Published writer, compulsive reader, Old School Whovian, Match Game enthusiast, NKOTB fan, data hoarder, and - surprisingly, given that list - married with four kids. Welcome to my take on life, fatherhood, entertainment, and whatever strikes my fancy. Enjoy!
why is there a Miami fire truck in Milwaukee Wisconsin? I need to know - YaYa
answer from a FB friend: They're built up in Oshkosh then they drive them to their destination. Likely on the way to Miami for delivery.
Crown Music, at 2637 S. KK, the current home of Front Room Photography, is where I took guitar lessons in 1987. The owner, my instructor, passed of cancer shortly after I quit.
Proud of the fact that all 3 of my adult children see voting as an important responsibility. Today was Smiley's first time.
Happy birthday uncle Danny!!!
Um, I just stood up waaay too fast and it felt like I ripped open my belly on the inside. I mean, I literally (close your ears kids) felt the pain all the way through my testicles.
I guaranty Lisa never felt *that* when she had her gallbladder removed back in '18.
Anyway, aside from that, my recovery is doing fine on day 4. The bruising is peaking visually, but they don't bother me. The four incisions are still painful, especially the one the surgeon said he had to expand, but they're tolerable most of the time (unless I'm driving in a car on Milwaukee streets. Every square foot of road in this town is a pothole, a future pothole, or a poorly repaired pothole, and brother, each kind HURTS.)
But the stomach pain and digestive issues I've dealt with for years? Gone. Hopefully forever, because if this just a brief respite from it I'm gonna be mighty upset.
So yeah, while I remain no fan of surgery at-all - and yeah, there are folks that seems to dig it - I guess this one was worth the effort.
*by the way, I forgot to mention the surgeon claimed to have removed a gallstone the size of a large Jawbreaker candy during the surgery. I claim b.s., but I'm told he was being literal. If true, no wonder the bugger hurt for so long.
Remember my humiliation at having to call someone to change my tire the day after Lisa's accident?
Well when he arrived I went out and talked to him while he changed it, explaining that part of the jack was missing. He didn't care - he flat out said he preferred that I call so he got paid LOL, and we got to chatting.
Inevitably, as we're standing outside in the cold, snow still falling, me with a flat tire on this car and another car totalled in a sheriff's lot, and him kneeling in snow to change said tire, we got to bitching about how life is hard far too often.
"You know, and man, don't laugh at this - but when I was a kid, I used to go through the Sears catalog and pick out what suits I'd wear when I was President." I said.
"That's weird," he said, "cuz I used to do almost the same thing. I never wanted to be President, but I used to pretend I was Chairman of the Joint Chiefs [of Staff], making a report at the White House."
"Huh," I said, a little flummoxed at the similar memories.
"Maybe there's a multiverse for real," I said, "and somewhere out there, right now at this moment, there's a world where I'm the President and you're Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and Biden and Harris are busy changing a f-ing tire."
He laughed. "I hope."
Alright, I survived, Ides of March be damned. Look at me, one-upping Caesar.
We arrived at 7:15, as requested, and I brought my Nook and phone because I was supposed to have a few hours before surgery. I was looking forward to the chance to read. Alas, the first appointment cancelled and I was moved up on the calendar, and had no time for so much as a page.
The surgery went well (I'm told) except that the incision on my upper left abdomen (one of four) had to be extended and hacked at a bit, so I was told to expect additional pain while that healed.
Oh, and they shaved my tummy. I look like a cherub from my waist to just below my chest, then resume my Neanderthal ways.
We were out and on our way home shortly after 1pm (although I would have preferred to rest a few more hours; they kinda shove you out the door).
The rest of the day was a mix of sleep, and Lisa forcing pills on me, and a misguided drive to pick up Junie at 6 that left me vomiting and a painful mess. I think I'll bus it for a few days, thank you much.
One thing of note: the hospital delivered my medication to my room without much of an explanation, or at least one I recalled in my fugue. When I got home I had pretty severe sinus pain (from the anesthesia I'd imagine) and noticed there was a nasal inhaler included in the bag. Ok, they must have anticipated my problem and accounted for it.
Uh, good thing we read labels. The instructions were to take it, then immediately call 911.
It was Narcan.
Apparently, if you're prescribed opiods for pain, the hospital tosses in Narcan along with it.
I'm not sure how I feel about that. A little insulted. sure. A little concerned I was taking it away from someone who needed it (I called the pharmacy and they assured me there is no shortage). A little miffed that the industry that created the problem "solves" it by tossing another drug into the mix. And happy that it was given for free, and didn't add to my already high bill for the day.
Anway, the incisions hurt. I've only eaten light snacks because I remain a little nauseous. And my work cell keeps ringing even tho' I took medical days this week and gave everyone ample notice to work around my absence.
But I'll be as good as new soon enough. :)
Sometime last year I started complaining about stomach pain on the right side, especially in the morning. I pestered by GP long enough for him to schedule me for an ultrasound, which revealed gallstones.
And that was that. No follow-up care, no mention of it really. Not from the Dr.
Then last month I started getting nauseous after every meal, sometimes vomited ferociously, and, um, you know, had meals leave abruptly from the alternate exit too. By February 25th I was worn out, miserable, and my side hurt too.
Now, keep in mind that the pain never went higher than a 5 on the 1-10 scale, was more often in the 3 or 4 range, and never really matched the hip in that department. So the pain was tolerable for me, and I prefered to spend the rest of the weekend on the computer and going to Collectivo with LuLu.
But Lisa was a g*damn pest, literally packing some clothes and saying she'd leave for the weekend if I didn't go to the ER. Ok. Still not going. Deductibles, ya'll. Then she called my MOM, like I was a damn child. And she called YaYa. And my mother-in-law. And my niece. And she had them all henpeck me in the worst tradition of the female of the species.
So I went to the ER. I had an IV, another ultrasound, which said the gallstones were there and presumably gnarly, and they offered me two choices: I could go home and schedule a mandatory surgery to remove the gallbladder in the next few weeks, or I could check into the hospital and have emergency surgery in the next couple days.
I chose the former option, and Lisa got mad and went to sit in the car until I was done in the ER LOL
Anyway, tomorrow is the surgery.
I don't like that they scheduled it for the Ides of March. I'm not superstitious, but I am a little stitious and there are days I avoid: Pearl Harbor Day, 9/11, February 3rd (the death of Buddy Holly), November 22nd (JFK's assassination) the Ides of March, and March 6th (the Fall of the Alamo). So if something goes wrong, you know what to blame.
Anyway, wish me well.
I know Victoria's secret
I dreamt that I took Lisa to a breakfast function at St. Adalbert's, my childhood parish. We parked on the 20th St side of the church building, in angled parking along the church itself - and nevermind that it was obviously nighttime (despite being breakfast) and that there is no such parking in real life, nor even room for it, on that side of the building.
Inside was a bright, L-shaped room, with the vertical half of the L nearest the entrance, and set up for the buffet line, with seating along the bottom of the L.
I got in line. Midway through the buffet was a stack of papers and pencils, and for reasons unknown you had to stop and write your name on a scrap of paper. I noticed the name that was being written by the man behind me. It was the name of my Godfather, but when I turned to greet him it was the face of Ted Turner, the old owner of CNN and the Atlanta Braves. But it *was* my Godfather, in name and personality.
He offered me a job, a good one. I wondered, even in the dream, why he would wait nearly half a century to try and help me.
Then I was seated a long table in the room, Lisa and the family around me.
There was a dramatic jump cut and I was somewhere else, home maybe, and my wallet had fallen out and I was missing all my credit cards and my driver's license.
I knew, even in the dream, that this part of it was a dream, and moreover that it was the rare bit that could be tied directly to real-life concerns; before bed I had noticed that my wallet had fallen out of my jeans, and found and replaced it in its pocket.
There was more, but the rest is lost in a haze.
Robert Blake, the actor whose career stretched from The Little Rascals, to In Cold Blood, to the success of the TV show Baretta - but who is probably best known for being acquitted in the murder of his wife - has died at 89.
RIP.
