I wish!
There is so much about this last year I'd like to wring out of existence, not to mention out of this next year. I won't deal with politics here since there is way too much to cover without writing a couple of books, and these postings tend to get long enough. Besides, I'd get too pissed off to hold on to any semblance of coherency. Or get to sleep tonight.
I'll stick to events closer to home. I'll likely still get pissed off, but with no chance of making a difference, the target of that anger becomes much more diffuse. Somehow that makes a difference in how much I fume myself into insomnia. No difference, don't be fooled, in how much I still care.
Let's start with justice. I personally know two people currently behind bars. One, simplifying the issues behind it, is for the crime of poverty. The original offense was enough to get into legal trouble, but that didn't lead to incarceration. What turned the key was the crime of poverty: if you can't afford the fine, behind bars you go. Another person has more than paid the debt to society by most any reasonable standard, but laws which could be more justly changed, not being popular issues, keep that door locked as well. Enough poverty to prevent hiring of a lawyer who actually is competent is a contributing factor there as well.
The other broad topic is poor health in people I care about. It's not that simple, however. I find myself furious and frustrated in the level and quality of healthcare available, even when it appears to be provided and mostly paid for.
Let's start with a "young" friend of mine. "Young" in this case means early 40's. She has been fighting MRSA for perhaps a dozen years by now. It has cost her two surgeries to remove pieces of a foot, has prevented her having a functional and pain-free ankle even after two bone graft surgeries, and has now invaded her jaw. They are beginning to discuss surgery options to her face now, with who knows what results. What makes me angriest is how antibiotics have (not so well) been administered. Her primary care doc has been the same over this period, so has no excuse for being unfamiliar with her MRSA history. Yet each time another infection got under way, it was treated with the typical 10-day program of mild broad spectrum antibiotics followed by a pause, and reassessment only after symptoms flared up again in a few days. Then followed a repeat of the same, finally followed by the good stuff, which managed to knock out the overt symptoms. Testing to identify the MRSA didn't occur until partway through the 2nd course, though her history alone should have made that a top-of-the-list suspect after the first time. The result of all this is that the MRSA found itself a spot in her body to tuck away until next time it got the opportunity to strike. Each recurrence seems to have produced a hardier strain to attack her, the logical result of chronic under-treatment.
I wonder what they can do this time with surgery, since they normally don't operate while a fever rages, but they need to remove infected bone to get rid of the most recent pocket of infection.
The other medical situation causing rage against a medical team revolves around Steve. Those who keep in touch are aware that his back has been plaguing him for weeks now. He has had problems in the lumbar region every few years, usually lasting a few days and fixable by lying on the floor in a certain position. We thought when this time started, it would follow the same pattern. It's been over a month now, gained him a higher strength prescription for pain medication and one for muscle relaxant. Despite medications he's dealing with intractable severe pain without relief. Sleep is scarce. Activity is limited to the point where he won't go out on his scooter because there are little bumps in the surface over which he travels. His card clubs, one of the main recreational/social parts of his life, simply don't happen. He is getting severe cabin fever, since his main travel is to the doctor about a mile away. He moves from his lift chair to bed and back, not to mark wake/sleep cycles, but just to change position enough so something else hurts, and hopefully not as much for a bit. On the 1 to 10 pain scale, 5 is a good hour, and 9 more constant.
So, the anger? It took about 2 weeks for an x-ray. Indeterminate. A shot into his hip yielded pain relief... for two days. Another two weeks wait yielded an MRI. One more week got an interpretation of it. Two lumbar vertebrae are growing, both together and into the cord. (Is it an improvement to get the affirmation that it's not just in your head?) One possible cause is rheumatoid arthritis, and a blood sample was drawn. Two referrals were to be made, one to follow up, if the blood test is positive, on treatment for what is an autoimmune condition. The other was to be with a spinal orthopedic expert, who might expertly administer pain injections into the spinal column, or perhaps offer a surgical option.
I talk about referrals needing to be made. That's about insurance rules. The specialists, or even the x-rays and MRIs, need to be ordered by the primary physician. They also need to be to one of the medical clinics that accept the insurance he carries. We left the office that day confident that those would be made.
That was over two weeks ago now. You know where this is leading. We were shocked about why. When the next Monday rolled around with nothing heard about his referrals, he called in to his Doc. Maybe a little reminder of how badly he needed to get treatment would push the right buttons. Instead, the answering service informed him that the entire office had closed for two weeks for their holiday break. Try the ER, good-bye. Nobody had bothered to mention this when we were in the office getting his test results and treatment plan options.
Steve opted not to hit the Er, but tough it out if at all possible. Rather than take medications only when the pain was at its absolute worst, not wanting to risk either habituation or addiction, he is dosing himself in the meantime with whatever either medication allows, alternating them rather than overlapping them. His body is still getting to the point where it can ignore either one of them.
Wednesday the clinic reopens. With no appointment, I've promised to drive Steve over so he can demand as much attention from the staff as needed to get those referrals then and there. I even offered to help, quite willing to let the other waiting patients know of the inadequate level of care offered there.
Enough is way too much. I'm almost looking forward to it. 2018 needs to be history.
Monday, December 31, 2018
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Dear Ashley...
Dear Ashley,
I've been thinking about something for several months now, and decided I wanted to share it with you, for a variety of reasons. First, of course, is that it is a response to an event where Steve and I were enjoying your family's generous hospitality, and I need to let you know, along with anybody you want to share this with, how much we value those occasions. Dinners around your family's table are lively ones, as well as loving ones, and those are good things.
We bring home with us the stories and laughter of those memories, and one night in particular is engraved in our memories. No, it's not the result of Steve throwing out the punch line of his story just as Ryan had taken a big swallow of his drink, with results one should expect. Rather, it is about a question you asked and what led from that. As I recall, the family had one shower out of service, awaiting some plumbing, leaving one for the entire family. You were trying to plan your activities so the timing of your shower would be optimal for you. One of the considerations concerned odors. Your question was an inquiry as to who would stink the worst, your dad or your uncle.
The best part of what followed, for the two of us, is remembering how red your dad's head got, all the way to the crown, visible through his short hair. Yes, we still remind each other. And laugh.
Of course, your parent's immediate response was reacting to their embarrassment by scolding you. Parents do that. I have another niece, when younger than you, who asked an embarrassing question in the presence of company. Her parents reacted the same way. A simple sentence would have answered her question, but she got scolded instead. That still bothers me, and the opportunity has long passed to revisit the incident. But your question was similar in its way, and when you got scolded, I felt the need to help you feel less embarrassed by answering with some actual information to help you understand the topic. I perhaps got a bit too didactic, but I hope you understand how the concept of "nose-blindness" works to answer that question for you.
So my next reason for this is to hope you don't let anybody discourage you from asking questions. It's how we learn, how we explore our world, how we gain tools to function and navigate through our lives. You might chose differently about when and to whom you ask your questions, but never stop asking.
My third reason goes back to my being didactic. I find myself wanting to answer your question more completely than two minutes at the dinner table would allow. So, with your permission, here is the bigger answer.
Brains adapt. They have / develop selective attention. What is important gets noticed. What's familiar and safe doesn't. It's part of our evolution. It's what keeps us alive, individually and as a species.
If you haven't yet, you soon will encounter the concept of the food chain. It's pictured as a vertical ranking, where the bottom species are the ones who get eaten, and the top ones do the eating. Usually the person telling you about the food chain will also tell you that human beings are at the top of it. We can kill and eat anything.
That appears to make sense, without much examination. It makes just as much sense as believing the sun revolves around this planet. It's what we see, lacking more information. But both are incomplete. Yes, we are in the food chain. We're just not only doing the eating. From the time we first evolved, there were a whole lot of other critters vying to eat us.
There were really really large hungry cats. The sabertooths may be gone now, but their smaller cousins would still find us a tasty meal, and even house cats will use their former owners as a source of food if they are trapped with the body as their only sustenance. (Yuck, right?) Wolves, the same way, on down through their domesticated cousins when the situation requires it. It's not just the big toothy things that want to eat us. Think, say, rats. Or insects. Bacteria and viruses. Point is, we smugly superior humans are smack dab in the middle of the food chain. And apparently yummy.
That's why we need brains that notice what's different. It might be that motion in the grass telling us something dangerous is trying to sneak up on us. It could be the whine of a mosquito, the grunt, howl or bark of an approaching predator. Perhaps the war cry of the neighboring tribe or the vibration of the herd of horses they are riding in on. In more modern society, it's that car suddenly entering the corner of our visual field, the smell of gas, the beep from our cell phone, the squeal of brakes. Something is different and that's when our brains pay attention.
For the same reasons, the familiar gets labeled as safe and gets ignored. We literally stop seeing the dirt in the house, at least until it's time we're told to clean or we want to impress visitors. Driving, we see the signs for where we need to turn and not those for all the other intersections we pass. When I first drove, I couldn't hold a conversation or even listen to the radio at the same time because everything was new. Now much of it gets done on automatic pilot, barring those changes which signal something needing my attention. Like, all those other idiots out there, or the local attack deer out to kill your car.
There was a perfume I absolutely adored from my first whiff. I wore it every day. Now my nose refuses to acknowledge it at all, a really big disappointment to me. Take your favorite foods, and notice how, with repeated bites, the flavor lessens until you find yourself eating it just because you know it's something you love rather than being able to taste that it is. That first lick off the ice cream cone is always sweeter than the last.
The way our brains work keep us safe, mostly. But there's more to the world. Let's just use that awareness and take a minute occasionally, pause, look around, and appreciate the beauty, the love, all the wonderful things our brains think we don't need to notice any more.
And keep asking questions!
Love,
Aunt Heather
I've been thinking about something for several months now, and decided I wanted to share it with you, for a variety of reasons. First, of course, is that it is a response to an event where Steve and I were enjoying your family's generous hospitality, and I need to let you know, along with anybody you want to share this with, how much we value those occasions. Dinners around your family's table are lively ones, as well as loving ones, and those are good things.
We bring home with us the stories and laughter of those memories, and one night in particular is engraved in our memories. No, it's not the result of Steve throwing out the punch line of his story just as Ryan had taken a big swallow of his drink, with results one should expect. Rather, it is about a question you asked and what led from that. As I recall, the family had one shower out of service, awaiting some plumbing, leaving one for the entire family. You were trying to plan your activities so the timing of your shower would be optimal for you. One of the considerations concerned odors. Your question was an inquiry as to who would stink the worst, your dad or your uncle.
The best part of what followed, for the two of us, is remembering how red your dad's head got, all the way to the crown, visible through his short hair. Yes, we still remind each other. And laugh.
Of course, your parent's immediate response was reacting to their embarrassment by scolding you. Parents do that. I have another niece, when younger than you, who asked an embarrassing question in the presence of company. Her parents reacted the same way. A simple sentence would have answered her question, but she got scolded instead. That still bothers me, and the opportunity has long passed to revisit the incident. But your question was similar in its way, and when you got scolded, I felt the need to help you feel less embarrassed by answering with some actual information to help you understand the topic. I perhaps got a bit too didactic, but I hope you understand how the concept of "nose-blindness" works to answer that question for you.
So my next reason for this is to hope you don't let anybody discourage you from asking questions. It's how we learn, how we explore our world, how we gain tools to function and navigate through our lives. You might chose differently about when and to whom you ask your questions, but never stop asking.
My third reason goes back to my being didactic. I find myself wanting to answer your question more completely than two minutes at the dinner table would allow. So, with your permission, here is the bigger answer.
Brains adapt. They have / develop selective attention. What is important gets noticed. What's familiar and safe doesn't. It's part of our evolution. It's what keeps us alive, individually and as a species.
If you haven't yet, you soon will encounter the concept of the food chain. It's pictured as a vertical ranking, where the bottom species are the ones who get eaten, and the top ones do the eating. Usually the person telling you about the food chain will also tell you that human beings are at the top of it. We can kill and eat anything.
That appears to make sense, without much examination. It makes just as much sense as believing the sun revolves around this planet. It's what we see, lacking more information. But both are incomplete. Yes, we are in the food chain. We're just not only doing the eating. From the time we first evolved, there were a whole lot of other critters vying to eat us.
There were really really large hungry cats. The sabertooths may be gone now, but their smaller cousins would still find us a tasty meal, and even house cats will use their former owners as a source of food if they are trapped with the body as their only sustenance. (Yuck, right?) Wolves, the same way, on down through their domesticated cousins when the situation requires it. It's not just the big toothy things that want to eat us. Think, say, rats. Or insects. Bacteria and viruses. Point is, we smugly superior humans are smack dab in the middle of the food chain. And apparently yummy.
That's why we need brains that notice what's different. It might be that motion in the grass telling us something dangerous is trying to sneak up on us. It could be the whine of a mosquito, the grunt, howl or bark of an approaching predator. Perhaps the war cry of the neighboring tribe or the vibration of the herd of horses they are riding in on. In more modern society, it's that car suddenly entering the corner of our visual field, the smell of gas, the beep from our cell phone, the squeal of brakes. Something is different and that's when our brains pay attention.
For the same reasons, the familiar gets labeled as safe and gets ignored. We literally stop seeing the dirt in the house, at least until it's time we're told to clean or we want to impress visitors. Driving, we see the signs for where we need to turn and not those for all the other intersections we pass. When I first drove, I couldn't hold a conversation or even listen to the radio at the same time because everything was new. Now much of it gets done on automatic pilot, barring those changes which signal something needing my attention. Like, all those other idiots out there, or the local attack deer out to kill your car.
There was a perfume I absolutely adored from my first whiff. I wore it every day. Now my nose refuses to acknowledge it at all, a really big disappointment to me. Take your favorite foods, and notice how, with repeated bites, the flavor lessens until you find yourself eating it just because you know it's something you love rather than being able to taste that it is. That first lick off the ice cream cone is always sweeter than the last.
The way our brains work keep us safe, mostly. But there's more to the world. Let's just use that awareness and take a minute occasionally, pause, look around, and appreciate the beauty, the love, all the wonderful things our brains think we don't need to notice any more.
And keep asking questions!
Love,
Aunt Heather
Friday, December 21, 2018
A Gift Of Family
A family member has begun a tradition for us, one we treasure more each year she does it. It's a calendar. Not only is it practical, with large enough spaces to write appointments and things like recycling reminders in for any given day, but it's a family treasure.
It's not just pictures of the two of them and their kids. It's everybody else in the family and their kids. She selects from not only her extended family, spreading out from Steve's heritage, but coordinates with mine to make it complete. It's pictures of Steve and me with grandkids, extended groups, individual people's photo treasures. Each month is a new selection of photos, a new spectrum of events. They are set in parks and living rooms, day cares, yards, even a sidewalk where Daddy walks his two youngest kids safely to their destination. They cover holidays, birthdays, parties, and just-because. They range from dressed up and posed to candid and goofy.
Each calendar is a treasure of who all of us were the previous year. And yes, we're collecting a stack of them to page through for future years. Not only can we see what each of our two lives were like that year, but peek in on the lives of those we were apart from as they grew each year. And each calendar is a gift of the thoughtfulness and time given to create this priceless archive, this archive of love.
Thank you, Krystal.
It's not just pictures of the two of them and their kids. It's everybody else in the family and their kids. She selects from not only her extended family, spreading out from Steve's heritage, but coordinates with mine to make it complete. It's pictures of Steve and me with grandkids, extended groups, individual people's photo treasures. Each month is a new selection of photos, a new spectrum of events. They are set in parks and living rooms, day cares, yards, even a sidewalk where Daddy walks his two youngest kids safely to their destination. They cover holidays, birthdays, parties, and just-because. They range from dressed up and posed to candid and goofy.
Each calendar is a treasure of who all of us were the previous year. And yes, we're collecting a stack of them to page through for future years. Not only can we see what each of our two lives were like that year, but peek in on the lives of those we were apart from as they grew each year. And each calendar is a gift of the thoughtfulness and time given to create this priceless archive, this archive of love.
Thank you, Krystal.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
'Tis The Season Of Smiles And Good Horns
Tis the season, folks. Just maybe not exactly how you thought.
Twice a month, on the 1st and 3rd Saturday mornings of the month, you'll find me at the SW corner of 99th and Bell, holding up a sign saying "Honk For Peace". There will be a group of us, many of whom have joined Grandmothers For Peace. A couple of us are in the Men's Auxiliary, that being less unwieldy than forming/joining a separate group called Grandfathers For Peace.
I tend not to talk about it. I know from experience it's not always well received. I've been challenged with "Why?" in a tone that suggests I might have just admitted robbing banks to support my retirement. (Note for the curious: I haven't. Robbed nor admitted.) Part of the answer is because I can. I was too young to demonstrate during the Civil Rights Protests, however much I supported them. For decades I was too busy or unwilling to join a host of others, and find I really hate trying to find parking in Phoenix proper where most current ones are held. And let's not forget my general ability to walk or stand for long periods expected of those who join in. This, however, I can do.
You can't miss us. Part of that might be the noise from honking vehicles that pass. Part of it is the group, spread along next to the sidewalk, mostly sitting in lawn chairs: we are grandparents after all. Signs are scattered all over our corner, and one regular member holds up on a pole a flag which has replaced the field of stars with a peace sign.
Yes, it's a legal US flag. That's one of the many things I've learned during the two years I've been one of the demonstrators.
I've also learned a bit about others in the group. One is a world-traveling concert pianist, able to join us only seldom. One brings bagpipes occasionally. One has to leave early for regularly scheduled mah jongg and has been unable to join us for brunch after demonstrating until recently when we adjusted our hours. One is bi-polar, another died during her return to her home state of Colorado last year, one is on chemo. Three have served on the management board of a non-profit, two work at a food shelf, one has held political office. Some stay year-round, others head to cooler parts come summer, same as I do. Stay or just winter here, some come from Sun City, some from Sun City West. We arrive in cars or golf carts. I'm even sorting out which names belong with which faces... sort of.
I've learned which commercial vehicles will or won't generally honk, as well as just how painfully loud some of those horns can be. But hey, we asked. I also see how many more supporters we have who'll wave and smile, but are too shy to actually honk. Or maybe, this being Arizona after all, are reluctant for their neighbors to know they support our cause. Some just wait until the light changes before they honk as if nobody will then realize exactly who honked because they're too busy driving. Others are so enthusiastic that we worry about them as they smile, wave, honk and text all while passing by. We wish those all our best... including enough funds to pay their tickets should any cops be nearby.
Because I've also learned how many folks react negatively to our demonstrations. There are the ones who steal a glance our way from several cars back, then resolutely look straight ahead as they pass the intersection. Some go a step further, giving us a little scowl. Maybe even a big one. I have to wonder, while seeing them change from neutral observers of the world they pass, to active disapproval of us, just what it is they object to. And why? Do they think we don't support our military and by demonstrating are showing our disapproval of their glorious war service? Those folks almost never stop to ask us if we support our troops or not, and I doubt whether they can parse out the difference between supporting them but not supporting how they are misused. (Another whole posting for later.)
Some folks are more overt in their disapproval, using their short stop at the light to roll down their windows for commentary. A few do not hesitate to express their faith ... that we are going straight to hell. That Christ hates us. That they know one of a variety of ways to competently vocalize what awful people we are, especially when they can't discern that the ambient road noise as traffic starts up again effectively covers up every bit of what they are communicating except their tone of voice. Most of them are content to just wave as they pass by, not understanding that it takes more than a single raised finger to show their support and encouragement.
Really, though, who actually supports war over peace?
Who?
Regardless of their reactions, we smile and wave, some of us with full open hands, some with the two-finger "V" peace symbol, at everyone who passes. The talking among ourselves we save for the gaps in traffic, due to the noise levels. That makes for some interesting conversations.
If we ignore for a bit the occupants, and just note the vehicles, there is still plenty to learn. There are changing patterns in how busy traffic is, or who moves over for emergency vehicles, or who can't signal a turn or wait for a gap to pull into traffic. Some seasons there are various items attached to show support for sport teams. This season, the most popular decorations seem to be antlers arising from back windows. Having heretofore only seen those from the back, I thought they were cute but didn't give them much thought. Facing them head-on this morning, I got the full effect when I also spotted the little furry red "nose" attached to the hoods of the cars sporting antlers. Who knew there were so many Rudolphs hanging around the area? And why are the all grounded? Shouldn't they be working on their stamina right now?
On this last protest day before the big Holidays, the mood is much more friendly than usual. 'Tis truly the season of smiles and good horns!
Twice a month, on the 1st and 3rd Saturday mornings of the month, you'll find me at the SW corner of 99th and Bell, holding up a sign saying "Honk For Peace". There will be a group of us, many of whom have joined Grandmothers For Peace. A couple of us are in the Men's Auxiliary, that being less unwieldy than forming/joining a separate group called Grandfathers For Peace.
I tend not to talk about it. I know from experience it's not always well received. I've been challenged with "Why?" in a tone that suggests I might have just admitted robbing banks to support my retirement. (Note for the curious: I haven't. Robbed nor admitted.) Part of the answer is because I can. I was too young to demonstrate during the Civil Rights Protests, however much I supported them. For decades I was too busy or unwilling to join a host of others, and find I really hate trying to find parking in Phoenix proper where most current ones are held. And let's not forget my general ability to walk or stand for long periods expected of those who join in. This, however, I can do.
You can't miss us. Part of that might be the noise from honking vehicles that pass. Part of it is the group, spread along next to the sidewalk, mostly sitting in lawn chairs: we are grandparents after all. Signs are scattered all over our corner, and one regular member holds up on a pole a flag which has replaced the field of stars with a peace sign.
Yes, it's a legal US flag. That's one of the many things I've learned during the two years I've been one of the demonstrators.
I've also learned a bit about others in the group. One is a world-traveling concert pianist, able to join us only seldom. One brings bagpipes occasionally. One has to leave early for regularly scheduled mah jongg and has been unable to join us for brunch after demonstrating until recently when we adjusted our hours. One is bi-polar, another died during her return to her home state of Colorado last year, one is on chemo. Three have served on the management board of a non-profit, two work at a food shelf, one has held political office. Some stay year-round, others head to cooler parts come summer, same as I do. Stay or just winter here, some come from Sun City, some from Sun City West. We arrive in cars or golf carts. I'm even sorting out which names belong with which faces... sort of.
I've learned which commercial vehicles will or won't generally honk, as well as just how painfully loud some of those horns can be. But hey, we asked. I also see how many more supporters we have who'll wave and smile, but are too shy to actually honk. Or maybe, this being Arizona after all, are reluctant for their neighbors to know they support our cause. Some just wait until the light changes before they honk as if nobody will then realize exactly who honked because they're too busy driving. Others are so enthusiastic that we worry about them as they smile, wave, honk and text all while passing by. We wish those all our best... including enough funds to pay their tickets should any cops be nearby.
Because I've also learned how many folks react negatively to our demonstrations. There are the ones who steal a glance our way from several cars back, then resolutely look straight ahead as they pass the intersection. Some go a step further, giving us a little scowl. Maybe even a big one. I have to wonder, while seeing them change from neutral observers of the world they pass, to active disapproval of us, just what it is they object to. And why? Do they think we don't support our military and by demonstrating are showing our disapproval of their glorious war service? Those folks almost never stop to ask us if we support our troops or not, and I doubt whether they can parse out the difference between supporting them but not supporting how they are misused. (Another whole posting for later.)
Some folks are more overt in their disapproval, using their short stop at the light to roll down their windows for commentary. A few do not hesitate to express their faith ... that we are going straight to hell. That Christ hates us. That they know one of a variety of ways to competently vocalize what awful people we are, especially when they can't discern that the ambient road noise as traffic starts up again effectively covers up every bit of what they are communicating except their tone of voice. Most of them are content to just wave as they pass by, not understanding that it takes more than a single raised finger to show their support and encouragement.
Really, though, who actually supports war over peace?
Who?
Regardless of their reactions, we smile and wave, some of us with full open hands, some with the two-finger "V" peace symbol, at everyone who passes. The talking among ourselves we save for the gaps in traffic, due to the noise levels. That makes for some interesting conversations.
If we ignore for a bit the occupants, and just note the vehicles, there is still plenty to learn. There are changing patterns in how busy traffic is, or who moves over for emergency vehicles, or who can't signal a turn or wait for a gap to pull into traffic. Some seasons there are various items attached to show support for sport teams. This season, the most popular decorations seem to be antlers arising from back windows. Having heretofore only seen those from the back, I thought they were cute but didn't give them much thought. Facing them head-on this morning, I got the full effect when I also spotted the little furry red "nose" attached to the hoods of the cars sporting antlers. Who knew there were so many Rudolphs hanging around the area? And why are the all grounded? Shouldn't they be working on their stamina right now?
On this last protest day before the big Holidays, the mood is much more friendly than usual. 'Tis truly the season of smiles and good horns!
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Good Party, Except....
Last night was the annual club X-mas party. It's a chance to dress up, dance if you wish, share lots of food, chat with old friends and meet new ones. The food was great, the company interesting and friendly, a live band played.
So what was the problem? A live band played.
OK, that sounds like a plus, right? The standard seems to be an assumption that live is better than a DJ. I suppose they're right. At least when the live band is good, that is. Last night's band was excruciating to listen to, and the volume was turned up so loud they were unavoidable. Even shouting at the person sitting next to you didn't quite make conversation possible. Perhaps the band members a: were already deaf, b: thought we were deaf, or c: thought volume would hide the flaws in presentation rather than accentuate them.
The musical selections were decent. Starting off, there were several really old-time goodies, the kind of music most of us geezers still recognize, and Steve absolutely loves. Luckily for him, his back was hurting so much he sent me on without him. The selections morphed into X-mas classics, mostly secular with only one or two outright religious songs.
The members of the band were fairly personable. We didn't chat with them but they smiled frequently. One of the band members was also a club member, which aided in their choice for our party, since it was easy to tend to other details of the party without expending a lot of energy and time locating a suitable band.
The band also dressed well, in black with occasional trim in holiday reds and greens, or a fuzzy antler headpiece. The one exception needn't have been one, except for an unfortunate oversight. The woman in the front row who had a string of jingle bells wrapped around one foot so that shaking it also left her hands free to play something else simultaneously made two mistakes. Her skirt was a little short, not covering her knees even though she sat in the front row. By itself, not a problem. However, her enthusiasm for shaking the bells led to her legs spreading apart enough so that ... well, let's just say certain things can never be unseen.
My main complaint is the band's musicality. Or lack thereof. They needed a vocalist. Several members sang solo, but none really qualified. The lead singer had a range of about one octave, all very low. Where songs we all know rose in pitch, her voice went down. I'm not one who can really tell perfect pitch from relative pitch, but I recognize when someone has even more problems in that area than I do. One of the men had the second verse of a song for his showpiece. Unfortunately it took the rest of the band about two meters to figure out he was using a different tempo than they had been and adjust to match him. The harmonica soloist was never a member of a marching band. The rhythm was already unsteady, but accentuated by how she ended her musical phrases. Where the final note was to be held for 4 beats, she started the next phrase about the middle of the third beat.
Ouch. No really, ouch.
What was really interesting is how many compliments on the band's performance were offered in the club this morning while I was there.
I decided to keep my mouth shut.
So what was the problem? A live band played.
OK, that sounds like a plus, right? The standard seems to be an assumption that live is better than a DJ. I suppose they're right. At least when the live band is good, that is. Last night's band was excruciating to listen to, and the volume was turned up so loud they were unavoidable. Even shouting at the person sitting next to you didn't quite make conversation possible. Perhaps the band members a: were already deaf, b: thought we were deaf, or c: thought volume would hide the flaws in presentation rather than accentuate them.
The musical selections were decent. Starting off, there were several really old-time goodies, the kind of music most of us geezers still recognize, and Steve absolutely loves. Luckily for him, his back was hurting so much he sent me on without him. The selections morphed into X-mas classics, mostly secular with only one or two outright religious songs.
The members of the band were fairly personable. We didn't chat with them but they smiled frequently. One of the band members was also a club member, which aided in their choice for our party, since it was easy to tend to other details of the party without expending a lot of energy and time locating a suitable band.
The band also dressed well, in black with occasional trim in holiday reds and greens, or a fuzzy antler headpiece. The one exception needn't have been one, except for an unfortunate oversight. The woman in the front row who had a string of jingle bells wrapped around one foot so that shaking it also left her hands free to play something else simultaneously made two mistakes. Her skirt was a little short, not covering her knees even though she sat in the front row. By itself, not a problem. However, her enthusiasm for shaking the bells led to her legs spreading apart enough so that ... well, let's just say certain things can never be unseen.
My main complaint is the band's musicality. Or lack thereof. They needed a vocalist. Several members sang solo, but none really qualified. The lead singer had a range of about one octave, all very low. Where songs we all know rose in pitch, her voice went down. I'm not one who can really tell perfect pitch from relative pitch, but I recognize when someone has even more problems in that area than I do. One of the men had the second verse of a song for his showpiece. Unfortunately it took the rest of the band about two meters to figure out he was using a different tempo than they had been and adjust to match him. The harmonica soloist was never a member of a marching band. The rhythm was already unsteady, but accentuated by how she ended her musical phrases. Where the final note was to be held for 4 beats, she started the next phrase about the middle of the third beat.
Ouch. No really, ouch.
What was really interesting is how many compliments on the band's performance were offered in the club this morning while I was there.
I decided to keep my mouth shut.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
More Patience Needed
Yeah, assuming you go for the idea that all the things which annoy me these days are my fault or just beyond anybody's control, and patience will cure the problem. I posit the idea that neither applies, way too often. And hey, we're not even going to discuss President* "Cheetolini".
Let's start with my morning shopping trip to WalMart. It was a short list. I wanted to hit the photo section to make some more photo cards. I also needed a very few sundries. Steve had his own list, so we went our separate ways at the door.
Photo is along the back wall in the store. Time was when this would have been a problem in itself, but my knees are so much better that I hardly think about it. So this wasn't on the problems list. Now on the other hand, sitting before their machines - anybody's machines - to generate photo cards has always been filled with annoyances for me. The machines do not operate in ways that I think they should. Symbols don't translate the way I find logical, and options I firmly believe should be available to me somehow just aren't available. Let's add that these machines change every year, so each visit is a new learning curve, and almost never is there a person familiar with them to help out. All this is true of every visit, and not just WalMart's machines either. So add a level of frustration already built into the anticipation of the event.
However, I had just been there a week ago to generate this season's cards. I finally located another favorite picture thought long lost, and decided to take advantage of that recent experience to make another set of cards for next year while I remembered how. Alas. Sometime in the last few days they changed the software in the machines. Honest! After getting bogged down a couple times trying to work through the program, I backed out to start over. I remembered exactly where to find the card template I used this year, decided you all would forget what it looked like and I could use it again, and started hunting.
It wasn't there.
Not anywhere.
I tried several different ways to reach it, and failed. I tried a number of other cards I'd considered and rejected, but none of them were available either. And of course the young man who had been tending the photo counter when I arrived was now someplace else in the store. Nobody to ask for help now that I finally decided I needed to.
I pulled out my thumb drive and left. I'd had enough, and this wasn't a battle I needed to fight today. I figure any time in the next 370 days will do.
Next on my list was a dust mop. There is enough uncarpeted floor in this house that could use one's attention, and neither brooms nor vacuums quite do the job. Armed with memories of childhood, I headed over to the cleaning supplies section of the grocery department to hunt for one.
They had brooms. They had wet mops. They had chemicals galore. They had weirdly shaped replacement pads in microfibers (!?!) to fit handles I didn't own and they weren't selling. No. Plain. Ordinary. Dust. Mops.
I double checked.
Nada.
I even expanded my search area a bit. Another of my pet annoyances with WalMart is once you know where something is located, they move stuff around the store. It ranks right up there with them discontinuing whatever my favorite brand or variety within a brand is. Some idiot probably told them that if they can get the customers walking through more of the store while they search, said customers will buy more other stuff on their way to their goal.
Actually, I've taken a poll of fellow frustrated customers. Most of us just get angry, and some of us simply go away.
I just cut my shopping list to the two absolutely-must-get items on it, and walked out. My patience for shopping was kaput.
So if any of you wonder why so many of us do more and more of our shopping online....
Let's start with my morning shopping trip to WalMart. It was a short list. I wanted to hit the photo section to make some more photo cards. I also needed a very few sundries. Steve had his own list, so we went our separate ways at the door.
Photo is along the back wall in the store. Time was when this would have been a problem in itself, but my knees are so much better that I hardly think about it. So this wasn't on the problems list. Now on the other hand, sitting before their machines - anybody's machines - to generate photo cards has always been filled with annoyances for me. The machines do not operate in ways that I think they should. Symbols don't translate the way I find logical, and options I firmly believe should be available to me somehow just aren't available. Let's add that these machines change every year, so each visit is a new learning curve, and almost never is there a person familiar with them to help out. All this is true of every visit, and not just WalMart's machines either. So add a level of frustration already built into the anticipation of the event.
However, I had just been there a week ago to generate this season's cards. I finally located another favorite picture thought long lost, and decided to take advantage of that recent experience to make another set of cards for next year while I remembered how. Alas. Sometime in the last few days they changed the software in the machines. Honest! After getting bogged down a couple times trying to work through the program, I backed out to start over. I remembered exactly where to find the card template I used this year, decided you all would forget what it looked like and I could use it again, and started hunting.
It wasn't there.
Not anywhere.
I tried several different ways to reach it, and failed. I tried a number of other cards I'd considered and rejected, but none of them were available either. And of course the young man who had been tending the photo counter when I arrived was now someplace else in the store. Nobody to ask for help now that I finally decided I needed to.
I pulled out my thumb drive and left. I'd had enough, and this wasn't a battle I needed to fight today. I figure any time in the next 370 days will do.
Next on my list was a dust mop. There is enough uncarpeted floor in this house that could use one's attention, and neither brooms nor vacuums quite do the job. Armed with memories of childhood, I headed over to the cleaning supplies section of the grocery department to hunt for one.
They had brooms. They had wet mops. They had chemicals galore. They had weirdly shaped replacement pads in microfibers (!?!) to fit handles I didn't own and they weren't selling. No. Plain. Ordinary. Dust. Mops.
I double checked.
Nada.
I even expanded my search area a bit. Another of my pet annoyances with WalMart is once you know where something is located, they move stuff around the store. It ranks right up there with them discontinuing whatever my favorite brand or variety within a brand is. Some idiot probably told them that if they can get the customers walking through more of the store while they search, said customers will buy more other stuff on their way to their goal.
Actually, I've taken a poll of fellow frustrated customers. Most of us just get angry, and some of us simply go away.
I just cut my shopping list to the two absolutely-must-get items on it, and walked out. My patience for shopping was kaput.
So if any of you wonder why so many of us do more and more of our shopping online....
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