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The end of all things …
Well, after the buildup, the letdown.
The colon tour went well, a couple or three spots of diverticulosis, whatever that is. I think it is pockets where poo collect and get ripe. Joy.
I was a good boy, however, at my wittiest and most charming, and the nurse told me the anesthesiologist gave me the good stuff. Rule number one: Thou shalt not hork off the anesthesiologist. And the nurse found the vein the first stick. ‘Tis a charmed life I lead.
We stopped by McDucks and devastated a whole week of healthy living on the way home, only to find that the water main broke. I didn’t get the “boil water” notice, so it was after a nap that I flushed the toilet.
Ye Gads! The water looked like a full load of diarrhea. I didn’t even remember going, but the did say because of the joy juice, I would not remember much. So another flush, and more heavy brown water flowed into the bowl. I opened the lid of the tank, and it was full of brown water too. I actually was relieved that it wasn’t me, and called the water co-op and talked to Glenda. A real Texas lady, who told me everything that was happening.
So … still brown water … I am hoping that the subdivision down the road starts flushing their toilets when they get home and gets all the brown water flushed out. I got filters to get the brown out, and iodine tabs as well as pots to boil the water, so I am in good shape if it doesn’t clear out.
Tomorrow I will reward myself with a new power tool … life is good!
~r
Florida man bitten while kissing venomous snake
A Florida man is recovering after being bitten in the face by a water moccasin.
To boldly go where men shouldn’t go …
Well, at the suggestion of the GI nurse (not the military kind, however), I finally opened the mysterious package that I ordered for $30.50 from the “Colon Prep Center”. I was reluctant to look inside and left it on the bathroom shelf. But today begins the five day countdown, so I carefully carried to the table, and opened it.
Inside was a big medicine bottle, a stapled sheaf of instructions with the receipt, and odd and ends in a Ziplock® package. But, hallelujah! Nothing was made of rubber.
There was:
1 – 8.3 oz. bottle of Polyethylene Glycol 3350. Also called Miralax. It turns a nice firm stool into a high velocity brown stream.
5 – Bisacodyl tablets (but I am only supposed to take 4. So why did they send five. Hmmm? You call them Ducolax.
3 – Sugar free drink mix packets … to mix into a Polyethylene Glycol cocktail.
5 – individually wrapped aloe flushable wipes by Pure Touch® … called “Tush Wipes” in case there is any confusion as to how to use them.
1 – Complementary box lemon Jello®
3 – Complementary packets of chicken broth
1 – pkt of forms, instructions and receipts.
But, did I mention: Nothing was made of rubber nor designed to be inserted?!
Much of the above is mixed into a quart pitcher of that I will drink half of at four in the afternoon the day before, and get up at three am to finish it off. Somehow, I think I shant need to set an alarm.
In the morning, Snookums will drive me to town and into the hospital parking lot, ride up the elevator to the “laboratory” (it better have a lavatory as well!), I’ll be given a “strong” sedative, and the procedure begins. From their webpage http://www.colonprepcenter.com
Once you are comfortable in the proper position, your doctor will begin by performing a gentle finger examination of your rectum wearing a clean, lubricated glove. Then the flexible endoscope will be lubricated and placed inside. You will feel a little pressure when this happens. The endoscope is then carefully moved up through your rectum and colon.
I was going to include some bowl samples, but Snookums said that I probably gave you enough information already. So there you have it. Another of life’s indignities in the aging process.
Mz Muze Arrives
I had just finished firing off a few parting shots at another ewww liberal * on a Liberal newsblog when I noticed her sitting on the desk lamp yoga style. She was wearing her usual ratty tweed skirt that usually covered the knees, but when she sat in the lotus position, her chubby and dimpled knees greeted you like a boxer’s handshake at the beginning of the bout. Especially when those fish-belly white, nylon covered globules were at eye-level.
“It’s been a long time, champ, since you even tried to write a coherent sentence. Giving up?” She asked while oozing serenity.
“No. I keep thinking about it, but I just can’t seem to write when my soul is unquiet.”
“If your soul gets any more unquiet, the backhoe will be pushing dirt over your casket.” She twerped.
“You haven’t been Ms. Gregarious yourself.” I snarled back.
“You might try romancing me once in a while, Señior Neruda.” She said, placing her hand behind her head and thrusting out her bosom while puckering her red painted lips.
I quickly averted my eyes from the straining gaps between the buttons of her pink rayon blouse and replied, “I started a few times, but you weren’t much help.”
“No, you didn’t start anything. You made a few bad attempts at creating a plausible old man’s sexual fantasy, and it fell flat because it wasn’t very plausible.”
“I didn’t either! I was just trying to do some flashbacks on Shaman in the Sagebrush from the standpoint of an old man.”
“It was a chopped up bio and you know it. You will never finish the tale because you don’t want people to know the scary parts, and are afraid that people will accuse you of plagiarizing Carlos Castenada.”
“Well, there is that. It does come a little too close to his tales of Don Juan, the Yaqui medicine man.”
“You are going to have to resolve it somehow. And you know what that entails.” She stated self-righteously
“Yeah, yeah. Write it. Waste two or three thousand words on something that will never see the light of day.”
“So how many words are you saving by not writing?” She asked pointedly.
She had me.
“I did do some rethinking on Akashaic, the saga. It had grown from a simple idea into a full blown saga, more vast than Wagner’s The Ring Cycle.”
“You did let that one get away from you!” She said, condescendingly.
“It was your fault. I just sat down to write a story.”
“You sat down to impress people.” She cackled.
“Well, you certainly made sure that didn’t happen!” I impolitely shot back.
“You could have reined me in at any time, lover. I like it when you’re my boss!” she cooed.
“Bullpucky. You’d dominate me at any chance you got!”
“It would take more imagination than you possess, Hemmingway.”
“The thought of you in leather and fishnets takes more imagination than an army of men has!”
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, lately, Adonis? A mottled pink blob of old flesh, with kinky gray hairs coming out of your huge pair of ears. Paint you gray and you’d look like a hairy elephant.”
And so the conversation wound down. But a new vision appeared. A magician, a young blond, two Semitic female slaves, and a tale of revenge works around the periphery of my mind. I was tired of that pink rayon blouse anyway. She would look good in a slave collar and leash.
* An Ewww Liberal is a left winger who runs out of debating material and resorts to trying to censor people with a “Ewww. You belong to the IN ARE AYE? Ewww!“
Free Floating Anexiety, Evil Budgies and Warm!
Æons ago, I went into an 18 month depression. Not the down-in-the-dumps sort of depression, but a true body shutdown that almost killed me. As near as I can determine, it was a body chemistry issue, not an emotional one, though the malady most certainly created emotional problems.
The biochemical malady is much harder to diagnose and treat. Usually the first thing that counselors and psychiatrists tried to do then was try and treat the symptoms, which really made the malady worse. Fortunately, I never went into the drug therapies, though. I have a couple of siblings who also suffer from the disease and were treated with medications, and the results weren’t pretty
In my more normal state, the imbalance shows up as “Free Floating Anxiety”, where a chore that I put off because of sloth later becomes an insurmountable burden. Often, the task I begin avoiding is one that I have done many times before without any difficulty. I never know where it is going to land, hence the term free floating.
I just caught myself today in one of those oddball manifestations. I need to get my pick-up inspected. It was due in Feb, and it is still sitting in the carport with expired safety and registration stickers. However, I need to sort some tools in the bed, repair an armrest, and clean it up a little before I go. The poor old truck hardly gets a thousand miles a year on it nowadays …
Exercise seems to be the best cure for the malady, and if I set the worrisome project aside and go to another pressing project, that often is all I need to get me moving in the right direction. Another helpful thing is to recognize that it is the disorder itself that puts me in an anxious mode.
Anyhoos .. on my third cup this morning. We skip breakfast on Tuesdays and have an early lunch. I have installed fencing on an open deck to contain the dogs, but still need to build a swinging gate on the steps and replace the top handrails.
I sure like the warm weather … it also helps me ‘get out’ of the morass. The concrete birdbath is up, the cheap plastic one I use in winter is stowed. Grass seed is planted under a shade tree, window boxes are cleaned up and ready for planting.
And Kippur da budgie is scolding me. I haven’t played any music for her today, and she wants to know why we can’t have a little noise in this damned mausoleum. Twice she has spoken her name, and now she torments us with silence as we try to get her to speak more. She has learned to mimic that little *dink!* that the computer gives when it is given an improper command, and to do the facebook *ding!* when a message comes in on it. Yeah. It would be something that evil little avian would pick up on.
So a good Tuesday to y’all …
~r
Drunken Passover Grilled Cheese
Ah! Here it is for Pesach. Normally we have a light meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup on Sunday evenings. A couple of minor modifications, and I have a passover week meal!
I love Passover and all of the symbolism and stories and the special foods the holiday carries. Passover meant huge dinners with family and friends, somehow managing to squeeze in one or two more chairs for last-minute guests who could not bear to miss the fun. From the days of being the giggling children at the table impatient for the meal to begin; to teens snickering about wicked sons and stealing sips of wine; to joyfully watching the next generation hunt for the afikomen-Pesach has always filled my heart with delights.
Since I will eat matzoh anytime and consider it a treat, the main food of Passover is not a boring burden for me. For many however, anything that can help break the monotony is welcome. So when I saw that Cabot was making a Kosher for Passover cheddar, I knew that I needed to try to make a Passover acceptable version of my favorite sandwich, the humble grilled cheese. Since…
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Some coffee, and maybe more than you wish to know.
Shabbat morning and Pesach morning dawn a cool 55° this morning. The combination of the two make for a Shabbat of Shabbats, or a high Shabbat. It was an interesting Passover meal we had last night, the first where we had no guests or children. The observance has been a teaching moment for Hebrew children since the time of Moses.
However, as two aging adults, what need of we to open the door to see if Elijah has come? Or to toss plastic vermin, lice and frogs as the story unfolds? There is no evil son to speak to disrespectfully, nor good son who inquires, nor a simple son who is taught, nor is there a son who does not know how to ask.
So it was a simple seder of drinking the four cups, the eating of the bitter herbs, and the dipping of them twice in the brine. But oddly, it was a mystical moment for us. A moment when life has come to full circle. The peace of the Shabbat descended on our modest home in the central grasslands of Texas.
And the morning dawns with the same peace, the same gnosis as that mystical moment last night as we ate breakfast. I forgot the day, however, and put biscuits in the oven. There is some debate as to whether biscuits have leaven in them or not. Nevertheless, we usually try to follow the wisdom of the sages in our observances unless we have a valid reason to reject a part of the ritual. I hold that biscuits are not leaven, but also are not matzah. The early Israelites did not have biscuits in popping cans, so they would not have made them in haste to leave. The biscuits went into the freezer.
Later today, we will go to normal Shabbat services. It is about 40 miles to the meeting place. They meet late in the day, around 3pm. I have grown to like that now that I have had a chance to get used to it. The mornings are spent in an unhurried brunch, then a little sitting around listening to music, and lastly, about 1 PM we start preparing for services.
So with this little good coffee post, I wish you good morning, hag sameach, Happy Easter Sunday, and for my atheist friends, I wish you a pleasant day.
Returning to blogster is like I had never left. The same battles are being fought by the same people, all whom have vowed to never forget nor forgive. The same hurt feelings. But then, I guess there is a comfort in that some things never change.
It has been a very good week, albeit a hectic one. We had guests over the weekend, which I am not used to. I am not much of an entertainer and don’t know what to do in the lulls. But medical science rode to my rescue. Much of the meds I take put me to sleep shortly after taking them, so I have a mid morning nap and a post prandial nap.
It gave me time to slip into the internet for brief periods, but not enough to compose thoughtful replies. So many of you got one-liners. Tough. I can’t always be on.
I am building a fairy house in my small front garden. Yeah. You heard me right. A fairy house. See? I do have a softer, gentler side.
I have a tree that has been badly pruned, and I like the idea of model building outdoors. This is my inspiration, although I can’t figure out what the dark things are hanging off the rope bridge. My bridge wont have those.
But it will have a nice two story cottage with a light in it and a proper front porch garden, and a stone path leading to the path to my front door.
I have grown so weak from my sedentary life that it is frightening. I really do need to work more to keep the strength up.
I am staying out of the current debates now. I am so damned tired of the easily offended. My decision is to silently listen to their bawling, but pull the rug out from under them without any explanation every time I get a chance. The bigoted bungheads really need their sails trimmed …
But aside from all that, the world reels on from crisis to crises. The sun sets softly in the west and I can once again sit out in the darkness and pretend that the world really does believe that Freedom is not the right to say foul words when you feel like it.
Evening!
Ophidiophobe – a hater of snakes
Shabbat dawns a cool and wet 54° as the winter/spring rains continue to fill the drought stricken reservoirs. Even with several weeks of slow rains, our reservioirs are only 67% full of the reserve level. But we don’t sneer at any kind of rain down here, and we fervently hope that this kind of weather persists well into summer.
We are attending a new congregation now, although it is about a ¾-hour drive from here. It isn’t so onerous however. They meet at 3:00 pm in the afternoon on Saturdays. At first we felt that was a bit late, but now that we have had a chance to visit several times, we have grown to like that time. It allows the morning to unfold naturally instead of the morning rush rush rush to arrive at the synagogue in time for services. Services end at five, and we stop for dinner on the way home. All very nice.
So what’s for breakfast? My blood sugar has been high for a few days, so I thought of a low-carb breakfast. However, it is Shabbat and I do allow myself to have a less stringent diet. So maybe a pecan waffle and some spicy turkey sausage. I buy a local brand that is actually quite good, though probably not as good as the pork variety. Nevertheless, I have been pork free for several decades now, and only get cravings for real ham and bacon a few times a year now instead of constantly.
Oysters were another love of mine, but finally one year after a preparing a magnificent oyster bisque, I broke out in hives from head to toe. I have never had allergies before, and it was really a shocker for me. So finally, I quit eating traif, or non-kosher foods. Not that I am very observant. Most orthodox would sneer in disgust at the level of my observance. Nonetheless, it fits my lifestyle and philosophy, so fie on them!
I am really getting the itch to garden this year, and have some ambitious plans for a small front garden. I am an Ophidiophobe – a hater of snakes, and try my best to not provide them with a comfortable spot to curl up in. Ergo, no dug in plants. Everything but the lawn must go into tall containers. I keep the lawn cropped short and I don’t kill the fire-ants beyond 20’ from the foundations.
Other than that, I am not going to be deterred this summer. First project will be a canvass gazebo for rest between chores. Then some plantings around a recently cut back acacia tree. In addition, I’ll plant new sod plugs of St. Augustine grass in the garden. It is a small area so the thirsty St. Augustine won’t break the budget.
Well, the first cup is history. It is time to prepare breakfast and have that second cup while I labor.
Good morning!
Rusty's Armory 