It's time for the lists...

Okay, everyone seems to be doing end of decade lists or New Year resolutions. Here's mine:

My top ten favorite things or events of the last decade:


1. Met and dated a funny, intelligent, gorgeous redhead.
2. That same Gorgeous redhead moved in.
3. Married the redhead, my soul mate and love of my life.
4. Married and honeymooned on the beaches at Cannel Bay in the U.S. Vrigin Islands. (Picture Provided)
5. Accumulated three dachshunds that play the role of children.
6. Accumulated eight grand children and a great stepson.
7. Retired from working life.
8. Moved to the mountains.
9. The view outside my back door.
10. Cruising or fishing on Dale Hollow Lake with family and friends.

2010 New Year Resolutions:

1. Take better care of my body.
2. To show my love and appreciation to my wife and family more often.
3. Improve family relationships.
4. Reduce the insignificant material things in my life.

That's it, my last post until after the surgery.

Be Well!

Home for Christmas...

Santa, a role played by my cardiologist this year, certified my belonging to the "Good Boys Club," when he gave me the opportunity to go home for Christmas. I have not been accused of being a good boy in years, but a heart attack will set you to thinking about your evil ways. He even mentioned something about being stable enough at this point. Evidently I really did make a good impression on him. My wife said he was actually talking about her at this point in the conversation. That would make better sense.

Teri and I spent a quiet Christmas, just the two of us, and our three dogs. We had a chance to talk about the fears, hopes, and support we needed to get through this thing. It's not easy living up on the side of a mountain away from family, but we do have good neighbors; although distant, they have called to offer whatever help we need. One of the very best things about people up here on the plateau, is that you don't have to look far to find help when you're in need.

One of the heart surgeons used the phrase "insult to your heart," when describing a heart attack episode. I would say that's a pretty accurate description of a heart attack; and more importantly I don't believe my heart has gotten over it yet. At home the last two days, I have felt some tightness or unfamiliar pains from my old friends hurt feelings. No amount of "I'm sorry," is going to fix these bruised and insulted feelings I'm afraid.

On the emotional level, you cannot get away from the risk involved in by-pass surgery. I look around and think of all the things I need to do or get in order before this surgery in two days. The important things are done, I have my will, health care wishes, durable power of attorney, military DD Form 214 available, banking and bills paid or scheduled. I wonder if I am too paranoid about the possibility of a bad outcome here. They say I will be a new man after this surgery. Personally I didn't mind the old man it took me 60 years to become.

Today Teri drove me in to town to see if we could find a barbershop open. We did, and I had all of my hair cut off; what I like to call my prison cut. The barber trimmed my beard, mustache, and everything else you can think of. Teri said I already look like a new man.

We spent the evening with the three dogs snuggled between us; Teri rubbing the silver bristles of my newly cropped head.

Life is good!

As funny as a heart attack...

The intent of my web blog is to provide a little observational humor about life in general. On Monday of this week however, I received a less than humorous message about life from my heart. It wasn't funny at all; in fact, it gave me new meaning to the phrase, "as funny as a heart attack." That's right, I had a heart attack. It's Christmas Eve day now, and I am sitting here taking stock of what just happened, and what's about to happen. I am stable now, but the party's not over yet. After several different types of stress, blood, and other heart related tests, I find I have to have some pretty serious heart surgery a head of me.

Next week Tuesday they are going to saw open my chest, take what they say is a strong undamaged heart, and give it the blood and oxygen it deserves by undergoing coronary bypass graft surgery. They discovered the need for this surgery by performing an angiogram or cardiac catheterization procedure. They tell me I need at least six of these bypass grafts. Since, I am not, and never have been a smoker; I would think a lifetime of cheeseburgers and french fries would have something to do with the junk blocking my arteries. Too late to say, I'll change now, it's time to face the consequences. That post I made last week about how funny the You Tube "Breakfast Song" video was, is coming back to haunt me. It does have more meaning now than ever! Now that's funny.

Having touched on the seriousness of my current situation, I have to say there are some circumstances and observations made during these last few days, that I have found pretty damn funny. I will try and share a few of these as I can. Yesterday, for instance, the cardiologist turned my case over to the cardiovascular surgical team. A stream of doctors came in to examine and discuss my specific heart issues, the procedures they would take, expected risks, and recovery issues. The reputation of this group of surgeons is second to none, and the hospital here has one of the very best heart centers anywhere. The assistant surgeon gave what I and my wife thought was an extraordinary presentation about the procedures. The information was extremely detailed, professional, and contained enough medical language and facts, that I would need a new computer with twice the memory just to write about it. When finished with the presentation, the doctor said he would like to listen to my heart now. He pulled down the top of my hospital gown as I lay in bed, and placing his stethoscope to his ears, and then the tip to the right hand side of my chest. (The opposite side of your heart) I looked down and couldn't help myself... "Hey doc, my hearts on the other side." He started laughing, I was laughing, my wife said I was the most evil person on earth. The doctor assured me, he had slept in a Holiday Inn Express the night before and knew exactly what he was doing, displaying his own sense of humor. Through the laughter, the doctor finished his exam, and I felt comfortable with this team of individuals who will endeavor to save a heart early next week.

I guess it's good to have a sense of humor at a time like this. I am going to continue to try and look for the humor and bright spots through all this, as the seriousness of the situation is somewhat overwhelming to think about. The surgeon said it's a 75/25 risk factor. Not bad odds, but still something that gives me pause. I worry for my wife more than anything at this point, she is about to have a very full plate of trouble.

I will close with the sentiment I use at the bottom of my blog page. Wish me luck!

Live simply. Love generously.
Care deeply. Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

Are you ready...

For health reasons, I left my mountain sanctuary, and traveled to town several days this week. It is probably a good thing that my health issues are physical and not mental, as these trips have pushed me to the edge on a couple of occasions. One thing in particular was on everyone's mind no matter where I went; and always the same question asked of everyone.

Are you ready?

It started on Tuesday morning when I arrived at the health clinic. After exchanging initial pleasantries, the nurse asked me if I was ready?

Yes I said, I have my food chart, my readings, and I think my week actually went pretty well.

No, no, I mean are you ready for Christmas?

I didn't know how to answer. I mean, what did she want to know?

I don't know, I replied.

She said, oh well, you must be one of those that let your wife do all the Christmas shopping.

Now I felt guilty, there was something I had missed. I knew if I went home and asked my wife Teri, if I had missed something I was supposed to do, the list would be much too long to narrow it down to a specific time period or season. That just wasn't going to work. It was then that I determined more research would be needed to find out for sure, if I was ready; or more importantly, if I had missed an opportunity to be a better husband.

On Thursday, I had another appointment with a doctor. As I sat in the reception area, I listened to the same question repeated over and over as patients arrived. Are you ready? It was even worse when I was stranded at the drug store waiting for the approval scan from my insurance provider for three new prescriptions needed so I might become less grumpy. (It is said that one of the side effects of being a diabetic, is that you are irritable. Who knew?) There had to be no less than thirty people who approached the counter while I sat waiting. Each and everyone was asked if they were ready, and every single person had a response that generated a cheerful conversation about their state of readiness.

I also discovered that not all questions about readiness are the same. When I asked drug store employees if my prescription was ready several times over the next hour, I noticed it wasn't received with the same enthusiasm or discussions their question about readiness had led to.

Yesterday, my wife spent most of the day finishing up Christmas goody baskets all filled with home made fudge, truffles, and cookies for people in our small community that I can actually tolerate. I went to the movie, Avatar, great flick.

On my way home, she called and asked if I would pick up some small paper cups for her truffles and candy. When I arrived the kitchen was a mess with candy, cookies, and all kinds of goodies that I can't eat anymore. I gave her the little paper cups, and looked anxiously to see if my dinner was ready. It was!

I ate dinner, and thought about asking her if I could help with getting anything ready. However, as I sat eating and watching the delicate process unfold, I realized there wasn't anything I could contribute to her current task. My keen observation of this situation did tell me however, that she wasn't ready, and me asking her about it would surely not lead to a conversation I wanted to have that evening.

I watched TV.

This morning we had a phone call shortly after we emerged from under the covers. Teri answered the phone; the conversation seemed a bit awkward. She said it was a wrong number call; someone said they were leaving the house, and were on their way.

Great, I said, finally somebody that's ready and on their way.

She looked at me, as if I had horns.

Well, it's Saturday night, we delivered the Christmas goody bags today. I watched my favorite team, Duke play basketball all afternoon. I still don't know if I am ready.

Teri should give me a checklist.

It's her fault if I'm not ready.

The Breakfast Song

Outside my back door...

Outside my back door,
Old man winter fast approaches.

Unleashed by feral winds,
The mournful wail of what has been,
Winter's just outside my back door.

Trees long past weeping,
Find no easy task of sleeping,
Winter's just outside my back door.

Bemoan the dark gray sky,
Torrents of leaves imply,
Winter's just outside my back door.

I see all is revealed,
Nothing left concealed,
As winter approaches my back door.
~ Ron Goode

Be merry and of good cheer....

I find nothing "Merry" about a string of Christmas lights. How can one be merry about anything that brings a man so much misery?

This year I bought two strings of the new LED lights to outline a full size antique one horse sleigh, used as part of our outside Christmas decorations. I didn't buy the bargain priced sets. I paid for the better ones, because we all know you get what you pay for. After testing both strands to make sure they worked, I carefully placed and fastened each bulb and strand to the sleigh using plastic tie straps making them a permanent part of the sleigh. Two hours later, its 34 degrees, and I am cold, from sitting, standing kneeling on the cold concrete. But I have finished, and plug them in for the grand show. AHHHHH, they're not working! I start fumbling around and find the first bulb socket is actually split and the guts are exposed to the wires and bulb. WTF? Okay, so I squeeze the socket together and find that they light up. Off to the garage and find some electrical tape, and wrap the socket back together. Now I look around and find groups of lights not working. How the hell does that happen? They all worked before I started. This sucks, and I'm cold. I read the box; "check each bulb starting at the first one and working your way through the string to make sure they are seated into the light socket fully." There are two strings of 150 mini lights. I begin, and about three quarters of the way through the first string, I find a dislodged bulb and secured it. More lights come on, but not all. I continue this process finding more loose bulbs, and repeat the process. I complete all 300 bulbs only to find I still have about a third of a string not working in the middle of the second string of lights. I read the box again; "remove each bulb from the socket and make sure the wire probes are aligned properly and making contact." I'm numb, my fingers are too big to grasp the socket and bulb in order to separate the two. It's the string at the back of the sleigh along the bottom, and I have to sit back down on the cold concrete for this surgical procedure with a cold wind blowing down my plumbers crack. I HATE these frig-gin lights. Using a screw driver, I pry each and everyone apart to check the connection. Nothing wrong, and they're still not working. I look to see if I have an opportunity to rearrange the lights along the back in order to cover this blacked out area. I do, and so I shift the burning lights to the area. No one will see this strange stringy mess in the dark anyway. Four hours later, and there's not a merry bone in my body. I hate this sleigh, I don't know why we bought it.

When my wife comes home later in the evening, I ask her what she thinks now that the sleigh is all lit up?

She says, I can't tell what it is at night. It just looks like a bunch of lights on something.

We don't talk for the rest of the evening.

Feeling down - Saddle up

Bumped into a new friend on 'Facebook' a few weeks back. Although not a proficient user of the networking site, I count my friends list using ten fingers and toes. I have found one kindred spirit in this new friend, however. Today, I was looking through his photo albums on Facebook, and found a very special photo. Special, because I have one very much like it, and I believe I am as proud of mine, as he is of his. After all, it is said you can judge a man by the hoss he rides.

'Urban Cowboy' - Photo of me taken about 1953 in Chicago, IL.

These photos were quite common in the 1940's and 50's, when itinerant photographers roamed through neighborhoods in cities and towns, with an offer to make instant cowboys and cowgirls of any who dared to climb into the saddle. Not just any saddle pardner, but the fanciest saddle, bridle and tack any respectable cowboy would know make people on horses look better than they are.

Equipped with the old large format or box film cameras mounted on a tripod to steady the shot, the photographer would adorn the eager cowpokes with chaps, coats, vests, bandannas, and hats.

'The Young Buckaroo' Photo taken 1951

The Pony's were the stars. Well behaved, and gentle enough you could put a toddler in the saddle. One look by a neighborhood child would alert all the rest that something special was going on today; and the pleading would begin, me next, mom mom, dad dad, can I? The pony man is here, can I have my picture taken?

These photographers could be found all across the country, selling pony pictures for a few dollars each. Children became their heroes, Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Hopalong Cassidy, Gene Autry, and the Cisco Kid for just a few minutes.



You wish you could ride like a girl!





No ride is ever the last one!



Picture on a pony = $ A few bucks
Smiles & Memories = $ Priceless

America wasn't the only country to experience this assembly of young cowboys & cowgirls. The United Kingdom were also avid followers of American western culture, and photographers were actively making memories for them as well.



Speak your mind, but ride a fast horse!!

Beginning is easy - continuing hard

I enjoy a good expression of thought when found. You may just stumble across many such expressions scattered among my rants, ramblings, or amusements as we travel forward in time.

The actor Jeremy Irons said, "We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams."

My time machine gets stuck or lost now and then. I know this has happened when I begin to tell a story about my best friend, but can't remember his name. Worse yet I have found, is snapping out of a daydream during a drive into a sudden moment of dire panic by not recognizing where the hell you are. I once had an elderly business acquaintance give me specific directions to a location, using a downtown movie theater and hotel as landmarks placing me in the right spot. After driving around the area for an hour, a gentleman I stopped for help, was kind enough to let me know that my friend's time machine had stopped more than twenty years prior, when both landmark buildings had been torn down.

I begin this blog in the hope my time machine can touch a few memories, or expose a dream or two. Beginning, is said to be easy, continuing the journey is sometimes hard...