Just Change the Channel

I’m guilty of something I would normally rail against. I’ve succumbed to censorship in the content of this blog. I’ve deleted two posts in the last five or six months. It was my decision to delete them, but the impetus came from others.

The first was something I wrote in 2007 because I had had a wonderful experience. I was elated. I’ll never forget it. When I got home I wrote about it and posted it. Someone was offended and I’ll admit it was a little personal. The offended party told a mutual friend and the mutual friend told me. In an effort to ruffle no ones feathers I thought about it for a few days and deleted the post. It’s gone forever. The memories of the experience are still with me, but the words I used to express my joy are no more. I allowed myself to be censored.

The second was something I wrote because I was truly disgusted at the actions of an individual as related to me in confidence by a friend. The individual had taken a convenient shortcut that I thought was ethically abhorrent and I wrote of my outrage. No names were used. The facts were exposed and the reasoning behind my disappointment was expressed. My friend was afraid others who knew the individual involved would see the post and be upset. Although, I can’t imagine any intelligent person not being upset that the shortcut took place at all. My “punishment” was that my friend would no longer read this blog. I caved. The post was deleted; I succumbed to censorship once again. What happened still pisses me off to this day, but the words I used to express my outrage are no more.

Here’s the new rule regarding the content of this blog. I write for me. I will only write the truth. My truth, but the truth just the same. If someone wants to read what I have to say, then great. If someone is offended by what I say, then too bad. At least have the guts to tell me you’re offended.

It’s like the content of television programs. If you don’t like what you see, change the frickin’ channel! But don’t forget, you’ll never know what’s here unless you look. As Monty Hall said so often, “Lets see what’s behind curtain number three!”

It sucks to be me.

Fifteen minutes of back-pounding, bubbling hot tub massage followed by 15 minutes of calm, quiet, soothing stillness listening to the wind in the trees and the wind-chime, followed by fifteen minutes wrapped in a hooded, head-to-toe robe, then off to bed.

Mowgli

An event occurred on 11/7 that almost went unnoticed. Mowgli, my Jack Russell terrier, turned 11. I almost called him Bubba. But remembering the Kipling character from the Jungle Book, Mowgli seemed much more fitting and it stuck.



I bought a house 14 years ago with a big fenced-in back yard thinking I would get a dog. I had seen Jack Russells and really liked the breed. Friends of mine new someone here locally who bred them and bought me the runt of the litter as a gift. They gave him to me right before Thanksgiving 1997. He was a small energetic ball of smooth white fur with black eyes, nose, and smile.



He has been a great companion. He's here to great me when I get home from work, when I get up in the morning, when I walk from one room in the house to another, etc. I should have named him Under-foot. He's extremely interested in whatever I'm doing.



I won't say he's low maintenance. When he was about four years old, he developed allergies. I've had to buy fancy venison and potato food for him. Unfortunately, none of the petco-type places carry it. I have to get it at the Vet's office. Right now it costs over $3 per pound. I remember when it only cost $1.5 per pound. I'm not complaining, he's worth every penny of it.



He's as full of energy as you can imagine. For the first nine years of his life, he very rarely sat down. He was in constant motion. He'll chase a ball until you're tired of throwing it. Once in a while I'll buy one of those big, 2-foot, plastic balls and toss it in the back yard. He'll chase it around until I think he's going to stroke out before I take it away from him. He gets so hot he'll sit in his water bowl to cool off.



An old friend dog sat him while I was away on a trip several years ago. She had enough after about a week and boarded him at the Vet's. I'm told he nipped at the heels of a serviceman who came to the house to do some work. He was mesmerized by her cat.



He is extremely territorial with the back yard. He'll chase off squirrels, raccoons, or opossums whenever given the chance. On occasion, he's caught them and sent them to the big forest in the sky. I'm glad I've never pissed him off. He even gets a little testy if birds approach his air-space. He once dug up a yellow jacket nest because they had invaded his kingdom.



He's starting to show his age a little. He sits once in a while and I've even seen him curl up in a blanket and sleep. He's even been known to go into the bedroom and curl up in the covers on the bed.



An old friend a portrait painted him for my birthday this year. She really captured his personality on canvas. The swirls in the background are extremely telling of his personality. She paints from photos but has had a good deal of experience with him in the flesh over the years. If you're interested in a pet portrait of your own, contact me and I can give you some contact information.



Well Mowgli, old boy, here's to you. The first eleven years were great and I'm looking forward to many more.

My Dad

He turned 80 in September. When he was my age his first wife had died and both of his sons were college graduates. He had worked for the same “company” for 27 years.

I see in the news that people younger than him are dying everyday. His circle of friends is tightening little by little every year. Old and new ailments are catching up with his contemporaries.

He’s in relatively good health. He has glaucoma that seems to be under control (eye drops). His mild dementia is not worsening (Aricept). He’s had quadruple bypass surgery, both carotid arteries scrubbed, had his prostrate removed, and broke a leg a few years back. He’s on medication for cholesterol and high blood pressure (so am I) and takes several other pills each morning. He has regular checkups with a laundry list of specialists who seem to be doing a pretty good job at keeping him together. I appreciate their work.

He has some mobility issues. He uses a cane that he’s had since recovering from the broken leg. He doesn’t really need it while walking around on a smooth level surface for short distances. He does need it when negotiating rough surfaces or when confronted by steps. His lack of leg strength doesn’t help with the steps, and more than a few tire him out noticeably. He has trouble getting into my truck; it was not designed with him in mind. Getting in and out of my front door is a problem due to steps. He can’t stand for extended periods without needing to sit for a few minutes.

He’s had a martini before dinner since time immemorial. As he has aged, and lost weight, the martinis are having a more noticeable effect. One is little or no problem. However, on the occasion he has a second, the effect is magnified exponentially. He gets pretty boisterous. The volume of his voice increases. The quality of his speech is also affected. It’s as if his tongue swells and won’t allow him to articulate his words. I’ve talked to him about this. I told him he has wonderful things to say that people should be glad to hear and that he shouldn’t need the second martini for confidence. Hell, I probably outweigh him by 80 pounds and know that two martinis would make me talk loud and a little incoherently as well.

In all reality, when compared with other octogenarians, he’s doing really well. He fends for himself at home. The girl that comes in to clean helps that quite a bit. He still drives himself to and from appointments with doctors, to the grocery store and other errands: albeit a little scarily for some. When his ability to drive goes, he’s going to move in with me. We've discussed it nad he's jolly with it. I’ll have to make some changes, but that’s extremely minor compared to what he’s done for me over the years. I’ll need a new vehicle that’s easier for him to get into and out of. I’ll need to build a ramp at the front and back door so he can get into and out of the house a little easier. I may have to have the shower in the bathroom modified so he can get in and out easier. Small potatoes.

When I dropped him off at the airport this morning for his trip back to Jeff City, I told him I loved him and he told me he loved me. Statements that neither of us need to hear to know the truth of it, but which need to be said once in a while between fathers and sons just the same. We both teared up.

Every time I say goodbye to him, a little voice in the back of my head tells me it may be for the last time. I hate that voice, but know it’s telling me the truth. Similar to the Jewish tradition of living every day as if it were to be their last, I look at each visit with my father as if it was my last chance to see him. I know it’s a bit morose; It’s just the way I’m wired. I couldn’t bear it if our last words were acrimonious or vacuous. To spend the rest of my life thinking that the last words I spoke to him were not, “I love you,” would be my idea of a personal hell on earth. So I cherish our time together and look forward to our next visit and to the next time I can tell him I love him in person.

The last week started off rough but finished well.

Dad missed his flight on Thursday but arrived in fine shape a day late, on Friday.

My homeowner’s insurance people called Friday morning and I gave them the list of stolen things. No fight involved. In the midst of picking Dad up at the airport and getting lunch, the insurance people called with a settlement offer. I’d done some internet research to get some price estimates for replacements. The insurance company’s offer was well within reason. Not overly generous, but not miserly either. Once again, no fight involved. They provide me with an initial check, I purchase replacements, send them receipts, and they then reimburse me for depreciation, an additional 12% above the initial check. Paperwork and initial check should arrive just in time to replace my shotgun before duck season starts.

Saturday, I got up and ran the Nordic Track for thirty minutes and had my pot of coffee on the deck. Dad sleeps late. He got up and we had some breakfast and hit the road. My goal was to drive into the mountains to see some of the fall color. It was spectacular! Dark crimson dogwoods and black gums. Bright yellow sweet gums and hickories. Burnt orange oaks. Fluorescent orange, yellow, and red maples. Bright sunny day. No traffic so we got to lollygag along the blue highways without being rushed. We made it to Mountain View, had lunch, and strolled through some of the shops. We sat in the afternoon sun on the Stone County Courthouse lawn and listened to some excellent pick-up band bluegrass and folk music. One guy even played some old Bob Dylan tunes. It was WAY great. We drove home, ate dinner and fell asleep watching college football on the tube. A MOST EXCELLENT day.

I’m so happy to have him here. He’s happy to be here. We talked of the eventuality of him moving here to stay with me. No arguments. As long as he’s able to fend for himself and take care of things in Jeff City, more power to him. He still has good friends there and to move him down here prematurely would be wrong on so many levels. When the need finally arises, he’ll be happy to change his address.

Today, more Nordic Track, a late breakfast, and lying around watching the tube together (he’s napping right now). Tomorrow I have to go to work and he’ll laze around here. Tuesday, it’s off to the Clinton Library and a stroll through the river market area. Wednesday, it’s back to the office for me and Thursday he’ll fly back north. Hopefully, no more missed flights. Although extending his visit wouldn’t hurt my feelings one little bit.