Hmmm! So that's HOW it is?

I'm confident there are times every single one of us must face a new reality. Out of nowhere someone comes along to put us in our place.

Its "curiously" funny that when you make a statement like that? You open the door for many a speculation.

"Gee, I wonder if he is talking about that time I told him he should !@#$#@!%^&*!"

Well most of you can rest easy. I was recently put in my place by a very unlikely source.

You see my cousin Mary in Michigan? Well she has two daughters, 13 year old Anne, and 11 year old Emily.

Well, home for the holidays, Anne and Emily are thumbing through the Christmas cards and come upon the one I sent.  In that card I tossed in my BLOG address. And as cousin Mary, keeping up with her innate and sanctified eaves dropping duties? Well Mary reports the following conversation:

Anne: "Hey! He has a BLOG."

Emily: "What's a BLOG?"

Anne: "It's like Myspace, but for OLD people."

I guess I'll take that seat now. You wanta give me a hand so I don't fall.

The Last of the Story

I feel like "CHICKEN LITTLE." [PEGGY SAYS I AM] My sky is NOT falling and I am overwhelmed with guilt that I've misled anyone into thinking it was. 

Just for the record I played a hour's worth of tennis today, WITH medical sanction. I haven't shoveled any snow, but only because my neighbors and Peggy won't let me.  (If I could overcome the guilt, it's a NICE side benefit of calling 911.)

I just wanted to walk you all through some of the maze of the poking and probing that goes on in a hospital once you are committed to the process.   I think a couple of times I've mentioned I still believe I did the right thing calling 911. Let me get that aired and maybe it will get me slightly off the hot seat.

If you are my age? (64) And you are having chest pains? Call 911. To tell you the truth the co-pay is horrific that way.  But the end result is worth it! If you are having a heart attack, they are probably going to be able to fix you.

If not, as was true in my case, it is worth the price of admission to finally hear after all those tests....

1. "Your lungs look great!"  (I used to smoke)

2. "Your EKG is perfect."

3. "Boy, you were really able to get your heart rate up there on the treadmill. You sure you aren't short of breath?" (I wasn't.)

4. Not all went well. They shot me full of some fluid and took pictures of my heart with some machine similar to an MRI.  When it first came back?

" Paul, that was inconclusive. We are going to have to flip you over and do it again." 

(Now THAT got my heart rate up as much as the treadmill did.)

Well it turns out my diaphragm has an odd shape and covers up a small portion of my heart, funny shaped diaphragm, but as it turns out? Good healthy heart....so now I know I've got to be examined from the rear. (No double entendre intended.)

Now there are clearly parts of the process I'd have upped my co pay to get around.  For one...they put this Nitroglycerine patch on my chest, up high? Any of you that have heart issues know the consequences of that. It sends blood rushing to the affected area like opening a fire hose. Different people react to that differently.  Me? I get a migraine headache (my first I now know for sure), I turn beet red, I get so nauseas that I have to push away a smoked salmon dinner, and I wear out my sweat glands and get dehydrated. 

But let me tell you something.  I'd go through it all again to hear what one of those doctors uttered:

"You may get another 50 years out of that ticker."

There is just one other piece of this story that all my relatives know is coming?  Why would I be so upbeat about this?  I come from a family that fights heart disease a lot.  And while this end result has me FEELING GOOD!  I'm also "knocking on wood!"

THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE LAAAST OF THE STORY!

"The Rest Of The Story"

It's clear from some reaction I'm getting? I better get off my rear and finish this yarn.  I just want to remind you THAT I AM FINE.   I did not have a heart attack. In fact their parting words to me were, "it wasn't your heart. Exercise at will."

I just want to talk about the adventure of it all, and let you know that should you find yourself in my circumstances? Go ahead and do exactly what I did.  CALL 911. 

I am genuinely impressed with the response time of the fire department rescue guys. They arrive before Peggy gets done describing my symptoms over the phone. And you have to know it's just BARELY possible to get in and out of our neighborhood in a HumVee right now. That's because of the snow.

They have these great new gurneys that start out as chairs before you get to the rescue truck. And unlike the old days the fire department paramedics take you all the way to the hospital.  They used to just be the first responders and then hand you over to a private ambulance company.  

While they are "ekg"ing me and other stuff, we have a pretty good chat on the bumpy ride to the hospital. As a son of a firemen, I have some pretty good tales to share with them about the "Old Days with Dad" in Los Angeles.

One other reason you want to call 911? You don't get put into a "triage" pool.  They just wheel you right in. There will be a point where you will be put on the "hurry up and wait" track, but it won't be in the waiting area with everybody staring at you.

I'm always impressed with the inital energy rush when someone first gets wheeled into an ER. And this place is no exception.   The people who work emergency, especially the nurses, are incredible.  They are really determined to make sure you get the attention  you need to survive. An almost insane penchant to "save lives" is what's sucked most of them into this career.

Several years ago Photographer Coby Howell and I got to spend a Friday night in the emergency room at Denver General.  They are perpetually one of the top rated trauma units in the country.  The energy rush we experienced that night is similar, but greater than the adrenelin rush that takes place in a newsroom when major news breaks out. I asked the head nurse that night how she dealt with it every day.  She didn't have a good answer.  She did say, " I just go home and stare at the wall for five or six hours. I've never been able to sleep after a shift."

Anyway, despite my alertness, they come right at me full bore, popping questions, attaching electrical leads, jamming tubes into me, asking more questions, drawing blood, taking pictures.  ( One thing I remember from the past is helpful this time.  Don't wear anything tight fitting or anything you value. They'll rip it right off you.  I wear an old South Pacific shirt Peggy has been trying to get me to throw away for years.)

Now Men, here is something to consider if you can slow down the process. It is not always possible or advisable.  But politely ask if they will shave your chest before connecting all those leads.  Oh man, does that hurt when they pull them off.  And I'm sorry, but I think there are some female nurses that, while they really want to save your life? They seem to kind of enjoy watching you suffer when they rip that tape off. Just some of them, not all!

Well I hope this addition up to this point puts anyone checking in, at ease. I just want to document this experience for you in as much detail as possible. It may seem an odd thing to share, but it's not something that is going to happen to you every day. And it's a chance for me to praise a lot of the people around me who got caught up in the drama.

I'm sorry if I got a little too mysterious in Chapter one. One of you asked if I still had a Merry Christmas? You bet...For one, I got to come home.  And....our neighbors the Kwits show up a half hour later with a full blown delicious PRIME RIB dinner with all the trimmings.

There is more to tell...and now I hope I've given you a better idea where this is going, and that you'll come back tommorrow for even more of "THE REST OF THE STORY."

Memorable? Oh yeah!

This one may get long, but rest assured I'll keep your anticipated attention span in mind. I'll break it in to pieces, if need be.  In truth I have had quite a debate with myself over bringing this to you at all, but what good is a BLOG that compromises, that holds back when things get uncomfortable.

I am for the most part going to give it to you in chronological order, but first I need to wipe out some of the mystery by telling you.

1. Today I feel pretty darn good.

2. On paper I'm still in the best condition for my age I've ever been.

3. I've got a really supportive wife.

4. I've got great neighbors.

5. I've always been, and now continue to be, a big fan (my dad was one) of firemen.

5. Despite the outcome? I'm still glad I did what I did.

Okay, well maybe I CREATED a little mystery too.

Before I hook us up with the chronology, let me pull in a little history.  I very recently posted some BLOG thoughts on this being a very memorable birthday (DECEMBER 21ST)?  Partly because of the 'PERFECT STORM" that buried this community.

Well it's one thing to celebrate the anniversary of your earthly arrival leaning on a snow shovel.  It is yet another thing to celebrate Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day being stabbed, jabbed, poked, pumped full of drugs and slobbered over by a harem of mostly women in uniforms. (When fully alert I did have a great view of the snowy blanket comforting us one and all.) 

While I would never have consciously planned this scenario?  It's clear I hold some responsiblity for the sequence of events.

So just about every able bodied man and woman has been shoveling snow here for several days. Peggy and I, I think, set a pretty casual pace. We have no pressing need to get anywhere. We are patient.  And in between shoveling bouts, we are watching minor bowl games and some year end filler news features. ( I'm thinking I'm subconsiously recording some of what I see.)

I see a report on three people about my age dying of heart attacks in a county north of us.  Doing what? Shoveling snow.  

Then I see this feature on what you 'oughta' do if you think you're having a heart attack during or after shoveling snow. Then somewhere between the BLAH BLAH BOWL, and the YOO HOO BOWL I'm watching this report on the importance of calling 911 if you even think you're having an incident. Why?  They'll get to you faster than you can get to them. It may not only save your life, but do less damage to your heart muscle if you "let your fingers" do the walking.   

Well, I've got all this "stuff" in my subconscious as I roll over on my pillow prior to Christmas Eve. I sleep okay, but very early in the morning I feel this discomfort in my chest.  I am pretty sure it's nothing, but quietly sneak to the computer to do some homework. 

Heart Attack symptoms:

1. Chest pain or discomfort, USUALLY in the middle of the chest. (My discomfort was clear over to the left. But the USUALLY part? Hmmm?)

2. Discomfort continues. (hmmm, mine is not going away.)

3. Usually accompanied by some nasuea. (Dang...I've got some of that....I want to think it's just post nasal drip.)

4. Shortness of breath. (Let's see am I actually having shortness of breath, or imagining it from the homework? Hmm?)

5. Loss of appetite. (Can't remember a day before now I wasn't scrambling to eat breakfast.)

Well I don't want to leave you hanging too much, but I need to take a break and maybe work in a quick nap.

Most of you have mastered enough arithmetic to surmise the advancing sequence of events.   I want to encourage you  to stay with this story, though. I think I can share some things with you that will be very helpful to have in your wallet or purse should any of these symptoms befall you. So let me get this nap in, and Peggy wants to play some tennis, and then...you'll get to know "the rest of the story!"

"So You Say It's Your Birthday..."

So today's my birthday, an event that has minimizing significance as we go along. Age of course is one issue. And the day of my birth being so close to Christmas occasionally makes it a bitter sweet celebration. Either I feel hurt that I'm not getting the appropriate amount of attention....or I feel guilty because all the people around me feel bad 'cause they don't give it the appropriate amount of attention.

I do have a pretty long standing tradition of going OUT to eat on my birthday.  That pretty much satiates my birthday ego. Now just hold on to all this for a minute.

Well, we get up this morning to discover we have over 30 inches of measured snow on the ground.  We have snowdrifts as high as 5 feet.  The whole Metropolitan Area is shut down, and that includes any place I'd like to go eat in honor of the day of my birth.

A "shoveling the snow off the driveway" job typically occupies about a half hour following  a snow storm. Well this one, with two of us in motion? It takes up the better part of three hours.  So somewhere in this time period Peggy says:

"I'll bet you are going to go right to your room and BLOG about what you HAVE to do on your Birthday."

"Yeah, but this time its going to be a case of what I GET to do on my birthday."

Take away the wind? (It is gone.) Take away below zero temperatures? ( The mercury reads in the upper 20's) And some really miraculous things take place. All the sounds you learn to ignore are actually gone.

PEGGY HAS MY BIRTHDAY DINNER READY...I'LL GET BACK TO YOU.

Not bad!

Let me describe for you what happens to my senses out shoveling. 

Hearing?: What's most noticable is what I don't hear.  I don't hear traffic. I don't hear BullyDozers. I don't hear trash trucks. (this is trash day.) I don't hear the mailperson. (The Postal service balks on it's motto.) I don't hear school busses.  I don't hear planes overhead. I don't hear distant sirens.  What do I hear?  I hear the clear "Whoosh" of snow shovels slicing away layers of white blanket.  I hear gentle voices in quiet conversation up to two blocks away.

Sight?: I see rolling,  waving blankets of soft white. I see people I've never seen before out shoveling, sledding, snow shoeing, walking dogs. ( A Bishon Frise that could barely keep it's head above the snow.) I look up and down the street and see myself mirrored by men and women shoveling in unison.  I see one neighbor take time out to carve a snow seat for his two year old son.  What I don't see?  I don't see any stress. I don't see any angst.

Taste?: A taste of freshness along with the crisp bacon I've just ingested.

Touch?: There is the soft cushy warmth of my parka and gloves. There is the tingling of loose snowflakes flying off my shovel and hitting my face.

I have a former student, Psalm is her name, who once a year turns off all her electricity for a week to get a clear sense of the peaceful simplicity of the world around her. Today I get it. 

This is a birthday I'll remember and feel good about. I'm throwing in some more pictures so you can vicariously feel good about it too. Happy Birthday to us One and All.

I'll get back to being my cynical self (pass the turkey scrooge) when all this snow turns to slop. Nothin's forever, is it?  

So Glad I'm Retired

I've been sitting at home watching some of my good friends stand around in the snow babbling about the storm that's burying this burg.  While I'm admittedly a little restless?  Oh, is it nice to be sitting inside a warm place admiring nature.  I just took that picture a few minutes ago....we've had about a foot of snow here with some pretty humungous drifts.

So anyway, I'm thinking we don't get our Christmas Card out to very many of you 'cause we don't have your LAND-ADDRESSES.  So, I say to myself....why not send it virtual. It's going to happen that way anyway...one of these days....so here's what some of you got via the post office...

 

Hello! How’s it goin’? We’re older but feeling younger. I’ve lost a lot of weight and Peggy is getting a lot of her trophy level tennis back. I’ve got this goal of not gaining ANY weight during the holidays.  But I’m not going to punish myself VERY much if I come up short.

We’ve just had a light rail extension get within three miles of the house. So I’ve pretty much given up driving. But it has me WONDERING about something.

There is this large light rail parking lot? Here are some givens.

1.      It is about a quarter of a mile wide I’d say.

2.      It is six stories high

3.      It has an elevator and stairs close to the train.

4.      It (the parking lot) is never more than half full.

 

So I WONDER why some folks drive round and round on the first floor to get a parking spot rather than go up the ramp? They seem willing to walk that quarter mile on level one, rather than go up a level or two and park right next to the elevator. I don’t get it.

 

Peggy WONDERS how water can run downhill in a river that’s headed north. She says, “that’s just not right.” She also WONDERS why it can’t be warmer here in the winter since we’re so much closer to the sun.

When we were in the San Luis valley watching Sand Cranes fly south for the winter she WONDERS, “why can’t we do that?”

 

We’ve been to some WONDROUS places this year, like Florence, Oregon. That’s the place where they blew up a whale almost 40 years ago. I still WONDER why they did that. I also WONDER why they put a hot tub right next to the bed in our Florence hotel room. I always get a strange look from people when I WONDER that out loud.

 

At a wild horse compound in Wyoming, Peggy WONDERS why we can’t take one of the horses home with us?

 

Well we just wanted to let you know that we’ve just had a WONDERFUL year. We sure hope your year has been full of WONDER too. Come and see us!

 

Paul and Peggy Reinertson

 

 

 

The Tie that BINDS

A few years back I set out on a mission to CREATE... using one of the more annoying aspects of our commercial society. I refer to the colorful little stickers they put on fruit and vegetables to make it easier ( I did research this) for visually challenged grocery clerks (apparently all of them) to ring the items up.

Well I'm smart enough to pick my battles. Once an idea or item reaches mass exposure.....no matter how strong the protest.....no matter how logical one's arguments are against it....if a big investment has been made? The idea or item STICKS. ( Pun intended.)

So....I start collecting the little stickers to randomly place them on empty prescription bottles. Art, I say. And I present the little STICK-BOTs as colorful holiday gifts. Recipients include my high school friend Alice Goecke.

Well, a strange thing happens, and Alice may be sitting on a gold mine...although speculation is still pretty much up in the air. You see, someone has invented a little indenting stamp for the fruits and veggies that may cruely replace the sticker.

Alice and I both pick up on that news item this past year about the same time.  Alice may have a ONE of a kind. The one and only STICK-BOT left in existence. (rumor has it the others got tossed.)  Just think of it.

On the other end....I'm kind of like up STICK-BOT creek. 

But you can't get a REAL artist down.   I just expand my medium.  When the word gets out this past summer, no more fruit and veggie stickers? I just start collecting all kinds of sticky things from our consumer world. I will just let them all adhere to each other and BECOME what ever they FEEL  like becoming.

Well, behold the END result. Call it the CHRISTMAS  Tie! Call it the HANNUKKAH Tie.  Call it the KWANZA tie.  But be the first one on your block to get an original STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAI.

As you gaze up on it up there you might be REACHING for a level of appreciation.  The thing may seem terribly out of current fashion.  But remember an important rule of fashion.  Excesses must reach their extreme before reverting to their genesis.

I'm sort of not making this up. In a costume history class I passed,  I'm made aware of the rule with those little pointy toed moccasins they wore in the middle ages?  The little pointy thing just keeps growing until it starts flopping.  And the Versace of the time just spreads the rumor that to solve that problem, you just curl the thing back and tie it to your ankle. Pretty soon it's back to a little pointy thing.  Consider the Maxi-Midi-Mini skirt cycle of our own times.

I bring this to your attention so you won't be put off by the WIDTH of the tie.  Check the VERY back of your closet.  Wide ties WILL return.

Now I'm going to be straight up with you on this investment issue.  Truth be known I've seen no evidence the food industry is truly making the switch from the STICKER to the STAMP. If nothing else the concept's growth will be retarded whilst the "bean-counters" debate the capital investment costs.

Then the point becomes...do you buy a STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAI now? Or....? Now if I were a WISE gambling man, I'd hedge my bet and get one of each. 

"One STICKY-BOT please.  And why don't you throw in one of those new STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAIs."

"You do know sir, there is talk they are going to discontinue the STICKY-BOTs. It might be a wise investment to get two."

"Oh, Okay. I do need to get something for my boss. Make that two STICKY-BOTs and one STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAI."

"I'll just ring that up for you sir.  And you have a HAPPY _____...you hear me?!" 

(Why do we keep using that expression? When was the last time a cash register actually RANG!!!!?)

What Goes Round

"Speak the speech I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue."

That's the opening line of Hamlet's advice to the players (actors). The prince of Denmark wants this traveling acting troupe to convincingly portray the suspected poisoning of his father. 

Most of the world believes they are words written by William Shakespeare or one of his posers. But there are a number of us who believe this advice is penned by the man you see above.

His name is Ray Phillips, speech and drama teacher at Bell High School, and professor at East Los Angeles College.

We believe he might be the author because he forces us all to memorize that advice and carry it with us for eternity.

Ray just turns 80 and a bunch of we former students gather to sing his praises.  I learn a lot from Ray that I try to employ throughout my career, and now try to pass on to my students. He is truly a mentor to many.

But to keep this from getting sticky with nostalgia I'm going to stick to pretty much what I relate in my tribute to him around the banquet table.

I tell Ray I sure wish I'd followed that Hamlet advice a little closer.  I clearly remember my first Seward County Community College basketball play by play effort.  I set out to "speak my speech trippingly on the tongue?" But it comes out like this:

"Coleman Crawford comes down with the rebound, he moves to the right side of the court, and he SH_TS from 15 feet out." 

Now in context you know there should be two 'O's where the underline is?  For the record I substitute an 'I' as in spit. 

The only reason I know I make that substitution?  Both visiting play by play announcers have gone silent and are staring directly at me.  There is a brief pause, at which time I add, "AND IT'S GOOD!"  

Hamlet's advice is a fairly lengthy soliloquy. As it continues it includes, " nor do not saw the air too much with your hands, thus!" 

Oddly that is particularly important advice for those working in television. [It will be a while before Willy gets to deal with the subtleties of TV.]  The confines of a TV frame should prevent one from flailing their arms all over the place as they report or perform.

And there is another danger in overdoing your gestures that I had to learn the hard way.

I have great respect for Vanna White. 

"What is he talking about", you say?

Well I have an occasion to be following Vanna around for several days as she is doing some promotional shOOts? [Learned my lesson on that one.] Well at one point I am set up to interview her live from a golf course.

For the uninitiated? When you are doing a live interview? As the reporter on the scene you set up the interview looking right into the camera. Your guest is positioned a few feet behind you on your right or left.

As you are getting ready to bring on your guest? You do a slow turn in the guest's direction so that only your shoulder or profile is visible. That way you are putting all the attention on the guest.

Well, all of this is going according to plan but we are rushed, and I must be excited about bringing Vanna to the masses?

That slow subtle turn? Well, first of all it's not a bit subtle. And with a hand held microphone, I do this broad sweeping turn that results in my elbow slamming into her upper errogenous zone with great force.

Why do I admire her? There is subdued pain being expressed. But this suffering woman maintains an almost believable smile and we get through the live shot with most viewers none the wise.  [It's a really good thing you can't see my face.]  [Gossip from Sony Pictures is there is significant swelling and bruising.]

My students are forced to memorize the first lyrical stanza of "I am the very model of a modern major general" from the "Pirates of Penzance." I insist they take it with them because it's a great articulation exercise.

But now that I've been back in Ray's presence? And I remember Vanna's pain and suffering? I may switch. Oddly, Ray's (Shakespeare's?) advice seems a little more practical.

 

POSTSCRIPTS: Ray Phillips introduced me to an environment that allows creativity and self confidence to thrive. I will always be greatful.

I am so excited to have heard from my old friend sighlemaccaba. What incredible biting wit she possesses. If you haven't read her response to my previous entry on elevators? Take the time now. She is a riot! I missed you Shiela. 

Going Up?

Well, it’s time to get back astride the well worn leather. 

 

[I’ll go to any extreme to bypass a cliché.]

I have plenty of well thought out rationalizations for not blogging lately

 

[Interesting observation here. Microsoft Word’s spell and grammar check doesn’t recognize any form of the term BLOG. That leaves me with a conundrum. Is BLOGGING spelled with two ‘g’s or three? You’ve probably all decided already and just haven’t shared. Let me know. I’ll go either way on it. Just a thought!]

 

But you’re not going to buy any excuses.  So let’s just drop it and move on.

Today class, I’d like to talk about TIME and SPACE.

 

[RELAX Albert! Ask anyone who knows me well.  I am no threat.]

 

By non-scientific observation over a number of years I’ve casually accepted the biased TRUTH that we, mankind, are a strange species.  We seldom participate in available activities that support what we profess.

 

I’m going to narrow this exploration now and fill in the blanks in later BLOG entries. Let’s talk about ELEVATORS.

 

WHY DON’T WE USE THE ELEVATORS?  (Mr. Otis Regrets, heh, heh!)

 

I’m thinking elevators came into play principally to support our addiction to conquering TIME and SPACE. So why, tell me why no one (figuratively speaking Albert) uses the elevators at AIRPORTS. Why do we (generic WE) insist on forcing ourselves into balls of humanity on the escalator.  Isn’t a straight line the fastest (TIME) and shortest (SPACE) way to get from one place to the next?

 

Why, tell me why, we don’t use the elevators at SHOPPING MALLS. They even make them nice and fancy for us with the open views of all the greenery and art.  But, no!  We cram all ourselves on to slow moving, oxygen sucking, sweat producing, body odor revealing, short temper exposing ESCALATORS. Does anybody even know who invented the ESCALATOR? And is that the most oxymoronic   oxymoron in the English language? [Personally I think it tops RUSH HOUR!]

 

But I don’t want to belabour this observation during this joyous season. Sometimes things just get into your head and you’ve got to get them out.  I’ll return to this theme now and then, but enough for now. In the meantime try an elevator while your shopping and traveling. No doubt your tax dollar paid for them one way OR the other. And just remember the old formula:

TIME=MONEY.

I’ll get back to you soon. But if you happen to be out of town?  Merry Christmas, etal and Happy New Year.