Archive for June, 2010

Adventures with Dagny

June 30, 2010

Evans Road

When Dagny told her friends about the family trip to Space Camp, one of her friends asked if we always went on adventures. Dagny explained that we didn’t always have money for things like space camp, hot air ballooning, and white water rafting but there were always adventures large and small.

At 18 months Dagny wanted to join Andy and I on a Camping trip on our Island and I explained that she couldn’t go because she was too young and no one ever took pampers on a camping trip. She declared she was done with pampers and was trained and she really was. She went and the weekend was full of adventures for both of us.

The first big adventure was when Andy came yelling that Dagny was floating down the river in her life preserver which we had made her wear for safety reasons. When I finally found her she was “happy as could be” just floating down the river and didn’t even get the concept that she had been rescued as we probably didn’t bother explaining it to the happy contented child.

The next big adventure was mine and it occurred when we went to bed. Seems that Dagny declared herself a grown-up and wanted a bunk to herself just like everyone else. I had not planned on this but as she stubbornly kicked me in the back and pushed me, I finally yielded and slept on the floor of the lean-to without blanket or mattress.

We spent a lot of time on the river fishing, floating in tubes, camping and soaking on hot nights. When we first moved to St. Croix, we had little or no money and Andy became Andrew as he gave up on adventures to play man. Meanwhile Dagny and I would wander wherever and whenever we liked. We would head to the beach or a walk in town, stop by a friends house or go to a beach bar where I could get a beer. We had no idea what we were going to do when we left home on an errand and I believe that Dolores would send us on a mission just to get rid of us so she could have quiet time.

With Dagny and I everything was an adventure. Thank God, now that Andrew has Pippa, he is engaging in building Castles, Fighting Dragons and putting out fires. All are credible solid adventures for 3 year old Pippa.

Now the night before they cut my throat, Dagny and I decided that a pleasant “Last Supper” would be in order and we headed to Red Lobster because Dagny had never been and I was in the mood for seafood. It was a pleasant meal with a few glasses of wine and when the waiter found out the purpose of the celebratory feast, he declared us both nuts: Me for drinking and eating prior to major surgery and Dagny for celebrating with her Dad. Regardless, no one at Largo Medical Center cared about our antics because I was done eating at 6:30 pm and done drinking by 9 pm well within their guidelines for preoperative behavior.

Dagny knows that I almost always have a camera in my pocket and that was the basis of the challenge. We had discovered that the road north of the read lobster was called Evans Road and that her daughters would appreciate a picture. Could I make my cheap camera shoot a credible picture in bad light from a few hundred yards away that would be good enough to show my granddaughters.

I really didn’t know the answer because telephoto and electronic enhancement is always a challenge with all the things that can go wrong such as shaky hands, poor contrast, etc. But then who cares because with the electronic cameras working on memory cards, if you don’t like it don’t print it.

I would not know until after I left the hospital because as we completed our mini adventure, I promptly put my camera aside and was operated on the very next morning and forgot all about it.

The purpose of little adventures and taking the time to do weird things is the joy of doing it, not the outcome.


If You Can Tolarate the Food, You Can Leave the Hospital.

June 30, 2010

Tolerate is an interesting word and I wish I had my camera to take pictures of the food I was being asked to tolerate.  I went to the hospital at 5:30 am and woke up about 4:30 pm. I had leggings on my leg working in a peristaltic manner that could move the blood through my legs two days after I was dead,  I have  already written about the catheter but also had six needles and two blood pressure devices probing my body and my first quest ion was when would it all be removed and when could I leave the hospital.

My first test was if I could tolerate the liquid food, I would get solid food and then they would check me for discharge.  If I didn’t eat the food, I couldn’t go home.  Dinner that night was the color and surface texture of old-fashioned concrete blocks with their characteristic gray color and white pebbles occasionally poking through the surface.  I protested that this was an unfair test as on the healthiest  day of my life I would never cook, serve or eat a meal that looked that bad.  There was no way I would tolerate food that bad and rejected the whole meal.

The next morning was an equally unfair test.  They served a chicken broth made from the powder base that institutions use.  It was barely warm and the salt, fat chunks, and spices were laying undissolved on the bottom of the bowl.  I tested the so-called broth and once again was forced to reject it because it had enough salt to stop my heart and make me a lifelong resident of Largo Medical Center.

I ate the jello, but would have preferred jello shots, drank the juice and drank my tea and begged my nurse for administrative relief from the requirement to tolerate their liquid foods.  She asked about Graham Crackers which was one of the comfort foods of my youth that I rarely eat anymore because of the sugar but jumped at the offer.  I inhaled three packages without problems and was declared fit to eat solid food.

Amazingly, the lunch was tender morsels of beef in a  mushroom onion gravy served over  a bed of noodles. Now this was real food that I would make in my coffee pot, serve and eat.  It was the only meal that I actually ate in the hospital in 36 hours because I simply couldn’t “Tolerate” he thought of anything else.  This is a long ways from the days of my “see food and meet diets”.

I still remember those concepts well, if you see food, eat it.  If you meet food, eat it.

Looks like I have to really thank Cait and Dagny for changing my eating habits and having me start to focus on preparing and eating “meals for one” with flavor, taste and substance that I like and remember from a lifetime of cooking.  The family remembers my Mother as a fairly bad cook,  but in her defense, the poor man’s chicken broth and potato soup that she made and served was a lot better than the hospital food I couldn’t tolerate.

The Concept of Pain

June 25, 2010

The Happy Face Pain Measurement Scale

About one week ago I sent this email to my sister Anne Marie

Leave tomorrow to go to Florida to get my throat cut. Just in time – I am starting to understand the concept of pain which I more or less rejected since football at age 12. This is beginning to piss me off as it is far more bothersome than getting shot at age 14. Broke down the other night because my standard bottle of wine was not enough to put me to sleep so I actually got up and took 4 aspirin.

That’s probably the first step to Oxycontin addiction.

Hope I can get the doctor to prescribe wine in the hospital. I have excellent tolerance to that pain killer over a lifetime of experience and it seems to have muted all physical and even mental pain in my life.

When the doctors do all my strength and blood tests and liver function tests they kind of don’t accept that I drink my bottle a day because I am very well preserved and one doctor even said” it must be red wine.”

Love John

Well I did not get myself a disc fusion because I was worried about pain, I was worried about the thing moving more than the 1/8 inch it had already wandered out of place, crushing my spinal cord and making me a paraplegic. The doctor suggested that with my lifestyle an accidental whiplash was a high probability event. I can stand and live with the concept of pain, I cannot stand the idea of being paralyzed.

I guess that most people who get back operations need them to mitigate pain because that is all the doctors and nurses are trained to talk to you about and I simply wasn’t interested. They give you a pain manual with a happy face chart to define your pain level, the manual describes all the pain medications that you will get including a self administered drug pump to pump pain medicine into your vein until you pass out and wake up in enough pain that you want to do it again. In addition to the injection pump medicines, you can get needles and pills including narcotics.

I told them I wanted none of it and all I wanted was wine and aspirin but couldn’t have the aspirin because of bleeding. Most wanted to know why I wanted the operation if it wasn’t for pain and so I explained the floating disc which didn’t really bother me except for the fear of paralysis. They asked about how I found out and I told them about my ill defined stroke with no know cause that I walked off in an hour and they told me I would need pain medication afterwords, I said not.

On the actual chart that was used on me, the ranges were 0-1, 1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8 and 9-10. I told them that since 1995 I have never had a pain free day, I just stopped worrying about it because the pain medicines I tried killed my libido and appetite and also gave me nightmares. I decided that sex, food and sleep were three things I needed so I gave up on pills and drank wine and it worked for years.

After my neck was diagnosed as possibly crippling I was told to start thinking about pain and the warning signals I was getting from it. With fear in the picture and listening to the pain signals, I began to feel pain at what I described to be the five to six level prior to the operation.

Just Woke Up to Dagny and My Class 3 Happy Face

I woke up knowing the operation was a success and even had my little 3-4 happy smiley face in place. I refused all pain medicine as I told them I was leaving the next day – no drug pump, no alcohol withdrawal pill, no pain pills, no nothing.

Getting Ready to Dance a Little Irish Jig

The next day I got out of bed alone and the picture of my class 3 happy face was actually pensive as I stood up and did a little Irish jig for my daughter and the nurse to convince them I was fit to go and besides if I hung around the hospital and tripped all over those hoses and wires I would be a liability hazard.

I was disconnect from the wires and hoses and sent upstairs to be checked by the Internist, nurses, physical therapist and every resident and 4th year med student who was curious to see the guy who was insisting on leaving drug free and out of pain the day after his surgery so he could start exercising and get back in shape. The only comment came from the professor who had checked me in and allowed the procedure despite the moderate risk and he told me that perhaps I had understated my pre-operative pain because he thought I looked like I was at the 7-8 level.

I told him I doubted it as when they had pulled the catheter from my penis, I had screamed “Holy F#@*ing – opps, sorry” and accidentally slammed my arm with bandages on the bed rail as I was blinded by pain and swore in front of the nurse and bled about a pint of blood all over the place as it spurted out my vein. I gave that a nine which was at least 4 to 5 hinger than what I was used to and if I was really at 7-8 that would have had to be a 13 which was off the scale.

I guess my every day pain tolerance is different from others and I am glad for that. If I really felt a temporary 9-10 and others live with a daily 7-8, I don’t know how they can stand it and no wonder many resort to pain killers. I hope I never feel a 9-10 pain level again even on a temporary basis.

The sweet nurse forgave me and even apologized even though I was the one who lost it and swore and she was just doing her job.

You just have to love the wonderful staff of Largo Medical Center.

Under the Knife

June 23, 2010

I remember the phrase “under the knife” from my youth and the fear that it invoked mostly because of the fear of the unknown. To me the only unknown factor was whether or not I was fit enough to die. Yesterday, I was declared healthy and able to proceed with my operation,

Seems that I am not the only person who fears the unknown, The biggest issue was the cause of my paralysis incident and whether or not it was a stroke. The team of teaching doctors wanted all the answers before surgery and there was no apparent reason for a stroke. I was in shape, had lost 40 pounds, was eating a healthy diet, and the symptoms were unusual in that it was not complete, didn’t last long enough, and I walked it off without medicine or professional help. Yesterday it was defined as a stroke without the usual symptoms and for unknown causes. This allows them to proceed with surgery after declaring that I was a moderate risk because of their fear of the unknown.

That all doesn’t bother me because there is hope of removal of the neck brace and getting on with my life. I am like one of those high string race horses with a cast on the leg who beats themselves to death in their stall because they cant stand the cast. Last night I drank my wine and went to bed without aspirin and sleep well after I removed the cast in the middle of the night without knowing. I am planning on exercise and Dagny and I are planning on a full recovery in a couple of days.

The pre-surgical paper work is talking about don’t lift 5 pounds, don’t do any strenuous exercise, how to lay flat on your back and wiggle your ankle, don’t drive, the multiple pain medications, don’t swim etc. The only thing I can do is stand up and walk. Dagny and I laid out a 1.5 mile course which I hope we can complete in the 20 minutes of walking time I am supposed to do 3 times a day. Of course, I am supposed to do this outside in Florida without sweating because I am not supposed to shower for a week. And definitely no active sex as if there is any other kind.

Well, the next week will determine whether I am superman of if the caveats of the pre-surgical paperwork are the same for everyone.

American Hygiene & The Miami J Collar

June 21, 2010

I really began to question the personal hygiene of Americans, when I was fitted for my Miami J neck brace. Before I was done wearing it for one day, I was constantly aggravated by the raw skin under my chin from the interaction of the pad and the stubble of my beard. Because of the sensitivity of my skin, I always shaved with one of my wife’s pink razors depleting her supply of fresh new blades while being more or less intimidated by buying my own supply unless on vacation where no one knew me. After all what real man wants to be caught buying pink razor blades by someone he knows.

The brace wasn’t on an hour before I knew it was disgusting. In the next 24 hours, I shaved twice, was stuffing washcloths in front to adsorb the sweat and experiment with everything else from paper towels to tissues. I think I even begged a girlfriend for a pad because women face the same extremes of moisture and shaving stubble hopefully without as much irritation as the Miami J neck brace.

The issue of personal hygiene has always been important to Virgin Islanders. A shower can use 10 to 30 gallons of water depending on how careful you are and then there is the issue of when to shower. Do you do it at night and make your spouse happy or in the morning and make the world happy or how about twice a day. When you have kids who love long showers, the amount of water you use will make it inconvenient when your cistern runs dry and expensive when you buy a new truckload of water.

For me, the morning shower was imperative and additional ones taken as needed based on the amount of sweat and physical activity during the day. Especially now, since the kids are gone from the house and my wife and I never ran out of water.

I had been fitted with the brace with severe warnings i.e. wear it 24 hours a day seven days a week and never take it off or your head may snap and you’ll be paralyzed for life. If you have to clean it, get a friend to do it while you lay flat on your back with your head between two pillows for the two hours it takes to wash and dry the pads. Find a close enough friend that will do this for you and not be interested in recreational sex while you are lying in bed bored to tears because if you have sex, your head might fall off and you will die.

The very next day I went back to the doctors office only to find that the office didn’t know any thing about their being a supply of sanitary pads for the Miami J, so they would get me the Therapist who explained that I should shove a nasty washcloth down my throat and not worry about the appearance. When I complained, he promised to have his distributor contact me which he did. The salesman said he had never heard of such a thing but would check on the availability and I just told him to get me a $100 worth on my credit car and mail them to me. I never herd from him again and I started to worry about the personal hygiene of Americans who could wallow in filth like pigs and not complain.

I then called the manufacture of the device who told me they could not sell me any replacements because I was not a Distributor but they would find me one in the DC area as that was my next trip to America. I have to admit, they recognized that if Americans could be convinced on the need for personal hygiene while convalescing, they would make a lot more money by selling additional replacement pads. The distributor did return my call but had none in stock but would check their records to see if any of the local practitioners had any. None did and that was the end of the trail.

I didn’t bother looking for someone to wash my dirty pads so they could be reused as I considered that an unreasonable test of friendship. In the end when they were disgusting, I washed them myself and since I couldn’t stand the uncomfortable brace just left it off for the 2 hours it took me to do it in my washing machine and dryer. I might have even engaged in recreational sex during the free time without the brace. I also took it off when I went for an hour swim each day and since the thing is so disgusting, I even learned to take it off in the middle of the night when sound asleep. The last one cost when I would sleep in the wrong position and wake up in fairly strong pain.

I also begin to understand why no one complained. Just like a pig would prefer to run free and not to wallow in shit, when confined to a small dirt pen, a pig will learn to eat off the soiled ground and roll around and excitedly wallow in filth while awaiting feeding time. In the end, I learned to accept the sweaty filth and smell of the Miami J without complaining too much or even barely noticing it.

My only fear is that they put this same nasty piece of garbage on my throat after successful surgery and I die from one of those new hospital super bugs that also love to dwell in the sweaty filth of the pads of my Miami J Collar.

In Florida for a Next Adventure

June 19, 2010

I expected the trip to be a disaster. After all when you start a 5 hour trip with all of the problems and delays the airline industry is currently having, high expectations would be a waste of time.Especially when you embark on your trip after 6 pm in the evening.

Now I am either having very good luck with American Airlines or they are getting a lot better. From St. Croix they are a monopoly but they are flying on time and my tickets have been costing about 1/2 of what they cost 30 years ago. Even with a first class upgrade, and a flexible return date, the price of a ticket was still less than it was in the past.

My first joy was getting my upgrade at the check-in counter and not having to stand around and watch the flickering board at the gate to see if I am in a high or low position in the standby lottery for upgrades with flexible rules that favor the traveler with the most frequent flier miles ahead of the one who asks for it two weeks in advance.

My next pleasant surprise was meeting up with my friend Kai  Martin who I hadn’t seen to in awhile and we talked about her family including brothers, nieces and nephews and my family including children grandchildren, nieces and nephews,  my bad taste in young women since my wife died, her living will, my need for one and all the weird stuff that friends talk about as they jump from topic to topic. The trip flew by and we continued to talk at the bar while I continued my medicinal drinking and she had a ginger ale. Of course we were both late for loading, but made our panes.

My next positive event was my seat companion in the first class section.  Seems Jorge was celebrating a monstrous commission that would pay off his mortgage and had spent some time prior to the flight in the first class lounge in San Juan. There is a huge unavoidble time gap between the normal 11 am hotel checkout in Puerto Rico and the 7 o’clock flight time which probably makes the Admiral’s Cub at the San Juan Airport very profitable.

Between Jorge’s euphoria and my discomfort, neither one of us was consumed by the overwhelming amount of alcohol we had consumed so we continued the party in the first class section of the trip to Tampa.  There are  many regulars on this flight and the stewards new and joked with everybody. Jorge was a Cuban Immigrant who had grown up in Tampa and was proud of both.  He was about 15 years younger than me and had a daughter 15 years younger than mine.

He needed and wanted to know about business opportunities in the Virgin Islands as I learned all about the Indians naming Tampa for the lightning storms and the time he spent bonding with his father watching mother nature at work from his porch.  We talked about the bond between fathers and daughters and the time invested now would be repaid later when he was the one needing help just as my daughter is coming to be with me for my neck operation.

I warned him to stay very close to his daughter for the college years which are most dangerous to a young girls because equally smart and attractive young men would be using all there wit and charm to lead her to new and more dangerous experiences like sex, drugs, and “rock n roll”.  He must stand by her for a couple of poor choices and keep trying to  bring her back into the family fold while trying to not  be terribly judgmental for making the same mistakes that many of us did when young..

We talked about growing old and from my prospective of 65, I believe 80 is still young and that my mom was still talking and laughing at 90. She died at 93 with her sense of humor in tact although the rest of her was very worn out. As long as she could smile about the hand that God dealt her, I would not have ever done anything to shorten her life by even a second. Jorge chose 80 because that was when his father’s body had shut down and it was making him feel mortal.

We talked about the joy and pain of having young girlfriends: The health and vigor are a joy to behold; their selfishness, vanity and angst ends up killing the joy.

We  experienced a lightning storm upon arrival with the lightning coming from clouds above and below us and from the ground up.  The lightning was all around us and might have been terrifying if it wasn’t so beautiful. Jorge was in his glory describing all of the different type of lightening that he had learned about from his father as a child.

It was delightful flight getting in 1/2 hour early and I got a cab and was in my hotel room by midnight.

Jorge and I made a tentative date to go to the Dali Museum in St. Petersburg so that my Daughter and he could make a business connection that might have future value for the both of them while we all enjoy the art of Salvador Dali.

“Si Dios Quiere”,  it will happen.

Is Ordering Pizza Out an Adventure?

June 16, 2010

Everybody who has followed my cooking blog knows that I go to a lot of trouble to make every meal look pretty. So it annoys me when restaurants just throw food on a plate without concern for presentation. This conversation came up with a professional pizza maker and I said nobody ever listened to what I wanted.

I love my anchovy pizza and especially like it when it looks good.  However, when I tell a server that I want  so many anchovies that it looks like a school of fish swimming in the same direction, I never get it that way. Elaine said she could do it and why don’t I come by her restaurant and she’ll do it my way even though she prefers a star pattern so the anchovies fit more perfectly on each slice.  Well at least she has a pattern and a reason.

When I got to the restaurant late, Elaine was at the bar having a drink with her husband. I expressed my disappointment that she was done for the day and like a true professional she said she would take care of the situation and she did. She said she wouldn’t cook the pie but she would go to the kitchen and tell them exactly what I wanted.  Now my friend didn’t want anchovies but Elain took the situation in hand and we got a beautiful pie  and had a little fun in our lives.

As my Daughter well knows, we can have adventures large and small in every aspect of our lives and as to the pie, it really didn’t matter. If the cook screwed up and made a helter-skelter pie,  we all would have laughed as our somewhat ridiculous request for perfection was once again ignored. Either way it’s a good pie and probably the ignored requests are more the fault of the server than the cooks who all like to things a little different every day.

Anybody who orders a pie with anchovies swimming in a school is probably just having fun. Anybody who gets upset when it doesn’t happen is nuts.

Pharaoh, Longevity and BP

June 13, 2010

Pharaoh was the first widely recognized and influential King of Kings and God of Gods. When the first Pharaoh reigned there were only two prohibitions that would block entry to a happy after life. Thou shall not kill and thou shall not destroy the flow of water in the rivers. In addition to healthy eating and a healthy lifestyle expanding life,  for another jump in longevity, I think we have to look backwards in time.

If we think about wars and crime and eliminate them, the life expectancy rises because the victims of murder and war are usually young. And with BP screwing up the gulf, the other prohibition about altering the environment will become obvious.

None of the Talking Heads or college professors have talked about it, but it should be obvious that if the BP oil leak  is as big or bigger than what the Government has been projecting, it is going to foul the beaches of Florida and the western Caribbean and perhaps even the Carolinas.

Forget about the effect of millions of people breathing fouled air, forget about the workers who will have a shorter life due to involvement in the clean-up as they did after 911. These two are obvious

Think about the millions who give up their stress relieving vacations and die of heart attacks. Think about the business owners who go broke and die from the stress. Think about the millions who lose their jobs in the tourism industry. Think of the impact on millions of people who give up on outdoor exercise and move north for the winter. People have been arguing about the environment impact on life expectancy because longevity has been steadily rising for years while the environment deteriorated.

Anybody who has ever experienced a hurricane knows that the rain is salty as the ocean water is sucked into the eye walls of the storm and drops when it hits land. Water is heavier than oil so its reasonable to expect that a gulf hurricane suck up oil and cause oil to rain everywhere from the Yucatan Peninsula to Texas and inland to Oklahoma and Tennessee. Anyone who has experienced a hurricane will also tell you that life expectancy is lowered because of storm related deaths, reconstruction related deaths, stress and a reduction in medical care.

Now for the first time ever, we have an environment disaster that is so large that a careful analysis relative to the rest of the country should settle the argument. It would be interesting to look at the life expectancy of those who skip vacations, work in the cleanup, lose their businesses, get caught in more violent hurricanes, move to a less hospital environment and those who stay compared to what they would have been if BP had not shafted the world with “allegedly” criminal behavior.

If a dead pelican is worth $15,000 how much is appropriate for taking a year off of someones life?

Put into the modern vernacular, Pharaoh’s two rules still make sense.

Thou show not kill and thou shall not screw up the environment.—Maybe the two rules are the same.

Building a Sous Vide Controller

June 11, 2010

Testing Coffee Pot Sous Vide

My  search for a do-it-yourself sous vide controller took me to Etc Supply where a I purchased a Johnson A419ABC-1C 120/240V Single Stage Temperature Control and a Stopper Thermowell – 15″ Stainless Steel to protect the temperature probe from moisture.

I would advise against building the unit yourself as there is only about $10 saving from buying the pre-wired sous vide controller from the same company.  This is especially true if you lack a background in instruments and control as the instructions only make sense if you know what you are doing. If I had seen the pre-wired unit for $10 more, I would have bought it as I still needed to buy the plug.

Jumpers and Sensor Connection

The first issue is that the unit is preset to chilling mode and what is needed is the heating mode.  This is a simple adjustment  as the top jumper is repositioned.  In the same part of the box, the sensor is instal

Connecting the Hot Wires

In the very cramped bottom of the box, the electricity has to be connected and the hot wire jumped from the plug cord to the control side of the box.  The power out is the red wire on the left and the common is a shared connection in the box.

After the unit was assembled, I did a test run to insure it worked and then the first real run was made using the very tough eye off the round steak.  I used a marinade and learned that complex marinades are best avoided as any alcohol or vinegar are normally lost in grilling but any marinade adsorbed by the meat will remain with it in sous vide.

Drain the Marinade

The steaks were well drained because any excess moisture works against you to destroy the vacuum which is protecting you meat from the water.

The Reynolds Handi-Vac

I am using the Reynolds Handi-Vac which I find produces an acceptable level of vacuum as long as you drain the liquid from the meat and pat it dry with a paper towel.  The zip lock seal has never yielded in any of my trial runs. The unit including sample bags is available for under $20, For those who really care, the bags are made from Polyethylene which is the same plastic as milk and water containers.

In two hours of cooking the meat was overdone. It appears that the controller is a success but my first attempt at low temperature (125-130) sous vide sucks. The meat was overcooked and dry.  Seems the beer cooler cook is right about shorter cooking times.

Well my daughter has pretty much given me orders that she wants me to find an easy way to make ribs.  So sous vide will get at least one more try.

Living Will

June 7, 2010

According to Wikipedia, advance health care directives, also known as living wills, are instructions given by individuals specifying what actions should be taken for their health in the event that they are no longer able to make decisions due to illness or incapacity. The last time I was operated on in Miami, the state forces you to ponder the issue and say pull the plug or keep me alive at all costs.

Now that’s all well and good but incapacity is a very funky word. While I am not expecting any problems because I have faith in my Doctors they are operating on my neck adjacent to my spinal cord and in the past I have suffered momentary paralysis of one leg which I completely recovered from. I do not want to live as a paralyzed person with the current state of medical technology. Let some other person live and become the medical laboratory rat.

Now to make it perfectly clear, If I cannot survive the operation or the lack thereof and still love, cook, eat, drink, screw and set a perfectly bad example for my granddaughters, it is time to pull the plug on what has been a very satisfactory life.

In the meantime, I have employees, family and community all praying for me and anybody who wants can ask my sainted mother (Anne Boyd) to intercede with God on my behalf. (That is a very Catholic Perspective ingrained in my from my youth.)

Meanwhile I notice that my daughter is beginning to think and act a little like her Mother. We only finished Space Camp last week which was her idea from a newspaper story and she has started to plan the next event even though my neck is still in a brace. She sent me following proposal for a Future Adventure.

For ages 3-103

Based 2 hours from Micheal’s so we could crash in Vail (or in Denver if we wanted) or both. 🙂 Maybe get in some white water rafting?

Poppa John needs to get better first. 🙂


She’s to busy to send the word Love, but I know it is there.