Some rambling thoughts from Jim's journal
Where I sit on the political chart
There is a subtle move that people (mainly males) do in New York City - I call it the Pocket Pat. Its to check, when leaving one's apartment, to make sure one has keys and phone in the pockets before the apartment door locks behind you. Its a quick movement to check for the bulges - simple pats on the pockets.
Basically, I am a pacifist. I prefer not to kill. I'll even catch bugs and release them outside rather than squash them. I am opposed to the death penalty and to aborting fetuses. But, as much as I strive to love all creatures, I absolutely hate mosquitoes, yes - hate, detest, abhor. They are miserable little creatures. I enjoy killing them. I can't find any positive value to the planet from these damn things. I do not understand why Noah did not swat that one pair of mosquitoes when he had the chance and save all the rest of us from the misery of bites and malaria. Damn you, Noah.
Where I'm From
I am from stepping into shorts and running outside,
To play all day long.
"Time to come in, tomorrow's another day."
I am from complete villages of houses and roads
in the sandbox next to the garage.
Dinners with the family.
I am from road trips:
From New York to California, sights and sounds,
Distant relatives and familiar Disneyland.
I am from plastic building blocks that led
to highways, houses, and skyscrapers.
I am from Mimosa blossoms,
cool Bermuda grass, and a warm kitchen.
Exploring the alleys,
With Doug, David, and Margie.
Exploring the vacant lots,
they became whatever we thought they were.
I am from square dancing at George B Dealey school,
the music, the movement, the smiles.
Butterfinger bars for lunch;
Afternoons and evenings on the stage.
Plastic model cars and balsa wood ships.
I am from the neighborhood of freedom and play.
A few advantages to being old
I realized I am no longer 'getting old'. I am old. Yep, it happened while I wasn't looking. Out of the blue, Pow. Just like that. If I had been given some advance notice I might have done something about it. Or maybe not. But, sure enuf, I'm old. Sometimes it's a bitch - creaking noises emanate from weird parts of the body, it takes longer to stand up and sit down, and kids stare at all the weird things going on with our bodies. And forgetting more and more
But here a few of the good things:
I can bitch and gripe about current events and politics; exude any manner of bodily noises; display cranky behavior; get up and walk away from any function without reason; forget birthdays, anniversaries, and other important dates; pepper conversations with terms such as proctology, urology, probing, and colonoscopy; and dress myself without caring - polyester is now acceptable, my socks don't need to match, and mixing conflicting patterns is expected
• Being able, with less ridicule, to bitch, moan, and gripe about current events, health, aches and pains, spouses, and politics.
• Authorized to exude any and all manner of bodily function noises, with no consequences of impoliteness or rudeness.
• Allowed to display cantankerous and/or cranky behavior and those terms will now be considered compliments.
• Able to get up and walk away from any and all functions without reason.
• Permission to forget birthdays, anniversaries, and any other important dates.
• Able to pepper conversations with now-acceptable terms such as proctology, urology, probing, -scopy.
• May now dress without caring - socks don't need to match, black socks can be worn with white shoes, patterns can be annoying.
So what? He's just an old man.
24 hours of a heart ordeal
On the plane from NYC to OKC my heart wildly palpitated, just like that of a frat boy inside the Lace Strip Club on 8th Avenue, just north of 42nd Street (ask for Lana). I decided not to tell the flite crew - I was afraid they'd overreact and land the plane somewhere in Indiana and piss off a bunch of sleepy passengers. I turned up the cool air, drank a cup of water and sweated it out. I carefully drove home, stayed about 5 minutes, and then drove to the Edmond Hospital Emergency Room. Checked in at 12:30a and went through numerous tests (EKG, chest x-ray, heart enzymes, ultrasound, etc.) My heart rate was way out of range - too rapid and too irregular. They got me all wired up, IVed, oxygenated, and drugged; I was able to get to sleep about 4a. I was awakened (and startled) for the next few hours by a variety of nurses conducting more tests, taking blood pressure, and adjusting the IV. I enjoyed some good heart-healthy food, visited with friends, and watched the OSU and OU football games. At about 3:30p in the afternoon, my heart got back to normal - medical phrase: my heart 'converted to a sinus rhythm'. Turns out there was an electrical glitch in the system and weird signals had been sent to my heart. A nurse came into the room at about 8:00 that night and told me I could go home soon. What a relief. I was discharged about 9p that night and went home to rest. All okay now but some scary moments on the plane and in the ER. I am awed by and grateful for the technology, wisdom, and experience of the medical profession. October 10, 2009
Update: Had a consultation with my doctor who had reviewed all the test results and the notes from the cardiologist. Verdict: my heart is very healthy. This was apparently a fluke occurrence based on a variety of factors that coincided and caused wrong electrical signals to be sent to the heart.
That's the new acronym i have created for my life. FOUL. It stands for Fat, Old, Ugly, and Lazy. I find it very liberating. People don't expect as much from someone who is fat, old, ugly, and lazy (or just foul). With lowered expectations comes less disappointment. I no longer have to be concerned with my weight, my appearance, or how long i stay in bed napping and reading the newspaper.
Last Wensday evening, I was brutally attacked by a kitchen cabinet door. I had left it open earlier in the day. I got home after dark and was running from/with the dogs and thru the kitchen when, Wham, the dang door attacked. It was ruthless. It showed no mercy - even seemed to enjoy the victory. I was KO'd. Truly a surprise attack since we had been, so I thought, on very peaceful terms before this vicious incident. I thought, "Wow, what was that?" I had walked thru here for over 10 years and never had an incident. I had to steady myself for a moment. The dogs were smirking. But I don't blame them. I feel certain they did not set this up. No, this was clearly some conspiracy of a hate crime perpetrated by cabinetry in the kitchen. To show my superior military and problem solving skills, I duct-taped the door shut. It probably didn't need to be, but I wanted to make clear who was the stronger opponent. I snuck up on it with a strip of tape ready and slammed it shut before it knew what was happening. Thank God for duct tape. It is how guys repair anything. Women talk and cry, we grab the tape. Some men even keep one roll by the bed, one in the car, and one at work. I'm convinced there were would be less divorce and marital strife if couples would agree to use duct tape more freely and, well, to install urinals in the bathroom. Men will never put the seat back down, get used to it ladies; but a urinal would mean the toilet seat would never again be an issue of marital discord (or cohabitation discord). Women could even duct tape the seat down. Men would respect and honor that.