By the sea, by the sea

  "By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea You and I, you and I, oh how happy we'll be"  Growing up in a small beach city, I lived those lyrics (written in 1914) everyday. The ocean was an elementary part of life and I couldn't imagine a life without it nearby. As a child, I would walk along the shoreline, watching the waves advance upon the sand and then slowly retreat. Barefooted, I would stand in the shallow water and feel the scurrying sand crabs under my toes. I would wander over the pilings that held up the pier and investigate the life that was attached to them. Barnacles and mussels that were patiently waiting for the next high tide so that they might live for another day. 

Sometimes I wonder if wasn't all a dream. Looking back on those days, it seemed like the perfect life. I could wander all alone with no one to disturb my thoughts. I would move closer to water to see it cascade onto the dry sand, then the water would return to the ocean while I watched the sand changing color as the water drained away. Sometimes another wave would arrive before the last one had returned and there was a small disturbance before they agreed on the direction they were going. 

Sometimes, I would watch as someone that was older than me, unwrapped a bundle of white cloth; it was a bedsheet and they would get it wet and then run down the beach holding it high over their head, then I would see that it was actually two sheets sewn together on three sides. And as they ran, the sheets would gather up the air until the whole thing looked like a giant pillow. Then a quick move would knot the open end closed. Now they could take it out into the surf and ride it like a surf mat. I would sometimes wonder if my mother would sew one for me? I never asked and it never happened. Sigh...

Once I was old enough to venture out into the surf where the waves were forming up, I watched as the body surfers would wait till a 'good' wave was coming and then as it curled up just before crashed onto the shallows, they would swim as hard as they could to 'catch' the wave, allowing them to be pushed along with wave all of the way to shore. 

It took awhile but I did learn how to to do this and enjoyed every ride. I wasn't ready for a surfboard and never would be. I knew a lot of surfers at school and I was just one grade behind Dewey Weber at Center Street Elementary. I remember Dewey winning an award for his prowess with a Duncan Yo-Yo. Dewey want on to become a great surfer and surfboard maker. Back in the 40's and 50's, surfboards were made from Balsa wood. In the mid 50's boards were beginning to be constructed with polystyrene foam with a fiberglass coating as the finished surface.

Well, that was fun being back some old memories...

When will it end?

Yes, this is all about depression. Like most autistics, I am well acquainted with depression and have been taking Wellbutrin for about 30+ years. No, it doesn't help much (I think) but I don't dare stop taking it because I could be wrong.

Why so depressed? Let me count the ways...Neuropathy, vision, clumsiness, loss of muscle, hearing loss, dentures, loss of ambition, etc, etc.

Vision problems has me needing two different pairs of glasses. Two very large 'floaters' that disrupt my vision. I have hearing aids but when I change glasses the process of changing will pull one or two of the hearing aids out of my ear. The vision problems probably contributes to clumsiness. I use La Croix so that when I spill it or knock it over, it is only water to cleanup. I have been exercising daily for months now and my muscle mass began to increase, lately it has reversed once again. Peripheral Neuropathy affects my balance as I can't feel the floor now. Because I can't balance, I don't dare go outside without someone to  watch over me. I can't suddenly decide that I want to see something outside, I have to schedule it. Dentures are all my fault, as I certainly didn't care for my teeth as I should have. I do use  a'walker', both inside and out. I also have to use a permanent Foley catheter. I can't say it's permanent as my Home Health nurse comes by every six weeks to remove it, and then she installs another one in its place. For brief moment, I am free of it. I also have frequent nose bleeds, although I do use a gel to moisten the lining of my nose. I have little choice for my apparel, I bought some 'Capri' length shorts because they conceal my leg bag. I also have four or five tee-shirts that I wear as I am not motivated to do much else. I forgot to mention that the dentures make speech, understandable speech, very difficult for me.  

The good news...I will have the capillaries in my nose cauterized to stop the bleed. first appointment is 6 weeks from now. Pretty much typical these days as the number of doctors available goes from few to even fewer.

I have to stop writing it's far too depressing...

10 Reps x 3

 It's time to exercise. Again. Sigh.

It's what I do every day...well, maybe five times a week. I try to start early in the AM by taking a long walk. True, I have to use my walker to get it done, still, it is walking and this morning my phone app stated that I had walked 1.5 miles in 30 minutes. That is not how fast I used to walk when I was racewalking a marathon. Back then I was using -13 minute miles for my training pace and then making it my goal for the entire 26.2 mile race. 

After the walk it is time for a 30 minute set of partially seated exercises to exercise my body, from head to toes. I keep hoping that my peripheral neuropathy will benefit from the foot exercises, but nothing so far. I try to do all of this in the cool of the mornings.

Speaking of 'cool', I read a story about Hermosillo in Sonora state in Mexico. The New York times reported that the city of almost a million citzens had been hit with a high temperature of 121+ degrees. Try and imagine what that kind of heat would do to your city. The farms and ranches. The elderly. I had to work for a few weeks in Phoenix, when the temperature was 117. That was probably 50 years ago. We were building out the interior of a Broadway /  Weinstocks' Department Store. 3 floors and no windows while we were putting up steel studs and drywall. After a few days we decided to start work at 4 AM and go back to our apartment at noon. 

Of many things

 Just another week, another day. My Extremely Significant Other has gone to the local Winco for some therapeutic shopping. I am going through my exercise routine as I try to keep this failing body from deteriorating any further. I did my usual one mile walk yesterday and I haven't fallen in weeks, even months. I guess that means I am getting better?

As I walk through the neighborhood, I can't help but notice all the RV's, boats and other adult toys that are parked along the route I take. I remember reading that there had been a rush to buy recreational equipment during the long months of Covid isolation. That isolation has disappeared and now many of those toys are sitting parked, lonely, and covered with dust.

We had a scare the other day when our garage became filled with extraordinarily strong fumes. It wasn't gasoline but it smelled as if it were extremely flammable. What was it? We hadn't smelled it earlier in the day. It didn't help matters that it was the hottest day of the four-day heat wave. I opened the smaller garage door while I looked around for the source. My wife told me that there was some sort of liquid puddle on top of the painting I had been working on. I stood back and looked at puddle and saw that it was actually a long line of liquid and when I traced that line I saw that it went to a collection of paint spray cans on a shelf. I looked closer and saw that one of the cans had lost its spray top. It turned out that the sun coming in a nearby window had heated that can until the top blew off. It was a spray gloss finish and had effectively ruined the painting. I wasn't happy with the painting, but I now had a good reason to cover it with Gesso and start over. With the fan running and pushing the fumes out, it wasn't long before the garage was cleared. 

My wife and I are fans of British, Australian and New Zealand television. We really don't care for the American shows and haven't watched any of them in years. In our opinion, the American shows simply don't have the talent for directing, producing, and acting. Some of our favorite shows were Shetland, Happy Valley, Halifax, Endeavor, Grantchester, Mc Donald & Dodd, Good Karma Hospital, Under the Vines, 800 Words, Kidnap and Ransom, Brokenwood Mysteries, A Place to Call Home, and many more. We use headphones while watching and that helps us to understand some of the more complex accents. Shetland and Happy Valley come to mind as being difficult to understand.  

Okay, that's all for now...Cheers!

What is the matter with these people?

I thought that I would start the day off by reading the NY Times. I may have made a mistake by doing that. First, I read a story about the book reviews found on Goodreads. A lot of people are leaving One Star negative reviews for books that they haven't read, and that is because the books haven't been published yet. In a few instances the books haven't even been written yet, they are only outlines. The mental gymnastics required to do such evil is beyond my understanding. Why would you cause so much pain to people you don't even know?

Then I read about the ongoing crisis caused by people that enjoy banning books. This assault on our freedom's is gaining strength. This is the attitude that brought about the Middle Ages, sometimes aptly called the Dark Ages. Then I thought about the previous problem with Goodreads and realized that it was the same mentality driving both stories. Ignorance demanding more ignorance.

I read a lot of books. An average of, I would say, 2 1/2 books a week. I started reading, serious reading, at the age of 8. I had asthma and the reading let me be anywhere at all when I wasn't able to get out of bed. When I was 9, I was reading all of the Richard Halliburton books and going on great adventures with the author. I must agree that books are very powerful, and some people shouldn't read some books. But who gets to make that decision? And why that person? Perhaps the decision should be made by this person? Or maybe it should, be you? Or me? Or we could let the person that is reading make the decision. Now that is freedom.

I grew up a long time ago, while we lived in the low income, lower middle-class town of Manhattan Beach CA. Yes, back in the 40's, 50's and 60's, it was very much a sleepy beach village with a volunteer fire department, a dairy (Live cows) and a small library watched over by two blue haired matrons that guarded the 'gates' of the Adult Section, keeping impressionable children at bay. Then, one day while playing in the forbidden Pollywog Pond, making rafts out of old pallets and collecting pollywogs, I noticed something new on the opposite side of Center Street, it looked like a barn, but it had a sign out in front: Branch Library. We paddled back to shore and made our way across the road and went in. A very friendly older lady (without blue hair) asked us if we wanted any books to read. Yes, we did, and she led us through every aisle of the small library. Even into the 'Adult' section. Along the way she asked if we had any special interests. We did and it was astronomy. She took us right to the shelf in the adult section that held those books. We chose a few books, and she checked them out for us. 

We now knew where we would go to get our library books, even though we had to cross the forbidden highway (Sepulveda) to get there. From then on, Librarians held an elevated position in my mind. They still do.