Besame mucho

Correction: Kacie, not Casey.

A nod to Brian Lamb interviewing Andrew Ferguson, author of “Crazy U.”

Have you ever sat and watched house power meter gears turn?

A best college visit wish to Maggie and her mother, Maggie.

A friend, Floyd, living with his mother as a part-time assistant, not cost-free handyman, because his mother’s mobility is much decreased in the second half of her life, said, in relation to dating women, “Mom, I’m going out tonight and will be late. If I’m lucky, I’ll be home really late.”

We adult men parental caretakers are still men, after all.

My mother in-law hit rock-bottom this afternoon while I sat at my parents’ house.

She couldn’t bend over to pick an item up off the floor and had the worried thought that maybe she was permanently weakened, panicked we had put her in a nursing home without letting her know, because she had heard us say she was only there for physical therapy but no therapist had shown up yet.

Minutes later, Justin the therapist arrived, sent by God in answer to prayers/thoughts, my mother in-law surmises.

Her spirits are lifted.

So are mine.

The role of patient, loving mother/father is not one this hermit cherishes.

“You mean I really am only here for physical therapy?”

Yes, I reply for the decadozenth time as gently and kindly as if for the very first time.

“I won’t have to pay $42,000 a month for nursing home care?”

No, I reply once again, explaining in as simple a detail as I can without shouting too loud to her deaf ears that she keeps substituting 42,000 for either 2,400 or 4,200 we mentioned a long time ago after we checked prices when she asked us if we’d be okay IF SHE chose to enter a nursing home and that her finances are fine no matter what because of her Social Security benefits and Medicare insurance with supplemental coverage.

As the therapist told her, she’s being too hard on herself -she’s a great lady with a beautiful smile, sweet disposition and inner desire to heal.

Meanwhile, she troubles herself about her post-therapy future.

I’ve asked her to focus on improving her strength so she will have the ability to make the choice she wants as opposed to what any of us will have to choose for her if she remains weak.

As always, I am humbled by daily experience.

Healthcare workers – floor nurses, home health workers, etc. – you have my biggest respect.

We may write history books about business, military and government leaders but the people in the fiel such as nurses, LPNs, CNAs, nurse practitioners and physician assistants deserve the greatest kudos for keeping us well and helping heal the sick.

Is Eleven Years In One Place A Childhood Home?

Sipping/chugging a dark wheat lager brewed with winter spices after picking up tree limbs off my parents’ yard…

Could be watchin’ NASCAR motorised vehicles in a circular bang ’em up ballet.

Could be neighbourly, spreading the message that a Christiane Armed-n-poor led round/oblong table projected, or the message that the Pepsi CEO’s facial expressions/twitches implied.

Blue skies and breezy day call my name.

A rabbit eats dandelion blooms in the backyard while contemplating Richard Adams and Watership Down.

I can speedread text but not video. Dragging the progress bar or fastforwarding is not the same.

Sitting by myself in the church sanctuary, safe from UV rays and whatever else faces me in the great outdoors, I felt alone and helpless this morning, unable to sing hymns with my usual joyous man/boyish booming voice of enthusiasm because I didn’t have my wife there to entertain with octave changes and hold her hand during congregational prayers. I miss her deeply/dearly.

Going solo at my in-laws’ and wife’s hometown church on Palm Sunday, I had no role to fill except messenger, quickly completed.

And then I was invisible again.

The prism.

The funhouse mirror with no persons peering at me to see their distorted image reflected back for comic relief.

If I cannot or do not reflect, what am I?

What is a social being without a social connection?

Best line I heard, emanating from a dementia patient in a bathroom: “Oh my God! What is coming out of my butt?!”

I want to be that person one day, forgetting what a BM is and entertaining random passersby with insightful age/scatological humour.

What if I already am and don’t know it?

If so, would someone please let me know by magically turning on a lamp next to me in this instant?

Oh well, no magic lanterns and no voices in my head telling me what to do after I lose an argument with myself.

Stuck with sanity and reality one more day, it appears.

Thanks to Jeremy at Fatz; Lynda, Tina and Christina at Dollar Tree; the soldier walking into the west Kingsport Walmart; Pam and Casey at Baysmont/Asbury Place, if I haven’t thanked them already.

Would a sitcom based in a skilled nursing facility generate enough episodes for TV syndication? Or would an Internet video series find a profitable ausience…sorry, audience?

Brain is slipping. Best sign off before it falls. Adios.

Time to contemplate the role of a comic preacher-in-residence proselytising to patients in a nursing home with a mixture of dementia and physically frail archetypes aided by witty nurses, therapists and CNAs battling with budget-challenged administrative types.

Weekend ATC on the ATV

The wobble of our atmosphere, like the liquid and air bubbles wiggling in the space between an inner and outer ball/sphere, condenses nearby, compressed, seeking equilibrium, I think anthropomorphically?

To continue a thought process:::=>

If reading is no longer enjoyable – a combination of uninteresting/alarmist/uninformative news articles and poor eyesight – and television/DVD viewing is just about as difficult because of tiny/inoperable remote control buttons, one is left more frequently to one’s neurochemical activities (thoughts, for the most part).

How many decades can a person stay self-entertained and able to pick up/maintain an ordinary superficial social conversation at the drop of a hat or knock/ring at the door?

We may be states of energy and nothing more but we understand concepts of inner and outer worlds.

The tree of knowledge may provide my primary source of nutrition, as caustic and spicy as the fruit may be, but most have developed lifelong habits on the foodstuff of the simple sugars/salts of ordinary ignorance.

My species is a neverending game of multidimensional chess because I can still comfortably read, write, and press miniature gizmo control buttons.

In my 10th decade, should I live so long, will I willingly play games with my species when so little of the cultural habits of my formative years, or even my early adult years, exists?

The living heroes of 19th Century headlines are largely dead and forgotten (why never smallly? Clumsylooking spelling, perhaps?).

A nurse born and raised in Donegal, with three wonderful redheaded children, lives and works in east Tennessee.

Will the interconnected thoughts of the last two paragraphs (triggering both memories of working/playing in Ireland and the book about the fiery Chicago redhead from Ireland) have more importance on anyone besides me in 50 years?

Tonight I could be dancing to bluegrass at a venue in east Tennessee, southwest Virginia, western North Carolina or southeastern Kentucky.

Instead, I sit, read and write, missing a chance to re/immerse myself in the culture of my childhood.

I clearly see the thought process of my mother in-law and where she thinks she can go to live out her remaining years that most closely match the years of her life she fondly calls the culture of her childhood and early adulthood.

She’s a gentle persuader (trait of an ideal teacher/mother), not a coercer. Will she get what she wants in the midst of whateverybody else wants for her/them?

Glad I’m just the humble messenger/errand boy in this slice of life, far from any knowledgeable boughs, ignorantly following my bliss in joyful participation in the sorrows of the world.

This invisible hermit bows and thanks you for his future silence…humour clouds his common courtesy and pride causes him to write jokes that uncourteously offend others in their blissful duties.

Silence is my friend. Let all = all.

In other words, I have forgotten how seriously others take their social interactions in Life while I laugh in/at the face of Death, which has no/its grip on me.

Netherland Inn Road River Bridge

A nod to the Hart family singers of Wise, Virginia. Your fight for souls is a lifelong battle and worth the eternal cost.

Thanks to healthcare workers everywhere – I envy the moments when your customers/clients/patients look at you and smile with an inner beauty of infinite love and understanding beyond words.

In the near future my wife’s family faces the decision of who lives where and/or with whom.

The recurring thematic element around which decisions revolve: loneliness.

Other issues, too personal for worldwide broadcast, produce gravitational effects.

I can imagine where the likely spot the roundhouse will likely stop but courtesy and the fact I am not the primary decisionmaker on this one prevent my scoring the discord here.

You can’t say that on television.

Real life prevails.

I put myself in other’s shoes.

I see routines involving both familiar and unfamiliar faces.

As energy and activity decrease, larger gaps develop between routines as they decline in number.

The gaps become more and more difficult to ignore.

Hours feel like days.

Houses turn into echo chambers returning one’s solo voice to oneself.

And then?

How much time is left?

One’s remaining days of relatively easy mobility is a primary concern.

If one’s hometown friends and church family cannot fill the gaps occupied by loneliness, questions arise:

What are one’s options and are former dismissed possibilities more palatable and maybe preferred?

Could the biweekly housekeeper/friend be convinced to stay as a daily companion/homecare worker?

If not, who in the out-of-town family could provide the best care to one while one is also not being a burden financially and emotionally?

How does one insist that access to every family member at any time is of utmost importance?

Who has the best mothering instinct without being smothering and overprotective?

Whoever has legal precedence makes the final decision, no matter how the emotions will proceed.

What is loneliness without celebrity like?

When everybody wants you, what person(s) do you want to be with, all things not being equal?

I don’t have kids so how can I say what I would say if I did?

Help, help, help, help, help…

Act III

Scene 0

Deliberatus: Oratorio, where art thou eloquent speech upon which you entertain us with so fully a misunderstanding of the news which is falsely misleading?

Oratorio: Deliberatus, the way you mince words is much like your sword play, intending to inflict injury but thrusting not.

Inconflictum: Rather, you two, ’tis nobler still to be still contemplating the fermentation form from one’s still while sharpening the saw blade of the Stihl machination.

Oratorio: Ever in conflict, eh, Inconflictum?

Deliberatus: Ahoy, what fair maiden approaches? Why, it is Baysmountaneous.

Baysmountaneous: The Idlers Three. What philosophical lint are you microscoping to infinite nothingness whilst your peers make hay ‘neath solar arrays?

Inconflictum: Noise. Bother. Pooh. Bah humbug. Our positive attitude vexes thee, does it not?

Oratorio: Indeed! She has not the smiling attribute of one such as Michelle, Pauline, Myra, Sally, Susie or Becka.

Baysmountaneous: And you do not understand that namedropping creates rivals of whom I know not, perplexing my mood and disturbing my complexion. I cannot compete with shadows, ghosts or heavenly images floating in your thoughts.

Deliberatus: A fine speech, milady. I will complex ye further still…

Inconflictum: Still! The still echoes of stillness! My life is complete, but not so complicated as all that.

Deliberatus: Inconflictum, your name is Interruptus, if I be granted time to turn back the clock to thy birthday. Baysmountaneous, consider these: Robin, Sonya, Jessica, Andrea, Dianne, Sheila, Jennifer, Brenda the clock lady with the Snoopy mask…

Oratorio: Ahh..the speechless canine who waxes words like, wise, likewise, of course.

Deliberatus: “I think I’m allergic to mornings.” Shall I continue?

Baysmountaneous: Your point, though dull, made its mark. Methinks, when I trouble the deep well of my thoughts, to stir the sediment and discover ancient treasures, long-lost themes in names like Carla and Barb.

Oratorio: Well, I am reminded of my time in the Senate, when, while Philly and Buster wanted to take the floor, I spoke upon themes of well-taxed citizens, denizens, city sins and country dens where one finds names like Natasha, who handled her first patient from beginning to end..

Baysmountaneous: You don’t mean the High Sheriff made his final cardiac arrest?!

Oratorio: No, not that end. The patient, though ill, is quite well, if not quite well, well-living or living well. The end is comparative, not argumentative or final. In this managed case, under the watchful eye of Serioso Cirrelli.

Deliberatus: Cirelli, you mean?

Oratorio: One letter, more or less, does not alter one’s title, although an anagrammatic acronym suffers the loss more so than gains.

Inconflictum: Final answer: Carla or Ashley on the floor?

Baysmountaneous: Floor is a conflicted word. Shall we table the motion and submit a suggestion to the Committee for complete, though never thorough, discussion?

Deliberatus: Ma’am, you have the floor. I concede defeat; da feet carry me away, philosophically. I shall nurse my wounds alone.

Inconflictum: And I shall return to the spineless spiny padded pillow room we call Life, fed by Brittany and Brandi, team manager trainee, under the sign of the tortilla shell gong.

Oratorio: I shall call Luke and Justin to start therapy for Scene I, Plaza D’Asbury. A hearty hello to Brandy and Jessica – scene stealers, they are. A welcome change from smug, inside-the-Beltway snobbishness of analysts like David of Brooks. Long live the Donald!

ALL: We bid L’Hopital Memoriale adieu and fare thee well. Dr. Powell, noisy music, please.

Tax Day

“Sergeant, what’s our bearing?”

“Pardon?”

“‘Pardon, sir?’!”

“Pardon, sir?”

“What was that?”

“What did you ask, sir?”

“Our bearing!”

“246, sir.”

“No, that’s our heading. What’s our bearing?”

While the officer and the sergeant, who had both lost a lot of money in poker geames the night before, took their monetary shortage frustrations out on each other, a storm reached their horizon.

“This is the Meteorological Experiment Station Charlie Charlie Charlie. Come in, please?”

“This is Sergeant Sargent. What’s goin’ on?”

“Sarge…”

“Call me Sargent.”

“Sergeant…”

“No. Sargent.”

“Actually, I’m a leftenant…”

“You mean, lieutenant, sir?”

“Let’s dispense with the formalities, sergeant. There’s a major electrical storm headed your way, with winds kicking quite a lot of sand.”

“Lieutenant, this is General Capitane. Does the storm have any effect on our bearing?”

“You’ll have to ask the sergeant, captain.”

“No, it’s Capitane, lieutenant.”

“Pardon me. Are you saying you’re a captain leftenant?”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Leftenant Cooperal.”

“I’m not a corporal, lieutenant. I’m General Capitane.”

“And neither am I a captain, general. However, the storm is close upon your position. Sergeant, do you see the storm on your radar?”

“That’s Sargent, Lieutenant Cooperal.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with the way NATO reassigns duties. You’re a sergeant leftenant corporal?”

“No. Sergeant Sargent. You’re a lieutenant, Lieutenant Cooperal.”

“Curious how they double the titles, eh, general?”

“Perhaps. What about our bearing?”

“The storm should be bearing down upon you right now.”

BOOM!

“Sergeant, that’s what I’m talking about! Increase the speed of this land yacht. And corporal, lieutenant or whatever you are, carry on.”

“Leftenant Cooperal, captain or general. Your sergeant sergeant was quite informative.”

“Thank you, lieutenant. That’s Sergeant Sargent, though, sir. And he’s General Capitane, not a captain.”

CRUNCH!

“Sergeant, what was that?”

“I believe we got some sand in our bearings.”

“We can only have one bearing at a time.”

“Yes, sir. In that case, our bearing is stuck.”

“Then change our bearing!”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but we’re bearing a broken bearing.”

“Don’t bore me. Fix it!”

“Yes, sir. One less boring bearing change coming up. Although I may have to bore into the gear to fix it…”

“Enough! Libyan liberation waits for our clear-headed leadership and a straightforward bearing!”

Ode to a Pillow

Pillow, sweet pillow,
How you bend like a willow;
Your polyester stuffing,
Your tender, loving fluffing,
Comfort me like nobody can.

I ask for a companion,
I get a bouncy canyon,
Cradling,
Hugging,
Holding me tight
Like the roots of a banyan.

You never complain,
Stay dry in the rain,
Wait for me without pain,
Lay in bed for my mane.

Does any mate treat you less kindly?
Does your silence mean you mind me?

How shall I count the ways I love you?
The way you look in a fresh pillow case?
The way you give every bed a complement?
The way others admire you when we’re together?

A few rhymes cannot suffice,
Never once, twice or thrice,
A throw of the dice,
To describe how you entice
One such as me, among mice,
To say you’re more than nice.

To you I bow my head,
At a loss for words,
Because you tempt me to sleep
Like an air traffic controller
With only a radar screen
To dream, drool and snore upon.

Sweet dreams, pillow!
I dare say “I love you!”?

Whittling a cereal bowl

In a house, hearing noises, seeing lights, with no warm bodies to touch – neither wife nor cat – a mood sets in.

Do I only accept terms and phrases like “God’s Plan,” “coincidence,” “fate” and “destiny” when I feel I have little or no part in an activity or outcome?

What if all I want is to sit here, write, and have a warm sleeping companion?

What calendrical day is it?

If all rituals are bunk, with whom do I bunk when my bunkmate is unavailable?

No anti/stimulants to change my mood.

The silence of tinnitus to tune out the world.

Vulnerability of sleep to comfort me.

At peace with a peace that is my piece of the universe.

Was the Russian princess who never was named Anastasia?

Paint a poster board with glowing paint and watch the stars shine brightly in a darkened room, vivifying dreams.

Potato soup and bread pudding – a hospital dietician is a chef in a food pyramid fantasy.

Can a painter draw blood?

Thanks to Robert and Naomi at Walmart; Pal’s Sudden Service; Hawkins County EMS; the Testermans; Kay’s Classic ice cream…

…getting sleepy…zzzzz

The Torrents of Spring

“No patient or staff food to be kept in refrigerator. (please help keep our kitchen clean)” – sign on wall posted next to Coca-Cola dispensing machine.

Where the cost of living is low, one can afford to not worry about whether kitchen visitors can read.

Do we sing the songs that speak our thoughts or our emotions?

Should the labels “thought” and “emotion” represent separate concepts?

What is hidden inside a box labeled as a Douwe Egberts coffee dispensing machine?

What is taedium vitae?

Do you understand the effects of the profit motive on your actions?

You see, I find myself at the usual center of two lines of warriors: the defense budget cutters and the social services budget cutters.

If either side “wins,” I win and lose.

My household budget depends on both.

My investment portfolio will roll with the punches.

Newspapers tell me about a group or groups of people in Libya – “Help us!” they shout over the political maneuverings of the U.S. government of the people, by the people and for the people.

As a simple man, I ask myself who is the maker of the wooden basket full of snacks provided for hospital patient families.

A virtual horn of infinite plenty.

What is the difference between real artificial flavour and the “real taste” of its zero calorie equivalent?

Which is better, “original” or “new and improved,” and which one is better for me?

Just because you can pack more people into an arena doesn’t mean the product is any better, just that the owner(s) and investor(s) are spreading fixed costs across a larger portion of the population.

…where was I?…

…hmm…diverted by Kenny at the Rogersville PO (thanks for the U.S. Civil War and evergreen stamps, btw) for a trip to Eidson to get some Ronald Reagan stamps, purple heart stamps and golden ring stamps, breathing in the view from mountain top twisty roads…

Has Shirley Begley claimed a dog named Bella as a dependent on her 2010 taxes? Rita Richardson won’t say but she did share the story of a Japanese lady who made the origami gift of love hanging in the rural post office.

Was it Brenda who kindly brought the Ingraham clock?

Thanks to Peggy for the delicious boiled custard! I’m spoiled!

Thanks to Joe Price for stopping by.

There is, in conversation, a level of understanding, corresponding to our number of experiences, to which we adjust regularly, willingly or not.

Most used tags

Man and Superman by George Bernard Shaw.

’tis pleasantries that often pass for ‘onesty and civility, no doubt.

‘istory, all the same.

Jargonese.

Maple salmon, carmelised cabbage and creamed beans complemented by Nottage Hill shiraz in the Troutdale at the Hale Springs Inn, courtesy of Chef Ellis (from Chateau Elan), server Tom (from Greeneville) and proprietor Ben Zandi (from Bristol).

Candlelight accompanied by robin, mockingbird and starling hunting insects on the town square.

Highlights selling public radio.

Bloomin’ white/pink dogwood bloomin’ in front of the Masonic Temple Overton Lodge and usbank.

Middle-aged daughter brought 80-year young mother for birthday.

A spa where three U.S. presidents stayed.

Almost a guilty pleasure eating there while my mother in-law heals – call it a self-assigned reward for a personal attaboy.

More people to thank: Ashley, Danielle, Carla, Karen, Dana, Bobette, Kate and Casey; Jolee at Meadowview Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat specialists.

Tired…more later.