I don't always agree with Penn Jillette, but I often do. At the very least I would say I'm better off having considered things from his point of view. He seems to be an honest person, if nothing else. I follow what he has to say, and for a while now he has been talking about how much healthier he feels on his new diet. How he takes many fewer medications, and has lost a lot of weight. He's inspired others to try it, and they all seem to agree. I waited to find out what this new diet entails so I could try it. Then came the big reveal; just two simple rules:
1. Very limited salt, sugar, and oil.
2. No animal products.
My first thought was, 'That's too bad. I was hoping it was something I could try.' And can you blame me? It's pretty extreme. But I realized I should not just be dismissing it out of hand. I gave it a lot of though, and boiled down my two main concerns:
1. Can I be happy living on that?
2. Is that obtainable?
For salt, sugar, and oil, the answer to the first question is, 'probably yes.' I didn't know then, but I do know now that if I wasn't eating all kinds of salt and sugar, that sweet corn would be sweet to me, and celery would be salty. My taste buds would find a new norm. But is it obtainable? Probably not without cooking everything I eat, or eating at fancy restaurants all the time. McDonald's doesn't have a salt, sugar, and oil-free menu. And I'm a man who has never turned on his oven. I put a pin in that part.
No animal products? We're talking vegan here. Like head toward vegetarian, and just keep going. Can I be happy living on that? Is it obtainable? When I'm home I eat a lot of salad. And it looks like I pass a few fast food places on the way to work everyday that have vegan options. I actually think that going vegetarian would be fairly easy, but that doesn't even seem to be half way to vegan. Most things I love have some animal products in them. But do they have to? Let's find out.
I've hired a consultant. Turns out Fiverr has several people offering this sort of advice. I have a Skype meeting set up for later this week. I'm not naive, and I have done some research. I know I'll probably have cook some: maybe figure out how to make some curries, and steam some vegetables. I'll also have to spend more, but hopefully not too much more.
In short, it's an experiment worth trying. I'm not going to let anyone make me feel guilty if it fails, but I'm also not going to let anyone make me feel guilty if it succeeds. And above all else, I'm not going to be some jerk who makes everyone else feel guilty if I'm wildly successful.
Monday, March 21, 2016
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Young Man
In December, 2010, just before Christmas, the half-brother of our dear Loretta's nephew, and their mother, were murdered at the home of their mother. My heart ached for Loretta, her nephew, his step-father.
He was a Young Man
A beautiful, handsome, attractive
Young Man
“He was my angel,” the father said, of this
Young Man
He … “was the best brother anybody can ask for,” his brother said of this
Young Man
There is … “a portion of my heart that constantly radiates indescribable joy,” at being his brother, he also said of this
Young Man
“You enrage me” … “ I will kill you” … said to this
Young Man
In an instant, the life of this
Young Man
flashed before him … and was snuffed.
Much more remains, though, than the lifeless body of this
Young Man
Dad’s memory of him as an angel lives, his brother’s heart overflows still with joy.
This is due to the stories … remember the
Young Man
as he appears in the stories … of his dad’s, of his brother’s, and your own. Remember the
Young Man
as a vibrant actor in the stories, not a victim.
Remember not the
Young Man
as his life was taken from him…rather recall, remember and relive the life of this
Young Man
And Celebrate. Choose life.
He was a Young Man
A beautiful, handsome, attractive
Young Man
“He was my angel,” the father said, of this
Young Man
He … “was the best brother anybody can ask for,” his brother said of this
Young Man
There is … “a portion of my heart that constantly radiates indescribable joy,” at being his brother, he also said of this
Young Man
“You enrage me” … “ I will kill you” … said to this
Young Man
In an instant, the life of this
Young Man
flashed before him … and was snuffed.
Much more remains, though, than the lifeless body of this
Young Man
Dad’s memory of him as an angel lives, his brother’s heart overflows still with joy.
This is due to the stories … remember the
Young Man
as he appears in the stories … of his dad’s, of his brother’s, and your own. Remember the
Young Man
as a vibrant actor in the stories, not a victim.
Remember not the
Young Man
as his life was taken from him…rather recall, remember and relive the life of this
Young Man
And Celebrate. Choose life.
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Monday, March 14, 2016
Adulthood Catches up on You
A responsible adult does his taxes early. Some irresponsible adults wait until April 15th. I am currently doing my last four years of taxes, but then again, I've never really thought of myself as an adult at all.
In the course of preparing them, I got to thinking. I made more money than I expected last year. It was more than the year before, and more than the year before that. I've sort of resigned myself to the idea that I work a low stress job that gives low paychecks. But I divided last year's total pay by 2080, and came to a respectable amount of money. The kind of money I'd expect a professional to earn.
Now that may be misleading, because I didn't work 2080 hours last year. In fact, I work overtime fairly regularly. The thing is though, I don't actually "work" most of the time I'm at work. My job has a fair amount of downtime. It's certainly not true that I'm spending more time working than a full-time job entails. However you slice it, I'm employed in my field of study, using my degree to earn what you would expect a professional to earn.
I'd think the takeaway would be that hard work isn't necessarily the key to success. The opposit is true though. I feel like I should shapen up, and fly right. Maybe take another crack at some certificates. Now that I've stumbled into adulthood, I should probably try to keep it.
In the course of preparing them, I got to thinking. I made more money than I expected last year. It was more than the year before, and more than the year before that. I've sort of resigned myself to the idea that I work a low stress job that gives low paychecks. But I divided last year's total pay by 2080, and came to a respectable amount of money. The kind of money I'd expect a professional to earn.
Now that may be misleading, because I didn't work 2080 hours last year. In fact, I work overtime fairly regularly. The thing is though, I don't actually "work" most of the time I'm at work. My job has a fair amount of downtime. It's certainly not true that I'm spending more time working than a full-time job entails. However you slice it, I'm employed in my field of study, using my degree to earn what you would expect a professional to earn.
I'd think the takeaway would be that hard work isn't necessarily the key to success. The opposit is true though. I feel like I should shapen up, and fly right. Maybe take another crack at some certificates. Now that I've stumbled into adulthood, I should probably try to keep it.
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Seeing Things Differently ... Still
"You were involved in the interviews."
Last spring, at my annual retreat, I reflected on Ellie's taking care of Loretta as she battled her cancer. Before moving in with Loretta, Ellie had spent a lot of time with her. At the time of the retreat, Ellie had lived full-time with Loretta for more than 3 months and it looked to be ongoing. As I believe I've made clear in this forum, although the sheer amount of time apart was putting distance between Ellie and me, I fully supported Ellie's doing it; Loretta was my friend, too, and badly needed what Ellie provided. And I figured we could recover.
Knowing that Ellie would be the executor of Loretta's will, I struck on the idea of settling Loretta's estate in a way to make it a joint project that she and I could use to enhance the process of getting our life back. ( Truth be told, this was not my idea alone; the retreat master mentioned 'joint projects' as one way for spouses to enhance their relationship. ) I broached the idea with Ellie, she liked it, and we agreed we'd work the project with the specific purpose of enhancing our relationship as we eased back into our life.
Ellie is back home, we're well into the project ( perhaps nearing the end ), and another retreat is coming up. It seems appropriate to evaluate how we've done. Well, like so many things in our life, the answer depends on whom you ask.
Make no mistake ... we are both glad she's back home; we are as close as we've ever been; we've had some misunderstandings about how to live together but we've managed them with humor, grace and love; we are giggly about living together again.
But I didn't think it happened because of working together on the project; she did. She told me I had been profoundly helpful in talking things over, especially early, when she was just getting started. I thought we were just talking about it, informally. She had never done anything like this before and didn't want a type-A personality ( guilty ) to contend with, so she took the doing into her hands, asking me to do only small, well-defined tasks; the planning was heavily influenced by the conversations that I thought were merely informal exchanges of ideas. "And you were very helpful with the successful estate sale," she said. "We had to choose between several people to orchestrate it. You were involved in the interviews." Our friend Jane had offered help early on, even saying she enjoyed doing the sort of organizing and carting away that was going to be required after the estate sale. I had no particular skill to offer, and less desire. Both Ellie and I were happy for me to stay home while she and Jane met to work on the leftovers after the estate sale.
And so ... dear friends ... while Ellie and I, as is typical for us and part of what makes living together so interesting, characterize our working on the project differently and speak of it differently and even experience it somewhat differently, we agree on the things that occurred. And the project has eased us back into our happily married life.
Last spring, at my annual retreat, I reflected on Ellie's taking care of Loretta as she battled her cancer. Before moving in with Loretta, Ellie had spent a lot of time with her. At the time of the retreat, Ellie had lived full-time with Loretta for more than 3 months and it looked to be ongoing. As I believe I've made clear in this forum, although the sheer amount of time apart was putting distance between Ellie and me, I fully supported Ellie's doing it; Loretta was my friend, too, and badly needed what Ellie provided. And I figured we could recover.
Knowing that Ellie would be the executor of Loretta's will, I struck on the idea of settling Loretta's estate in a way to make it a joint project that she and I could use to enhance the process of getting our life back. ( Truth be told, this was not my idea alone; the retreat master mentioned 'joint projects' as one way for spouses to enhance their relationship. ) I broached the idea with Ellie, she liked it, and we agreed we'd work the project with the specific purpose of enhancing our relationship as we eased back into our life.
Ellie is back home, we're well into the project ( perhaps nearing the end ), and another retreat is coming up. It seems appropriate to evaluate how we've done. Well, like so many things in our life, the answer depends on whom you ask.
Make no mistake ... we are both glad she's back home; we are as close as we've ever been; we've had some misunderstandings about how to live together but we've managed them with humor, grace and love; we are giggly about living together again.
But I didn't think it happened because of working together on the project; she did. She told me I had been profoundly helpful in talking things over, especially early, when she was just getting started. I thought we were just talking about it, informally. She had never done anything like this before and didn't want a type-A personality ( guilty ) to contend with, so she took the doing into her hands, asking me to do only small, well-defined tasks; the planning was heavily influenced by the conversations that I thought were merely informal exchanges of ideas. "And you were very helpful with the successful estate sale," she said. "We had to choose between several people to orchestrate it. You were involved in the interviews." Our friend Jane had offered help early on, even saying she enjoyed doing the sort of organizing and carting away that was going to be required after the estate sale. I had no particular skill to offer, and less desire. Both Ellie and I were happy for me to stay home while she and Jane met to work on the leftovers after the estate sale.
And so ... dear friends ... while Ellie and I, as is typical for us and part of what makes living together so interesting, characterize our working on the project differently and speak of it differently and even experience it somewhat differently, we agree on the things that occurred. And the project has eased us back into our happily married life.
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Monday, March 7, 2016
Time to Start Running
The diet I chose for myself was a simple two part one. Step one, note all of my food and exercise everyday. Step two, try to run as big of a calorie deficit as I can, up to 1,000 a day. I have been eating very reasonably, and I'm sure I'm running a calorie deficit, but I've been failing at step one. The fact is, I'm sure I would be running a higher deficit if I was noting it. I'm not ready to pull myself out of that rut, but I have been trying to at least get into some healthy habits.
For starters, I bought a new branded coffee tumbler. A popular local coffee chain just switched from vanilla flavored syrup to syrup made with vanilla extract. Turns out the calories don't change, but the flavor very much does. That and using it to make tea is a habit I should get into. Both are relatively cheap, and very low in calories.
So far it's been working out. The problem with my last tumbler was that it was easy to keep clean if you rinsed it everyday, but that was never going to happen. The internal workings of the spout were impossible to clean if you let them get dirty.
Then I found the Little Tokyo on my way to work serves grilled chicken with rice and vegetables for $5.50, if you are a frequent customer. Needless to say, I am now. I love their chili garlic sauce.
Then there is exercise. Now I have started doing twenty push-ups when I wake up most days, and I am working on making that everyday. But I do know that even if I make that everyday, it will not have a big affect on my weight. Maybe someday I'll make it to 100 everyday. The funny thing is, I bought myself a pair of three pound ankle weights that I can barely notice, and they should have a huge affect. It looks like I shouldn't wear them everyday, because the slight added stress to my ankle joins could add up.
My current commute takes three buses. I can, and often do when the weather is nice, replace two of them with walking. It's a lovely two and a half mile walk from my home to downtown Saint Paul, across the river. It' has been a while since the weather was nice though. Then taking a bus the last mile of my commute is just a hassle. Might as well spend an extra fifteen minutes walking it, which I continued to do all winter.
The other day I told my friend Walter (you may know him) that I intend to start jogging the way home when the weather improves. He gave me a skeptical glance, probably because people jog at all times of the year. It's true though. I can't very well leave home in the winter without a winter coat, and I don't want to lug a winter coat in a backpack while jogging. Maybe once I become an old hand at jogging, I will know my limits, and figure out how I can jog in the winter, but I'm still getting started.
Then disaster struck. It was so nice today that I gladly walked that three and a half mile journey, and with no winter coat. It was lovely. But now I'll have to start putting my money where my mouth is.
For starters, I bought a new branded coffee tumbler. A popular local coffee chain just switched from vanilla flavored syrup to syrup made with vanilla extract. Turns out the calories don't change, but the flavor very much does. That and using it to make tea is a habit I should get into. Both are relatively cheap, and very low in calories.
So far it's been working out. The problem with my last tumbler was that it was easy to keep clean if you rinsed it everyday, but that was never going to happen. The internal workings of the spout were impossible to clean if you let them get dirty.
Then I found the Little Tokyo on my way to work serves grilled chicken with rice and vegetables for $5.50, if you are a frequent customer. Needless to say, I am now. I love their chili garlic sauce.
Then there is exercise. Now I have started doing twenty push-ups when I wake up most days, and I am working on making that everyday. But I do know that even if I make that everyday, it will not have a big affect on my weight. Maybe someday I'll make it to 100 everyday. The funny thing is, I bought myself a pair of three pound ankle weights that I can barely notice, and they should have a huge affect. It looks like I shouldn't wear them everyday, because the slight added stress to my ankle joins could add up.
My current commute takes three buses. I can, and often do when the weather is nice, replace two of them with walking. It's a lovely two and a half mile walk from my home to downtown Saint Paul, across the river. It' has been a while since the weather was nice though. Then taking a bus the last mile of my commute is just a hassle. Might as well spend an extra fifteen minutes walking it, which I continued to do all winter.
The other day I told my friend Walter (you may know him) that I intend to start jogging the way home when the weather improves. He gave me a skeptical glance, probably because people jog at all times of the year. It's true though. I can't very well leave home in the winter without a winter coat, and I don't want to lug a winter coat in a backpack while jogging. Maybe once I become an old hand at jogging, I will know my limits, and figure out how I can jog in the winter, but I'm still getting started.
Then disaster struck. It was so nice today that I gladly walked that three and a half mile journey, and with no winter coat. It was lovely. But now I'll have to start putting my money where my mouth is.
Thursday, March 3, 2016
An Inkie Surprise
“Aren’t surprises wonderful?”
My wife was still living at Loretta’s in December; we didn’t have a great deal of Christmas spirit, and decided to forgo our traditional Christmas, which included a plethora of little gifts for each other and our family.
( One thing we did do was decide to attend a performance of “Sister Act” at a local dinner theater, but that’s another story. )
Nonetheless, Ellie decided to surprise me with a sample package of fountain pen inks, purchased from an online store which both of us had shopped at. It was a randomly selected group of a small amount of eight inks of various colors. I had only recently moved away from using solely black ink in my pens, and was discovering I delighted in using colorful inks. ( “Darn purist! Why didn’t I try this sooner?!?” I wondered. ) She knew this would be a wonderful gift and, at less than $10, didn’t really violate the ‘no gifts’ spirit we had agreed upon.
She planned to surprise me; she had some trouble creating the order; she had some trouble setting up payment for the order. Finally, close to Christmas she told me her secret, sought my help, and we created the order together. She asked me if I wanted expedited shipping, which added a significant percentage of the cost of the inks to the total purchase price but promised the possibility of Christmas delivery. I said, “Sure.”
Christmas Eve came and went; no ink. Christmas came and went; no ink. Days passed; still no ink. Disappointed, using the USPS package tracking site, I determined the ink made it to our local Post Office possibly in time to deliver on Christmas Eve, and certainly by a day or two after Christmas. I called the post office to see why my package had not been delivered.
“Your package is lost. I can see it’s a small package, and it made it in here and didn’t make it out. So it must be here in the building, or something. I’ll talk to your carrier and get back to you.”
On the day he promised to call, well after the Post Office closing time, he called. “Your carrier remembers delivering a package,” he said. “But it wasn’t the one you’re asking about.”
“Yes, we did get a package just the other day.” Something Ellie had ordered and a bigger package than the ink was ( apparently ).
“I am sorry; it remains lost; it’s small. It may well be on the floor and we may find it when we move some carts around.”
“What are my options?” I asked.
“Well, you have to wait for 30 days from the date it arrived here to make a claim with the Post Office. You could also talk to your vendor.”
“Hmmm.” I had thought of talking to my vendor, but they did everything right and the package was lost well after the last time they saw it. But they have a stake in good customer service ( as if that exists anymore, my darker side thought ) and they might have access to remedies that I don’t. “Well, OK, thanks for your help. I’ll give that some thought,” I said, hanging up.
I called my vendor; she was immediately helpful, saying things like, “Of course we’ll refund the extra charge for expediting shipping,” “I am sorry your order got lost,” and “we’ll certainly make things right for you.” She took my order number, said she’d send out a replacement more or less immediately, and gave me a new tracking number.
Just a few days later an envelope from the company appeared in our mailbox. I eagerly it, wondering what eight colors the vendor had selected; I found names like Stormy Gray 1670, Jade, Silky Purple, Bay State Cranberry, Nightshade. The packaging was superb; eight small vials of ink tightly packed in a small plastic bag, much like a sandwich baggie. Then I noticed it, a smaller baggie, just big enough for and containing two vials, inside the larger bag. To my mild astonishment, my delivery of eight randomly selected ink color samples contained samples of ten ink colors.
I looked at the invoice, which of course noted this was a no cost replacement order, and the packager had penned, no doubt with a fountain pen, a note on the invoice, “Sorry your initial order got lost. Aren’t surprises wonderful?”
My wife was still living at Loretta’s in December; we didn’t have a great deal of Christmas spirit, and decided to forgo our traditional Christmas, which included a plethora of little gifts for each other and our family.
( One thing we did do was decide to attend a performance of “Sister Act” at a local dinner theater, but that’s another story. )
Nonetheless, Ellie decided to surprise me with a sample package of fountain pen inks, purchased from an online store which both of us had shopped at. It was a randomly selected group of a small amount of eight inks of various colors. I had only recently moved away from using solely black ink in my pens, and was discovering I delighted in using colorful inks. ( “Darn purist! Why didn’t I try this sooner?!?” I wondered. ) She knew this would be a wonderful gift and, at less than $10, didn’t really violate the ‘no gifts’ spirit we had agreed upon.
She planned to surprise me; she had some trouble creating the order; she had some trouble setting up payment for the order. Finally, close to Christmas she told me her secret, sought my help, and we created the order together. She asked me if I wanted expedited shipping, which added a significant percentage of the cost of the inks to the total purchase price but promised the possibility of Christmas delivery. I said, “Sure.”
Christmas Eve came and went; no ink. Christmas came and went; no ink. Days passed; still no ink. Disappointed, using the USPS package tracking site, I determined the ink made it to our local Post Office possibly in time to deliver on Christmas Eve, and certainly by a day or two after Christmas. I called the post office to see why my package had not been delivered.
“Your package is lost. I can see it’s a small package, and it made it in here and didn’t make it out. So it must be here in the building, or something. I’ll talk to your carrier and get back to you.”
On the day he promised to call, well after the Post Office closing time, he called. “Your carrier remembers delivering a package,” he said. “But it wasn’t the one you’re asking about.”
“Yes, we did get a package just the other day.” Something Ellie had ordered and a bigger package than the ink was ( apparently ).
“I am sorry; it remains lost; it’s small. It may well be on the floor and we may find it when we move some carts around.”
“What are my options?” I asked.
“Well, you have to wait for 30 days from the date it arrived here to make a claim with the Post Office. You could also talk to your vendor.”
“Hmmm.” I had thought of talking to my vendor, but they did everything right and the package was lost well after the last time they saw it. But they have a stake in good customer service ( as if that exists anymore, my darker side thought ) and they might have access to remedies that I don’t. “Well, OK, thanks for your help. I’ll give that some thought,” I said, hanging up.
I called my vendor; she was immediately helpful, saying things like, “Of course we’ll refund the extra charge for expediting shipping,” “I am sorry your order got lost,” and “we’ll certainly make things right for you.” She took my order number, said she’d send out a replacement more or less immediately, and gave me a new tracking number.
Just a few days later an envelope from the company appeared in our mailbox. I eagerly it, wondering what eight colors the vendor had selected; I found names like Stormy Gray 1670, Jade, Silky Purple, Bay State Cranberry, Nightshade. The packaging was superb; eight small vials of ink tightly packed in a small plastic bag, much like a sandwich baggie. Then I noticed it, a smaller baggie, just big enough for and containing two vials, inside the larger bag. To my mild astonishment, my delivery of eight randomly selected ink color samples contained samples of ten ink colors.
I looked at the invoice, which of course noted this was a no cost replacement order, and the packager had penned, no doubt with a fountain pen, a note on the invoice, “Sorry your initial order got lost. Aren’t surprises wonderful?”
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Sunday, February 21, 2016
A Tough Six Months
"Stop the world ... "
I hinted, several posts ago, that my year is getting off to a difficult start. I don't wish to beat a dead horse, but in the following paragraphs I recap the last 6 or so months, in more or less sequential time.
After battling cancer for four years, the dear friend of my wife's and mine, Loretta, died. Ellie stayed at Loretta's, to both continue caring for the cats ( which we have since brought home ) and more easily carry out her charge as Loretta's Personal Representative ( in laymen's terms, the executor of her will ). A mutual friend of my wife's, mine, and Loretta's, also named Loretta, died. Ellie's brother and sister-in-law, less than two weeks into their stay in Arizona for the winter, cut their time way short as Ruth fell quite ill with the flu and Jim's dementia symptoms acted up. Before leaving Arizona, Ruth fell and broke her hip, requiring their two daughters to come to Arizona to retrieve their dad. On Christmas Eve day, I learned that a good friend of mine has inoperable brain cancer. The day after Ellie moved home from Loretta's, Ruth went into the hospital with what we thought was a bad case of the flu; she died two days later with what turned out to be a toxic case of sepsis ( blood infection ). Though Ellie and I were less than a week into learning the nuances of living together again, we hosted Ellie's sister from California and her husband for the week they were here for Ruth's funeral and some other family business. Jim was living at an Assisted Living facility that was clearly not well-suited for him, and he wanted out, immediately, if not sooner, and was verbal about this. We traveled the thirty miles there several times a week, to spend time with him, to take him to lunch, to get him out of the building for a short while. This was good and helped him, but seeing his intense dislike of his living situation was emotionally draining. In the meantime, his daughters and his sister in California made arrangements to move him to a facility in California ... the place is close to where the sister lives and much better suited for Jim's condition. It wasn't going to happen for at least two weeks after a daughter told Jim of the plans, and he could not wait. Another good friend of Ellie's and mine, a male friend in this case, died. He was eighty-eight and not in the best of health. We saw him and his wife periodically, and he and I got together as well. We treasured whatever time we spent together.
This all causes me to say, with feeling, "Stop the World, I want to get off."
I hinted, several posts ago, that my year is getting off to a difficult start. I don't wish to beat a dead horse, but in the following paragraphs I recap the last 6 or so months, in more or less sequential time.
After battling cancer for four years, the dear friend of my wife's and mine, Loretta, died. Ellie stayed at Loretta's, to both continue caring for the cats ( which we have since brought home ) and more easily carry out her charge as Loretta's Personal Representative ( in laymen's terms, the executor of her will ). A mutual friend of my wife's, mine, and Loretta's, also named Loretta, died. Ellie's brother and sister-in-law, less than two weeks into their stay in Arizona for the winter, cut their time way short as Ruth fell quite ill with the flu and Jim's dementia symptoms acted up. Before leaving Arizona, Ruth fell and broke her hip, requiring their two daughters to come to Arizona to retrieve their dad. On Christmas Eve day, I learned that a good friend of mine has inoperable brain cancer. The day after Ellie moved home from Loretta's, Ruth went into the hospital with what we thought was a bad case of the flu; she died two days later with what turned out to be a toxic case of sepsis ( blood infection ). Though Ellie and I were less than a week into learning the nuances of living together again, we hosted Ellie's sister from California and her husband for the week they were here for Ruth's funeral and some other family business. Jim was living at an Assisted Living facility that was clearly not well-suited for him, and he wanted out, immediately, if not sooner, and was verbal about this. We traveled the thirty miles there several times a week, to spend time with him, to take him to lunch, to get him out of the building for a short while. This was good and helped him, but seeing his intense dislike of his living situation was emotionally draining. In the meantime, his daughters and his sister in California made arrangements to move him to a facility in California ... the place is close to where the sister lives and much better suited for Jim's condition. It wasn't going to happen for at least two weeks after a daughter told Jim of the plans, and he could not wait. Another good friend of Ellie's and mine, a male friend in this case, died. He was eighty-eight and not in the best of health. We saw him and his wife periodically, and he and I got together as well. We treasured whatever time we spent together.
This all causes me to say, with feeling, "Stop the World, I want to get off."
| If you would like to comment but don't care to use the comment field, send an email to wrjsojourner@gmail.com. |
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