Sunday, December 10, 2017

Tony's Hidden Talent

When my husband dove off the top step, did a graceful mid-air pirouette and landed on the ground with a thunk in the summer of 2008 I cried, “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he said, “but I’ve broken my leg.” And so he had, with gruesome efficiency.

Thus I discovered he has hidden talents as a diagnostician. When he falls he can immediately identify which of his 206 bones he has broken. Up until last Monday morning his tally was; a skull fracture, 11 bones in tibia/fibula/ankle, collarbone, arm just below the shoulder, arm just above the elbow, arm just below the elbow. When he fell and broke his arm below the elbow a few years back he ignored it until he’d brought in a wagon load of garden supplies. 

When I retired shortly after midnight last Monday am (i.e. a week ago) Himself was sawing logs in his bed, having turned in about 7:00 pm. I was so proud. (I’m trying to train myself to go to bed earlier than 2:00-3:00.)  I lay there sleepless for a while, my body a bit puzzled over being in bed quite so early. The last time I looked at the bedside clock it read 1:00, but then I dozed off. 

At 1:30 I was awakened by a huge crash. I lay there a couple of minutes, trying to figure out what it could possibly have been. Our upstairs neighbours dropping their sofa (or garden shed?). A bomb going off in the parkade two floors down, two cars colliding in the visitor’s lot out front? I half expected the fire alarm to start shrieking, and when it didn't I finally got up to see if I could see what he noise was. 

As soon as I walked into the kitchen I found “the bomb”, in the form of my husband, on the floor. “What are you doing down there,” I asked (rather stupidly in retrospect).  

Tony looked at me in exasperation. “I fell down,” he said. “I’m fine, but I think I’ve cracked my hip.” He was convinced he could get up by himself. How I’m not sure, as he can’t get up from the floor when he isn’t hurt, let alone when he is. I called 911. Two nice young EMTs arrived, picked him off the floor, got him on a gurney, waited while I changed from my PJs to jeans and a shirt, got on my coat and shoes and away we went. 

By 2:00 am we were in the Emergency Dept. of our nearby hospital. Over the next 15 hours he was examined in numerous ways, by a cadre of physicians from four different disciplines. All assured me behind hooded eyes that they knew “everything there is to know” about Tony's extremely rare disease. Two series of x-rays, a couple of CT Scans and three Orthopaedic consults later it was determined he needed surgery to mend his hip and femur, which were broken not across but split down the middle. He needed a long plate and screws to stabilize the split. 

His surgery was Tuesday afternoon, and he’s made a slow but reasonable recovery since. The morphine they’ve been giving him for pain (he has had a LOT of pain) make him have some highly creative delusions, but thankfully cheerful and pleasant ones which he finds amusing (and can’t believe they aren’t real). For example he swears the bed control/call button projects Google maps and street view, cartoons, and illustrations of his rehab plans onto a screen on the wall. 

He’s been moved to a private room because he talks in his sleep non-stop and keeps his roomies awake. (Over the years I’ve learned to sleep through the running narrative.) His new room has a huge window which looks across the courtyard to another wing of the hospital. So another of his delusions was that one of the nurses was hanging off the top of that wing at 3:00 am decorating it for Christmas. 

"They sure get excited about Christmas around here," he said. In the last couple of days the nurses have hung a garland over the door of every room in the unit, and put trees and decorations all over the unit. They really have put a lot of work into making it look really nice and seasonal. I guess that had him thinking about nurses hanging in climbing gear, decorating the side of a five-story building.  

He’s already up doing a few minutes of rehab a couple of times a day, and though no one is promising anything I’m hoping he will be home in time for Christmas. His care has been wonderful. The unit he’s in has 14 rooms, 10 of which have four beds, the other four are private rooms, so 44 beds, not all full, three nursing stations, each with three nurses and an aide. There’s also a nurse practitioner and a Rehab Team consisting of a physician, a rehab specialist nurse and two physiotherapists. 

The other thing he has is a couple of unhappy cats at home, especially Hobbes, who is a Daddy’s boy. They want their they Daddy back, Daddy back, Daddy back. 

Me too fellas. Me too.    


Tuesday, November 28, 2017

These Are Not Tears, Smoke Is In My Eyes



Though it seems as if it’s been months, it’s “only” been five weeks since the morning I came out of our bedroom at 8:00 am and instead of being greeted by Smokey, our bouncing grey basketball of fur, I found him lying in a heap in the hallway, motionless and too ill to stand. Since then there’s been a lot of lap-time and tears, because I know he’s in pain, and I’m tired, and hoping that all I’m doing will help him survive. 

It was sudden, at 2:00 am he had insisted on going for a run in the long corridor that serves the wing of the building we live in. He thundered down the long run, stopping to sniff at the doors of those units where other cats and dogs live. When we got back to our own door he took off and ran down to where the wings intersect and ran down an adjacent wing and back, scampering like a kitten.  

Mr. Smokes on a better day
Our vet’s office starts taking calls at 8:30, and as soon as we were able to get him into the office we had him there. She examined him and noted that while he had no fever he had extreme jaundice. His ears, eye membranes, and gums were a deep peach colour. When his blood tests came back we learned his bilirubin level was over 100, when it should have been no higher than 3.  The question was “Why?” 

She prepared us for the most likely and worst possibilities; feline leukaemia, feline HIV, liver cancer or possibly gallstones, which could be treatable with surgery. When the leukaemia and HIV tests came back negative the next step was to seek the opinion of a specialist who could do an ultrasound looking for a liver mass and/or gallstones. This was quite a trip (45 km), with Ian doing the driving once and me doing it the second time, but from the ultrasound we learned that he had almost certainly had had a gallstone which he’d managed to pass, probably overnight, but which had backed up horrendous amounts of bile in his liver and body tissues. They’d shaved his belly for the ultrasound and his normally pink-white skin was absolutely the colour of an over-ripe peach. 

More ominously the ultrasound revealed he had hepatic lipidosis, a frequently fatal liver condition in cats. Hepatic lipidosis happens when an abnormally high amount of fat accumulates in the cells of a cat’s liver. Even though there is all this fat in reserve, a cat has no ability to convert these fat reserves into energy when it does not eat. When a cat doesn’t eat for 24-48 hours its liver can begin to fail, especially if there are other factors going on, like a gallstone, which has filled the liver with bile. 

Smokey, who is usually a chow hound, ate very little on Saturday, and almost nothing on Sunday. He had slept a lot and seemed a bit lethargic, but then on Sunday night, or early Monday morning, he ran up and down the hallway like a kitten. In retrospect maybe he was in pain on Saturday and Sunday, and that running and jumping was an attempt to dislodge the gallstone blocking his bile duct.  (Apparently it worked!)  

Once we had our diagnosis the treatment plan was clear, but the outcome was not guaranteed. Many cats do not survive hepatic lipidosis. We came home with medication to stimulate his appetite, because getting food in him was to be his only chance at life. My job was to feed him a half-teaspoon of food made into a slurry, so he could just lap it up, every hour around the clock. This was as big a challenge as having a newborn.  

We were back to the vet’s for medication for vomiting, for IV fluids, for more appetite stimulants, for probiotics, to have him weighed. 

After two weeks we moved to feeding him a teaspoon of food every two hours. Profound gratitude.  Now I feed him at 2:00, Tony feeds him at 6:00 and I feed him at 8:00, so I can actually get some sleep. 

Five weeks and we’re still not out of the woods. One day in three or four he eats well, the others I have to take the bowl to him, wake him and urge him to eat a teaspoon of food. He may eat only two or three teaspoons of food on those days, and I fret all over that we’re going to lose him. Recovery from hepatic lipidosis can take months. He’s still jaundiced, his ears look waxen and his poor little naked belly is the soft, fuzzy yellow of apricots. 

Hobbes the little brother, has stuck to Smokey like a burr. He was very upset when Smokey was away at the vet’s. Now when Smokey lies down Hobbes will soon snuggle down beside him, and the two sleep contentedly side-by-side, for the better part of the day, and night too. 

It is not yet the end, because it is not all right yet. 


Monday, November 27, 2017

You Can’t See Emptiness, But You Can Be It

Days continue to shorten, Christmas now approaches. 
It’s a time of expectation. 

We look for light; light from the sun, light of the heart, renewal of the light of the soul. We look for what we long for, whatever it is; connection, relief from loneliness, ease of despair, ease of pain, some sign that the burdens of today and tomorrow will diminish. We look for new beginnings. 

Reading through my collection of much loved passages from Buddhist teachers I ran on this one again, from the book Paradise in Plain Sight: Lessons from a Zen Garden by Zen teacher Karen Maezen Miller. It always reminds me to lay aside my inner chaos, let go and just be. 

Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva, meditating on the Heart Sutra*,
Clearly saw emptiness of all the five conditions,
Thus completely relieving misfortune and pain.
Heart Sutra

Form is emptiness and emptiness is form. This single phrase is the summation of the Buddhist path, the culminating insight of the Way. But having uttered it, I’ve already strayed from it. Having read it, you’ve missed it, because now your mind is running amok trying to understand it, and here I am trying to chase after you. So let’s come back together in one big, empty place, and start over.

What looks solid is not solid; what has no shape comes in all shapes. In a physical sense, bamboo is strong because it is hollow. It is supple and resilient; it bends without breaking. It supports incredible weight. It grows unimpeded by any known barrier, spreading outward everywhere. This is true of you, too. Where do you think you begin and end? Your feet? Your head? Your skin? Your eyes, nose, mouth, ears? Your thoughts, memory, feelings? The way we limit ourselves imposes a bunker mentality and defies scientific reality.

It helps to remember what you took on faith in fourth grade science. All matter is composed of atoms. Atoms are mostly empty space. By definition you can’t see emptiness, but you can be it. Now, to live and let live in emptiness. That’s the secret to paradise.

First, be quiet. Give away your ideas, self-certainty, judgments, and opinions. Let go of defenses and offenses. Face your critics. They will always outnumber you.

Lose all wars. All wars are lost to begin with. Abandon your authority and entitlements. Release your self-image: status, power, whatever you think gives you clout. It doesn’t, not really. That’s a lie you’ve never believed.

Give up your seat. Be what you are: unguarded, unprepared, unequipped and surrounded on all sides. Alone, you are a victim of no one and nothing.

What appears in front of you is your liberation. That is, unless you judge it. Then you imprison yourself again.

Now that you are free, see where you are. Observe what is needed. Do good quietly. If it’s not done quietly, it’s not good.

Start over. Always start over.

*The original wording is: “Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva, doing deep Prajna Paramita,” but since non-Buddhists would not know that the Prajna Paramita is the Heart Sutra, I simply translated the term. Avalokitesvara is  the embodiment of the Buddha of Compassion. 

--

Saturday, November 18, 2017

It’s so Zen in here


But we are simply Zenning by omission, in other words we have not yet hung a *single* painting on our walls. We still have a line of large boxes in the newly-designated ‘guest room’. They are full of paintings, books and other treasures junque yours truly has forgotten about. Boxes of antique china sit on top of the fridge, waiting for lights to be installed in the sideboard. I am not loading that china into the sideboard, then hauling it back out to install lights and then putting it back in again. Nope. 

20" x 26", weighs about 25 lbs! Ugly to boot! 
We have numerous *large* paintings, heavy suckers. I can’t lift them and hold them up while we decide that they need to go four inches to the right and an inch higher. Himself is no better, having a useless right arm. And until the big ones go up, we can’t hang the little ones. It ain’t arf frustratin’. 

The “Call us and we will come” guys, Karim and Sayid, are simply lovely, but possess a fatal flaw when it comes to this kind of task. They do not listen to instructions, general or specific, especially if they come from the mouth of a woman.  I know *where* I want the pictures hung.  Karim and Sayid would not hang them there. 

But it’s only been five months since we started. I don’t know why I’m impatient. Apparently Rome wasn’t built in a day either.   


Monday, August 28, 2017

When you need help, we always come


Let’s see, we left off with our new TV hung on the wall waiting for the cable guy to hook it up. A lovely, personable young man came out, installed the new cable box, did the magic with the TV and our computers so they all worked with the new service, and left. The next morning the remote gave me the side-eye and refused to even turn the nice new TV on. 

After a long chat with the cable company they said we needed a new remote. They said, “You come to our nice office and we’ll give you one.” I said to them, “I am old and tired and am paying an unholy price for this service and you brought me defective merchandise. When are you going to bring me a working remote?” They asked, “Will Tuesday work?” And it did. They sent a service man, and all was well on the home front. 

At least it would have been if I could be content with the new beds and mattresses still in their boxes, and boxes and boxes of books, painting and doodallallys everywhere. And I just *couldn’t* be. I’m just wired that way. Never content with nothin’.  

I’d been trying to hire someone for almost a month to help unpack and move the beds, get rid of the furniture we needed cleared out, etc, but had no luck. Our friend Mohammed left for Ethiopia the day the painters Karim and Sayid (who are his friends) started painting our place. He was due back on the 7th but we didn’t expect to see him for several days. That’s a long trip. However on the 8th there was a tap-tap on the door and in comes Mohammed, glowing and burnished as a chestnut at Christmas. 

Oh I have *missed* you guys!* he said, and the feeling was mutual. 
He looked around and said, “Still everything in boxes?” and I explained our plight. “I’ll find someone to help you, by *Tuesday*.” He said. 

On Saturday morning he called and asked, “Can they come now? Karim and Sayid are at my house and they will come now and help you. They will do whatever you want.” 

Karim and Sayid are Lebanese. Karim has the most intense blue eyes I have ever seen. He’s been in Canada 12 years and is very proud to have his Canadian citizenship. Sayid is a recent arrival, and is not yet comfortable speaking English but he is very funny. Both are small and quick and energetic. 

They got to work immediately and within about two and a half hours had the furniture we were getting rid of gone, the double bed from our room taken apart, moved and reassembled in the new ‘guest room’, the new twin adjustable beds out of their boxes, assembled and set up, and other pieces of furniture moved around to accommodate  the new arrangements. Karim also replaced a blown out light bulb we can’t reach.  

They also took away the huge amount of cardboard and plastic packing material all of this new furniture required, including the TV box and packing. And they swept the floors after. Good gracious. 

Karim said, “You should have called us when you need help. We said to you, when you need help, we always come.” 

Who knew they meant it? 

Now I am emptying boxes of books and DVDs one by one. (It might go faster if I quit stopping to re-read the books) Mohammed is taking the boxes away for me. The wretched little cat has ripped gaping six-inch holes in the boxes, sharpening his scimitars of death. I fear for the health of the new sofa once the boxes are gone.

But the new adjustable beds. They Are Heavenly. Seriously. Get yourself one. I may write an entire post singing the praises of my adjustable bed. But for now that’s it. We’re on our way to a redecorated condo. Hurrah for us and all those who have helped us on our way.     


Saturday, August 05, 2017

Hoarding; the hobby that will drive you insane


I’m waiting for a TV crew from “Neat” or “Hoarders” to show up at the door, because six weeks in we’re still navigating around a maze of boxes. Boxes of books, paintings, beds, mattresses, new linens, towels, and ironically empty storage boxes which are destined to go under the new beds, once they are out of *their* boxes and set up. 

Smokey, self-sacrificing chair tester 
This is not to say we haven’t made progress. We have new living room furniture in place, sofa, two new chairs and a new storage unit - all beautiful. The living room looks pretty great. The chairs have the feline seal of approval. I admit they are mighty comfy. (Covered to protect from gobs of cat hair) 

Ian went shopping with me to buy the sofa, and he put the chairs and the heavy and somewhat tricky-to-assemble storage unit together. And he went with me to buy the new TV and wall mount. (Damb, those things are expensive!) He hung the TV on the wall a couple of days ago. The cable installer comes tomorrow. Our old TV turned up toes and died this past week. Actually the TV works perfectly well, it’s the remote that died, and the TV has no controls on the unit, no off/on switches, no volume controls. (What’s the extra cost of adding that people? A nickel?) We’ve been turning the TV off and on with the power bar for months, but this last week the volume control went, and Ian didn’t know we were turning the TV off with the bar, and unplugged the cable, and now we can’t get it to turn on again.   

In the end Zak and Nicole postponed their trip until October, which is probably just as well, as they’d have spent their time moving furniture rather than relaxing and visiting. Meanwhile I’m trying to find two people here in the building to hire to help me migrate the big bed into what will be the guest room, set up the two new beds in our bedroom, move the other furniture which needs to be moved, put up curtain rods and hang curtains, hang paintings, put books in the bookshelves, wash the big patio window doors - something my floppy shoulder girdle muscles won’t allow me to do - and in general restore this place to sanity before I need professional help.   


Tuesday, July 04, 2017

No "Greige" Here, Thank You Very Much

In the two weeks since my last post a carload of stuff - clothing, dishes, books, household decor, paintings, has been either been placed on the freecycling table downstairs or carted off to the Sally Ann. The china hutch, dining room table and chairs, sofa and book table have gone to new homes, either to a friend or to a Syrian refugee family.  

Ian came over on Friday and Saturday, despite not feeling very well, and gave us an enormous amount of help. We went sofa shopping on Friday. On Saturday we boxed up several large boxes of books and small paintings, everything off the kitchen counter, and cleared out the pantry so it could be moved. Ian finished a glass-fronted sideboard I’d bought months ago, installing the shelf and hanging the doors. 

The sideboard is teal in colour, and I’m building my colour scheme on it because I already have most of the elements I need. The new sofa is light grey, the walls are white with a pinkish undertone to warm it up. One wall is painted pale aqua. I'm planning on buying red chairs. A pillow or two or a throw in the right colour(s) should pull it all together. Here’s a picture I pulled from Pinterest with my accent colours. Obviously I’m not going for this eye-popper, but I’ll use these saturated colours in small doses as accents against the greys and whites "bones". I'm not one of the "greige" school of decorators. 
  
Our friend Mohammed recommended a painter, Kamir, and we hired him. Kamir and his helper Sayid finished painting the place a couple of hours ago. Painting took them two days, and the difference in the rooms between dark walls and light is astounding! It almost feels as if we’re floating! 

The cats spent yesterday freaking out because of the noise and mess; clanking ladders, the snapping of plastic drop cloths, and a very nifty but noisy machine which simultaneous dispensed and taped a 25 cm (10”) wide strip of brown paper to the top of the baseboards. Smokey settled down after a couple of hours but Hobbes spent the entire day screaming murder and running from place to place to hide. Smokey tried to comfort him, and had some success, but we couldn’t get near him. It took a couple of hours after the painters left for the day yesterday for Hobbes to quit hyperventilating and slinking around like a furry snake. They were a little more laid back about the whole thing today. Hobbes took up a hermitage under my rocker, Smokey spent the day sleeping next to me on the floor. 

Now we are left with stacks of boxes and undifferentiated piles of household rubble on the kitchen floor. It’s staying there for now. I am too tired to spit. I mean it, I just tried. It went nowhere. 

I still have to buy shelving for the living room, new chairs, ottomans and a few odds and sods. The new beds and mattresses are bought and are to be delivered, hopefully they arrive before our guests or we bunk on the floor, which is not as much fun at 71 as it was when I was five!   

Despite the very hard work it will be worth it when the place is finished. Or so I keep telling myself.  Please someone tell me that your decorating re-dos turned out well and you didn't just want to commit arson afterwards. 

Film at 11:00 (of July) or maybe a picture or two. We’ll see, the camera’s been acting up recently. 


Wednesday, June 21, 2017

What is So Rare as a Day in June?


June has been so good to me. First we made the decision not to move to BC yet. There was not a single suitable property come up for sale in the small town where we wanted to live in the year we’d been watching the market. So we’re going to hang tight, pare down and redecorate here so the place is easier to keep clean, and wait until the time is right. 

Second, I’m finally able to access the amount of medication I need for my muscle disorder. I had access to some for the last couple of years, but it was the last bit of the supply, and no one was making more, so I was taking only enough to keep me out of the hospital. Suddenly a new company has picked up the patent and begun to produce the medication again, and I can take the amount I need. This means I am strong enough to have a life! I can hardly tell you how that feels. 

Third, our younger son and his wife are coming to visit from Switzerland for almost three weeks in July. We are so happy, because we haven’t seen him since February 2013! Last summer he married a beautiful Swiss woman we have come to love. We can’t wait to meet her and spend time with the both of them. 

Referring back to number 1 on this list we are redecorating. When we moved here we set up the living room in what is called “the den” on the floor plans. It is an inside room and has no windows. We soon regretted our decision but by then the furniture was bought, yada, yada. Well, thankfully the furniture was all found at a bargain, and after six years we feel no pain at moving it along free of charge to those who can use it. A friend has bought a new house and is taking the hutch, table and chairs for his basement. I’ll call the Syrian Refugee Committee to see if someone can use the sofa and book table. 

We are moving the living room into the room adjacent to the kitchen, buying a new sleeker sofa, building floor-to-ceiling shelves between the end of the kitchen cabinets and the outer wall, and buying a couple of new chairs. Mr. Hobbes is not at all pleased that we put his wheel on the balcony, but it’s huge and he mostly spends his time ripping the foam running surface off and carrying the pieces all over the house. It has a sticky side, so I have to scrape it off the floor, every dambed day.  

Anyway, we will hire a painter and have the place repainted, white, chalk paint, maybe one pale aqua wall, behind the shelves in the living room. I’d love to replace the kitchen cupboards but no time now. Later maybe. In the meantime I am going through and pitching everything we don’t use or need. I can see from the space left to store things without the open shelving in the bedroom that I have not been ruthless enough. Second round pruning coming up. I do not plan on putting honking great boxes of files in the floor-to-ceiling shelves in the living room. Husband, being in his former life a bookkeeper-accountant, or as he likes to say, an “account ant”, feels every receipt for the past seven years is a vital document. Warranties are sacred covenants, sometimes long after the appliance has expired. 

We have four large 10” x 20” boxes of paper files which at the moment have no home, unless we sleep on the floor tonight. I admit one of these is mine, documentation of dead ancestors gathered over the last 40 years. I need to go through it, but as much of it was gathered with my much loved sister-in-law June, and my cousin Brenda, and in it are many letters from family members who’ve stepped beyond the curtain love cannot draw back, I always end up in tears when I try to sort it. Best left for now. But we will go through the other three boxes and try to consolidate them. 

And Fourth, I have reconnected with my beloved girlhood friend, whom I had lost track of after her mother’s death. Her mother and I corresponded once I was married, until she died of ALS in 1991. All these years I’d looked for my friend, didn’t remember her married name, and then in yet another Google search her maiden name popped up, I wrote and that was that. It’s as if 50+ years have rolled away. Three hours on the phone and almost daily emails, and we are school girls again. It’s been absolutely wonderful, and capped off this June as being unexpectedly brilliant! 

So there’s the ree-port. Now I best get back to ruthless pruning (before I lose my nerve). 


Sunday, January 22, 2017

Descending into political madness



DJT’s Propagandist Kellyann Conway scolded Chuck Todd on Meet the Press this morning, saying press secretary Sean Spicer presented "alternative facts" when he sparred with the press over the number of people who showed up for DJT’s inauguration. On CBC News this morning Trump, Spicer and Conway’s behaviour was described as ‘bizarre, seeing as how many people showed up at the inauguration is a triviality’, and seeing that how many were there is easily documentable, and has been done so by several non-political agencies, and the number pegged between 200,000 - 250,000.     

Kim Jong-il, former “Supreme Leader” of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea died in 2011, but he was as bat-shit crazy as DJT, and his propaganda people were as nuts as he was, or more than likely too terrified to stand up to him, but you simply must know a bit about Kim Jong-il to get a taste of what we’re in for if the media allows Trump to get away with this delusional “alternative facts” business. 

North Korea's official record of his birth says that, "In 1941 a magical hummingbird visited the People of North Korea foretelling the birth of Kim Jong-il."  This prophecy was allegedly fulfilled on Mount Paektu, "the highest mountain ever" when Kim Jong-il  "emerged, walking from his mother's Patriotic and Revolutionary Vagina six months early and without the aid of a physician, thus rendering the Korean medical community irrelevant.  In shame, all doctors fled our Great and Innovative Nation never to return."  

And for the record, at 2,744 m (9,003 ft) Mount Paektu is 20,002 feet too short to be the tallest mountain in the world.  Other than that it his alternative facts seem totally almost but not quite believable. Trump might say they are the best facts, the greatest facts, but we know they are only alternative facts and not worth the energy it took to defend them. 

But take note, DJT might try to use this tack to rid the USA of meddlesome physicians. If only he supplied a bit of alternative history and walked from his mother’s patriotic and revolutionary vagina six months early, comb-over in place, and grabbed the nearest nanny by her 🐈  then all US physicians would get the hint that they are superfluous to needs and flee the country in shame. Obamacare problem solved. Kellyann needs to get on this one, with photos. 

Since Kim Jong-il felt, illogically, that he was a supernatural being,   (he hadn’t gotten the memo that he was delusional because no one was brave enough to deliver it) he believed that he had the Midas touch at any sport he decided to play. At one point the North Korean Press reported that the very first time he played a round of golf he shot 38 under par, making him the very best golfer the world has ever known.  S’truth!  

Makes you wonder how they did it. I imagine he made the shot, then gazed off into the distance while his lackeys applauded, kissed his feet, cried tears of joy and admired the magnificence of his body and praised the perfection of the shot, while someone ran and dropped a ball into the cup and screamed, “OH, SUPREME LEADER! MAGNIFICENT! ANOTHER HOLE IN ONE!” and burst into tears of joy. His lackeys must have been a somewhat anxious bunch, owing to his notoriously unpredictable nature. 

His official birthday celebrations consisted of huge parades, tanks, missiles, and 100,000 starved but smartly dressed soldiers  and slender North Korean ladies who would march by and pause to bow and cry out their birthday wishes and undying love for Supreme Leader before the dais holding him and his family and generals. 

At one birthday celebration Supreme Leader took out his pistol, turned and shot the general (a family member) standing next to him in the head, turned back and said, “He was not smiling broadly enough when troupe 72 cried out they loved me. I suspect he is not loyal.” No one dared move, not even the man’s wife or brother. The body lay there until the parade was over. Court life went on, his name was never mentioned again, his family is said to have been killed. 

So if, on the golf course, if Kim wanted to make 38 under par, and you were there to help, you did everything with a joyful countenance and your heart in your throat. 

One reason Kim was so “great” at every endeavour was because he didn’t have to take time out to crap, because according to the North Korean State website their beloved leader, unlike other men, did not defecate. I guess that would be a time-saver. 

I might mention another political prevaricator of note, China’s Mao Tse-Tung.  In the summer of 1966, China was experiencing turmoil and widespread famine due to Mao’s irrational policies, and his leadership was being questioned. Mao had been in hiding for months. On July 16 he suddenly resurfaced in Wuhan where he took a vigorous and well-reported swim in the Yangtze River by the Wuhan bridge. This was covered by the news worldwide and I remember it well, Mao’s bald head with its fringe of hair bobbing up and down in the water, and his fat belly as he emerged from the water. Although he was in his early 70s, party propagandists claimed that he had swum upstream against a strong current nearly 15 km (9.3 miles) in 65 min. that day - besting the world’s Olympic records. The claim drew incredulous laughter from foreign observers, who took the claim as a sign that China was descending into political madness. 

“Alternative Facts”. Something tells me that like Kim Jong-il, and Mao Tse-Tung, DJT is going to try to convince us of even more terrifying “alternative facts” than inflating 250,000 to 1.5 Million. The difference is, he doesn’t have the power to kill people and their families in order to make them create and disseminate propaganda for him. Time will tell if Conway and Spicer are as delusional as Trump, or if in the end pitching his alternative reality is too much for them to stomach and they pull back like slugs who have been salted. 


The Chinese Curse has descended on us: We live in interesting times.    

Thursday, January 05, 2017

Smacked Upside the Head by the Clutter Fairy

Although I didn’t make a resolution of it, we’re looking down the barrel of an upcoming  move, with a great many things to do between now and then. 

I woke up about a week ago with the Clutter Fairy hovering menacingly over me, threatening to whang me in the head with the toaster, like the Ghost of Christmas Present did to Bill Murray in “Scrooged”. She looks all gossamer wings and pixie dust, but she’s as mean as a junkyard dog, so I have finally put shoulder to wheel and begun the clearing out, moving along, pitching and purging process.

It is amazing how much clutter two people can accumulate in six years. But I am packing anything seasonal that we won’t need until after we move as I purge. 

Clothing, anything stained, hole-y, tired, too small, uncomfortable, outdated, not worn in two years - out the door. I had *35* pairs of socks. Honestly, I don't hoard socks, I just bought four packs that said, “non-restrictive tops” because my ankles tend to swell. Well, they *did* restrict and I can’t wear them. Off to the recycling table. Bathing suit I haven’t worn since we left Oliver in 2008, perfectly good but no one needs to see *that* much of me! Off to the recycling table. Anyway, my dresser drawers are now in great shape, no longer a jumble. 

I also cleaned out and organized the top drawer in the kitchen, moving the cutlery from the drawer to a cutlery caddy I bought a year ago now. Tea towels and hot pads in that drawer. Much better. 

And today I tackled the fridge and freezer. It’s a side-by-side, otherwise known as Narnia for frozen items. I had no idea what was in that thing. If there’s a worse design for a freezer I haven’t run across it yet. I emptied everything out, and in the process solved the mystery of, “What happened to that five pound bag of masa I bought to make tamales with?” In fact I found two five pound bags of masa in there, and enough meat to feed us until we move, which should be around April, if things go as planned. I was able to cross several items off my shopping list, as I already had them in the freezer.  

Tomorrow (well, later today as it is almost 3:00 am) I will take the broom and shovel and dig the car out from under the snow so I can go grocery shopping. I haven’t left the house since Dec. 23rd. I think that’s about two weeks, but I’m not counting. It’s been so blooming cold I haven’t wanted to stick my nose out. But unless we want to live on meat, frozen okra and masa - lots and lots of masa, I have got to bundle up and brave the cold and snow this afternoon.  I’ve got to keep my strength up and keep purging, or that Fairy will skin me, tan my hide and use it to cover her new leather sofa. 

I have no idea how to say “See ya,” in polar bear, but you probably don’t speak polar bear either, so I’ll just say it in Canajun English. Bye, and wish me luck.