The deed is done, the oath has been administered, and witnessed world-wide, so if your are an American, Donald Trump is your president. Never, in the 240 years of our history have people gone to such extremes to attempt to invalidate a Presidential election. Such whining and sniveling I have not witnessed in my lifetime, and hope to heck I never have to live through another... and that's just the Network media... Some a-hole actually immolated himself in the entry of Trump Towers... The only thing accomplished was a little less stupid in the gene pool.
Okay, enough on political crap.
I have taken on the Calling to teach two lessons a month to the men over 50, second and third Sundays, every month. This year, the lesson material is in The Teachings of the Presidents of the Church: Gordon B. Hinkley. President Hinkley was a major reason I decided to become a better Latter-day Saint. Whenever he would speak, or write articles for the Church magazine, even before he became President, I felt like he was reading from my life history, and giving me, personally, directions on how to do it. Reading through the book, I can hear him speaking the words in my mind, and I miss him all the more.
We are approaching the 44th Anniversary of my baptism and Membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and though I have written on parts of my experience as a Mormon, I have never put it together in one piece. To tell the whole story, I have to go back a little further, however. I will try to be as brief as possible, but it goes back to the 1950's, when I was a kid in Vallejo...
Dad was retiring from the Navy, we were living in a house that wasn't a rental, or on-base, and I started going to St. Paul's Lutheran Church, with my mom, on Sundays. The Pastor was a former Russian Orthodox Priest, who turned Lutheran after the Russian Religious purges in the early 20th Century. The movie Fiddler on the Roof illustrates what happened from the Jewish perspective, but Christians, as well, were being exiled from Soviet Russia. Pastor John Zeltin had a thick Russian accent, which required me to pay extra attention, to understand what he was saying. Since everything he said (ok, a little hyperbole, here) was interesting, I paid a lot of attention to him. Our relationship was good enough that I could ask him about things in the liturgy, church tenants, or even something he said in a sermon, and we would talk about it. To make a long story short, I have been a religious person since boyhood. I have grown up as a Christian, so my downfall was a hard one.
When we moved to Vacaville in 1965, we tried making the drive into Vallejo on Sundays, but tired of it pretty quickly. We started going to the various Lutheran Churches in Vacaville, but never got "hooked" by any of the Pastors or congregations. As a kid, I had planned to go to Pacific Lutheran University, in Pullman, WA, and take theology classes to become a Lutheran Minister. Now, spiritually adrift, it didn't take me long to find trouble. Anyone who says that Evil doesn't exist has his/her head so far up their rear, they can't hear the screaming...
Shortening more, I went into the Navy after graduation, and identified myself as a Lutheran, but took an almost instant dislike for the Lutheran chaplain, and only went once. Since it was either go to church, or work in the barracks, during Boot Camp, I began my search for "The True Church". I think I made every Christian church service available, and when I moved on, I put my search on hold.
Finally, a combination of drug and alcohol abuse had me seriously considering suicide, and I caught my first break. I got 10 days of leave, and was told that I didn't have to go home, but I wasn't to be on the ship. During the 10 days, I got reconnected to an old girlfriend, Mary Gardner, and realized that the happiest moments of my last six years all involved her. I had loved her before, and found that I still felt the same way. Two months passed, and I convinced her to marry me, with just one catch... our wedding would be in an LDS Temple.
I won't try to hide the fact that everything I did, up to my baptism, was to try to make that happen, and that I was doing it all for her. Okay, maybe not all... As I learned about the Church, I started praying again, for the first time in years. The more I prayed, the more I began to believe, I read the Book of Mormon in a week, I didn't understand it all, but I believed it to be scripture... I knew that my life depended upon this choice, either I would join the Church, or I would lose Mary... I knew I couldn't lose her, every really happy memory I had had her in it... was I going to go back to what I was before, drunk, stoned, and suicidal? I was baptized on April 20, 1973.
Shortly after, the family that offered their house for meetings with the Missionaries, and played host to Mary and one of her BYU roommates, Marja, moved to Utah so Jim could go to UofU and get an electronics degree, and become an officer. Mary and Marja left on April 25, to go back to school, and my friends left on the first of May. I suddenly felt very lonely. Jim was the only other LDS guy in my Division (I thought), so when he departed, I had to take busses to Church, and it seemed like, since I'd already been baptized, the people in the Ward weren't all that friendly. I never put the "Norfolk hates the Navy" thing together until years later, but I was, pretty much, left alone. I had a ton of questions about my new religion, and not a soul who could answer them. The closest I could get was a "Born Again," who hated Mormons.
Just before we left on a six-month deployment, an LDS Group Leader was called for each of the ships in our Task Group that had more than a handful of LDS sailors. Ours was a Lieutenant from one of the Squadrons assigned to the INDEPENDENCE, a "spook," and intelligence analyst who worked in the IOIC (Integrated Operational Intelligence Center). I was pretty amped about that, finally someone I could talk to, and learn from. I waited until he had unpacked, and set up his cubicle in Mission Planning, and was going to introduce myself to him, and ask when and where Sacrament Meeting would be. I suppose I was wrong, but I came up behind him, and saw an open porn catalogue, and him writing numbers on an order form. He must have sensed my presence, because he covered the catalogue, and gave me one of those, "Can I help you?"
I wanted to, with all my might, answer, "Hi. DP2 Martin, I understand you're my LDS Group Leader..." I didn't, though, I just said, "Hi Lieutenant, got any S & R requests?" S & R were Storage and Retrieval requests, parameters for a computer, microfiche, microfilm search in 1973. We would go to a list, find a 1/2 inch magnetic tape that had the information, and we would print 11.5 by 14 inch pages with the information they requested. I didn't go to any of the LDS meetings on the ship for the remaining 5 1/2 months. Fortunately, I met the Branch President of the Athens, Greece Branch, during our time in the Mediterranean, and we got pretty close. Close enough that he played host to my parents for a week, when they came out to visit me. I learned a lot about Service from him.
For most of the first 12 years of my membership in the Church, I felt like I didn't quite belong. I'd get a calling, get no help on how to do it, and fail. I would go to Church, then I wouldn't go, then I'd go... I kept finding faults in the Church... stuff like, if I smoke, I'm not living the Word of Wisdom, but if I keep stuffing my face, weigh 340 pounds, I'm OK, despite the urging to use moderation in the use of foods. Stuff like that still baffles me, but I don't think about it much anymore. Once I figured out that I was as guilty of judging people as the jerks who were (in my mind) judging me, I really stopped doing it. That and a year in a Bishopric convinced me that a smoking habit was way, way, way down the list of sins.
Through most of my growth in the Church, President Hinkley was there, telling me how to be a better me. Just before he passed away, Mary and I got to attend a General Conference, which turned out to be his last. He spoke in each of the three meetings I attended, and it was like he could see into my heart, and knew everything about me. He talked of the Church moving ahead, and made me feel a desire to be a part of it. He talked about Repentance, stressing that it wasn't a one-time deal, and outlining how the process works. He helped me understand what it felt like to be forgiven for my sins, bringing great calm to my life.
My point? I am grateful to a loving Heavenly Father for allowing me to focus on one of the truly great men this world has known, and to be able to pass that on to the group.
Friday, January 20, 2017
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
A Rough Couple of Weeks to Start a New Year
I'll start with the latest... A lady I've known since I was a teenager, one I've called "Ma" for the past 25 years, or so, got sick with a UTI on Christmas Day, and passed away this week. Her name was Dorothy Case, mother to Gene and Bill, loving wife to Thurle for close to 70 years. I met her when Bill asked me over to watch a KC/OAK football game, a clash of two AFL power houses. Bill introduced me to her, and I took an instant liking to her, and over the years, we developed a relationship that I don't think Bill or Thurle were aware of... mostly due to my friendship with Billy. She asked me, a long time ago, to not forget about Bill, and to stay friends with him, something that has changed me significantly.
Billy is a great guy, and I've never gotten any special favors, or money, for being friends with Bill Case. Sometimes it isn't easy, as he's a bit of a worry wart, and can fret on command. He's a technological Neanderthal, doesn't own a computer, laptop, tablet, just a cell phone, and while it has a browser function, he doesn't go near it. Add to that, the complete lack of any desire to learn or have one, and you can begin to see where it can occasionally be a frustrating friendship. Of course, he gets just as frustrated with me, because I keep offering him one of my older (but functional) computer systems, and he's running out of reasons to refuse.
In amongst all of that, I tried to switch medications for Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS), since about 2005, I had been taking a Parkinson's medication called "klonopin," or Clonazepam, in the Valium family, and while it has worked just fine for the past 11 years, the FDA has clamped down on prescriptions for controlled substances (which includes klonopin), allowing a doctor to prescribe only 30 days at a time, and requires a face-to-face meeting to get a renewal for another 30 days... A doctor in Pain Management took control of all my controlled meds (Norco and klonopin at the time), and he's a hard SOB to track down sometimes. I had had a reaction to Requip the first time I took it, but it turned out to be Lipitor that caused the problems, so I decided to try it again, just so I wouldn't have to make appointments every 30 days...
Ropinrol, the generic Requip has a side-effect that can be made worse if taken with Benadryl, and I've taken Benadryl every night since I can't remember, as a sleep aid (if you need a sleep aid, diphenhydramine - generic Benadryl - is in all of the "Night Time" versions of cold/flu/fever medications you can buy OTC). It is, perhaps, the least toxic form of sleep aids, too, as it is often given to children, for the aforementioned conditions... With the 20/20 vision of hindsight, I screwed up by not taking Benadryl with the Requip. I was so concerned about the side-effect that was mentioned.
According to the Patient Information, ropinrol can cause Narcoleptic-esque episodes, where the person taking the drug can go to sleep, never feeling tired, not knowing, and not remembering. After 11 days, I had a little "episode" with the med.
I was playing an EA Sports golf game on my PS4, and was just about to start a new game. I looked up at the TV; then scooted up to the edge of the couch for a better playing posture. I was interested in how long it would take me to play a full 18 holes, so I looked at the clock, it was 3:07pm, I looked back at the image on the screen, moved my thumbs into playing position, looked back at the clock, and it was 5:19. I don't think I played; I can't remember. I was still poised on the edge of the couch in "attack position," but two hours had passed, and I have no idea what happened.
I didn't tell Mary. I was supposed to drive our son-in-law to the airport on Sunday, in the worst rainstorm to hit the area in decades. I knew I'd be OK going to the airport, but had serious concerns about being alone on the return. The fact that it's a Tuesday, and I'm writing this is proof that miracles happen. As soon as I got home, I took a Benadryl, and passed out on the couch. I've stopped taking Requip, and gone back to klonopin and Benadryl.
Billy is a great guy, and I've never gotten any special favors, or money, for being friends with Bill Case. Sometimes it isn't easy, as he's a bit of a worry wart, and can fret on command. He's a technological Neanderthal, doesn't own a computer, laptop, tablet, just a cell phone, and while it has a browser function, he doesn't go near it. Add to that, the complete lack of any desire to learn or have one, and you can begin to see where it can occasionally be a frustrating friendship. Of course, he gets just as frustrated with me, because I keep offering him one of my older (but functional) computer systems, and he's running out of reasons to refuse.
In amongst all of that, I tried to switch medications for Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS), since about 2005, I had been taking a Parkinson's medication called "klonopin," or Clonazepam, in the Valium family, and while it has worked just fine for the past 11 years, the FDA has clamped down on prescriptions for controlled substances (which includes klonopin), allowing a doctor to prescribe only 30 days at a time, and requires a face-to-face meeting to get a renewal for another 30 days... A doctor in Pain Management took control of all my controlled meds (Norco and klonopin at the time), and he's a hard SOB to track down sometimes. I had had a reaction to Requip the first time I took it, but it turned out to be Lipitor that caused the problems, so I decided to try it again, just so I wouldn't have to make appointments every 30 days...
Ropinrol, the generic Requip has a side-effect that can be made worse if taken with Benadryl, and I've taken Benadryl every night since I can't remember, as a sleep aid (if you need a sleep aid, diphenhydramine - generic Benadryl - is in all of the "Night Time" versions of cold/flu/fever medications you can buy OTC). It is, perhaps, the least toxic form of sleep aids, too, as it is often given to children, for the aforementioned conditions... With the 20/20 vision of hindsight, I screwed up by not taking Benadryl with the Requip. I was so concerned about the side-effect that was mentioned.
According to the Patient Information, ropinrol can cause Narcoleptic-esque episodes, where the person taking the drug can go to sleep, never feeling tired, not knowing, and not remembering. After 11 days, I had a little "episode" with the med.
I was playing an EA Sports golf game on my PS4, and was just about to start a new game. I looked up at the TV; then scooted up to the edge of the couch for a better playing posture. I was interested in how long it would take me to play a full 18 holes, so I looked at the clock, it was 3:07pm, I looked back at the image on the screen, moved my thumbs into playing position, looked back at the clock, and it was 5:19. I don't think I played; I can't remember. I was still poised on the edge of the couch in "attack position," but two hours had passed, and I have no idea what happened.
I didn't tell Mary. I was supposed to drive our son-in-law to the airport on Sunday, in the worst rainstorm to hit the area in decades. I knew I'd be OK going to the airport, but had serious concerns about being alone on the return. The fact that it's a Tuesday, and I'm writing this is proof that miracles happen. As soon as I got home, I took a Benadryl, and passed out on the couch. I've stopped taking Requip, and gone back to klonopin and Benadryl.
Friday, January 6, 2017
A Joke... and Only a Joke...
Many years ago, when America was "going electric," the last group to receive power were the Native American reservations, which was nothing new... The tribe had a smart young buck named Many Hands, who was a kind of handyman for the tribe, and who had a Liberal Arts degree from the community college. Before the power lines were installed, the tribe wanted to know what they could do with this new technology, so the elders chose Many Hands to go into the city, and find out all he could. Many Hands accepted this assignment, and set out...
Four months later, Many Hands returns home, and the tribe is gathered together to hear his report. As he extolls the wonders of electricity, he gets out a battery, some wire, a switch, and a battery powered light, setting up a simple circuit... When he completes it, he connects the switch, the light goes on, and the tribe goes, "Ooooh. Ahhhh."
Old White Feather gets up and says, "It's magic!"
Many Hands says, "Not magic. Science."
White Feather asks, "How light work?"
Many Hands says, "Me not know, only that Many Hands make light work..."
Thank you. Thank you. I'll be here all week...
Oh, but that's not the end...
As the power company was putting up the poles, and stringing the wires, the tribal council had a decision to make, which place to wire first... They decided to first, put a light on the old out house, because people got disoriented in the dark, and sometimes wandered off...
Many Hands proudly accepted this task, thus becoming the first person to ever wire a head for a reservation...
Thanks again.
Four months later, Many Hands returns home, and the tribe is gathered together to hear his report. As he extolls the wonders of electricity, he gets out a battery, some wire, a switch, and a battery powered light, setting up a simple circuit... When he completes it, he connects the switch, the light goes on, and the tribe goes, "Ooooh. Ahhhh."
Old White Feather gets up and says, "It's magic!"
Many Hands says, "Not magic. Science."
White Feather asks, "How light work?"
Many Hands says, "Me not know, only that Many Hands make light work..."
Thank you. Thank you. I'll be here all week...
Oh, but that's not the end...
As the power company was putting up the poles, and stringing the wires, the tribal council had a decision to make, which place to wire first... They decided to first, put a light on the old out house, because people got disoriented in the dark, and sometimes wandered off...
Many Hands proudly accepted this task, thus becoming the first person to ever wire a head for a reservation...
Thanks again.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
A Post-Season Ramble on Baseball
One of my Facebook Friends posted a picture of an old transistor radio, and asked how many used one of them. I had one, eerily similar to the one in the picture, but mine had an ear-phone, that plugged in to it. I mentioned that I used to listen to Giant's games after my bedtime, and recalled the names, Russ Hodges and Lon Simmons, of the Giant's announcing team back in the 1960's. Going back -- in my memory -- I could hear their voices, and remembered how vividly they made images in my mind with their words. I also remembered getting "in trouble" for listening to the games after bedtime, because I'd get so involved in a game, that I'd forget I was in bed, and supposed to be quiet. My dad would open my door, lay a couple-of-dozen Anglo-Saxon favorites on me, and tell me to get to sleep. As I'm typing this, I'm thinking that he just wanted me to shut-the-heck-up, because he never did the obvious punishment of taking my radio away...
Hodges and Simmons are, in a way, one of the reasons I decided to study English. Another was my Great-Uncle Henry, who used to like to play word games, and always had a pun to share. Sometimes the puns were real "groaners," but others were extremely funny, and others very thought provoking, but that's beside the point... I didn't mention that I have a list of "All-Time Favorite Baseball Announcers," and that they are on the top of the pile, as far as I'm concerned.
I started listening to the games in 1961, when most TV's were Black and White, and you might be able to watch a game on the weekend, but never during the week (before the decade was out, Channel 2, KTVU, Oakland/San Francisco, started to televise games in mid-week, particularly with the Dodgers). Russ and Lon made me feel like I was sitting between them, watching the game unfold in front of me. On TV, you may have gotten a picture (in Black and White), but Russ and Lon made you see the green grass, the reddish dirt, and crisp, clean white lines, in your mind, something I'm not sure that today's kids could do that, anymore...
Yes, I've been a Giants fan since I was a kid, I used to, kinda, liked the Dodgers for a time, but with the team they had? Koufax, Drysdale, Maury Wills, John Roseborough, Duke Snyder... and the play-by-play announcing of Vin Scully? That was back before we moved to the Bay Area, and I got to see the Giants. My first game was a Pirates/Giants game at Candlestick Park, in 1961. My dad, and his friend from work, Alex, took me in Alex's new Cadillac, we sat in the upper deck, and darned near froze to death as the sun set. There was a guy in the next section, a couple of rows down, pulled out a "Mummy Bag" (a sleeping bag that covers everything but your face), it was that bad...
It wasn't long after that, that I bought that transistor radio, so I could at least listen to the games... My dad didn't like the Giants (he really didn't like the Pirates, either, but they were close to where he grew up), and used to gripe about the "two big niggers," referring to Willie Mays and Willie McCovey. As ugly as that sounds, it's pretty indicative of my dad's attitude on race, and it's how I was raised, I'm sad to admit... I was fortunate to have my dad around for 18 years after I retired from the Navy, and had time to spend with him as an adult. I asked him why he persisted in calling black people by that insulting word, and he explained it to me in such a way, that I understood... I had made it my goal not to use such words, especially around my children. Even at age 10, I knew my dad was wrong to use such language regarding other people, and out of rebellion, more than probably anything, I became a full-fledged Giants fan.
Of the current crop of Giants announcers, I only have good things to say. It's hard to bad-mouth a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame, and besides, Jon Miller and I probably listened to a lot of the same games (we're the same age). Dave Flemming is also making a name for himself, and working beside a Hall of Famer can only make him better.
Kruk and Kype? They have to be the best of the current best, and I could be a little biased, here... I HATE it when the Giants games are on FOX or ESPN. The Network Guys are always biased towards the teams from the East, and know very little about players from the West, probably because the games out here are after their bedtimes? Whatever... Duane and Mike make the games fun to watch. Being former Giants themselves, the are able to develop a rapport with the guys on the team that the Network Guys can't, and pretty much don't even try.
While I'm on the subject of Baseball Announcers, let me be clear, Joe Buck isn't worth the sweat from a dead camel's testicle. He is, without a doubt, THE WORST BASEBALL ANNOUNCER IN THE GAME! There, I've said it.
Hodges and Simmons are, in a way, one of the reasons I decided to study English. Another was my Great-Uncle Henry, who used to like to play word games, and always had a pun to share. Sometimes the puns were real "groaners," but others were extremely funny, and others very thought provoking, but that's beside the point... I didn't mention that I have a list of "All-Time Favorite Baseball Announcers," and that they are on the top of the pile, as far as I'm concerned.
I started listening to the games in 1961, when most TV's were Black and White, and you might be able to watch a game on the weekend, but never during the week (before the decade was out, Channel 2, KTVU, Oakland/San Francisco, started to televise games in mid-week, particularly with the Dodgers). Russ and Lon made me feel like I was sitting between them, watching the game unfold in front of me. On TV, you may have gotten a picture (in Black and White), but Russ and Lon made you see the green grass, the reddish dirt, and crisp, clean white lines, in your mind, something I'm not sure that today's kids could do that, anymore...
Yes, I've been a Giants fan since I was a kid, I used to, kinda, liked the Dodgers for a time, but with the team they had? Koufax, Drysdale, Maury Wills, John Roseborough, Duke Snyder... and the play-by-play announcing of Vin Scully? That was back before we moved to the Bay Area, and I got to see the Giants. My first game was a Pirates/Giants game at Candlestick Park, in 1961. My dad, and his friend from work, Alex, took me in Alex's new Cadillac, we sat in the upper deck, and darned near froze to death as the sun set. There was a guy in the next section, a couple of rows down, pulled out a "Mummy Bag" (a sleeping bag that covers everything but your face), it was that bad...
It wasn't long after that, that I bought that transistor radio, so I could at least listen to the games... My dad didn't like the Giants (he really didn't like the Pirates, either, but they were close to where he grew up), and used to gripe about the "two big niggers," referring to Willie Mays and Willie McCovey. As ugly as that sounds, it's pretty indicative of my dad's attitude on race, and it's how I was raised, I'm sad to admit... I was fortunate to have my dad around for 18 years after I retired from the Navy, and had time to spend with him as an adult. I asked him why he persisted in calling black people by that insulting word, and he explained it to me in such a way, that I understood... I had made it my goal not to use such words, especially around my children. Even at age 10, I knew my dad was wrong to use such language regarding other people, and out of rebellion, more than probably anything, I became a full-fledged Giants fan.
Of the current crop of Giants announcers, I only have good things to say. It's hard to bad-mouth a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame, and besides, Jon Miller and I probably listened to a lot of the same games (we're the same age). Dave Flemming is also making a name for himself, and working beside a Hall of Famer can only make him better.
Kruk and Kype? They have to be the best of the current best, and I could be a little biased, here... I HATE it when the Giants games are on FOX or ESPN. The Network Guys are always biased towards the teams from the East, and know very little about players from the West, probably because the games out here are after their bedtimes? Whatever... Duane and Mike make the games fun to watch. Being former Giants themselves, the are able to develop a rapport with the guys on the team that the Network Guys can't, and pretty much don't even try.
While I'm on the subject of Baseball Announcers, let me be clear, Joe Buck isn't worth the sweat from a dead camel's testicle. He is, without a doubt, THE WORST BASEBALL ANNOUNCER IN THE GAME! There, I've said it.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Some Rather Large Improvements
I tried to write about my most recent hospital stay, September 20 - 23, 2016, but I was doing more rambling than actually stating what it was I started out to say... Yes, I am aware that I can't tell a story straight through without a bunch of diversions, that's why I named my blog RamblingWithSteve (Duh.)... but whenever I catch myself going "away," I stop, save whatever I've written, and keep it as a Draft. I've posted a number of things, over the years, but my library of Drafts has a lot more...
Why, you might ask? Any number of reasons, but mostly because I've gone too personal, or I just can't find any relevance in what I've written. I keep them because they contain something (a reference, turn of phrase, etc.) that I might want to return to someday. The same as I've kept a Word copy of a manuscript I've worked on for a bunch of years... I wrote it, and hopefully someday, someone will actually read what I've written...
See, rambling already... I mentioned some large improvements, and since my hospital stay, I've been making a bunch. I'm getting stronger every day. My physical therapist asked how I would rate my physical condition, and I told her, "Not dead... Yet"... My heart rate is still high (low 90's sitting, low 100's standing), but I did seven and a half minutes on a "HiStep" machine (a stepper, except you're seated). I was at 94 when I first started, I took a reading on the HiStep sensors, to check how close they were to the "finger trap" pulse-ox device, and they were very close. I proceeded to take HR readings every minute, at the request of my physical therapist. I started easy, a steady 55 - 65 steps per minute, and had readings of 98, 98, 97, 96, 97, and 98 through the first six minutes. I tried pumping it up a little, and did 90 -95 steps per minute for the last minute and a half, pulse went to 104, but backed off to 94 as we watched it for a minute or two... at one point, during some flexibility measurements, my HR went down to 92 (but I was seated)... as soon as I stood up, it went to 104, but backed off to an even 100 really quickly... after some walking/stepping drills, it went back to the mid 90's...
If you consider that a few weeks ago I was pumping 148, laying on a gurney in the Emergency Department (no more ER, and I have trouble saying I was in ED, think about it...), that I stayed in the 110's through most of my stay, and that I've been tracking in the 100 - 115 area, while at rest, it seems that the little things I have been doing are bringing my heart rate back down... I used to track upper 70's before, so I have some work ahead of me.
Fortunately, my Primary Care doctor (Dr. John Vogel) had no problems writing a referral for physical conditioning, and in a week, or so, I'll be back at the therapist, working on improving upon, "Not dead... Yet"...
Why, you might ask? Any number of reasons, but mostly because I've gone too personal, or I just can't find any relevance in what I've written. I keep them because they contain something (a reference, turn of phrase, etc.) that I might want to return to someday. The same as I've kept a Word copy of a manuscript I've worked on for a bunch of years... I wrote it, and hopefully someday, someone will actually read what I've written...
See, rambling already... I mentioned some large improvements, and since my hospital stay, I've been making a bunch. I'm getting stronger every day. My physical therapist asked how I would rate my physical condition, and I told her, "Not dead... Yet"... My heart rate is still high (low 90's sitting, low 100's standing), but I did seven and a half minutes on a "HiStep" machine (a stepper, except you're seated). I was at 94 when I first started, I took a reading on the HiStep sensors, to check how close they were to the "finger trap" pulse-ox device, and they were very close. I proceeded to take HR readings every minute, at the request of my physical therapist. I started easy, a steady 55 - 65 steps per minute, and had readings of 98, 98, 97, 96, 97, and 98 through the first six minutes. I tried pumping it up a little, and did 90 -95 steps per minute for the last minute and a half, pulse went to 104, but backed off to 94 as we watched it for a minute or two... at one point, during some flexibility measurements, my HR went down to 92 (but I was seated)... as soon as I stood up, it went to 104, but backed off to an even 100 really quickly... after some walking/stepping drills, it went back to the mid 90's...
If you consider that a few weeks ago I was pumping 148, laying on a gurney in the Emergency Department (no more ER, and I have trouble saying I was in ED, think about it...), that I stayed in the 110's through most of my stay, and that I've been tracking in the 100 - 115 area, while at rest, it seems that the little things I have been doing are bringing my heart rate back down... I used to track upper 70's before, so I have some work ahead of me.
Fortunately, my Primary Care doctor (Dr. John Vogel) had no problems writing a referral for physical conditioning, and in a week, or so, I'll be back at the therapist, working on improving upon, "Not dead... Yet"...
Friday, September 2, 2016
Maybe Another Day...
... I'll get off my rear, and actually do something around the house. Not that I'm idle all of the time, with restrictions on how much I can lift, 10 pounds if you ask my doctor, but in reality, my golf bag weighs about 40, and not even my "brother from another mother" Mr. Bill is going to load and unload my golf bag. ** Just a side note, on some of the "better" (expensive) courses have people meet you, and take care of your clubs from trunk to cart, and back. TPC Scottsdale even wiped all of my clubs down.** I can't think of it as "defying doctors orders," or being one of those old guys who think, "I'll show you who can lift only 10 pounds..." I'm not doing either, but the reality is, if I could only lift and carry less than 10 pounds, I can't even help my wife bring in the groceries. A few days ago, we FedEx'd the top of the table at Mary's mom's house, to he brother in Cleveland. The box weighed less than 52 pounds, and was almost 4 feet square, and 8 inches deep, so I never even tried to carry it, but I did manhandle it around, once Mary and I got it into the car, and rolled it (yes, I did say it was square) into the FedEx store, until I could slide it on the tile.
That's the reality. Quite often, it costs me, I will hurt for a day or two, but I have been able to work out (stretching, exercises from my Physical Therapist, inversion, meds, Australian Dream (this is no joke, if you have arthritic joints, you should try this stuff), lidocane patches and creams. You'd think, with my history of back pain, my complete knowledge of my history of back pain, I'd be babying my back a week before a new treatment, but no-o-o-o-o... Sometimes I think that despite my 129 IQ, that I'd know better... [BZZZT!] That was Beulah the Buzzer (only a few of you will get that), and your answer was incorrect. The correct answer is: I'm a flipping idiot.
I'm slowly understanding that the list of "Things I Can No Longer Do:" keeps getting longer every day. It took a long time for me to understand that I no longer wanted to do my own car maintenance, an to find a place to take my car. ** Firestone, at the corner of Callen St. and E. Monte Vista Ave. (in Vacaville) has been doing the work on my cars since 2000, and I recommend them very highly. ** I worked for a number of years as a mechanic at the old Vaca Bowl (a year in 1966, two and a half years from 1991 to 1994), and at STARS. I was on the crew that installed everything from the seating to the back wall of the building, settee's, approaches, lanes, gutters, pinsetters, ball returns, "the whole nine yards." After that, I was the night mechanic for about a year before I started teaching. During my Navy career, I took a second-job as a pinsetter mechanic two or three times, as well. I guess, I got tired of having to scrape grease from under my fingernails, and using solvents to get the gunk off my hands, face, and arms. So giving up being a "backyard mechanic" wasn't that hard.
It's all of the other stuff, now.
I should say, at this point, that I learned enough plumbing, electrical, and landscaping stuff when I was a teenager, and we moved to Vacaville, my parents buying a "brand-spanking new," never before lived-in house on Berryessa Drive. Before we ever took possession of the house, my dad had worked out a deal with the builder that allowed my dad to make a few alterations in where certain light fixtures would be, where to place heating/AC ducts, and some other stuff. The builder agreed, as long as my dad made the changes himself. My dad had built-in slave labor... me. I have to admit, after all these years, that my dad had some great ideas, including the addition of a few electrical outlets, some switches, and moving a chandelier from the center of the kitchen/dining area to the center of the dining area alone. He got a lot of static from the builder, but when the house was finished, my dad looked like a genius. All of our work was inspected, and approved by the Building Inspectors, so everything was "within code". We also moved both toilets to accommodate a larger vanity that we installed instead of the one that "came" with the house.
Throughout my Navy career, I would learn even more, and utilized the skills I had developed as a kid. I could have done a replacement ceiling light fixture in our second bedroom, but even thinking about it made me tired, and although I could have done it myself, I paid someone to get it done, and darned glad I did. Same with our front yard, I was going to have a tree taken out, then I was going to prepare and plant a new front yard. When the tree came down, there were roots everywhere, the ground-down the stump, and as much of the surface root as they could, and putting in a new yard would be a pretty big deal. The guy who does our lawn care offered to sod it for a few hundred bucks, so guess who put in the yard? I kind of wish I had, because our yard is "lumpy".
My dad trained me pretty well, there were lots of things I used to be able to do, but "at my age," I'm better off not doing them anymore.
That's the reality. Quite often, it costs me, I will hurt for a day or two, but I have been able to work out (stretching, exercises from my Physical Therapist, inversion, meds, Australian Dream (this is no joke, if you have arthritic joints, you should try this stuff), lidocane patches and creams. You'd think, with my history of back pain, my complete knowledge of my history of back pain, I'd be babying my back a week before a new treatment, but no-o-o-o-o... Sometimes I think that despite my 129 IQ, that I'd know better... [BZZZT!] That was Beulah the Buzzer (only a few of you will get that), and your answer was incorrect. The correct answer is: I'm a flipping idiot.
I'm slowly understanding that the list of "Things I Can No Longer Do:" keeps getting longer every day. It took a long time for me to understand that I no longer wanted to do my own car maintenance, an to find a place to take my car. ** Firestone, at the corner of Callen St. and E. Monte Vista Ave. (in Vacaville) has been doing the work on my cars since 2000, and I recommend them very highly. ** I worked for a number of years as a mechanic at the old Vaca Bowl (a year in 1966, two and a half years from 1991 to 1994), and at STARS. I was on the crew that installed everything from the seating to the back wall of the building, settee's, approaches, lanes, gutters, pinsetters, ball returns, "the whole nine yards." After that, I was the night mechanic for about a year before I started teaching. During my Navy career, I took a second-job as a pinsetter mechanic two or three times, as well. I guess, I got tired of having to scrape grease from under my fingernails, and using solvents to get the gunk off my hands, face, and arms. So giving up being a "backyard mechanic" wasn't that hard.
It's all of the other stuff, now.
I should say, at this point, that I learned enough plumbing, electrical, and landscaping stuff when I was a teenager, and we moved to Vacaville, my parents buying a "brand-spanking new," never before lived-in house on Berryessa Drive. Before we ever took possession of the house, my dad had worked out a deal with the builder that allowed my dad to make a few alterations in where certain light fixtures would be, where to place heating/AC ducts, and some other stuff. The builder agreed, as long as my dad made the changes himself. My dad had built-in slave labor... me. I have to admit, after all these years, that my dad had some great ideas, including the addition of a few electrical outlets, some switches, and moving a chandelier from the center of the kitchen/dining area to the center of the dining area alone. He got a lot of static from the builder, but when the house was finished, my dad looked like a genius. All of our work was inspected, and approved by the Building Inspectors, so everything was "within code". We also moved both toilets to accommodate a larger vanity that we installed instead of the one that "came" with the house.
Throughout my Navy career, I would learn even more, and utilized the skills I had developed as a kid. I could have done a replacement ceiling light fixture in our second bedroom, but even thinking about it made me tired, and although I could have done it myself, I paid someone to get it done, and darned glad I did. Same with our front yard, I was going to have a tree taken out, then I was going to prepare and plant a new front yard. When the tree came down, there were roots everywhere, the ground-down the stump, and as much of the surface root as they could, and putting in a new yard would be a pretty big deal. The guy who does our lawn care offered to sod it for a few hundred bucks, so guess who put in the yard? I kind of wish I had, because our yard is "lumpy".
My dad trained me pretty well, there were lots of things I used to be able to do, but "at my age," I'm better off not doing them anymore.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
So I Have Pioneers in My Family...
... 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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)