bobology

and then there were two

2011-12-06T14:58:00.000-06:00

For awhile we despaired of having a grandchild. Both our children, though happily married, showed no inclination to provide us with the grandchildren we wanted. Obviously we had nothing to say about it. All we could do was wait and hint and wait and hint and then finally outright demand that they get busy, as it were.

Then our daughter and her husband finally saw the light and gave us Ezra, our first grandson back in March. He is perfect. Intelligent, handsome, social, a real charmer. How could he be anything less than perfect with us as his grandparents?

And then our son and daughter-in-law got into the swing of things and, two days ago, provided the most beautiful baby girl the world has ever seen. Clara was less than a day old when I held her in my arms and, charmed by those exquisite blue eyes, promised her that I would do everything in my power as her grandpa to spoil her.

So in the span of nine months we went from worrying that we might never know the joy of grandparenthood to having two, count em, two remarkable little additions to our family. It would be impossible to love those two precious children more than we do. Let the spoiling begin.

babies and stuff

2011-09-08T09:26:00.001-05:00

Babies don’t travel light. It is absolutely amazing the amount of stuff required to bring a baby from home to visit Grandma and Grandpa for a few days.

They arrived yesterday evening from California here to Wisconsin with one small bag for mom and dad and one huge overstuffed and impossibly heavy bag for my nearly 6 month old grandson. That little baby has more clothes than all of the adults around him combined. Piles of diapers await their duty. Stacks of tiny little jars of mashed fruits and vegetables crowd the kitchen counter. Enough toys to stock a good sized daycare center overflow the box that holds them in random order. And that’s just the stuff they brought with them. Awaiting the little prince’s arrival here was a collection of hardware deemed necessary to cope with the care and feeding of one tiny person. We borrowed or bought an infant car seat, a stroller with all the amenities of a Lexus, a contraption called Pack and Play used to house the little guy when he sleeps and keeps him from safe from harm when he is not being held by one of the doting adults who constantly surround him (we called a playpen when our children were babies, but it is essentially just a padded jail cell), a swing to keep him content or lulled into a quiet stupor when the inevitable emotional breakdown occurs, a rocking chair/play chair with toys hanging everywhere to fascinate and stimulate, and other secondary stuff to ensure that we adults aren’t caught lacking the answers to his demands.

And yet all that stuff is put out of mind when we see that beatific smile that lights up the room and makes us turn to putty in his hands. Isn’t it amazing how one little guy can have six adults (mom and dad and two sets of grandparents) so totally under his control, talking baby jibberish to him and making doting fools of themselves? But we are willing and happy fools when we get the chance to hold him and watch him and engage him. Despite the clutter the next few days will be a little slice of heaven with our own special angel presiding. We may have to dig him out from under all that stuff to enjoy his visit, but the excavation will be more than worth the effort.

trash to treasure to trash

2011-08-31T10:10:00.000-05:00

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. That is why garage sales, yard sales, and rummage sales are so popular. When we decide to clear the clutter from our overstuffed homes what better way than to offer that trash,er, treasure for sale to anyone seeking a bargain.

Even though we no longer feel a need for those once indispensable gimcracks and gadgets, someone else just might. That is our hope when we apply a value to those objects and place them on the driveway for passersby to notice and instantly covet. If we guess right about the value of that old can opener or set of jelly glasses we will make a sale and the buyer will leave thinking what a great deal she just got. The fact that that can opener and those jelly glasses will become objects for sale at her own rummage sale next year never enters the equation.

But what happens to those things that for some odd reason nobody seems to want at any price? There is nothing as forlorn as leftovers from a rummage sale. Those pathetic little unwanted bits and pieces of our history suddenly become valueless, destined for the trash bin. A couple hours earlier they were proudly on display with price tags that only hinted at their real value. Now they are deemed detritus headed for the landfill, stripped of any value, odd little curiosities of accumulation.

I had such a rummage sale this past weekend. I made $41.50 selling bits and pieces of junk that I had no more use for. I did my best to con people into thinking that they needed that stuff even though I clearly didn’t. Some of the stuff that I thought people would be fighting over barely rated a cursory glance from the bargain hunters on the prowl. Other things that I included in the mix of doodads and kitsch that I considered space fillers were snapped up like golden nuggets in a prospector’s pan.

What do we do with all those things that nobody wants at any price. Do we try to give the stuff away, donate it to some charitable organization? It seems somehow dishonest to dump those leftovers that no one will buy onto someone else so that the disposal problem becomes theirs. All I know is that I want those once valued treasures now turned to junk out of my life.
It’s nice to free up the space that was once filled with all that unwanted clutter.

Now I will have room for all those treasures that I will find at the rummage sale down the street.

normal

2011-08-15T20:06:00.000-05:00

She’s home. Finally. Life is back to normal now that Mary is back to normal after her month in California spoiling our new grandson. She has been home for two whole days. And I’m already offering to send her back.

She is smothering me. She is monitoring my every move. She is supervising everything I do. And she is telling me what to do just in case I’m incapable of deciding for myself what I need to do. She scolds me for working too hard cutting the grass and trimming the bushes. She reminds me to take a nap so that I don’t get too worn out. She is constantly reminding me to take my meds. She’s even monitoring my email so that I won’t miss any important messages. You know, normal.

I know I said I missed her while she was gone. But I my brain must have been filtering all that stuff. Yes, I love her dearly, but I’m checking airfares.

taking care of baby

2011-08-08T19:57:00.001-05:00

Well, my month of pseudo-bachelorhood is nearly over. Just a few days left before Mary comes home from California, leaving her grandma duties and baby Ezra behind. None too soon I have to say.

I guess I am just not cut out for the bachelor lifestyle. I have always been something of a loner—I am not a joiner—so you would think that being alone for a month would be right up my alley. I am perfectly comfortable keeping my own company. But there is a difference between being alone and being lonely. I can stand being alone, even like it most of the time, but being lonely caught me by surprise.

It’s one thing to enjoy doing things I like to do and doing them alone. But I have always had the safety net of knowing that she is in the other room, or about to come home from shopping, or sitting out on the deck reading. And so despite doing my own thing alone, I am not lonely because she is around. I miss her being around. I miss her taking care of stuff. I miss her taking care of me.

So she will just have to adjust from taking care of little baby Ezra to taking care of big baby Bob once again. I admit it—I’m a big baby. And I want her back.

alone again

2011-07-20T19:04:00.000-05:00

I am so out of practice. I am so far removed from living alone. We’ve been married for 42 years this August so bachelorhood is but a distant and indistinct memory. We’ve only been apart for any length of time once before when I was off getting trained to be a soldier. That was six months of active duty in the Army Reserve way back in the early 70’s. Since then we haven’t been away from each other for more than a few days. So, like I said, I am out of practice.

The reason we are separated right now is that Mary is in California visiting our daughter and son-in-law and their new baby, our first grandchild. She will be there for the next month bonding with the little guy. I get to stay home and take care of things here. I am finding out how much there is to do around here that I normally take for granted. And I am learning that too much silence isn’t necessarily a good thing.

When we first discussed this trip for her and decided that I would remain behind, I couldn’t wait to experience the freedom that being alone would bring. All the things I could do, the places I could go to, the fun I would have seemed like an endless list of self-indulgence. But, you know what?
I can’t think of anything now that I want to do that I couldn’t do before. It isn’t like she ever prohibited me from doing the things I love to do. As a matter of fact she more often encouraged me to do those things. And I’m finding that some of the things I thought I would do don’t really appeal to me when you get right down to it. Without her here to share those things they become less exciting.

I guess I never fully realized all the everyday chores and responsibilities there are around here that she takes care of so I don’t have to. Mary takes care of everything from the crucial to the mundane, from managing the finances to watering the houseplants. I am finding out that clean laundry doesn’t just magically appear in the drawers, that the bathrooms aren’t always so sparkling clean, that those phone calls to the insurance company have to be made by someone. I admit that I take for granted that all those things will be done, just not by me.

Mary is an outloud thinker. That is, she says what she’s thinking about while she’s thinking it. The stream of consciousness that results can be annoying and disconcerting at times, but the real benefit is that I always know what she’s thinking. She’s too far away now for that to work. I need to know what she’s thinking so I know what to think. I need to hear her babbling voice in the background on the edge of my awareness. I fear I will lose the ability to filter out all but the most important stuff. I don’t want to have to pay such close attention to everything that streams from her mouth. Yet I miss the sound of her voice.

I know a month isn’t that long a time to be apart. I probably won’t develop any terribly bad habits in that amount of time. I really don’t think that, once she’s home again, adjusting to her presence again will be a big deal. I just wish the separation wasn’t necessary at all. Damn kids. It’s all their fault for living so far away.

golf is life

2011-07-11T12:37:00.000-05:00

I am a golfer. I make no apologies for that. I know all the usual arguments against the game—it’s elitist, it’s overly expensive, too time consuming, isn’t always environmentally friendly, and as Mark Twain observed, “it’s a good walk spoiled.” But none of those sentiments can deter me from pursuing the perfect golf shot.

I’ve been playing the game for nearly 20 years now. I started to play again as an adult (I had played as a kid, often with my dad) after stopping playing after real life intervened throughout my twenties and thirties. I picked up the clubs again when my son expressed an interest in playing when he was 13 or 14 years old. Golf is a great bonding game for fathers and sons. As soon as I swung a club again after all those years away from the game I was immediately hooked and instantly addicted. My son is equally obsessed with the game and is looking forward to sharing his love of the game with his first child, who is teeing it up as it were, inside his mother’s womb even as we speak.

Golf is not just a game for those of us who both play and work at it. It is as necessary to our lives as the air we breathe. We play for enjoyment and work at getting better at it so we can enjoy playing that much more. Our game has its ups and downs, its good days and bad days. It is both ego stroking and humbling. Just like life itself. Those days when we play well leave us counting the minutes until the next day so we can play well again. Those days when every shot seems to go awry, when the cup seems to have a lid on it, only makes us more determined to work at improving. Golf often provides a focus in our lives that helps to keep us moving forward.

As a person with Parkinsons Disease, golf has given me another reason to stay in good physical shape. While I exercise and stretch daily as a therapeutic necessity, all that exercise has provided me with the ability to still play the game I love. I may look a times like I should be anywhere but on the golf course (I move at a typical PD pace), but I know I surprise some people who don’t expect me to be able to play as well as I do. There is a great deal of satisfaction that comes with making a well played shot with your playing partners watching. Especially when they consider you a bit less than able bodied. The truth is, I am stronger and more flexible now than at any other time in my life because of all that daily exercise.

Playing golf well is an ego stroking experience when the confluence of ability and opportunity occurs at just the right moment. Just today I had such an ego boost on the back nine. I had caught up to a foursome of young guys who were doing some serious woofing at each other, betting on who could hit the longest drive. As I drove my cart up to the tee where the last two in the foursome had just teed off and were thumping their chests and strutting around after both hitting rather prodigious drives, they invited me to play through. At a time like that your only hope is to hit a decent shot so as not to embarrass yourself in front of such an audience. So I shuffled onto the tee and went through my usual preshot routine, took a deep breath, and prayed to the golf gods. My prayers were answered.

This particular hole was a 496 yard par five. The longest drive of the young studs was just past the bunkers that are around 250 yards from the tee. I must have done something to please those golf gods because my tee shot sailed past those bunkers and the farthest ball of those young’uns. My ball stopped two yards past the blue 200 yard stake (the stake marks the point that is 200 yards from the green) a good 40 yards past the longest drive that those studs could produce. For those who don’t want to do the math, that put my drive at about 298 yards long. That is prodigious.

I could almost hear their jaws dropping after I hit that shot. But I just nonchalantly shuffled back to my cart as though I had done nothing unusual. Now I am not an imposing guy physically. At age 63, I stand 5’9” when I manage to stand up straight and weigh all of 152 lbs right after a good meal. So for them to witness a skinny little old guy with PD launch such a tee shot had to be either horribly demoralizing or incredibly inspiring. I’m hoping the latter.

That one shot has inspired me to continue playing my favorite game. And while I got the great ego boost from that tee ball, my second shot on the hole was a pathetic pull hook that went about 100 yards, serving me a huge slice humble pie. But the shot I will remember forever is that tee shot.

Ego enhancing and humility inducing, golf is life. You gotta love it.

weather or not

2011-06-13T21:18:00.001-05:00

I know that talking about the weather is boring. Almost any other topic would be more interesting most of the time. There is nothing we can do to change the weather, so whining and complaining about it is particularly useless. Still, we persist in raising the topic of the weather as though it was the most important thing affecting our lives. Sometimes it is.

Just this week we’ve experienced some ridiculously extreme weather that has us confused about what season this is. Two days ago we were baking in near 100 degree temperatures that had us sweating just from breathing. Then in the space of a few hours we were bundling up to withstand temps in the 40’s. Rain and more rain has the grass growing so fast you can almost see it. The wind never seems to slow down enough to call it a breeze.

I know we are fortunate that we haven’t been hammered by a tornado as so much of the country has been in the past few weeks. So my complaining about temps and winds and rain seems rather petty. But we all know that what affects us most is what we are experiencing right here and now. The travails of others, while raising empathetic feelings in us, are really more abstract than real when we see them second hand on the evening news. The thunderstorm that rattles our windows and pounds our roofs takes precedence over the storm damage and flooding experienced by those poor souls we see on the news.

So I’m questioning just where all this extreme weather is coming from. The global warming advocates give a convincing argument for that phenomenon being responsible for the blast of bad weather. El Nino seems to get a lot of fingers pointing at it as the main instigater of our rash of heavy rains and high winds and ridiculous temperature changes. I suppose weather scientists can come up with logical explanations for all we’ve been experiencing, but I tend to think more along the lines of “bad karma” being at the bottom of all this.

I really think the weather gods are just pissed at me for all my vociferous whining and complaining about how they screwed up Spring this year. So we are being punished for my outspoken criticism. It’s because of me that we go from dressing (or undressing) for tropical heat and humidity one day to having to bundle up like a roustabout on a North Sea oil rig in winter the next.

Go ahead, blame me. I can take it. After all, taking the blame can’t be any worse than putting up with the crappy weather. And I’m getting used to that.

foul

2011-04-22T19:50:00.000-05:00

We woke this morning to another cold, windy, and rainy day just like 15 of the past 22 days. This is getting old now. This Spring has been one of the worst on record as far as temperatures and precipitation go. Usually by this third week of April I have fertilized the lawn and cut it a couple times. I haven’t done either of those yet. By now we have been to the lake and opened the cottage for the season. We haven’t bothered to even think about that yet since there was a snowstorm earlier this week that dumped 8” of snow there. I normally would have played a half dozen rounds of golf so far, but I haven’t even swung a club yet with any real intention.

All this foul weather has bred some foul attitudes and dispositions around here. We’ve been mostly housebound for the past month—not actually stuck in the house but reluctant to venture out in the cold and wind and rain. There are just the two of us in the house and yet we seem to be constantly in each other’s way. She allows the slightest transgression or perceived wrong to get blown way out of proportion. I’ve been accused of such heinous crimes—the toilet seat in the wrong position, failing to turn the coffee pot off, allowing the kitchen garbage to nearly overflow—that you would expect an imminent divorce if not outright murder. I am not without fault though either. I sit at the kitchen breakfast counter nursing a cup of tepid coffee, mumbling mostly incomprehensible imprecations in her direction. I still have the good sense to nod in agreement with anything she says even though I don’t actually hear most of what she says.

We desperately need a few days of sunshine so we can get out of the house and out of each other’s way. We need some spring sunshine so I can tend my lawn and swing a golf club. And we need it soon. Our marriage is on the line.

art show reception

2011-04-21T19:57:00.005-05:00

This evening we attended the reception for the Art Over Adversity Gallery Show for Parkinson Awareness Month. There was a very nice turnout of both artists and their supporters. The show was organized by the Wisconsin Parkinson Association and, by the great response, was the first of many more to come.

art show

2011-04-12T18:59:00.008-05:00

Here are some pictures of the Art Over Adversity Gallery Show for Parkinson Awareness Month which is installed at the Thunder Mountain Press Gallery in Milwaukee through the month of April. The show was open to anyone with PD or their family members. I was pleased, and even a bit surprised, at the high quality of the art works presented. I guess I didn't really know quite what to expect. The show hasn't been advertised as much as I hoped and the gallery itself is somewhat difficult to get to (it is on the fifth floor with spotty elevator service) but according to the gallery operator there has been good response so far. There is a reception for the artists and supporters on the 21st of this month where I hope I'll get to meet some of my fellow artists. All in all a satisfying event.
The first picture shows my two turned vessels.

PD and massage

2011-04-01T11:47:00.000-05:00

I missed my weekly massage this week and I’m feeling it. About three months ago I started getting a massage each week as a kind of therapy to help me stay more flexible and be less rigid and achy.

Parkinson Disease typically affects the PD patient’s muscles because we tend to ignore our physical fitness. It is just so damn hard to exercise when you have trouble moving normally. Exercise becomes too difficult, too much of a chore. Consequently our muscles get weaker and less flexible. Often you will see a PD person shuffling along, stooped over forward, unable to stand up straight because of those weakened and inflexible muscles.

I vowed that I wouldn’t let that happen to me. I exercise diligently every day, usually for an hour or so. I have a regular routine that includes the treadmill, the stationary bike, weight training, and stretching. In summer I ride my bicycle and play a lot of golf. In the inclement winter months I also use the Wii game system to provide some variety in the routine.

And then I added the regular massage to the routine and found it to be very beneficial. The first several weeks I didn’t notice any significant long lasting effects from the hour long massage. But then one day I realized that I no longer had the chronic aches and pains that had become so much of my life. I found it easier everyday to get into the exercise routine because I wasn’t so stiff and sore all the time. So this week when I couldn’t get my regular massage, I noticed the tightening of some of those muscles again. I don’t have any chronic aches yet again, but next week’s scheduled massage can’t get here soon enough.

welcome

2011-03-23T11:59:00.000-05:00

Call me Grandpa. On March 21 our daughter delivered our first grandchild into the world, a son for her and a grandson for us. Both are doing well. I am speechless. I am in awe. I am overjoyed.

The only downside is that they're in California and we are in Wisconsin. Too much distance between us. It is going to be very difficult for me to spoil my grandson from such a long distance. But I will do my best. I can’t wait to get started.

recovery continued

2011-03-16T12:39:00.001-05:00

Here we are, ten days after Mary’s heart surgery. She is doing well, but just as I predicted, she is trying to do too much already. Getting her to relax is nearly impossible. She is supposed to limit her stair climbing to a couple times a day, yet she is up and down cleaning, doing laundry, and just sort of bustling around unnecessarily. Then she gets tired and the pain catches up to her and she gets discouraged that her recovery is taking so long. Long? She is less than two weeks removed from surgery and she thinks everything should be back to normal. She is not a very patient patient.

Mary seems particularly proud of her 8” scar that runs down the center of her chest. She has always been particularly modest, never dreaming of going braless or lifting her top to expose her boobs. Yet she has unabashedly raised her top on several occasions to show someone her scar while at the same time flashing her boobs. Don’t get me wrong, they are wonderful breasts and I have often enjoyed seeing them in all their glory. But she must be channeling her inner hippy and flashing (pun intended) back to the unfettered sixties when going braless was as much a cultural statement as an act of freedom. I’m sure that when she has healed enough that she can again wear her bra, the flashing will stop and she will revert back to her modest self.

We have a visiting nurse who has been here three times so far as part of the surgical follow up. The nurse checks Mary’s vital signs and checks how the incision is healing and generally gives her guidance about what activities she can do and gives reassurance that all is going well. The nurse encourages her to take it slow and easy, but she is preaching to an unrepentant sinner. Mary will do what Mary will do. I try to slow her down but that is futile. Just yesterday she had me driving her to get her hair done, then out to lunch, and then some shopping for new towels. I am trying to be a good boy and take her where she wants to go since she is not allowed to drive yet (I may have to hide the car keys soon to keep her in check). I am trying to be an enthusiastic companion, but let’s face it, shopping for towels was not on my list of fun things to do. Maybe if they were sold in the hardware store…..but I went along and did my duty.

Driving her around and helping her around the house the past couple days has been an even more difficult chore for me than it would have normally been. On Monday I had a root canal scheduled to take care of a very achy tooth. Unfortunately the tooth was too far gone to make a root canal doable, so I had the tooth pulled instead. If you’ve ever had a tooth yanked out of your head you know that there is some nasty pain involved afterward. So Monday evening produced a pathetic display of whining and complaining from the two of us as we stretched out on our matching recliners while popping our matching Vicodin, trying to outdo each other in sympathy seeking. There were no winners.

Right now Mary is out to lunch with a friend who picked her up (no driving yet, remember). Then when she gets home she wants me to drive her around on some more errands. The resting and taking it easy part should be in there somewhere, but it is proving elusive once again. I may need a period of recovery to recover from her recovery. The saga continues.

she's home

2011-03-10T19:33:00.002-06:00

After 3 days in the hospital following her bypass surgery on Monday, Mary is home. Already. I am amazed that she has progressed so far so fast. On Monday when I saw her right after the surgery was done, I had a difficult time believing she would ever recover from such a massive trauma. And on Tuesday the day after she seemed even worse. The pain she was experiencing
was unbelievable. But gradually, hour by hour and even minute by minute, she improved. When she started to organize the hospital staff I knew the worst was over and she was returning to normal.

Now she is home and able to walk around and get up and down the stairs and resume some easy activities. I know she is approaching normalcy because she already has a list of chores for me to do. I might actually do some of them just because I'm so grateful to have her back. The most difficult task though will be getting her to take it easy and not try to do too much too soon.

The tremendous trauma she has endured has given us a new appreciation for life and our time together. Now we are convinced that we will have many more years of to-do lists.

we can do this

2011-03-09T12:46:00.000-06:00

For months I have been after her to see a doctor about the shortness of breath, the fatigue, and the heart fluttering she experienced whenever she would lie down. But Mary adamantly refused to admit that there might be something seriously wrong. She didn’t want to know. She figured if she just ignored it, it would go away. I finally convinced her, or more likely, she convinced herself, that it was time to let the doctor know about the problems she was having.

Mary is very much a take charge person. Type AAA personality. Always in control of everything in our lives. Because of that attitude she refuses to believe that she might be vulnerable to the common maladies that affect us mere mortals. As wife and mother, she is the ultimate caregiver, the rock on which our family is built. So to admit to herself that she might be in need of care herself was a major breakthrough.

So on Tuesday, two weeks ago, Mary saw our family doctor. After his examination of her, he scheduled the usual blood tests, an EKG, and arranged for her to have a stress test to determine if the symptoms she was experiencing were indicative of a heart problem of some sort. Mary followed through like a good patient and had the stress test the next day, Wednesday. On Friday our doctor summoned her back to his office to tell her what the stress test showed. Whenever your doctor tells you to come in to see him, you know there is something not quite right. So it was in this case.

The doctor told her that the stress test showed that there was a blockage in one of her arteries that was likely causing the problems she was having. He told her that he was going to make an appointment for her with a cardiologist to get his evaluation and treatment recommendation. The appointment was made for the following Tuesday. Not wasting any time.

The cardiologist studied the test results and after examining Mary and talking with her for few minutes, told her that a catheterization was in order to determine the extent of the blockage. He explained how he would insert a catheter into the artery in her groin and snake it up the artery to the blockage at her heart at which point he would either leave it as it was if the blockage wasn’t too severe (and treat it with medication) or he would install a stent. The stent would force the accumulated plaque deposits against the artery wall and remain in place to hold the artery open. He emphasized that it was a fairly simple and routine procedure that he had performed a couple thousand times without complications. Being such a minimally invasive procedure, he told her that she would be headed for home the same day after the catheterization was done. He made it sound so simple and routine, but when it is you who will be the patient with a catheter probing your artery near your heart it doesn’t sound quite so routine and simple. And again the cardiologist scheduled the procedure right away for Thursday morning. Like I said, not wasting any time.

On Thursday we had to be at the hospital at 5:30 AM so she could be prepped for the catheterization. Blood tests and medications and other tests were done and after a lot of waiting and a bit of sedation to calm her down and ease her worrying, Mary was finally rolled on her bed into the operating room. It took barely an hour to complete the procedure, but when the doctor came to find me he didn’t have good news to share. The catheterization showed two extensive (nearly 90%) blockages in the artery in such a position that a stent could not be inserted. The cardiologist explained to us that the next step would have to be a bypass. That is, open heart bypass surgery. This was getting more and more complicated. And scary.

The cardiologist then handed us off to the heart surgeon who stopped by around noon to discuss his involvement in this adventure. He explained how he would take the internal thoracic artery and graft it onto the left anterior descending coronary artery in such a way that the blockage would be bypassed and adequate bloodflow would be restored to the heart. Of course at this point all Mary heard was that her chest would be cut open. She was understandably frightened. And again she was scheduled to have the operation only three days later on Monday. Not wasting any time.

The weekend was one of dreaded anticipation and anxiety about what was coming up. Trying to get her to relax and not worry too much proved to be nearly impossible. Mary was convinced that she would have a heart attack at any moment. But she couldn’t just sit around worrying. Instead she got busy cleaning closets. Why closets and why now? Who knows how her mind works. I asked her why she was working so hard at such an unnecessary task and she said, “just in case.” She wasn’t ready to say just in case of what. I’m not sure she knew herself. But keeping busy over the weekend was probably a good idea despite her fear of that heart attack.

On Sunday evening she got a call from the anesthesiologist who would be handling her meds during the surgery the next day. That very reassuring phone call from that very caring doctor did so much to ease her mind and stop her worrying. Her whole attitude changed. She finally accepted what was going to happen and I think realized that this was the best thing she could do for herself. Mary finally came to understand that what she was going to go through was what she needed to live a full and active life again. The bypass surgery was a good thing. She slept fairly well Sunday night.

On Monday morning we arrived at the hospital around 8 AM to be prepped for the surgery scheduled for 11AM. The first person we encountered was that anesthesiologist who had called Mary the night before. He again reassured her that she was in good hands and would be well taken care of. Mary was in remarkably good spirits considering what she was about to go through, even joking and laughing with the staff of nurses and techs who were doing all the preliminary testing. The fact that she was not so nervous and apprehensive made it a lot easier for me to handle the situation. I hated the idea of her suffering and coping with the pain that was surely coming. I would gladly have taken her place and borne the pain and suffering for her.

They wheeled her away to the OR around 11:30. After giving her a hug and kiss and telling her how much I loved her and how proud I was of her for doing this, all I could do then was wait for the outcome. Waiting is most difficult when you have absolutely no control over what is happening. All you can do is banish, as best you can, all negative thoughts and doomsday scenarios that want to cloud your mind. Read, take a walk, read somemore, go to the cafeteria for something to eat, read a bit again, walk to stretch the cramps that come from sitting too long, then sit and wait again. I tried not to watch the clock hoping that that would make the time go faster. It didn’t.

Finally just before 3 o’clock the surgeon appeared to say that the operation went smoothly with no complications or problems and that Mary would be in the ICU shortly and that I could see her then. It was nearly an hour before I was allowed to see her, an hour spent frantically pacing and watching that damn clock. I just wanted to see her and touch her to make sure she was alright. When I finally got in to see her I was not at all alarmed to see all the lines and tubes that punctured her body. I wasn’t concerned about all the blinking lights on the monitors. All that was expected. All I wanted was to know that she was still my better half.

Naturally she was pretty groggy and mostly incoherent at that point, but she knew I was there and that was all I cared about. It hurt me so much to see her in all that pain. I wanted to be able to absorb the pain into myself to free her from it. She was in such obvious anguish and I could do nothing about it except to encourage the nurse to increase the pain meds to help Mary tolerate the agony she was suffering. All I could do was utter meaningless platitudes about how the pain would soon be gone as she started to heal. I can barely imagine what she must be feeling.

Now, here we are on the second day of recovery after the surgery. Mary was moved Tuesday morning (exactly two weeks from that first visit to our doctor) from the ICU to another hospital room for the remainder of her stay in the hospital. They already had her sitting up in a chair and walking a few steps. But the pain has barely abated at all. The Vicodin and morphine she is getting is not helping much. Still, the staff has her up and walking, using the bathroom, and eating. They seem to think she I doing well. And I suppose in comparison to other heart patients she is. But right now she is a long way from being the energetic and busy person we all know. The road to recovery is long and is just beginning. I want her back to normal. I want our lives back to normal. The struggle is still ahead. But we both keep saying that she will be better than ever once the pain goes away.

As Mary has often said when facing a difficult situation, “I can do this.” Yes, we can do this.

PD prop

2011-02-26T14:19:00.002-06:00

Although Parkinsons Disease affects those who have it on a personal level, there are some common symptoms that are readily identifiable as Parkinsonian. The small steps and shuffling gait, the slowness of movement, and tremors are a few of the more apparent manifestations of PD. And as individual as those symptoms are, how we cope with them is peculiar to each of us.

The symptoms that manifest themselves in my particular case (especially when the meds aren’t living up to their therapeutic promise) are the typical PD shuffle, slowness of movement, right hand tremors, and lack of arm swing when I walk. And while I am not overly concerned about those symptoms when I am out and about, I am sometimes aware that people are watching me and wondering “what’s wrong with that guy?” I can sometimes sense their impatience with my slowness when they are stuck behind me when entering or leaving a store for instance. I have found a way that seems to negate those negative feelings and tilt those occasions more in my favor. I use a cane when out in public.

The cane does several things for me. While I am not worried about my balance and possible falls (fortunately I am fairly sure on my feet) the cane is a useful prop when I walk because it helps to keep my walking more rhythmic and natural, it keeps the hand tremors at bay by giving me something to hold onto, it gets my arm swinging when I walk, and it elicits just the right amount of concern and patience in those people I encounter along the way. I have found that when I am caneless people get annoyed with my slowness when I am in their way. However, with the cane at my side people are much more congenial and patient, holding doors open for me and smiling while they do.

And since I have opted to use a cane regularly, I feel like I should at least look good while doing so. That is why I have made a number of canes that I use on a regular basis that are very simple to rather extravagant. ( you can see many of them here The canes I use often invite comment from people who are suitably impressed by them. So I get to talk to people who would otherwise avoid me in irritation.

Don’t get me wrong. I would certainly prefer not to have to use a cane. But at least when I do I can feel better about myself and have others treat me better.

catching up

2011-02-23T14:35:00.003-06:00

Winter is usually the most productive time for me in the workshop, but this year has been an exception. For whatever reason I have spent less time than usual working in the shop the past few months. I seem to be going through a fallow period as far as creative energy is involved. But still, I have managed to finish a few small things without really trying.

These pictures are of a few small pieces that are made of a variety of glued up scraps found lying around the workbench.

These twig vases range from about 3" to 8" high.

These miniatures are about 3" high.

This little plate is only about 6" diameter. It is made of walnut, maple, and mahogany.

I do have several ideas for sculptures that I want to get to. I just need to stir up the motivation to get at them. Maybe if I can stop shoveling snow every other day I'll have the energy to apply to the workshop. Check back here occasionally to see how successful I am.

in memoriam

2011-02-18T20:18:00.000-06:00

Usually when we attend a funeral there are tears and sadness. The departed is spoken of in awed whispers and with a sometimes exaggerated holiness that wouldn’t necessarily have applied when he was still alive. We always want to think the best of our deceased love one, even if it means glossing over the less desirably traits he exhibited through the years.
This evening, though, we attended a funeral that was not so much a funeral as a great party thrown by a dead guy. There were no tears that I saw. There was an open bar and that kept the party atmosphere going. There was a buffet for the hungry. There was a lot of laughter and loud conversation. There were displays of photos and captions that captured the irreverent attitude and outlook that Tom exhibited throughout his 68 years. And while he wasn’t present among us physically anymore, his spirit most definitely was the catalyst that ruled the party. What great way to be remembered.
And while Tom’s somewhat cynical outlook was well known, he had a very decent and understanding feel for human nature. The one thing he said that exemplifies his nature was “You don’t have to love your neighbor. Just be decent.” So celebrate Tom's life along with his friends and family and hoist a glass of your favorite beverage in his honor and be decent to one another.

Super

2011-02-09T16:44:00.000-06:00

I have to admit that two months ago I had written off the season. No way, I figured, could they win their last two regular season games to make the playoffs, let alone win three playoff games to get to the Super Bowl and then actually win the Super Bowl. No self respecting Packer fan would have been so skeptical about the team’s ability to win when they absolutely had to. Forgive me. I will never doubt them again.

For some reason this year’s win in the Super Bowl was so much more exciting and meaningful than the others. I grew up in the sixties living and dying with every Packer game. The first two Super Bowls ever played in the sixties cemented the Packers dynasty as the standard for all teams that came after that. I remember those two games like they happened yesterday. Then of course I suffered along with the losing teams of the seventies and eighties, wondering if the Packers would ever return to glory. The nineties and the Brett Favre era brought another Super Bowl win and a loss in the Super Bowl, but at least we felt like we could compete on that level again. However, those two Super Bowl appearances for some reason never really resonated with me. I never bought any memorabilia from those games to remind me of them. In fact for a die hard Packer fan, I have no Packer “stuff” at all. Never did.

How things change. This year’s Super Bowl just had a special quality about it. It must be the way the team persevered through all the injuries and close losses and then winning out when the season was on the brink. They just came through every game when they absolutely had to win. I guess the unexpected result of the season is what made it so special and endearing. I know this Super Bowl is much more special to me because I now have two shirts, a hat, and a mug all commemorating the accomplishment. Now I really feel like a proper Packer fan because I now have some “stuff.”

Now they will just have to do it again next season. I need an excuse to get more “stuff.”

another year gone by

2011-02-01T20:04:00.000-06:00

Another one bites the dust. A year that is. This past weekend I was reminded that time marches on relentlessly whether you like it or not. I “celebrated” my birthday for the 63rd time.

That’s not an insignificant number. Sixty-three of anything can be a lot or a little, depending on your perspective. Sixty-three cents won’t get you a cup of coffee, but 63 dollars would buy you a nice dinner. Sixty-three friends would be 60 more than really necessary or manageable. Sixty-three days is one day more than one sixth of a year. Sixty-three years is two short of normal retirement age. But age sixty-three feels like the downhill slide is accelerating beyond controllable limits.

I know they say that age is just a number and that you are only as old as your attitude. If that’s the case then I am at least 40 years younger than the trail of years that I’ve left in my wake. I certainly don’t feel old enough to qualify for that senior discount that businesses are willing to give (although I am not the least bit reluctant to take advantage of it). But how I feel mentally is confusing since physically I feel every minute of my 63 years and then some.

The human brain is an adaptable muscle. When exercised regularly it can convince you of all sorts of capabilities that your physical being may not be able to keep up with. In my mind I can still run five miles without breaking a sweat, bicycle a century in eight hours on a weekend, cut my sizable lawn walking behind the mower for three hours, shovel several inches of snow off my 100 yards of driveway without benefit of a snowblower, maintain a single digit golf handicap without a lot of practice, work hard and party hard and do it all again the next day. But who am I kidding? Doing all those things is a dream I won’t let go of even though my PD compromised body says “no way.”

So maybe age is just a number, but my number is a definite 63 now. Attitude not withstanding, there is no denying my 63. Check with me next year at this time to see if that real or attitudinal number changes.

hype and then some

2011-01-26T14:06:00.000-06:00

Football fans are mostly used to the hype that precedes the “next big game.” Some games are bigger than others. Those games toward the end of the regular season schedule, when a team’s playoff hopes hinge on the outcome, are particularly fraught with meaning and carry an extra dose of angst for the team’s fans. This season, especially for Green Bay Packer fans, has had more than its share of anxiety inducing games.

Six weeks ago the Packers were teetering on the brink of elimination from the post season. All they had to do was win their final two games against the Giants and then the Bears to qualify for the playoffs. Those two games started the Great American Hype Machine humming along at full throttle.. When the Packers managed to win those two final regular season games the Hype Machine began cruising along into overdrive and hasn’t slowed down since.

After their playoff wins over the Eagles and Falcons the Packers inspired levels of hype never before encountered as they prepared for the ultimate history making playoff game against archrival division opponent, Da Bears.
The level of emotion leading up to that game was unlike anything ever experienced in Packerland. Armaggedon and Judgement Day pale in comparison. The hypemeisters reached new levels. It seemed impossible for the game to live up to the hype that preceded it. But it did.

Toward the end of the game with the Packers clinging to a tenuous seven point lead, the entire football universe was on its feet, taking short uneven breaths, hyperventilating in anticipation of the Bears possible game tying score. With Sam Shields’ interception to stop the Bears scoring threat and preserving the Packers win, there was a sense that maybe the hype wasn’t even adequate for this particular game. That loud sucking sound everyone heard was the collective intake of breath from all the Packers fans around the world finally able to breath again.

So now the next week and a half is again turned over to the practitioners of hyperbole. But after the past six weeks, Packer nation may have finally become inured to the effects of the Great American Hype Machine. Earning the right to play in the championship game seems to have become more important than the game itself. No matter how much the game is hyped, it couldn’t possibly live up to such expectations. Could it?

therapy continued

2011-01-20T19:41:00.000-06:00

I got it. It’s here. My Wii has arrived. And I even managed to get it all hooked up and running all by myself. So for the past couple days I’ve been conscientiously applying myself to learning all the fun capabilities of the system. In the name of therapy of course.

Really though the Wii is a wonderful tool. With PD being able to move without hesitation and with balance and coordination is the daily goal. Stretching and walking the treadmill or riding the stationary bike are necessary activities to achieve and maintain those goals. But those can be very boring activities after awhile, making motivation a problem. Having some fun activities to participate in goes a long way toward maintaining the exercise regimen I need to stay functional. So if I have some fun while doing my exercising that’s just a bonus.

Enough talking. I need to exercise now. I might even have some fun while doing it.

therapy toys

2011-01-13T21:19:00.001-06:00

I had an interesting occupational therapy session today. Occupational therapy is concerned with practicing everyday skills. It’s surprising how difficult it can become to use a pen to sign your name or to walk and carry something at the same time or even type on a computer keyboard when Parkinsons Disease is in play. So occupational therapy addresses those everyday skills with exercises that help to retrieve and hone those skills. Those exercises can take some interesting turns and use some interesting tools in practicing those skills. And, of course, the more fun the exercises are the more likely the patient is to do them.

So today, Bill the therapist plugged in the most fun tool he had, the Wii game system. He had me boxing, playing tennis, bowling, and playing golf all in the name of therapy. I surprised myself with my ability to perform credibly in all those games. And it was great fun. I hated to see the session end. I enjoyed it so much that as soon as I got home I logged on to Amazon and ordered my very own Wii.

I justify the purchase two ways. First, the therapeutic value is obvious and I am more likely to continue practicing on my own with such motivation. Secondly, my birthday is coming up in a couple weeks and I deserve a really cool present. Now I am like a little kid on Christmas eve waiting for my new toy to arrive. I can’t wait to continue my therapy.

say what?

2011-01-10T20:20:00.002-06:00

"core with higher RG value", "increased intermediate differential", "more defined breakpoint", "Cytoplasmic XL pearl reactive coverstock", "increased surface topography", "enhanced friction values", "stronger midlane traction", "extreme entry angle".
These are terms I was made aware of recently when talking to my son. No, he is not a rocket scientist, no am I. We weren't discussing nuclear physics either since neither of us knows the first thing about any kind of physics let alone the nuclear variety.
What we were talking about was his newest toy. He recently bought himself a new bowling ball. All those terms were in the description of the ball provided by the manufacturer. And here I thought a bowling ball was just a heavy chunk of round plastic.
Who knew?

therapy update

2011-01-04T21:26:00.000-06:00

Having been involved in physical, occupational, and speech therapy for two weeks now, I have realized some real improvement in my overall physical and even mental condition. At first I was skeptical that I would see any substantial change over the course of treatment, but now after only two weeks and several sessions with each therapist, I am convinced of their efficacy. Physically the change is easy to quantify. Mentally is a more ephemeral measurement, but the fact that I feel more confident in my ability to function is a definite improvement.

Parkinsons Disease is an insidious invader of your physical wellbeing, sneaking up on you slowly until, before you know it, you are incapacitated in ways that you never imagined. The physical aspects are the first indications that something is amiss. The mental aspects come later when you begin to ask “why.” Once you are aware of the need for physical treatment it is a fairly straightforward regimen of medication and exercise that helps to control the progression of the disease. Much more difficult to treat is the mental aspect of knowing you have to deal with having a chronic disease.

With the physical therapies providing a way to improve coping skills, the mental aspect becomes more positive as well. At least that has been my recent experience with the course of treatment I am getting. As I become more physically capable, my mental outlook is improving. The physical therapy has improved my balance and walking and relieved some of the muscle rigidity that plagues PD patients. With that improved balance and walking ability comes a more confident attitude. That mental enhancement is more valuable than I thought possible. I find that I can’t wait for the next therapy session and the improvements that are bound to follow.

therapies

2010-12-23T18:07:00.000-06:00

I’ve finally switched Parkinson Disease doctors. For the past seven years I was going to the same doctor who diagnosed me with PD. His treatment for me was mostly effective if sometimes too experimental. But he is highly regarded in the research community that studies PD. I still respect him and his dedication to research about the disease, but I was ready to get another opinion for my own treatment. I was also looking for a more integrated approach to treatment that would coordinate the various therapies that a PD patient typically requires.

I found just what I need at Froedtert Hospital here in Milwaukee. There is a clinic within the hospital that has several neurologist on staff and the variety of therapists on staff to meet whatever needs arise with Parkinsons. After my first visit to the clinic I was immediately scheduled for a complete and thorough evaluation to determine what my therapeutic needs are and then assigned to the therapists who could best help me.

In the past few days I have had my medication adjusted with wonderful results and I have seen three different therapists who have started me on a program to get me back to functioning as normally as possible. I’ve had two sessions already with a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a speech therapist. They are all in the same place so they can communicate readily with each other and coordinate what each is doing for me. I feel very confident that their efforts are going to help me tremendously.

I am familiar with physical therapy having been that route for other problems in the past, so I knew pretty much what to expect from that. Occupational therapy was something I knew about despite never having actually seen a physical therapist. But speech therapy was a whole new experience for me. I didn’t know what to expect from that or what it would involve or even if I really needed it.

Parkinsons patients typically become increasingly softspoken and hesitant in their speech. Speaking in a monotone is common. I didn’t realize how bad my voice had become until the speech therapist did a couple tests that showed just how far gone my voice has become. She now has me started on the Lee Silverman Voice Treatment program which is a proven method for helping Parkinsons people regain full use of their voices. I have to do several voice exercises multiple times each day and I have already seen some improvement after just two sessions with her. This is really quite interesting. I’m looking forward to more.
I feel excited about this new regimen of treatment. I have a good feeling about the new therapies. I’ll keep you up too date with my progress.

a couple new canes

2010-12-21T21:21:00.003-06:00

I just finished these two canes in time for Christmas.
This oak cane is a gift for my brother-in-law who occasionally uses a cane when his bad back acts up. I.m sure he will appreciate it.

This rather decorative cane is made of walnut, maple, aspen, and padauk. This is my Christmas present to myself.

I think I have enough canes now to last for awhile. I have at least ten of them that I use on a regular basis and another dozen that I just like to look at. When I get tired of these I will make more. You can see the complete collection of my canes as well as my other woodwork by clicking on the gallery tab on the sidebar.

some new bowls

2010-12-21T20:41:00.002-06:00

While putzing around in the shop I found some left over pieces of wood that I felt I just had to use some way. They were too good to toss, so I made them into a couple of segmented bowls. The term "segmented" refers to any piece that involves glueing up various segments to make a whole piece. In this case I used mahogany, maple, and padauk segments. The two bowls are pretty much the same, the only real difference is that one is 6.5" wide and the other is 7" wide. They are both 3.5" deep.

I may rework the lids and the finials. I'm not sure that I like them well enough to leave them alone. When I get the time....

wall sculpture

2010-12-08T11:20:00.002-06:00

This is the latest work to come out of the shop. It was the result of request that Mary made for something new to hang in the bedroom to replace some photographs. I don't normally do anything that she asks for specifically since she just appropriates everything I do anyway. If she likes whatever new piece I conjure up, she simply lays claim to it and finds a suitable place to display it. Needless to say our home is one extended gallery of my work. This is one time when her request jolted me into action after a long period of artistic neglect. This got the creative juices flowing again. Now I have too many ideas percolating and wonder when I will be able to complete all of them. A happy dilemma to have.

I entitled this simply Landscape Triptych. It is 18" high at the enter and 45" long. It is made from a variety of woods including walnut, maple, padauk, aspen, poplar, and pine.

Here is a closer look at the center piece.

This is the right side panel.

This is a detail of the left side.

I already have another new cane nearly completed and the evolution of another wall sculpture has begun. I can't wait to see where it will take me, what the final result will be. Also I have some turning projects in mind that I will get started on in the next few days. So much to do, so little time.

from the workshop

2010-12-06T10:47:00.003-06:00

It's been awhile since I've been able to spend any meaningful time in the workshop. But I haven't been totally negligent. It just seems that it takes a lot longer to finish things during the summer months because of all the outdoor distractions. Now that the weather has turned wintery I have more time to devote to all those projects that are dancing around in my head.

This cane was started back in June and wasn't finished until just before Thanksgiving. It languished on the workbench for weeks on end until I finally got around to completing it. The wait was worth it though. It was a big hit at our family Thanksgiving. It is made of maple, walnut, and padauk.

I have a couple more things in the works that I should be able to apply some concerted effort to now that the snow has fallen and I don't want to go outside. The workshop is calling me insistently and I have to get to work. I love it.

regaining normalcy

2010-11-20T19:08:00.001-06:00

It’s been a week now since my night in the hospital and I am finally feeling nearly back to normal. That virus the docs claimed caused my problem has pretty much run its course now. But even though the virus has been banished, that’s only a part of my returning to normal.

Anytime I get the flu or a cold or the current disease du jour, it takes a lot more out of me than you might otherwise expect. Not only do I have to battle the illness, but I have to somehow maintain the everyday level of fitness that keeps me functioning with PD. It is very difficult when you are feeling feverish to stretch tight muscles to stave off the rigidity that is part of Parkinson Disease. I’m quite conscientious about my everyday exercise routine. That daily routine I’m convinced is what keeps me capable of performing normal everyday tasks.

After a couple days of no exercise, I can feel my body slumping into weakness. I begin to move even slower. I begin to feel my legs weaken. I’ve been known to stumble more easily. I find myself slumping forward, my shoulders rounding. And the tremors that are generally controlled with medication become more prevalent and uncontrolled as I lose strength. And because my appetite suffers, I don’t usually get the necessary nutrition that helps me stay strong. Consequently I lose weight and thus the muscle mass I need to fight off the debilitating effects of PD.

So even though the virus that leveled me for most of the week is gone, the aftereffects will take a couple weeks or more to overcome. I lost ten pounds over the past week, weight I can hardly afford to lose. With all my usual exercise my body has little fat, so the weight loss is muscle mass. I’m not a big guy—the most I’ve ever weighed is 166 lbs—and right now I’m reduced to 152. So it will take me awhile to regain those pounds and the muscle that makes them. PD patients are more prone to weight loss to begin with because of the energy we expend through the tremors and involuntary movements that consume much of our energy. Thus it will take extra effort for me to regain the lost weight and strength that is the residual effect of the illness.

Tomorrow I will head downstairs into the gym to start on the recovery routine. And with my returning appetite I should be able to add a few new pounds to my diminished physique.

what I did on the weekend

2010-11-15T15:24:00.000-06:00

As weekends go, that last one was memorable. And not in a particularly pleasant way.

It started out on Friday afternoon when I started feeling some upper chest pain. I figured it was just from the strain of working in the shop on some rather detailed pieces for a new sculpture. But when I was unable to stretch out the tightness and began feeling some jaw pain as well I started to get more concerned. Friday night was the worst night of my life. I felt like I had just gone ten rounds with Ali. I was tossing and turning all night and even got up several times to try to stretch my tightening muscles. I have never been so uncomfortable. I frequently have issues with stiffening muscles and rigidity due to Parkinsons but this was way beyond that.

Saturday morning Mary had had enough of my suffering (she is so empathetic that she was feeling every bit as bad as I was) and hauled me off to the urgent care center. The fact that I didn’t object too much was proof to her that I was in a bad way since I only see doctors reluctantly and usually with vehement protests. I didn’t have to wait long at the urgent care center because anytime you mention chest pain they immediately assume heart attack and rush into life saving mode. I didn’t think I was having a heart attack but I didn’t want to discourage their efforts on my behalf. They dosed me with nitro, started an IV of some sort and had an ambulance cart me away to the hospital. (as a side note—why is that ambulances have such terrible suspensions. They have incredibly rough rides—jarring in fact. You feel every crack in the road. I have had several rides in ambulances for a depressingly varied list of reasons and have always suffered more during the ride than seems acceptable.)

At the emergency room I was hooked up too all those space age monitors with the pretty colored lights and reassuring beeps that are so familiar to anyone who has ever watched television medical shows. And then we waited. And waited. And just for good measure we waited some more. Finally the doctor on duty (so young. Or am I just that much older?) told me that I would be staying the night and getting a stress test in the morning to check up on the quality of my heart. I received that news with ill humor. I am not overly fond of hospitals or the necessity of being in one, but they all ganged up on me and made me stay. It seems that the patient has the least say in what’s happening. Anyway, I was feeling too weak to put up much of a fight so after waiting somemore, I was taken to the room I would call home for the next 24 hours.
Properly drugged up with a variety of substances, I finally got the good night’s sleep that has eluded me for so long. I was so deep into my drug induced stupor that I never noticed them taking blood samples and blood pressure readings throughout the night. The nurse had to nearly smack me upside the head to get me to wake up in the morning. I had no appetite either so the gruel they claimed was oatmeal certainly didn’t temp me. Luckily my so-called breakfast was cut short by the call to the stress test.

The typical stress test involves the testee walking and then jogging on a treadmill to get the heart rate up to a predetermined high for the age of the person being tested. But in my case that procedure would never happen since with Parkinsons Disease my top speed on the treadmill is just above stationary. So I got what they called a chemical stress test. That involved my lying on my side while they injected me with a drug that caused my heart to beat faster and faster and harder and harder just as would if I was running. That was an incredibly weird feeling. My heart was pounding away while I lay there. It was actually kind of scary, but the nurse and the tech and the doctor who were in attendance assured me that they wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen. I came through the test with flying colors, all systems go, no apparent abnormalities. They assured me that I had the heart of 60 year old man. I’m 62 so I guess that’s good, right?

After the stress test (I really did feel like I had run 5 miles) all I needed to hear from the doctor was that I could leave and go home. My possible heart problem turned out to be no problem at all. Better to err on the side of caution, of course, and I am grateful for the concern and good care I received. The original upper chest pain that started the whole ordeal was explained as a virus of some sort that would run its course in a few days.

So now I am at home fighting off the virus that has me feeling fluish and achy and unable to eat much of anything. I did get a prescription for the wonder drug that gave me that great night’s sleep and I am abusing it to great advantage. Time for a recuperative nap.

dark ages revisited

2010-11-03T20:27:00.001-05:00

Woke up this morning to dark ominous clouds filling the sky. It was a cold and dreary morning, which fit my mood on this day after the election. Metaphorically speaking, those clouds represented my feelings of dread and despair. I can’t escape the feeling that we are entering a new dark age of rampant deregulation and mismanagement at the hands if the Republican winners.

After two months of the dirty campaigning of innuendos, misstatements, distortions, and outright lies (admittedly by both sides), we are now left with the dire consequences of the election. The Republicans would have us believe that the stalled economy, the desperate real estate market, the high jobless rate, the exodus of jobs to foreign lands, the banking and industrial bailouts, and the myriad of other problems are the result of the past two years of the Obama administration when the Democrats inherited those problems from the cesspool that was the last Bush administration. How quickly the electorate can forget that miasma of mismanagement that we so wanted to leave behind us two years ago.

So now the empty rhetoric of the campaign echoing in our ears has become the rallying cry of the new conservatism. Under the guise of fiscal responsibility, the new order will turn back the clock and reinstitute the big business tax breaks and the gaping tax loopholes that nourish the greed of the haves at the expense of the have-nots. The tax burden will again weigh down the already overburdened middle class while those who can afford to pay will slip past the tax collector. Affordable health care will once again become the oxymoron that it was before the recent attempts to lift us out of the reach of the insurance companies. And if you thought that the new Republican House majority is a breath of fresh air, don’t be surprised when the stink of the Republican jackels feeding on the carrion of the body politic becomes overwhelming.

Our only hope is that the Republicans will spend so much time and effort patting themselves on the back that they will fail to notice how they are once again screwing up the country. In two years we have the opportunity to return to sanity. I can hardly wait.

day 9

2010-10-26T20:45:00.000-05:00

We drove through the central valley from Reddings to Napa in 103 degree temps most of the way. By now we were getting tired of traveling and just wanted to get to Oakland and our daughter.

We’ve been to Napa before so we didn’t feel the need to stop at any of the hoity-toity wineries and get our snob level enhanced. We are avowed wine drinkers, never without a corkscrew. But the ostentation of some of the wineries in the Napa Valley is very off-putting to us.. Some of them give you the feeling that you are entering a sacred cathedral or a holy cloister. It’s just wine people. Crushed and fermented grapes. Fruit juice. Drink it and enjoy and get over yourselves.

Anyway, we stopped briefly for lunch in Napa and then hit the road again for the short drive to Oakland, arriving in mid-afternoon to lots of hugs. Our driving vacation adventure came to an end, but we still had three days to spend with Carrie and Jeremy. Carrie is pregnant with our first grandchild so it was special to see her developing pregnancy and to share such an exciting time. But after three days it was definitely time to get home. I was traveled out and ready to sleep in my own bed again. I needed a workshop fix, I needed a lawn cutting fix, I needed to hold a newspaper and actually read it, and I needed to sit in my recliner and watch some football and baseball.

After another very crowded but otherwise routine flight we arrived back in Milwaukee. Home never looked so good. Mary is already planning our next excursion to somewhere. I’m ignoring her as best I can.

day 8

2010-10-21T20:37:00.001-05:00

Our seventh day was spent at the beachfront hotel in Brookings. We wanted a lazy no travel day and this was the perfect place for that. We wandered along the beach, napped, drank wine, and watched another sunset while listening to the constant hum of waves on the shore. It was just the day we needed before the final couple of driving days ahead.

We left Brookings and after a few miles found the California border. Apparently California has some really paranoid ideas about foreign flora and fauna invading its territory, since we were stopped at an inspection site and asked if we had any produce hidden away in our car that we were trying to smuggle into the state for some nefarious purpose. Honest guy that I am, I told the inspector that, yes, I had two apples in the backseat, but wasn’t sure if they were planning any kind of mayhem. They must have appeared innocuous enough to him because he told us to continue on and enjoy our visit to his pristine state.

Our drive took us through the redwood forest, but we didn’t stop along the way since it was very hazy and damp along the ocean drive. Our intention was to head east inland to Reddings through the mountains leaving the ocean views behind. We took CA 299 east. The mountain drive was challenging to say the least. The twists and turns and rise and fall through the landscape required constant attention. I don’t think we ever topped 45 mph the whole way and mostly kept it at half that. The first hour or so was awe inspiring with each turn bringing another spectacular view of the mountain landscape.
But that got old after awhile. We tired of the difficult driving and found ourselves wishing for the flatlands of Kansas and Nebraska. It didn’t help much that the locals seem to be impatient with the tourists on their road. We just don’t move fast enough for them. I suppose if I spent the next year driving that same road, I too would start to careen around those corners at 60+ without worrying too much about it. Apparently they, the locals, are used to driving that fast to get away from law enforcement. We found out later that the road we traveled ran through some of the most productive marijuana farms and meth labs in the state. And they were worried about my two apples.

We made it to Reddings by late afternoon ready to get out of the car and relax for the evening. The fact that it was 104 degrees meant that that relaxation would be indoors. That was fine with me since all I wanted was a TV to watch Monday Night Football, Packers/Bears. It just so happened that the hotel manager was a Green Bay native, so we spent a few extra minutes discussing the upcoming game. I told you, Packer fans are everywhere. Unfortunately, the Pack lost so it was not a particularly restful evening after all.

day 6

2010-10-15T19:22:00.005-05:00

We continued our journey south along the Oregon coast stopping frequently along the way at the many scenic overlooks. Frankly, we kind of lost track of where we were and what we were seeing. The Pacific Ocean is very big and looks pretty much the same from all the different vantage points. Seen one rock formation you’ve seen them all. Seen one wave crashing on the shore you’ve seen them all. Still every time we stopped to look again that same feeling of insignificance showed up like the morning mist.

We got away from the coastline for a short while and passed a sign for Bandon Dunes. Any serious golfer (and I count myself among that group) knows the name and reputation of Bandon Dunes. I didn’t realize we would be passing it and after seeing the sign I kept on driving down the road without thinking. After a couple miles it suddenly dawned on me that I might never get this way again and I was missing the chance to see one of the great golf courses in the country. So I turned around (Mary didn’t object. She actually encourages my golf addiction) and headed back. We drove the long entry road seeing bits and pieces of the several courses that make up the Bandon Dunes resort until we arrived at the clubhouse. The place was bustling with a couple of busloads of arriving golfers. Of course, the facilities were first rate. We stopped in the pro shop and browsed around until I decided to buy a couple of caps, one for me and one for my son who shares my golf jones. Obviously I wished I could actually play a round of golf there but that will remain the stuff of dreams. I do have a Bandon Dunes hat to prove I was there though.

By mid afternoon we arrived a Brookings, a town just north of the California border. We didn’t have reservations anywhere so just on a whim we stopped at a hotel that bragged about being right on the beach. We were very glad we stopped. We got a room that looked out on the beach so that we could watch the sunset. Being only about a hundred yards from the surf meant we were serenaded by the waves as they punished the beach. It is a mesmerizing sound, one that will lull you to sleep. We slept well with that lullaby caressing our ears.
Here’s the view from our room and the sunset we were treated to.

We uncorked a bottle of wine and toasted Mother Nature’s beauty.

day 5

2010-10-13T19:36:00.004-05:00

We finally set off for the coast eagerly anticipating the promised spectacular scenery. The day was spent with short drives between stops at scenic overlooks along the way. I don’t think we spent more than 20 minutes driving between stops all day. And every stop provided another memorable view of the ocean and its waves crashing against the rocky shore.
This is an area called Pistol River. The sand dunes are atypical of the usual rocky shoreline which we found particularly beautiful.

Here we are resting on the sand at Pistol River.

We stopped for lunch at a small park where we could enjoy the view while we enjoyed our lunch.

Here are some of the scenery we experienced along the way. The pictures don’t really do the natural wonders justice.

The Oregon coast is the most undeveloped and unspoiled coast in the country. Not a billboard in sight. The only ugly spot we found along the way was when we stopped in Coos Bay for the night. Coos Bay is ugly. But it had the hotel we needed for the night so we kept our eyes closed until dark and then remembered all the beautiful sights we found along the way.

day 4

2010-10-11T19:31:00.003-05:00

This day dawned cloudy and with a strong chance of rain. We decided to take our chances with the weather and head a bit east of Portland to drive through the Columbia River Gourge and see some waterfalls and Mt. Hood. The sun actually poked through the clouds as we began our drive, but by the time we reached Multnomah Falls there was a steady misting drizzle dampening our enthusiasm. Being the intrepid tourists we are, we stopped at the Falls and joined a lot of other touring folks who didn’t know enough to get in out of the rain any more than we did. Of course, since Multnomah Falls is billed as the second largest waterfall in the country we couldn’t justify not stopping to see it. So we got a bit wet and we got a few pictures.

That walkway bridge visible in the picture at the bottom middle is a popular viewpoint, but even in the best of conditions reaching it would have been beyond my physical capabilities so we contented ourselves with the long view.

Leaving Multnomah Falls we took the scenic drive past several more smaller waterfalls until we saw a sign for the Bonneville Dam. Curious, we decided to take a look. At the entry to the dam site we were stopped by a polite but earnest young man in uniform who inquired if we had any weapons with us. We did have a corkscrew that we used each evening to open our wine bottles, but I held my tongue lest even a small joke about weapons or their use might have me rotting in federal prison for the rest of my life. It’s just a damn dam. Lighten up.

The dam was interesting for the sole reason that it provided a fish ladder for the spawning salmon who instinctively head up the Columbia River to their birthplace. We were able to see some of those determined fish in the viewing windows. Some of the other people there had their favorite fish they were cheering for in their struggle to swim against the flow. It was fascinating to watch and somewhat mesmerizing.

We could have stood there watching all the rest of the day, but the road called and Mt Hood was looming somewhere down that road.

We found the road to the Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood even though the clouds and rain made it impossible to see the actual mountain. As we climbed higher the weather got worse. The rain was falling heavily now and the wind was blowing. We had the sensation of being in the middle of a storm cloud. We reached the Lodge finally and braved the blowing wind and rain to get inside. Timberline Lodge was first built in the 30’s as a WPA project and is currently being refurbished with some of the stimulus money the government is throwing around. It is a wonderfully crafted edifice of post and beam construction, a tribute to the men who worked so hard to build it. It is a working hotel that was filled with visitors, most of whom looked like the hardy outdoorsy type that thrives on mountainsides. They all looked bummed by the weather which was keeping them inside instead of huffing and puffing up and down the mountain. I was just happy to get back in the car and drive down out of the storm cloud.

The rain stopped as we got back down the mountain (at least I think we were on Mt. Hood—we never did actually see the thing) and continued on the loop around and back to Portland. Even with the lousy weather it was an enjoyable day.

day 3

2010-10-07T16:36:00.010-05:00

The nice part about traveling without a specific place you have to be at a given time is that you can get a leisurely start to your day. Sleep late, have breakfast, pack up and get in the car and drive. The Comfort Inn where we stayed provided a complementary breakfast that was better than anything I could prepare myself, so it was worth taking our time and enjoying the nourishing breakfast without rushing to get somewhere. Our more or less goal for the day was to reach Portland by mid-afternoon.
Our first destination along the way was Tacoma. That was only a short distance, but that was ok because we wanted to stop and see some of the Dale Chihully art that is displayed outside around Union Station. Chihully is an artist of worldwide reputation who creates some rather amazing glass sculptures. Tacoma is his hometown so naturally there is lot of his work on public display. We first became aware of him when our Milwaukee Art Museum had a featured exhibit of his work a few years back. Mary is especially fond of his work so we had to stop to check it out.
Union Station in Tacoma was at one time a train station. It has been wonderfully restored and turned into a Federal Courthouse. We had to pass through two security checkpoints and metal detectors and I had to remove my shoes before being allowed to enter the courthouse. Homeland security and all that. I felt sorry for the 4 federal agents who had to sit around the place waiting for someone to enter. Boring. At least they got to see some of the Chihully pieces that were hung in the atrium of the courthouse. This one of the window pieces.

This hangs in the center of the atrium.

We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside the courthouse so I can’t show how beautiful the restoration was. As an artist and woodworker I could fully appreciate the design and craftsmanship that went into the project. A good use of our tax dollars.

Outside the courthouse there is a walkway that passes over the freeway that connects Union Station to the glass museum on the other side. That walkway is adorned with a number of Chihully works that define the ceiling and walls of the walkway. These two pictures are part of the ceiling.

And this is part of the wall.

And halfway across there are two vertical columns of glass that are stunning against the blue sky.

We were pleased with our stop in Tacoma. Now if we could just find a way to use those 4 security agents more productively.

We made it to Portland by about 3:30 so we drove around a bit to get a sense for the city. The downtown area is quite congested and parking was nonexistent so we were unable to stop there. Portland isn’t a tourist city—that is, there aren’t a lot of attractions that would draw the attention of travelers. But it has the reputation of being a very livable city. Who needs tourists anyway?

Portland does have one attraction you don’t want to miss if you ever find yourself there. The Japanese Garden is well worth seeing and experiencing. It is an oasis of calm in the middle of the bustling city. Just beautiful. For someone like me with PD it can be a challenge to navigate the hills and somewhat rough terrain, but going slow is a definite advantage here.

After three days on the go, we are falling into somewhat of a routine. Once on the road we try to stop frequently so that I can stretch and relieve the numbness and ache of sciatica (driving and sitting in one position for an extended time aggravates it).
And also since we are in no hurry, we aren't reluctant to stop if something grabs our attention. We also try to reach a destination point by late afternoon so that we can check in to a hotel and I can grab a quick nap before we go foraging for dinner. Speaking of food, other than breakfast, it is particularly difficult to eat properly when traveling. America runs on fast food so finding something nutritious to eat is a challenge. We have learned to split a single entree between us because the portions are so ridiculously large. Each day so far we have liberated a couple of apples from the Comfort Inn breakfast layout so at least we have that in our favor. Lousy diet and lack of regular meaningful exercise (I need to stretch a lot to prevent getting to rigid. PD again) means I will probably return home in terrible shape. We will undoubtedly need a vacation from vacation.

day 2

2010-10-06T19:29:00.009-05:00

Today we spent the morning through the lunch hour at the Pike Market which is one huge bazaar of artisans and florists and farmers and fishmongers and merchants selling anything you could possibly need and a lot of stuff you don't. It's an exciting place to wander watching people and marveling at all the stuff. Decent prices too. We did buy a couple baby gifts for our first grandchild (due in March) and Mary found a silver bracelet she just had to have. I didn't buy anything because I'm too cheap.

Here are a few pictures to prove we were there.

This is us with Rachel the pig who is apparently the hostess/mascot of the market.

This fish looks somewhat surprised to find itself on ice.

Some very tasty looking peppers.

We had lunch at a restaurant in the market at a table overlooking the harbor which we shared with a couple of local women who were enjoying a day out. They were full of interesting information about their city and acted as our tour guides, telling us where to go and what to see. When we left them we headed for the arboretum to see if it measured up to others we have seen. We weren't disappointed. The arboretum is near to the University of Washington campus so we took the opportunity to drive through the campus. It looks pretty much like every other college campus you have ever seen. It was getting on to late afternoon by that time and we still wanted to visit Alki Beach which our lunch companions insisted we see. But first we took a little detour to find the local troll. Why? Who can explain such things.

Alki Beach is an area directly across the Sound from downtown Seattle. It is a popular place for walkers and runners and skaters and families playing in the sand. We walked for a way along the beach and admired the views of the water and mountains and cityscape. Even though it was quite windy and cool, we enjoyed the chance to just sit and relax for awhile before heading back to the city for dinner. Here is one of the views back at the city.

Your intrepid travelers at Alki Beach.

We finished our day with dinner at Ivars, a restaurant well known for its seafood. We had a wonderful relaxing dinner with a bottle of wine (which we finished off with no problem), which was served by a young lady from Green Bay. So of course we had to talk Packers for awhile. The Seattle Seahawks place a distant second in her affections. It just goes to show that no matter where you are, there will be a Packer fan standing next to you.

As we left the restaurant, Mary bought a take out order of fish and chips to give to a homeless woman we had seen on our way to dinner. She does stuff like that. No wonder I love her.

Tomorrow we hit the road. And, no, we did not go up in the Space Needle. Too kitchy for me.

day 1

2010-10-04T20:22:00.005-05:00

Air Tran sure knows how to pack em in. Our flight was full, every seat taken. The seating was tight and then some. I’m only 5’9” and I felt the squeeze. Anyone with longer legs would be in deep trouble. The flight itself was smooth and uneventful (thankfully), but the physical comfort level was nearly excruciating. Four hours in the air in a cramped seat with a bad sciatic nerve and some PD tremors and stiffness made for a very long four hours. But we made it here to Seattle right on time ready to explore.

After getting the rental car from Fox (a Chrysler 300) and the GPS on the road, we found our hotel, checked in, and then set out to see what we could see. Our hotel is the Comfort Suites that is only 4 blocks from the city center. Very convenient location and the hotel itself is quite nice. It even has secure underground parking at no extra cost. I can highly recommend it.
From what we saw so far today, Seattle is a vibrant, busy city with lots of big hills. We drove around just to get acquainted (the GPS was invaluable in moving around the city), stopped in several parks (Kerry, Gas Works, Sculpture) to check out the view of Puget Sound and the surrounding mountains. We made note of those places we want to see more of so tomorrow we have a more definite itinerary. Tomorrow looks like full day here before we start heading south.

This is me looking out over Puget Sound at the Seattle skyline from Kerry Park. It was quite cold and windy.

This one of the sculptures (a Calder) in the waterfront sculpture park. This park is a great way to use the waterfront land that would otherwise be wasted.

Here's Mary at the Gasworks Park. This is a former gas utility that is no longer functional so the city turned it into a rather unique park. It has an otherworldly feel about it.

Tomorrow we will spend some time at Pike Market and check out some of the neighborhoods in Seattle.

vacation

2010-09-19T15:10:00.002-05:00

We are about to embark on a 2 week vacation exploring the west coast from Seattle down to Oakland. We leave tomorrow morning (Monday) from Milwaukee and arrive in Seattle around noon where we will pick up a rental car. After spending the rest of Monday and all day Tuesday in Seattle we will test the efficacy of the new Garmin GPS system we bought for this trip while we head south. Our eventual destination is the Oakland home of our daughter and son-in-law. I will try to keep a running account of our trip here for your vicarious enjoyment. Since am a mostly unenthusiastic traveler, I will try not to dwell on the inevitable problems associated with air travel and road warrior mishaps. Keep your fingers crossed that this all goes according to plan.

back to the workshop

2010-09-19T14:14:00.004-05:00

For much of the past summer I found it difficult to find much quality time in the workshop. There are just too many things to do outside in the nice weather to justify spending more than an hour or two downstairs in the shop. Still, I did manage to turn a few bowls just to keep my skills from eroding. So here are a few pictures to prove that I really did spend a bit of quality time amidst my tools. These are all bowls made of curly maple.

I have a number of new projects in mind now that the weather has turned me toward indoor pursuits. There will be photographic proof eventually of those new endeavors. Be patient.

when it rains, it pours

2010-07-27T16:39:00.001-05:00

What a week. If it could go wrong, it did. From record setting rains and flooding to niggling little irritations, it was one thing after another. And it wasn’t cheap either.

First, the weather. By now everyone knows that this part of Wisconsin had enormous amounts of water poured on it last week. Last Thursday 7” of rain fell on us in just over an hour. Add that to the couple inches of rain that fell earlier in the day and we had a biblical measure of rainfall.

In any heavy rainstorm our sump pump works hard to keep water out of the basement. This was the first time that it was unable to handle the quantity of water rushing into it. We had to assist the pump by bailing with buckets until the storm subsided a bit. We considered ourselves lucky that we were able to handle the overflow.

Then Friday night the next round of thunderstorms hammered the area. At 7 AM Saturday morning, the power went out. No power, no sump pump. Panic. We had to do all the work emptying the sump crock by the bucketful, hoping and praying that power would be restored sooner rather than later. Our basement was in real danger of being flooded. We had to work fast and constantly to keep up. I emptied buckets into the utility sink while Mary lugged buckets of water up the stairs to dump it outside. With PD I’m not too fast doing anything these days, but I managed to hold my own. Mary had the more difficult task of going up those stairs. It’s amazing what strength and stamina you can muster when an emergency arises. For a couple of 62 year old seniors we held our own against the elements. Two hours after it went out, the power came back on and the sump pump returned to service and we took a moment to catch our breath. Whew.
So later Saturday morning, Mary went to Menards to buy a backup battery operated sump pump so that we wouldn’t have to face that situation again. She got the last one in stock. Good for us. Being the efficient errand runner she is, when she returned home she stopped at the end of the driveway to get out and grab the mail. In doing so she inadvertently hit the door lock and locked herself out of the van. Big deal, you say. Just get the extra key and unlock the door. Where is the extra key? In her purse of course. Where is her purse? Locked in the van. My car stealing skills are not quite up to snuff so my efforts to break into the van proved comically unsuccessful. AAA showed up nearly two hours later and within 30 seconds had the van opened. With the engine running that whole time we used up a third of tank of gas. And got really lousy mileage.

While she was out running her errands I was busy searching for the source of the leak that had water dripping from the ceiling during that last storm. I think I found the spot and luckily had some roof patching tar on hand to seal the offending leak. I hope so. Can’t really know until it rains again. Just add it to the list of things gone wrong.

We’re not done yet. Amidst all the other near calamities, the clothes dryer decided to stop functioning. Why? Who knows. But $120 bucks later it is working again.

With all the rain I haven’t been able to get the grass cut. Now four days after the last drops fell we still have standing water in the back and side yards. The ground is so saturated that it just won’t dry up.
You can practically see the grass growing. A minor irritant to be sure, but still an irritant.

We did manage to arrange for a plumber to come and install the new backup sump pump. We splurged and had him install a whole new pump and backup system so we won’t have to do the bucket brigade trick again. Now $1200 later we have some piece of mind.

Oh yeah, one more thing. The digital phone isn’t working either. So later today the service tech is supposed to be here to solve that problem.

I know, compared to those people who suffered basements full of water and sewage, we got away fairly easily. Several thousand homes in the metro area were damaged by rising waters. Some homes have had to be condemned as unlivable. So my complaints about not being able to cut the grass are rather lame. But still, everyone’s problems are relative to their time and place. There has been little to cheer about for the last week for anyone in this area. When it rains, it pours.

I’m sure I’m forgetting something. This has been a week to forget. When it rains, it pours

in praise of boxers

2010-07-15T11:23:00.001-05:00

All my life I’ve been a tighty/whitey sort of guy. Your basic cotton briefs seemed normal if boringly ordinary. I never quite got the notion that “fashion” underwear was desirable or even necessary. I mean, who goes prancing around in public showing off his underwear? And there was always a certain amount of security when wearing briefs that Little Richard and his two buddies were safely under control, tucked securely into their snug little pouch.

But recently I gave up my faithful and utilitarian wiener wraps to try living on the other side. I started to wear boxers. What precipitated this fundamental change was a fundamental change in the weather. Summer arrived and it got hot. I don’t know why it took so long for me to realize that my trusty briefs were basically uncomfortable when the temperature rose above 72 and the dew points rose above 60 bringing a constant state of sweatyness along with those summery conditions. Cotton briefs absorb a copious amount of that sweat and tend to get overly clingy in the process. I know, not a pretty mental image.

So in an effort to alleviate the constant state of clinging tightness (no more grabbing my ass and separating the sticky material from damp cheeks) I opted for the less confining and more breeze friendly looseness of some boxers. Wearing boxers under my golf shorts has given new meaning to the concept of air cooling. And the angle of the dangle is totally unimportant since there is no restriction of movement as there is in those notorious briefs where seemingly constant adjustments and rearranging of the furniture was common.
And while I was a bit apprehensive about possible damage to the gonads and company while they flopped along merrily unfettered, that has proven to be an unwarranted concern.

And while I have yet to drag my pants down below my hips in an effort to show off my wonderfully plaid new fashion statement as is the current fashion in the younger set, I can’t help but wonder if people are trying to figure out why I have this contented grin on my face whenever the breeze picks up. Ahh, cool freedom. But if I start grinning from ear to ear whenever that breeze is there, you can be sure I’ve taken the next step. Commando.

cottage history

2010-07-05T19:19:00.001-05:00

We have a lake cottage in central Wisconsin where we spend most of the summer. It is actually a bit more than a cottage now that we have, over the years we’ve been here, remodeled and rebuilt it from the foundation up. Now it is quite livable as small houses go and we are content that we have it pretty much the way we want it now.

Over the years (we’ve been here twenty years now) we have come to learn some of the history of the place. It must be over ten years ago that a car pulled into the driveway and an elderly couple got out. She was driving since her husband was blind. They explained that they were the original owners of the place and had in fact built it. She went on to tell her husband that the huge swamp maple tree that he had planted was growing strong along the shoreline providing much needed afternoon shade. Having been an electrician, he was proud of the job he had done wiring the place. We got the feeling that this was a last visit they would make and were just renewing old memories knowing that they would probably never get by this way again. Kind of sad, but life goes on.

A couple years ago another car entered the driveway, delivering yet another former resident of our little cottage. This time there were two youngish couples, the two women sisters, and the two men the current boyfriends. The women explained that they had grown up here in the late 70’s and into the eighties as kids and teenagers. They were all very friendly and we invited them in to show off the place and let them reminisce about their time here as a family. Their parents had bought the cottage from the elderly couple we met earlier. We all hit it off and had a nice visit with them. One of the women, a veterinarian who still lived not too far away, even sent us some pictures she had of the place showing us what it was like when they inhabited it. We have since seen her and her now husband a couple more times since that initial visit.

That family then sold the place to he guy we bought it from. He had bought it as an investment, spending the necessary money to modernize it a bit with some selective remodeling. That was twenty years ago and that brings us to the present. We have basically rebuilt everything, maintaining the original footprint of the cottage. Needless to say it is quite a bit different now than it was for the previous owners. Just the lot alone has changed completely with the addition of a garage and total relandscaping of the property. Yet it still bears some of the original feeling to it, which is why we have gotten a somewhat strange request from the vet and her family.

Recently her father passed away. Her mother, now in her eighties, has asked that she be allowed to spread some of her husband’s ashes on the property where they, as a family, had spent so much time together. At first there was a decided “ick” factor on our part, but then after some thought, we were somewhat flattered that they felt comfortable enough with us to make the request in the first place. So we have told them that we would be honored to have them visit and leave a bit of the husband/father behind.

Have we done the right thing? Were they out of place to make the request in the first place? It’s kind of a sticky question. But now that we have committed to the spreading of his ashes, we can’t rescind the invitation. I just hope that I don’t have to think about desecrating him every time I am cutting the grass or pulling a weed.

at long last

2010-06-10T11:50:00.000-05:00

Finally. After 40 years of teaching high school English, Mary is starting the next phase of her life. She is retiring from the classroom.

In some ways the decision to retire was an easy one to make. She is close to the burned out state that people reach after so many years of effort and dedication. She really needs some downtime now. And in some ways the retirement decision was a most difficult one to make because teacher is who she is. She defines herself with that title. Teaching is all she ever wanted to do and all she has ever done. Quitting that vocation, that lifestyle, is going to be a difficult adjustment to make.

Over the past few weeks she has been gratified by the attention her retirement decision has generated among her colleagues, administrators, and even former students. All those kind words have helped her ease into the realization that this actually happening. She has had numerous opportunities to conjure up memories of the far past in her teaching career and to realize how far she has come. What a long strange trip it’s been.

Mary started her teaching career in a small town high school teaching Spanish as well as English to mostly farm kids. Her debut as a teacher happened before her actual graduation from UW-Madison, since the second semester of the high school year started before she received her diploma in January of 1971. After a year and a half at that school she got the job in the suburban school she is now retiring from. We left the small town for better opportunities in the big city and have never regretted the decision.

It’s instructive to look back and remember the situation at the time of her hiring at this suburban school. During her job interview the principal warned her not to get pregnant, though she kept her fingers crossed while making that promise. You simply couldn’t get away with that today. He also informed her that he would never hire a homosexual teacher. He must not have been to familiar with his faculty at the time since the English department head was openly gay. Again, such a comment today would bring the wrath of the ACLU as well as the legal might of the EEOC down on his head. She likes to remind people that her starting salary at the time was $7400 and that she was thrilled to get it. Different times indeed.

Mary’s ability as a teacher has been demonstrated over the years by her uncanny skill at reaching the most reluctant students. She has always had the lower echelon of student in her classes. That is to say the “A” students and the college prep students and the Honors students were conspicuously absent from her classes. She was challenged by those students who wouldn’t know a noun from a verb and who weren’t the least bit interested in finding out the difference. That she was able to reach those recalcitrant students and make them not only aware of nouns and verbs, but also teach them the finer points of American literature and have them be glad for the knowledge is a testimony to her remarkable ability. Getting her students to read and appreciate what literature can bring to their lives was her most cherished accomplishment.

The knowledge that she was able to influence the lives of nearly ten thousand students in her teaching life is borne out by the many times that she has been accosted by former students in public places like the mall or a restaurant and greeted with a “Mrs. C, Mrs. C, remember me? You were my favorite teacher. I loved your class. That paper you made us write helped me so much when I got to college.” In the past few years she has even been surprised at parent/teacher conferences when the parents she is talking to are former students who have chosen her as the teacher they want for their children. They all speak of her in terms that make you understand that not only was she a great teacher, but also someone who really, really cared about her students. You can’t fake that sincere caring attitude and her students know that. When the generations of students who have passed through her classroom all agree that she was as much a mother figure for them as well as a teacher, you know she was doing something right.

One of her greatest strengths through the years has been her wonderful sense of humor. Whenever trouble reared it head in the classroom, her quick wit invariably defused the situation. That her sense of humor targeted herself most often just made her more endearing to her students and fellow teachers. There are so many “Mary C” stories--the stories that feature her in some ridiculous situation of her own making--that have been told and retold over the the years that they have become part of the fabric of life at her school. That ability to laugh at herself first and never make a fool out of anyone else has to be one of her most wonderful gifts.

So now as her 40th year of teaching draws to a close and she prepares to embark on the next leg of her journey, her head is filled with excitement and, yes, doubt about where she is headed next. After 41 years of being married to her, I am just as apprehensive and excited as she is. Whatever the future holds, we will experience it together just as we have shared every other moment, both good and bad (but overwhelmingly good), of our lives. The future is now and together we will meet it head on with lots of love and as much laughter as we can stand.

time wasted

2010-06-07T15:49:00.001-05:00

I just watched as two minutes of my life ticked away. I was heating a cup of water in the microwave for a cup of tea and just stood there dumbly quiet and unproductive for those two minutes. The sudden realization that I had wasted another two minutes was like being hit by a two by four to the head.
How often in my life have I done the exact same thing. How many minutes of my finite time in this life have I similarly wasted?

Waiting is one of the constants in everyone’s life. We wait for the light to change, we wait in line at the grocery checkout, we stand in line to buy tickets for the movie, we wait for the pot of water to boil on the stove, we wait for the cable guy to show up, we wait and wait and wait some more.
All that waiting is usually unproductive time that just slips away without our realizing it.

I don’t have a solution to the problem of wasted time other than to encourage myself to do something, anything, during those precious seconds. Read a magazine or a few pages of a book. Make that dreaded phone call. Grab a rag and wash a window. Teach the dog to sit and stay. The litany of possibilities is nearly endless if we would just put forth the effort. But we are seemingly ruled more by inertia than a need to just do.

Given that we have only a certain amount of time to use-- some of us are given a hundred or more years and some are gone before the umbilical cord is cut--our natural instinct would seem to be constantly active to fully use our time to best advantage. But ennui and boredom are the more common response to the passing of time. It’s easier to lament the gone minutes than to actively use them. It is far easier to intend than too actually do.

And while there will always be a certain amount of waiting in our lives out of sheer necessity, being aware of those waiting minutes is the first step on the road to productivity. Once we realize that just sitting and staring at the wall while waiting for the mail to arrive is not a good way to use our time, then we will ready to find a purpose for those seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years and decades that we are given. No longer will we cry over the time wasted on the way. No longer will we rue the water flowing underneath the bridge. No longer will waiting
be a waste of time.

memorial day

2010-05-31T19:32:00.000-05:00

Just now I was looking out my kitchen window at my next door neighbor as he lowered his flag and then properly folded it military style with a calm respect that I found moving. He didn’t know I was watching so he wasn’t putting on a show for my benefit. His private patriotism was more admirable for its solitude.

On this Memorial Day I wonder how often his actions are repeated throughout this country by people like him who proudly fly the flag and respect it in a solemn way. Yes today is a day to remember all those who have served our country during its many conflicts as well las those who served in times of peace. The tie that binds all those many thousands of service men and women is the very service they give to all of us.

I never fail to get goose bumps when I hear our national anthem played or sung. I, too, proudly fly the colors in my front yard year round. Everyday when I see that flag unfurled in the breeze I never fail to think about all those men and women who sacrificed their lives for us and our way of life. I know that sounds a bit corny, but it is true. It may be a fleeting thought and not deeply profound, but the fact that I, and many like me, actually think about our soldiers is the important thing. I have on many occasions carried that feeling of grateful respect out on a more personal level by approaching a service man in uniform out in public and thanking him
and shaking his hand. Invariably that soldier is at first startled and confused about how to react until he realizes that I am sincere. Then he always addresses me as “Sir” and thanks me. A jolt of patriotism courses through me at those times that lasts throughout the day.

A more profound feeling of thanks and solemn awe at the sacrifice of another young life hits me deep in my heart whenever I see another flag draped coffin borne to its final resting place. When the mournful notes of Taps send off another young soul, I have to fight back the tears, cursing the result of war. So I feel it’s important to recognize and thank our young soldiers while we can so that when the next flag draped coffin arrives, that selflessly brave young man or woman resting there will have known that their sacrifice was recognized, appreciated, and blessed. So the next time you encounter one of our finest, please don’t hesitate to offer him or her a heartfelt thank you and a handshake to send them on their way knowing that what they are doing is not just important, but vital to us and our country.

mission accomplished

2010-05-18T16:40:00.000-05:00

Mission accomplished. Yesterday was colonoscopy day. I got through it before I realized what was happening.

They make it so easy for people to get this done that there is really no excuse for avoiding it anymore. I had to get up very early (6 AM) to finish drinking the half gallon of cleansing prep and flushing myself out one more time to make sure that the old colon was sparkling clean. I arrived at the endoscopy office at 9:30, an hour before my scheduled procedure as I was told to do. After a bit of the usual paperwork I was led into the prep room, given a bed, got undressed and put on two of those embarrassingly flimsy robes, one on backward and one on frontward, then had a iv tube inserted in my arm for the happy juice to flow through. Then I lay on the bed dozing for a few minutes when the doctor came by and reassured me that this was really going to happen and that there was nothing to worry about. Then my bed with me on it was rolled into the room where this business was taken care of. The iv with the good stuff was started and before I knew it I was waking up in the recovery room. Never felt a thing.

Mary and the recovery room nurse had to help me get dressed since I was a bit groggy and my PD meds weren’t working yet. But that was accomplished with little fuss. The nurse then helped Mary walk me out to the car, one on each arm holding me erect while I did my best to shuffle along. The first thing I did when we got home was swallow some levodopa to get my body back to some kind of working order. The second thing I did was start to eat anything within reach. I was starving from having to fast for the day and a half before and I was in no mood to be denied food. I don’t know what it is I ate, but I ate a lot of it. Then, just as the nurse told me I would, I crashed and took a two hour nap. That rid my body of the remaining sedative and gave the PD meds time to kick in. When I woke up I good as new. Or as close to normal that I am allowed to get.

So, all in all, the whole thing went smoothly without a hitch. The doctor gave me a clean bill of health which is the important thing. That gives some peace of mind. So now I am good for another ten thousand miles or five years, whichever comes first.

I really encourage everyone to have this done. Colon cancer is a horrible thing to suffer and it is preventable with the proper early screening. If my mother had had it done, she might be alive today. So if you are fifty years old or older, don’t hesitate to schedule a colonoscopy. Do yourself and your family a favor. Mary has scheduled hers for next month. You should do the same.

colonoscopy

2010-05-14T17:56:00.001-05:00

It’s not the most pleasant thing I have to do, but do it I must. I am in that group of people who may have a genetic predisposition to colon cancer, so in a couple days from now I will undergo another colonoscopy.

I had my first colonoscopy 8 years ago and according to current medical advise, I am due for another. Actually overdue. I am 62 years old and the current protocol calls for anyone with a family history of colon cancer to undergo the procedure every 5 years.

My mother died from colon cancer 22 years ago and her sister, my aunt, died a year later, almost to the day, of the same dreaded disease. So I am considered at risk. I like to think that my mother and her sister were more the victims of lifestyle and diet than any genetic factor, which diminishes any predisposition I might have since my diet and lifestyle are considerable healthier than theirs was. Still, it seems unhealthy to forego a colonoscopy and the peace of mind it can provide when it shows no trace of cancer.

I don’t have any particular fear of doing this. It’s really painless and quick. The anesthesia makes it all go by effortlessly. There are no aftereffects to speak of. So it really is a walk in the park. Except for the preparation you have to go through beforehand.

The colon cleansing process that you have to undergo the day before is the most unpleasant aspect of the whole deal. Drinking the NuLYTELY mixture of Sodium Chloride, Sodium Bicarbonate, and Potassium Chloride, a whole gallon of the distasteful stuff, is the major drawback to this. I wish there was an easier way, but the doctor claims this is the best and most effective way to clear all the nastiness out of your colon to make the procedure most effective. So I will suck it up and drink it all. Yuck.

The only other concern I have is the effect the preparation and colonoscopy itself will have on my Parkinson Disease symptoms. I have to take my meds throughout the prep and don’t know how effective they will be during the cleansing process. I also don’t do too well if I don’t eat regularly and eating is forbidden the whole day before except for clear liquids. I am afraid I will be barely functional during and after that prep time. I also anticipate a bit longer recovery time after it’s all over. I may be worrying needlessly, but I can’t help it. The doctor assures me that I shouldn’t have a problem, but I got the feeling he was guessing. We’ll see.

So Monday is the day. I can do this. I have no choice.

urban wildlife

2010-05-11T12:52:00.001-05:00

We live in a typical suburban neighborhood that is fairly densely populated. Ours is a fairly large lot in comparison to others in the area, but by no means big enough to harbor the varied wildlife that has been lately in evidence. This isn’t a heavily wooded lot either so there seems to be no logical explanation for the all the critters that have been seen here.

Just over the past two weeks we have seen in our backyard such visitors as a red fox, a ‘possum and a raccoon. Each spring there are usually a group of ducks that will hang around until the water pool from the melting snow in the far backyard dries up. Deer have been seen along the fence that separates us from the nearby freeway. There are too many rabbits to count (they really do breed like rabbits), and there is the extended family of frisky squirrels that chases around in a continuous game of tag. Thankfully we haven’t yet spotted any coyotes in the area although they have been sighted in nearby communities.

So far we have coexisted with these wild critters without too many ugly confrontations. But it seems that these urbanized critters are getting more and more brazen and confrontational lately. They seem to know how close they can get without entering the danger zone. That danger zone has been getting closer and closer to our personal space though.

Just last evening, shortly before it got dark, a raccoon the size of a watermelon ambled across the deck, turned toward me and gave me disdainful look with those bandit eyes before thumbing his nose at me and disappearing under the deck. Our leashed Jack Russell terrier went totally berserk at the sight and smell of that interloper and was violently demented in her frustration at not being able to tear it limb from limb. And a few evenings ago the biggest, ugliest “possum I have ever seen trotted along the hedgerow between us and our neighbors. Thankfully, it was headed away from us and not toward the rather congenial area under our deck. The sighting of the red fox the other morning was exciting except for the fact that it was obviously hunting and had found a small rabbit it was enjoying for breakfast. Not a pretty sight.

All these various creatures have somehow adapted to life in the city, making the most out of the loss of their normal habitat. We manage to coexist mostly peaceably, but more often now our relationship is strained. We don’t like the destruction they can do to our landscape and buildings and they don’t like us cutting down the trees and shrubs and wild grasses that make up their homes. We would prefer that they find someplace else to have their babies than under our deck and find a different food source than our vegetable gardens and flower pots and garbage cans.

We can and will continue to get along as long as neither of us gets too upset with the other. I really don’t mind too much seeing the rabbits hunkered down in twitching wariness each evening or laughing at the energetic frolic of the squirrels. As long as that ‘possum was just passing through I don’t mind watching him waddle away. And if that fox would be so polite as to clean up after his furry meal so I don’t have to shovel the remains out of sight I would be ever do grateful. It would also be nice if the cohort of critters didn’t actively seek to antagonize my poor little dog by staying just out of reach of her leash or leaving their scents all over the deck while she has a demented fit watching them through the patio door. And I can even tolerate the brazen coon who thinks I, rather than he, am in the wrong place if he would just lose the attitude.

getting a new car

2010-04-15T13:17:00.001-05:00

Last week my wife decided she wanted a new car. Ok. We had three cars(a twelve year old Ford Ranger pickup truck, a 3 year old Honda Accord and a five year old Dodge Caravan), which was one too many, so selling one and using the other for a trade-in seemed to be a likely and doable scenario. She already had a buyer for the Honda and the truck was in excellent shape and would get a good price as a trade in so away we went to the new car dealer. She had her heart set on a Subaru Outback for some reason, and once she makes up her mind about something there is no turning back.

I was basically along for the ride. Sort of a detached onlooker. She does all the negotiating and haggling. There isn’t a new car salesman out there who can trump her once she gets a car and a price in her sights. I just sit back and watch the show. She got the price she wanted for the truck and got the price she wanted to pay for the new car before the salesman knew what hit him.

And I actually feel a bit sorry for the poor salesman who has to deal with her. Being a high school English teacher gives her an aura of authority and emits a certain vibe that leaves most salesmen cowering and afraid. Very afraid. She makes them feel like they have to watch their grammar and that they are fighting for a passing grade. They want to please her so she won’t call their parents about their misbehavior in class. It is really rather pathetic to see them turn into cowering blobs of putty as she manipulates them to her will.

She found the Outback that she wanted on the dealers lot. It had all the goodies she wanted and even a few she didn’t know she wanted. One problem. Wrong color. When it comes to color there is no chance of compromise. She wanted that car but in Graphite Gray. Her insistence sent a panic through the poor salesman that manifested itself in the sweaty brow and stammering inability to speak a coherent sentence. It was like she had assigned a term paper due by the end of the week and he hadn’t even chosen a subject yet for the paper. I could just imagine the feverish rush to find her the right car or face her wrath and a failing grade and a note to his parents about his inadequacy as a student and human being.

And it’s not like he could go about his business and find the car and report his success to her. No, no. She is too much the control freak so he had to suffer the indignity of having her hover over him with at least two phone calls every day to measure his progress. I can see him now, frantically signaling the dealer’s phone receptionist with cut throat gestures and lots of arm waving to indicate his unavailability to answer the phone. Poor guy probably wet himself every time the phone rang.

The end result of all his suffering and her badgering was his eventually earning an A+ by finding the exact car she wanted. It took him five days of pressure packed effort, but he succeeded and she is happy. And if she’s happy, everyone is happy.

Of course now that a shiny new car is sitting in the garage the next hurdle will be to convince her that is ok to actually take it out and drive it. Her idea of having a new car is to make sure that it stays new forever, safe from the elements and possible dust or dirt from all those nasty roads out there. She won’t drive it to school lest it gets scratched or dinged in the parking lot. And I have strict instructions to curtail my wanderlust and wait until she gets home each day so I can drive the old van wherever I might need to go. That will eventually lighten up, but in the meantime I am essentially grounded. I have a plan to sneak out to the garage and put a little nick on the bumper so the car won’t be so virginal anymore and I’ll be able to escape to the hardware store once more. But I’ll be careful. I don’t want to get a note sent home from the teacher.

exercise and PD

2010-04-12T10:07:00.001-05:00

A recent article in the New York Times concerned the efficacy of exercise for alleviating the symptoms of Parkinson Disease. The article spoke in a somewhat incredulous tone about bicycling in particular as a means of combating the disease. This isn’t news to me. I’m living proof that exercise is beneficial for those who cope with PD.

I was diagnosed nearly ten years ago with PD. In the ensuing years I stuck to and even increased my regular exercise routine. I’ve known for a long time that I feel better and function better in my everyday activities when I work out regularly. I have found that while in the “exercise mode” I function normally. No symptoms for the most part. No tremors or involuntary movements. No slow down during routine movements. And while during my normal routine day I tend to move rather slowly and shuffle when I walk and even resort to using a cane to help me with the rhythm of walking, I find that once I start some physical activity, that shuffle disappears and I can go full speed ahead.

Admittedly I have difficulty walking from house to garage, but once I get there and hop on my bicycle, I’m just another 62 year old riding a bike. I can go for 15 to 20 miles and feel absolutely normal. It’s when I stop and get off the bike that the PD symptoms reappear. In fact the symptoms are generally more pronounced for a short period after exercising until I have relaxed and caught my breath, as it were. And while there seems to be no lasting effect of freedom from symptoms once I finish my exercise routine, while engaged in that physical activity I can function normally.

I am probably in the best physical shape of my life now due to the regular conditioning program I follow which seems ironic. There is no doubt in my mind that physical exercise helps me cope with my version (everyone is different) of Parkinson Disease. It seems to me that a lot more research needs to be done on the effect that exercise has on our brains. And while researchers are huddled in their labs peering at brain scans and studying microscopic tissues, I’ll be out on my bike in the real world giving them something to think about.

2010-04-03T16:07:00.003-05:00

A few days ago I was looking through some sites and came across some wine bottle holders. They looked interesting enough that I thought I'd try to make some of my own design. So here are some pictures of my efforts. I have a few other ideas that I will get to eventually, but for now these will do.

This sculptural holder has many variations that i will explore sooner or later.

This walnut holder uses the weight of the bottle to stay in place.

I am fascinated by the physics involved with this turned maple holder. It doesn't look as though it should stay upright, but it does.

These are just a start. The prototypes if you will. I can see making many more of them in between other projects.

spring has sprung

2010-03-27T11:05:00.001-05:00

Spring is officially here. I know this because I just spent several hundred dollars getting the seasonal equipment ready and functional. The lawn tractor has been tuned up (to the tune of $216) and my bicycle has also been tuned up (to another $128 tune). The golf clubs have their springtime shine. I have put away the winter jackets and gloves and hats and scarves.
The snow shovels are stashed back into a corner of the garage.

Each day of sunshine gets us closer to the trees budding and the daffodils and tulips pushing up. I love this time of year when everything is new again.

Of course just about the time we think we are deep into springtime and winter is but an unpleasant memory, the inevitable spring snow storm will kick us back to reality. We have had big snows as late as May around this part of Wisconsin, so that nagging feeling that we aren’t quite out of the danger zone is lurking in the back of our minds.

But right now the sun is shining, the ground is soft, the smell of new growth is wafting from the grass and I refuse to let the possibility of a freak snow storm ruin the mood. I’m ready.

prolific

2010-03-20T19:43:00.004-05:00

I've had a very busy and prolific week in the shop. I figure anytime I can create a new piece each day, I'm doing very well. I think it helped that I had prepared a bunch of turning blanks from the slab of curly maple that has been drying on the floor of the shop for the past few months. It is very hard to resist a ready blank sitting on the workbench calling my name.
So here are some pictures of those pieces of curly maple blanks after the sawdust settled.

As usual there are more pictures of these pieces and many more here Or click on "gallery" on the sidebar.
I still have a big chunk of that curly maple so there will be many more turnings to come.

from the shop

2010-03-09T15:54:00.004-06:00

I have been spending a lot of good quality time in the shop over the dreary winter months. It seems crazy, but I almost wish that winter would last a bit longer just so I don't feel guilty about spending so much time satisfying my creative urges. Once the weather warms up, I spend a lot more time outside and a lot less time in the shop. So I feel like I need to get as much done now as I can. The golf course awaits and my bicycle is begging to go. That means less time for shopwork.

To prove that I've been as busy as I claim, here are a couple pictures of a shallow bowl I just completed. It is made from curly maple with a stripe of various woods. There are actually two more very similar bowls of different sizes that almost seem like a set, although that was not my intention. To see those other two bowls and a lot of other turnings I recently completed, click on "gallery" in the sidebar.

I have 8 or 9 more curly maple blanks prepared for turning just waiting to get on the lathe. I better get to work before the warm weather arrives.

boring

2010-02-28T17:14:00.000-06:00

I readily admit to being mostly ignorant of the finer points, if there are any, of hockey. I’ve never been a hockey fan, even casually. Yet today I spent a lot of time trying to watch the US v Canada Olympic gold medal game. As of right now, they are playing an overtime period because neither team could win it in regulation time.

Regulation time—in hockey that means a weird three periods. They don’t play quarters or halves like normal sports. They play thirds. That right away requires an uncomfortable adjustment for me. I kept waiting for the quarter to end and the halftime entertainment to start. Of course the rules are a mystery to me. Icing? Isn’t that something you put on a cake? There just seems to be a whole lot of rushing around madly with no apparent purpose other than to work up a sweat.

Scoring? It seems to be mostly accidental. There’s a mad scramble around the net that usually ends up with the puck being sent flying away down the ice harmlessly. Boring. The announcers insist that there are actual plays being run by the skaters, but the puck’s serendipitous sliding makes a mockery of that claim. It all seems so totally helter/skelter for there to be any form to the proceedings.

Then with a mere 24 seconds left in the game the US scored a goal to tie the game. The whoosh of arctic air that changed the jet stream’s course was the sigh of disbelief emanating from the 34 million Canadians whose very existence depends on the play of their national hockey team. On to overtime and more formless skating around. Oh my, the Canadians just scored the winning goal. There will be no crying in Canada tonight. But I’m still crying over the three plus hours I just spent trying to make sense of the whole spectacle.

Fortunately, I caught a nice nap through most of the second third of the game so the time wasn’t totally wasted.

olympic revue

2010-02-26T11:38:00.000-06:00

After nearly two weeks, the Winter Olympics are winding down. I will miss watching them each evening, wondering how in the world do they do those things. I appreciate the basics of most of the competitions—whoever gets to the finish line first wins. It’s all those other “sports” that require a judge to decide the winner that leave me somewhat confused and unsatisfied.

I have enough difficulty bending over and reaching to tie my shoes, so seeing those athletes up in the air spinning and twisting and flipping around like beached trout is beyond my understanding. I don’t mean to diminish the amazing physical skill shown by the snowboarders and freestyle skiers and figure skaters when they do those incredible physical feats. I just like my sports more basic—go faster, jump higher than the next guy. No arguments can result when the clock shows who the winner is, unlike the men’s figure skating where the judges decided the winner and the Russian skater won the gold medal for whining. What could be more basic than ski cross where four skiers scream down an icy mountain to see who can get to the bottom first. The grueling cross country ski races that push the athletes to the limits of their stamina and strength are the epitome of pure sport, unlike ice dancing, which is nothing more than a pretty interlude between real sporting events.

I know this argument will go on and on every time the Olympics are held, be it winter or summer. And I will always come down on the side of those events that put the judges in the spectator seats away from any decisions about the outcome. But that doesn’t diminish the fact that I am in awe of the tremendous skills shown by the competitors in those exhibitional events. I want to know who the first guy was to do a flip in the air while skiing down the hill and then deciding that it would be cool to do it again, only this time flip backwards. Who dreams up these things? And while I am entertained by those feats, I still want the stopwatch to tell me who the winner is.

backache blues

2010-02-11T13:52:00.001-06:00

Back pain is nothing to scoff at. For the past couple months I’ve been dealing with a badly strained left side Latissimus Dorsi muscle, or more familiarly, Lat muscle, which spasmed and locked up very painfully. I’ve been undergoing twice weekly treatments with a physical therapist that include electrical stimulation and ultrasound and massage of the offending muscle. The pt also showed me how to properly stretch to keep the muscle less rigid and prone to soreness. And while the pain hasn’t gone away completely, it has been greatly reduced with those treatments and become more manageable.

The real test of my progress in controlling the aching and soreness came yesterday when I had to deal with the 14” of snow that fell overnight. Knowing what the consequences would be if I moved wrong or tried to bend and lift shovels full of snow, I moved cautiously and slowly and restricted my cleanup efforts to guiding the snowblower. After a couple hours of effort I succeeded in clearing the driveway and sidewalk without hurting myself. I was justifiably proud of my accomplishment, not so much the snow removal as doing it without aggravating my sore back. I figured I was over the healing hump and on my way to being able to swing a golf club once again.

But not so fast backache boy. This morning I woke up feeling as spry as any PD afflicted 62 year old could hope to be considering the level of activity I went through the day before. Feeling nearly normal lulled me into thinking that I was safe from the attack of the muscle devils that lurk behind any wrong move the unsuspecting can make. My wrong move this morning was reaching up into the cupboard to fetch a cup for my coffee. Yow!!! A fullblown muscle spasm seized my back and left me screaming and grabbing the counter to keep from collapsing in an excruciating heap on the floor, whimpering and gasping for breath. All I wanted was a cup of coffee. All I got was a trip back to square one,

Luckily, I still have some muscle relaxant pills to stem the pain coursing through every little nerve ending in my body when I move the wrong way, which is to say moving at all. I just hate to have to use those pills, being reluctant to have to rely on them for any length of time. But use them I will until I can get back to physical therapist and her healing hands. But just my luck, she is on vacation all through next week. I am on my own.

I hate to whine, but this is getting old and so am I. I don’t heal as fast as I once did and Parkinsons Disease makes recovery all the more problematic. When do I get to feel normal again?

time flies

2010-01-28T15:14:00.000-06:00

Time flies when you’re having fun. And when you are not having so much fun as well. Time does seem to flow by faster with each passing year. With the arrival of another birthday, all I can say is, “Already?”

While heating a cup of coffee in the microwave this morning, I was struck by how frivolously we squander little bits of time without a second thought. I stood there watching the seconds of my life tick off, counted down by the microwave timer. How often have I done that in the past? How many days of accumulated microwave watching have I allowed to slip away unnoticed?
Waiting for the red light to change to green is another sliver of time that gets away while our minds wander aimlessly. If there is no traffic coming why not just run the light and save those 5 seconds to be used more productively somewhere else. How often have I picked the slowest checkout line at the supermarket? How many hours of lost time have accumulated there? I don’t want to really think about it, but once start I can’t stop thinking about all the little bits of time that have escaped before I realize what has happened.

If I have a slightly above average life span and live to celebrate my 80th birthday, I have only 18 more years to go. Not a lot of time. I tell my two children, both married and still delaying the grand child production I’m looking forward to, that if they don’t start pretty soon, I won’t be around to see my grandchild graduate from high school. They don’t seem to grasp the urgency that weighs on me.

So here today, as I celebrate my 62nd birthday, I can only hope that I don’t allow too much more time to pass, wasted and unnoticed. I don’t really like to think of another birthday as cause for celebration, since it is really one more step on the ever quickening journey to the end. I’m ready to stop keeping track and start using more of those precious moments that are still there for me. Stop counting already.

winter doldrums

2010-01-11T11:57:00.003-06:00

Now it’s time again for the winter doldrums to set in. The football season effectively ended yesterday when the Packers lost. College football is already a distant memory. Basketball tournament time is still a couple months away.
The icy temps outside are decidedly inhospitable. I haven’t ventured out of the house for nearly a week now. except to shovel and blow the 8+ inches of snow we got last week.

My sore back is making the most rudimentary human moves nearly impossible. I’m swallowing Advil by the fistful all day and adding a dose of Baclefen at night so I can get through the night without excessive screaming. The Parkinsons tremors are gettingmore and more difficult to control. Probably need a meds adjustment there.

Despite all my whining, I still manage to get into the workshop on a regular basis. If I didn’t have that I would almost certainly go crazy. Just spending a couple hours a day creating interesting and sometimes wonderfully beautiful things is the elixer that keeps me going.

I've beeb turning some bowls out of the remnants of a tree that was cut down at the cottage a couple years ago. I don’t know the species of tree. The logs have been lying in a pile outside ever since the tree was cut and the wood has weathered and decayed with the help of ants and other intruders into some interesting figures and grains and patterns. The pieces are a challenge to turn because of the extensive rotting that has occurred. The resulting bowls have a wonderfully primitive quality to them. Here are some pictures of those bowls.

I still have about a dozen usable chunks of that tree still to play with, so at least I have that to take my mind off the nastiness of the winter season.

disappointed and disgusted

2009-12-14T12:47:00.001-06:00

Duped. Betrayed. Disappointed. Disgusted. All these are how I feel when the name Tiger is now mentioned. I have been a great admirer of his talent and success on the golf course and naively believed that he brought the same skill, discipline, and honesty to his private life. His public image is now shown to be a sham, a product of clever marketing. His private life is revealed to be a shambles, a journey through debauchery and dishonesty. His cultivated image of loving husband and father is one of the great marketing successes of our time. But what a lie. I ask myself how can an athlete who is so disciplined on the course be so undisciplined away from the course. Apparently ready and willing to screw anyone who moves within reach of his dick, he has shown himself to be the epitome of hypocrisy. He must have felt that he would never be caught, probably believing that because he was so successful on the golf course, that no one would care what he did away from the course. He is just another example of the pro athlete who feels entitled to behave beyond the rules of decent behavior simply because he is an athlete/celebrity with a different set of rules than the rest of us. And while it seems that the sort of bimbo he was involved with is readily available to his kind, that doesn’t excuse him from participation. Just because the temptation is there does not mean you have to succumb to it. I used to look forward to seeing him play whenever he was in a tournament, knowing I would see amazing shots being made with remarkable skill. Now I don’t want to see him play anymore. I just want him to go away.

shop update

2009-12-05T15:35:00.003-06:00

There are quite a few pieces that have come out of workshop since I last updated. Rather than trying to show them all here, it would be better to click on "gallery" on the sidebar and see everything in one place. Or you can click on "my flickr", also on the sidebar, and select the turnings and sculpture sets. Thanks for looking.

careless

2009-12-01T13:33:00.002-06:00

I've always prided myself on being very careful and aware when working with the tools in my shop. Power saws and routers and sanders require a concentration that is unwavering if the operator is going to work safely and avoid injury. Yesterday I disobeyed that rule and now I'm paying for my lack of concentration.

I was using the router mounted on a router table -as I have many times before- to cut a dado in a piece of zebrawood. I was in a hurry and that should have thrown up a red flag for me. Never do anything with power tools if you are in a hurry. Shortcuts create bad cuts in both the wood and any fingers that get in the way. Normally I use push sticks and jigs that help to make the particular operation as safe and efficient as possible. But for some reason I must have felt invincible and overly sure of my ability to control the material and the cutter because I stupidly used just my fingers to hold the wood in place and then advance it through the router.

I don't know exactly what happened or how it happened because it happened to quickly for me to react. Somehow two of my fingers slipped into the path of the router bit and the result is what you can readily imagine. A considerable chunk of my right index finger was ripped open and a smaller rip was made in my middle finger faster than you can say "oops". Copius amounts of blood drippings made a trail from basement workshop to upstairs kitchen. I managed to fold the skin back into place and applied lots of pressure to stop the bleeding long enough to get a compression bandage in place. I felt secure enough with my firstaid efforts to refuse a trip to the hospital.

But the wound is still bleeding a bit today and will probably take awhile longer to stop. It is nearly impossible to avoid moving the finger and causing the wound to reopen and start bleeding again. It is all very annoying. Just typing this has caused more bloodshed. Remarkably enough there is no pain involved so far. I am going to have to immobilize the finger for a day or so to get the bleeding to stop completely. What a hassle. And all because I was in a hurry and got careless.

Maybe the worst part of all this is that I have to listen to Mary"s lectures and her insistence that I stay out of the workshop forever. Geez, it's not like I cut the finger off.

just a bit early

2009-11-23T12:12:00.001-06:00

Every year it seems the xmas season ( notice I don’t Christianize the word) begins a bit earlier than the previous year. It is not at all unusual to find xmas decorations in the big retail stores crowding out the Halloween pumpkins and Thanksgiving turkeys by mid October. Here at home I have always held out until after Thanksgiving to put up our xmas decorations outside and inside, not only on principle but also so that we don’t get sick of looking at the glitz and glimmer and twinkling before the day we are supposed to be celebrating itself arrives.

So it is with a sense of shame (just a tiny bit) that I admit to jumping the gun on my own self imposed timeline for decorating the old homestead. The wreaths are hanging in the usual doors and windows, the garlands are wound around the railings and the lights are festooned on the trees and garlands. All that was accomplished yesterday, a beautiful sunshiny warm 60 degree day with hardly an inkling of the impending winter in the air. It was simply too nice a day to not to be outside doing something. So since the season is nearly upon us, I rook advantage of the choice weather and violated my own rule.

I make myself feel a little better about my early efforts by insisting that none of the lights get turned on until after Thanksgiving. So I have not completely gone over to the dark side. Please don’t think less of me.

football fever

2009-11-15T20:09:00.000-06:00

I am a die hard Packers fan from way back. I grew up with the champion teams of the sixties and suffered through the mediocre teams of the 70’s and 80’s. The 90’s with Favre at quarterback reignited a passion for the team and were as exciting as it gets. The last few years with great expectations that were rarely met were both exciting and aggravating.

And this season has been an exercise in frustration given the great preseason and then the lousy play that was the first 8 games. Last week’s loss to the pathetic Bucs in Tampa Bay gave rise to the anger that comes from knowing the team is better than they were playing. I admit I jumped on the get-rid-of-the-coach bandwagon last week after that embarrassing loss.

Anticipation of today’s game against the Cowboys was pretty much restricted to hoping the Packers would put forth a respectable showing and keep the score under blowout status. I fully expected the Pack to lose by at least two touchdowns while showing at least some basic competence at the game. I hoped only that they would show some progress in correcting the penalty and sack problems that have plagued them every game this season.
I prayed that the O line would somehow figure out a way to keep Rogers upright and still breathing at the end of the game. I begged the football gods to show the D line the way to get to Romo and plant his ass on the sacred tundra of Lambeau. And I was not shy about begging for a special teams rebirth as a professional unit.

Well, my begging was not ignored. My beseeching of the football gods apparently worked. The team the Packers put on the field today was the near opposite of the team we’ve been seeing up until now. The defense played like an all pro team, pitching a near shutout. The offense came alive at the right times getting first downs when they were desperately needed. The special teams played as though they were special, not allowing the big play that has hurt them so in the past few games. And when they got into scoring position, the Pack scored.

The only bad thing about today’s excellent play is that it raises expectations for a repeat performance every game until the super bowl trophy is again back where it belongs. Unreasonable expectations? Not if you’re a Packers fan from way back.

another tragedy

2009-11-09T15:49:00.000-06:00

It has taken a few days to absorb the senseless violence of last week’s murderous rampage at Ft. Hood. I’m not sure I will ever really understand how such a thing can happen.

What possible rational can justify such a heinous act. What twisted logic allows a man to calmly approach his fellow soldiers and start shooting at them with deadly intent?

I am not yet inured, and hope I never will be, to these acts of violence perpetrated by crazies who feel it acceptable to act out their thoughts of revenge against a society they feel has wronged them somehow. Columbine, Virginia Tech, and now Ft. Hood will forever be linked to the violent acts that bear their names. The name of the place where the next slaughter happens (and be sure that it will happen again) will join that list of tragic sites, adding to our collective consciousness that there is no longer any place that is truly safe.

I sincerely hope that we don’t ever become so accustomed to such horrible acts that we can easily shrug them off and go about our daily routines with only a passing notice. Outrage should always be our first reaction, and then grief for the victims and then grief for another deadly blow to our sense of humanity.

shop update

2009-11-07T11:19:00.004-06:00

Time to get caught up with the shop output. I continue to work almost exclusively on the lathe, trying to become more and more competent and comfortable with it. I've tried a variety of techniques to familiarize myself with the many different possibilities of lathe work. It is an ongoing learning process that I find exciting and fulfilling.

This walnut bowl is 4.5" diameter and 4" deep. The slanted rim makes the interior more visible and accessible.

This is a simple little bowl made of maple with a bubinga stripe. It is about 6" diameter and 1" deep. It is rather elegant in its simplicity.

These are only a small example of the latest pieces to come out of the shop. If you want to see more, click on the "gallery" link in the side bar. I will post more here soon as well.

twin seasons

2009-10-16T16:38:00.001-05:00

It’s been a dreary week. Cold wet and windy. Not a nice Autumn so far.
Have you ever noticed that this season is the only one with two names? Autumn and Fall. That’s probably because the season has a split personality.

I think of Autumn as embodying all the best of the season. Warm sunshiney days with gentile breezes rustling the brilliantly colored leaves. Pumpkins decorating front porches. Corn stalks gathered in bunches around lightposts. Autumn is a season of celebrating the harvest and slowly shutting down our outdoor activities in preparation for the coming Winter.

Fall, on the other hand is the evil twin. Temperatures fall precipitously off the cliff of Summer’s plateau. The nasty winds tear the turning leaves from their branches with wrenching force. The cold rains mat those leaves on the ground, smothering whatever lies beneath them. The flowers wilt and die from the too early frost. The days get shorter and shorter forcing us inside before we really want to be. Every now and then, Fall will shock us with a snow fall that is a harsh reminder to get the lawnmowers put away and the snowblowers gassed up.

With Autumn comes the optimistic days of Indian summer. Fall hammers us with the harsh, pessimistic realities of the northern winds.

Is it Summer yet?

workshop output

2009-10-08T14:10:00.004-05:00

I haven't been sitting idle despite the fact that I have been negligent in posting here lately. I just seem to be too busy creating sawdust to take the time to keep caught up here. I have pictures to prove that I have been busy.

I've been doing bottles lately, using glued-up blanks made from the scraps of wood that are leftover from other projects. I hate wasting all those pieces that accumulate so I make blocks that then can be turned into something. In this case , bottles.

This bottle is capped with maple. I stands about 8" high and is made from maple and bubinga.

This piece is made from walnut with maple stripes. It is also about 8" high.

This 6" bottle is made from a variety of wood pieces slavaged from the scrap pile. It shows that there is always something that can be done with the leftovers besides trashing them.

There are quite a few more pieces coming out of the workshop. I will eventually get around to sharing them here, but if you can't wait, then click on "gallery" in the sidebar to get an up to date look at what I've been doing.

wood lust

2009-09-22T11:07:00.003-05:00

As a woodworker I am constantly searching for materials to feed my fetish. Lumber can be quite expensive, especially the more exotic woods. Buying from a typical lumber yard or big box store is one way to keep the shop stocked, but the choices are usually somewhat limited to the finished nominal sizes if dimension lumber. And you won’t find any exotics or rough and unmilled pieces in the typical lumber sources.

Most retail lumber sources—think Menards, Home Depot and Lowe’s—will have the usual most commonly used finished woods like oak, maple, walnut, and pine in the usual most commonly used dimensions. I use a lot of that type of lumber and find those sources convenient if somewhat limited. I have found it a bit frustrating now that I have begun woodturning that I can’t easily find big chunks of rough lumber that I need to turn some of the projects I have in mind. Glueing up turning blanks from dimension lumber is one way to go, and I have done a lot of that with excellent results. But as a woodturner I crave logs and big chunks of unmilled and unfinished slabs of different kinds of woods.

I have begun paying close attention to work sites where trees are being felled to clear the land for building. While others may search out those locations as a source for firewood, I seek them as a source for the raw materials I need for my lathe. I have even bought a chainsaw so that I can more readily handle and prepare logs that need to be cut into manageable turning blanks. But cruising the streets searching for raw materials is hardly a convenient or expeditious way to spend my time.

So it was with great excitement that I recently found a place that could provide just the sort of lumber that I craved. It is a tree trimming and removal business that has an enlightened approach to its mission. Dedicated to using the entire tree in the most useful and nonwasteful way, this company has stockpiled slabs and logs of oak, maple, walnut, birch, and other woods that furniture makers, artists, and woodturners lust after. While some parts of the trees that get cut down are turned into mulch and firewood, a very large proportion of the tree is saved and rough cut into huge planks and short log sections that are then properly dried to provide the kind of working material that we woodworkers crave. And the price is right.

I will use this source a lot as I continue my woodworking efforts. I will gladly buy from Green Man because I like the way it strives to use the whole tree with little or no waste. As long as they are willing to put forth the effort I will do my part to help them stay in business.

Now, back to the workshop and a gorgeous chunk of ambrosia maple on the lathe

they weren't kidding

2009-09-07T19:06:00.003-05:00

Some friends invited us for dinner this evening. Not unusual as far as invitations go. The reason for the invitation was my expressed skepticism about their purported method of cooking chicken. They had something to prove.

Awhile back--I forget the circumstance--the conversation at another getogether happened to hit on their method of grilling a whole chicken on the grill. They claimed straightfaced that they would prop the whole chicken on end and stuff a beer can up the chickens butt and cook the chicken with said beer can--full of course with beer--in place. I, of course, figured they were blowing smoke up my butt by making such a claim and so I dared them to prove it.

And so they did. I took pictures just in case there are skeptics like me who need hard photographic evidence to belive it.

Apparently there is a whole book devoted to the cooking of chickens and other foodstuffs with a beer can being central to the success of the process. Who knew? I'm not only convinced that it is possible, but quite pleased with the result.

Oh yeah, the chicken was delicious.

state fair

2009-08-12T20:56:00.000-05:00

What could be more American than a state fair. They even made a musical about it. We had our share of the all-American activity today and loved every minute of it.

It’s been a few years since we’ve been to the fair, but for some reason today just seemed like the perfect day to renew our relationship with it. Clear skies and temps in the 70’s meant a perfect summer day for fair going. The fact that my meds have been working so much better encouraged me to give it a try, knowing that I would have the energy to make a day of it.

The state fair is at once both exciting and tacky, with smells of cotton candy and charcoal barbecues, incense and manure all mixing in the sunshine. The sounds of bands and singers, pitchmen and livestock all stirred together is a unique blend not found anywhere else. The exposition center offered fairgoers every imaginable trinket, doodad, and worthless gizmo conceived by man along with a few actually useful objects at amazing prices only for the lucky fairgoer. Such deals for stuff you never knew you needed. The pitchmen with their practiced spiels and stale jokes tried shamelessly to fleece you out of the few bucks in your pocket. Great entertainment as long as you kept your wallet secured in your back pocket out of easy reach. But, man, I wanted that set of knives that could carve through steel and still stay sharp enough to skin a peach.

And where else can city slickers like us get close enough to a cow or a pig or a horse or a sheep to touch them and get a close-up whiff of their essence. We came away from the livestock barns with a far greater appreciation for those t-bones and hams that are stacked in the supermarket.

We watched a judging of some cows in the livestock pavilion and couldn’t figure out what the judge could see that was different among them. I think they were Black Angus cows (only because they were all black). He seemed to think that there was a considerable difference when it came to withers and flanks and shapes of their ribs. All I kept looking for were ribeyes and sirloins and decided that a cow that big would fill a couple freezers and keep us in protein for a long time.

When we visited the swine barn we expected to be overwhelmed by nasty piggy smells, but were pleasantly surprised at the clean air. Pigs don’t smell. Who knew? They do make rather disgusting sounds, though. Again we watched a group of pigs being judged by a guy who could see amazing differences among them, even though they all looked exactly alike to my untrained eye. Somehow he was able to select the best one to be sent off to the butcher shop. Not a contest you necessarily want to win if you’re a pig.

After having our fill of critters (we also cruised through the sheep barn) we needed to get off our feet for a rest, so we sought out music venue where we could enjoy some music while resting. We wandered into an area that promised some Blues, although the band was not on stage just then. But I’m glad we waited for them to start playing again. I don’t know the name of the band, but they were smokin. We sat there for a long time listening and left reluctantly when the long day finally caught up to us. There was only one more thing left to do to make our fair visit complete.

This being the Wisconsin state fair, a visit to the dairy pavilion is a requirement that might actually be mandated by law. You’ve never seen so much cheese in your life. Mountains of it in all the different colors and flavors that cheese can come in. Milk everywhere. And the greatest treat of them all---the world renowned Wisconsin State Fair creampuff. Any visit to the fair is incomplete without a creampuff getting slobbered all over your face. Licking your fingers is the accepted method of cleaning up. I really think they should give away those creampuffs and just charge for napkins. They’d make a fortune.

So having participated in the required creampuff ritual, our blood sugar dangerously raised, we happily made our way out of the fairgrounds after one of the best summer days we’ve had in along time. I can’t wait until next year’s fair. I’m there.

breakthrough

2009-08-09T19:07:00.001-05:00

Here it is, August already, and I feel like my summer is just a week old. I feel like I lost a couple months with trying to find the right combination of drugs to combat my Parkinsons symptoms. Back in April my doctor and I decided to try a different regimen since what I was doing was leaving me without any comfortable control over my daily life. The drugs just weren’t working anymore.

I have a natural disinclination to take drugs if I feel that I can control whatever ails me with a healthy lifestyle--eating properly and getting enough exercise. But sometimes that just doesn’t work and I have to rely on medication to abate the problem. Parkinsons Disease is one of those problems that requires some drugs to control the symptoms and keep me functioning at a level that is near normal. For some reason, the drugs I was taking gradually stopped being effective enough to allow that freedom from symptoms. So we tried a different approach. That new approach didn’t work either, resulting in the loss of my physical freedom for a couple months.

Of course the worst time to be hampered by physical dysfunction is during the summer months when all those wonderful outside activities are there for your enjoyment. Despite the strong desire to ride my bike and play golf, I simply wasn’t up to it physically. At the lake, I never even got close to my kayak. Cutting the grass was a major accomplishment. A long afternoon nap became a necessity. I even got to the point where I was reluctant to drive since I didn’t feel I had proper control over my muscle reactions.

A couple weeks ago I again had an appointment with my doctor to try to tweak my drug regimen into a workable combination. I am happy to say that we were successful this time. Since starting the current dosages of my several meds I have regained all that lost ground. I ride my bike again. I played 18 holes of golf three days in a row. I kayaked around the lake. I have as new energy that allows me to skip the afternoon nap. I am back in control. I just wish summer was just beginning.

getting caught up

2009-07-15T15:40:00.005-05:00

I’ve been finding it difficult to find the time to post here on any kind of regular basis. There always seems to be too many other things to do first. Of course, being at the lake most of the time during the summer where we have no convenient internet service available (the local library is ground zero for the internet) makes keeping up all that much more of an effort. We stay at the cottage for ten days or so, get home for maybe three days to collect the mail (bills still have to be paid), do the laundry, cut the grass, and take care of various other mundane doings that crop up, and then head back to the lake for another extended stay. Somehow posting to this blog gets shunted aside more often than not.

But this time home I did have time to take some pictures of recent work that I managed to complete along the way, and get them posted over at http://www.afterthesawdustsettles.blogspot.com or click on "gallery" in the sidebar. So if you feel so inclined, go over there to take a look.

During the summer I get precious little time to spend in my workshop and I miss that a lot. But on these beautiful summer days I feel guilty about being down in the shop instead of outside enjoying the weather. Maybe I will have to move the shop out to the garage, or better yet, move it all up to the cottage so that I can have the best of all possible worlds. Then again, maybe I should just cut the whining.

summer so far

2009-07-01T14:30:00.001-05:00

It’s been awhile since I last visited this venue. It seems that circumstances and inclination have prevented my regular posting here. That, and the advent of summer, when the outdoors calls, have taken me away.

As the fourth of July approaches, we find the summer rapidly slipping away. It seems as though it has just started and already we are counting the warm days that are left. Today it feels more like September with fall like temps in the 60’s and cloudy skies giving the lie to the term summer. Although just a few days ago we suffered through a bout of stifling heat and humidity, those days are quickly forgotten with each shift of the wind.

Here at the lake I know that summer can’t have progressed too far since I have yet to get on my bicycle for a meaningful ride or taken the kayak out of the boathouse for a leasurely paddle along the shoreline looking for the elusive heron who struts in the shallows. We’ve had only one campfire in the underused firepit and stargazed late into the evening on only one clear night. I’ve even managed to avoid the golf course with startling regularity, when in past summers I would have played 3-4 times a week. It seems that everything is in slow motion these days, getting started with halting steps much like the Parkinsons that rules my days.

At least we have a visit from our daughter next week to look forward to. We haven’t seen her in a year, so those few days will be precious memory builders for the next year until we can enjoy each other in person once again. With her living in Oakland it isn’t like we can just hop in the car and drive across town for lunch. So these many months of separation are endured knowing that we’ll reconnect again if we are patient.

Having spent the majority of our days since early June here at the lake, I have sacrificed precious time in my workshop at home. I miss those creative hours amidst the sawdust and tools. I feel somehow diminished for not being able to manipulate a chunk of wood into something useful, evocative and sometimes beautiful. That corner of my brain is getting too much rest. I need a workshop fix soon. Before the reality of summer away from home and workshop set in, I did manage to finish several small projects in the shop. I will have pictures to share one of these days when circumstances allow.

Until then, summer still has a few days left to get on track. Of course, just as soon as I get a feel for the season, it will be time to contemplate the use of the snowblower. Where does the time go………

new stuff

2009-05-28T20:45:00.006-05:00

For the past three months I have been diligently working at learning the skills needed to do creditable work on the lathe. There is a lot to learn and practice. Between attending a class and seeing a tool demonstration and reading books and watching podcasts, I have managed to get a lot of information that has made the learning process enjoyable and fruitful.

Here are pictures of some of the latest finished projects that have spun from the lathe.

Planning this plate was more difficult than the actual turning. It is made of maple and walnut and is 10" diameter.

This bowl is made of maple, walnut, oak, and purpleheart. It is 6" diameter and 2.75" deep.

I like the more substantial sides to this bowl rather than the typical very thin walls that seem to be the standard for turned bowls.

I like to make these little twig vases as a way to use the leftover scraps of wood that accumulate around the shop. This one is made of maple and walnut and is 3" high.

This little covered box is made of maple, walnut, oak, and purpleheart. It is 4.25" high.

I currently have several more pieces in various stages of completion in the works. I do have a couple sculpture projects that don't involve the lathe. So much to do, so little time. What a wonderful dilemma.

what's going on

2009-05-28T13:09:00.002-05:00

I'm having trouble with my blog. It seems photobucket, whoever that is, has usurped my blog and made it inactive. It says my link has been inactive for 90 days. What link? What the hell is going on.

unlucky, but lucky

2009-05-17T19:09:00.002-05:00

This seems to be our year for flat tires. Back in January we came out of the art museum to find the right rear tire on the truck flatter than the proverbial pancake. While we had to wait nearly an hour for AAA to respond, at least we weren't stranded on the road or hurt. A bit of a nusciense, but overall not too big a deal. Then last mnth I took the Accord into othe dealer for an oil change and the mechanic, on inspecting the tires, found one of them had a two inch nail imbedded in the tread. Again we were fortunate that we weren't driving when the tire went flat, possibly causing all sorts of mayhem. And now today we were driving home from the cottage, 125 miles with no problem. Or maybe I should say 124 1/2 miles with no problem because as soon as I got out of the van in the garage I heard the unmistakeable hissing sound of a tire losing air. Sure enough the left rear tire was going flat. Again, how lucky were we to have made it all the way home into the garage before getting that flat tire? While all those flats are somewhat unlucky, we were, in each instance, exceptionally lucky to have been stopped and safe when they occurred. The tire gods may be toying with us, but at least they don't seem to be malevolent about their toying.

backyard birds

2009-05-13T11:30:00.005-05:00

We've been fortunate this Spring to have a constant nature show playing out in our backyard. A pair of Cardinals chose to nest in one of the bushes that border the deck. Through our kitchen window we can see them coming and going, darting in and out of that bush while they first built their nest and then worked nonstop to feed the babies in that nest. Of course anytime we would be on the deck they would do their best to distract us from that bush and keep us away from the chicks. Their constant chattering and swooping from tree branch to tree branch was meant to get our attention on them and away from their babies. And for the most part it worked. Who can resist watching a darting flash of brilliant red bird shwoing off in the sunshine? We didn't take their scolding personally, but respected their wishes by staying away from peering into the dense convines of the bush. We haven't been able to actually see the inside of the nest to count the chicks there, but can only go by the hungry cries constantly streaming from inside to be certain that they are there. The bright red male bird is always easy to spot in his coming and going, but the duller colored female is more shy and hard to see. Natures way of giving that little added protection to the nest. Once the chicks are older and find their wings, I suppose the nest will be abandoned and the show will end. We are hoping that the pair of Cardinals willl return next Spring to liven up our backyard again.
I managed to get a few pictures of them over the past few days as they flitted from tree to tree, but could never get them as they entered or left the bush where the nest is hidden. They are just too careful and quick to allow me near enough.

The elusive female.

We will miss them and their frantic activity when they are gone. We are hoping to see them again next Spring when the cycle starts all over.

communication downfall

2009-05-07T20:42:00.002-05:00

It has become more and more disconcerting lately to find that our collective attention span has dwindled to the point that if you can’t say it in 140 characters or less, you won’t get any attention at all. Is blogging dead? Has Twitter killed off the blog as a means of connecting to the world or has it merely maimed it so that it is on its death bed awaiting the final gasp for relevant breath?

Many of the bloggers that I regularly followed have stopped communicating via the blog. They may have succumbed to the allure of the tweet, but I don’t know that for certain. It just seems that people who once used their blogs to set down their ideas, to tell the world of the significant events in their lives, or who just had something to get off their chests have migrated away to the land of the overly succinct. Or perhaps they have stopped blogging simply because they find their efforts at such communication ignored in favor of the next big thing.

I have to admit to coming under the sway of Twitter, much like those people I’m lamenting. Yes, I tweet. There I said it. But I feel so guilty doing it. I have neglected my blog in recent weeks, thinking that the occasional tweet would fulfill my obligation to stay in touch. But every time I scratch out a single one line thought I feel guilty for having left out the more interesting parts. I feel as though my entire life is being abbreviated into quick oneliners, lacking the substance that makes me whole. Others seem to get around the limited number of letters by using multiple tweets about the same subject. So many tweets are followed by second and third and fourth or more tweets on the same subject from the same person that it seems that a more coherent blog post would serve them better. What’s the point of limiting your twittering to 140 characters when you simply follow each tweet with another and then another. First 140, then 280, and then 420, and on to 560 characters, and before you know it you have written a paragraph that has been divided into separate thoughts that would make more sense if the effort was made to put them together in one place. What is the advantage to multiple tweets then?

I can’t help feeling that many who use Twitter as their primary means of connecting to the world are just as dissatisfied with the process. They have been lured into the process by their peers who insist on including them.
I fear we are becoming less communicative with each other while trying to keep up the technological blabbing of nonsense. The vision of people walking down the street with thumbs nimbly traversing their phone keys, pecking out a non-communication to someone who doesn’t care, conjures up a distopian society of people unable to connect with others face to face. While you were pecking at those keys you failed to notice those around you who would welcome a brief smile or a nod of the head or even, God forbid, a verbalized hello. Has our species “progressed” so far that the only way to interact with each other is through a haze of ciberwaves? I hope we aren’t raising a next generation of entranced cyberzombies unable to interact on a face to face basis without the aid of iPhones and iPods, Will they be able to construct a coherent declarative sentence without weird abbreviations? Will they even be able to read more than a sentence or two at once without losing their concentration. Tweet if you must, but only as a last resort. Our intellectual future wellbeing is at stake.

wall sculpture

2009-04-26T20:10:00.004-05:00

This wall sculpture is based on Picasso's "The Dream" from 1932. I thought it lent itself to an interpretation in wood. I made it from a variety of woods and veneers. It is 24" x 28".

life's lessons

2009-04-21T12:48:00.001-05:00

I don’t claim to be wise. Or even particularly knowledgeable. I don’t have all the answers to all, or even any, of life’s questions. But I do have a modest share of common sense. And over my 61 years I think I have arrived at a few simple conclusions and guidelines to achieving a successful and mostly happy and, certainly, a contented life.

Some simple measures for good health and reasonable longevity, and thus avoiding the burdensome weight of dependence on others, are to stay away from smoking, drinking, and the use of drugs. Eat responsibly by avoiding fatty foods and chemically enhanced manufactured foods, and consume a good share of wholesome fruits and vegetables, grains and fish. Leave something on your plate and forget dessert.

Seek holistic medical care rather than the panacea of costly and often ineffective pharmaceuticals. Exercise everyday as a way of not just maintaining bodily health, but also to reduce stress and enhance your mental outlook.

Seek work. Work hard. Do more than expected. Be efficient and look for ways to make your work more efficient. Don’t complain. Be a team player and advance the team’s goals rather than your own. You will find that you will be promoted, even put in charge. Stay humble. The descent is always faster than the rise.

No matter how gifted, intelligent, creative, erudite and special you think you are, admit that there is always someone better than you.

Be attentive to your personal grooming. Shave, bathe, and wear clean clothes. Try to stay stylish so as to appear confident and up to date in all things.

Be cheerful. Have a ready smile for all you encounter no matter their station in life. Laugh a lot. Especially at yourself.

Suffer in silence. Don’t whine or seek sympathy.

Save. Invest conservatively. Don’t gamble. Live within or below your means and you will never want for anything essential.

Read and study things of substance. Satisfy your curiosity. Constantly seek to acquire new skills.

Volunteer when you can and occasionally when you should despite the apparent hardship.

Share your toys, your tools, your expertise. Always leave some for the next guy. Give more than you take.

Remember that opinions are the currency of the self -important, worthless until sought. Save yours for another day.

Find a partner, a husband or wife, who loves you and whom you love who shares your outlook and values. Realize that that partner is truly your better half.

Teach your children the values you treasure. Teach by example not by preaching. And when the time comes to let them go, allow your children the freedom to find their way just as you did.

If you do these things, or at least make the attempt, you will own your life and be remembered for that ownership.

once again

2009-04-18T14:55:00.000-05:00

I love these beautiful spring days when the temperature hovers around 70 in the newly brightened sunshine. You can almost see the buds popping on all the trees, imagining them making popcorn sounds as they appear. The shrubs all have that faint greenish tinge that shimmers in the sunshine. The little reddish shoots of the Peonies seem so fragile and tender in their first tentative appearance, but the Daylillies are far more aggressive, standing several inches high already. With a little rain over the next few days the grass will need its first cutting and the Hostas should poke through the mulch. The overall fecund smell of the season promises an overall greening of the landscape before we even realize it’s happening. The Mourning Doves have returned to their nesting place in the Barberry and a pair of cardinals are industriously building a nest in the evergreen on the side of the deck.

This past week we ventured north to the lake cottage to get that place opened for the coming warm season. We had driven there about six weeks ago just to check on the place and had to don boots and wield snow shovels just to get into the driveway where a good foot of snow still lingered. That was hard to recall this week with the grass greening up and the lake shimmering iceless. It seemed too soon to hear the raucous full-throated croaking frogs in the wetland across the road, but they were already celebrating spring with their joyous chorus. The ducks had returned as well and were busy sticking their tail feathers in the air as they dove for goodies beneath the surface. The resident otter swam by in the early evening on his way to reinhabiting his hidden lair somewhere along the shoreline.

Everything seems to be in order one more time. No matter what the world is experiencing, springtime is inevitable and heartening in its constancy from year to year. Whatever else seems to be garnering our attention, you can’t help but feel hope in the yearly renewal that is Spring.

latest work

2009-04-12T17:25:00.003-05:00

I finally have a few things to show for all my practice on the new lathe I've been learning to use for the past month. I've done many more pieces than these, but I like these well enough to keep. I'm sure that as I keep working at it I will have many more keepers.
This is a twig vase made from oak and purpleheart. It is 7" high.

This is a little twig pot that is made of maple and padauk. It is 3.5" high

Another twig vase that is maple and padauk. This one is 5" high.

the intinerant vet

2009-04-08T10:17:00.002-05:00

As I’ve noted here in the past, my daughter the veterinarian and PhD aspirant, frequently travels to Namibia, Africa to continue research that involves chasing zebras around the African plains. Her typical stay there is usually around 6 weeks, during which she lives and works at a game park and lab in Etosha. Once there, the work is long and tiring. But even those long days pale in comparison to the lengthy journey it takes to get there in the first place. Traveling from her home in Oakland and her lab at Berkeley to her final destination in Etosha, Namibia typically takes the better part of three days on various flights and then hours of ground travel across Namibia.

That she is able to maintain a sense of humor about the arduous travel it takes to get her there is remarkable I think. This time around she is flying through Frankfurt and then to Johannesburg, South Africa, and then to Windhoek, Namibia before riding for 5 or so hours across Namibia to Etosha. She is an astute observer of all around her and isn’t shy about sharing her observations. Following are two of her emails from the past couple days while she makes her way to the land of zebras. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

Tuesday, April 7

Things I learned (or was reminded of) in the last 12 hours:

There is a Hells Angels chapter in Luxembourg, and it may be populated by scary Germanic-unhinged type folk, if the fellow on the plane wearing his vest was any indication.

One should never eat breaded fried "chicken" pieces in spicy brown sauce if it's offered on a plane.

Children's voices really carry.

United is really cutting corners now. No toothbrush, no socks, and only one freaking movie that starts when they tell you it's going to start (unlike all the international carriers that give you a choice of 12-40 movies that you can start and stop at any time).

This recession is nice in that it means that fewer people are flying, which in turn means that there are more open seats next to me, which in turn means that I can attempt to sleep lying down by squinching into a ball over 2.5 seats.

The wireless in Frankfurt airport is sometimes free, and sometimes not. Or maybe I hallucinated the free bit.

My husband is always in meetings whenever I am online, and is thus unable to chat with me.

The chair-benches in the Frankfurt airport are surprisingly comfortable for napping. A bank of three chairs does nicely.

Cups of hot water are not free.

I could be on a plane to Tehran right now, if I had heeded the frantic last-minute call of the flight attendant who woke me up to try to get me on that plane.

The Frankfurt airport apparently completely runs on hydrogen and solar power and on the dreams of German children, as I can't find a single outlet in which to plug my laptop.

The cleaning crew here rides bikes around the airport, and has a jolly good time doing so.

Germans are not a friendly people, and do not suffer fools gladly. They think that most people are fools.

The German language is silly, because I cannot understand it.

carrie

Wednesday, April 8, 2009
More things I have learned (or rediscovered):

The food on South African Airways is SO much better than that on United. Ditto for the service, the movies, the drinks, the bathrooms, the socks, and the toothbrushes.

Four year olds should not stay awake all night having a crying fit like a newborn.

The heavier your backpack, the longer you will have to keep it on your shoulders as you stand on a crowded tram waiting for it to move.

It's still odd to meet Afrikaans guys named Francois.

One of my bags will always come out on the baggage carousel way ahead of the other, leading me to believe that my other bag probably isn't coming, and making me lament what I will be missing from it.

Given the chance, I will always spill my ginger ale.

It's fun to be bumped up randomly to business class, even for a 1.5 hour flight. They give you real dishes and real glasses and even a table cloth!

There are three roads in Namibia.

For some reason, short South African Airways flights always show clips on the televisions from a Quebecois comedy festival. Does this have anything to do with the Afrikaans guys named Francois?

Everyone's money is prettier than ours.

There are frequent flights from South Africa to places like Kinshasa and Libreville. Really, does anyone want to go to those places? And, if so, is that wise?

White people do not walk in southern Africa.

carrie

still here

2009-04-06T10:12:00.002-05:00

I've been a negligent blogger of late. There just doesn't seem to be enough time to do everything that needs doing. So one of the first casualties of that time crunch is the old blog. Admittedly, the lack of time is a flimsy excuse to cover the fact that there are priorities right now that are stacked on top of the blog.

The greatest time sucking activitiy these days is my determination to learn to use my new lathe. I spend hours in the workshop practicing the skills required to become not just proficient, but masterful. I have a long way to go to achieve that goal, but trying is the fun part. I get to make mistakes and learn from them and get to make successful turnings and wonder at the beauty of an object made well. What could be better than that. When I finally create something I am proud of, I will share it with you here.

turn, turn, turn

2009-03-26T21:15:00.000-05:00

This aching back nonsense is getting old. Now I have to see a specialist of some kind to determine what is really going on. I know what’s going on---I’m getting old. The old bod is wearing down.

But despite my aches and pains I still have a new skill to practice. I just got my new wood lathe installed in its own special place in the workshop. Now I am ready to turn, turn, turn. After taking a six hour class on woodturning last month, I am ready to practice and learn on my own. I picked up a couple books on woodturning to study and reinforce what I learned in that class and now feel ready to go. Unfortunately I probably won’t get to try until next week since the weekend is already filled with other plans.

still sore

2009-03-22T20:56:00.002-05:00

It's been four days now since screwing up my back and I still want to scream vile obscenities every time I try to get up or sit down. The muscle relaxant drug prescribed may or may not be working (how would I know? how much worse would it be if I wasn't taking them?). I can't bend over at all. Simple movements that we take for granted are beyond my capabilities right now.
Thank goodness that there were many basketball games to watch over the weekend or I would have gone crazy, staring into space because I can't move or do anything.

One odd result so far from taking the muscle relaxant drug is that my PD tremors have subsided considerably. Mary noticed right away that my usual trembling hands were resting quietly instead of pounding away on the chair arm or shaking the newspaper while trying to read it. Are muscle relaxant drugs a suitable treatment for PD? Or do they simply mask the symptoms without treating the cause. That is a question I will have for my doctor the next time I see him.

One good thing is that my blood pressure has returned to near normal now that my two teams have been eliminated from the NCAA tournament. Wisconsin and Marquette both went down today so my blood pressure quickly followed. Now I can watch the remainder of the tournament without all the shouting and handwringing and threats of mayhem against the opponents and the questioning of their ancestry while throwing anything handy at the TV. I have to get back to normal before the tournament ends or you'll have to lock me in padded room, although the padding would be superfluous since i can't freakin move.

ouch

2009-03-20T12:44:00.002-05:00

I never thought that putting on shoes could be so difficult and painful. But when you can't bend over you are limited to the length of your arms when dealing with your lower extremities. And though I've been accused of being a knuckle dragging neanderthal before, right now I would welcome the necessary arm length and a few skinned knuckles if it meant getting my shoes and socks on without my screaming disturbing the neighbors.

Why the back issue you ask. I wish I had an explanatioin that included bravery and gallantry, macho he-man savagery in the cause of rightiousness, or medal earning heroics. But the simple truth is that I was merely stepping out of the shower, one foot in the other out, when my back seized up and went into full blown spasm. After several minutes of loud cursing and pathetic whimpering, I realized that something was, indeed, dreadfully wrong. My first thought was to somehow drag my worthless carcass into the bedroom where I could call 911 and get someone to come here to put me out of my misery. But since I was still naked from my shower and didn'nt want to traumatize anyone at such a sight or embarrass myself beyond my crying helplessness, I managed to ever-so-slowly wriggle myself into some pants and a shirt. At least then I would maintain a modest amount of dignity as I lay dying on the floor.

Somehow I managed to get my shoes on through a series of minute incremental steps involving bending where my back would rather not bend. Why so insistant on getting my shoes on? I decided in my pain induced delirium to drive (yes drive) to keep my scheduled appointment with my physical therapist, reasoning that she would perform some magical voodoo and relieve my of this painful state. I was in no condition to drive, I know, but I reasoned that since it was only a trip of half a mile, I could make the attempt.

The result? I got there without mishap, Chris performed what voodoo she could to get me functional again and sent me home with instructions to call my doctor and get some muscle relaxant meds to help me recover. So here I sit, doped up and befuddled, half conscious and mysteriously happy in my drugged state. But the old back is still mighty sore and uncooperative. This is going to take a few more days before I will be able to move with any kind of normalcy. Once I can get my shoes on without shedding more tears, I will know I've reached that normal state.

Golf season is only a couple weeks away. Will I make it back in time?

carpe diem

2009-03-18T20:36:00.000-05:00

Funerals are not fun. Especially for someone who would be considered still young at age 51. You usually don’t expect to have to go to a funeral for such a man until another 20 or 25 years have passed. I figure anything beyond 75 is a bonus so dropping dead at age 51 seems cruelly wasteful. And yet that’s what happened. Here one day, gone the next.

The man in question was someone I only knew peripherally. He was the father of my son’s best friend. I talked to him only twice that I can recall, so I’m not feeling any great personal sadness at the loss. I feel sadness for my son’s friend’s grief at his loss, of course.

The only profound thing that comes from such an occurance as a sudden death is the realization that we have to seize each day we have and not waste a moment we are given. Every day is a gift that we get to unwrap and enjoy. Whining and complaining about the various things that happen is a waste of the gifted day. Not to sound too Pollyanna-ish, but looking on the bright side is a whole lot better than wasting even one minute of our allotted time among the living.

And, yes, I have my share of things to complain about and regret, but I figure I have far more good tings to outweigh the bad, so you’ll hear little complaining from me. I’m only 61 and I fully plan to reach 100, so I have along way to go before there will be any weeping at my funeral. There are still a lot of days to unwrap and enjoy. Carpe diem, indeed

getting caught up

2009-03-04T11:37:00.007-06:00

I’ve been so busy the past few weeks in the workshop that I’ve barely noticed the accumulated snow disappearing more and more each day. I haven’t been out of the house much, other than a few routine errands, because at this time of year there is nothing to do outside besides coping with the occasional overnight dusting of snow. Nowhere to go and nothing much to do out there means I don’t feel guilty about spending most of the day in the workshop.

So it’s time to get caught up on the stuff coming out of the shop. I’ll post some pictures here, but if you want to see more you can click on “gallery” in the sidebar and get a comprehensive look at all my work.

This wall sculpture piece is called Holy Smoke. Read into it what you will.

This set of boxes is the result of an exercise in making wooden hinges for the box lids. It’s a bit more complicated than you might think. The finished pieces turned out well and the hinges work the way hinges are supposed to. Details and dimensions are with the “gallery” pictures.

While hoping for Spring to come, I couldn’t help thinking about all the dandelions and lawn weeds I will have to battle once the growing season begins anew. So I created this “voodoo” replication so that I can feel in control. We’ll see how well it works in another month or two.

And this last item is the result of my first attempt ever at wood turning on a lathe. I took a wood turning class last Saturday at one of the local woodworking stores as an introduction to the process. I wanted to see if I had any aptitude for lathe work and whether I might enjoy expanding my creative horizons with a new skill. As you can see with the bowl I made in the class, aptitude is not a problem. For a first attempt, it is more than satisfactory. And I thoroughly enjoyed everything about the process. I think I am hooked. Now alI have to do is buy all the necessary equipment so that I can further pursue this newfound skill. It may be awhile before I’m able to make the financial commitment, but I will do my best to help spur the economy along the way to recovery.

So that brings us up to date on the current workshop output. I do have three other things in the works right now and you will get to see those in due time. Right now, it’s time to get back to work.

winter doldrums

2009-02-17T16:34:00.000-06:00

It’s that time of year again, the neither/nor time of in between. It’s’ neither warm nor particularly cold. Winter seems to be winding down, but Spring hasn’t quite taken over yet. The ground is thawed enough that the sump pump is running, yet there are still the dregs of dirty gray snow lining the driveway where the sun doesn’t shine.

We can see the grass although it is far from green, looking mashed down and forlornly brownish. There are, of course, no buds on the trees yet, but the branches look to be a healthy reddish hue that comes just before the burst of life.

I want to go outside and start cleaning up the yard, picking up fallen branches and other detritus that somehow accumulates under the snow. But I know it is too early for that and I would simply be wasting my time. There is undoubtedly more snow in our winter’s endgame, so it is best to wait for yard cleanup until we are reasonably sure that the effort will be noticed.

Being stuck in the house at this time of year creates a lethargy that is hard to get past. I want to pick up a golf club and swing it with real intent, but t isn’t quite time for that yet. I’d like to inflate my bicycle’s tires and roll down the road for a bit, but the prospect of the resulting wind chill brings me to my senses. I want to fire up the lawnmower and attack the overgrown grass, but the grass hasn’t started to grow yet and certainly isn’t overgrown. The anticipation is nearly crippling. Even though I can’t get outside and do those things that can only be done outside, I still find it hard to get busy inside to make the time pass more quickly. I feel like I’m in the starting blocks waiting for the gun to sound and the race to start.

The weather tease we’ve had over the past couple weeks—mild temps and lots of sunshine—is actually worse than repeated snowfalls that winter should bring because we know that it can’t last. I think I would rather have a full blown snow bombardment twice a week to remind me that this is the winter season and it should be more white than gray/brown. I think I would prefer that the snowcover lasts until one glorious week of fast and furious thaw leading into a sudden blast of green all around. This transition period is not cutting it with me. I can see the appeal and beauty of hibernation. Maybe if I go take a nap I will awaken to the world I want to see. Spring can’t come soon enough

wall sculpture

2009-02-13T19:38:00.004-06:00

In this wall sculpture I was trying to get a stark almost foreboding feeling to show what being alone must feel like. The rather stylized tree wraps around the lonely bird making it feel like escape will be difficult. A somewhat depressing exercise, I know, but a subject worth exploring.

The piece is 48" high. The tree is cedar, the little bird is maple. I have posted pictures of this and my other work in the "gallery" link on the sidebar if you want to see more.

too much food

2009-02-10T13:25:00.000-06:00

We are, as a nation, being constantly bombarded with the unassailable fact that we are fat. Not just a little fat. Grossly obese. We have become a nation of fatties.

No where is this fat fact more apparent than in our restaurants, where we gather to stoke their bodies with all manner of unhealthy and fat laden foods in gigantic proportions. Yes, there are healthy choices to be made in most restaurants, but we seem to be genetically incapable of choosing those healthy alternatives. We naturally gravitate toward the saltiest or sweetest menu items. We almost always pick the greasiest and most cholesterol laden gut bombs that are there to entice us. Besides being fat, we are stupid.

Of course, we can’t lay the blame for our excess avoirdupois solely on the restaurants we choose to patronize. After all, we do have the choice to stay at home and feed ourselves properly nutritious meals.
We generally think of eating out as a treat, a reward for making it through another hard working day, or an occasion to celebrate one of life’s milestones. When we approach our dining experience in those terms it is easy to forgo the healthy and instead indulge ourselves with the forbidden. Once in awhile that may be ok, but as a general rule, we need to stop celebrating so much and start watching our diets more closely.

I am not opposed to eating out at all. We go out to eat two, sometimes three, times a week. But when we do, we are careful to select what we hope are the less harmful items on the menu. We don’t go to fancy places much. Our eating out is relegated to the “family” restaurant type of establishment. But it is in just that kind of place that we encounter the most egregious examples of portion abuse of unhealthy foods. Those kinds of restaurants want to appear to give their patrons the most for their money, which to them means lots and lots of heaping portions piled high to overflowing on the platter. And then the training we received as children kicks in. “You’re not getting away from the table until you clean your plate,” was the rule drilled into our heads by our well-meaning mothers. So we clean our plates and think we are being good little girls and boys who then deserve to have dessert.

Mary and I have found the best way to conquer the portion problem in the restaurants we patronize is to pretend there is only one of us there to eat. We order one meal and then split it between the two of us. Even then there seems to be more than enough to go around. Have you ever noticed that when you order, say, a chef’s salad you get an entire head of lettuce? There is generally enough lettuce and other ingredients involved in that enormous salad that two people could graze on it for several days and never suffer a hunger pang. We don’t mind that in some restaurants we get charged an “extra plate” fee when we declare that we are sharing one order. It is still cheaper doing that than undergoing gastric bypass surgery in the future.

I doubt that if restaurants were to start providing sensible portions of food at a reasonable price, their business would suffer. People would simply become accustomed to the new reality and continue to eat out. They just wouldn’t get as fat doing so. And an ancillary benefit to those more sensible portions would be the slimming down of our pets, who would get fewer treats of harmful people food from the paucity of doggy bags making it home. If you can’t think of the reform of our restaurants as being good for you, consider it a crusade sponsored by PETA to help ensure the health of our pets. While we get thinner our dogs get healthier too. Talk about win/win.

another cane

2009-02-06T14:14:00.003-06:00

I finished this latest cane a couple weeks ago and have since used it almost exclusively. I made the handle quite thick and substantial to make it easier for my reluctant Parkinsons hands to grip.

The cane is made of Brazilian Cherry and Oak. The Cherry is a deep reddish brown color with a distinctive grain and is quite pretty. The shaft is Oak with Cherry stripes.

Next on the workshop bench are a couple sculptures that should be completed in the next few days. Then I have another box series planned and I started carving a chess set that will take a long time to complete. So many ideas, so little time.

let there be light

2009-02-03T19:35:00.004-06:00

My wife, Mary is fortunate in that anytime she wants a piece of furniture or some redecorating done around the house, she merely has to threaten to go out and buy what she wants. She uses that old psychological ploy knowing that I will insist on making whatever it is she wants. I feel used and manipulated. Nevertheless, she gets what she wants more often than not.

A couple weeks ago she started thinking out loud, within my hearing range, about how a new floor lamp was just what she needed to finish off a corner that she had just manipulated me into repainting. Not just any floor lamp--specifically a Craftsman style lamp. She was mumbling about what a good buy she had seen in some catalog and how she would order it the next day. Naturally all that was a scheme to get me to make her that lamp. She knows I hate to buy anything I am capable of making. The other part of her scheme is to insist that she needs that lamp RIGHT NOW so that I will jump right to it lest she makes good on her threat to buy. Man, am I easy.

So here it is. Fresh out of the workshop. Turned out well. She seems to be happy with it. But she has already started mumbling something about the bedrooms needing some work.....