Why I Don't Write

Recently, I had a friend comment on this blog with the remark, "Why don't you write on your blog?" The question gave me pause. In the past few years, I have written to prison inmates. I now have four. Perhaps, letters to them each week fulfills my creative juices. Another friend questioned the wisdom of writing prisoners saying it probably does't accomplish much. As I seldom hear from any of them, it was a good question.

Some how I feel a connection with the prisoners I write. With one exception, I don't know what they look like or why they are in prison. Maybe the fact that teachers are considered by some to be the largest incarcerated group in the United States. I've visited a prison several times. They are glum places without any joy.  Viktor Frankl decided while in a German concentration camp that the Nazis could take everything away from him, but he still had the freedom to choose who he was and think what he wanted to think. I hope the letters I write will give the prisoners who receive them some of that, independent thinking. Perhaps the freedom to think and the knowledge someone on the outside cares will help a bit. If not, I've given it a shot.

Prone To Wander

I have changed the name of my blog which contains religious themes. You will find the newly renamed blog at http://prtowand.blogspot.com. I hope you enjoy it.

Death

It's always a hard-to-talk-about topic. We lost Brenda's Uncle Max a few days ago and, of course, we feel sad and know we will miss him. Brenda and I visited him at his home in San Marco, California last June. He was suffering gallantly and smiling as always. Two words come to mind when I think about Max: kind and classy. 

A former fighter pilot, Max always liked to drive. I asked his wife, Virginia, why Max wouldn't fly, but how he liked to drive wherever he went. Before I could answer, I said, "I'll bet if Max can't fly it himself, he doesn't want anyone to fly it." She smiled and said that was exactly right. I'm kind of that way myself. If I'm driving with someone else, I just look out the window and hope for the best. There is one good way to drive and that's my way. Anyone who doesn't drive exactly like me is just not a good driver. Although having reached 70, I'm slower and more cautious than I want to be.

When a friend or relative dies, I reflect on everyone I have known who is gone. I do anticipate in the next life we will have a grand reunion. I look forward to seeing my great grandparents, grandparents and parents. I have enjoyed many aunts, uncles and cousins. Also many friends have shaped my life. I'd like to see some of my teachers and see what they think of my life. I tell my children and grandchildren that I have more relatives who have passed on than those still living. So while I posses certain strong beliefs about the afterlife, whatever it holds, I look forward to experiencing what my loved ones have gone through already. I don't believe in a burning hell, but if I am wrong and we're all burning forever, at least we'll be burning together, I don't anticipate that happening, however. I am fortunate to be related to great people and to have great friends. I don't think a loving God would deny any of them. They can orient me when I go on that ultimate journey. And I'll get to see Max again!

Christmas Eve

Not reacting well to some events of the season and having a martyr complex, I wanted to feel better and partially relieve myself of a variety of disappointments. On the afternoon of December 24, 2013, I visited two friends in the hospital.

One was a 93 year old woman we know from church who broke her hip a few days ago. She recognized me when I came in. Her gown was off her shoulder and I accused her of trying to be sexy. I asked her when she expected to go home and she said, “Never.” Although the visit lasted just a few minutes, it changed me.

The next visit was to a friend who was ten days out of heart transplant surgery. He is having some complications, but feels his surgery is a blessing of life particularly since his health insurance is not being renewed as of January 1. This man and his wife were in good spirits and he was full of humor and gratitude. Of course, they were grateful beyond words for the unknown person who lost life, but was able to extend the life of another.

As I left, I pondered on how difficult life is at times. We get so wrapped up (no pun intended) watching presents open. Then we can have things we don’t need or probably won’t used in a week or two. I am always sadly amused at those who advertise high ticket items for Christmas with the realization that nine out of ten viewing the ads can’t afford what they see. Equally amusing are the TV news stations which carry as their top news story how many people are shopping in a given year. That’s news? It happens every year.

This year I have two friends suffering in the hospital. Next year there may not be any or there may be more. It could be me. It could be you. It would be a positive gesture to spend an hour out of our Christmas orgy to stop, drop by the hospital or nursing home and brighten the day of a few lonely individuals we don’t know. Especially those who think they’ll never come home. That would be a gift!

November 22, 1963

In a few day, the country will be remembering the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. There are books, television and radio shows about that fateful day. I frankly am not interested in reading, watching or listening to any of them. That day is etched in my memory as one of the worst days in my life and I don't care to re-live it. It would be like saying, "I want to go back to the day I had my first major surgery." No thank you.

I was privileged to see then candidate Kennedy in the fall of 1960 when he was running for president. He appeared at the Modesto train terminal during a whistle stop tour of the Central Valley of California. I had a close friend who invited me to go down to see Kennedy. I was a Nixon supporter, but went out of curiosity and have never regretted it. Kennedy waded into the crowd and shook a number of hands. I suppose I could have pressed in to shake his hand but just wasn't interested.

Three years later, I was saddened by the tragedy. Kennedy was young and had great charisma. I wouldn't wish what happened to him on any one. I have often wondered what our country would have been like had the assassination never taken place.

I happend to see Robert Kennedy at a Brigham Young University assembly just a few days before he was assassinated. It was another tragic, sorrowful event.

I never had the opportunity to see Martin Luther King in person, but when he was assassinated I kept thinking our country might actually be ruled by assassinations. Fortunately, that has not been the case.

Politicians and public figures come and go. I am grateful that they are protected from the whims of those who might wish to take their lives. I honor those who serve in the public eye. Whether I agree with them or not, I like to see our system in action and not perverted by assassins.

Dad's Stories

My Dad was a great story teller. he didn't invent any, embellished maybe, but had a knack for finding interest and humor in the events of his life. He lead an interesting and varied life.

One of his favorites, Dad invited an athletic young lady to his high school football game. As the game progressed, it was quite dull. Dad and his date were eating oranges. It was a different era. She said to Dad, "See that cop down on the field? I'll be I can hit him with this orange." True to her word, she plastered the officer right in the back of the head. Today, the officer would be in the stands and the offending young lady, and likely her date, would be off to jail. But in the 1930's, nothing happened. Like I said, it was a different era.

Like me, Dad struggled in chemistry. His teacher was Miss Pickett, granddaughter of General Pickett of Gettysburg fame. Miss Pickett had a wooden leg so it was difficult for her to get around. Dad offered to drive her to school every morning. He finished chemistry with a C-. My chemistry teacher was in great shape and had his own car. I would have loved a C-.

More sensitive readers may want to skip this one. Dad graduated from Inglewood High School in 1937. He immediately secured a job as a reporter with the Los Angeles Examiner. One night, he was sent out to report on a suicide. Dad arrived at the scene, showed his credential to officer guarding the door and started in. The officer stopped Dad and said, "Kid you don't want to go in there. The guy used a shotgun."

One night, Dad was manning the night desk. A call came in about a huge fire in Culver City. Dad called the Culver City Fire Department. The fireman who answered said, "Yeah, we know. They are burning Atlanta over at MGM." The filming of Gone With the Wind had just started.

About the time Dad graduated from high school, he had a girlfriend named Evelyn. Evelyn was convinced that the two of them were destined to spend their lives together. Dad was more hesitant. Grandpa Ross was at the grocery store one day and visited with Evelyn. When Dad came home that day, Grandpa looked at him and said, "I hear you're getting married. Anything you want to tell me?" My Mom's name is Joyce.

One of the most dreaded words in the English language...

COLONOSCOPY!

I had mine yesterday and survived once again. Thanks to Lynne, here's Dave Berry's take on it:

ABOUT THE WRITER: Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humor columnist for the Miami Herald.

 

Colonoscopy Journal:
I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy.

A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis .

 

Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner.

I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'

I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America 's enemies..

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.

Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor.

Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons). Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose, watery bowel movement may result.'

This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.

MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but, have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch?This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.

The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on Andy?' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked..

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep..
At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point..

Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand.

There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was 'Dancing Queen' by ABBA. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, 'Dancing Queen' had to be the least appropriate.

'You want me to turn it up?' said Andy, from somewhere behind me..

'Ha ha,' I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, ABBA was yelling 'Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tambourine,' and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood.

Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that It was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.