MAKIN’ THE BED
By admin | July 2, 2010
Snug sheets, blanket smooth, pillows atop the bottom sheet with the top sheet folded down. That’s how my bed looks when it’s made.
Can’t you just pull the sheets/blanket over you when you go to bed at night? The pillow is somewhere on the bed, right? What’s the big deal?
Ok, here’s the deal. Every time you walk into your bedroom you can see either A) a jumbled mess of blankets and sheets or 2) a neat, clean-looking composition that will make your whole room look better. Additionally, at bedtime, you can either X) pull and shrug and pound and pull or you can Y) fold back the sheet and slip into bed. If you live with someone, the issue above becomes even more difficult. I don’t know about you, but by bedtime I’m tired and I want to sleep.
OK, I’m back. I took a short break from writing to make my bed.
Making the bed starts with clean sheets. I wash my sheets weekly which means I put clean sheets on the bed weekly. That seems to be enough for Wife and me. The sheets don’t smell bad and they don’t get so stretched out that they’re uncomfortable to sleep on.
I use fitted sheets for the bottom. They’re the ones with elastic tape around the corners that fit over the mattress. Once you figure out how they fit on the mattress (label at the bottom left as you face the foot of the bed) they’re easy. Sometimes sheets are patterned and that may help you figure it out. If you use flat sheets for the bottom you’re going to have to Google “hospital corners” to see how to keep the flat sheet hooked to the bed. They’re easy, but I just don’t have time for it.
With the bottom sheet on, I spread out the top sheet. It has a wide, folded-over border at the top so; again, it’s easy to see how it goes. Bring the border up to the very top edge of the mattress and smooth it out evenly over the bed, making sure both sides get some sheet-hang-over. Wife likes her top sheet tucked at the bottom. I do not. You’ll have to decide that for yourself.
Blanket goes over the top sheet, pulled up to the top edge of the bed and smoothed out all around the mattress. Be sure to equalize blanket-hang-over on both sides as this tends to forestall cover hogging. There will probably be lots of blanket left at the bottom to hang down. Now fold the top sheet and the blanket down at the top of the bed, making a nice border to put the pillows on.
It’s nicer looking if your pillowcases (pillow slips? pillow covers? whatever you call them) match your sheets. Not essential, but nice. They should be clean, however, because your head sweats and you might slobber when you’re asleep. My pillows are tight in the pillow cases, so I have to fold the pillows in the middle and push them down into the cases. Once they’re about halfway down, you can pick up the whole deal and shake the pillow the rest of the way down into the pillowcase. Place the pillow on or above the border you’ve created by folding your sheet and blanket down. YOU ARE DONE with the CAVEHUSBAND method of bed making.
But wait, you say. What about the bedspread and the duvet and the bed skirt and the decorative pillows? Allow me to reiterate: if you choose to do the housework, you get to decide how it’s to be done. What I do is practical and tidy. In the winter when it is cooler, I might use a quilt or duvet that we can sleep under. All the other stuff is unnecessary and wasteful. Fortunately, Wife has come to agree with me. If the person you’re sleeping with wants all that stuff on the bed, let them put it on and let them figure out what to do with it at night because you clearly can’t sleep under it. I suppose the issue of how badly you want to sleep with that person comes up, but that’s one you need to decide for yourself. Alternatively, how badly do they want to sleep with you?
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General Crook Trail
By admin | June 17, 2010
The supply wagon rocked back and forth as it labored up the trail blazed by General Crook. The army was experimenting with steam tractors to pull supplies in other parts of the country but here, in Arizona Territory, four mules pulled this supply wagon. Sometimes it was only two mules if the trail was going to be somewhat level. The supply wagon itself looked something like the Conestoga wagons that had been used to cross the US earlier in the century. It had tall, arched ribs holding up a canvas cover over a cargo box below. The Army wagon, though, was much smaller and was, supposedly, even more rugged. It had a capacity similar to a modern, full-sized pick-up truck including grain for the mules.
As I drove FR 300 in my tiny Toyota, pulled along by the equivalent of somewhat less than 100 mules, I couldn’t help but think of the soldiers and mule skinners who carried supplies along the Crook trail from Camp Verde in the central part of the state to Fort Apache in southeastern Arizona . The trail is more than 200 miles long, much of it along the Mogollon rim which crosses Arizona approximately diagonally. This 2000 foot escarpment is the last step in the “Grand Staircase” of the Colorado Plateau.
I’m staying in Payson, AZ for the summer since it’s cooler than Phoenix by about 15 degrees F. Today I decided to go for a hike in the woods. After all, it doesn’t make much sense to be so near the woods but continue to do the same stuff I do in Phoenix.
I used my internet and selected some trails from www.arizonahikingtrails.com. When I got to the turnoff, though, the dirt track wasn’t marked, it went through a cattle fence, and I wasn’t at all sure it was where I was supposed to be. Since I was alone and had spotty cell service, I decided not to try it. Coming back, though, I saw a turn-off for FR 300, which I knew meandered for many miles along The Rim. I had always wanted to travel this road, having used it from the US 260 end several times in the past. I turned off SR 87 and headed southeast on the road which approximately parallels General Crook’s trail.
The forest along this road often has a cathedral quality about it. Especially when you’re in the bottom of a tree-lined draw with bright green ferns as ground cover and soaring ponderosa pines overhead; your eye is drawn from the ferns to the treetops just as it might be drawn from the altar to the soaring rafters of a large cathedral. Of course the forest or others like it were here long before anyone thought to build a cathedral so I have to assume that the architects were aping God’s work rather than the other way around.
I don’t know if General George Crook or his men noticed this religious quality of the forest through which they were blazing a trail. General Crook, after all, was involved in a war, at least the second of his career. He’d fought in the civil war and was named “brevet General”, just as George Armstrong Custer had been. (I think “Brevet” is a title indicating that the promotion is temporary based on circumstances.) Like Custer, Crook was subsequently dropped back to his former rank. Unlike Col. Custer, though, Crook survived his wars well enough that he was actually promoted to permanent Brigadier General.
Crook is, in my mind, a controversial figure. He commanded the US Army in Arizona Territory in the 1870’s while a war with the Apaches and Yavapai was happening. Supplying Ft. Apache was part of that effort, since Ft. Apache is in the south east of the state where Geronimo was a warrior of the Chiricahua band of Apaches. So, on the one hand, Crook was an “Indian fighter” involved in taking lands and valuables from the native people. On the other hand, Crook, himself, was a warrior, respected by his enemies and showing respect for them. He utilized indigenous people as scouts and guides thus helping to support them and their families. Although a warrior, Crook was more than willing to negotiate rather than battle with his foes. When the more heinous things happened to Geronimo and his people, Crook had moved on. I suppose I’m ambivalent about General Crook.
I’m not ambivalent about the General Crook Trail, though. It was a magnificent effort at the time and it is a beautiful route now across that part of the country. I drove the road southeast for about 6 miles before being turned back by a mound of dirt in the middle of the track that I presume was left by a road grader. I had no desire to meet a road grader coming the other way along this narrow unpaved road, so I turned back. I’ll try it again, though, if the weather is good. The road is good, but I wouldn’t trust it without four wheel drive during the monsoon season.
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PANCAKES
By admin | May 13, 2010
Two eggs, one cup milk and two cups pancake mix. Mmmmm. This morning I woke up dreaming of pancakes. Yeh, that’s right, dreaming of pancakes. I took that as a signal to make ‘em for breakfast.
It probably took me ten minutes total to make pancakes for myself and Wife. That’s quicker than you can be served at your local diner or restaurant and lots cheaper. If you want some breakfast meat, (like bacon) add another 5 minutes.
As I said, I use a commercial pancake mix for my cakes. The baking powder, salt, oil, etc are already in there. I use Bisquick, but Krusteaz and Jiffy also make good mixes. If you’d prefer to make them from scratch; more power to you. In addition to the pancake recipe, the box also has waffle directions and even biscuit instructions. I’ve done the waffles, but I’m just not a fan of baking powder biscuits.
At one time we had an electric griddle that would hold 6 pancakes and had a setting on the dial just for pancakes. Actually it said “fish pancakes” but that was a horrifying thought in the morning and I just ignored the “fish” part. That griddle has moved on to wherever things go in our house. It’s no longer available to me. Go figure. Instead, I used a large, round, griddle-type pan on a stove burner.
I knew the griddle was ready for the batter when I tossed a single drop of water from the tip of my finger onto the surface. The droplet skittered or danced around the griddle as the outside turned to steam so quickly the water had no time to flatten out.
My griddle will make about five cakes a little bigger than my palm, the size I like. Whether you make them silver dollar size or plate size, they all cook alike, since the batter…well, it pancakes out. Walk away, make your coffee or turn your bacon slices over or get the news up on the TV. When you look back, the cakes will look lumpy or as though they’ve bubbled. In addition, sometimes the edges will look somewhat dry. At that point you flip the cakes over. The flipped pancake will be golden brown and you cook the other side about half as long as the first. If you’re making a lot, you can keep them hot in your oven at 175 degrees F until you have enough done to serve.
Flipping is a problem for me, especially since my griddle is non-stick (Teflon). Here’s what I do and it often works. I put the spatula flat on the griddle and then quickly slide it under the pancake. Once I’ve got the pancake centered on my spatula, I pick it up completely off the surface and quickly turn it over in place, dropping it back down where it started. For me, this has taken a little practice since I’ve had a tendency to drop them on the stove-top, on other pancakes, and on the edge of the griddle. I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again, “It’s all in the wrist.”
Fortunately pancakes are pretty forgiving as well as inexpensive. The one on the stovetop is usually one I throw away. The ones which land on the edge of the griddle or partly on top of another pancake can be just teased away from there using your spatula and scooted over to where you want them. Be careful not to touch the griddle ‘cause that boy is hot!
Finally, let’s talk about thickness. The box directions make a medium thick batter that results in a pancake about a third of an inch thick. Good ‘ol normal country pancake is fine for butter and syrup. Some people like a thinner pancake, possibly half the thickness mentioned above. A little water or milk will thin the batter up to make this possible. The key here is “a little”. My wife always says “You always can add more water, but you can’t take any out.” Put in a little milk, stir it up then decide whether the batter is as thin as you want. You may even want to cook a pancake to see. Then, if need be, try a little more water until you get it right. Thin pancakes roll nicely if you want to do sour cream or peanut butter or jelly or some combo of those.
Any thinner than this and you’re talking crepes. Crepes are above my pay grade.
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THE VA
By admin | April 22, 2010
The building is huge, taking up two city blocks in each direction…more if you count outbuildings and clinics. I knew that from driving past, though, so I’d thought to ask which entrance to use. The parking lot was full, but I found a place not more than a block or so from the entrance I was seeking. I’m in good health, so I strode briskly toward the entrance. I passed a fellow in a wheel chair coming the other way. One of his legs was on the foot rest; the other, I imagined, had been left in Viet Nam. (He was my age).
I stopped at the front desk and told the person there I was looking for eligibility. She pointed “turn left at the end of this counter and walk toward the north entrance. The sign will say ‘Admin/eligibility’ and that’s where you’re going.” In the same foyer I saw men and women who were heavy (50-60 pounds heavier than I) rough looking and bearded (the men). They wheeled, shuffled, used canes or pushed walkers to get where they were going. I was beginning to feel guilty about my brisk stride.
Most of the other veterans in the halls seemed to know where they were going, but, I was still looking. Glancing up, I saw a sign saying ‘Administration/eligibility’. “I’m here.” I thought. Another sign, though, said “Please do not stand behind eligibility patients as this is in violation of privacy rules.” Then “Take a seat and you will be processed in turn”
Sure enough, just down the way were comfortable-looking seats in which to wait. I headed that way, and then stopped “How are they going to know who’s next? There are a dozen people waiting down there.” I turned back to ask one of the eligibility workers, but saw a red number container just like you would see in a deli. I took a number and sat down.
I sat on a three- person settee with chromed arms on either end. It had thick seat cushions as well as thick back cushions and was, as institutional furniture goes, quite comfortable. When the person on the other end got up to leave, I noticed that the cushion on his end was squashed down and indented in the center. I could tell that my own cushion was the same. The middle cushion, however, was clean, puffy and very nearly pristine. This told me two things. First, people had been coming to this location to wait long enough to begin wearing down the springs and upholstery. Second, like me, people didn’t want to sit next to someone they didn’t know. I was on my end; someone else was on the other end and the cushion kept us private. Even when some people came who knew each other they took facing seats rather than fill the cushion next to me.
“Do you think we have time to get something to eat? “ “I feel like I haven’t eaten in 24 hours!” “How long have you been waiting?” The men looked at me.
“I’ve been here long enough to read this newspaper and to work half of the crossword puzzle.” I held up each item as I discussed the timing. “I still expect another thirty minutes or so, though. I’m number 01 and they’re only up to 87.” I was hoping the numbers went 1-99 and not 1-999.
I never found out what numbers the two guys had but they did leave to get something to eat. They returned too, and I was still waiting. I’d used up an hour or more of my own time and now I was determined to get signed up to get my meds from the VA. It would save me a lot of money.
When my number came up literally; my number came up figuratively, so to speak. Kimberly, who took my information was very efficient, knew her business and filled in my form on her computer. I had all the necessary forms and some of the necessary data. The rest, she said, I could “ballpark”. Once it was entered, though, it turned out that I didn’t qualify. My service was in the right era but I was not a combat veteran. Although my ship went in country, I didn’t go with it. I have no service-connected disability. Nothing happened to me while I was in the Navy that keeps me from living well today. Though not wealthy, Wife and I have managed our savings and pensions so that we’re financially comfortable. I don’t qualify as being needy. I was unlucky at the VA because I was lucky in life.
Kimberly encouraged me to file for service-connected disability. Surely something I’d done while in the service qualified me. Maybe working in the radio shack near loudly clacking teletypes had left me partially deaf? Nope, I hear fine. Perhaps I tripped or stumbled and hit my head? Nope, never happened. Perhaps Agent Orange affected my life? Nope, I was never in country and my ship didn’t transport the chemical. I thanked her for giving me crisp, efficient service (once the waiting was over) and I strode briskly back to my car. I’d done my time in the service and now I’d done my time at the VA
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By admin | April 4, 2010
It’s Easter Sunday, 2010. It’s the holiest day in the Christian calendar. Christ has risen! He has been born again! The tomb is empty! It’s a mystery and a miracle and it tells at least half of the story of Christianity.
I woke up this morning very early trying to figure out how I was going to explain this to my grandchildren. They are 9, 6 and 5 this year and are all boys. I’m not sure I understand it all, so how can I tell it to them. I want to do the whole story in the length of a blog entry. So…
Every year the different days of celebration and litany remind us to think about the story of Jesus Christ. Remember about four months ago we had Christmas? Every year on December 25, we are reminded think about how Jesus Christ was born. It’s a happy holiday because Jesus…whom many Christians think is a part of God…was born. Part of God became a person and lived with people here on Earth. We think of that day in December as his birthday and we give each other gifts to celebrate it.
Easter is an end and another beginning but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Boys, when you break your parents’ rules or when you’re mean to each other and your parents find out, you get some punishment. You might have to go to your rooms to think about what you’ve done wrong or you might even get a smack on the butt or something like that. Other people, even adult people, break rules too. When people are mean to each other, they might steal from each other, fight with each other or even kill each other. People start wars and do all sorts of bad stuff. God became a person and got to see a lot of that bad stuff close up.
As far as I know, all Christians believe that Jesus’ experience as a human being included dying. He died in a dramatic way; a terrible way; he was killed by other people. Most Christians believe that when Jesus died he was somehow taking the punishment for all the rest of us human beings. After he died his body was taken off the cross (which was the terrible way people killed him) and he was placed in a tomb, which is a sort of grave, just like other people were. Some women came to the tomb a couple of days later. They were going to wash the body and wrap it in clean cloth with spices and other good smelling stuff because that was what those people did after someone died. The story goes that when they got there the tomb was empty, Jesus wasn’t there anymore. After being dead, he was alive again! That’s what Easter is about. We sing songs that say “He is Risen!”
I think that what Jesus wants us to understand is that he lived with people and he died like a person. God understands us, but God was born as Jesus so that we’d know that God understands us. Jesus saw that people could be much happier if we’d take care of each other and be kind to each other. Easter reminds us that Jesus (God) gets it so that we can listen to the stuff that he says and live like he wants us to live. Many, if not most Christians also believe that Easter reminds us that we will all be reborn like Jesus was and be with him again.
The bottom line on Easter, though, is that we, Christians, have been telling the sad part of the story for the past month and a half (40 days) but on Easter we get to tell the happy part of the story again. Lots of new, living things have gotten mixed in with the story over the years. We think about bunnies, which are newborn rabbits. We think about eggs, which sometimes hatch into newborn chickens. At this time of year, new leaves come out on trees, even here in the desert. Out in the open desert, flowers are blooming. This is the time we choose to celebrate Easter because this is the time of year when lots of things are getting born and starting to live again.
So, how’d I do? Pretty poorly, I think. The thing to remember is that we’ve been telling each other the story of Jesus Christ for two thousand years or more. All of the holidays of the church are part of the story. Christmas is the beginning of Jesus’ story and Easter is the end and another beginning, but the rest of the story is about how Jesus wants us to treat each other. Every year, you’ll understand a little more of the story and I hope that every year you’ll understand more about why it is important to treat each other kindly. That’s the real story.
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VIRGIN SOUP
By admin | April 1, 2010
This post is the result of a conversation I had with a friend while picking citrus which our church donates to a food bank. Enjoy the reading, at least.
Max,
This is an old recipe that I ran across while researching Andorran Cuisine for our recent Gourmet Club dinner.
The soup is very traditional and is not made much now, partly because of the lack of virgins to pick the thorns. Yes, in order for this to be authentic, the lemon thorns have to be picked by virgins.
Typically, barefoot virgins climb in the lemon trees and throw the fruit and thorns down to receptors on the ground, who are traditionally young men. Lemon foliage being what it is, receptors have been known to deflower the virgins right in the grove rather than have them continue to tear up their fingers and toes on the thorns. The erstwhile virgins are usually avid participants in this activity.
The amounts may seem large, however since the soup is so much difficulty to prepare, it is best to make a lot once you get started.
SOPA de PURO de THORNO CITRON
4 kilos lemon thorns
5 liters of the Blood of virgin Andorran Goats
½ kilo salt
1/8 kilo saffron
2 whole chickens, plucked and dressed
Onions, celery, carrots and spinach to taste
In a large stock pot, cover the lemon thorns in the blood. Let stand for 2 weeks. As liquid clots, it will reduce in volume so use remaining blood to replenish.
Cut up chickens and brown in a separate pan. Cover with vegetables, cover and allow to steam for 10 hours. Use some of the salt to sweat the vegetables.
Wash the blood off the thorns. Place thorns, chicken and vegetables, salt and saffron in a large clean stockpot. Cover with water and boil for two days, replenishing the water as necessary to keep the mixture covered.
Serve with fried citrus rind.
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PACKIN’
By admin | March 28, 2010
As I walk or drive the streets of the city, I am armed about 2/3 of the time. Which 2/3? That is a good question and one to which I’m not willing to share an answer. If people don’t know, they’ll assume that I’m armed.
Robert Heinlein, the legendary Science Fiction writer who died in the late ‘80s is quoted as saying “An armed society is a polite society…” He goes on to say something to the effect that you’re much more likely to be careful about words you choose to utter if you might have to back them up with deadly action. I agree with Mr. Heinlein. I’m even more polite when I’m armed than when I’m not. I’m even more careful about where I go, what I say, and who I say it to than I am when I’m not armed.
The question arises as to whether I’ve ever needed my gun. I’ll tell you about two times in the past when it would have been good for me to have been armed. Unfortunately, I wasn’t.
q Once, while walking my dog in the old neighborhood, a pit bull ran out from an alley and attacked Herbie. Herbie was ½ German shepherd and ½ Aussie so he was a big, beefy, hairy guy. The pit bull was rather smallish for a pit bull, but still he lunged at Herbie and very quickly grabbed Herbie’s muscular neck in his jaw. We jockeyed around a bit until I could push at the pit bull with my foot. He didn’t respond. I kicked him lightly…he didn’t respond. Herbie, fortunately, had a great mane of hair around his neck so he was able to fight back by moving his head and body in such as way as to fling the little pit bull like a rag puppy…still he didn’t detach. I gave him a solid kick, and another, and another until he finally let go and retreated.
q On another occasion, with Wife, young son and two other dogs, I was camping in Utah and taking the dogs from our campground to an open area where they could be unleashed to run a bit. A man approached us from behind and the dogs, possibly in defense of little Son or possibly responding to some non-human sense of instability turned and growled. Since they were leashed at the time, they weren’t allowed to approach the man closer than about five feet. Even so, he chose to display a bared knife and to threaten…us? Son? The dogs? He mumbled something about “People who live with dogs…” and stood his ground. Being unarmed, we could do nothing other than back away until the man turned and went back from whence he came. It was frightening.
In one of these cases, I would definitely have used a weapon, if I’d had it. In one, I might have displayed it in defense of my family and used it if it had become necessary. Both of these occasions occurred before it was possible to obtain a permit to carry concealed in Arizona. As soon as that became possible, I got one and have carried since.
Open-carry or carrying a gun exposed for all to see is legal in Arizona. It has become controversial recently here when some people appeared outside a political rally carrying openly. Those men…I think they were all men…were making a statement. The statement was probably something like “This is legal. I am allowed to do this and I’m availing myself of the right.” Politicians might have also inferred a message something like “Just less than 50% of Americans have weapons in their homes. The Second Amendment of the US Constitution is the one which backs up all the others.”
I have carried openly on a few occasions, though not recently. You get really good personal distance when you do that. Still, I think it makes other people uncomfortable and that isn’t my intent in being armed. I simply want to be able to defend myself should the need arise. How often does the need arise? Not often, but I’m one who believes “It’s better to have a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have it.” I’ve also been known to joke that the first rule of gun fighting is “Have a gun.” Seriously, though, I don’t want to gunfight. Police, soldiers and marines get into firefights. I have deep respect for these men and women. They run toward gunfire, while I run away, if I can. Only in the extreme will I draw my weapon and fire and even then I will do it carefully and with respect to others in the area.
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“NOTHING’S THE MATTER WITH KIDS…”
By admin | March 9, 2010
I sat at the ticket-selling table at the church last night and the rock music oozed out the wooden doors of the hall and trickled out of the glass doors of the foyer to the outdoor area where we were sitting. The music was pleasant…at that distance. Occasionally I would roam from the table to the inside of the hall and there, the music was loud. Just loud.
I knew that a lot of what I was hearing was good stuff. I knew and I remember thinking to myself about one band “The drummer is a lot better than the lead singer.” I knew the guitar player from the last band and thought the same about him…”Keaton is a better guitar player than Matt is a singer.” I knew and yet the music didn’t really move me. My son says “If the music is too loud, you’re too old.” Maybe he’s right.
I sat in the room with high school and junior high school people and their advisors (of which I am one). The conversation was around how to conduct the service at which the youth will officiate. The discussion was around images and songs. Most of the songs were ones I didn’t know. When there was stuff I recognized I entered the conversation, however slowly and off cue. (Off cue and slow happens to me a lot in conversations lately.) For my benefit, mostly, a video was called up on a laptop. I looked at the video from Saturday Night Live and Christopher Walken calling for more cowbells from the Blue Oyster Cult and Will Ferrell. The assembled youth and adults (as well as the SNL studio audience) found the skit uproariously funny. I knew it was supposed to be funny and I found it mildly amusing, but I didn’t really get it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for sympathy and I’m not crying out that “I’m getting old! (boo-hoo; fists twisted into eye-sockets)” I am saying that there’s been a shift in consciousness between my generation and those one two or three generations later. (I am pretty much old enough to be some of the adults’ parent and all of the youths’ grandparent.) I don’t feel old. I don’t feel weak or infirm. I just don’t understand things in the same way as those in the X, Y and Z generations do.
This is not about right or wrong, good or bad. I know from talking to others in my generation that my sensibilities and knowledge and memory and history are much the same as theirs. I have every reason to believe that the kids we’re raising now share sensibilities and knowledge and memory and history (such as it is). They’re different, though. It’s not a good or bad thing that my generations can understand something while their generation doesn’t (or vice-versa) It is just is a fact.
For example, I don’t “get” Will Ferrell. I don’t “get” Adam Sandler. I don’t get why anyone watches “reality” TV. I think I get Christopher Walken, but to me, he’s scary. I’m not really saying that it’s impossible for us Boomers to communicate with Generation Z. It isn’t…I’ve seen it done. I may even have done it myself. I guess I’m just holding up the fact that our generations are markedly different. Back in the day (my day) there was a play, later a movie, called “Bye Bye Birdie” in which the song “What’s the Matter with Kids Today?” is sung. People of my parent’s generation sing it to people of my generation. The answer, in song, is “Nothing’s the matter with kids today!” Well, nothing’s the matter with my generation and nothing’s the matter with the generations that come after but I think it’s important to be aware of the differences in both directions.
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THE DAY OFF
By admin | February 10, 2010
My schedule for today said:
8:00 <wife> Dental
11:30 <volunteer board> Party
2:00 Hike
7:30 Choir
I did the first thing. I took my wife to the dentist because we both knew that she would be given medication that would make her sleepy. She wouldn’t be able to drive herself home.
Other than dropping Wife off and picking her up, gooned on the meds, I did nothing at all for the remainder of the day. Indeed, all I did while waiting for her to be done at the dentist was to have breakfast (out) and read a book. I essentially took the day off.
I had some excuse for the middle two appointments. Getting Wife home and settled in a comfortable recliner made me late enough for the party that I could decide not to go. I’d already told my friends that I wouldn’t be hiking with them as planned because I had realized that Wife would be goofy from the medication. I could have gone hiking because I knew she would be sleeping. I probably could have come late to the party too, but instead I took the day off.
I think taking a day off is a difficult concept for some people to understand when talking about a man who is retired. I’m retired from a job I had for 30 years. Now I’m a Cave Husband. I hang around the cave, keep it clean…ish and do some volunteer work. That’s what people who have jobs and work for money do on weekends. Guys do honey-dos on Saturdays and/or Sundays. They might take a vacation of a week or two and do nothing much, but they’ve earned that by working the rest of the year.
It now occurs to me that I’m writing this because I, myself, feel that this is a difficult concept. I might even be feeling guilty about taking the day off. Being retired is hard for me to understand, especially for a man as young as I. I’m only 63, so I could work three more years before I would qualify for full Social Security. I retired in 2003, so I could have had an additional 10 years of work. Or more.
When you don’t work for money people have two reactions. One, they are envious. “Gee, I wish I could be retired!” “I’d like to be able to do just what I want to every day.” It’s almost an automatic question to ask people what they do for a living. “What do you do?” When I tell them I’m retired, sometimes I get the second reaction: silence and what seems to me to be a questioning look. The look seems to say “What’s a healthy guy like yourself doing retired? Why aren’t you out working for a living, contributing to the economy, contributing to your family?”
Actually, both of those reactions are problematic for me. The first one assumes that I do just whatever I want to every day. The second assumes pretty much the same thing, but from a more negative viewpoint. The fact is that being retired; I have to structure my own life. I don’t have a boss or supervisor, or customers to tell me to show up at a specific time and perform specific tasks; I have to make all that up on my own. Today was pretty unusual, I don’t usually schedule that many things in one day, otherwise I get all my outside the house things done in one day and I’m stuck inside the rest of the week. Here’s a more typical week, though:
Mon – CJC (volunteer panel for the County Juvenile Probation Department)
Tues – Agency board meeting (volunteer)
Wed – Choir practice
Thurs – Leukemia lecture
Fri – Blank
Sat – Attend Play (professional actors, downtown playhouse)
Along with these activities I clean the house, pay bills, wash 2/3 of the clothes and go to the gym for exercise. I also try to keep in touch with my friends; check my e-mail and social networks daily; etc, etc. Oh, by the way, I blog and write other stuff, sometimes.
So…what? You’re supposed to feel sorry for me because I’m so busy? Naw, of course not. Lots of people do all that stuff AND work jobs for money. I hope it helps to explain, though, why I feel guilty when I take a whole day and essentially do nothing. It’s just not what I’m accustomed to.
Topics: household, musing | No Comments »
CJC
By admin | February 8, 2010
The sixteen year-old boy across the table from us was wearing an insulated plaid jacket over a t-shirt and had brown hair to his shoulders. The hair was a fashion statement something like “I don’t believe in fashion”. It was long because it hadn’t been cut in quite awhile. He could also use it to hide from those around him. His mom sat at the same table as he, but there was an empty chair between them.
Hezekiah (not his name, but also a character in the Bible) had already told us about the episode at a local Wal-Mart where he’d taken a carton of Newport cigarettes and tried to leave the store. When store security called to him to stop, he began to run, which resulted in his being tackled. Being tackled in the parking lot on the tarmac sounds painful to me.
“Us” included the Probation Officer and three volunteer Community Justice Committee (CJC) members. Of the four, three are female, one male. Ages range from 32 to mid-60’s. We are all Caucasian. It is the job of the CJC to meet with juvenile offenders from the nearby community, listen to their stories and provide them with a consequence suitable to what they’ve done. Most of our clients are shoplifters who have taken smallish items from a store and been caught. The Probation Officer (PO) has a spiel she runs on kids which is quite true. She tells them that we know they’re not the bad guy; they just made a bad choice of behavior. Because of that bad choice of behavior, though, a cop had to take two hours away from looking for the real bad guy to process them.
The advantage to the juvenile of appearing before a CJC is that he/she doesn’t have to expose his/her life in a courtroom, and gets done with the results of his/her dumb behavior within sixty days. It’s a good deal: not so many people involved in your life, a one-shot consequence and you’re out of there.
One in five of the kids we see, though, is like Hezekiah. We don’t have a consequence that will help him enough. Hezekiah not only smokes tobacco, but according to his mother and himself, he also smokes marijuana. He’s now smoking marijuana two or three times a week. According to him, this is the result of his decision that everyday was excessive, so he cut back.
In addition to abusing his body with substances, Hezekiah has family dysfunction. To get back at his mother for her prolonged statements about his behavior from the time he was three years-old, he indicated that his parents get two cases of beer on Fridays which they proceed to drink right away (His mother told us that she only buys what they will drink right away as Hezekiah takes booze that they don’t drink.) Hezekiah’s mother denies that they drink…that much. I say de-Nile is the longest river in Africa. His parents’ behavior isn’t an excuse for Hezekiah’s behavior of course. They’re adults and if they choose weekend binging as a lifestyle, their actions are legal, while he is a juvenile and his are not. Still, it’s somewhat explanatory.
In his case, Hezekiah needs support. He needs an understanding adult who will help him or urge him, or force him to get the help he so badly needs. He has multiple psychiatric diagnoses from depression to bi-polar disorder to ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) His use of marijuana (another psychiatric diagnosis, by the way) complicates treatment as marijuana works on the same chemicals in the brain that therapeutic drugs do.
Years ago, when he was eleven, Hezekiah’s mom had him in a clinical study of a therapeutic drug. Since he was being paid for his participation, he took the medication and seemed to benefit for awhile. Toward the end of the study, however, he started use of marijuana. I asked him if the marijuana was working for him as it was clear that he was self-medicating. He knew what this meant, and agreed that was his goal. He indicated that the marijuana didn’t work well, but it seemed to work almost as well as the prescribed meds. He did not mention that the marijuana also pisses off his parents; which is not a side effect of the other drugs.
So Hezekiah needs support. He needs support to get a therapeutic level of medication into his body without THC. He needs support to convince his parents that medication requires adjunctive therapy, i.e. he needs an adult to talk to him and talk to his parents. He’s going to have to find a lifestyle that will allow him to live with his parents for a few years and then live with himself for the rest of his life without killing himself with chemicals or otherwise.
Our hope is that a PO, a Judge, a couple of attorneys, a counselor, his parents, and he can conspire together to help him get to that lifestyle. That’s a delicate balance for that many people to strike. Good luck.
Topics: household | No Comments »
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