Filed under: Alzheimer's, Daily Kos, General Musings, Health, Preparedness, Sleep, Survival
Well, as I mentioned yesterday, we had an Open House here for our neighborhood all afternoon. Which meant a lot of cleaning and prep beforehand (we’re still dealing with all the leftover stuff from the estate division for Martha Sr), the crunch of which has occured in the past week. And then I was on my feet all day, pushing my extrovert batteries to the limit of their enduance by playing host to strangers in my home. In short, by the time everyone left and we got the worst of the mess cleaned up and put away, I was exhausted.
A bit over a week ago I wrote about getting an assessment of my health here sometime after the first of the year. As it happens, a couple of days later I had reason to wonder whether I needed to do so in a more immediate manner, thanks to a clear-cut case of peripheral edema which was the result of being on my feet a lot, more or less in one location. Now, the beta blocker I am taking is a known culprit with this kind of swelling, and I have seen some problems with it off and on over the last couple of months. But this time it was really bad. Made me wonder whether it was evidence of a much more serious problem with my heart. First chance Monday of this week, I called to see about getting in to see my doctor.
Naturally, she is out of the office until next week.
*Sigh.* Well, rather than have to go through and explain everything about my life and condition for the last few years to another doctor, I decided that I would take some reasonable precautions, but just make an appointment with my doctor for next week. And I have no real regrets about doing so – if something serious happens, I can go to the ER about three minutes from here.
Anyway, all of this is a bit of prep for explaining what I decided to do last night. Following the clean-up from the party, and getting a bit to eat, I was beat but my legs were aching – both from being on them for much of the day, but also from making about 50 trips carrying boxes up to storage that morning and the day before. I also had some significant swelling again. A friend suggested a soak in the sit-up jacuzzi tub we’d installed for Martha Sr a couple of years ago, and I thought it sounded like a good idea. Before bed, I went in, got things ready, and climbed into the tub.
As I sat back in the tub, which is really pretty small (to fit into a little nook in our downstairs bathroom), my left elbow came back and smashed a plastic cup containing ice-water. It’s one of those 16-ounce ‘to-go’ cups you’ll find at about any pizza place, intended to last longer than a disposable cup so you can see the logo for the place where you got it. No big deal, right?
Well, not exactly.
But sorta.
See, this one was a nice red. Only one in the house like it. Meaning that during parties or whatnot, it was easy for me to find *my* cup, if I set it down and wandered off to do other things. By tacit agreement with my wife, this had become ‘mine’ – she didn’t use it. Bit silly, really. You know how it is.
So, it busted. Caught it perfectly positioned against the wall, the entire force of my body sitting back focused on it. Didn’t explode or anything dramatic, and I wasn’t doused with a lot of ice water. But it busted beyond repair, a couple of chunks of the red plastic dangling, nice crack around the top.
Coming at the end of the New Years Day celebration, I couldn’t help but sit there and reflect on the appropriateness of the busted cup, as the tub continued to fill around my aching legs.
As I’ve said before, I’m not religious. But many years ago I was a fairly serious student of Zen, until I figured out that for me that was a bit of a contradiction in terms. And from that time I still carry along some perspectives that I have found valuable. One of them is about the inherent ephemeral nature of all things.
So I sat there in the tub, thinking about my poor broken cup. And about my aching legs, and what they may signify. And I felt touched, in a funny way. Letting the cup go – letting it stand as an unintended metaphor for the past year and the changes and costs it has seen, was easy. Allowing that same attitude to seep into me as the water covered me was somewhat more difficult, but eventually worked.
I may find out Tuesday that I have a serious heart condition. That the cost of being an Alzheimer’s care-giver for those years was higher than I or anyone else expected. Or I may not. Either way, my wife and I will cope with the news, the facts, and move on with our life to the best of our ability. Because unlike my special red plastic cup, I am not busted.
Happy New Year.
Jim Downey
Cross-posted to Daily Kos.
Filed under: Ballistics, Flu, Guns, Health, Pandemic, Preparedness, Society, Survival
Naturally enough, given the backstory and plot devices in Communion of Dreams, I have written here many times about the threat of pandemic flu. And given my recent involvement in the Ballistics by the inch project, I have also written about ballistics fairly often. But it is still a little weird to see the two things come together.
Say what?
I was doing a little checking on the Bbti site stats this morning, since we created the site a month ago (didn’t go public with it until two days later). To date we’ve had just under (by about 2,000) a third of a million hits to that site. In looking at where the site had been mentioned (referring links), I noticed that early this month it had been posted in a thread over at PANDEMIC FLU INFORMATION FORUM.
Weird.
Sure, it makes sense. As I have argued here, being prepared for a pandemic may well mean being armed. And in making some intelligent decisions about firearm ownership, particularly for those who are not already firearms owners, having a resource like Bbti can be very helpful. This was one of the primary reasons we came up with the project, after all. Still, it was a little odd to see the site mentioned and discussed in the context of pandemic flu for me this morning.
Now if I could just get them to mention Communion of Dreams . . .
Jim Downey
Filed under: Alzheimer's, Health, Hospice, NPR, Predictions, Preparedness, Science, Sleep, Survival
No, I don’t know what it means.
It was one of those things I woke up thinking in the middle of the night, a week or so ago. So I wrote it down.
Why did I wake up in the middle of the night, thinking such a thing? Good question. It was about 3:00, the usual time I would wake and go check on Martha Sr the last couple of years of her life. And even though it’s been almost a year since her death, I still wake about that time fairly often. I try and get back to sleep, and usually succeed. Because I know sleep is important to my recovery.
I’ve mentioned several times the steps I am taking to get my health under control, and why. For the last six weeks now my blood pressure has been stable in the 145/85 range. Still high, and next month when I see my doctor we may need to tweak my dosages again, but about 90/40 points better than it was three months ago. The meds I’m taking, a beta blocker and a calcium channel blocker, are doing their jobs and helping me detox from my cortisol and norepinephrine overloads, but I’m not past it all yet. My waking at night, even occasional bouts of insomnia, are evidence of that.
And researchers have added another level of understanding to just how dangerous this sleep disruption is:
Morning Edition December 24, 2008 · The human heart requires a certain amount of sleep every night to stay healthy, and that link between sleep and heart health is stronger than researchers suspected, according to a report in the Journal of the American Medical Association.
* * *
When they put it all together, the researchers got a surprising result. Among these healthy, middle-aged volunteers, those who averaged five or fewer hours of sleep had a much bigger incidence of silent heart disease.
“Twenty-seven percent of them developed coronary artery calcification over the five years of follow-up,” Lauderdale says. “Whereas among the persons who slept seven hours or more, on average, only 6 percent developed coronary artery calcification.”
In other words, the sleep-deprived people had 4.5 times the risk of heart disease — and that’s after researchers subtracted out the effects of other known coronary risk factors, such as high cholesterol, high blood pressure, diabetes and smoking.
It remains to be seen why too-little sleep is linked to clogged coronaries. Maybe it has something to do with stress hormones. Lauderdale says other studies have shown that depriving people of sleep raises their levels of cortisol, one stress hormone.
I don’t yet have any indication of serious heart disease. The preliminary checks from visiting the doctor over the last few months haven’t turned anything up, but she has been mostly concerned with getting my blood pressure under control. We’ll be doing a more complete exam in the new year, now that this other issue is less of an immediate concern.
That’s not to say that I expect that we’ll find anything. But neither would it surprise me if we did, given what else I know about what the stresses I’ve placed my body under over the last five years. I’ve been my own puppet, dancing at all hours.
Maybe that’s what it means.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Alzheimer's, Ballistics, Flu, Guns, Health, Pandemic, Science, Society
Once again, I have a mild cold. Been fighting it all week. It is depressing how many times I have had such minor bugs over the last couple of years. And an indication that my baseline health stats are compromised still from being a care provider. It’s for the birds.
Actually, new evidence suggests that the cold virus is from the birds:
Common Cold Virus Came From Birds About 200 Years Ago, Study Suggests
ScienceDaily (Nov. 20, 2008) — A virus that causes cold-like symptoms in humans originated in birds and may have crossed the species barrier around 200 years ago, according to a new article published in the Journal of General Virology. Scientists hope their findings will help us understand how potentially deadly viruses emerge in humans.
* * *
Human metapneumovirus is related to the respiratory syncytial virus, measles, mumps and parainfluenza viruses. It infects people of all ages but is most common in children under five. Symptoms include runny nose, cough, sore throat and fever. Infection can also lead to more severe illnesses such as bronchitis and pneumonia, which can result in hospitalisation, especially in infants and immunocompromised patients. HMPV infection is most common during the winter and it is believed to cause up to 10% of respiratory illnesses in children.
“HMPV was first discovered in 2001, but studies have shown that the virus has been circulating in humans for at least 50 years,” said Professor Dr Ron Fouchier from ErasmusMC in Rotterdam, The Netherlands. “HMPV is closely related to Avian metapneumovirus C (AMPV-C), which infects birds. Because of the similarity, scientists have suggested that HMPV emerged from a bird virus that crossed the species barrier to infect humans.”
A cautionary tale, and a reason why a lot of scientists and public health officials keep a close eye on Avian Flu (H5N1) around the world for evidence of a new pandemic.
Me, I plan on taking direct action along with my OTC meds. I’m going to get even today, and enjoy eating a turkey. It’s a simple matter of self defense.
Oh, the other thing that has kept me entirely too busy the last few days has been working on the new ballistics site mentioned earlier this month. There are a couple of remaining tweaks to be done, but it is basically ready to go, complete with an associated blog, all the data, all the downloads, and over seventy pop-up graphs. Sometime this weekend we’ll migrate it over to its own domain, but if you want an advanced look, feel free to poke around.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Jim Downey
Ah, gotta love the advancement of science – soon, you’ll be able to drink beer with the legitimate claim that you are doing it for your health:
Anti-cancer beer under development
NEW YORK: American students have designed a genetically modified yeast that can ferment beer and produces the chemical resveratrol, known to offer some protection against developing cancer.
* * *
The idea for the healthier beer, dubbed ‘Biobeer’, started out as a joke. “You could say that the inspiration for the project came from a student who really enjoys his beer,” said Thomas Segall-Shapiro, a member of the team behind the project.
And from USA Today:
Students are working to modify the yeast with two sets of genes, including one that will allow the yeast to metabolize sugars and produce an intermediate chemical. The second set will convert that chemical to resveratrol.
That should result in a healthier beer, produced at no additional cost, said Stevenson.
Why beer? Stevenson points to the numbers: Americans consumed 20.5 gallons of beer per capita in 2005, but only 2.5 gallons of red wine.
Resveratrol is a popular anti-oxidant thought to play a role in extending life, fighting the development of cancer, and maintaining cardiovascular health. It is a naturally produced chemical, found in high concentrations in a variety of foods, and has been proposed as one of the health benefits of drinking red wines (it is present in grape skins, and red wines are fermented with the skin, leading to a high concentration of resveratrol). Introducing this chemical into beer this way would seem to offer another way to get supplemental protection – though of course, health authorities will caution that excess consumption of alcohol carries risks of its own. Personally, I’ve always figured that alcohol is a good sterilizing agent, and consumption of it in one of my preferred forms was a good way to make sure that I reduced exposure to dangerous germs . . .
Jim Downey
(Hat tip to GvR for the USA Today link. Cross Posted to UTI.)
Part One: We many, we noisy many, we band of travelers.
In spite of the fact that all the prep went well, I should have known what was in store for me on the trip. Sorry – getting ahead of myself. So to speak.
The trip to Patagonia – my first real vacation in almost three years – was going to be something of a challenge. I knew this from the time I decided that I would go along with my wife on the tour. See, it was put together because of the choir she belongs to – it wasn’t something I particularly had ever wanted to do. But I decided to go. As I put it back in January:
You probably already know about the North American Welsh Choir tour to Patagonia next October. And you may know that in return for my wife coordinating all the reservations and money and whatnot on the Choir’s end, she is getting her cost of the trip offset (in full, it looks like). Just in the last few days I’ve decided that I am going to go along.
Yeah, surprises me a bit, as well. I have no desire to go to South America. I have never had any desire to go to South America.
But my MIL is going to die soon. And late this year I should have decompressed from that, and been working hard for months being a good little book conservator, maybe an author. It will be a good time to challenge myself in a new way, get out of my comfort zone. This tour will be a good opportunity to do that. Plus my wife and I haven’t had anything approaching a real vacation in a couple of years, and we didn’t do anything to celebrate our 20th anniversary last October. So, this will serve that purpose as well.
Boy, did it. You’ll see.
Anyway, as I said, our prep for the trip went well. By the time Tuesday, Oct. 14 rolled around, we were ready to go. We’d scaled back our packing for the trip considerably from previous trips overseas, and each of us had managed to get everything we wanted to take into one suitcase per person, under 13 kilograms (call it 29 pounds). This was necessary because during the tour we’d be flying on an internal Argentine airlines which had a strict weight limit of 15 kilos. We’d gathered together all the necessary documentation, stuff to read on long flights, et cetera, et cetera. Made arrangements to have the pets cared for in our absence, mail and newspapers brought in. Cleaned out the fridge, even washed the dishes so we weren’t faced with a mess when returning home.
So when the shuttle to take us to the airport arrived ten minutes early, it only caused a mild panic. We grabbed our bags, our coats, said goodbye to the dog, and left.
We got to the Kansas City airport, and went to the check-in counter. We had burned a bunch of frequent-flyer miles for an upgrade to business class for our flights, but wanted to see if we could take an earlier flight than originally scheduled from KC to Dallas. The check-in person was very helpful, and we managed it with no problems. Better to waste time in the Admiral’s Club in Dallas than worry about making our flight. This worked as planned.
When it came time for our flight to Buenos Aires that evening, we happily got on board and settled ourselves in the spacious seats in business class (which is effectively First Class on that flight – there’s only the one premium class). Flying in business class makes everything more pleasant, in terms of the space, the food, the entertainment. Too bad I spent a large chunk of the 11 hours in the head.
Yeah, some intestinal grunge. Traveler’s Disease, before I even got out of the country. In one of those itty-bitty aircraft toilets. Actually, in three of those itty-bitty aircraft toilets, depending on which one was available at the time. Almost as much fun as having that kind of problem when confined to a porta-potty.
And that’s what I meant when I said I should have known what was in store for me on this trip. No, I didn’t get another round of TD – I was fortunate in that regard. Rather, that nothing would work out as I had hoped, and too much time would be spent crowded, uncomfortable, in a noisy small space.
So, we got to Buenos Aires. Thanks to my Lonely Planet guide, I had a good idea about the layout of the airport, and where to find an ATM and a taxi to get us to our hotel. Alix (my nickname for my wife – most people know her as Martha) and I retrieved our bags, made the pro-forma pass through customs (it’s easy to get INTO Argentina), and met up with another member of the tour who had come in on the same flight. The three of us shared a taxi. Or, rather, I should say that we shared getting sheared by a couple of the local touts who arranged for a taxi for us.
Actually, it wasn’t that bad. I knew what the official rate was supposed to be (foreigners pay a significantly higher amount for taxis than do locals – they’re wonderfully upfront about how they are screwing you over in this way). The two kids who latched onto us and then “negotiated” with the taxi driver wound up getting about the same rate, with a surcharge for the extra person going to a slightly different location (her hotel was about a dozen blocks from ours). They got a kick-back from the driver, he got the fare in front of some other taxis, and we got to our hotel feeling only slightly fleeced. Everybody was happy.
The hotel is right downtown, in Buenos Aires’ business district. Actually, quite nice. A bit on the swank side. Since it was mid-morning, our rooms wouldn’t be ready for a while, but they were happy to stow our luggage for us until we could check in. Alix and I went for a bit of an exploratory walk around downtown.
OK, we’d been traveling for about 24 hours at that point, having lost a couple of hours due to time-change in going east. And I’d spent way too much time miserable, sitting in an airplane toilet. But still, Buenos Aires struck me as . . . well, alien. Not just “foreign”, as I might describe a large unknown city in Europe. More different than that. Even though porteños consider themselves to be essentially European, this was different than any city I’ve been in. Grungier. Horrid, horrid sidewalks (seriously – you could easily break an ankle if you didn’t pay close attention where you put your feet). A crush of humanity. Touts for every single business out in the streets and pedestrian walkways pushing flyers and business cards on you, trying to grab your attention (and sometimes you, physically) for the business they represented. Loud speakers blaring advertisiments and music. Lots and lots of glitzy, flashing, obnoxious signs. Honestly, it felt like Blade Runner, without the perpetual gritty rain.
I was happy to get back to the hotel after a couple of hours of that.
We sat in the lobby as others arrived. Alix, having helped arrange the trip on the choir side, knew a lot of the people by name at least – many were pleased to meet her in person. There was much chattering and going on back and forth. I mostly smiled and sat off to the side, out of the way.
Finally, we went on a tour of the city, previously arranged. Frankly, most of the people on our bus (myself included) were almost comatose at that point, and could really care less about the various important city monuments we passed – everyone was tired from travel, wanting to get into our rooms and get cleaned up before getting dinner. But we dutifully nodded at each landmark’s history, got off the bus to admire the pink government house and stare at the riot police lining up to stop one of the daily demonstrations in B.A. Best of all, when the bus returned to the hotel, our rooms were ready.
Nice room for us, generous by European standards, moderate by American. A change, a bit of a shower, rest a while. Several stations on cable in English, with Spanish subtitles. Met back downstairs early evening for the big opening night feast.
Our buses – gods, did I spend so much time on buses – were ready, and took the lot of us over to a nice fancy restaurant for dinner. A note on this – the restaurants in Buenos Aires, in all of Argentina in fact, don’t even *think* about opening for dinner until 8:30 or 9:00. No, I am not kidding – it is one of the most significant cultural differences between here and there. Dinner is eaten late, often as late as 11:00 or midnight. And they *always* take a couple of hours for a meal. Seriously. I grew to like the longer, relaxed pace for eating. I never did get used to the idea of eating a heavy meal so late.
Anyway, the restaurant was designed as their version of an “all you can eat” place. But with the twist that everything is made to order. Well, the entrees, anyway. The way it was done was that all around the perimeter were different “stations” – one was a custom pasta station, one a custom pizza station, one an Argentine barbeque/grill, one doing sushi, one doing custom crepes (with a double metric buttload of other desserts already waiting). There was also an established elaborate and extensive salad/antipasto bar. Everything was included in the meal, except for the drinks and tips for the chefs at the individual stations. (Prices are very cheap in Argentina at present – a quart bottle of decent domestic beer is about US $4 in a nice restaurant, and an acceptible tip is AR $2 (two pesos – about US 60 cents.) The domestic wines are quite good, though they tend toward a preponderence of red wines (Merlots in particular – what they call ‘Marbec’ in Argentina). But do not try the local distilled spirits. Really – just don’t.
We ate and drank ourselves stupid over the next couple of hours, and towards the end there were introductions of the various tour leaders, guides, and whatnot. Alix got a very nice round of applause from everyone for her work coordinating things. This made it easy for me to get along with everyone on the tour – all I had to do was explain that I was her husband, and I instantly had a niche. It was towards the end of the evening that two themes emerged in my awareness which were to dominate the entire tour: one, that I was with a large group (about 60) of extrovert musicians – and the other 60 or so people on the tour were likewise gregarious Welsh who love the sound of their own voice; and two, that in addition to the non-stop, high speed conversations taking place around me, these people know and love music. During the course of dinner the din of talking got to the point of almost being painful, making it impossible to hear what people across the table were trying to say to me. Then, at the end after all the introductions were over, they broke into song. Not just a half-hearted verse of “Happy Birthday”, either – this was a full-throated, trained choir which loves to sing, along with a large number of similarly inclined Welsh (who are happy to break into song at just about any excuse). Everyone stood, and they gave their first performance in Argentina to the other patrons and staff at the restaurant – who loved it!
We finally left the restaurant about 11:00 – just when the bulk of other patrons were starting to arrive. Back to the hotel and crash, hard. It’d been a long and eventful day.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Alzheimer's, Blade Runner, Connections, General Musings, Health, movies, Philip K. Dick, Ridley Scott, Science Fiction, Survival, Writing stuff
As I mentioned the other day, I’ve been very busy getting ready for our trip to Patagonia, including some long hours to wrap up work for clients before I leave.
But I took some time out for a follow-up visit to my doctor. A good thing that I did.
* * * * * * *
As I sat waiting in the exam room for my doctor to come in, I looked around. All the usual stuff. But high up on top of a cabinet, only barely visible from where I sat on the exam table, was a wooden box. Some light-colored wood, perhaps pine or a light oak. It was a bit battered, but in decent shape, about the size of loaf of bread. Not one of those long loafs of sandwich bread – a short loaf, of something like rye or pumpernickel.
One the end of the box bore a large seal, the sort of thing which was popular in the late 19th century. Big outer ring, inner motif of a six-pointed star, cross-hatched on half of each star arm to indicate motion or something. Center of the star had three initials: JBL. Around the ring was more information: “TYRELLS HYGIENIC INST. NEW YORK CITY U.S.A. PATENT JANUARY, 1894 AUGUST, 1897 JUNE 1903.” Outside the ring, one in each upper corner, and one below in the center were three words: “JOY. BEAUTY. LIFE.”
You can get some idea of what this looked like from this image. So far, I have been unable to find an image online of the box I saw.
* * * * * * *
I’d gone in first part of the week to have blood drawn, for tests my doctor wanted to run. I still have the bruise where the aide who drew the blood went a bit too deep and punctured the back of my vein.
My doctor looked over the lab results, looked up at me. “Not too bad. LDL is a bit high, so is your HDL, which helps. Fasting blood sugar also a bit high, but not bad. I think we should give both of those a chance to settle out some more, as you continue to get diet and exercise back completely under your control. The rest all looks pretty good – liver & kidney function, et cetera. Nothing to be too worried about.”
She handed over the sheaf of papers to me. “But I want to do something more about your blood pressure. It is still dangerously high, though you seem to have made some real progress with the beta blocker.”
Yeah, I had – I’d been testing it. And it was down 50 points systolic, 20 points diastolic. About halfway to where it should be.
“Would you be willing to try something else? Another drug?”
Echo of the first conversation we had on the topic. “What did you have in mind?”
“Calcium channel blocker,” she said. “We could still increase the dosage of the beta blocker you’re taking, because you’re on the low end of that. But I would like to see how your system responds to this additional drug, also at a minimal dosage. Then we can tweak dosage levels, if we need to.”
Another good call. “Sure, let’s try it.”
* * * * * * *
My doctor returned with my prescriptions. “Do you have any other questions?”
I pointed at the box up on top of the cabinet. “What’s the story behind that?”
Caught off-guard, she looked at the box, confused.
“I mean, what was in there? Is there a particular reason you have it?”
“No, not really. Nothing’s in there. I just came across it at an antique shop some years ago.” She looked at me. “Why?”
“There was an author in the 60s & 70s who wrote a lot of stuff I like. Philip K. Dick. He had a lot of health issues, and I can imagine him sitting in a room not unlike this one, looking at some variation of a box like that.” I got down off the exam table. “One of his most important books was made into the movie Blade Runner in the early 1980s. In that movie one of the major characters goes by the name Tyrell, and he has a connection to . . . um, the medical industry. I just thought it an interesting coincidence.”
“Oh.” She was completely lost. I’ve worked with doctors enough to know that they do not like this feeling. “Well, we’ll see you after your trip, check out how the new meds are working, OK?”
“Sure.”
Jim Downey
“I’m glad it was just the two of us. Seems appropriate.”
* * * * * * *
My wife’s family settled in Missouri in the Nineteenth century. I don’t know (or I should say, don’t remember) all the details, but they wound up south of here in Maries County. They started a small community which no longer survives, and a church there that does. The family still meets in the church annually for a John Family reunion.
I’ve mentioned previously my own connections to the southern part of the state, and how much I actually enjoy going there. Particularly this time of year, when the air is crisp but not cold, when there is fall color starting to settle onto the trees. It’s the reason my wife and I decided to get married in October.
So there was some pleasure in the drive today down highway 63. But still, we both cried.
* * * * * * *
I spent some time this afternoon reading journal entries from my partner in writing, dating back to the early onset of his mother-in-law’s Alzheimer’s. Raw stuff. Honest stuff. Bits about some of the early signs of declining mental ability, confusion about where she was, what was happening. How he and his wife were trying to cope with it. And now and then, when his MIL had a particularly bad period, or her health required hospitalization, wondering how long it would be before “Mumsie” passed away, how long he would be able to see through the role of care providing.
Thing is, this was *two years* before her actual passing.
Sometimes, the only way you can keep going is if you don’t know how long you’ll have to do so. If you knew the true length of the road ahead, and the condition of it, you’d be too likely to give up.
* * * * * * *
This evening I’ll fast after dinner. I go in in the morning and have blood drawn for tests, and later this week I’ll meet up with my doctor for a follow up to my earlier exam. We’ll find out what things other than my blood pressure need attention. We’ll also see if I need to do something in addition to the beta blockers mentioned in that post – possibly, though my bp is down 50/20 already. This is a huge improvement, though I have about that much further to go to get to ‘normal’. Yeah, like I said, it was scary bad.
But I’ve begun to notice other improvements. I sleep longer, better. There are even nights when I don’t wake up at 3:00, listening hard for the sound of Martha Sr’s breathing over the baby monitor.
* * * * * * *
“What are you thinking?” my wife asked.
I watched leaves skittle across the road, tumbling in the draft of the car ahead. A wide and glorious vista opened to the north, ridge after ridge of green, little clusters of other colors here and there. “Lots of things.”
Yeah, lots of things.
“”I’m glad it was just the two of us. Seems appropriate.”
She nodded.
“I mean, we were with her pretty much on our own. It just seems appropriate that it was the two of us to bury her cremains.” I paused, thinking of the memorial service. That was for the family, for the friends. We’d decided on making the trek to the family church, where there is still half the graveyard reserved for family members, on this day, because it was the anniversary of her parents.
I’m an atheist, and I don’t believe in the survival of the soul or any such. But it seemed like the appropriate day to bury Martha Sr, there next to her husband. And that Martha Jr and I should be the ones to do it.
I now know how long the road is, and in what condition. But I am glad I drove it the full distance.
Happy anniversary, Martha and Hurst.
Jim Downey
“I feel like I’ve just walked into a Bass Pro shop.”
“Well, they own the place.”
* * * * * * *’
OK, I’m sick. And I was sick when we left Friday morning, then drove 4+ hours to the resort. Take that into consideration for my comments to follow.
I grew up here in Missouri. My folks were solid working class people, and so our vacations were mostly of the camping variety, in the southern part of the state. There are numerous state and federal campgrounds, places to hike and swim, caves to explore, historic sites to be bored with. I also had extended family who lived out in the sticks who we visited regularly, went hunting and fishing with. Fried crappie with hushpuppies, or rabbit stew ‘n dumplings were meals we shared and loved. To this day I’d rather have biscuits & gravy than just about anything else for breakfast – done right, with real whole-hog sausage (my family would make their own) and milk gravy, it’s a little bit of heaven.
I’m comfortable with a rural lifestyle, with the kinds of crafts that were necessities of survival for folks who didn’t have much money for ‘store-bought’. Simple homes built out of local rocks and a little plaster, usually with an outhouse rather than indoor plumbing. Furniture made out of sticks, lashed together with strips of green inner bark. Seine-nets tied by hand, used to catch minnows for fishin’ and crawdads for eatin’. I was in high school before I realized that the term “hillbilly” was pejorative and applied to more than just my cousins in the Ozarks. Granted, I went away to college, and traveled, and have never had any desire to live the kind of life they lived back then, nor to have my world so bounded by the rough green hills. But I still enjoy walking the forests, watching a lizard scramble over the rocks and deer stand and stare at you. We own property south of town, on what is the northern tip of the Ozark plateau. It’d be easy to move into a small cabin there, and ignore the world.
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I like things that are real. Genuine. Always have. I think that this is why, even as a child, I did not enjoy such places as Disneyland. I think it also explains why I am a book conservator.
Oh, sure, I enjoy a good movie or novel, a bit of fantasy or flight of fancy is fine. I think, as Communion of Dreams shows, that my imagination is as good as anyone’s. But even here, I prefer honest fantasy to the easy lie, science fiction to soap opera or situation comedy. I don’t think that a new car will make me a better person, or that my happiness depends on whether I have the right kind of sunglasses. Give me a week tromping around Wales over a week on a cruise ship, any time.
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There’s a Bass Pro Shop about a mile from my house. I have one of their credit cards, and purchase enough stuff there to annually qualify as a ‘preferred customer’. I actually like going there, and have a couple of friends who work there.
But I have always hated the design of the place. Of all the Bass Pro shops, actually.
Well, “hate” is too strong a term. But still. The place is like a red-neck Disneyland. Fake. Even as it tries hard not to be.
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“We’ll go in this way. The other road is more direct, but they have this for effect.”
I nodded at my wife, turned the way she indicated. “Sure.”
The road narrowed, and after a couple of turns we were on a one-lane, one-direction country blacktop. To be more realistic, it should have been gravel. But then you’d kick up dust and get the fancy cars dirty. We came around a corner through the trees, and a vista opened off to our left. There was one arm of the Lake, way down the valley. Huge, faux 1920s rustic resort lodges were above us. We crossed a “stream”, complete with a rock (and concrete) bed, then continued to wind our way down the hillside, switching back and forth several times and again crossing the “stream”. Here’s how one travel website describes it:
A typical Ozark country road zigzags through the lush, manicured landscape, playfully forcing motorists to ford two shallow streams.
Well, except the fact that the “stream” is completely artificial. I suspected as much from just a quick glance – there were none of the usual markers of a spring-fed stream in this part of the world, no moss, no trees or bushes growing nearby. Just an Alpine-style stream cutting almost straight down the landscaped hillside.
And I knew what I was in for: a rustic “experience”.
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I find that now, feeling under the weather, I don’t really have the desire to catalog the many aesthetic offenses of the place. Suffice it to say that the whole resort is pleasant enough, but it’s just playing at giving people a sense of what rustic Missouri life of the last century was like. And playing with a stacked deck, at that. The furniture in our room was made to look like it was from sticks, but in reality was a combination of metal and plastic, probably made in China. The wood-grained blinds were actually cheap plastic. Even the tile wall in the shower wasn’t actual tile, just panels of fiberglass with an embossed tile-like shape to it.
There’s nothing wrong with kitsch, so long as it is honest kitsch. This was not that.
Once I got moving yesterday morning (my wife went off for the series of meetings that had brought us to this place), I wandered down to what had been indicated on the resorts’s website as the “Truman Smokehouse”. Well, as I walked up to the building, I noted that the sign had been changed to “Truman coffeehouse and cafe” (or something like that). Hmm. Went in, and was greeted with the familiar layout of your typical Starbucks-wannabe coffee joint. Canisters of pump-your-own coffee on the left, displays of various huge muffins and whatnot on the right, a cash register below a tiny menu listing mostly paninni sandwiches in the middle. Yeah, they had a “breakfast menu” that consisted of a “breakfast paninni” and “biscuits & gravy”.
Did I order the b&g? Not on your life. There is only so much disappointment I can take in one day. I got a paninni and some coffee. Went outside, parked myself at one of the umbrella tables, sat in metal chair with a stick-furniture motif. Sipped my coffee, ate my sandwich, enjoyed the lovely autumn morning. Across the valley you could see the first signs of color edging the trees. The extensive flower gardens around the patio were doing a great business with butterflies and bees. At least they were happy.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Architecture, Failure, Health, N. Am. Welsh Choir, Patagonia
Gah.
I mentioned the antibiotics I was taking last week. Well, by the time I finished my full course last weekend, I was feeling pretty good. Energy levels back up, exercise felt good, et cetera. So first part of the week I went and got a Hep A vaccination for our upcoming trip, as I had planned. Wednesday I was feeling a little achey, glands a bit sore, and just figured that it was a normal reaction to the vaccine.
Nope.
By late yesterday I was really pretty miserable again, sore throat on the left, nasty headache I had all day, shooting pain behind my left ear.
Yeah, another infection. Saw my doctor first thing this morning. Got another round of antibiotics, something a little more suited to this kind of thing. Anticipate feeling miserable for the rest of the weekend.
Which is unfortunate, because here in about 90 minutes we’re leaving for an AIA retreat thing my wife has.
Charming.
But I want to clear this up and make sure I’m healthy before our trip to Patagonia in less than three weeks.
Anyway, I’ll be mostly offline for the rest of the weekend.
Jim Downey
Communion Of Dreams 