Turn About Is Fair Play

Turn About Is Fair Play

I took the day off today, reclining much of the day with a heating pad behind my upper back, centrally located between my shoulder blades, watching TV, hanging out on FaceBook and reading.  Oh yeah, it’s Veterans Day too.

I cannot believe how much media attention has been directed towards veterans and Veterans Day this year.  Some of the offers of free entrees from big-name restaurants are more impressive than others, but all are welcome signs that folks want to acknowledge a debt to those who gave up two, three, or more years of their lives to Uncle Sugar.  Some of us went kicking and screaming, but that does not replace the twenty-one months and three days that were taken from me back in 1972 and 1973.

A funny thing has transpired over the past fifteen months or so, though, ever since I began receiving medical care from the VA Clinic in Ukiah.  I have gradually become less bitter towards the military and more appreciative of my own efforts.  They say one pays to play in this life, and for much of my life I felt the price the military extracted from me was way too high.

Now I am beginning to reevaluate my own judgment.  When I see how challenging it is to get adequate medical care these days, I am grateful that I toughed it out back when I had a lot more resiliency in life.  True, I have to take the care provider offered, and there is frequently a delay before I receive services, but the quality is excellent, and the staff with whom I have come into contact really care.

So today I am reveling in the greetings of many people who responded to a picture I posted on FaceBook.  People are so warm towards others on F/B and it has been heartwarming to feel the love.  I used to feel kind of embarrassed because I was the only person in my entire social circle who got caught up in the draft, as though I were so inept that I couldn’t avoid what others seemed to be able to sidestep.

When I remember how bleak life seemed, the morning I stepped through the doors of the Los Angeles army entrance station, back in 1972, I am amazed, just as I am amazed to be able to receive health care at this critical juncture of my life.  Turn about is fair play, say I.

Whatever

What-Ever

San Francisco is intimidating to me and yet, so enticing.  She can beckon with open arms and repulse me at the same time.  The roller coaster-like hills would be more manageable, except for the clowns who drive like, well, circus clowns.  The beauty of the architecture contrasts with the despair of those who sprawl at the base of aesthetically-pleasing  buildings, oblivious to the flow of both vehicular and foot traffic, engulfed in a world of peace, prior to awaking once more to the purgatory that is homelessness.  Alone in a world teeming with humanity.

I was observing one such individual, lying perpendicular to the wall of a business, partially blocking the sidewalk, when another man, visibly exhibiting all the classic signs of rage, hurtled a glass bottle against the wall, showering the sleeping man with shards of glass.  He struggled to sit up, trying to fathom what had just occurred, no one there able to answer the question, “Why?”

Having experienced three gorgeous fall days in the embrace of this beautiful city, earlier this week, we had the advantage of seeing through crystal clear air, especially when we were twelve stories up in our room in the Holliday Inn.  I was with Annie, while Lito had a room to himself.  The three of us traveled by foot to a great many of our destinations, and many of the sites we visited required additional walking.  San Francisco is no more hilly than what Annie and I encounter up here on the mountain, so we were ready for action-ready for danger.  

We either took a cab to our meals or we walked, so that we could have a glass of wine or a cocktail.  Cabs are plentiful in the City and surprisingly reasonable, one of the few exceptions to the steep price of poker in San Francisco.  We never paid more than fifteen dollars for a ride, and if one includes the price of parking in one’s computations, cabbing is a much more reasonable and stress-free way to go.  Of course we had to determine the appropriate rate at which to tip, and settled for around three or four dollars, for a ride which cost between ten and twelve bucks.  More than reasonable, we all thought.

As we strolled along at one point, scanning the folks walking on the other side of the busy thoroughfare, I made eye contact with an elderly black man, pushing his cart toward the intersection, while hanging onto my gaze with a vice-like grip.  Meanwhile, there being momentary confusion as to which direction we were supposed to have been traveling, we had reversed course, and then done so again, heading back in our original direction, arriving simultaneously at the same point in the intersection as the old man.

Reacquiring his grip on my attention, he said bluntly, “I ain’t gonna ask you for no change.  I want to know if you’ll buy me an egg and sausage sandwich.”  He glanced into the corner breakfast shop, beside which we stood, and back at me.  “Well, I’m not interested in going into the shop,” I said, equally bluntly, “but I’ll spring for five bucks if you want to go in and get it.”

He never hesitated, taking the money and leaving his shopping cart outside, apparently figuring that someone would have to be pretty hard up to rip off something from a homeless guy.  Anyway, if I have the loot, and someone asks me for a handout, I’m a sucker every time.  On the other hand, if I have no money in my pocket, I don’t lose any sleep over not being able to help out.

I paid $6.25 for a one scoop ice cream cone, and never blinked an eye.  However, later, as we scanned the menu outside a famous steak house, and found out I could order a rib eye steak for a scant $43.00, I did blink, and we ultimately decided on Mel’s Diner.  It was kind of noisy and kind of bright, but all three of us had dinner for less than the price of one steak at the other spot.

Money was not an issue the whole three days, because I had been putting aside money all summer, so that by August, I had socked away fifteen hundred bones, to pay for the two rooms for two nights, and whatever else came along the turnpike.  Anyone who has ever been to San Francisco knows that you have to pay to play.  The alternative would have meant driving to the City on Monday, and returning home, only to have to repeat the process both Tuesday and Wednesday.  Sounds like fun, but not that much fun.

And then there was the Exploratorium.  It sounds good; who doesn’t like to explore?  I mean, besides me?  We paid $25.00 apiece to enter the highly publicized facility, not having any idea what to expect.  I just figured it was some kind of museum.  As the kids these days so succinctly manage to sum things up: whatever.  I had told Annie that I had no agenda, and was willing to tag along just about anywhere, pleased to allow them to do the decision-making.

I heard the commotion inside before we entered, rounding the corner and looking out into a hall that was filled with people of all ages, engaged in a variety of hands-on activities, requiring some degree of both investigation, and then coordination, to be able to manipulate.  I was overwhelmed.  Too much happening, with way too many people.  I trailed along behind my companions, while I pondered the possibilities.  I even saw going back to the room at the Holliday Inn, by myself, to be a distinct option.

I did not want to stop Annie and Lito from enjoying themselves, but I knew from past experience, that one look at me, and they would know something was amiss.  So I decided to simply bail, get a cab back to the room, and wait for them to text me when they were done.  But when I informed them of my decision, I found out that neither one of them was really any more excited about hanging around in such a chaotic environment, than I was.  And that was that.  I felt bad that I had prompted the quick departure, but I also knew there was no winning this battle.  It all worked out well, because we went from the Exploratorium to the wharf, and all was good. 

Now I am at home by myself, while Annie is in Willits, completing the time she is required to be quarantined, to allow the radiation to dissipate.  The proverbial grass being greener on the other side, I wish I were back in that Exploratorium with her and Lito.  Anything to not be by myself.  Sometimes it’s easier to deal with the random chaos of those around you, than it is to deal with the chaos, right inside your head.  If not easier, at least preferable.  

Add Another Ribbon to the Banner

Add Another Ribbon to the Banner

If I launch my description of our three days in San Francisco, by telling you that it cost forty dollars per car, per night, to park in the hotel garage, you might think I was going to slant the trip in a negative direction, but that would be inaccurate.  There were some extremely high points which left me feeling the plan to mix pleasure with medical business, had been a good one.

To begin Lito joined Annie and me, driving down in V’s car so that we could better maneuver around in the City, while we drove down in the Triple-G. *   Lito never gets too high or too low; he’s the perfect traveling companion.  Annie was doing great on the outside, regardless of what might be going on in the inside.  We were in San Francisco in the first place because Annie was about to conclude the initial steps of the treatment she has been receiving for thyroid cancer. 

This final process had been in the works since last April, when she had her thyroid removed, and involved her ingesting a radioactive pill, designed to kill the cancer cells remaining after the thyroid was gone.  The delay was caused by the fact that the radiation could not be administered until after the medication for the original kidney cancer had run its course. 

We had an eleven o’clock appointment on Monday morning, where Annie was to receive the first of two injections, in preparation for the radiation pill on Wednesday.  There was an hour’s delay, while the nurse called to verify that Annie’s insurance would cover the cost.  When we inquired as to what that might be, she said softly, “$4,000.00.”  When you consider that she needed the identical injection the next day, that was a cool eight thousand.  Before Annie could get too stressed, the nurse brought the good news.

Upon leaving the appointment, we hooked up with Lito and planned our itinerary.  Because V had been sweet enough to lend us her car, and because Lito adapts well, we were soon tooling around quite comfortably.  We were lost, mind you, but not skeered.  Lito had the reigns of our chariot firmly in hand when we stumbled up to the top of Twin Peaks, where I had a good cry because I had left my camera in the hotel room.

I’ve been to the City a million times but never made it up to Twin Peaks.  The most stunning panorama awaits the end of the climb, even for those who were not looking for it.  We got out and joined the rest who were taking in the view, maybe easing down to the end of the parking area, so that I could seek a little medicinal sustenance. That meant that Annie felt compelled to sidle away from us.  Every time.  We tried to explain that in San Francisco, pursuing mental equilibrium, was as common and natural as breathing.  She wasn’t buying it.

After leaving Twin Peaks, we made our way to the zoo, even though there was only an hour left, and enjoyed ourselves immensely, admiring among others, the tigers, giraffes, rhinos, a bear (the grizzlies were hiding), and the most stately of Silverback Gorillas that we could have imagined.  The zoo was very dignified and peaceful.

For dinner we made our way around the corner of our hotel to Victor’s Italian food, and it was marvelous.  Lito and I had an Alfredo sauce over seafood, and even Annie, who has been on the most restrictive of diets, had an order of chicken wings.  We had a carafe of the house burgundy and afterwards, retired to the hotel bar, where we watched the Chicago Bears defeat the Green Bay Packers.  Anytime I see the Pack lose, it warms the cockles of my heart, even if it cost nine bucks apiece for Jameson on the rocks.  Order two drinks, and you may as well have gone across the street to BevMo, and bought a bottle.  It would have cost the same, but who was keeping track? 

       Tuesday was highlighted by several hours of wandering around Fisherman's Wharf, eating in a nice place, and ending back in the hotel room for cocktails and a nap.  We ate at Mel's Diner that night, but if you can believe this, Mel leaves the apostrophe out of his diner's name.  It confuses me.  Nonetheless, I recovered enough to enjoy a classic cheeseburger, while Annie splurged and ordered a half-chicken with some tasty veggies.

Wednesday was all business, but we gained some very positive information, after the medical staff had performed a complete body scan and determined that the radiation pill was to be a lot smaller than it could have been.  This meant at least two things: there were fewer cancer cells to be destroyed and that Annie’s period of isolation after the procedure, would be “only” three days as opposed to seven.  After having had a CT scan only ten days ago which declared Annie kidney cancer-free,  and believing that the radiation treatment will render her thyroid cancer-free, we are feeling pretty buoyant.  

As I reflect back to the passion and energy that Annie mustered up for the Relay-for-Life in July, I am grateful beyond words for this most recent news.  In our own most personal relay-for-life, we are one step closer to good health for Annie.  

We’ll add another ribbon to the banner next July, when we participate in the festivities surrounding a community's efforts to stamp out cancer and support those who are affected by this formidable opponent.  Relay-for-Life rocks!

*  So-named when Lito drove this awesome vehicle in Sacramento, where he dubbed it the “grocery-go-getter” or the Triple G.  Even Lito could not dis on a means of conveyance, used to bring back “the food for da boys.”

Go Figure

Go Figure

What happened to August?  September and October?  One minute I’m writing about escaping pigs, and the next I’m wondering about what this Thanksgiving Day will look like.  Actually, I’m even excited about Veterans Day this year because if I want, Appleby’s will give me a free meal, if I’m able to make it up to Eureka or down to Ukiah.  Oh boy!  Still, it’s a pretty cool gesture, and if I were to make it in to Appleby’s, a rib eye steak, cooked medium, would be just the perfect thing.

So where have I been?  Traveling?  Camping?  No, except for two extraordinary weddings, I have pretty much not left my homestead.  It just goes to show how much work gets compressed into the waning weeks of the summer/fall, that I do not even have time or energy to write.

Now, I know I wrote last fall, and the fall before that, when I was equally busy, but that was when I was sleeping three or four hours, and then getting up and writing all night long.  People seemed to think that was odd.  Hmmm.

Now I am still sleeping three or four hours a night, but instead of getting up and writing, I lie in bed, waiting for the more respectable hour of four AM, before getting up and hitting the grindstone.  In my line of work, which features a pair of scissors, I can put in as many as sixteen hours a day, with an occasional break for a sandwich or to take the Doze for a walk.  And it goes without saying, since I am my own boss, I can take the time to write, if I so desire.

Therefore, I must assume that if I were to record the thoughts that flow daily though my mind, I would probably incur the wrath of my sweetest of Apple Blossoms, who prefers that I not invade her privacy any more than I already have.  So I have just let the blog go.

I notice that within my immediate blogging community, almost all of the regulars, intermittently take breaks.  I only wrote a few pieces late last fall, and into the winter, but depression has a way of guiding that process at times.

I have managed to dodge a bullet in the form of medication for my mood spectrum disorder, and am doing far better than I ever imagined possible, but the jury is still out on this one, and probably will be for the rest of my life.  Knowing the jury that sits in on my mental roller coaster, they’re all off getting drunk on Jameson’s.  I may join them.

As for lack of sleep, the nice doctors at the Veterans Clinic, steadfastly remain united on the policy of not giving me any sleep medication.  The only one who would prescribe sleep meds was that nice Dr. Trevor, but while administering my sleep medication with his right hand, he administered that medication with his left hand, which completely took my libido out of the picture.  Probably out back in the alley, with the empty Jameson bottle. 

Millions of people take medication to help them sleep.  Why do their doctors prescribe medication for them, while mine will not?  It’s such a funny universe where my doctors want me to take medication which robs me of my ability to be intimate with my wife, but will not prescribe medication for the most basic of necessities in life, sleep.  Go figure.

Of Errant Pigs and the Price of Freedom

Of Errant Pigs and the Price of Freedom

The strangest thing happened to me the other day, as I was walking Dozer up to the top of the driveway.  As I gazed over at Casey's three pigs, chilling inside their movable pen, I saw five pigs instead of the usual three.  The two additional members of the scene had similarly colored hides as our biggest pig, but the hair on the new members was longer.  

When I saw Casey a while later, while heading up to Blue Rock with Annie on our morning walk, I asked him about the addition of the two new hogs to HappyDay Farms.  He stared at me blankly and said, “What two new hogs?”  Feeling a tad nervous at this point in the game, I led him over to the pen, where there were but the original three pigs awaiting our curiosity.

I didn’t know what to say.  Had I imagined the other two pigs, or was this just a sign that I needed to lay off the good drugs, so early in the morning?  “My bad,” was all I could say, because what else was there?

So when I took Dozer past the pen yesterday morning, and I could not see any pigs, anywhere, I assumed they were there and I was just experiencing my usual difficulty with reality.  Therefore, a half-hour later, when I was walking with Casey towards the pigpen, and the pigs were genuinely missing, I didn’t know what to think.

“Listen,” I said to Casey. “Annie and I will continue our walk up to Blue Rock, and if we see them, we will call you and tell you to bring Clancy [the farm Australian shepherd] and we’ll round them up.”

Sure enough, only ten minutes into our walk, before we even got to Sparky’s site, Annie suggested that we might have better luck if we stopped talking and listened for them.  Almost immediately her suggestion paid off, and we heard them grunting away happily, as they lounged around in a large patch of spring grass, which provided some cool mud in which to wallow.  We called Casey, told him we would prevent the hogs from wandering, and he should bring Clancy.

It turned out that Casey had high-tailed it down to the new pond, thinking that the pigs were heading in that direction, so it was Amber instead, who arrived.  She had a five gallon bucket in hand, partially filled with grain, their favorite food, and as she came up to them, shaking the bucket rhythmically, they happily approached her and followed her back to where they needed to be.  

That was not the end of the pig adventures yesterday morning, because when Annie left to return to Willits, she saw that they had escaped again, and were in the garden, having a feast.  It turns out that the electrical fence is no longer a deterrent, so Casey went back to the original fencing method. 

In all of this excitement over the antics of the pigs, it has been suggested that wild pigs may have had a hand [hoof?] in all of this, and it has been further suggested that I was not hallucinating the morning I saw the five pigs.  I did not think at the time, to verify that all five pigs were inside the single strand of wire which encircles the pen.  Therefore, It’s remotely possible that I am still in possession of my faculties, as fragmented as they may be at times. 

Cavorting pigs do not understand the nature of cause and effect, and therefore will not see the connection between their flights of freedom, and the decision that the time has arrived for the inevitable transition from outdoor pen to indoor freezer.  The irony of it all.

We, who do understand the connection, look forward to that which will grace our tables in the immediate future.  BLTA’s for lunch, anyone?

Relay for Life

Relay for Life

Annie and I just completed the Relay for Life weekend, in Willits, California, which sought to heighten people’s awareness of cancer and its many ramifications, as well as to raise money for cancer research.  Annie had officially joined the team at Geiger’s Long Valley Market, and had signed up to be in Willits for the two days.  She also signed up to walk the Sunday fourAM-fiveAM and the fiveAM-sixAM shifts, because she figured I would want to walk with her, and we are both early morning people anyway.

All three of her sons were there on Saturday morning, as well as one of her daughters-in-law, for the “Survivors/Caregivers” walk, which followed introductory comments and an overview of the planned events.  We had arrived early enough Saturday morning to be able to help Abbe decorate our booth in a Mardi Gras theme.  Abbe had arrived with a store of decorations and as we worked, we watched two dozen other booths spring up along the route the relay would follow.  All demonstrated creativity and color, while some provided a wealth of information about various forms of cancer, mostly motivated by close personal loss of loved ones.

After the initial ceremonies were concluded, Annie and I stayed around for a while, but then headed back to the apartment.  Having walked to the site to begin with, we returned home, cutting through a few parking lots, and more or less traveling diagonally across town, which is what you can do when you live in a small town.  It took thirteen minutes each way, to get from the center of Willits, to the park, located right across from the Willits Museum.  Annie would return during the afternoon, while I stayed in the apartment and napped, having arisen at three in the AM, to take care of chores, so that I could leave the mountain no later than six.

Together, we returned Saturday evening for the luminaries ceremony and to listen to a cancer survivor’s personal account of his medical journey.  Afterwards, we did a couple of laps, and got our first glimpse of the 351 white bags, lining both sides of the track, with names and brief messages on the outside, and burning candles on the inside.  I know how many bags there were because I counted them: 188 on outside of the track; 163 on the inside.  I had plenty of opportunity to count them, circumventing the track 34 times this morning.  Purportedly, four times around the track was a mile, but there’s no way we walked eight and a half miles in two hours.  We’re fast, but not that fast.  I would guess that in two hours, we walked about six miles.

After watching Annie have a rough past week, I was thrilled to see her so rejuvenated by all of the hard work and good vibes these folks put out there.  I know she enjoyed working with Bonnie and Anna, both good friends from her days in the school district, as well as Abbe and a couple of high school girls, one belonging to Anna and one to Jessica.  I know she enjoyed seeing June walking her laps.  I also know she wanted to be around others who are dealing with many of the same issues with which she has to contend.  And I know she appreciated those who were there to support her.

For myself, I struggled through parts of the agenda, and I struggled to explain it to Annie.  I felt guilty for not having that same seeming effervescent outlook that Annie had, and I felt overwhelmed at times, by the most innocuous of incidents.  To say the least, I did not enjoy myself.  After our two-hour-relay walk this morning, we returned to the apartment, where I promptly fell asleep, while Annie returned to the park, and walked more laps(!) before watching the concluding ceremonies.  After she had returned, and I had awakened sufficiently enough to be coherent, we rehashed the weekend, and I tried again to figure out why I had such a hard time. 

I think it goes back to a discussion JT and I had about fear of loss.  Everyone at the Relay for Life had known someone who was battling cancer or who had lost a close loved one.  Annie is battling cancer.  It was just too hard to get a grip on what it would be like to lose her, for me to be relaxed enough get pleasure out of what I was experiencing.  It seems pretty clear to me now that my fear of loss trumped any chance for enjoyment.  

I only hope Annie makes appearances in each of the next twenty-five or so Relays for Life.  If she does, I promise to enjoy them.

Gone Camping

Gone Camping

We spent a couple of days and nights over at the coast, letting some of our cares and worries go, while we walked, read, cooked and rested.  Pure, unadulterated bliss.  I had just completed your basic, average, run-of-the-mill, fourteen-hour-workday on Saturday, and Annie had just completed her work-week, down in Willits, so it seemed like a good time to spring off the mountain, and get in touch with our camping souls.

We loaded up the pick-up with some firewood, the camp stove, our four tuppies filled with our camping utensils, our newly-purchased sleeping bags, and an ice chest filled with fresh veggies and other ingredients for a couple of days.  We headed straight over to Westport, where we strategically planned our arrival for mid-day Sunday, so as to snag a spot from all of the weekend departures; our plan worked to perfection.

The sky was overcast, but the temperature was mild, and we set up camp without any obstacles, even managing the complexities of our small dome tent, with its two poles.  Unlike our previous tent, the one which was the size of a gymnasium, with a half-dozen poles, and a mini-doghouse attached, this little tent was ideal.  Besides, we never could convince our dog(s) to stay in the little attached house.

While I was doing some manly thing or another, making the camp just perfect, Annie whipped me up a sandwich, and all was well with the world.  We then embarked on a walk down to the shore, where I proceeded to take about thirty photos, a couple of which were not of Dozer, our English bulldog.  We walked until we ran out of sand, and looked straight up at the cliff blocking our way, where we decided the Doze would never make it up the side.  We retraced our steps and headed back to the campsite.

Some folks’ notion of a getaway is to get in the motor vehicle and drive until you get home.  My idea of the perfect break is to go from home to point A, and then, at some distant time in the future, return home.  While residing at point A, besides cooking and eating, high on the list of things to do, is reading.  It doesn’t matter what it is and it doesn’t matter if I have already read it.  I think my passion for reading while camping dates back to when we were kids, and we took a suitcase filled with paperbacks whenever we camped.

If we go into Westport or-heart don’t stop-Ft. Bragg, then we get the newspapers.  I can spend more time with the paper while camping, than I ever can in the comfort of my own home.  Otherwise, with the paper dispensed with, I return to my book.  I finished a Harlan Coben novel called “The Woods.”  I don’t know if that’s good or bad.  I’ve read four of his books now and the jury is still out.  I just happened to find a couple of thrift stores, one of which sold all hard-back books for a buck apiece.  I stocked up, based on one of his novels I had read.  I have job security in the book department.

The best thing about the two days was that Annie relaxed, and got some much needed rest.  While she’s in Willits, she ends up working at the video store.  When she’s up here on the mountain, she’s baking and getting ready for market.  So it was nice to see her kick back.  

When we got home on Tuesday morning, I put all of the camping gear together in the workshop, after going through all four tuppies of utensils, and washing everything, including the Tuppereware itself.  This way I am trying to convince Annie that we could do the coastal visits more frequently, with minimal hassle.  

And she’s tickled that the ranger asked us if we were eligible for any discounts, when we went to pay the $25.00 nightly fee.  We asked him what sort of discounts?  He mentioned being a veteran was one, so we got to camp both nights for the $25.00.  And if you’re old enough to remember when the same campground was free, just keep it to yourself and enjoy the sight of the waves crashing on the sand.  That’s worth the $25.00 all by its lonesome.