His brow is bloodied but unbowed...
Some things Tal needs:
Good diagnosis
Good doctors
Good pills
Good nurses
Good hospitals
Room service
Medical machinery in good working condition
Good wife
Good bed
A comfy chair
Good books
Soft slippers
Warm hands
Recovery time
Some might suggust good weed
A miracle if called for
and
Lots of love and affection
We love you like a brother Tal
Love
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Cultural Shock
It is cultural shock entering the ranks of senior citizenry -- trying to become a native. Comparing notes with other recent immigrants. I'm talking about it with friends, family, and colleagues. I'm not over the WOW factor of growing older, I'm continually amazed at this brave new world. I never dreamed I'd visit this land of ancient arts, limited vistas, excursions to new sights, and magic.
We recent emigres' love the next generation and respect the fact of them making their own realities as we made ours, but we feel something akin to worship for the generation after that. Grandchildren might be the reward for surviving.
The Bible says to yeild the things of youth. That's happening pretty deffinantly. It's easy to let go of dressing sexy, tanning at the beach, and staying up all night. Instead of massive exertion and magarita headaches it's teas, coffees, lunches, and dinners. There are a few laudable exceptions, but most of us are content to walk in the park.
We can organize ourselves with other like minded tourists; Red Hats, AARP, travel clubs, and senior discounts, or we can go it alone. Alone along life's lonesome highway. Oh, wait I think that is a Willie Nelson song and not actually my thought.
We walk slower, climb fewer stairs, dress more comfortable, drive more carefully, study deeper, read more labels, all quieter activities -- unless you zip-line or white water raft. Like I said there are exceptions. Generally we coddle ourselves just a little bit more. We are content to feed the birds.
We get wore out easier. After training at work and a son's dinner I was wiped out, even though Ian did 90% of the dinner work. Ian hauled, washed, and chopped every vegetable and there were lots of vegetables. Roger liked the salsa, Stephanie liked the banana pudding, Chirstian liked the Indian tacos, and Bo liked the squash pickles. Connor didn't like anything except Bo and wrecking havoc in my condo.
We are more content in the present. Looking back is nostalgic and looking forward is not so inpiring, so we conquer today. Our personality is set, we aren't likely to change. We accept more shortcomings and have a few more pills and doctor visits. My doctor told me I was getting older. Like I said we accept more shortcomings, I had already figured that part out. All that gathered collective wisdom enables us to tell folks to "duck off" if we want.
New things don't scare us, we have survived tougher.
It's a wonderous world I hope you get to visit someday.
Or as Carol's grandfather used to say. I get up in the morning and have nothing to do all day and when I go to bed at night it isn't all done yet.
We recent emigres' love the next generation and respect the fact of them making their own realities as we made ours, but we feel something akin to worship for the generation after that. Grandchildren might be the reward for surviving.
The Bible says to yeild the things of youth. That's happening pretty deffinantly. It's easy to let go of dressing sexy, tanning at the beach, and staying up all night. Instead of massive exertion and magarita headaches it's teas, coffees, lunches, and dinners. There are a few laudable exceptions, but most of us are content to walk in the park.
We can organize ourselves with other like minded tourists; Red Hats, AARP, travel clubs, and senior discounts, or we can go it alone. Alone along life's lonesome highway. Oh, wait I think that is a Willie Nelson song and not actually my thought.
We walk slower, climb fewer stairs, dress more comfortable, drive more carefully, study deeper, read more labels, all quieter activities -- unless you zip-line or white water raft. Like I said there are exceptions. Generally we coddle ourselves just a little bit more. We are content to feed the birds.
We get wore out easier. After training at work and a son's dinner I was wiped out, even though Ian did 90% of the dinner work. Ian hauled, washed, and chopped every vegetable and there were lots of vegetables. Roger liked the salsa, Stephanie liked the banana pudding, Chirstian liked the Indian tacos, and Bo liked the squash pickles. Connor didn't like anything except Bo and wrecking havoc in my condo.
We are more content in the present. Looking back is nostalgic and looking forward is not so inpiring, so we conquer today. Our personality is set, we aren't likely to change. We accept more shortcomings and have a few more pills and doctor visits. My doctor told me I was getting older. Like I said we accept more shortcomings, I had already figured that part out. All that gathered collective wisdom enables us to tell folks to "duck off" if we want.
New things don't scare us, we have survived tougher.
It's a wonderous world I hope you get to visit someday.
Or as Carol's grandfather used to say. I get up in the morning and have nothing to do all day and when I go to bed at night it isn't all done yet.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Art Urges
Like tree sap rising in the spring I keep feeling art urges, creative urges pushing at my boundaries. They are possessing me like some kind of demon from beyond. I'm thinking of taking up drumming or doll making. It's just that getting any creative engine started is hard.
I keep getting inspired to create or organize, and both are burbling, but neither has surfaced all the way up. Julia with her organizing and running, Mary with her drumming, Lynn with her organizing, Carol with her creative everything, Sandy with her dragon boating, even Roger and Stephanie with their mad running is inspiring, but my wavering flame hasn't bloomed into full blown creative fury -- yet.
I wrote a poem for Cara recently, does that count? I'm making Indian Tacos for Son's Dinner -- thank you Cathy for the inspiration. The beats of my heart continue: family, sons, friends, work, book club, all the maintenance work of living, and of course The Prince, The Connorman, but somehow I have reached the point of wanting just a little bit more creativity in my life. I think I have reached the limit of creative sitting.
Roger has given me a metal bookmarker for Christmas for years so today I shopped for a 12x18 cork board to display them on. Lucky me, Hobby Lobby had an 11x17 for 5.99 so I designed a layout that looks really good. That is a creative burble of some kind. I made toast. I won a pair of cowboy boots. I admired Mt Rainier this morning on my way to meet Claire.
When Mr Rainier pops out it lifts my spirits to heaven. I haven't seen it for six months and we are expecting two days of sunshine and clear skies so I might go look at it again tomorrow, just because, just for inspiration.
I recognize creativity, I admire and appreciate creativity, but my own personal creative edge is dull. I watched Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams if cave men can be creative so can I. Right? I read creative books, I joined creative Ian and his creative friends at The University Village sidewalk sale, I have a new frog sitting at my window, I have my two creative ceramic pieces from Bo sitting in my living room. Creativity here, there, and every where, but not a drop to drink.
I sent Christian an email and asked, "Are you and Bo still you and Bo?" Seems so, she will be here Sunday for Son's Dinner. Poor dear, I told Christian to warn her I'm not too fancy, dinner on your kneecaps sort of thing. One step above trailer trash ought to just about capture the reality of the situation. Do you think a native Korean will like Indian tacos, talk about cultural shock. I know she is the creative sort, now I just hope she is a creative sport.
I have a loose screw. Seriously, I think my shoulder surgery has come un-glued, or at least out of alignment. This is a new shoulder surprise of unmitigated pain. I'm pill popping until the doctor appointment and then we shall see just what kind of loose screw I am.
Besides leaking and creaking I keep dropping things. Does anyone else have this condition? Is it age related or Jan related? Just wondering. My mind still lurks around here, there, and every where.
I keep getting inspired to create or organize, and both are burbling, but neither has surfaced all the way up. Julia with her organizing and running, Mary with her drumming, Lynn with her organizing, Carol with her creative everything, Sandy with her dragon boating, even Roger and Stephanie with their mad running is inspiring, but my wavering flame hasn't bloomed into full blown creative fury -- yet.
I wrote a poem for Cara recently, does that count? I'm making Indian Tacos for Son's Dinner -- thank you Cathy for the inspiration. The beats of my heart continue: family, sons, friends, work, book club, all the maintenance work of living, and of course The Prince, The Connorman, but somehow I have reached the point of wanting just a little bit more creativity in my life. I think I have reached the limit of creative sitting.
Roger has given me a metal bookmarker for Christmas for years so today I shopped for a 12x18 cork board to display them on. Lucky me, Hobby Lobby had an 11x17 for 5.99 so I designed a layout that looks really good. That is a creative burble of some kind. I made toast. I won a pair of cowboy boots. I admired Mt Rainier this morning on my way to meet Claire.
When Mr Rainier pops out it lifts my spirits to heaven. I haven't seen it for six months and we are expecting two days of sunshine and clear skies so I might go look at it again tomorrow, just because, just for inspiration.
I recognize creativity, I admire and appreciate creativity, but my own personal creative edge is dull. I watched Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams if cave men can be creative so can I. Right? I read creative books, I joined creative Ian and his creative friends at The University Village sidewalk sale, I have a new frog sitting at my window, I have my two creative ceramic pieces from Bo sitting in my living room. Creativity here, there, and every where, but not a drop to drink.
I sent Christian an email and asked, "Are you and Bo still you and Bo?" Seems so, she will be here Sunday for Son's Dinner. Poor dear, I told Christian to warn her I'm not too fancy, dinner on your kneecaps sort of thing. One step above trailer trash ought to just about capture the reality of the situation. Do you think a native Korean will like Indian tacos, talk about cultural shock. I know she is the creative sort, now I just hope she is a creative sport.
I have a loose screw. Seriously, I think my shoulder surgery has come un-glued, or at least out of alignment. This is a new shoulder surprise of unmitigated pain. I'm pill popping until the doctor appointment and then we shall see just what kind of loose screw I am.
Besides leaking and creaking I keep dropping things. Does anyone else have this condition? Is it age related or Jan related? Just wondering. My mind still lurks around here, there, and every where.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Fart Joke
So, this old dude is starting to have stomach issues.
He is gaseous and having lots of silent farts.
The silent farts are getting so bad that he goes to the doctor. While waiting to see the doctor he has even more silent farts. Finally he gets in to the doctor's examining room and is explaining to the doctor about his condition and says, actually doctor I have had several silent farts since I've been talking to you.
The doctor looks at him and says well first we are going to get your hearing tested.
Love to all the young and old farts on Father's Day.
He is gaseous and having lots of silent farts.
The silent farts are getting so bad that he goes to the doctor. While waiting to see the doctor he has even more silent farts. Finally he gets in to the doctor's examining room and is explaining to the doctor about his condition and says, actually doctor I have had several silent farts since I've been talking to you.
The doctor looks at him and says well first we are going to get your hearing tested.
Love to all the young and old farts on Father's Day.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Sadness and Seagulls
Sadness and seagulls,
marriages and birthdays,
pre-school graduation and book shelves,
cold weather and Thunder,
Life goes on.
The family was saddened by the news of Clint's death. Saddened for Tal and Julia, saddened for his daughter, saddened for Nora and Andrew, saddened for his mother and grandparents, saddened by the idea of such a youthful death. I remember Clint as rambunctious and lively, hating Saturday school, eating hearty if he liked what was being served, playing freely if he liked the game being played, sometimes alone, sometimes not, sometimes coming to family get-togethers, sometimes not. Another loved one gone at age forty-two: a son, a grandson, a father. Gone in the never ending mystery of life.
Cara is getting married.
An old fashioned affair with everyone wearing cowboy boots -- at a cantina no less. I imagine a beer or two will be imbibed. Good cheer and well wishes extended. An excited Avery dancing to the beat. And a tear or two shed in the never ending mystery of life.
Roger turned forty-five. I made one of Roger's old favorites, a Strawberry Meringue Torte. Something I haven't made in years -- YEARS. It is looking good even if it is two days late or twenty years late, I'm not sure which. How did I get old enough to have a forty-five year old son? A son that survived early horrors in the never ending mystery of life.
And life goes on.
Connor has his first pre-school graduation on Saturday and I have half a day off to bask in his sunshine.
My book shelves remain stubbornly uncompleted. Half of them still need cleaned, dusted, and organized.
The weather is forty-five and rainy. Stephanie was complaining about turning on her heater the other day. The heater in June just seemed wrong to her somehow.
Playdate with Connor today.
Soup to cook.
Stops at the library, post office and bank.
Bills to pay.
Laundry day.
I heard something about the Thunder in Oklahoma winning some kind of big game. I could feel the joy and happiness of all those faithful fans. Okies at their best enjoying the moment. No, relishing the moment.
Seagulls woke me up this morning. I've never been awoken by any kind of birds before but this seagull chorus was powerful. Maybe they have a power, a power that other birds can't exude. It was such a joyous sound that I immediately delved into why I have never woke up to birds singing, squawking, or cawing before.
The never ending mystery of life continues.
marriages and birthdays,
pre-school graduation and book shelves,
cold weather and Thunder,
Life goes on.
The family was saddened by the news of Clint's death. Saddened for Tal and Julia, saddened for his daughter, saddened for Nora and Andrew, saddened for his mother and grandparents, saddened by the idea of such a youthful death. I remember Clint as rambunctious and lively, hating Saturday school, eating hearty if he liked what was being served, playing freely if he liked the game being played, sometimes alone, sometimes not, sometimes coming to family get-togethers, sometimes not. Another loved one gone at age forty-two: a son, a grandson, a father. Gone in the never ending mystery of life.
Cara is getting married.
An old fashioned affair with everyone wearing cowboy boots -- at a cantina no less. I imagine a beer or two will be imbibed. Good cheer and well wishes extended. An excited Avery dancing to the beat. And a tear or two shed in the never ending mystery of life.
Roger turned forty-five. I made one of Roger's old favorites, a Strawberry Meringue Torte. Something I haven't made in years -- YEARS. It is looking good even if it is two days late or twenty years late, I'm not sure which. How did I get old enough to have a forty-five year old son? A son that survived early horrors in the never ending mystery of life.
And life goes on.
Connor has his first pre-school graduation on Saturday and I have half a day off to bask in his sunshine.
My book shelves remain stubbornly uncompleted. Half of them still need cleaned, dusted, and organized.
The weather is forty-five and rainy. Stephanie was complaining about turning on her heater the other day. The heater in June just seemed wrong to her somehow.
Playdate with Connor today.
Soup to cook.
Stops at the library, post office and bank.
Bills to pay.
Laundry day.
I heard something about the Thunder in Oklahoma winning some kind of big game. I could feel the joy and happiness of all those faithful fans. Okies at their best enjoying the moment. No, relishing the moment.
Seagulls woke me up this morning. I've never been awoken by any kind of birds before but this seagull chorus was powerful. Maybe they have a power, a power that other birds can't exude. It was such a joyous sound that I immediately delved into why I have never woke up to birds singing, squawking, or cawing before.
The never ending mystery of life continues.
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