... and granted, the relationship is fairly distant (my great-grandfather's uncle's grandson, I think), a lot of things in my life are starting to come together (sort of). It explains a lot about my thinking as a boy, attending a Lutheran church. This isn't some "recovered memory," it's a long held set of beliefs that just happened to be significantly different than what I was learning from my beloved Pastor Zeltin. Make no mistake, the Reverend Pastor John Zeltin played an enormous part in the development of my spiritual nature. His pronounced Russian accent, although clearly understandable, made me listen more intently on what he was saying, to try and find his meanings.
It was because of this that I discovered a dichotomy that even Pastor Zeltin couldn't explain. This was my thinking (and it holds to this day): If God was, indeed, our Maker, our "Heavenly Father," as He instructed us, how was it possible for Him to come "with hate," and "with vengeance," against his more wayward children? When I was young, even though our family wasn't very demonstrative, affection-wise, I knew that because I was his son (Charles Scott Martin), he would do anything, even if it meant his own life, to save me. My dad never had to say it (although in retrospect, it would have been pretty cool), it was understood. Simple fact. Done deal. When I became a father, I knew I would do anything to save one of my children. I also know the pain of having one turn his back on me, but I would still do anything to save him, if he would just say he was sorry... to his mom. Theme sounds kind of familiar, huh?
I couldn't get that idea out of my head, other ordained ministers, like Cotton Mather, write epistles like, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," and I wondered how that could be. Yeah, I made my Earthly Father angry a couple of times... you buying that?... but never to the point of wanting to inflict any actual harm on me. Yes, my children have made me angry as well, and it isn't any shock to them, either. Yet I would do whatever I can possibly do to help them.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Am I the Only One...
... that has noticed a distinct pattern in the differences between the Democratic and Republican administrations in the last 75 years, or so?
Democrats win the White House, the US gets embroiled in a World War, a continuation of his policies brings us through the World War, only to get caught in a war of ideology in Korea.
In 1952, a Republican is elected, the country lives in a non-war era that leads to the greatest progress and prosperity the world has ever known.
In 1960, the young and energetic Democrat wins, the nation becomes embroiled in another ideological war in Vietnam. His legacy live on through his successor, following the assassination in 1963, and continues through the former Vice President's re-election in 1964.
1968 brings the Republicans back to the White House, the US begins a new strategy in Vietnam, eventually leading to an extremely abrupt end in 1974. In those six years, American prosperity has continued at a rapid pace, that is, until a scandal forces the resignation of the Republican, and the appointment of an oafish Vice President to the Office.
1976 finds the people skeptical about the Republicans, and a former Governor and peanut farmer gets to sit in the "big chair". Gas lines (people waiting to buy gasoline) grew ever longer, as relations in the Middle East go south, leading to the taking of the American Embassy in Tehran, along with 416 hostages. Americans are having to deal with double-digit inflation, and double-digit interest rates.
1980 put a Republican (converted Democrat and former Hollywood actor) back on the seat of power. As he was being sworn in, the Iran Hostages were being freed. "Trickle-down economics" became a new source of prosperity, and once again, Americans lived in peace. Despite an assassination attempt, and a suspected battle with Alzheimer's, "Regan-omics" would continue with the election of the Vice President in 1988.
1992 shuffles in a new Democrat, a former Governor and alleged jazz-saxophonist, and blatant philanderer. Despite massive increases in taxes, the economy continues to grow, and Americans still know peace. What they don't know is that the administration's refusal to deal with a known terrorist, once and for all, would set-up one of the greatest acts of mass murder ever known on American soil.
2010 -
Democrats win the White House, the US gets embroiled in a World War, a continuation of his policies brings us through the World War, only to get caught in a war of ideology in Korea.
In 1952, a Republican is elected, the country lives in a non-war era that leads to the greatest progress and prosperity the world has ever known.
In 1960, the young and energetic Democrat wins, the nation becomes embroiled in another ideological war in Vietnam. His legacy live on through his successor, following the assassination in 1963, and continues through the former Vice President's re-election in 1964.
1968 brings the Republicans back to the White House, the US begins a new strategy in Vietnam, eventually leading to an extremely abrupt end in 1974. In those six years, American prosperity has continued at a rapid pace, that is, until a scandal forces the resignation of the Republican, and the appointment of an oafish Vice President to the Office.
1976 finds the people skeptical about the Republicans, and a former Governor and peanut farmer gets to sit in the "big chair". Gas lines (people waiting to buy gasoline) grew ever longer, as relations in the Middle East go south, leading to the taking of the American Embassy in Tehran, along with 416 hostages. Americans are having to deal with double-digit inflation, and double-digit interest rates.
1980 put a Republican (converted Democrat and former Hollywood actor) back on the seat of power. As he was being sworn in, the Iran Hostages were being freed. "Trickle-down economics" became a new source of prosperity, and once again, Americans lived in peace. Despite an assassination attempt, and a suspected battle with Alzheimer's, "Regan-omics" would continue with the election of the Vice President in 1988.
1992 shuffles in a new Democrat, a former Governor and alleged jazz-saxophonist, and blatant philanderer. Despite massive increases in taxes, the economy continues to grow, and Americans still know peace. What they don't know is that the administration's refusal to deal with a known terrorist, once and for all, would set-up one of the greatest acts of mass murder ever known on American soil.
2010 -
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
An Inspired Posting...
I read an article this morning, in an addendum to the local newspaper called The Campus Star in which our budding young journalists take a hand at writing articles, OP/ED pieces, etc. Some of them are very well done, but it doesn't take long to realize that the authors are children, and by nature fairly immature. One specific article, entitled "Why We Must Not Fear Death," was an opinion piece by a junior at the charter high school. It was obvious, from her description, that she had dealt with the death of family members, and felt that she was on the brink of still more in the near future. Yet she has hung on, and developed an acceptance of death, something to be embraced rather than feared.
It's not often that I hear that kind of rhetoric from sixteen year old kids. Most would be whining about how "un-FAIR" death was, but this young woman squared-up and is facing death as a natural course of life, not something to deny, or be afraid of. It got me to thinking about how death has effected me, personally, and through me, my extended family. That's why I started writing this flipping blog in the first place. It started after my dad passed in April of 2009. I wrote about the day he died, and how my mom reacted to it. This was after Mary's mom's passing the previous month. I got to give two eulogies in 30 days. I was pretty shaky when Dad died, and worked some of it out on the keyboard.
It's not often that I hear that kind of rhetoric from sixteen year old kids. Most would be whining about how "un-FAIR" death was, but this young woman squared-up and is facing death as a natural course of life, not something to deny, or be afraid of. It got me to thinking about how death has effected me, personally, and through me, my extended family. That's why I started writing this flipping blog in the first place. It started after my dad passed in April of 2009. I wrote about the day he died, and how my mom reacted to it. This was after Mary's mom's passing the previous month. I got to give two eulogies in 30 days. I was pretty shaky when Dad died, and worked some of it out on the keyboard.
Saturday, April 23, 2016
Friendship
When I was a kid, I couldn't have imagined having friends that go back 50 years. 'Course, you couldn't have convinced me that I'd live to be 50, so I guess that point is moot. The fact of the matter is that I have a bunch of them, and hear from them fairly often. In fact, I have two that I play golf with every week. I've got a bunch on Facebook, who report in from a bunch of places from all over the globe, or some, like me, who came back to Vacaville after a period of absence, and some that never left. I have a bunch of FB friends whom I haven't known for quite as long, some have been for quite a while, though, but not 50 years.
So many of my classmates are no longer with us. Some succumbed to the violence of war; some from the ravages of drugs. Still others have passed from "natural" causes (although I can never see something that starts eating the body that hosts it as "natural"), and others through recklessness, or carelessness, and these are the people I've known the longest.
We moved around a lot when I was a kid, by the time I could learn all the names of the kids in the neighborhood, we'd move again. Right up to the 1957 move to the house on Bergwall Way in Vallejo. We lived there for eight years. Three before my dad retired from the Navy, and five while he worked at the California Medical (Correctional) Facility in Vacaville. Today, people wouldn't think twice about driving 27 miles to work, but in the early '60's the Interstates were just getting built, and Dad had to run US 40 through Fairfield, and into Vacaville. For the first time, I had friends that I could hang-out with, go on hikes with, take a bus across Vallejo (paying the 25 cent fare, each way, with money we made picking up bottles and claiming the deposits) and go swimming at "The Plunge," a pool adjacent to Vallejo High, and play a lot of neighborhood games. Then, one day, Dad comes home, and we're going to move again. In June of 1965, days after my sister Pat graduates from Hogan High, we're picking up, lock-stock-and-barrel, and moving into an apartment in Vacaville.
At the time, I thought it was the worst thing that could happen to me. Vallejo was a city, with 65,000 people in it. Vacaville was a fruit stand on the highway, a rural community comprised of less than 14,000 when we first moved in. Other than the prison, the big employers were Travis AFB, and the Basic Vegetable Processing plant that gave the town its distinctive odor, onions, mostly, but at the end of the onion season, they would process garlic for a short while. Even after the season was over, the town still reeked of onions. The locals used to joke that blind people could tell when they got to Vacaville (by the smell). I didn't think it was that funny...
So, my parents, my sister, and I are living in a second-floor 3BR apartment, that overlooks the pool and cabana. It's summer-time, we've just moved into an apartment with a pool, and I get an ear infection on moving day, had it worsened by attending the races, that night, at the Vaca Valley Drag races, and spent most of that first night in my new home in the emergency room at the (then) Travis AFB Hospital (it became David Grant during my high school years), with an earache. It was July before I was allowed to use the pool.
Actually, I have to admit it, but I figured that this apartment building had to have lots of girls my age, so I'd get to know some people before school started [BUZZ]. Most of the female population of the apartment building were working women, or wives, all but a girl named Barbara who was two years younger than me, still hadn't shed her "baby fat," had a brutal case of acne, and was someone, I found fairly quickly, I just couldn't stand being around. It looked like it was going to be a l-o-n-g summer.
Sometime in July, the Vacavile Reporter, a local-news paper that came out on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, had a notice for high school boys interested in playing football that a physical was required, and that physicals would be given free by Dr. Cavanaugh, at the Vaca High Gym, on a certain date/time (c'mon people, it's been 50 years for goodness sakes). I talked about it with my dad, and he was always trying to get me to get involved in sports, so I reported to the gym at the appropriate time, and got into a line. Understand, I know absolutely NO ONE. To be truthful, I don't even know much about football, but I show up, get in the line, and wait my turn. The first thing I learn is that I'm not into the local jargon, so I only understand about half of what is being said around me. Then there's this kind of pudgy kid, cracking jokes and laughing; at first I thought he was annoying, but by the time we got through the line, we had become friends.
I've never told him so, but he helped me a lot in those first days at Vaca High. He was a sophomore, a survivor of his freshman year, mostly because he had an older brother who'd beat the crap out of anyone who picked on him, but it was he who schooled me in local-speak, where the "cool people" hung out, and how to know when upperclassmen were screwing with you. I never met his older brother, but I have come to know why he was so protective of his little brother, and after the older brother was killed in Vietnam, I tried to help "little brother" whenever I could. Besides, we have lived somewhat parallel lives, both being raised in a military family, both coming to Vacaville because our dads worked at CMF, and we had fathers who were so much alike, they couldn't stand to be in the same room together.
I would be gone for long periods of time, and he would be the first person (except on one occasion)
I would connect with whenever I got home (the very idea of a "home" was inconceivable when I first moved here, so you see I have a lot invested in Vacaville). I'd look him up, get caught up on all of the gossip, and find out what was going on in town, and somehow feel that I hadn't been gone for years at a time. Somewhere along the line, he took up golf, and when I wasn't living in town, I would make sure we played a round, or two any time I visited. After we moved back in 1989, we'd play every Saturday, if I wasn't deployed. From '94 to '99, when I was in Paradise, CA, going to Chico State, we'd get in a round whenever, but from '94 to '97, I was either in class, or at work, 7-days a week. It was, actually, 2000 before we started playing together on a regular basis again, but that would be broken up by our 18 months in Spokane, WA, although we played twice during that time. In 2005, when I got back, it was Saturdays, until August of 2014 when he retired. Since then, it's been a couple of rounds a week.
I am grateful to have had a friend for 50 years, even though he feels more like my brother.
So many of my classmates are no longer with us. Some succumbed to the violence of war; some from the ravages of drugs. Still others have passed from "natural" causes (although I can never see something that starts eating the body that hosts it as "natural"), and others through recklessness, or carelessness, and these are the people I've known the longest.
We moved around a lot when I was a kid, by the time I could learn all the names of the kids in the neighborhood, we'd move again. Right up to the 1957 move to the house on Bergwall Way in Vallejo. We lived there for eight years. Three before my dad retired from the Navy, and five while he worked at the California Medical (Correctional) Facility in Vacaville. Today, people wouldn't think twice about driving 27 miles to work, but in the early '60's the Interstates were just getting built, and Dad had to run US 40 through Fairfield, and into Vacaville. For the first time, I had friends that I could hang-out with, go on hikes with, take a bus across Vallejo (paying the 25 cent fare, each way, with money we made picking up bottles and claiming the deposits) and go swimming at "The Plunge," a pool adjacent to Vallejo High, and play a lot of neighborhood games. Then, one day, Dad comes home, and we're going to move again. In June of 1965, days after my sister Pat graduates from Hogan High, we're picking up, lock-stock-and-barrel, and moving into an apartment in Vacaville.
At the time, I thought it was the worst thing that could happen to me. Vallejo was a city, with 65,000 people in it. Vacaville was a fruit stand on the highway, a rural community comprised of less than 14,000 when we first moved in. Other than the prison, the big employers were Travis AFB, and the Basic Vegetable Processing plant that gave the town its distinctive odor, onions, mostly, but at the end of the onion season, they would process garlic for a short while. Even after the season was over, the town still reeked of onions. The locals used to joke that blind people could tell when they got to Vacaville (by the smell). I didn't think it was that funny...
So, my parents, my sister, and I are living in a second-floor 3BR apartment, that overlooks the pool and cabana. It's summer-time, we've just moved into an apartment with a pool, and I get an ear infection on moving day, had it worsened by attending the races, that night, at the Vaca Valley Drag races, and spent most of that first night in my new home in the emergency room at the (then) Travis AFB Hospital (it became David Grant during my high school years), with an earache. It was July before I was allowed to use the pool.
Actually, I have to admit it, but I figured that this apartment building had to have lots of girls my age, so I'd get to know some people before school started [BUZZ]. Most of the female population of the apartment building were working women, or wives, all but a girl named Barbara who was two years younger than me, still hadn't shed her "baby fat," had a brutal case of acne, and was someone, I found fairly quickly, I just couldn't stand being around. It looked like it was going to be a l-o-n-g summer.
Sometime in July, the Vacavile Reporter, a local-news paper that came out on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, had a notice for high school boys interested in playing football that a physical was required, and that physicals would be given free by Dr. Cavanaugh, at the Vaca High Gym, on a certain date/time (c'mon people, it's been 50 years for goodness sakes). I talked about it with my dad, and he was always trying to get me to get involved in sports, so I reported to the gym at the appropriate time, and got into a line. Understand, I know absolutely NO ONE. To be truthful, I don't even know much about football, but I show up, get in the line, and wait my turn. The first thing I learn is that I'm not into the local jargon, so I only understand about half of what is being said around me. Then there's this kind of pudgy kid, cracking jokes and laughing; at first I thought he was annoying, but by the time we got through the line, we had become friends.
I've never told him so, but he helped me a lot in those first days at Vaca High. He was a sophomore, a survivor of his freshman year, mostly because he had an older brother who'd beat the crap out of anyone who picked on him, but it was he who schooled me in local-speak, where the "cool people" hung out, and how to know when upperclassmen were screwing with you. I never met his older brother, but I have come to know why he was so protective of his little brother, and after the older brother was killed in Vietnam, I tried to help "little brother" whenever I could. Besides, we have lived somewhat parallel lives, both being raised in a military family, both coming to Vacaville because our dads worked at CMF, and we had fathers who were so much alike, they couldn't stand to be in the same room together.
I would be gone for long periods of time, and he would be the first person (except on one occasion)
I would connect with whenever I got home (the very idea of a "home" was inconceivable when I first moved here, so you see I have a lot invested in Vacaville). I'd look him up, get caught up on all of the gossip, and find out what was going on in town, and somehow feel that I hadn't been gone for years at a time. Somewhere along the line, he took up golf, and when I wasn't living in town, I would make sure we played a round, or two any time I visited. After we moved back in 1989, we'd play every Saturday, if I wasn't deployed. From '94 to '99, when I was in Paradise, CA, going to Chico State, we'd get in a round whenever, but from '94 to '97, I was either in class, or at work, 7-days a week. It was, actually, 2000 before we started playing together on a regular basis again, but that would be broken up by our 18 months in Spokane, WA, although we played twice during that time. In 2005, when I got back, it was Saturdays, until August of 2014 when he retired. Since then, it's been a couple of rounds a week.
I am grateful to have had a friend for 50 years, even though he feels more like my brother.
Friday, April 22, 2016
It's been a while since I've been able to write. Hip surgery and recovery, Spring Training, and learning how to swing a golf club without trying to protect my left hip. I've been doing it for over a year, now, so I shouldn't expect it go away just-like-that. Besides, to be up and playing golf after only a few months is unbelievable in itself. It used to be that these surgeries ended up with a lot of physical therapy, over a period of months. I was up, on my feet, walking without pain on the third day after my surgery, and sure, I have physical therapy, and I'm in my second set of 12 visits with a really great therapist named Nicole, but it's not the same. I've gotten into such lousy physical shape over the past several years, she's trying to bring me UP to a baseline, before we can work on the hip solely. It helps that she has a sense of humor about things, because, despite their posted, "NO WHINING" sign, I do it all the time.
I'm getting better, too. It used to be that I could, on a NU STEP machine, make a quarter mile in 5 minutes (go ahead Kevin, laugh if you must), on level 2. Now, I'm making .26 miles in 5 minutes, but on resistance level 6. Running was never my thing. Sure, I could blaze down the baselines, 60 feet/90 feet, but anything more than that was timed with a calendar. Back when I was playing intramural softball in the Navy, I was an "old guy" at 30. When I'd go to bat, I'd hear, "OK, let's get 'Pops' out and go in," or similar such stuff, until I put the bat on the ball. I like to say that I moved pretty quick for an "old guy," and by the end of the game, the young guys would learn that, "Old age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill."
Currently, I'm a mess. Only one time have I been more than 170 lbs, and I had a stroke when it got to 184. I'm currently at 168, I'm normally in the 150's, but my hip problems put a stop to my major form of exercise, walking the golf course. It's been a lot of "baby steps," like everything, at first, my early PT sessions were marred by cramps in my calves and thighs, I couldn't go around the block without having to stop for a moment to deal with burning muscle cramps. Now, I can get around the block, and I'm almost ready to try walking for nine holes. I'm going to try seeing how far I can go the next time I play with John Baronowski. He can carry my bag in the golf cart, and I can see how far I can make it without any resistance (my bag and clubs weigh about 35 - 40 lbs, and I don't know how that translates to a push cart with 12" bearing-ed wheels, but I suppose I could figure out how much more force it will take to push them around, but I play for fun), then I will try it with the clubs. My goal is to walk a full 18 holes on my 65th birthday on July 15, 2016. God willing, I'll make it.
I had my quarterly epidural steroid injection on April 11, but I am still having sciatic pain, and Doctor Dave has ordered an MRI for my lumbar spine, and wants to see me as soon as I get out of the tube. This last injection was the first of my ninth year of taking them. When I first started, Doctor Dave was a Captain, who worked for a LtCol, and Doctor Dave's kids were in elementary school. Now, Doctor Dave is the LtCol, and his kids aren't so little anymore. This is the man who knows what I looked like when I was told that lung cancer had been confirmed, because he's the one who told me. Doctor Dave is more than just a great doctor, he's a friend -- I'm proud to say -- and a spiritual example to me, as well. What can I say? I'm a fan.
I keep seeing these ads for Laser Spine Surgery Clinics, and actually saw one in Santa Rosa, they ask to see a recent MRI to determine if they could make my sciatica go away forever. How great would that be? My only problem is that my insurance carrier may not approve it. It's definitely something worth looking at, and I plan to ask Doctor Dave if he thinks that its time I look into it. I can get copies made, the rest would be pretty easy, I'm pretty sure that I can get the referral, its United Healthcare/Mil...
I'm getting better, too. It used to be that I could, on a NU STEP machine, make a quarter mile in 5 minutes (go ahead Kevin, laugh if you must), on level 2. Now, I'm making .26 miles in 5 minutes, but on resistance level 6. Running was never my thing. Sure, I could blaze down the baselines, 60 feet/90 feet, but anything more than that was timed with a calendar. Back when I was playing intramural softball in the Navy, I was an "old guy" at 30. When I'd go to bat, I'd hear, "OK, let's get 'Pops' out and go in," or similar such stuff, until I put the bat on the ball. I like to say that I moved pretty quick for an "old guy," and by the end of the game, the young guys would learn that, "Old age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill."
Currently, I'm a mess. Only one time have I been more than 170 lbs, and I had a stroke when it got to 184. I'm currently at 168, I'm normally in the 150's, but my hip problems put a stop to my major form of exercise, walking the golf course. It's been a lot of "baby steps," like everything, at first, my early PT sessions were marred by cramps in my calves and thighs, I couldn't go around the block without having to stop for a moment to deal with burning muscle cramps. Now, I can get around the block, and I'm almost ready to try walking for nine holes. I'm going to try seeing how far I can go the next time I play with John Baronowski. He can carry my bag in the golf cart, and I can see how far I can make it without any resistance (my bag and clubs weigh about 35 - 40 lbs, and I don't know how that translates to a push cart with 12" bearing-ed wheels, but I suppose I could figure out how much more force it will take to push them around, but I play for fun), then I will try it with the clubs. My goal is to walk a full 18 holes on my 65th birthday on July 15, 2016. God willing, I'll make it.
I had my quarterly epidural steroid injection on April 11, but I am still having sciatic pain, and Doctor Dave has ordered an MRI for my lumbar spine, and wants to see me as soon as I get out of the tube. This last injection was the first of my ninth year of taking them. When I first started, Doctor Dave was a Captain, who worked for a LtCol, and Doctor Dave's kids were in elementary school. Now, Doctor Dave is the LtCol, and his kids aren't so little anymore. This is the man who knows what I looked like when I was told that lung cancer had been confirmed, because he's the one who told me. Doctor Dave is more than just a great doctor, he's a friend -- I'm proud to say -- and a spiritual example to me, as well. What can I say? I'm a fan.
I keep seeing these ads for Laser Spine Surgery Clinics, and actually saw one in Santa Rosa, they ask to see a recent MRI to determine if they could make my sciatica go away forever. How great would that be? My only problem is that my insurance carrier may not approve it. It's definitely something worth looking at, and I plan to ask Doctor Dave if he thinks that its time I look into it. I can get copies made, the rest would be pretty easy, I'm pretty sure that I can get the referral, its United Healthcare/Mil...
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
This Is Still "The Land of the Free"
According to Wikileaks, the term "Politically Correct" refers to a person who alters their speech so as to not offend any person, or group of persons.
I am offended by things like "Black Lives Matter," not that I am devaluing the lives of African Americans, I just believe that ALL lives matter, regardless of your race, creed, ethnicity, nationality, sexual orientation, and any other qualifier you can think of. I believe we are all God's children (whichever God that people worship), and have a right to live our lives without being gunned down in the street by punks, gangsters, or police.
However... If I were to express those sentiments publicly, I would be shouted down as a racist, and THAT, my friends, is a direct violation of my First Amendment Right to "Freedom of Speech," if not a blatant attempt to control my thinking (which I guarantee will not work).
Additionally, I am not particularly comfortable in the presence of homosexuals, transsexuals, trans-gendered, people. For that, I am labeled "homophobic," despite the fact that I have been friends with a few people who describe themselves by their sexual preferences. Personally, I don't give a rodent's rump what you do in your bedroom, in fact I'd be enormously happy not to know your sexual habits. I don't talk about mine (my wife would kill me if I did), and would prefer it if your sex life wasn't a topic of discussion at all. By the way, when did someones sex preferences become a political issue anyway?
I'm not comfortable with large groups of Muslims (or Jehovah's Witnesses, for that matter), and for that I am called a "hater," and my wife's nephew keeps trying to school me on how peaceful Islam is. The fact of the matter is that Muslims have been at war with Jews, as well as other MUSLIM sects ever since the Seventh Century. I don't hate Muslim people, I've read a good part of the Koran (however you want to spell the Islamic book), trying to understand a little about them before I visited North Africa while in the Navy. My problem with bringing Syrian refugees to the US lies in the hap-hazard way the Administration is doing it's background checks, not, in any way, because of their religion.
I am offended by labels such as, "racist," "hater," and "homophobe," so, all of you so-called "Politically Correct" jerk-offs, check your presumed superiority at the door, because you are more offensive than anyone. The Constitution of the United States of America gives me the right to express myself using any words I choose. Try to silence me... I triple-dog-dare you (screw the playground rules) to try and stop me. Call me all of those things, but don't put it in print, because I'll use it as evidence in my Civil Rights lawsuit against you.
I am offended by things like "Black Lives Matter," not that I am devaluing the lives of African Americans, I just believe that ALL lives matter, regardless of your race, creed, ethnicity, nationality, sexual orientation, and any other qualifier you can think of. I believe we are all God's children (whichever God that people worship), and have a right to live our lives without being gunned down in the street by punks, gangsters, or police.
However... If I were to express those sentiments publicly, I would be shouted down as a racist, and THAT, my friends, is a direct violation of my First Amendment Right to "Freedom of Speech," if not a blatant attempt to control my thinking (which I guarantee will not work).
Additionally, I am not particularly comfortable in the presence of homosexuals, transsexuals, trans-gendered, people. For that, I am labeled "homophobic," despite the fact that I have been friends with a few people who describe themselves by their sexual preferences. Personally, I don't give a rodent's rump what you do in your bedroom, in fact I'd be enormously happy not to know your sexual habits. I don't talk about mine (my wife would kill me if I did), and would prefer it if your sex life wasn't a topic of discussion at all. By the way, when did someones sex preferences become a political issue anyway?
I'm not comfortable with large groups of Muslims (or Jehovah's Witnesses, for that matter), and for that I am called a "hater," and my wife's nephew keeps trying to school me on how peaceful Islam is. The fact of the matter is that Muslims have been at war with Jews, as well as other MUSLIM sects ever since the Seventh Century. I don't hate Muslim people, I've read a good part of the Koran (however you want to spell the Islamic book), trying to understand a little about them before I visited North Africa while in the Navy. My problem with bringing Syrian refugees to the US lies in the hap-hazard way the Administration is doing it's background checks, not, in any way, because of their religion.
I am offended by labels such as, "racist," "hater," and "homophobe," so, all of you so-called "Politically Correct" jerk-offs, check your presumed superiority at the door, because you are more offensive than anyone. The Constitution of the United States of America gives me the right to express myself using any words I choose. Try to silence me... I triple-dog-dare you (screw the playground rules) to try and stop me. Call me all of those things, but don't put it in print, because I'll use it as evidence in my Civil Rights lawsuit against you.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
I'm a little late for New Years...
... but I hope everyone had a safe and memorable New Year. I've been busy, getting things together for doctor appointments, and dealing with hip and sciatic pain. For those of you who have never had a sciatica problem, there is no comfortable position to be in, period. It hurts to walk, it hurts to sit, it hurts to lie down. Being on your feet is the least uncomfortable, but with the problems in my left hip, I'm kinda damned if I do, and damned if I don't. At this point, even Norco is having a minimal effect, and I'm taking 1.5 to 2 caplets every four hours (when awake). I took some at 3am this morning, but only because I was up to pee... I slacked off on drinking water, and my kidneys were complaining, so I'm back to 48ozs a day; my body just isn't used to that much water, and I end up having to "hit the head" in the middle of the night... so I used the opportunity to take an extra caplet.
Fortunately, the sciatic problem will start to go away after Monday, January 11, 2016, when I take another round of epidural steroid injections, and the impinging disc will shrink back to where it's off the sciatic nerve. I'm really looking forward to the "lidocaine honeymoon," or the time when the numbing agent for the injections makes things not hurt for a few hours. This is becoming a ritual, of sorts, on the day I get my injections I am supposed to "go home and rest" (doctor's orders). Lately, I've taken to napping in the living room, while Mary goes out and runs errands, etc. I put the TV on something that takes very little brain action to watch (reruns of Futurama and Simpson's, golf, football -- if the sound is down -- and stuff like that). Just nothing with shrill voices, or people arguing (sorry Fox News). Passive stuff, old movies, things I've seen a thousand times (except Spaceballs, that's only for times when my girls and I can watch it together). I doze, rather than fully sleep, but I get into a fully relaxed state, and if 30 to 60 minutes happen to slip by, no biggie, because I will sleep pretty well the night after a "procedure".
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I'm going to try to cram in as much golf as I can, since I will have my hip arthroscope on Friday, and I don't know when I will be able to swing a golf club again. The PA at Summit Orthopedics thinks I could be walking with a cane, or at least a single crutch, by the time I have my follow-up on the 28th. I hope he's right, or even real close. By the time we go to Scottsdale, for Spring Training in March, I should be pretty mobile.
MY goal, which may be different from their goals, is to be playing golf again during the month of April. Not April 1, or any specific date, just sometime in April. Heck, at this point, not having actually had the surgery, I have no idea how I'm going to feel afterwards. I know it's going to hurt, any time one's body is invaded by foreign objects, the body responds with pain. The PA said that they would be stretching my left leg in order to create a working space for the arthroscope, and that I might have some residual sciatic pain. That will be different, since my current bout of sciatica is centered on the right side. I plan to start playing with a cart, for a while, and walk as much as I can without having to push/pull/carry my clubs. When I am comfortable enough to play nine holes on foot, I will start pushing a hand cart. Ultimately, I'd like to be back to walking the full 18 holes (with clubs) by my birthday in mid-July.
As for the surgery, I'm a little apprehensive, mostly because of the pain. I have full faith in my surgeon, Dr. Hunter Greene, so there's nothing down that line. At the same time, I am really looking forward to the surgery, mostly because it's going to, eventually, take my hip pain away. I've been living with this pain in my hip since October of 2014, I reported it to my Primary Care doctor in November, and again in December, and having an MRI done on the area in January of 2015. At first I was concerned that the pain might be a worsening of the A Vascular Necrosis (AVN), a condition I was diagnosed with earlier. AVN, simply put, means the top of the femur (which forms the ball of the hip joint) has a 6.5cm dead spot on it. When it was diagnosed, I was told that I would have symptoms of pain on the inside of the hip, that would indicate a potential failure of the femoral head. When my pain first started, it was on the inside of the hip, actually just below and to the left (my left) of my... well, you get the idea...
It's kind of like being poked, repeatedly, with a stick with a dull point on the end, right on the inside of the left hip. It's not, exactly, an unbearable pain, although I've had it bring me to my knees when I wasn't careful walking on a downhill slope, or going down stairs. Going up isn't exactly a "walk in the park," it hurts to do that, too, but it's particularly painful going down. I've taken to doing a side-step to come up and down my driveway. All the folks at Summit Ortho say that pain will be gone after all is said and done, so there's a light at the end of this pain.
I've always thought that a surgery would be a terrible way to start the year, but this may actually be a good thing. I hope...
Fortunately, the sciatic problem will start to go away after Monday, January 11, 2016, when I take another round of epidural steroid injections, and the impinging disc will shrink back to where it's off the sciatic nerve. I'm really looking forward to the "lidocaine honeymoon," or the time when the numbing agent for the injections makes things not hurt for a few hours. This is becoming a ritual, of sorts, on the day I get my injections I am supposed to "go home and rest" (doctor's orders). Lately, I've taken to napping in the living room, while Mary goes out and runs errands, etc. I put the TV on something that takes very little brain action to watch (reruns of Futurama and Simpson's, golf, football -- if the sound is down -- and stuff like that). Just nothing with shrill voices, or people arguing (sorry Fox News). Passive stuff, old movies, things I've seen a thousand times (except Spaceballs, that's only for times when my girls and I can watch it together). I doze, rather than fully sleep, but I get into a fully relaxed state, and if 30 to 60 minutes happen to slip by, no biggie, because I will sleep pretty well the night after a "procedure".
Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I'm going to try to cram in as much golf as I can, since I will have my hip arthroscope on Friday, and I don't know when I will be able to swing a golf club again. The PA at Summit Orthopedics thinks I could be walking with a cane, or at least a single crutch, by the time I have my follow-up on the 28th. I hope he's right, or even real close. By the time we go to Scottsdale, for Spring Training in March, I should be pretty mobile.
MY goal, which may be different from their goals, is to be playing golf again during the month of April. Not April 1, or any specific date, just sometime in April. Heck, at this point, not having actually had the surgery, I have no idea how I'm going to feel afterwards. I know it's going to hurt, any time one's body is invaded by foreign objects, the body responds with pain. The PA said that they would be stretching my left leg in order to create a working space for the arthroscope, and that I might have some residual sciatic pain. That will be different, since my current bout of sciatica is centered on the right side. I plan to start playing with a cart, for a while, and walk as much as I can without having to push/pull/carry my clubs. When I am comfortable enough to play nine holes on foot, I will start pushing a hand cart. Ultimately, I'd like to be back to walking the full 18 holes (with clubs) by my birthday in mid-July.
As for the surgery, I'm a little apprehensive, mostly because of the pain. I have full faith in my surgeon, Dr. Hunter Greene, so there's nothing down that line. At the same time, I am really looking forward to the surgery, mostly because it's going to, eventually, take my hip pain away. I've been living with this pain in my hip since October of 2014, I reported it to my Primary Care doctor in November, and again in December, and having an MRI done on the area in January of 2015. At first I was concerned that the pain might be a worsening of the A Vascular Necrosis (AVN), a condition I was diagnosed with earlier. AVN, simply put, means the top of the femur (which forms the ball of the hip joint) has a 6.5cm dead spot on it. When it was diagnosed, I was told that I would have symptoms of pain on the inside of the hip, that would indicate a potential failure of the femoral head. When my pain first started, it was on the inside of the hip, actually just below and to the left (my left) of my... well, you get the idea...
It's kind of like being poked, repeatedly, with a stick with a dull point on the end, right on the inside of the left hip. It's not, exactly, an unbearable pain, although I've had it bring me to my knees when I wasn't careful walking on a downhill slope, or going down stairs. Going up isn't exactly a "walk in the park," it hurts to do that, too, but it's particularly painful going down. I've taken to doing a side-step to come up and down my driveway. All the folks at Summit Ortho say that pain will be gone after all is said and done, so there's a light at the end of this pain.
I've always thought that a surgery would be a terrible way to start the year, but this may actually be a good thing. I hope...
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