As I said, we don’t go to movies.  We buy or rent DVD’s…or choose “On Demand”…sit on our comfortable furniture with popcorn, beverage of choice (for me a ‘biggie’ since the cinemas haven’t gotten round to selling coffee) in front of our own big screen…usually seeing two movies for the price of one at the theatre.  We’ve heard the horror stories of what it costs to go to a movie theatre these days and it just never seemed like a better value than we had at home.  It actually wasn’t quite that bad, though.   Afraid we’d have to stand in line forever and then the movie sold out, I bought our tickets online before 8am yesterday morning (THAT’s new!! Technology at it’s finest!), we got there as had been suggested…forty-five minutes before showtime to collect our tickets and get in line.  My other half so excited about ‘finally going to a movie theatre’ she refused dinner before leaving so she could enjoy the appetite for a junk food nosh…buttered movie popcorn (B-I-G!), a drink she could swim in and she did get me a box of  Dots and Milk Duds since I couldn’t decide which I wanted.  (She didn’t even mind that she was going to see “Mamma Mia” instead of “The Dark Knight”!)   I really leaned toward the Milk Duds…choc covered caramel/toffee has always been a favourite of mine but Dots a close second and I hadn’t had either in yonks.  I soon found out why…remember the recent post on Affordable Dentistry??  After popping two Milk Duds in to savour…and spending the next half hour trying to ‘unstick’ them from my new teeth…ahem…I said a sad, silent farewell to ever enjoying those morsels again.  The Dots weren’t much better.  At any rate, prices weren’t as bad as we’d anticipated.  Vanity, at times, keeps me from taking advantage of a senior discount.  I mean, for one thing I just barely make senior status chronologically and mentally….ummm, probably never…but I figured it might be worth it yesterday so getting the tickets online cost $18.  The dinner of popcorn, soda and unchewable candies was $12.50….less than we’d expected…so for thirty bucks we had a fine evening out.  And it was worth every penny and more!

The story line was insipid but the music and the ’camp-ish’ style more than made up for that even if it wasn’t the collective voices of Abba.  My particular favourite scenes involved any which featured Meryl Streep, Christine Baranski and Julie Walters (especially Julie Walters).  I laughed and lip-synched my way through almost two hours of delight…would have sang along, loudly, but couldn’t quite face the embarrassment of being thrown out by an irate audience.  Had my fellow movie-goers been up dancing in the aisles, however, I certainly would have joined them.  As it is, as the curtain call was being shown during the final credits, we got up to leave and I just couldn’t…so I stood at the end of rail going towards the exit, still lip-synching but adding some fancy footwork.  Soon I was joined by a woman about my age doing likewise and next came another woman who had looked around, saw us there, joined in.  It was really hard to leave…lolol. 

So…if you know who Abba is (or even if you don’t) and ever enjoyed their music, go see the movie.  Just a couple of hours spent watching a movie…or, as in my case…reliving moments in a life where an Abba song is embedded with personal memories of time, place, events, special moments and having so much laughter (and a few tears) doing it.  Now I’m waiting for the release of the DVD to add to our collection but, in the meantime, I have my own dance party to attend.  Last night I didn’t come home to look out my Abba collection for nothing.     The Dancing Queen is reborn!

UPDATE: 07/20/08

Listening to a couple of reviews of the movie and seeing it’s being seriously panned, I’d just add this.  If you were/are an ABBA fan and would feel cheated not hearing their voices…don’t go.  Serious critic of “Dancing With The Stars”?  I’d stay home.  And in the words of one reviewer “definitely for you…if you are seriously seeking anti-enlightenment”.  You know what…every once in a while two hours of fluff is good for the soul;  it’s entertainment.  Sheer fluffy entertainment with a capital E.   That’s all it is…nothing more, nothing less than “feel good”.  Uplifting gives us pleasant respite from enlightning, n’est pas?  ;)    

I was part of a career-military family for over twenty years, raising a daughter in this interesting…sometimes challenging…environment.  She was born into it, which meant her childhood was changing schools, friends, cultures, countries every two years or so.  Some may think this is difficult, hard on a child to accept the making and leaving of friends and most times knowing they will never encounter those friends again.  Very little of such a life ‘lives into perpetuity’ but, you know, it really is not a bad thing if you have the right attitude…and most of those kids do if we, as parents lead a positive way.  Sometimes, however, it’s our children who lead us.  By the time our daughter was five years old she had lived in three countries and just arrived in a fourth where she was about to attend kindergarten.  Aside from the last four years of her education, every school she attended was a DoD school, (an American school on the military post at which we were stationed) but, for the most part, her after-school activities were with our neighbour children…none of them class/school mates…for we chose to live in the communities of our host country.  So I watched this video of Friends Without Borders and reran the ‘video’ in my mind of my daughter’s childhood and friends.  How easy it is for children…how easy it can be for us to learn from them that a smile, laughter, generosity and the willingness of children (perhaps even the necessity?) to have and be friends with one another.

Within only a day or two of our arrival of these countries I watched as two 5 year old children, neither speaking each other’s language, approached each other, communicated and played happily for several hours…becoming each other’s ‘best friend’ before that day was over.  It began with an honest, open look;  a smile.  One word spoken in English the other in Italian, two shakes of the head with confused looks then a shrug of the shoulders as they began to play.  Oh, they chattered back and forth, laughed a lot…and I learned.  It wasn’t long before each was learning the other’s language, arguing, best friends becoming “I don’t like her today” but, as children do the fall-out lasted all of ten minutes, maybe an hour at most.  Other local children were soon pulled into the camaraderie, the families became friends and we shared birthday parties, family celebrations, traditional holidays.  We didn’t share religious beliefs but we were privileged to be invited…and accept…to participate in each other’s holy days observances, traditions and celebrations. 

Leaving our friends, their culture and country was always a sad occasion for all of us despite the fact that we adopted and took with us many of their traditions.  We never saw any of them again and certainly never will, now, but we have never forgotten them or the feelings we have for them.  These days I hear a great deal of criticism, sometimes mockery, often patronization of other countries, their way of life, what they “have” or “don’t have”, and it’s just sad because those with the biggest voices in that respect have probably never taken real time to get to know our fellow travellers on our life’s journey.  Maybe never watched two 5 year olds, strangers and literally foreign to each other ignore all of that and become instant friends.            

We have Doctors Without Borders, Friends Without Borders…wonder what the chances are that someday Nations (Humans) Without Borders might be a reality?  One can hope.      

This does appear safer for the furniture, dogs, cats…and us…than the Sports edition.  No spills…physical or otherwise, no bumps or bruises, yet.  And you really do get something of a work out…perhaps not the same as a gym.  I wouldn’t know as a gym is the last place you would ever find me but an hour’s worth of this and you can break a pretty good sweat and enjoy a pleasant tired feeling.  That’s not even going by me…but Ms. Activity (my partner) who can’t sit still for five minutes at any time, more athletic than I am (way more!) and never seems to wear down.  Plus…plus…never breaks a sweat because no matter the weather, unless it’s 90 degrees never even feels anything but cold.  One thing’s for sure…the balance board (the integral component to this ‘game’) is a very interesting piece of equipment…figure an hour to actually exercise and fifteen minutes to marvel at the technology.  Seriously, while checking the web recently for Wii-Fit reviews (and not finding many, probably since it’s so new) I did find quite a number on the Wii-Sports and many by rehab centres.  One is actually calling it’s programme Wii-Hab and has the real elderly…into their 90’s, in fact…being more active than they’ve been in years plus enjoying things they’ve been unable to do for a very long time.  Hey, it’s better than Richard Simmons!     

Anyway, we’re thinking it might be time to consider the Olympics for 2012.   

I’m sure we have all known terrific “Dads”…be they biological, adoptive, or one of the many who choose to be ‘Dad’ to a child without.  Bless them all for being a loving, important part of a child’s life,  learning and growth and may you all have a wonderful celebration today.  Above all, may the children who are privileged to have you in their lives honour you well.  

For those of us a little too old to still have our Dads with us…remember, enjoy and share the memories of the years we did. 

Had a bit of a surprise recently, needed to ‘wrap my head’ around it (classic British understatement…LOL) and I really had no intention of writing about it until I thought it may be beneficial to others out there.  Medical matters have always interested me.  Actually, a family thing for they interested my father and sister, too, though neither of us are in or associated with the medical profession but…we do know enough probably to be a little dangerous to ourselves.   Over the years I’ve had occasional problems with heartburn…some days worse than others and nothing that really sets it off.  It just happens.  About five-six weeks ago I noticed it was a lot worse.  I’d go to make the bed, slightly bent over and I’d have that familar but deeper burning behind the breastbone only it was going up to my throat.  Soon as the bed was made and I sat down it began to ease off.  Same thing happened when I’d be sweeping/mopping floors and yet hauling in seven bags of heavy groceries in one go, it didn’t bother me.  For some reason I had given a smidgeon of passing thought that it could be angina but pushed that away…I felt well and rudely healthy otherwise, it was similar to my usual heartburn discomfort only a bit more so…so maybe it was GERD or something else.  I did do some research on the web and it could have been any one of those three.  Well, I had my usual BP check at the doctor’s office and, besides my partner insisting I mention it to him, I decided it wouldn’t hurt anything to do so. 

Doc did an office EKG and mentioned that this one had changed slightly since the last one I’d had done about two years ago plus I’d had one in the ER last September so we checked that one, only to find it had also changed since then.  He thought it necessary to go have a nuclear stress test.  This was Friday, I went for the stress test on Monday.  Later that week, thinking it might have been a false positive, I was stunned to learn that I may have had a minor heart attack and was at increased risk for another.  Off to the cardiologist on the following Tuesday.  He reviewed the recent tests, EKG and told me he strongly recommended a cardiac catheterization to be done the next day.  Off to get the pre-procedure x-ray and lab work…in a total daze.  This I had never expected from my ‘heartburn’.  Next day I reported to Beebe at ten for the procedure to be done or begun at eleven.   During the cath they discovered that the main artery in my heart was 99% blocked.  They could try to do a stent placement or else it would be bypass surgery.  It was agreed we’d go ahead with the stent.  This was succesful…highly succesful…and I was taken up to a room for overnight observation and I did, eventually, get to go home the evening of the next day.  That was three weeks ago and no-one could be happier than I to say I am feeling super-fine.  Thing is, I did before all of this came down the pike, anyway.  Aside from hypertension somewhat controlled by meds, if anyone asked about my health I also said I was “rudely healthy”.  I still think I am…just my engine needed tweaking and the ‘carb’ blown out.

One of the toughest things to accept was that this had happened at all.  I’m pretty careful about diet…being one of those odd people who actually love healthy foods, veggies of all kinds, only use the right oils, eat lots of fish, don’t eat much junk food, hardly any fast food.  I wouldn’t say never because on the rare occasion I want a Burger King or a Taco Bell, I’d have it but it was rarely.  I firmly believed in my granny’s philosophy of “everything in moderation” and it worked for her.  She died seven weeks before her 100th. birthday and to our knowledge she had no heart problems, no cholesterol problems and no hypertension (and yet she would have been today’s nutritionists nightmare!).  Maybe she did have those things and we just didn’t know about it…more to the point, neither did she so she wasn’t stressing out over any of them.  Who knows?  As a matter of fact, the day I was discharged from hospital my partner went to check what further changes could be made to my diet to keep me healthier and came back wondering where we go “from here” for I already do, and have done for years, all that was highly recommended.  Genetics…my one fault, I guess, was believing my regular diet and lifestyle could change my genetic make-up whereby my parents both had heart disease and, in part, my one sibling had already had her own experiences with that genetic background.  Perhaps, as my best friend told me today…and she had been a cardiac tech for 26yrs….my saving grace had been my diet and lifestyle or ‘this probably would have happened years before now’.   That was comforting to hear.

At any rate, I’m going to try the cardiac rehab being offered to me by Beebe’s after-care but only to get into the exercise habit.  That’s a tough one since I’m much more cerebral than kinetic!  I had not quit smoking as I discussed in an earlier blog (which is why I didn’t pursue updates!  Embarrassment!) but am well on my way to quitting now…gone from more than a pack a day to about four or five (cigs, not packs…LOL).  Guess I had the scare I needed…and it was a scare.

At any rate, I thought it might be of some service to readers…particularly women…for I had always been well aware that heart attack or any heart problem generally manifested symptoms differently from men, for the most part.  Certainly was in my case…no crushing pain, no dizziness, nausea, weakness.  Just burning discomfort.  So…don’t take for granted that the typical signs or symptoms are what you THINK they might be.  Get them checked out…given what I now know I really do feel I have been given a good second chance and don’t plan on wasting or throwing it away.

Funny…the day I was admitted to hospital our new Wii-Fit was delivered…ironic, huh?  LOL…but we have started using it and can’t wait to see what damage…to furniture, dogs, futons and coffee mugs might occur with this one.  One thing is for sure…should make me much fitter and to heck with damages!    

The news was reporting a U.S. naval vessel which had been attacked the day before while in the Mediterranean. The name of the ship was U.S.S. Liberty. The country which had attacked her was Israel. My husband was on board that ship along with less than 300 of a crew, mostly navy men, some civilians. Thirty-four men were killed, almost all others were injured in varying degrees. Some, much later, died as a result of wounds received.The ship was taken, eventually, to Malta for enough repairs to get her back to Norfolk where, later, she was mothballed and then scrapped. She and her crew had been napalmed, taken multiple rocket fire. Torpedoes had been fired at her…one hitting work spaces where most of the deaths occurred. For forty-one years Israel has claimed this was an ’accident’. Our govt….along with many of our own people…accepted that then and continue to do so. Those survivors who are left tell their story, tell how it happened, what ’went down’ that day. Their families have supported them for forty-one years, some govt. officials have done likewise as have more than a few military brass. There have been Presidents who have not given those crewmen the time of day; there have been a few others who seemed to want to but the rug still has that ugly lump under one corner where this story was swept in 1967. Long past time to do some proper cleaning don’t you think?

I could say more. I won’t. Instead, I’m happy to provide sources where you may wish to avail yourself of what the participants knew and decide for yourself. The only other thing I would add, here, is that when many of us do speak out we are accused of being Anti-Semitic. That would include the crew, their families and supporters of each. That’s unfair and inaccurate. At least in my opinion…which is that one country made a swift attack on us for reasons others can explain; they said it was an “accident”, “mistaken identity”. The feelings I have are nothing to do with their religion or those beliefs just anger at their audacity in attacking their best ally, at our country turning a blind eye to the plight of it’s own and, worse, the denials directed at those Liberty crewmen who served their country with honour , did their best to protect and save their ship and, most of all, their shipmates while it has long seemed our govt. would just as soon they “went away” . Isn’t it odd, in light of the tiny Iranian speed boats reported to be tailing our ships currently in the Med and widely criticized for it, we might even be prepared to make an incident of it, justify retaliation and yet with a deliberate and deadly attack on the USS Liberty, we did and have done…NOTHING.

http://home.cfl.rr.com/gidusko/liberty/ 

http://www.lewrockwell.com/orig/margolis12.html 

http://www.whatreallyhappened.com/ussliberty.html 

These, of course, are just a few of the links pertaining to and supporting the crew of this ill-fated vessel. And, yes…there are a very few which rebut these accountings. Having as close a personal connection to this ship and it’s crew as probably any lowly civilian would have, these links listed here are the ones about which I have no doubt or reservations. I lived with the aftermath. The reader can make up his/her own mind.All I know is there are still men, women, families who have never forgotten, never will…while most of the nation aren’t even aware it ever happened.

The dog is a female Silkie.  Very sweet, obedient and she is wearing a collar but no I.D.  She is being well-cared for here until her owner(s) are found or until she is rehomed.  If this is your dog or you know to whom she may belong, please log in, leave a comment with description of dog, her collar and her name.  Thank you very much.   

UPDATE:  Little Girl has been reunited with her relieved owner this morning (Wednesday).  Many thanks to Cool 101.3, Lynn at Kent Co. SPCA/Animal Control and the manager of Concord Pets Supplies of Milford.

Two days ago, in Delaware again, the news broke of a Sussex Co. principal being arrested for the rape of a 17yr. old student.  This came about due to an anonymous tip.  I’m not privy to all the details…is anyone?…but according to print and radio reports, this principal’s conduct had been ongoing since January of this year and it had been consensual.  Yes…I agree that a 38yr. old man should know better, behave much more appropriately…not only (any grown man should) but particularly someone in his position  but I do have to ask…what of the 17yr. old?  The law deems this rape because of her minority but for a 17yr. old to continue to ”allow rape” for four months??  Yes, of course it can be argued that she did so from fear of any form of reprisal or punishment from her principal and….maybe I’m just too cynical.  The man and his behaviour are reprehensible, sick…choose your own adjective.  The girl a “victim”…is she?  Yes…but a victim of what, exactly?  Her principal?  Society?  Lifestyle?

Unless we are all wandering around with blinders on can’t we see how our youth get to such places in their lives?  So many children don’t get the opportunity to be children and haven’t done for a couple of decades….particularly our girls.  From early elementary age they are dressed as mini-Madonnas or Brittneys, sporting bare midriffs, some already wearing make-up.  By the time they get to middle school the make-up is prevalent, dress much beyond age appropriate and many allowed to date.  Girls losing their virginity in mid-teens, unwed mothers while still in high school.  Parents…especially Moms…excited or disappointed when their daughters do/don’t have dates for special school events;  Prom nights they, with their dates/boyfriends, allowed to stay out all night and the parental response to that is it’s part of growing up, a rite of passage.  Ocean City, MD is agog with ‘June Bugs’…no parental supervision (or very little). 

My personal feeling is that any grown man should…and needs to…be above the flirting and/or attractions of a schoolchild, a minor by law and there is something very wrong with one who isn’t.  But we, as parents, need to do better with the raising of our children.  Maybe I’m too harsh or expectations too high…probably am and are…but since when can a 17yr. old NOT understand that an intimate relationship is wrong and NOT ‘cool!’  When we have children we are supposedly committed to raising them to be responsible, independent, knowing-right-from-wrong adults.  At eighteen we send them off to college or to a job (hopefully) where they will already be expected to handle their further education or whatever an employer deems necessary…as an adult.  My God…at sixteen they are given driving licences and the use of the family car (or worse…their own vehicle), free to come and go when and wherever they like.  We don’t know what they are doing, often don’t know where they are going or have been, but we don’t seem to mind this because “they are old enough…they know what they are doing…”.  And the law doesn’t mind either until there’s an accident, underage drinking or someone calls rape.

This ‘child’, this minor may well be a victim but IMO she was a victim before she met her principal…of we who encourage such behaviour and think it “cute”, of society, fashion and parents who encourage teens to look, dress and behave like twenty-somethings (for what??) and of herself who, knowing this was a man old enough to be her father, was married, did not think for herself, did not immediately talk to a more responsible adult of either being pressured or just her own immature feelings in an inappropriate situation while this adult male took advantage of them.

There is certainly no excuse, whatsoever, for this principal but how much is there for the young woman involved?  And can we, should we, excuse her as a minor therefore ”not knowing any better”, a victim…while the 12yr. old boy awaiting  adjudication of his charges will be dealing with consequences of his actions before long.  All I’ve seen and heard is sympathy for the girl and fury at the boy.  Personally, I can’t see excusing either of them of wrong-doing but how and where would you make the distinction?  Bearing in mind that we DO have many great kids who choose not to indulge in any of those behaviours…choose not to.

Rt. 24 is a two lane road and, even with an uninformed eye, I can’t see how it could ever be made otherwise with so many communities built right to the highway.  Next Friday is the grand opening of a new supermarket.  Very soon afterwards, yet another will open about two blocks west.  Rumour has it that either an Olive Garden or Red Lobster (or both??) will be going in the same area.  New housing communities are going up left, right and center (or east, west and north).  Three large supermarkets in about a mile strip of road is a plethora of choices for much of this area as I see it.  Being between Milton and Rehoboth (and one of the markets being totally new to Delaware to begin with…aside from having opened one in Selbyville a few short months ago), those back roads are, themselves, going to be busy…never mind Rt. 24.  

We’ve lived in our community…south side of 24…for ten years.  Some few annual meetings ago several of our residents asked our HOA when, or even if, we would get a stop light in order to facilitate access to and from our homes.  We were told it was unlikely to ever happen.  A supermarket gets ready to open about as many yards from an intersection light and, voila…stop light is installed weeks ago.  Yet I don’t see it as being much help to communities such as ourselves.  Sure…as long as we want to go in an easterly direction it probably won’t be so difficult but to cross the highway and head westerly?  That’s been bad enough the last few years it can only get worse and I expect to see that beginning this summer.  Few residents of Sussex want to go near Rt.1 during the summer (and if you’ve ever had to, you know why!) so given that the popular supermarkets now have stores out this way…perfect.  They don’t have to attempt the Rt. 1 horrors…just create new ones on another road.  We felt when we chose to be about twelve miles from the beaches of Rehoboth, Lewes…and further from Dewey and Bethany…we were lucky.  Apparently we didn’t think far enough ahead.  We actually become prisoners during the summer…run to get everything and anything done during weekdays, if possible, because weekends are practically IMpossible between vying for parking, fighting traffic congestion, long lines everywhere one may wish to go.  Winter isn’t altogether too different…you have free access, no parking, no lines…but very little is open.  Such is life not necessarily in a resort…just even near one.

Yesterday we talked to a couple in the vet’s office.  They were in to get their cat’s shots updated, clean bill of health etc. in preparation for taking him ”back to Colorado”.  I’m of a mind to ask if I can go with…and I’ll happily get my shots, clean bill of health.    

We watched the newscast of the ‘invasion’ of the FLDS community and the first thing to come to mind was Waco, Ruby Ridge.  You and I may not believe as such sects do…we may even be concerned that what we hear, what is reported, is true and disturbing but was there just cause for this behaviour on the part of any governing body without proof or anything resembling proof?  The men of the community apparently made an offer to leave the community, as long as the children were reunited with their mothers and until there is resolution.  Seems such an offer was never seen or heard so nothing further has been done.  Wouldn’t that be the compassionate action to take, not only on their behalf but the govt. Some of the male children have been sent to a ranch for ‘troubled boys’.  Seems to me, if they were not troubled before     going there, they will be when they are released or sent elsewhere.

How low have we stooped to treat people this way?  Now, today, I read that even the youngest children, little more than infants  some of them, will be removed from their mothers once DNA testing is complete.  Until now mothers and babies/toddlers have been allowed to be together but this will be short-lived.  And we all are supposed to trust our government??  When we allow forcible stripping of children from parents with nothing but allegations, false or otherwise,  or worse…a hoax…we all need to start worrying.  It may be something of which few of us approve today but, tomorrow, it could well be you…me…any one of us.  Travesty of justice can happen anywhere and, these days…in recent years…it’s happening all too often.  

The lady’s turning fifty-eight

But you would never know it

(Kinda ticks me off, you see…

Her face just barely shows it!)

Yet her life’s been full of twists and turns

Joys and many sorrows

So I’ll take this opportunity to say

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOMORROW!!

Love you lots…and lots…and lots…

First, I AM in a domestic partnership of some years, neither of us interested or feel the need for marriage…personally, outmoded  and unnecessary.  I mean, despite all that gets said, despite George Parrish’s assurances of an “unforgettable ceremony”, marriage and a certificate to prove it, they no more keeps couples together these days than they have done for many decades.  Such a commitment is of the heart, not by pen, paper and a third party decreeing and having a couple vow ‘until death do us part’.  Forever, these days, is about as long as four-ten.  Not so much different than a criminal getting life and being out on parole after fifteen years.  Maybe marriage licences and laws should be drastically changed…perhaps something like driving licences?  Need to get a new one every five years and, that being so, no need for divorce…just take along your same partner (or different if you so choose) and renew, , even put your organ donation agreement on it so there is no confusion or dissension later between ex-wife/wives and current…and Bob’s your uncle.  All good to go for another five.  Hey, that makes just as much sense these days as anyone still believing marriage, as it used to be known, is sacrosanct.  And no…it’s not a sour grapes attitude because I was married for thirty-two years…no divorce, no seperations.  Of the industrialized world we in the US have the highest divorce rate…the highest…and, in more recent years, non-remarriage of divorcees has dropped, instead a preference for co-habitation.  That surely says a great deal more about marriage than civil union or domestic partnership.

Civil unions…what fault can be found with Civil Union?  Which, I might add, could also be extended to what once was known as ‘common-law” marriage between two people of opposite genders.  What good reason could we have, these days, for denying them some legalities, particularly when they have shared a home, finances, a life and often children for years?  Domestic Partnership…that pretty much covers it all best…works for same or opposite genders, affords legal as well as moral claims.  Moral claims, you ask?  Sure…because I’m wondering today…if no such relationship is to be legally recognised, how will that effect wills, estates left to a partner;  how will it affect hospital ‘rules’ of ’family visitation only’ or ‘next of kin’?  We are somewhat fortunate in this area as we/our partners are accepted as family and/or next of kin but could this, will it change when we move from the grey area of no specific rule or amendment to this particular clause….if it’s passed? 

Somebody tell me why a domestic partnership, a civil union, cannot or should not be legally recognised.  Forget the marriage…let heterosexuals truly interested in a life-long, certified commitment have marriage.  I don’t have a problem with that.  But why…logically and legally…what reason to deny so many others the peace of mind, happiness and security of having their partnership legal?  

Excuse me?  Clearing the air…out in the open complete with sea breezes you need a BAN to “clear the air” so more families will fill the sand?  What, pray tell, might be imminent?  Banned in bars and restaurants…that would be to ‘clear the air’ so more people will fill them; ditto with public transport…fill those planes, trains and let’s not forget buses (no matter that better service all the way round would be much more conducive to filling them);  now it’s the beaches and boardwalks where there is no roof, no walls or doors keeping the non-smokers suffocating against their will.  There’s only one place left to go…the sidewalks, so more people will window shop and fill the stores.  And I’ll lay odds that day is coming….in the not-too-distant future.  With any luck that might leave us our own cars and homes but it’s ‘iffy’ when one considers places already attempting to enforce the car.  Not a stretch…for some time now cigarette lighters and ashtrays have been options when purchasing a vehicle.  And at a nice little price, too.  

I’ve decided it has nothing to do with discouraging smokers for their own sakes.  They must still want us to smoke or they’d ban the weed altogether…make it toughter, jack up taxes, more in the coffers of government.  As I see it, there’s maybe only one way to combat this, sort of playing ‘them” at their own game.  I should start a movement for all smokers to not only decide to quit…in fact, don’t quit.  A movement tohave a  ban enforced on all tobacco product from seedlings to the pack in our pockets.  No tobacco, no revenue.  Let’s see where that takes us…ALL of us.

Clear the beach air??  That’s rich.  

I’ve been pondering that today and, for myself, I can only really see one real question to ask and be answered…..”For months now…and probably until November…each of you is banging on about ‘change’.  Change is needed, we have to have change, I can change things, elect me President and I will change things.” …and the war, healthcare, economy…has all come under that banner.  I want to know…with ALL this talk of change and how you want or will change things so needing change, so ready for change…just how are YOU going to effect those changes if Congress does not co-operate?”  See…no matter their rhetoric or even their good intentions, promises…false or otherwise…for all their talk of what they will do to change things, as I see it they can’t.  They can talk a good game, get people excited and hopeful, yet without the tacit approval it all means nothing….just empty bumph.   

What connotation or visual does the thought “resort” conjure up for just about anyone?  Okay…could be my interpretative skills are lacking but to me it’s pleasure, fun, relaxation, a day or a week…or simply a couple of hours of diversion from the hurly-burly of the work week and/or busy life.  And when we plan for time at a “resort” we take along those things that are totally enjoyable, the things that are pleasurable to us.  Beach attire, sometimes foods, always beverages, beach playthings, books…pretty much anything which denotes comfort, fun.  I agree that for many cigarettes don’t fall into that bailiwick…then again accompanying pets, unruly children, a beach ball landing four-square into the middle of picnic doesn’t do it for just as many, either.  We already have a ban on dogs on beach and boardwalk for half the year (with the exception, of course, on greyhound weekend).  Doesn’t matter that, for whatever reason this area is very well-populated with owners of other rescue pups…no exceptions made for them or any other beloved family pet.  No walking one’s dog one step beyond Dolles from now until November.  Frankly, I’m not a beach goer until the hordes are gone, all is quiet and the beach empty.  I don’t sunbathe, don’t swim, and especially don’t care for crowded areas anywhere, anytime so the solitude of the beach in winter really appeals to me.  To ME….and there is the key.  I’m not selfish, certainly do not deny anyone their comforts or pleasures or the right to voice an opinion but why can’t we leave it at that instead of demanding others to be mindful of ‘your’ comforts and pleasures, to cease and desist their own in favour of ‘yours’?  Because those who deem it necessary to believe they can ensure MY health by banning smoking everywhere ‘they’ go (and we all know that is not the real reason), when I choose a balmy, late summer evening to take my dog(s) to walk the beach I can’t;  on a raw, blustery, rain-soaked winter’s day I can walk them on a barren beach but, if this ordinance passes, dare not enjoy a cigarette while I do so.  Somehow I can’t see the city fathers considering making a smoking ban for only six months of the year to accomodate complaining tourists and beach visitors in general.  It’s possible they may designate a portion of the beach length for smokers only…unlikely but possible.  Dumb idea…all it would take is for an anti-smoker to want to spend their day on that particular patch…and complain…then it wouldn’t last.  Anyone who smokes and settles for whatever few accomodations are made for them can relate more than enough stories to prove such things do not work.  Wherever people smoke…and wherever they are relegated to smoking, there is invariably someone…and all it seems to take is one…who then wants to be right there.  No smoking in restaurants…you can stand outside and puff away…but only until the same complainers realise they have to walk through smoke to get to their dining area…another complaint, another ban, another move.

So, I wonder…is it a total no-smoking ban they are looking for?  For there are those who are against cigarette smoking with a codicile…”I mean, I occasionally smoke a cigar or a pipe…but that’s different”  How?  And why?

We have done everything BUT make smoking illegal so I would suggest…why don’t we?  Instead of incrementation, why not just ban the growing of tobacco, the manufacturing of tobacco products, the selling of them, buying them and using them now, in one fell swoop?  Until that happens, why doesn’t everyone mind their own business…their own imperfections and annyances, tend to their own problems, worry about what they are doing, their children and pets are doing…think about how the behaviours they find permissable in themselves or their own, others don’t but are generally prepared to ‘live and let live’.  

Rest assured, I mind my own but am so very tired of ‘you’ thinking I need your uninvited help and admonitions.  If I wanted to take myself out of worldly pursuits to live in purity I’d have gone into a nunnery years ago…not be living in Rehoboth.

Over the last several years I was very self-conscious.  A couple of missing teeth, one broken and, at this stage of my life had decided to have my upper teeth removed, replaced by dentures.  Easier said than done.  First finding a dentist who would be willing to pull those teeth without argument or trying to convince me I should, instead, get root canals, crowns etc. etc.  With what?  Shirt buttons?  I was quoted a price by one dentist that I don’t believe I could ever have paid off in my lifetime but, when I resisted, I was told this was the plan best for me.  No…it’s not and never would be.  The best plan for me is one which works and, especially, for which I can pay.  Checking other places I found it was going to cost me at least $3,000 for dentures and, no…I could not afford this either.   By then I was having more sympathy and compassion for others I knew or saw who were going without for exactly the same reason and was somewhat ashamed that I had ever wondered (albeit privately) why they “didn’t do something about it?”  I even considered making a trip back to the UK to have mine done privately…I could do this and, at the same time, enjoy a visit with my family for less than dentures alone, here, would cost me.

And then I saw a tv commercial for Affordable Dentures, deciding to check it out.  I’m not one to buy much from or because of tv ads and I certainly don’t believe everything I hear, read or see.  I didn’t know anyone who had utilized this service so no-one to give me a reference.  At any rate, just over a year ago I did check it out.  Cost involved was very reasonable and, most importantly, do-able for just about anyone.  Costs up front, no hidden extras and a choice of three plans for dentures to suit one’s personal needs.  (Note that word…personal.  It may be important to you, further on.)

I discovered there was an Affordable Dentist in Salisbury and took the plunge.  There are no appointments…you show up before 8am and, should you desire, everything can be done in one day barring, I’m sure, complex situations.  I was there by 8am.  Waited a while before being called and the x-ray was done then waited for my consult.  During this consult I asked if they could recommend an oral surgeon for me.  Affordable Dentist do extractions at a very reasonable price but none of the usual anaesthetics work for me.  Twice I’ve had one tooth pulled, each of which took between four and six injections and did not have the required or desired affect so ended up seeing an oral surgeon, having nitrous oxide…about a five minute procedure.  I wanted to circumvent this problem, delay and, of course, the possible pain involved by doing it the easy way.  They recommended an excellent dentist for me, made my appointment with him.  Went back to Affordable Dentist to have impressions etc. done and get my temporary plate to take to the oral surgeon when I had my extractions.  He would place the temporary plate immediately all the teeth were out.  I had the impressions and the plate the same day along with my instructions for assistance should I run into any difficulty, need adjustment etc. and when to return for the permanent plate.  I only had to make one visit for a very minor adjustment about two weeks after I had the temp plate and I gave myself a year to ensure complete shrinkage of the gum etc.  Never experienced any problem with the temporary plate.  I could chew anything…I was able to eat corn on the cob again!  Yaaaayyyy!!  Relished a steak dinner once more…hoorah!!!  I could whistle my favourite tunes once more…one of my favourite (though probably…to others…most annoying habits).  And I could smile, laugh with absolute joy and confidence…the embarassment and self-consciousness was gone, gone, gone.  Don’t get me wrong…prior to the dental work I owned a business and worked seven days a week, worked other places, talked to customers, went out for dinner etc. but tended to stay away from new situations, gatherings and special occasions.   I avoided where possible, meeting my partner’s new bosses…reluctant is putting it mildly.  And the general feelings I had were that, besides feeling my mouth and smile were a disgrace, others would be thinking what I, once upon a time did.  How could I not fix them?  How could I be comfortable looking this way?  Didn’t I care?  Was I that lazy or ‘denta-phobic’?  I was none of those but, at the time, I knew of no other choice.  As soon as I had my temporary plate all of those things disappeared from my feelings and thoughts.  In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever been as happy or confident as I now was.

Almost two months ago I returned to Affordable Dentures for my permanent plate.  This week I returned for a redo and, by my own choice, opted to do it over a two day period rather than one day.  Beautiful teeth they are, too…even if I do say so and that’s all credit to the staff at this godsend of an establishment. 

From Dot the receptionist to Dr. Patrick everyone there is courteous, kind, very friendly and professional.  Hard to combine all of those qualities at best but they succeed admirably.  No-one tried to dissuade me from doing what I wanted and felt I needed to do…which is have those teeth pulled.  My decision was respected throughout.  I’m not going to be paying for my plate for the next two years.  No-one asked or suggested I write this.  In fact, I asked their permission to do so…make a referral if you will…because I know there are many people who don’t know of this place.  On one of my visits there was even an older couple there who had driven all the way up from Virginia Beach.  I figured I was lucky that I had only to drive there from Delaware.  Yes, as mentioned it can take from 8am until 4pm to complete your visit and I know most people may have a problem with that BUT…look at it this way.  It is ONE day that will make a major difference to the rest of your life and comfort.  It’s a bright, pleasant and comfortable waiting area.  Take a friend with you…it’s a great opportunity to solve the world’s problems between you and if he or she, as my friend is, daft as a brush and very sociable you’ll find almost the entire waiting room being involved in conversation and laughter.  Alternatively, as I did this week, take a book you want to finish in peace and quiet, totally undisturbed by kids, dogs, cats or phone.  Crosswords are good, plug into your MP3 and relax.  You even get a lunch break when you can leave the premises to eat, shop…or sleep.

I don’t know if the staff will see this or even hear about it but, just in case they do, I want to thank them for all they did, the manner in which they did it and for returning to me the ‘gift’ of my true self…all with just a denture plate.  Thanks all!   You have enabled me to do the absolute best thing for myself that I have done in several years and I’m delighted.        

With the exception of van only parking spaces, it’s almost impossible to exit a wheelchair from a specially equipped van in a regular handicapped spot.  Most are side-entry…it’s rare to see a rear entry/exit for a wheelchair on a van though I’m not sure why we don’t use this option more often.   I do know, though, from when I bought such a van that option was not offered or even suggested to me.  Take into account that the lift must have space in which to be lowered…most handicapped parking spaces don’t allow for anything close to the space required and the odd occasion they might, not taken into account is the additional space needed for the wheelchair occupants legs and feet which often extend past the end of the ramp…and then the chair has to be turned in order to move on.  Most often it’s impossible.  Using most of such spaces available was impossible for me.  My husband was 6′ tall, in a specially built wheelchair…if the alloted space once the ramp was down was barely enough then there was no way I could turn and get him off the ramp.  My only solution was to find two regular parking spots together, park straddling the dividing line.  And they were usually at the far end of the parking lots where no-one, healthy or otherwise, wished to park.  Those spaces I saw yesterday were perfect.  Either if one parked head-in or parallel.  But cars took up every one I saw.  The occupant can get out and walk the short distance from any regular disabled parking space…why be so inconsiderate or selfish as to use the spaces they did.  Apparently more shopping areas are giving thought to providing spaces for a needful minority who depend upon other means of mobility to get around.  Those who would be the first to complain about those being inconsiderate enough to take their standard handicapped spot need to do some thinking and afford the same consideration for others. 

Meantime, we collected five dogs, four cats and, as of a little over a year ago, the sixth of our birds….all but one of the dogs were rescued from homes which figured they were “disposable” or “just a temporary fixture until we get tired of them”.  Of the cats, all were found feral kittens abandoned by their mothers (not the same litter!).  The birds…three we had bought, three are also rescues.  And they…plus us two…all live in a madhouse, zoo, call it what you will and all are indoor animals.  And then came Buddy-who-used-to-be-Smokey.  My partner manages a pet supply and feed store, Sundays being her one day off a week.  One of those Sundays she was called to be told only one person had shown up for work that day so, off she went to fill in.  Store closed at five and at 6pm. the phone rings.  She has just pulled into the driveway and asked me if I would come outside for a second.  I did…I thought she wanted to show me some blooms that had just come up, a different bird in the trees, a new bullfrog in the pond…one never knew.  But as I rounded the corner into the driveway I see this wrinkled face with an inquisitive look, big brown eyes, chocolate coloured velvety ears watching me…and, no…it was NOT my partner!  An apricot pug, very much like Oliver and as big…Oliver was a well-muscled big boy for a pug, perhaps about half the size of a bulldog.  I grimaced, hoping that whomever was his ‘parent’, he or she was also in the truck.  But, no…his story was not as sad as some but pathetic with regards to the family from which he came.  An older couple who had had him from when he was eight weeks old.  He’d come from a good blood line, they had paid quite a sum for him and then went on to have him neutered, a hernia repaired, and he came accompanied by beautiful ceramic bowls identified by the words “Prince”, his own placemat, several outfits for Hallowe’en dress up, a wicker basket and cushion, fancy collars and, of course toys.  At two years of age he had become ‘redundant’ to the desires of the household.   They had told my partner they had to find him a new home before the next day or they would be taking him to the SPCA.  Why?  Because he was destructive.  What HAD he done?  Chewed paper.  Chewed paper??  Well, that and they were planning to redecorate so they could not keep him.  (I guess he didn’t match, co-ordinate or blend in with the pending colour scheme).  He chewed paper??  What else??  Nothing.

Now, although several years had gone by since Oliver died, I still wasn’t ready to have another pug in the house but he certainly wasn’t going to any shelter.  I lifted him out of the truck windows, asked his name…and almost choked.  Who in the world calls a pug Smokey?  Pick another name…something that sounds similar so the adjustment would be easy…Buddy.  Hey, at least it has an “ee” on the end!  I carried him into the house and I wept for him that night.  He had obviously not been ill-treated…not like his new siblings.  Buddy is the only dog we brought home who sat at the window whimpering for three nights, waiting for his family to come for him, no doubt.  And for that I could have wrung their necks.  But…he adapted quickly to his name, his new family of us, siblings, cats and birds.  More than that, it didn’t take him long to find the food bowls, chow hounds that pugs are.  In less than a week he had found his place on the couch…leaning against me, one paw on my leg and insisting I wrap my right hand around him.  I don’t compare him to Oliver at all other than his brickhouse build and colour.  He is his own person and daft as a brush.  I think he even makes the other dogs laugh.

Don’t get me wrong, I dearly love all of our ‘kids’…even if exasperation and frustration seem to abound from time to time.  Sixteen animals is a lot of work!  And I love them equally…even if I do have a soft spot for two of them…our Brussels Griffon and, of course, Buddy.  Well…as Erma BomBeck used to answer her kids when they would ask her which one she loved most…”Whomever needs it most at a given time…”  My partner, though, knowing my particular affinity for pugs (which, by the way, seems to be rubbing off on her despite her denials), really put me on the spot tonight.  Naturally, in her job she sees, meets and befriends many dogs on a daily basis.  About a year ago she began telling me of this pug puppy who was a new customer.  She had never been so close to a few weeks old pug before and, as they do,  this little girl totally charmed her…and has continued to do so ever since.  Now this little “lady” is to be having puppies…and my partner asked me tonight if I wanted one when they are born.  Yes.  NO!!  I’d love to have one…but I don’t want seventeen pets.  Like the mother of ten who fears she may be pregnant once more, I’d have to take a powder for another creature to move in.  But a puppy?  A pug puppy?  Awww…sure…of course!  NO…I can’t!  I wish I could and I don’t see how.  

Hey, I’m what some would call more than middle-aged…by something of a stretch.  I’ve had to find more energy than I ever thought I had for most of my life, dealing with this band of “brothers and sisters”…particularly since they all do live in the house.  I’m a voracious reader yet I haven’t managed to finish ONE book in six years, a broom and a mop are permanently attached to each hand and every article of clothing I own displays it’s own unique design of dog hair, cat hair and feathers.  Our living room and large kitchen are both decorated in Early American Cat Tree, Mediterranean Cage and French Provincial Dog/Cat bed and toys.   Taking the dogs for walks is akin to running the Ididerod…six of them in harnesses and us as the sleds.  Neighbours think we run a doggie day care…well, in fact, I do…except none of them go home at nights.  They let me sit on one very small end of the couch…as long as two can be in my lap and Buddy using me as his leaning post while a fourth is obsessed by tennis balls and the throwing of same every five minutes.

Add one more?  I don’t think so!  And yet…the very idea is “pugging at my heart strings” so…who knows! 

To tell the truth, St. Patrick’s Day used the frighten the bejeebers out of me…particularly when I attended elementary school.  In our schools we weren’t segregated by colour, race and not necessarily by busing.  We were segregated by religion.  Catholic children went to catholic schools, usually run by area chapels and the priesthood/nuns.  The rest of us of other religious or aetheistic persuasion went to regular state schools.  Older siblings, cousins, school mates, prepared us in advance for March 17th.  The Catholic kids would all be wearing green so we should wear something blue and, throughout the day…mostly on lunch break and after school, the questions would be asked of kids by kids…”Blue or Green??”.  Actually, thinking about it they weren’t asked, they were demanded…alternatively it would be “Scots or Irish?”  And I spent that day scared to death.  If the ‘right’ person asked and you responded wrongly you risked being pounded into the dirt.  I was a coward.  I’d hide my bits of blue…socks were really a challenge…and try to run home like the devil was on my heels (which, many times, he or she was!).   Soon as I got behind the safety of the front door I wouldn’t step outside for anything until next day when, suddenly, I and my Catholic friends were no longer mortal enemies but the old friends we’d always been.  Instead, I’d get a book sit in a corner quietly and be grateful another year would pass before such trauma.

But I never did hear of or see a St. Patrick’s Day parade until I came to live in the U.S.  And then it was a revelation!  First, surprise…I didn’t know there were any such things or that St. Patrick made such an impact on North America, despite the fact that I was well aware of the Irish immigration.  But the Scots emigrated also and nobody knew of St. Andrew, let alone hold a parade for him.  (Hoo no’??) The funniest thing…or oddest…was watching the said parades on tv news…and Regis.  Floats, men and women in national dress (leprechauns?), marching, riding, singing then, here came the bands.  Pipe bands…with band members dressed in MY tartan!  Royal Stewart, Scottish.  And they weren’t playing the Irish Uillean pipes but MY pipes…the bagpipes.  Then, audacity upon audacity…playing Hi’elan’ Laddie or, worse…”Scotland the Brave”.  WHUT??  Wha’ did they think they wur, then?  It doesn’t go over very well when you are a Scot sitting among St. Paddy’s celebrants shouting (as you hear the pipes) “C’wa’ the Scots!”.  I wasn’t wearing blue, I wasn’t seven years old any longer but runnin’ for Mither’s protection jist the same!  Or a book!  I’ve tried and tried to find out why they wear the Scottish tartans, play the Scottish music on Scottish pipes  but that seems a secret nobody wants to divulge.

Now, the sad part is, it’s well-known that there is no exile like a Scottish exile…as the Big Yin says (that would be Billy Connelly, comedian-extraodinaire) we even sing and weep about our homeland in a living room party while never having even crossed the border into England.  The Irish have us beat, though…I bet nobody here even knows when St. Andew’s Day is.  Or who or who he was.   Well, ye see that bonnie blue flag wi’ the white cross on it?  That’s it…the Saltire.  That’s his an’ a’.  His day is November 30th….in any given year, mind.   He’s our patron saint.  But no…we sort of shove him under the carpet in favour of Rabbie Burns, our ‘bard’ (and scoundrel!) whom we celebrate by eating a delectable dish few would even try….known as haggis and accompanied by chappit tatties and mashed neeps (now, there’s ambrosia for ye) , washed down by a dram of good whisky (NOT J & B by the way…or Chevas!) but I’ll let you into a wee secret…the fine food and guid dram are only fortification for the poetry to follow.  I’m one of those exiles who finds all things Scottish to be God’s own…except for Burn’s poetry…so, instead of having Burn’s Nichts and thinking we’re doing ourselves and our kin a favour, can we have St. Andrews Day instead?  In November…very convenient since it’s most often closest to Thanksgiving (come to think of it that would be quite appropriate); we’ll all wear a wee bit blue, tartan tam o’shanters and carry thistles, play the bagpipes, wear whatever tartan takes your fancy and sing “Caledonia” till we make glass eyes weep. Instead of singing about the Liffy or Galway Bay we’ll do the Tay and Loch Lomond…or Mull o’ Kintyre (I’ll even let ye sing it as Mulligan’s Tyre);  drinks can be coloured blue just as well as they can green;  we’ll eat Dundee Cake and Keillor’s jams and dress the bairns as brownies and kelpies.  To end the day a ceilidh, with stovies, a peh, cup o’ tea an’ a kerry oan, singing Auld Scots Mither Mine, Far Awa’ in  the Hi’elan’s There Stands a Wee Hoose and finish wi’ a rousing “Auld Lang Syne” (and if ye sing Zyne, oot ye go!).  Aww…c’moan…jist aince an’ ye’ll love it, so ye wull.

Now, see…I realise there are a lot words in this piece with which  most may be unfamiliar but…if we celebrated St. Andrews Day as passionately as St. Paddy’s, you’d know what they were every bit as much as you know Erin Go Bragh.

Oh, well…Slainte!  And Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all! 

NOW I hear a few minutes ago the parking rates are likely to go up again to offset the cost of new meters taking credit cards.  Why wasn’t this done three years ago…no, not the increase because when we got the new meters and the new look, the rates already went up…but ever heard of killing two birds with one stone?  I heard the ‘excuses’ for not applying credit card facilitation at that time and they didn’t make sense then.  How is it they do now, to you?  And then to extend the parking season by two weeks more.  The businesses in RB are correct…I don’t think there is a local or a regular visitor to town who doesn’t eagerly anticipate the end of parking meter season, who doesn’t say “No…it’s rare I come to town until after the meters are off…can’t wait”.  And businesses ARE going to be hurt this new move.

Nothing like conducting city business bass-ackwards…and I still think we ought to have had a parking garage servicing the city, workers and visitors alike a very long time ago.  These meters are your problem and seems to me the cost of replacing them after the fact is yours also.   

http://www.delawareonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080131/NEWS/801310382/1006/News

Some seventeen years ago my then husband suffered a ruptured aneurysm in the brain, was operated upon and I was warned his chance of surviving the surgery was very poor and not enhanced by the fact that he had two other aneurysms present which they would try to repair.  Following a twelve hour surgery which he survived by a thread, I was then told we could only wait until he regained consciousness…”probably within 24hrs.” before any residual injury could be assessed.  Forty-eight hours after his surgery I was trying to ponder if there was a difference between his not yet gaining consciousness or the possibility that he was comatose.  Asking one of his doctors, I was brusquely informed that “that is between him and his God”.  By the end of the week he remained on a ventilator, the naso-gastric tube, and connected to more monitors and machinery than I had ever seen.    The next week I was told he was PVS…persistent vegetative state.  Coma it was.  They didn’t know why, nothing they or we could do but wait and it was in God’s hands.  And quiet panic ensued within me.  Here was a man looking totally unfamiliar to however he had looked in the twenty-six years we had been married…shaven head now the size of small watermelon, tubes going in and out of everywhere, eyes never open, and despite the ventilator, certainly appearing death had overtaken him already.  Then, on top of everything else, he suffered a stroke.  There was…and would be…no way of knowing how it affected him until and unless he emerged from the coma which, the believed, was highly unlikely. 

For the most part, hope offered to me was 0-0%.  He was in NICU for several weeks due to spiking fevers, surgeries for both tracheostomy and to have a PEG put in place…the latter a feeding tube into the stomach as opposed to the naso-gastric tube.  He had foot/lower leg splints placed most hours of the day, along with hand/arm splints to prevent his limbs from curling into his body and which would help toward self-movement ’should he recover’.  Eventually, when most crises were history, he was transferred into a two-bed room on the neuro floor and the talk began of placing him in a skilled nursing home OR ‘how long are you prepared to see him go on like this?”   Two things vying with each other in my mind and my heart….we had long ago discussed this such possibility and neither of us had any desire to be ‘kept alive’ under those conditions, either for ourselves or for each other so we each knew to ‘pull the plug’.  That was what I knew.  The other was what I didn’t know…was he there, a voiceless prisoner of his body, seeing and hearing all around him with no ability to respond or acknowledge?  I had no way of knowing nor did the medical staff.  Now, the problem with that was all they could continue to offer was ‘wait and see’.  I’d read everything they had given me on PVS, found materials by myself and could only wonder why they were not continually working with stimuli rather than just wait and see.  I worked with him, myself…sometimes getting a physical reaction, sometimes not.  Excited when I did, I’d run to report it to the nursing staff who would tell me it was simply reflex.  At one point I was even questioning the basic knowledge of our senses…primarily touch.  Little tests I’d devised on my own…times I would get a response, times I wouldn’t and they had already told me that patients in coma actually do have sleep/wake patterns.  They also cough, and they yawn, and they sneeze.  They open their eyes, they close them.  And all of this is basically said to mean nothing.  The one ?positive?…and very thought provoking…is that each said hearing was the “last to go”.  What followed were weeks of being harangued into agreeing to his transfer to a nursing home.  From day one I had promised him, myself and the hospital that he would never go into a nursing home…a rehabilitation centre, yes.  But the only other place he would be transferred to was his own home and I would care for him myself.  So, for a time a struggle ensued, being denied a rehab centre and being told I could not take him home.  I didn’t give up on either and, eventually, he was moved over 350 miles away to a coma-stim centre near Pittsburgh.  No promises were made, no real hope offered but within a year (and a very long story, later)  I did bring him home, still at a level of coma but a degree of cognisance, a quadraplegic requiring 24hr. care for all of his needs and the prognosis of perhaps survival of one year.  Further therapies were denied him so undertook them myself.

Instead of one year, my husband lived four more.  Seven months after I got him home I had him eating real food (which they said he never would) and the PEG removed, the trache was gone (though it had been removed in the rehab centre), I had his meds reduced from thirteen a day to three…which, I believe, is when the better part of his recovery began.

The point is…we just DON’T know enough to make a judgement on life or death at will.  How valuable were those last four years of my husband’s life to him?  We can never know…I don’t even know if he knew.  He couldn’t talk…he could mouth responses to very specific questions.  There came a point when he could actually raise a fork to his mouth and eat for a few minutes.  But all of that aside…and for myself…it seemed obscene, immoral and unconscienable that they spent twelve hours on a surgical procedure only to bring him back to a bed and prolong his dying by doing nothing further  than to suggest warehousing him in an institution, cared for by people who didn’t even know him, who he had been, what he had been capabable of and unwilling to see what he yet may accomplish.  It’s nothing against such people…it’s just the nature of nursing homes, the workloads, the rules and insurance company dictates.

But for sure it’s not for courts or government bodies to make decisions such as those.  Families need to decide these things for themselves.  As individuals, if we have adamant wishes to be adhered to with regards to disposition of our bodies and minds then we have a responsibility to take charge and make them known by our own hand rather than leave it to Mom, Dad, spouse, child to wrestle with.  Reading and listening to Lauren’s situation I fully understand her mother’s heart…my only surviving daughter died at 21yrs. of age and I have no doubt whatsoever this is a very tough decision for Lauren’s mother.  No Mom wants to see her child suffer in any way…be it excruciating pain or a silent, immobile prison of his/her body yet, at the same time, the very thought of losing even that is unbearable.  I can relate to her father and fully understand his feelings, his hopes and what he wants to do to help his daughter perhaps return to something resembling life.  Neither is wrong, in my humble opinion but whom is more right? 

Personally, while I’m probably among the first to deride our erosions of freedom in recent years, this is one instance I have to say “Good for that law!”  I believe cell phones have their place but do they have to be ‘every place’ we are or go?  Sure, it’s getting to be an old argument but the senseless use of cell phones continues to increase and no matter where one goes there are those who seem to have one attached to their ear or, worse, find people wandering around streets, stores, on the beach talking to themselves…or so it appears until you spot a bluetooth in their ear.  What drives people to be that much in need of…I would say verbal contact but text-messaging is just as bad.?

Due to a relatively recent law in the UK a professional footballer was fined £60 for using his cell phone whilst driving.  It didn’t help that he ignored his court dates and had to delivered a warrant.  Ultimately, besides the fine he was given three points against his licence.  And I say “Hooray” to that.  Several cities around the US have also decided cell phone use while driving to be an offence but I wonder how often drivers are cited?  Emergency use, of course, is still permissable and I have no problem with that…for me, that’s the best possible reason for even having a cell phone but I just don’t get the argument that it is no more hazardous to one’s driving attention than a car stereo playing or even drinking a cup of coffee (which, I might add, I willingly confess my guilt).  I think we all have found we can multi-task while listening to music, a conversation…it’s background only (even if singing along or arguing with a talk show host).  Cell phones are something else, particularly with the predominance of flip phones.  Yes, I have used mine a few times while driving and hate it.  Attention from the road is minimal while dialing a number or even using speed dialling; control also when trying to keep a small phone between ear and shoulder but worse when that becomes bothersome so one hand has to hold the phone with only one hand left to steer.  Making a turn under those circumstances is iffy, at best.  And for some reason, most people tend to pay more attention to, become immersed, in a phone conversation even over that of an accompanying passenger.

And there are those…impossible for me to believe, even…who drive and text message at the same time.  Why?  As strongly as I personally feel about cell phones and driving, I can allow some justification for a phone call but certainly none for a text message.  We recently took an acquaintance up to Wilmington…about a two hour drive, give or take…and in those two hours he was either answering his cell or texting approximately every four minutes.  Yes…I actually did end up timing.  A passenger, yes…but he had asked if he could ride with us and to me, this behaviour is just rude.  We’ve also been to dinner with this same person the duration of which his cell constantly rang, he was texting or reading a text message, making calls.  And this really is a pet peeve of mine at best.  Going for lunch or dinner and being privy to several unwanted conversations around us as people eat and phone or accept calls.  And they YELL!  I don’t want to know their business and, at the same time, would much prefer to enjoy a relaxed, quiet repast.  Aside from that, countless occasions my dining companion and I couldn’t even continue our quiet conversation because of this impropiety.  One of those days we are going to invest in an interrupter…one click and it breaks their connection.  That, too, is rude I feel but warranted.  Somehow, someday, they just have to get this message…there are places where cell phones are unwelcome.

I was very pleased to see one of our local stores post a sign on their counter…”While you are being attended to please do NOT use a cell phone!”  Other establishments ask that cell phones be turned off.  I’ve worked retail the last few years and here’s a tip to customers who insist upon carrying on their conversations while paying for their items.  Good service encompasses a friendly, polite greeting from the sales person…most of the time those on their phones just ignore it.  Sure, they may later apologise that they “didn’t hear you” but if they had been courteous enough to take the phone from their ear they would have.  Many stand there digging in pockets or purses for change, wallet, you name it…and continue their conversation…mostly along the lines of “Yeah! We’re here now…weather is great/horrible!  Where are you?  What are you doing?  I’ll be home in a couple of days (or tonight!) so see you then…you have my number, right?”  Yeah…we have your number for sure.

Get a life, people!  The generation NOT “X” (although many of them are as guilty) not only survived without a cell phone but so did others in their lives.  When you go off on a vacation or a break…guess what?  It’s to get away.  And you can’t even blame others for calling you because you have a choice…turn the phone off, leave it in the car, answer if you must but then excuse yourself by saying you can’t talk now and will call back.  It’s not that hard a choice.

The other evening we decided to dine out at the end of our errand shopping.  Shown to a booth, directly behind was a man, alone, holding forth in a very loud voice on his cell phone.  Fortunately, he left the restaurant within a couple of minutes.  I had to wonder two things…had he been on the phone all the way through his meal was foremost.  The other, if not and he was ready to leave anyway, why not wait until he had?  Then, when we were ready to head for home and pulling out of our parking space, we waited for an SUV also pulling out of theirs.  Be polite, don’t make them feel rushed, give them time…we were not in that much of a hurry, obviously.  Then, as she managed to get her vehicle three quarters of the way out of her parking space, fury…she was having problems because her left hand was on her cell phone cupped between that hand and left ear.  Had we known I doubt we would have been as polite as we were in waiting.  And I don’t doubt for a second that there have been many more accidents/fender benders caused by people who just can’t bear silence or seperation from another.  You don’t need a car or a phone…you need a rope.      

At any rate, I had no choice but to get over it and study the manual.  Then I had my first interview.  That wasn’t so bad;  a nice gentleman conducted it, with my husband and daughter present and he and I had only one difference of opinion.  He suggested that my daughter be sworn in with me to prevent any possible difficulties when she was old enough for college or such.  I declined.  She had been born in Scotland to a Scottish mother, American father…she had dual nationality and, until she was old enough to make a choice (she would never need to but if she wanted to) she would remain a dual national.  The choice was hers, not ours, to make.  As we were moving right along, I felt a tug at my sleeve.  My daughter.  I tried to make her wait but she persisted.  Her question was, “When you become a citizen, Mama…will you talk differently?  I don’t want you to!”  To date, my burr still gives me away even if not as strong is used to be…and for that I am grateful.

Sometime later came the day of the test and I was a wreck, as I usually was before any test I take (or took).  But off we went to San Francisco, witnesses in tow.  I was called in while everyone in our group remained seated in the hallway.  Questions were asked and answered and then, close to the end, my examiner asked me if I “could speak, read and write English…”  Excuse me???  Having noted my birthplace what did she think?  Swahili?  Urdu?  And then her piece-de-resistance…”Now, prove to me you CAN write in English…write on this line…”I want to be a good American”…”  Not meaning to be offensive to a reader, I was offended.  If I was going to make my home in this country…as I had, in fact, done for ten years at that point…no jail time, not so much as a traffic ticket, an American military wife for already twelve years by then (which is why I was having to become a citizen in the first place)…would I be a “bad” American?  And if I wanted to be a “bad” American would I admit it?  Finally, it was over and it only remained to wait until my swearing in.  That came a few months later.  There were over 50 of us aliens being sworn in that day and I have to confess that I was probably the saddest present in the court.  Nothing against becoming American so much as feeling I was giving up, turning my back on a large part of my identity, my family, my heritage and my loyalties.  The biggest stumbling block for me was the Oath of Allegiance.  Nothing so simple as the Pledge…part of it required we had to swear we would, if called upon to do so, take up arms against all others.  And that would include our country of birth, our kinfolk.  No…it is not laid out as such