tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30026022024-03-24T16:33:05.358-07:00ProjectionsStevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.comBlogger7443125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-81625774551887944282023-10-21T17:49:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:52:52.239-07:00They did it!!! Team USA wins the Gold<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Great Britain Team watching the last shot of the game</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzCou6d3e00NnUbCnSfTwulRRUUFcW75GrDdd-No9G1ctSb9tCGjZN1SIgkWG9aQsT7L3jqIvLyWXz_91R1jNVBz1bvxnLBZOSb0-hkIwoIBIeyzWsxIAECS1Yls9T1rpvvzCRHRxpam0ZInZlXbLJK01t2oC5Oedm66pNd5TqSpx3ri2nLmg/s876/FB_IMG_1696859357619.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="876" data-original-width="876" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzCou6d3e00NnUbCnSfTwulRRUUFcW75GrDdd-No9G1ctSb9tCGjZN1SIgkWG9aQsT7L3jqIvLyWXz_91R1jNVBz1bvxnLBZOSb0-hkIwoIBIeyzWsxIAECS1Yls9T1rpvvzCRHRxpam0ZInZlXbLJK01t2oC5Oedm66pNd5TqSpx3ri2nLmg/w447-h447/FB_IMG_1696859357619.jpg" width="447" /></a></div><br />Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-35787598182007917222023-10-04T10:53:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:52:58.309-07:00Rain and more rain<p> A few days ago I mentioned that part of our family was going to Thailand, accompanying our granddaughter to Bangkok as she competed in the International women's Adaptive Basketball (in wheelchairs) tournament. In the weeks before traveling she had participated in the International women's Adaptive Water Ski Tournament being held in Elk Grove CA. She had won a Gold Medal and set a new World's record in the Wakeboard event, breaching her own world record, set back in Kentucky, a year ago.</p><p>Okay, enough bragging about my granddaughter...so, returning to Thailand the big news was all about the Monsoon. And what all that rain did to the sport venue. The roof collapsed! It happened earlier in the day and no one was injured. That cancelled the opening ceremony and the first game. Apparently they have found a new venue and the event starts over today. Now it's time to untangle the mess of return airline flights and hotels. Or, they may have to double up some of the games, playing more than once a day. The weather forecast tells us that the rain will continue for weeks while the temperatures will remain in the 80's.</p><p>More news later...</p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-59995899457970261132023-10-04T10:16:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:53:13.661-07:00What is new these days<p> I'm really tired after a few days of non-stop flying. No, I didn't go anywhere. I was using the Flight Aware program to follow my son, his wife and our granddaughter while they were inside an Airbus & then a 777 as they flew to Bangkok from Seattle. Our granddaughter is on the U.S Women's basketball team (wheelchair) and they will compete against other countries teams this week.</p><p>It was hard to get my head around the fact that the small golden symbol that represented their flight was actually going 540 mph at 30'000 feet over land and sea. Of course I have flown many times starting with prop powered planes, then Turboprops, followed by jets. I have flown in a 747 and a Schweizer glider, helicopters and a 1947 Taylorcraft tail dragger. Still, it was a strange feeling to see thousands upon thousands of aircraft in the air. (symbols) </p><p>Some symbol's overlapped but they would be flying separated from each other by thousands of feet in altitude. You could see hundred of plane symbols around major airports, each taking their turn at landing or taking off. Being a flight controller has to be a stress filled job.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-41638476052720610212023-09-26T11:20:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:53:08.570-07:00remembering's <p> I always wanted to share my memories with our family, but we never seem to take the time to do it. Who wants to listen to some frail old man? Very few do...</p><p>So I am going to write some down here and if they want to, they can read them or not. Here is one from the 1940's and 1950's. Surfing was just starting to become a mainline sport in the late 1940's and we had a few surfboard shops starting up in Manhattan Beach. In these years, Manhattan Beach was very much a laid back lazy town with most citizens having jobs in the aircraft industry, centered around the small airport (LAX) about 10 miles to the north. No celebrities lived here...yet, and housing was affordable. At the time, Manhattan had no palm trees but they did have a volunteer fire department, 2 police cars and one motorcycle cop. The city also had sand. It was everywhere. From the beach to Pacific Ave, it was all sand, north and south. So much sand that the city sold barge loads of the sand to Honolulu to add to the sand of Waikiki Beach. </p><p>Back to the surfing scene...when we walked down Center Street (later Manhattan Beach Blvd.) on our way to the pier, there were 2 surfboard shops and the manufacturing took place in an empty spot of sand between the other buildings nearby. At the time most boards were made from Balsa wood and some lengths of a hard wood included to give the board some strength. The shaping was all done by hand, rasping and sanding the soft Balsa. When you walked by, you could see Balsa Wood dust in the street, on the sidewalk and on parked cars. After shaping, the board was covered with Fiberglas. A few years later it was polystyrene beads replacing the balsa wood dust as the sanded and rasped the Styrofoam that replaced the Balsa Wood. Soon after that, those little buildings were not big enough for the volume of boards they were making and they moved them inland to bigger quarters. </p><p>Surfing grew in popularity and in the 1950's, a subculture was formed at our high school; Surfers! You had to wear levi's and a white t-shirt with a Pendleton shirt left open. White tennis shoes or go-heads completed the look. Luckily, my grandmother (Nana) worked in LA at the J.W Robinson store where she got a discount and I soon had 3 or 4 of the expensive shirts to wear. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-71599324329679821442023-09-23T16:22:00.004-07:002023-10-21T17:53:25.767-07:00Long time<p> It has been a while since I last wrote something for the blog. It's time for a recap...I am still unable to walk independently, I have to use the walker. I am still not motivated to create art. I think about it but I don't do it. I am still using a Foley catheter and will still be using it when I die. Which means that I will have UTI's on a regular basis. I now have 2 hernias, one inguinal hernia and one umbilical hernia. It is just added discomfort.</p><p>It seems that April 22nd was the beginning of this year's blog postings. I was beginning to exercise irregularly in order to gain some strength back. I am still exercising but now regularly. In the beginning it was obvious that the exercise was helping. Now, not so much. </p><p>Speaking of art, I have ordered some new color pens, hoping to revive my artistic self. I tried some of the older ones and after an hour of coloring at a table, my back was killing me! I may have to rethink this plan. I had been watching one of my favorite abstract artists on You Tube. She is German and I can't follow all of the dialog, but I do enjoy the background music. It is mostly Techno/dubstep with a hard driving beat that I would love to paint with it while wearing headphones so I could play it as loud as I wanted it to be. On her website she does have some videos in English. Her name is Isabele Zacher-Finete and she is very talented. But, my physical condition is not good enough to paint as she does. Sadly, her latest video is two years old. With over 150 videos on You Tube, you won't run out of ideas. Some I play over and over. That is my autism at work.</p><p>Try this link. </p><p>https://youtu.be/9kwDxE34vOw?list=RDCMUCXJ7c2abkQT-tFa-5M3t7BA</p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-68343281796986529362023-09-23T10:22:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:53:21.126-07:00An experience from the past <h1 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">How far back should I go and which experience? </span></span></h1><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I think it will be 1965 and it's a story of Basque food. In that year I was still an apprentice, though I was being paid as a journeyman. It was later in the year and I had just finished a day of work on the new Broadway store on Ming Road in Bakersfield. My foreman, Alex, had been given an invitation for dinner at a Basque restaurant downtown. The whole crew was invited, all 3 of us. We were given directions to the Wool Growers restaurant, a popular restaurant, or so we were told. We walked in and saw that it was a Farmhouse style restaurant and the Broadway representatives had secured us a table and ordered a bottle of wine. The wine was home made & came in a bottle with no cork and no label. We learned from the server that it came from a cellar shared by the restaurant across the street. Noriega's, and there was an underground tunnel that crossed the street. The restaurant was named for a local judge.<span> </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> <span> </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The menu was simple; you wanted steak or you didn't. The sides were simple but filling. We had a large bowl of vegetables and it was passed around the table. There were a few other items that were shared as well. Then the server brought in a platter filled with freshly grilled steaks. More enough for the six of us. Then more wine of course.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The conversation around the table flowed just like the wine and soon we were 'hammered'. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We made our way back to our motel and collapsed onto our beds. The alarm clock was unforgiving and we soon had to get up and get ready for work. We had a crew that would arrive at seven and we had to be there for them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">While suffering from a wine 'hangover' it was a struggle to remember what we needed to accomplish that day. After a few hours of work we were feeling much better. Then, after lunch, the missing Broadway rep's came walking in slowly and wearing sunglasses. They said that they were surprised to see us so we spent some time kidding them about their inability to drink a little wine without having a hangover.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> <span> </span><span> </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">ii</span></span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-38369414561179989642023-08-31T15:12:00.003-07:002023-10-21T17:56:22.468-07:00Almost...<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> September 1st is my birthday, as it is every year. This year I will turn 83 years of<b> old</b>. At the beginning of the year I was not ready for this. I assumed that 82 was my limit and I was ready for it. I was soon on Hospice care and felt comfortable with the idea of dying.</span></p><h1 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Then, something changed one afternoon. I had fallen asleep in my chair and when I awoke from my slumbers my right hand was 'paralyzed'. What? I couldn't hold a pencil or a paint brush. Hospice care is dedicated to keeping the patient comfortable and I was not comfortable! I was assigned to the care of a physical therapist and she saw me 2-3 times a week, always trying different exercises. The weeks went by and I saw different kinds of therapists; vocational, speech, I even had a shower 'lady' that helped with my showers. Still Therese, my 'hand' therapist kept me working on that frozen </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">hand. And I began to improve mentally as well as physically. </span></span></h1><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I improved so much that they took me off of Hospice care and assigned me to Palliative care. I had to agree that I was in better shape than I was at the first of the year.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Here I am on the last day of my 82 year. I am just back from a visit to the ENT doctor where I had a few capillaries cauterized so I can avoid the nose bleeds that have been plaguing me. Today was also time for my regularly scheduled visit from my regular RN. She checked my vital signs and all were good. She also arranged for a return trip for my last physical therapist to</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">start coming regularly. She also brought me a new catheter (for my birthday?) as she does every 3 weeks. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I am still doing my exercises daily (most days) but I haven't done any walking up and down the block as the heat makes it harder to stay focused. I also did some searching on Amazon for some books on Senior Exercises and Balance. I use the Kindle Unlimited program and I can keep the 4 books I found for quite a long time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I think this 83rd year will see me much improved and looking forward to the 84th year.</span></div><div><br /></div>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-71459522099155337142023-08-05T11:50:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:53:40.197-07:00Exercise...Oh no! <p>For some unknown reason (Lazy?) I stopped creating new posts for the blog. Okay, I am back for at least one new post. </p><p>I just walked in the door a moment ago, tired out after a one mile walk. Now I am looking at my weights and stretching bands and contemplating using them for additional exercise. That is something I have been doing for the past 2-3 months. So why am I hesitant to start another round of exercise?</p><p>I suppose it's because it seems so futile. I have gained a little strength in my arms and legs but my balance has not benefited from the exercise. I am still shaky. It's worse in the evening hours and I just about fell last night in the bathroom. That's bad as the floor is hard, very hard tile and a fall would probably land me in the hospital. </p><p>My oldest daughter saw me a few days ago and sent me a message...she thought I looked great...it was a nice sentiment, but was it truthful? It seems as if every day brings me a new ailment, a new pain. I have peripheral Neuropathy and I can't feel the bottom of my feet so that balance is difficult. I have a Foley catheter in place and it will always be there. Irritating me until the end of my life. Though my Home Health nurse comes to change the catheter every three weeks, I am only free of the thing for a few minutes while she prepares to insert the new one. My original diagnosis of COPD has not changed and the nurse always reports that my lungs sound clear, yet, in the evenings I develop a rough cough and bring up lots of phlegm. </p><p>My cat, Boo the wonder cat, is in failing health. She is close to twenty years old so it is not unexpected. She just left my lap, despite her weakness she loves to climb up and into my lap. The rest of her day is spent sleeping nearby. She has just two teeth, so soft food is now on her diet. She never seems to be in pain, so that's a relief.</p><p>Our granddaughter just revealed that she made the U.S team of women's wheelchair basketball. She is also on the U.S team for water-skiing. The basketball team is going to Thailand to compete while the water ski events are being held in Elk Grove CA. That's not as exotic as Thailand.</p><p>More later...</p><p><br /></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-90880373080007106792023-07-18T16:53:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:53:42.845-07:00By the sea, by the sea<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px;"> <i>"</i></span><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">By the sea, by the sea</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">by the beautiful sea</span></i><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><i> You and I, you and I, oh how happy we'll be" </i> 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. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">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. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">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...</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">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. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">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.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Well, that was fun being back some old memories...</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4d5156;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-60700696579691373542023-07-17T14:34:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:53:53.522-07:00When will it end?<p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">Why so depressed? Let me count the ways...Neuropathy, vision, clumsiness, loss of muscle, hearing loss, dentures, loss of ambition, etc, etc.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">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. </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;">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 </span><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: large;">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. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Merriweather; font-size: medium;">I have to stop writing it's far too depressing...</span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-83918486091970229322023-07-07T11:57:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:53:49.276-07:0010 Reps x 3<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> It's time to exercise. Again. Sigh.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> 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. </span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-25520874709827096812023-07-06T11:42:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:54:00.893-07:00Of many things<p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">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?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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. </span></p><p>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 <i>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, </i>and many more. We use headphones while watching and that helps us to understand some of the more complex accents.<i> Shetland</i> and<i> Happy Valley</i> come to mind as being difficult to understand. </p><p>Okay, that's all for now...Cheers!</p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-72526864469931907352023-07-03T16:00:00.002-07:002023-10-21T17:54:30.032-07:00What is the matter with these people?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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,</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> 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. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">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.</span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-87323992172636752522023-06-24T11:01:00.003-07:002023-10-21T17:54:04.907-07:00Do you remember when...<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The mail was delivered twice a day by someone with a heavy leather bag strapped over their shoulder? And you knew his name?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The newspaper came twice a day? The Mirror, the Herald express, the Daily News? But never ever a Los Angeles Times! That was a Hearst paper and my mother would never allow that paper in her house. The Daily News and Mirror were morning papers while the Herald was the evening paper.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">News Magazines were popular? We would get the Time and the Life magazines. Mother always said that Time was for people who couldn't think and Life was for people who could not read.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNM4Jt-yzvOeTQjt1CSNAdH3g63H-UZTx1AaEyN1wx_ILzwS2JQx2bLkfX6E7w_Y6LlUOO6tMJoy9Jp07UDZNHhL3xAcw5LP2Rql9_8SqAUEu5H6ljlRi76O2lsE-armRNoKGWkUd9ulvWex1F-A0iNTqMWuGcZkp3Fb5TMxMAX67ATje0VTlh" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2067" data-original-width="1588" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhNM4Jt-yzvOeTQjt1CSNAdH3g63H-UZTx1AaEyN1wx_ILzwS2JQx2bLkfX6E7w_Y6LlUOO6tMJoy9Jp07UDZNHhL3xAcw5LP2Rql9_8SqAUEu5H6ljlRi76O2lsE-armRNoKGWkUd9ulvWex1F-A0iNTqMWuGcZkp3Fb5TMxMAX67ATje0VTlh" width="184" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Story Magazines were common. Such as Colliers, Blue Book and etc? Even Cosmopolitan was a literary magazine at the time, filled with short stories...</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I read them all and I went to the library </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">whenever I could. Why? Because reading is learning and that is why some people would ban some books.<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ540zqnLDGXJiASScdMtSQVVyMrIZ5n0eJbOEebwa2XDTJXMkLdwB4LKtqD4r2ZJvtXjkq2kBVh4WM0U3-5PzTy2D6quK71bTSI3VgF3QvjPvsI5ghRLHrRpnZZHFnsabsq_Qi0RHvbH-U3xwbw1Ma1agF6d7lqRftEl9cneqRUenSjgZooo5" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="456" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ540zqnLDGXJiASScdMtSQVVyMrIZ5n0eJbOEebwa2XDTJXMkLdwB4LKtqD4r2ZJvtXjkq2kBVh4WM0U3-5PzTy2D6quK71bTSI3VgF3QvjPvsI5ghRLHrRpnZZHFnsabsq_Qi0RHvbH-U3xwbw1Ma1agF6d7lqRftEl9cneqRUenSjgZooo5" width="189" /></a></div></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAAvMHUeqqjdwJjvqr-fwCR8N_faWTS4OxL1nJrwK9vvP65JMZm8O1aeMiYgXIW0zxNxLxd1IaujVDnxqac0rjfhCW2qIrvIoe2qyFOj-0UvFaBBOPp4jEy0DynqothRi_ocjpGaRo2uiuU9wX5RE2G-h_VGX71nIsOogBkcdY-NLc_f3ujLp0" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="258" data-original-width="195" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiAAvMHUeqqjdwJjvqr-fwCR8N_faWTS4OxL1nJrwK9vvP65JMZm8O1aeMiYgXIW0zxNxLxd1IaujVDnxqac0rjfhCW2qIrvIoe2qyFOj-0UvFaBBOPp4jEy0DynqothRi_ocjpGaRo2uiuU9wX5RE2G-h_VGX71nIsOogBkcdY-NLc_f3ujLp0=w166-h219" width="166" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><br /></span><p></p></div></div>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-44433192908196491772023-06-21T09:08:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:54:16.044-07:00Here it comes (revised)<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I believe that today is the first day of Summer. And I read that we will see our first day of 100 degrees or more in about a week from now. After that there will be no holds barred and I would bet that 100 degrees will be the new daytime low temperature for the next 90 plus days. Depressing isn't it?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I imagine that is going to be the new normal for us. And I am so glad that we have solar power, even though it is an older system; we began leasing it about 5 years ago. At that time, there was no option to include battery storage and that would be the first thing I would like to add to improve the system.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, I decided to check into the possibility of adding a battery to the system. I went to the website of my systems operator and found a lot of interesting things to read but nothing about how to add an item to an existing system. But, I was told to get the latest app. OK, first things first...I went to the app store (Android) and tried to do just that. No luck. Remember, I am 82 years old and my fingers don't fit onto the small keyboard of a phone. I tried for 15 minutes without success. I can't use the Help Line as I am unable to talk on the phone and be understood. What to do? Easy, I give up...I will look elsewhere.</span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-78069241055777202982023-06-19T15:42:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:54:10.741-07:00Genealogy<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Yes, I am one of those...obsessed with my ancestors. I use one of the largest genealogy research companies to help me flesh out my family tree. I have begun keeping it as a 'Private' tree because I have made some mistakes on all of the branches. Now I am busy with correcting as many mistakes as I can. I could find more mistakes if I would just use the higher priced information that is available. But, it's a substantial amount of money and I am not certain that I could keep myself focused on the work to get value for my money. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The TV program, <i>Finding Your Roots</i> has been helpful for me as it shows me what kind of infomation I should be searching for. It's also a very interesting program; always entertaining.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">For instance, I had no idea that 'work houses' were so common. And yes, I have ancestors that had to spend time in one of them. Some of my ancestors were committed to 'asylums' and others were 'transported', which was a common sentence for murder, to the crime of stealing sheep. Transported meant life long banishment from England by sending the convict to Australia. Some times it was banishment to the American colonies or to the tropics where the convict was forced to labor in the sugar cane fieldshose. I also found some relatives that owned 'black slaves' in the South. All of these things are shameful now, but in those days, it was the 'norm'.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Americans have a long history of abusing their fellow humans. The Native Americans were the first in our recent history to be 'punished' because of their appearance.(they weren't white) and their culture. At one time, a reward was given for for the death of a Native American. California had a Chinese Exclusion law. Then there was the round u</span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">p and imprisonment of Americans of Japanese descent in the 1940s. Also the theft of the Hawaiian islands by the concerted efforts of white Business men. I could go on and on but there is no end to it, any century or any place in the world, people were abusing people because they were different. Murder and theft were and are part of the human genome and it continues t</span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">oday.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Of course there were exceptions to the murder and mayhem. Luckily. And most of this history is simply history. </span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-1030074195054259452023-06-19T13:56:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:54:50.466-07:00What to do?<p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">I have a walker. A red one. It is my only method of transportation. But not for long, as I am getting stronger every day. Right now I have adequate walking strength but by 3 PM it starts to fade. I walk outside about 5 times a week and that walk is usually a mile long. Then it's time for an indoor and seated set of exercises (20 minutes) where I try to strengthen the muscles used for standing up and balancing. I do these exercises 6 times a week. At the same time, my voice is improving. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sure, I have COPD and that is what I will die from. But that doesn't mean that I'm ready to do that. I have a birthday coming (9/1) and I will be 83 and hoping to make it to 84.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our granddaughter is staying with us right now as this year she is a coach/counselor at the Ability First camp at Chico State. (https://abilityfirstsports.ohisrg/ ) She has been a camper 3 times before this time. The camp has trasformed her! She is starting her 3rd year on the Women's Adaptive sports (wheelchair) Basketball team at the U of Arizona in Tucson AZ. If you ever donate to an organization, look at Ability First.<span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span></p><p><br /></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-35595488372967991442023-06-17T12:03:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:54:38.201-07:00Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay<p> </p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Let's get it out in the open. I have an Opinion about the South and it's not a pleasant one. That opinon is probably due to the fact that I had been stationed in North Carolina in 1960 - 61. Jacksonville to be exact. Being from Southern California, segragation made no sense to me. Why would it matter that a drinking fountain had been used by a human of a different color? Or waiting for a bus in a separate room? Then sitting in the back of said bus? Why? As a Navy Hospital Corpsman, I already knew that all humans look alike without their skin. What was the matter with these 'chuckleheads'?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Later in my life, I went to NC again, but to see the head of our IT dep't. That was in Charlotte NC and I didn't see any segragation in places I visited. That was probably due to the fact that Charlotte had become corporate headquarters for many large corporation and the employees that had come with them didn't appear to have any problem with integration. Also NC had become a Wayback State...for those in the Northeast that had found the deep south to be less than welcoming. NC was a good place to settle on their Wayback north. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then, in the 90's, I was an instructor /programmer and I had to go to deepest GA to ply my trade at one our branch offices. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh oh, it was a flashback to the 1960's! And it was always unpleasant to have to board that airplane on a Monday morning, knowing that I would have to spend the rest of the week in GA.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now I know that there are plenty of very nice people in the South. But I have not met many of them. I hope I have a chance to do that. At the same time, I know that there are lots of Southerners that really dislike (hate?) CA. Go ahead, I can take it.</span></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">NCO club</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Pogey Bait. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #272727;">Geedunk </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #272727;">– candy, gum, snacks or a cafeteria</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #272727;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Slop chute</span></span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-73495970139114948812023-06-17T10:01:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:54:43.146-07:00I'm still here<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's been a few weeks since my last post but I have excuses. Good excuses. One, our granddaughter arrived for a 2+ week stay and then my sister and brother in law arrived for a much anticipated visit. Even during the best of times, I am not a good communicator. And this was one of the best of times and I tried, but failed. But, it is a new week and I can attempt to do better. And that I will do...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It has been more than two weeks since the first of June and Summer is upon us...sort of. We haven't had a lot of hot days. We might have had one day where the temp exceeded 100 degrees. I am not a good 'gauger' of temps anymore and with a dependable AC unit in place, we keep the temp inside at 79 degrees and I am rarely outside. I do enjoy going out onto the patio as a breeze seems to whisper through there most days and the scenery is lovely at this time of year. Flowers are everywhere and the greens are greener than at most times. But, we have been told that this is an "El Ni~no" year which seems to mean nothing specific, as it all depends on where you live. We are located near the dividing line of Northern and Southern California and that means we will see a hot summer or a cool summer, a wet winter or a dry winter. And that is as accurate as as it gets.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgAg3KNDrVbnJXXHDQagZwfolKi3qZcalxPa21Me-9X-5p-D0P3M5laIxJUuQ4WBI6Tid0Q87_qbmr-N3gMrgqztRHyGuufMIPs10vACtfmirc7Zk3kcoALji6MvN5hi5FUQK1ZDa8pA42OFRVUnmA9m8abm7EBuj0QXzT0gzwY9HVIVJc-Q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="795" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgAg3KNDrVbnJXXHDQagZwfolKi3qZcalxPa21Me-9X-5p-D0P3M5laIxJUuQ4WBI6Tid0Q87_qbmr-N3gMrgqztRHyGuufMIPs10vACtfmirc7Zk3kcoALji6MvN5hi5FUQK1ZDa8pA42OFRVUnmA9m8abm7EBuj0QXzT0gzwY9HVIVJc-Q=w518-h339" width="518" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Above is a bit of memoribilia that I discovered awhile ago while browsing. The story behind it begins in 1945 and that is when we had moved to Man</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">hattan Beach and I had begun to explore my new surroundings. Part of those suroundings were the immense sand dunes that were on every vista of our little beach </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">cottage on Pacific Ave. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had to explore those dunes so off I went to climb to the top, and almost at the top I saw a locked door to some sort of cave; truth was, it was 4 caves. And along a leveled off portion of the dunes there were small tracks, like you might find in a mine, and the tracks ran from one door to the next. I walked along that line of blank doors and found the last one was unlocked and open. It was dark in there and so I didn't go inside, although there was just enough light to see that there was nothing in there.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The caves had lost their appeal for me. Still, every once in awhile I would look again to see if anything had changed. It was always the same, until one day I saw that every door was open and some had been removed. I looked into all of them but there was nothing in them? The next time I came </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">by, the tracks had been removed. The time after that, the caves had disappeared altogther. Over time they became a memory...until I ran across these government drawings. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">These days, even the dunes are a memory as Manhattan Beach sold all of the sand. Some of it even went as far as Waikiki Beach where it replenished the sands of that tropical isle. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-40146370376486366912023-06-04T16:55:00.003-07:002023-10-21T17:56:08.858-07:00Good News<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Our youngest granddaughter is coming to spend a few weeks with us. I like to think she is coming here just to see us. That may be part of the reason for her visit but the reason she made a very long trip from Tucson AZ is the fact that she will be coaching and counseling at the Summer camp put on by Ability First. <i>"</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Ability First Sports</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;">supports youth and adults with physical disabilities to thrive through involvement in</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #5f6368; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">sports</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px;"><i>, recreation and leisure activities." </i>Our granddaughter is not disabled although she may have to use a wheelchair to get around. She is going to the Univ of Arizona in Tucson where is now entering her third year of study and the third year of being on the Women's Adaptive Sports Basketball team.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 14px;">Short story; when she was released from UC Davis Hospital and Shriners hospital she was given a scholarship from Shriners to attend an Ability First camp being held on the campus of Chico State University. With some misgivings, she decided to try it. Well, Ability First made her a very different young woman. She made friends, she played Basketball, Rugby, she learned to waterski and a dozen other activities, she received a scholarship to have a Box Wheelcair made for her, and was invited back to help counsel during next years Camp. Since she had a year before next the Camp, she continued to challenge herself by joining the Track team at her high school where she did the Shotput and Discus throw. Upon graduating, she received a full ride scholarship from the Univ. of Arizona Tucson plus a full ride scholarship to play basketball with </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: verdana; font-size: 14px;">the Women's Adaptive Sports Basketball team. She went to Kentucky where she set a world record in Wakeboard. She also went to the Olympic tryouts in Colorado Springs but didn't make the team...this year. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: verdana; font-size: 14px;">She is not through...there is plenty more for her to do!</span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: verdana; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="jmjoTe" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-left: 18px;"><tbody><tr class="mslg dmenKe"><td class="cIkxbf" style="padding-bottom: 4px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 12px; vertical-align: top;"><div class="usJj9c" style="border-radius: 2px; border: 1px solid transparent; display: inline-block; margin-top: 0px; padding: 3px 0px; position: relative; transition: opacity 0.2s ease 0s; width: 568px;"></div></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-27089705203294128282023-06-04T16:04:00.002-07:002023-10-21T17:55:06.802-07:00How did that happen and when?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With nothing better to do I started going through some of my 100,000+ photo files. The files are not all portraits or family photos, some images, such as those of cars and boats, Art and Artists, etc are included in the number. I have a collection of selfies as well and all dated. Those photos are the most troubling as I can see myself aging in those photos. But, that is not what really scared me, it it's the fact that I can't remember when these photos were taken. Yes, they have dates, but the date is meaningless to me. I can't remember back to February of this year but from that date back to mid year of 2021 is gone. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I used to be able to use my daily journals to remember things that didn't come to mind right away. But I stopped my journals at about the same time so there was no help there. I still remember bits and pieces of the missing 2 years, but they are too shallow to help me capture the whole memory of what was happening that day. At some point I lost the ability to balance and now I depend on a 'walker' to keep me upright. It's also obvious that I lost a lot of weight during those years. How did that happen and when?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-37491777135295770482023-05-31T16:56:00.001-07:002023-10-21T17:55:12.660-07:00Painful but necessary<p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">I have spent a few hours out in the garage/studio, culling out the u</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">nnecessary from the needed. As I don't have a lot longer to spend on this wonderful time on Earth, I decided that there was no need to leave a lot useless items for others to clean up. I have tried to leave as many tools as I can, to my son. I have a ton of artists supplies plus old finished art work. The many small paintings can have a coat of Gesso applied and they become blank and ready for a new artist. My oldest child has found creativity and she paints now. Our middle child has always been creative. Our youngest has been creative as well. My wife had sewn for pleasure until the cost of material drove her away from it. Yes, we are all creative, my sister included. She is a fine artist. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A week or more ago, I gave away my stained glass hobby. A purpose built table with a lightbox for previewing the color of the glass. I included electric power at each end...I had yards of lead came and solder for the pieces I would use copper foil on. It was time, but I still found it painful to give it away.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">My sister is visiting in a few weeks and I hope to talk her into taking some of the artists material. I gave her my glass grinder a few years back, when she was doing mosaic work.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I also gave my son the 3 rifles I had owned. I gave my youngest granddaughter the car that I had abandoned when I gave up my license to drive. It only had 8,000 miles on it so it was still like brand new.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Which brings me to the most painful part; giving up my drivers license. I loved driving! After 9/11, I had to drive from my Kansas City office to the West coast and I loved every minute of it! </span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-19701685062349696172023-05-31T10:32:00.002-07:002023-10-21T17:55:18.600-07:00What am I thinking about?<p> <span style="font-family: arial;">That's a good question. And one not easily answered, as my mind is moving from one subject to another all of the time. I had a subject that I was going to record my thoughts about...and then I had 3 more, 5 more, 11 more and on and on. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I finally thought about the subject of 'Woke'. That is a subject that I am passionate about. But what is it?There is no mention of it in the dictionary except to tell me that the word is the past tense of Wake. It is never used that way and seems to have become a pronoun, or perhaps an adjective? Surely there has to be a better word? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">There probably is a better word somewhere, but the Hard Right Wing Conservative Fascists have grabbed 'Woke' and decided that it made a great Hammer and they have decided to use it on all of the 'nails' that they believe are surrounding them. I was reading an article this morning about Wind Power and Solar Power and how they have become a target of that Hammer. The HRWCF don't believe in Global Warming and as normal for this bunch, they believe it's all part of a plot against them. Did any of them ever go to school?, Graduate? It's hard to believe that any of them did. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> Critical thinking is sorely lacking these days. That must be the reason for their sudden interest in 'Burning Books'. Burning books is the hallmark of any fascist society. Books beget knowledge, ergo burning them destroys knowledge. Without knowledge, lies and rumours become the 'New and Correct' knowledge...no books are needed.</span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-46238827151047332172023-05-27T13:19:00.000-07:002023-10-21T17:55:21.849-07:00Liar, Liar<p><span style="font-family: arial;">The day came when we would all graduate from Hospital Corps school and become HA's or Hospitalmen Apprentice's and have to sew on a new rating patch on the right hand sleeve on all of our uniforms. But before that we were going to learn where we were going to be stationed. I had kept my grade point average above 95% so I was certain that I would be sent to Long Beach Naval Hospital. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Then our instructor, gave us the bad news...The Navy had two Hospital Corps schools, one in Great Lakes MI for the Naval Districts on the East Coast and ours in San Diego, to service the Pacific. It turned out that the Great Lakes Corps school had just recently become infected with some contagious disease and that meant that the San Diego school would have to split up their graduating class and send some of us to the East Coast. With my luck, I was one of the graduates going East. The same thing happened to Bob and he was sent to a Destroyer, based in Norfolk VA. I found that I was being sent to Camp Lejeune Naval Hospital in North Carolina!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Camp Lejeune? That was a Marine Corps base and I felt cheated. All those promises and all my hopes were shattered.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It turned out that there were three of us going to NC. The two that joined me were unknown to me. Whatever...we were going on the same plane and bus ride together. We had orders to report to the hospital by 7:00 AM on the day after our two day plane & bus ride. That sounded simple enough. Not! We had to take a slow airliner to Chicago and then a slower one to Raleigh NC, where we could take a bus to our destination. Of course all of the flights were late in departing and when we arrived in Raleigh our bus ride was long gone. What to do? We found a bus ride going South, but not to Camp Lejeune. We decided to take it and then see if we couldn't find another bus that might get us there. So off we went...going South. We ended up in a very small town but it did have a restaurant. We bought some dinner and coffee while we tried to come up with a good plan. We didn't know where we were and it was getting late and dark. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Hitchhike was our only solution. So we stood out next to the highway with our thumbs out, looking for a ride. At 10 PM the restaurant closed and their lights went out. Now we were really in the dark. Then, at midnight, the traffic light went out. Still, we stood, hoping for a ride. Finally, a car stopped for us. I sat in the front while the two took the back seat. The driver told us that he would be glad to take us south and we could easily find a bus to take us the last few miles.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The driver had a big Bible sitting on the seat next to him and he told me that he was a pastor, a preacher that went from church to church...speading the Word. Then he reached down to the floor and brought up a quart sized Mason jar. It was 'Moonshine' and he offered it all around. We all begged off, saying we had to check in to our duty station soon and couldn't chance it, but thank you!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The driver continued to sip at his jar of moonshine. I was glad that we would soon be out of his car and a little bit closer to our destination. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The driver dropped us off at a bus stop, a Greyhound bus stop, and sure enough a bus did come along. We paid our fare to the next stop which was Jacksonville and 30 minutes later we pulled in to the bus station. We also had our first view of 'downtown' J-ville. There were MP's and SP's patrolling the streets and arresting & hauling away a great many Marines. There seemed to be bars everywhere and there were fights going on in most of them. It was time for us to get out! We found a local bus that served the Base, including the Hospital and we were soon speeding away from J-Ville.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">We arrived at the hospital at 4:00 AM, just three hours early. A friendly Chief directed us to beds in the transient barracks, pointed out the chow hall and said that we could get a few hours sleep before the 7:00 AM deadline. That's exactly what we did, we got two hours sleep before reporting in.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had been 'promised' a duty station of my choice and it would not have been in North Carolina. But, here I was...</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3002602.post-56656615427336991782023-05-25T11:32:00.003-07:002023-10-21T17:55:27.420-07:00You're in the Navy Now! #1<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJD1_drhe45c3mgigMHB05gVl1RBmqise3JWJO7o2oKbu17drV1qboRX_ILHGz3SpErXejZiUae2RYt8pbUupNeSSItxGOpIOcX4xZVZhWhV4pTAWzp6Ue70zj2Dt6sjsPXyO9xU5EztllJTProtlF8YL_vFd64uNRC5SP9su1kpAOiGHbzg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img data-original-height="317" data-original-width="426" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJD1_drhe45c3mgigMHB05gVl1RBmqise3JWJO7o2oKbu17drV1qboRX_ILHGz3SpErXejZiUae2RYt8pbUupNeSSItxGOpIOcX4xZVZhWhV4pTAWzp6Ue70zj2Dt6sjsPXyO9xU5EztllJTProtlF8YL_vFd64uNRC5SP9su1kpAOiGHbzg=w400-h420" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Boot Camp was now history, and I was going to Hospital Corps School...in San Diego! But first I had some leave time to use before going back to San Diego and the new duty station in Balboa Park. The two weeks slipped by quickly and then I was back at the airport, destination San Diego. Then taking a bus to Balboa Park. The school was located in one of the beautiful canyons within the park. I had been to Balboa Park many times in the past as the San Diego Zoo was located there, but I had never seen this canyon. There was one very tall building, known as Building 26, the Naval Hospital itself. Signs led me to the Hospital Corps school, and I checked in and was led to the sleeping quarters where I had a bunk and locker assigned to me. School would start in the morning, and I would be shown where the classroom was and most important, where the chow hall was.</span><p></p><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;">I had to say the breakfast was good and it was peaceful in the chow hall, as compared to boot camp. There I found my friend, Bob; he was reporting in, and he would be in the same class as me. Following directions, we found our way to the classroom and waited for the instructor. Listening to the others, it was apparent that most of the students were Navy Reserve, as Hospital Corps School was the only school that Reservists (2 years active duty) could choose. </span><p></p><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;">Of the three of us that joined together, one of us decided to become regular Navy (6 Year active Duty so that he could attend an Electronics school</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> Our instructor arrived and I was surprised to see that she was a Lt. Commander in the Nurse Corps. She was going to be our instructor for the entire course of 3 months' duration. She seemed pleasant enough and I had better feelings about the school now </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The first thing she did was to pass out a copy of the Handbook of the Hospital Corps to each of us. The first thing I noticed was that the book was the 1939 Edition. What? It was already 20 years old. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Luckily, the book was not used very often, and we learned by 'lecture' and practice. We were told that if we maintained a 95% average on our tests, we could choose our next Duty Station. I had visions of choosing the Naval Hospital in Long Beach which would put me less than an hour away from Manhattan Beach and home. Also, I had a girlfriend, and she would also be less than an hour away. Life was good!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Stevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10446337419977796973noreply@blogger.com0