Fashion Statements

Oh, the split-gown! This year has been my year for donning a split, hospital gown. Each time has had moments to remember or not, because general anesthesia does funny things to me; sometimes I forget stuff; other times I just get the giggles and repeat questions, ad nauseam.

First there was the 10-year colonoscopy. I asked the staff whether they wanted the split in the back or in the front. Of course, they needed it in the back, but I had to ask, even if I already knew the answer – anything to make the situation lighter. I remember being whisked down a long, cold hallway on a gurney. I remember the gurney’s high velocity being notable, as was the chilly room temperature. I remember bursting through the batwing doors of the OR, but I do not remember the doors closing behind me. Later the same morning, I was enjoying breakfast in a favorite restaurant, but I could not remember getting dressed. So I asked. It seems I asked that question, repeatedly.

Next, was my annual physical. The nurse’s instructions were get into the gown and wait for the doctor. Front or back? This time the answer was, “makes no difference!” So, I took the front option and tied bows at the collar and at the waist and waited, legs swinging over the edge of the exam table. When the time came to cough for the doctor, the doctor praised my decision for the front split and claimed it would become his new standard. Wow, now I have become a trend setter.

During that physical a suspected torn rotator cuff was discussed. The full diagnosis would require an MRI. I reported to the imaging facility and removed all clothing, rings, watches, and any other metal objects. Once again, I was offered a split gown – front tie was OK, because the MRI machine did not care. For about 30 minutes, I laid on my back in the MRI chamber, listening to the pops, clicks, and humming of the scanner. At the end of the procedure, I hopped off the scanner table with gown bunched up to my waist. No problem, the MRI operator had already seen everything, anyway.

Sure enough, the rotator cuff was torn. On the scheduled surgery day, I reported to the hospital. Another gown was fashion-de-rigueur. Instead of asking front or back, I said, “if you want it tied in the back, I will need your help, because the shoulder will not bend to do the tying.” The nurse obliged and loosely tied the collar and waist in the back of the gown. I then padded down the hall to my waiting gurney. The back draft was a clear indication that I had left all modesty behind.

Just this weekend, a freak injury landed me in the ER. Something popped in my leg. My calf muscle was swelling and was getting as tight as a drum. The ER staff put me in a gown, split in the back. I was poked prodded and tested. At one point I was asked to roll on onto my stomach for more prodding and poking. A familiar breeze caressed by back. After much inspection by the doctors, my dear wife asked if she could cover me up. Oh sure, we are done now. To make a long story short, I spent a night in a split gown in a hospital room for observation. I have a torn muscle in my calf, an injury usually reserved for thirty-year old athletes that push their basketball game to the limits.

Through these experiences, I have learned a couple of lessons this year: 1) Growing old is better than the alternative, and 2) modesty is not all that it is cracked up to be.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the OR

Everywhere I go, I see amusing incidents, even while being prepped for surgery. There I was in an open-backed hospital gown. My IV had just been started, and I was trying to relax, before being wheeled into the operating room -- it happened. A fellow patient was also being prepped; but instead of relaxing, he was busy with his iPhone, trying to get just one more web search done, before his phone was taken away.

The prep nurse asked for the phone to be shut off – no response from the patient, just more thumb typing. The nurse shrugged and continued the preparation of “joy juice”, a strong Valium cocktail to mark the beginning of the surgical stupor. The somewhat large syringe frightened Mr. One-More-Search. He almost begged that he not be given a shot and was relieved to find out that the joy juice would be administered via the already in-place IV. I watched the nurse squeeze the contents of the syringe into my neighbor’s bloodstream.

The nurse left the room, and I began counting. At about 5 seconds, I suggested that my neighbor shut down his phone, so that he would not lose any data. At about 7 seconds, the other patient looked my way, tried to frown, then just went to sleep. The phone remained upright in the patient’s extended hand for a few more seconds, and then it slowly oozed between his fingers, falling to the mattress of the gurney. I would have laughed out loud, but my own joy juice cocktail had taken effect.

Joy juice or comedy, the OR medical staff must have been surprised by the silly grin on my face.

To Russia with Love

Peggy and I just completed a trip to Scandinavia and Russia. We had a wonderful time. We joined a cruise ship in Copen-hagen, sailed to Stockholm, Helsinki, St. Petersburg, Tallinn, Gdynia, Oslo, and back to Copenhagen. Passengers and crew aboard the Star Princess represented 60 countries. We met many wonderful people and saw the sites in each of the ports of call. From a mini-van to jet planes to cruise-ship to motor coaches to canal boat to taxis, all told we traveled 10,000 miles, spanning 10 different time zones, eight countries, and we listened to at least nine different languages -- not that we understood all that we heard. At one point Peggy broke into a rousing dialect of German, while conversing with a couple of Estonian men, who spoke perfectly good English.

In each port of call, local tour guides explained their cultures and took us on various museum visits and city attractions. Just remembering the names of the guides has been a head-scratching process: Josephine in Sweden, Erno in Finland, Anna in Russia, Assa in Estonia, Ewa in Poland, Kari in Norway, Selfa in Denmark, Wesa in New Jersey, and Cabba back in Texas. In Sweden the joke was on me, as I asked Josephine, who was originally from China, what brought her to Sweden. Her succinct answer, “Immigration,” stopped me cold. The rest of the tour group just laughed at Josephine’s innocently sharp response.

With jet-lag almost behind me, I can finally think clearly enough to get this posted. Our vacation was a trip of a lifetime, and I can highly recommend a Baltic cruise to anyone, especially to those that can survive a 26-hour day for the return trip.

Dasvidania, Auf Wiedersehen, Hej hej, Ciao-baby!


P.S. Watch for photo highlights on Awestruck.

Six Degrees of Reflection

Today, I turned fifty-five, and I paused to reflect on the lives that I may have touched. It is no wonder that the theory states that we are separated by six or fewer degrees. I am jotting down, not the lives, but the way in which I may have been or am part of your life – son, grandson, brother, cousin, student, teacher, employee, husband, lover, father, dad, nephew, uncle, soldier, sailor, leader, engineer, manager, board member, president, elder, actor, author, poet, father-in-law, confidant, antagonist, protagonist, counselor, grandfather, and friend.

Thank you, all, for being part of my life. I look forward to our future connections.

Chicago History Museum -- Update

This morning, I received confirmation that the exhibition is up and running:


The director of the production company that built the exhibit said, "It [your movie] was used -- thank you so much for your donation! The museum was thrilled by the addition, and we hope that you and your family get a chance to see it, while the exhibit is running (until January 2011). Thank you, again!"

BTW, the original blog on this topic is here.

Infestation

Earlier today, I was checking houseplants to see, if they needed watering. As I was reaching for the dirt in the pot that holds our Norfolk Pine, the lush greenery in the pot stopped me still. There, at the base of the pine, standing about 12-inches high with four-inch leaves, was the healthiest poison oak that I have ever seen. How it got there I have no clue.


See how pretty and green the thing is. I am itching already, thinking about how I will dispose of the poison bush without getting a real case of the itch.

Yikes!

Statutes of Limitation

Surely the folks that were present have retired, have new secret identities, or will just shout huzzah, when they read this account. It is an account of a lesson that, back in the day, might have been considered a court martialable offence. In hindsight, no animals were injured, no real property was destroyed, no lives were lost, but a good deal was learned. Besides, lieutenants will be lieutenants. Since there may or may not be statutes of limitation in effect, I will not set the actual date, and any names that I use may or may not be factual – you know who you are!So, there I was, a brand new 2d Lieutenant -- a butter-bar -- assigned to a Field Artillery battalion in central Germany. One of my first assignments was that of target acquisition platoon leader. I was a survey officer, looking to prove my mettle, so I could eventually become an executive officer in a firing battery – the pinnacle job for an artillery lieutenant.

In the role of battalion survey officer, I was responsible for making sure that the firing batteries had good known locations, so that their fire on targets could be as accurate as possible. The state of the art at that time included various mapping techniques, known points on the ground, and the 30-meter steel tape. Imagine, if you will, two survey parties inch-worming a 30-meter steel tape from position to position, trying to keep up with three self-propelled weapons batteries. If we were lucky, we might get in a position or two, before the tasks became overwhelming. In the end the senior lieutenants and their wise battery commanders really just wanted confirmation that their own map reading skills were adequate. With that as criteria for success, my platoon did a fair job of keeping firing batteries pointed in the right directions.

One of those senior lieutenants was 1LT Big Ken. Big Ken was well respected. He had graduated from West Point, was the executive officer of a firing battery, and was wise beyond his years. All the 2LT’s wanted to be mentored by Big Ken. I was no exception. I made every effort to get Big Ken his unit’s location on the ground, as soon as possible. I went out of my way to do so, sometimes at the expense of the other units – they could just wait. This was my chance at learning from the master.

On one of those rare occasions during a live firing exercise, my team had caught up, and I farmed them out to be extra forward observers for the battalion. My driver and I headed to Big Ken’s unit, whose position we had surveyed-in earlier during the day. We pulled into the firing battery area and parked out of the way in a nearby tree line. My driver went on radio watch and probably went to sleep, as soon as I walked away. I went in search of Big Ken. It didn’t take me long to find him. There he was, standing in battery center, barking instructions and dressing down some of the gun crews that were not firing in unison. Between appropriate, constructive criticism and a few, choice, swear words, Big Ken was getting his unit to behave as he wanted. I was in awe.

Big Ken greeted me with a bone jarring slap on the shoulder and wide toothy grin. Sundown was approaching and Ken had something special planned. He instructed the fire direction center to direct all adjustment missions to one of the crews that needed a little remedial training. As a fire mission was coming down the wire, Big Ken invited me to join him at base piece, one of his top-notch gun crews. Base piece was going to perform the “something special” exercise. During fire missions, all the guns tracked the adjusting piece, so that each of the guns could fire en masse during the fire-for-effect phase of the mission. As the mission continued, Big Ken and I took a standing position near the side of the base piece and waited for fire-for-effect. It wasn’t long, FIRE-FOR-EFFECT crackled down the telephones to the guns. Five of the six guns fired the requested projectile-type, base piece fired a NO-JO. A ball of fire shot from the muzzle of base piece and flames pierced the evening sky for at least 200 feet beyond the howitzer. I saw the startling image from the prone position on the ground, where I had ducked for cover. Big Ken reached down and lifted me back to my feet, laughing like the mad-man he was. I had just been schooled in the art of firing powder without a projectile in the cannon barrel.

While prankish, it was a fine lesson to be learned – a lesson to expect the unexpected during the sometimes frantic pace of a live fire exercise. I was in awe.

Note: some 18 months later, I proudly became the executive officer of Big Ken's firing battery. I knew I had big boots to fill, and I am proud to say that I was well trained by 1LT Big Ken.

Rest in Peace, dear friend.

Kudos to Chris at KXAN

I am an early morning news listener and watcher. As I get ready for work, I crank up the TV and listen for the local weather, traffic analysis, and the accompanying news stories. This morning I learned of a fire near my neighborhood, that traffic was still smooth in the area – no one injured and no delay in getting to work – and the predicted afternoon temperatures. I also heard a story that caught my attention. The story was about Delta Airlines, an airline I recently used for a business trip. I listened to the 15 second article, and for some reason it touched a chord. I grabbed my phone and sent off a quick email to the KXAN news desk.

In a few minutes, and much to my surprise, I received a thoughtful response from Chris Willis, one of the early morning anchors. The email conversation follows:

I wrote:

The story on airline revenues seemed somewhat misleading. You stated that Delta had high revenues, implying high profits. You did not mention Delta's cost of doing that business, so I have no idea whether high revenues compensated for high costs.

As it stands, the story seems one-sided and incomplete.

Mr. Willis responded:

I am sorry the story seemed incomplete to you. I re-read it and see your point.

The story is focused on "increased revenue" from the checked bag fees. That "revenue" is up 40-percent to almost eight billion dollars (all airlines). Never in the story is the word "profit" uttered.

It is a 15 second story about revenues from baggage-fees. If we included details about the cost of doing business for each individual airline and whether high revenues compensated for high costs of doing business, it would take several minutes. I believe your implication is correct though, higher revenues off-set the higher costs, i.e. more money collected offsets more money in expenses.

The story though, is simply revenue from fees. Not profits, not expenses, not inflation or the rising cost of doing business.

Thanks for the feedback, I hope this helps.

I responded:

I appreciate your quick response. My concern is that viewers with less understanding of the business will jump to false conclusions. On the other hand, it gripes me to no end to have to pay for a checked bag.

Thanks for writing back.

Here’s the clincher. Mr. Willis responded, again:

I took my wife and two little boys, 4 and 2, to Seattle to see family. I paid nearly $340 in baggage fees. Man, I feel your pain! I'm going to re-write the script in case we use it at Noon.

Happy travels. Have a good day!

So, here are kudos to Chris. He took the time to respond, acknowledged my concern, and made the entire conversation very personable. These are some of the reasons that I watch KXAN, Austin, Texas.

Downtown Atlanta

The view from my hotel room:

Chicago History Museum

It started a week ago, when an email from an address unknown to me appeared in my inbox. I alluded to this in the Road Apples section of the blog. Curiosity got the best of me, so I opened the email. Inside was a request to contact Plum, a production company that is working on an upcoming exhibit for the Chicago History Museum. After reading the email a couple of times, I picked up the phone and called the listed contact. I had a nice conversation with Diana, who explained that she had discovered a movie that I had posted on YouTube. She wanted permission to use the footage in the planned exhibit, if the folks in the movie were Chicagoans. As it turns out the movie in question was, in fact, of Chicagoans – my wife’s family from 1949.

The movie started out as a restoration effort from 8mm film that Peggy’s dad had shot during the wedding shower, wedding, and wedding reception for Peggy’s aunt and uncle. Last year, we had the long neglected, 8mm film digitized, and I edited clips and added a music track and posted the result on YouTube for family viewing. The project turned out being a 60th anniversary gift for Aunt Lou. I think she was pleased.

To complete the transaction, Diana sent me a release form and instructions for delivering the film. In turn, I called family members, told them what was going on, and secured their permission to release the movie. With resounding approvals, I completed and signed the release form and transmitted both the form and the MP4 to the production company.

This morning I checked the Chicago History Museum’s calendar. The headline reads:

Bessie Green-Field Warshawsky Gallery and Mazza Foundation Gallery

I Do! Chicago Ties the Knot

Opens Saturday, May 22

Nearly every part of a wedding celebration is steeped in history and tradition, with religion, culture, family custom, and superstition having shaped the Big Day since the first couple said “I do.” The exhibition explores an array of wedding traditions through costume, and how some of those traditions were standardized by Chicago retailers to create the wedding industry we know today.

If you find yourself in Chicago from late May to early January 2011, stop by the museum and discover how Chicago says, “I Do!”

Here’s a preview, no here’s my contribution to the exhibit:

Big Boys and Their Toys

I caught my first glimpse of an iPad in the wild a few moments ago. I was in line at a local deli, when fanboy#1 reaches the cash register to pay for his meal. Fanboy unfolded his leatherette cover on his iPad to recover his credit card, stored in a little pocket inside the folder.

The store manager says, “Oh, is that an iPad?”

Fanboy replies, “Yes, and if I weren’t a software developer, I’d use it for everything.”

My fellow line-standers all groaned, ‘cause we were hungry and the line had suddenly come to a standstill. Finally, the credit card approval happened, and the rest of us shuffled forward.

I sat down to enjoy my reuben sammie and noticed that fanboy#2 had joined fanboy#1 at a table near me. I overheard their conversation:

Says fanboy#2, “Dude, you got an iPad!”

There was nothing but smiles from fanboy#1, as his toy was being lovingly opened by fanboy#2. As the gentle light of the LCD glowed on the face of fanboy#2, his expression changed to something reminiscent of my first exposure to a centerfold. I nearly laughed out loud.

Fanboy#1 said, “Yeah, I just bought it, but I haven’t told my wife. I don’t think I will.”

Cola spewed out my nose, as I fell to one knee, unable to control my emotions. ROFL, ROFL, ROFL.

Tonight will be fun at his house. I think I will text his ol’ lady.

Wildflower Center

Over the weekend, I visited the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center in Austin, TX. It was early in the season for flowers, but the sculptures and grandsons were interesting. See for yourselves.

In Memoriam – Johnie Junior Rackley, 1933-1992

On this day, eighteen years ago, Dad succumbed to cancer. The memories of his death are still fresh in my mind. I was there at his bedside along with other family members, and we watched him depart for greener pastures. After 10 years of remission, the disease returned with a vengeance, attacking vital organs and rendering his body helpless. It was a sad day. However, the legacy that Dad left is reason to celebrate. For without that legacy, I would not be the person that I am today.


Dad and I were close. He taught me to hunt and fish and to drive. He also taught the more important aspects of life – compassion, generosity, and hospitality, respect of others, love of God and family, duty to country, and a strong work ethic. Dad was all these and more.

His gregarious personality led him into sales for most of his adult life. In the early days he drove a Dr. Pepper route, delivering cases of the bottled drink to little towns all over eastern Oklahoma. The work was hard, the hours were long, and the KC Love Bottling Company appreciated his efforts. His talent in sales was recognized, and Dad was hired by the National Life and Accident Insurance Company. As an agent, he was responsible for selling new policies and for collecting the weekly and monthly premiums from the existing accounts. The hours were still long, but Dad persevered and was rewarded. He was promoted to staff manager. With the promotion came a new territory, and on my last day of class in the first grade, Dad moved us from Oklahoma to a little town in central Arkansas. Success brought more responsibility, and eventually, another move to a little larger, small town, Fort Smith, Arkansas.

For whatever reasons, economic, political, or changes in big business, the insurance business dried-up, and Dad sought employment elsewhere. There were some lean financial years. I remember teary-eyed discussions between Mom and Dad, but cannot recall any lack of love. Dad remained strong throughout those years and became a successful job placement advisor for what would become a large professional services firm. However, Dad was not destined to stay behind a desk for long. Being in the job search business, Dad found the perfect job for himself. Soon, he was back on the road as a manufacturing liaison, selling wholesale farm implements to tractor dealers. For Dad, it was interesting work. He would travel from dealer to dealer, attend farm shows, and perform demonstrations at state fairs. During summer breaks from school, my brother and I would travel with Dad. That practice continued until my own son was able to travel with his grandfather. I don’t think I will ever forget the small-town diners that served cheeseburgers, either greasy or extra greasy.

Besides sales, Dad was a storyteller. There were many times, when family and friends would gather at Mom and Dad’s house for a meal and an evening of entertainment. Dad was usually the center of attention, spinning a yarn about a recent event, telling a joke, or just making up stuff. If you have seen the movie, Big Fish, you get the picture. Now that I think back on those days, I realize that in addition to the humor, there was a wealth of wisdom, philosophy of life, and some real character building being taught in those wonderful tales. And, just like in Big Fish, there was much truth interwoven into that nonsense. I am glad I was a witness to those events.

With grandsons of my own, I am proud to be following a path established by a wonderful mentor. Thanks, Dad, for showing me the way.

To close and to celebrate today’s holiday, I offer this gentle yet powerful Irish blessing:

“May your troubles be less. May your blessings be more, and
may nothing but happiness pass through your door."

Amen.

Around the Next Corner

You just never know, what might be next!

In Full-Hiss Mode

Another walk to the park brought me upon a gaggle of geese. I knelt down on one knee to get eye level with them, brought my camera up, and when I looked into the view-finder, this is what I saw.It's a good thing I didn't fall down backwards. I would have been goosed for sure.

Snowing in Austin

In over 20 years living in Austin, I have not seen snowflakes as large as these:

 

Wells Branch Homestead

An old barn photo inspired me to post this shot of the old homestead in Wells Branch on Klattenhoff Drive. I thought the old wood deserved the drama of black-and-white.



Thanks for the inspiration, Mike.

Aidan Strikes, Again

A Walk in the Park

Distraction

Cold. Lifeless. Dead.

Disbelief shivered down my spine. The remains of a guardian lay at my feet. The once stalwart signal now lay across the path it once so closely guarded. Again, I shivered, knowing that on any given day I might have been standing next to the sign that was ripped from its base. Its spinal cord, life-line severed and frayed beyond use. The car bumper caved-in, the hood accordion-folded, and the radiator was kissing the engine block. Debris from sign and automobile was scattered across multiple lanes of roadway.

While unhurt but shaken, the careless driver thought out loud, “I need to hang up. A pedestrian crosswalk sign just hit my car.”

My simple and angry response was, “Hang-Up and Drive!"

The Innkeepers Have It

Many years ago my wife and I discovered the enjoyment of staying at beds and breakfast. East coast, west coast, and points in between have all shared wonderful locations, where the proprietors have shared their establishments, their hospitality, and some wonderful recipes. On recent travels in the mid-section of the United States, we found ourselves covering over 3000 miles by car during the 2009 holiday season. By design we stayed in some of our favorite places along the way.

Our first stop was in northern Arkansas. We found a lovely establishment, called the House of Jackson. The courteous staff made us feel right at home. The meals were just like Mom used to make. The four or five other guests were friendly and frequently engaged us in interesting conversation, ranging from family issues to politics. Even with opposing views of the national scene, we managed to get along during the short stay. The cozy surroundings certainly made the visit seem like family.

After two short nights, we said our goodbyes and headed northeast. An intermediate destination took us to the outskirts of St. Louis, where we landed at Gasthaus Draffenberg. The hosts of this establishment are dear friends from our military days in Europe. Our long term relationship blossomed over fine meals and good conversation. We were given the run of the place for two days and nights and were treated to some fine weins and brews from the owner’s private reserve, including a tasty number direct from the freezer behind the bar. Alas, the stay was too short, but we did manage to secure a recipe for a wonderful Gulaschsuppe.
Heading east, we journeyed for several hours, and then turned due north toward our destination near Chicago. We took a lunch break in an Amish community and completed our trip just a couple of miles south of Lake Michigan. Our lodging accommodations were at The Vickery. This quaint cottage style home has been run by Auntie “E” for over 50 years.
The welcome at sign-in included hugs for all. The innkeeper simply considered us family, as she has done for all her guests over the many years. We were shown our rooms and invited back to the kitchen, where everyone was assigned a task for the preparation of the evening meal. Under the watchful eye of our host, our dinner came together with the charm that only a family home can bring. Additional family members gathered for the next day’s holiday celebration. Eleanor welcomed everyone to her table – a son-in-law brought turkey and trimmings, while the rest of us prepared side dishes for the meal. The feast and fellowship were filling.

On departure day, we headed south. After a long, 12-hour run down an interstate highway, we stopped for a short overnight in Arkadelphia. Although the establishment was not a bread and breakfast inn, we did enjoy the homemade waffles during our pre-dawn breakfast. On the second day of our southbound trip, we made it to one of our favorite stops, Meinplatz.

Later in the holiday season and thanks to a pilot friend, our parents were able to fly to us. Our son and his family joined us, as well. We all gathered at Meinplatz for Christmas. With four generations under one roof, we had much to do. We talked, we played, we dined, we felt like family, and Meinplatz felt like home. The owners seemed a lot like family, too.
This past holiday season was special. I hope yours was filled with joy. Mine certainly was.