP here in Vacaville. Just the fact that the Church decided to do something about Members with addiction problems meant a great deal to me.
Pres. Hinckley also identified a problem frequently encountered by new converts... I called it, "Dunk 'em and leave 'em," something I faced when I was first baptized. Before I was baptized, everyone was so nice to me, came up and shook my hand, welcoming me... After baptism, it was like I didn't exist. I had tons of questions, just because I was baptized didn't mean that I actually knew what it was like to be a Mormon, and the one LDS guy in my Division just shipped out to U of U to get his Bachelor's Degree, and become an Officer. It's a long story, and involves a porn dealing, LDS Group Leader, so my first 9 months as a Mormon were pretty messed up...
Most of my 44 years as a Member has been spent just going through the motions. Show up, take sacrament, go home, and not show up for weeks at a time... I felt that everyone knew stuff, that I just wasn't getting. The LDS guy from my Division used to play a game with the Missionaries, someone would pick a chapter in the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, or Pearl of Great Price, and the other would recite the Chapter Headings. I couldn't do that, heck, I still can't do that. I prayed, fairly often, to be forgiven for the things I had done wrong, and never felt like I was making any progress. Until 2003.
In 2003, we moved to Spokane, and I met our Ward's High Priest Group Leader, and let's just say that our lives paralleled in a lot of ways. We were attending the Priesthood Session of Conference, at the Spokane Valley Stake Building, sitting side by side, as we had become friends over the several months we'd been in Spokane, and Pres. Hinckley talked about listening for the answer to our prayers. What a novel concept! I guess, up to that point, I believed that my prayers were a one-way communication, just say them, and let God alone to do his work... We talked about listening for answers on the ride home, and I decided to try it sometime.
It struck me funny, when I prayed, once again, for forgiveness of my past sins, and actually stopped to listen for an answer, I could almost feel Him thumping me on the head, telling me to stop bringing up old business, I had been forgiven for that stuff the first time I asked. When I told my friend about the experience, it opened up a long, long conversation on the Atonement, and I finally understood a whole lot about what it means to be a Mormon. I took a lot away with me from our sojourn in Eastern Washington, and this is what I have learned:
The Church is perfect. The doctrine is perfect, the organization is modeled after Christ's own church, it has a Prophet at it's head, and it has a second witness of Jesus the Christ. The people, on the other hand, should probably get electroshock every so often. They gossip, they judge, they're hypocritical, and NONE of them are perfect, despite any airs they may put on. A year in a Bishopric taught me that.
I've gotten over the "Be ye therefore perfect," thing. For one, there's no freaking way that I am going to ever be perfect, except perhaps on the other side of the veil. I really can't "strive" to be perfect, hope to be perfect, or ever be considered perfect, other than being a perfectly bad example... The only thing I can hope, pray, or try for is to be a little better today, than I was yesterday. I realized that being a Mormon isn't a competition, in the eyes of God, we are all equal, and I'm good with that. I realized that being a Mormon doesn't give me any right to judge other people, but gives me the responsibility to view others as the Savior sees them.
After Spokane, I stayed active until 2013, when I had lung cancer surgery, which, when coupled with chronic back problems, kept me at home for most of the next three years. Ordinarily, I'd have slept in, watched football/baseball/golf on TV, and I did for a couple of months, until I felt a part of me slipping away. It was that spiritual part, it wasn't being nourished, and I was in real danger of losing it. I started having my own meetings, with talks from General Authorities (via the Ensign, and BYU Channel), but I really missed being with my Ward Family.
That spiritual side has been a part of me my whole life. It sustained me through some of the worst times imaginable, it has been a small ray of hope, a glimmer of pure light that shines in times of the deepest darkness. It's the side that tells me that Jesus is my Savior, that even though he was crucified in the flesh, he lives on, to guide me back to his presence. It's the side that tells me that through the Atonement, I can one day return to His presence, and hear those magnificent words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
Friday, April 7, 2017
April 7, 2017 Ramble
It's a cloudy, showery, day here in Cow Town, we were told that there would be "am showers," but that they'd be intermittent, and not amount to much, I had made a tee time for 10:00, and we (Billy and I) figured we might be able to get in a fast 9 holes. Since it was his first time out since before his dad died, he was hanging on to every possibility of playing golf... I'm sorry to report that it just didn't work out.
It's been a great week, for me, physical-wise... Two weeks ago, I was just recovering from an angiogram/angioplasty on my left femoral artery, to fix a blockage that was causing a great deal of pain in my left leg, essentially from the hip down. My doctor sent us pictures from the fluoroscope, before, during, and after the procedure, and the difference is pretty amazing. I have taken on a personal challenge to do the 10,000 step challenge on my Fitbit, five days per week, and maybe six. I started on Monday, and have four consecutive days at more than 10,000, but it won't happen today... It's way too wet outside, and the nearest indoor mall is in Fairfield, and I don't go to Fairfield unless I have no choice. I'm thinking of trying to replace steps with time on our stationary bike. There's a function to track time on a bicycle, but I'm not sure if it would convert to steps... More on that, later...
The "claudication" in my left calf is gone, although I've had some problems with both calves burning, but nothing like before the angiogram/plasty... And it's getting better every day... Although I've used a cart during the four rounds of golf I played this week, and that the 90-degree rule was in effect, I would leave the cart, most often, on the cart path, walk out to the ball, play my shot, and walk back, a self imposed "cart path only". Towards the ends of the rounds, I'd start to get tired, and take the cart out closer to my next shots, but more than 8,000 steps were recorded, so I walked a lot... and did it without pain...
Those of you who are fortunate to have escaped the ravages of time cannot fathom the depth of a desire to do "normal, everyday" stuff... Bend over, and touch your toes... Stand up from a kneeling position... without having the "Anvil Chorus" played out on our joints... As for myself, I was brought back from chronic back pain by Radio Frequency Ablation... This stuff in the left leg is probably old business, but was OBE (overcome by events) because of the back pain... Once the back pain was alleviated, all these other things start popping up... I am, I am so proud to say, OFF of the Norco I had been on for several years, and did it by merely not taking them, and handing over all of the ones I had... No withdrawal, no ill effects, no "wishing I still had some"... I've been on them since we got back from Spokane, so that's like 12 - 13 years, and I know I've had a prescription for most of that time... All it would take is a request, and I could be back on them, but I'm not going there, again.
Funny, I used to take lots of drugs to make me "high," or to try to "escape" from my crappy life... but my life isn't crappy anymore, and addictive drugs, such as Norco, scare the heck out of me, much the way heroin used to scare me. I got over my fear of heroin when I realized that you had to inject this stuff into your veins... That, the thought of me, myself, actually putting a needle in my arm darn near made me pass out... My dad told me, before he passed, that he never worried about my drug use, because I could never inject myself. He knew about a lot of the times during high school, and even a few between then and my enlistment... He didn't know about the "smoke-a-thon" the night before I went to Boot Camp, when a group of us smoked a copious amount of pot, went to Pietro's #2, ate pizza and drank beer for three hours (I was 19), and was still wasted when we left for Oakland. I do not recommend Boot Camp as a way of sobering up...
I'd take something, supposed to be Acid, but who knew? Some people cut the LSD with strychnine, to give it a bigger kick, none of us really knew what was in any of that stuff we took back "in the day"... Now, before I take anything, I read (yes really read) the information that comes with my medications. I've had a couple of allergic reactions to meds, so I try to learn as much as I can before I take anything, any more... Something about understanding your vulnerabilities as you age...
And a "Shout Out" to all of you a-holes who refuse to follow California Vehicle Code, and turn your freaking lights on when it rains, and NO that doesn't mean that because your daytime running lights are on, that you're good... Daytime lights do not turn on your rear lights, so if your headlights are not on, you are darn near invisible, at times, to people behind you. Wise Up!
It's been a great week, for me, physical-wise... Two weeks ago, I was just recovering from an angiogram/angioplasty on my left femoral artery, to fix a blockage that was causing a great deal of pain in my left leg, essentially from the hip down. My doctor sent us pictures from the fluoroscope, before, during, and after the procedure, and the difference is pretty amazing. I have taken on a personal challenge to do the 10,000 step challenge on my Fitbit, five days per week, and maybe six. I started on Monday, and have four consecutive days at more than 10,000, but it won't happen today... It's way too wet outside, and the nearest indoor mall is in Fairfield, and I don't go to Fairfield unless I have no choice. I'm thinking of trying to replace steps with time on our stationary bike. There's a function to track time on a bicycle, but I'm not sure if it would convert to steps... More on that, later...
The "claudication" in my left calf is gone, although I've had some problems with both calves burning, but nothing like before the angiogram/plasty... And it's getting better every day... Although I've used a cart during the four rounds of golf I played this week, and that the 90-degree rule was in effect, I would leave the cart, most often, on the cart path, walk out to the ball, play my shot, and walk back, a self imposed "cart path only". Towards the ends of the rounds, I'd start to get tired, and take the cart out closer to my next shots, but more than 8,000 steps were recorded, so I walked a lot... and did it without pain...
Those of you who are fortunate to have escaped the ravages of time cannot fathom the depth of a desire to do "normal, everyday" stuff... Bend over, and touch your toes... Stand up from a kneeling position... without having the "Anvil Chorus" played out on our joints... As for myself, I was brought back from chronic back pain by Radio Frequency Ablation... This stuff in the left leg is probably old business, but was OBE (overcome by events) because of the back pain... Once the back pain was alleviated, all these other things start popping up... I am, I am so proud to say, OFF of the Norco I had been on for several years, and did it by merely not taking them, and handing over all of the ones I had... No withdrawal, no ill effects, no "wishing I still had some"... I've been on them since we got back from Spokane, so that's like 12 - 13 years, and I know I've had a prescription for most of that time... All it would take is a request, and I could be back on them, but I'm not going there, again.
Funny, I used to take lots of drugs to make me "high," or to try to "escape" from my crappy life... but my life isn't crappy anymore, and addictive drugs, such as Norco, scare the heck out of me, much the way heroin used to scare me. I got over my fear of heroin when I realized that you had to inject this stuff into your veins... That, the thought of me, myself, actually putting a needle in my arm darn near made me pass out... My dad told me, before he passed, that he never worried about my drug use, because I could never inject myself. He knew about a lot of the times during high school, and even a few between then and my enlistment... He didn't know about the "smoke-a-thon" the night before I went to Boot Camp, when a group of us smoked a copious amount of pot, went to Pietro's #2, ate pizza and drank beer for three hours (I was 19), and was still wasted when we left for Oakland. I do not recommend Boot Camp as a way of sobering up...
I'd take something, supposed to be Acid, but who knew? Some people cut the LSD with strychnine, to give it a bigger kick, none of us really knew what was in any of that stuff we took back "in the day"... Now, before I take anything, I read (yes really read) the information that comes with my medications. I've had a couple of allergic reactions to meds, so I try to learn as much as I can before I take anything, any more... Something about understanding your vulnerabilities as you age...
And a "Shout Out" to all of you a-holes who refuse to follow California Vehicle Code, and turn your freaking lights on when it rains, and NO that doesn't mean that because your daytime running lights are on, that you're good... Daytime lights do not turn on your rear lights, so if your headlights are not on, you are darn near invisible, at times, to people behind you. Wise Up!
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