Food and Clients and Insurance

I am monstrously happy this morning, having awakened late. The late rising came, I am sure, as a result of the fact that I know I must go to the office today to get some backlogged work out of the way and to prepare for a meeting tomorrow with a new short-term client (tomorrow, I attend a membership meeting, then Tuesday their board meeting followed by facilitating their strategic planning session Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday). The new client work is actually interesting; I like clients that come, let me help them clear the weeds, then go away and leave me alone until they need more help.

Having awakened late and having had a desire for food, I went to work. I diced some remnants of turkey we had frozen after roasting a turkey at some dim point in the past. Then I chopped some onion and red and green bell peppers and two Roma tomatoes and some jalapenos and then nuked (and then removed the skin from) some red potatoes which I cut in cubes. I sauteed the turkey and peppers and onions, then added the potatoes and finally the tomatoes and then, when the pan was awash in color, I added four beaten eggs. In no time, I had a strange breakfast, just in time for my wife to join me to share in the wonder. It needed salt and pepper and some salsa, but other than that it was a nice meal. After I had already gotten deep into this process, my wife mentioned that she had purchased some chorizo, but it was too late to change course. Plus, I started salivating about what might be tomorrow's breakfast of chorizo con juevos.

Now, I must drag myself away from this keyboard and addictive screen and go to my office to do my duty.

Oh, before I forget: we learned yesterday that our insurance costs are going up dramatically...in some cases, the choices of coverage are increasing 100% or more. The very basic plan for which we have been paying for our employees at 100%, which cost us $350 per month, is rising to $428 per month, about 22%. In order to keep the coverage for employees, we have to pay at least 80% of the premium. Because we have been unable to get our clients' fees to increase this year and have been unable to get more business (except this little one-off strategic planning gig), we're going to have to pass on the increased cost to our staff, so we won't be paying 100% of their insurance any longer. They're going to have to contribute. And this is at a time we cannot afford to give any raises. Life sucks, sometimes.

Personal Control

Here I am again, creeping too close to the edge. I did that once before and killed my blog in the process, replacing it with one younger, more vibrant, and immune to the wisdom of experience. But it's not immune really, is it? Reality strikes me hard in the face when it's least expected and least welcomed.

Youth is wasted, even on those who think they appreciate the wisdom of age. They don't. They can't. And they never will. They can't because they are afflicted with youth. Youth is a fatal experience with a blank and, for some, unhappy ending.

It's not my intent to be dull and gray and depressing. I could deceive myself, the way I often do, and behave as if I were deliriously happy. But that would be the epitome of deceit, awash in the odor of despair.

So, truth will out, in the end. We shall all know the truth, and it will crush our spirits and end our existence.

Roger & Robin: Wish them Well

I've been worried about my wife the last few days, but I've also been worried about a couple of blogger friends. The New Dharma Bums, Roger & Robin, learned recently that Roger has colon cancer. He's going in for major surgery next Monday and is expected to be in the hospital for 5-8 days.

Most of what I know about them I've read in Robin's posts on their blog or on Facebook. I've never met them and, frankly, don't expect to. But somehow I feel close to them and their troubles are very troubling to me.

So, for the moment, I'm hoping my good thoughts for them will help them deal with this very upsetting situation. I hope you join me in wishing them well.

Canes or Buddhas

It's hard to be civil. To almost anyone. Most people who expect civility from me deserve a thump alongside their heads with a hardwood cane, instead.

Today, I realized an unplanned departure from the office, followed by a drive among tree-lined residential streets, can save people from sharp thumps alongside their heads with hardwood canes. I returned to the office ready to gently choke the life out of people, rather than bludgeon them to death with a cane. That's progress. Before long, I'll be chanting and encouraging people to spend time with their own personal Buddhas.

Hospital

We went to the doctor today to find out more about my wife's "inappropriate shock." It turns out she had an unexpected defibrilation of her atrium, which was not part of the plan. The doctor wants to treat it with medication instead of ablation. The medication is such that it can change the electrochemical attributes of the heart, so a hospital stay is necessary when beginning the medication to ensure that any problems caused by the medication (which apparently would start immediately) could be addressed in hospital immediately. So, it's looking like she will go into the hospital for two days next week.

It's not supposed to be any big deal. No invasive procedures, just observation. But I don't like her to have to spent time in the hospital. She'll go in Wednesday, which means I cannot be with her because of a strategic planning consultation I'm doing. But I'll be done by 2 or 3, so I'll immediately go to see how's she's doing.

I do hate having commitments that I can't break. I don't like it at all.

Duncan

Yesterday, my wife and I decided to take a little drive. We headed northwest to Duncan, Oklahoma, the crepe-myrtle capital of the State of Oklahoma. I have to say, I was unimpressed with their showing of crepe-myrtles (or, rather, severe lack of). Many other things failed to impress me about Duncan, too, including the town's failure to make note in any visible way (that we saw) that Duncan was the birthplace/hometown of Hoyt Axton (late singer/songwriter/actor), Ron Howard (actor/director), and Jeanne Kirkpatrick (former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations).

But, Duncan had some redeeming values. Jonny's at Oak Tree had better-than-average chicken-fried steak. We saw some beautiful birds...brilliant yellow bellies with dark wings...on the site of a museum as we drove through. And the price of real estate in Duncan is very, very attractive.

The Convention and Visitors Bureau website is abysmal and badly outdated. We had intended to eat at the Cornerstone Grill, which we found on the CVB website. The place appeared to have been long closed. The Chamber of Commerce site was a bit better, but neither site seemed to say a word about Ron Howard or Hoyt Axton. Instead, the pride seems to be in the fact that: 1) the town was a prime stop on the Chisholm Trail; 2) Halliburton has a large facility just east of town; and 3) the town is deeply associated with the oil industry.

The one highly redeeming feature of Duncan, Oklahoma was something we stumbled onto on our way out of time: J & M's Fried Pies. If ever you go to Duncan, you must try the fried pies. They have a very nice selection of fruit pies, including sugar-free fruit pies. And they have superb selection of meat pies, as well. We had fruit pies for dessert and took a couple of meat pies home with us (two different types) for an evening meal. Very, very good, in my estimation! In fact, the fried pies were good enough to warrant a return trip to Duncan.

Shaking

Tonight was going along just fine until my favorite wife stepped into the family room where I was watching news on television. She asked if I wanted a cracker and I responded, "yes." As she was handing me the box, she let loose with a very loud "oooohh!!!!!" and dropped the box of crackers.

She had just experienced her first "shock" from her internal cardio-defibrillator. She was fine, though quite startled and more than a little scared. I was startled and extremely concerned about her. I had her lie down on the bed and I pushed the button on the bedside machine that "interrogates" her ICD and, after one false attempt, the data in her device was captured and sent off to her physician's office for review.

We then called her doctor's office (neither of us remembered whether we were supposed to). The call-back doctor assured us it was not necessary and said only that we should call the office in the morning so they could have my wife in to determine why she had been shocked. Normally, the call-back doctor said, the devices go off when they are needed, i.e., when the heart's rhythm is not proper and could thus cause sudden cardiac arrest. But not to worry, he said. Call 911 if it goes off again tonight, he said; otherwise, don't sweat it.

If the device was simply working as it should, it saved my wife's life tonight. The purpose is to shock the heart back into a regular rhythym when it gets so badly out of rhythym that the heart is about to suddenly stop beating.

I'm not sure how to feel right now. But I know my eyes are tearing up and I'm shaking and can't seem to stop.

Who, Me? Get Me to a Geezery?

The news was good today. The expert leak-detector plumber guy found no leaks. None. No leaks in the water supply pipes. No leaks in the sewer pipes. So, the foundation did not create horrors that will live long after me. At least I don't think so. If the plumber can be trusted.

So, I am dancing a jib and imbibing heavily of liquid euphoria. The world's a wonderful place. I'm celebrating and I want everyone to celebrate with me. Orgasms for everyone, on me!

Next step in this long and laborious process is to have the long-since-purchased carpet actually installed in the house. Thanks to a goddamn client's political infighting, I could not schedule it for next week because I had to schedule virtually every day next week for a doomsday conference call. So, I scheduled it for July 6-7, just so I could ruin my potential days off in connection with our nation's celebration of its golden years and impending decay and ultimate disintegration. But my client finally clamped onto next Monday, so maybe I can reschedule and get the carpet in early!

One day after the carpet is installed, I shall revise the appearance of the rest of this place. I'll turn a 1970s ranch into a 2010+ Wright-inspired celebration of clean lines and simple structures. Or maybe not.

Thank you for reading this and for not (publicly) calling me all the names in the book. I'm thinking...maybe I should go to a geezery, a place where old men insist on capturing their youth and locking it away to prevent its inevitable escape.

Hoyt Axton Worth Hearing

More Hoyt Axton

Boney Fingers

More Hoyt Axton

Taylor Pie

Thanks to my brother who led me to find "Taylor Pie," who once was Susan Taylor who sang in the Pozo Seco Singers in Corpus Christi many years ago. I really like this:

You Won't Notice

I have many things I could share with you, but since you so rarely visit, you won't notice they're missing. It's too bad. You might have liked the photos and the story about me getting the bad stitch in my side after hearing my self tell a confusing, and completely backward, story and then laughing uncontrollably for a long and painful time after.

Familia

Saturday, I am getting together with a good "chunk" of my family to celebrate a brother's birthday and otherwise enjoy the company of people I love. I wish more of us could be there, but life and commitments and work and money conspire to make it tough. But I'm looking forward to seeing my oldest brother and his wife, my next brother (birthday boy), my next brother, my niece (daughter of birthday boy) and her husband, and my nephew (oldest son of oldest brother). I wish I could see birthday boy's son and his wife and my nephew's girlfriend and my oldest brother's youngest son and my oldest brother's wife's chi'ren and their spouses and young-uns, etc., and my wife's sister (and live-in sinner) and brother, but, again, there's a conspiracy of separation that makes it impossible.

Next year, birthday boy has a major birthday and my sister and my wife also have milestone birthdays in the same month. So, I'm going to try to convince the whole famn damily to make plans for a major celebration and get-together next year.

We lost my sister this year and reality says there are not too many more years left for the older of us in this remaining group. We have to make plans to all get together. If it's important enough, we'll make it happen.

Our House...Is a Holey House

This is our dining room. Isn't it beautiful? Normally, it does not have two huge holes in the floor, nor is the carpet missing. Nor are the walls covered with plastic sheeting to prevent concrete chips from the jackhammer's work from damaging the walls. But then, normally we are not in the midst of expensive non-cosmetic foundation repairs. Goddamn foundation!

Fred's Texas Cafe

We drove to Fort Worth for lunch on Saturday, our destination being a place we'd stumbled across a few years ago while on one of our aimless drives, a place called Fred's Texas Cafe on Currie Street. That time, though, we just had a beer and took in the quirky southwest ambiance of the funky old bar and diner. Since then, Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives discovered the place and dramatically increased its business. Now, though, the business is apt to include large numbers of geezers and thirty-something yuppies who live in the recently-built urban loft-style condos that are going up all around the area.

Since that first accidental introduction to the place, we'd wanted to go back. But after my wife saw the DD&D episode, it took on a new urgency...the food was said to be exceptional.

I can attest only that the Diablo Burger (a huge thing with chipotles, cheese, pickles, grilled onions, mustard, and lettuce) is wonderful! Whlie it's an absolute mess to eat, it's a remarkably good burger. The fries that come with it are truly home-made and exceptionally good, as well. When coupled with an ice-cold beer, as mine was today, the meal is otherworldly in its goodness. My wife had a patty melt that she said she liked very much; I tasted it and it was good, but it paled in comparison to thte Diablo Burger.

It was far too hot today to sit outdoors in the patio area (temperatures topped 100 degrees), but we peeked in and decided it would be a great little place if the temperatures had been bearable. It reminded me of what I want my back yard to look like.

Oh, the photos: first one is my burger, second one is my wife's patty melt. Used the cheesy cell-phone camera, so the quality isn't very good...but the food was.

Your Wildest Dreams

Every time I hear this song, I think back to a time when my life was very different. I wonder if I'm the only one who wonders whether...

Derek and Sissela Bok on Happiness

Here's the link to the PBS page on the Boks' happiness books.

And here's the video:

Happy Books

Reminder to self: Find and read these books. Derek and Sissela Bok, a husband and wife team of academics (he retired as President of Harvard, she is Senior Visiting Fellow at the Harvard Center for Population and Development Studies and a former member of the Pulitzer Prize Board) have written two books on happiness (completely separately) that I think will be fascinating reads.

(For more, go here.



(For more, go here.

Dark Night of the Soul

A friend told me I was going through a dark night of the soul. That's her explanation for the way I've been feeling lately. Dissatisfied, alone, wishing I could pin down what's on my mind that's making me feel morose and disconnected and acutely aware of the fact that I don't matter. She told me it's one of the toughest things I'll ever go through. That's a scary thought.

Maybe I am experiencing a dark night of my soul, though, as I told her, I don't buy into the concept of a soul. But I think she sees something, knows something, that I don't know. She has connected more dots than I. She's someone who knows, deeply, about introverts, but who is someone I believe to be deeply extroverted. That's an unusual combination, though not a contradiction.

Perhaps my sister's death a few months ago contributed to whatever this is I'm experiencing. It's shocking to realize that a powerful piece of one's life can be irrevocably ripped from it with no explanation, no reason, and no recourse. One's "power" quickly comes into question and a realization sets in: one has no power of any consequence. The world is capable of instantly rendering powerless and irrelevant one's control over even the smallest aspect of one's life. "The world" is my only phrase for it. Circumstance or chance or coincidence are other words for this strange movement without motive in the universe.

There are days, still, when I think of something I want to tell her and it strikes me, almost instantly, that I can't.

I don't think that's entirely it, though. My friend says all of us, when we get to this age (which could be between 40 and 80, I suppose), experience it. She suggests I look around. I don't see it. But that's because I tend not to talk to people about anything other than the mundane. I don't know people with whom I'd want to share anything more personal. But I do long for those conversations. Conversations about the meaning of life, or the lack thereof, the motives we humans have for all we do or don't, the emotions that have such strong control that they overtake the physical body and direct it in ways the mind typically cannot. You know, teenage angst. Seriously! That's sort of what it feels like; teen angst. At 56, I'm too damn old for teen angst.

All my life I've felt compelled to hide my real emotions from most people because I'd be considered weak if I shared them. A precious few people have seen and heard my emotional meltdowns that can occur with no precipitating event. I learned early on, mostly from my school mates, I suspect, that raw emotions were not to be shared because they bespoke of weakness and ineptitude. People who are too emotional are looked on with disdain and pity. At this point in my life, I feel a growing compulsion to respond to such attitudes with ferocious accusations against a person's emotional capabilities and intellectual capacity. A person with even moderate intellectual capacity, I reason, should be able to understand and appreciate...and share...deep emotion that is triggered by shallow experience.

This is going nowhere, fast. I don't know where I want it to go, but here isn't it. The destination was missed and the route has been closed. Maybe this is just another symptom of a dark night of the soul.

What

I'm sitting at my desk, staring at the message board that comprises part of the "credenza" that adds value and bulk to my workspace. The credenza is the place for my photographs, my latest pictures. Some are not so new.

But here I am. Waiting. For what, I'm not sure.

Good People

There are good people in the world. I haven't necessarily met them, but I hear from them from time to time. And that's a good sign. I heard from one tonight, someone I've never met, but who offered me some advice about dealing with my insomnia. She didn't have to give me any advice, but she did. That was a nice thing to do, knowing little about me and having no reason to care. I wish her well.

Plastic Jesus...One More Time

Here's what you would see if you went to the YouTube.com site where this song is posted. Interesting stuff.

raymondcrooke — July 19, 2009 — The original version of "Plastic Jesus" was an actual radio advertisement in the1940s and 50s for a company that made plastic dashboard statuettes of Jesus and offered them for sale in various states including Texas and West Virginia. This parody is generally attributed to Atlanta songwriter Ernie Marrs, who wrote a number of topical songs that were recorded by Pete Seeger, one example being "The People Are Scratching." Seeger had actually planned to record "Plastic Jesus," but changed his mind after it had already been advertised on a Folkways album. He wrote, possibly in "The Incompleat Folksinger," that he liked the song a lot because it showed how people accept plastic or illusion over substance but he said he decided not to sing the song any more because he thought the reason he enjoyed it might have something to do with his Protestant upbringing, and did not want to offend any Roman Catholics.

Ernie Marrs did record it in the 1960s for "Broadside" Magazine , where it was printed. A shorter version was printed in "Sing Out" (1964).

However this satirical song was around before Marrs adapted (and copyrighted) it. It was actually written by two West Coast musicians, Ed Rush and George Cromarty, who were members of the Goldcoast Singers. Ed Rush traced the song back to an African-American camp-meeting song with lyrics "I don't care if it rains or freezes, leaning on the arms of my Jesus," which was the theme song of a religious radio program broadcast from Baton Rouge in the 1940s. The parody lyrics are based on this line.

Here is how Ed Rush describes it: "As bored teenagers in Fresno, California in the late 50's my friends and I used to sit around on hot summer nights playing with a radio to find distant stations. A favorite was (as I dimly recall) a station with the call letters (maybe) XERB, from Del Rio, Texas. The transmitter was just over the Rio Grande, in Mexico, so that they could engage in some questionable transactions that the FCC might not have approved of. They peddled all sorts of tacky quasi-religious stuff, including plastic statues of Jesus, Mary, etc. These were guaranteed to protect the buyer, especially if he sent cash. One of our favorite programs often featured rousing spiritual anthems, including one song that started, 'I don't care if it rains or freezes, leaning on the arms of Jesus...' Being slightly irreverant teenagers, George and I came up with 'I don't care if it rains or freezes, long as I've got my plastic Jesus...', etc, etc. I clearly recall rolling on the floor with laughter for about an hour". He also notes: "In mid-1963 a Chicago disc jockey played Plastic Jesus several times a day and nearly got fired by his very Catholic boss."

Paul Newman sings this song in Cool Hand Luke as a hymn, as if it was the only thing he knew that had some spiritual words.

This song was heavily debated when it was printed in "Sing Out" and again when it was printed in Broadside, with angry subscribers asking how they could publish something so blasphemous, canceling subscriptions and claiming they would never read the magazine again. Gordon Friesen of "Sing Out" defended the song against charges of being sacrilegious: "'Where does the sacrilege lie really, with the song, or those greedy for profits, who debase the Savior by producing and peddling these cheap little trinkets in his image?'" (Broadside issue 39).

I first heard this song from a friend at school who was instrumental in introducing me to the folk scene and also happened to be an atheist). At the time I also found it offensive until I understood that the target is the sellers of religious kitsch, not religion itself

I Watch Myself Watch Me Listen to Music

And I hear...Hang on Little Tomato...CIA Man...Gasoline...Soak Up the Sun...Castles Made of Sand...Bottom of the World...Four Dead in Ohio...The Baby Elephant Walk...Southern Cross...Teach Your Children Well...Classical Gas...Dang Me...Turning Japanese...Diamonds and Rust...Tennesse Stud...Road to Peace...Like a Rolling Stone...Asshole from El Paso...Won't Back Down...When I Get It Right...Smell of Coffee...The Poet Game...Dejame Vivir...La Flaca...Il Valzer Di Un Giorno...

Protected

Prince Lebanese Grill

We had lunch yesterday at Prince Lebanese Grill. We both liked it. I had spicy chickenn schwarma and my wife had a dish that consisted of tiny cubes of grilled lamb atop a huge plate of hummus. It was expensive (for us) as lunch goes, with the total exceeding $30 for the two of us. A couple sitting near us were eating enormous and delicious-looking gyros; they are on the menu for $3.59 each. Our tea was flavored (cinnamon?), which was unexpected and unappreciated, but it was not terrible (but added to the cost at $1.89 each). All in all, it's a keeper and we'll almost certainly go back to try the gyros, which is one of my favorite things. I may try the babaganouj, next time, as I'm a fan of the stuff. The place is a hole in the wall, operating out of what looks to be an old burger joint. But they've jazzed it up a bit and it has a modicum of "decor" inside. They've even made a decent little alfresco eating area, but no one was eating outside yesterday in 95-degree temperatures.

Prince Lebansese Grill
502 West Randol Mill Rd.
Arlington, TX 817-469-1811
Monday-Saturaday, 11 am - 9 pm
Closed Sunday

No Capsule Endoscopy for Me, Thank You

I finally talked to my doctor's office (actually, one of many...this time, the gastroenterologist). After I explained that I had not had pain since my "episode" and that I was a pauper and could not afford to pay for the capsule endoscopy nor the doctor's fees, anyway, the nurse agreed to discuss the matter with the doctor. After consultation, the nurse called back and said the doctor was willing to forego the capsule endoscopy, but that if I had any more pain, to call the doctor's office right away.

So, I just saved myself god knows how much money...whatever the amount saved, it was considerable.

There is Fiction in the Space Between

It's late...about 3 am...and I've still not gone to bed. This is unusual for me. I'm listening to Tom Waits and Tanita Tikaram and Loudon Wainwright and Leonard Cohen and Doc Watson and on and on and on. Something's on my mind, but I don't quite know what.

I logged in to Facebook and found one or two people I know still logged in, but they're not people I feel like talking to. I'm in the mood for conversation, but it has to be the right conversation with the right people...and the people I want to talk to are few and far between and the ones who might be willing to have the conversation I want to have are even more scarce.

I wonder if there are other people sitting there tonight, wishing they could talk to someone about something they can't quite put their fingers on? I doubt it. Most people don't need or want to talk about things that I care about.

I'm listening to Tom Waits now...some of his deep blues. The ghost of Friday night is still...for now. And now Tracy Chapman comes up on the headphones. "Telling Stories." Apropos. "There is fiction in the space between."

Runaway Greed

We've made no firm decision yet, but we're leaning toward accepting one of the less expensive foundation repair bids. With the addition of leak detection before and after the repairs, fixes to the sheetrock, painting, replacing cracked tiles, the the like, I'm guessing it's going to be an $8-10K hit. If we have plumbing leaks of one kind or another, it will go up from there.

Such is life. If we tried to sell the place, we'd have to incur the costs of "fix-up" anyway, so we're probably going to stay here awhile. There are plenty of other "fixes" we need to pursue, such as re-rat-proofing the attic, replacing rodent-infested insulation, repairing or replacing rotted exposed wood columns in the front, repainting the exterior that is peeling in sheets, fixing the leaking master bath and guest bath faucets, etc., etc. (the list is literally endless). So, we're probably going to invest in this place as if we were buying another home. Assuming we do that, it will be like having a new home, albeit with lots of evidence it's really not new at all.

All of this puts a huge crimp in our wishes (I won't call them plans) for vacation time and such niceties associated with getting away from work, but I suppose I must pay for whatever evils I have done.

I won't bitch any more than absolutely necessary. I know I'm better off than 90% or more of the earth's population, so I have no legitimate room to complain. But if I could become a sovereign nation and nationalize BP and Halliburton, I'd be better off financially, and I'd have an enormous sense of satisfaction that I'd done my part to protect the world from runaway greed.

Pissed-Off Progressive

It upsets me that people seem to have an unhealthy need to always "take sides" and rarely are willing to discuss issues. The world is not black and white. Solutions are not liberal or conservative. Approaches to the world can be partisan, but shouldn't always be so. It makes me angry when people lay the problems of the world at the footsteps of "Obama-loving, illegal-immigration-loving, pro-abortion, anti-religion, anti-flag, anti-American, liberals," but it's equally absurd to say the world's problems are the fault of "right-wing, immigrant-hating, anti-abortion, flag-waving religious fanatics."

Both of us (and I include myself in one of those camps far too often) allow ourselves to let opinion and lack of knowledge rule.

And it pisses me off. Maybe I am becoming more conciliatory. Or maybe I just recognize that right is not always wrong and left is not always right.

Closer to the Ground

A PowerPoint presentation was sent to me the other day and it rang all the right chimes in my despondent old body. It calls one's attention to the fact that the problems that we, in the developed world, wail over are nothing, compared to the horrors of daily life for a large percentage of the population of the planet.

Like many people, I could laugh and give thanks to "god" that I was "blessed." Or, I could look at myself and my culture in shame and wish we all could live just a little closer to the ground.