Some details are finalized. We have an apartment in Avignon from July 10 to July 17. We’ll spend Bastille Day on the edge of Provence and Languedoc.
We have found an IcelandAir flight from Portland to Paris that meets our needs, as cheaply as can be expected. We will spend two days and one night in Iceland. Then fly to Paris and spend a week there and then to Avignon for a week. After that a couple of night in Carcassonne and Lourdes, and then, sadly, return home.
I offered to make the flight reservations tonight, but Richard asked that I hold off until he was available. And I quote, “Shannon won’t be in Reykjavik or Paris to pick us up at 3AM. Let me be there when you make the reservations, OK?”
So tomorrow we will finalize the flight plans.
I’m going to Iceland! WOO!!!!!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Médecins Sans Frontière
Click on the little picture above, and you will miraculously be swept away to the MSF donation page.
(Yes, I am very proud of myself. The link actually works!)
Monday, January 11, 2010
With Honor for Miep Gies
Miep, you have always been a hero of mine. You will always be a hero of mine.Farewell, great woman. The world is made lesser by your passing.
(I stole the picture from some news website somewhere. I'm sure they will be suing me for copyright infringement soon. But, damn it folks, it's Miep!)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Random Notes for the Betterment of Physical Therapy.
I have been in Physical Therapy for four long, horrific days, and as such feel that I am uniquely and abundantly qualified to critique the entire industry and in particular some of the outdated business principles that seem to be rampant in the Physical Therapy community. The gloves are coming off.
Let’s start with the title, “Physical Therapy”. Don’t you think that it is just a tad wordy and difficult to spell; a bit over the top for the hoi polloi? Add to that, the obvious confusion between Physical Therapy and Psychotherapy and the average Joe is utterly confused. (The confusion has nothing to do with his six-pack.) He can’t spell it, he can’t pronounce it and he has no idea if Physical Therapy is actually going to relieve the pain or merely assign blame for the hurt. There is a lot of energy wasted because of the obfuscate terminology used, and we all know that wasted energy is bad for the environment. So, Physical Therapy is bad for the planet. It’s time to come up with a shortened and more broadly understood term to represent and define the industry. Do it for the Polar Bears, please.
And while I’m on a roll, has anyone in the Physical Therapy industrial machine ever heard of ‘instant gratification’. I hate to sound bitter and vindictive, but I drag my sorry old ass into your office, plop down a wad of cash (or proof of insurance, as the case may be) and you hand me a list of exercises to do, tell me to come back in a week to “see if I’m any better” and send me on my way. Excuse me, but I just gave you a cash infusion. Why am I the one who has work to do? Shouldn’t you have some machine that does the exercises for me and gives me the pain-free benefits immediately? If Physical Therapy is so all-fired beneficial, why did I leave your office in as much pain as I entered 45 minutes earlier? Have you ever heard of drugs? Drugs can be used to alleviate pain, by either numbing every body part below the neck, or every body part above the neck. The choice would have been yours, but the relief would have been mine.
Oh, and while we’re at it, a touch of realism wouldn’t hurt Physical Therapy one bit. I was given a list of 60 different moves to make twice a day and was told it would take 10 minutes each day. Getting down on the ground and back up (which is required for all of these sweet exercises), requires fourteen minutes of my time, and most of my energy. And you want me to do it twice a day. Do the math, folks. I’m nearing a half hour and haven’t done even one of the moves yet. And that cute-silver-ball-that-is-just-slightly-larger-than-the-cab-of-my-pick-up that you sent home with me? “Great Saint toy”, that’s all I can say.
I do hate to admit it, but when all is said and done, Physical Therapy actually seems to be working. There are just a couple of rough edges that need to be honed, and it could be a respectable industry.
Let’s start with the title, “Physical Therapy”. Don’t you think that it is just a tad wordy and difficult to spell; a bit over the top for the hoi polloi? Add to that, the obvious confusion between Physical Therapy and Psychotherapy and the average Joe is utterly confused. (The confusion has nothing to do with his six-pack.) He can’t spell it, he can’t pronounce it and he has no idea if Physical Therapy is actually going to relieve the pain or merely assign blame for the hurt. There is a lot of energy wasted because of the obfuscate terminology used, and we all know that wasted energy is bad for the environment. So, Physical Therapy is bad for the planet. It’s time to come up with a shortened and more broadly understood term to represent and define the industry. Do it for the Polar Bears, please.
And while I’m on a roll, has anyone in the Physical Therapy industrial machine ever heard of ‘instant gratification’. I hate to sound bitter and vindictive, but I drag my sorry old ass into your office, plop down a wad of cash (or proof of insurance, as the case may be) and you hand me a list of exercises to do, tell me to come back in a week to “see if I’m any better” and send me on my way. Excuse me, but I just gave you a cash infusion. Why am I the one who has work to do? Shouldn’t you have some machine that does the exercises for me and gives me the pain-free benefits immediately? If Physical Therapy is so all-fired beneficial, why did I leave your office in as much pain as I entered 45 minutes earlier? Have you ever heard of drugs? Drugs can be used to alleviate pain, by either numbing every body part below the neck, or every body part above the neck. The choice would have been yours, but the relief would have been mine.
Oh, and while we’re at it, a touch of realism wouldn’t hurt Physical Therapy one bit. I was given a list of 60 different moves to make twice a day and was told it would take 10 minutes each day. Getting down on the ground and back up (which is required for all of these sweet exercises), requires fourteen minutes of my time, and most of my energy. And you want me to do it twice a day. Do the math, folks. I’m nearing a half hour and haven’t done even one of the moves yet. And that cute-silver-ball-that-is-just-slightly-larger-than-the-cab-of-my-pick-up that you sent home with me? “Great Saint toy”, that’s all I can say.
I do hate to admit it, but when all is said and done, Physical Therapy actually seems to be working. There are just a couple of rough edges that need to be honed, and it could be a respectable industry.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
My first visit to the Physical Therapist.
I expected a quick cure; half hour appointment, and violà, pain free.
He seemed like an affable chap. He chatted with me for a short time to try and make me feel comfortable, asking about work, family and the holidays. Then he slowly crept into what I now call ‘physical therapy chatter’.
“So, Mac, how long has your back been giving you problems?”
“It’s been since summer. Started off gradually, but it has slowly gotten worse and worse, so here I am.”
“Was there a tragic automobile accident, with death and dismemberment involved, that started your problems?”
“No, um… no accident. No death. No dismemberment. Just for some reason it started to hurt.”
“Old age,” he muttered as he wrote some notes in his folder.
“Now, Mac, this is extremely important, so pay attention. Do you have any continence issues?”
I must have turned ashen. My mouth dropped open.
“Come on, old man. Control issues of the bladder or bowel? Don’t lie to me. I will find out the truth.”
“Umm… huh?”
“Do you wet or soil yourself? It isn’t that tough of a question.”
“Well, sometimes if I’ve had Mexican or Thai food I have to run to the bathroom… but, what the hell does this have to do with my back?”
“If you knew that, you wouldn’t be here,” he said with an evil grin. “Tell you what, do me a favor and try to touch your toes.”
I was so proud of myself. I bent over and touched my toes like I was a teenager again. Twelve minutes later, when I approached a position that could be vaguely classified as upright, the physical therapist finally stopped laughing.
“Mac, would you mind doing that again after I get the video camera out? That could have made us a bundle on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos’”.
I did my best stern look. I wanted to shout out, “No way!”, but I knew if I opened my mouth I would let out a blood curdling scream. So, I just looked stern. Very stern.
Apparently he got the message. The physical therapist (who I’m sure has a name, but I have blocked that out of my memory) just shook his head. “Could have made some bucks, old man. But if you’re retirement is secure, then no problem. Don’t worry about me.”
He sulked around the room for a few minutes, looking hurt and defeated. Then I saw a sick smile cross his face. “Now Mac, I am going to put you in some positions that may be uncomfortable, but it is important to thoroughly diagnose your problem. I promise that I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
I should have known by the gleam in his eyes. I should have run as fast as my stubby little legs would have carried me. Seven minutes later, as the heel of my left foot was imbedded in my mouth, effectively muffling my screams, and the ball of my right foot was rubbing my left shoulder, the physical therapist asked, “Does that hurt?”
My mind raced. “Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Is the Pope Catholic? Is it cold in Antarctica in July? Does NCAA football need a playoff system?” But all that came out was “MMMPPPHHH!!!”
“I’ll take that as ‘a little’”.
So it went. I left with humiliating exercises to do, like the “Scared Cat/Fat Cow”, the “Ball Butt Lift” and my personal favorite, the “Hunting Dog Pointing at Pheasant”.
Quick cure my ass. Give me drugs!
He seemed like an affable chap. He chatted with me for a short time to try and make me feel comfortable, asking about work, family and the holidays. Then he slowly crept into what I now call ‘physical therapy chatter’.
“So, Mac, how long has your back been giving you problems?”
“It’s been since summer. Started off gradually, but it has slowly gotten worse and worse, so here I am.”
“Was there a tragic automobile accident, with death and dismemberment involved, that started your problems?”
“No, um… no accident. No death. No dismemberment. Just for some reason it started to hurt.”
“Old age,” he muttered as he wrote some notes in his folder.
“Now, Mac, this is extremely important, so pay attention. Do you have any continence issues?”
I must have turned ashen. My mouth dropped open.
“Come on, old man. Control issues of the bladder or bowel? Don’t lie to me. I will find out the truth.”
“Umm… huh?”
“Do you wet or soil yourself? It isn’t that tough of a question.”
“Well, sometimes if I’ve had Mexican or Thai food I have to run to the bathroom… but, what the hell does this have to do with my back?”
“If you knew that, you wouldn’t be here,” he said with an evil grin. “Tell you what, do me a favor and try to touch your toes.”
I was so proud of myself. I bent over and touched my toes like I was a teenager again. Twelve minutes later, when I approached a position that could be vaguely classified as upright, the physical therapist finally stopped laughing.
“Mac, would you mind doing that again after I get the video camera out? That could have made us a bundle on ‘America’s Funniest Home Videos’”.
I did my best stern look. I wanted to shout out, “No way!”, but I knew if I opened my mouth I would let out a blood curdling scream. So, I just looked stern. Very stern.
Apparently he got the message. The physical therapist (who I’m sure has a name, but I have blocked that out of my memory) just shook his head. “Could have made some bucks, old man. But if you’re retirement is secure, then no problem. Don’t worry about me.”
He sulked around the room for a few minutes, looking hurt and defeated. Then I saw a sick smile cross his face. “Now Mac, I am going to put you in some positions that may be uncomfortable, but it is important to thoroughly diagnose your problem. I promise that I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
I should have known by the gleam in his eyes. I should have run as fast as my stubby little legs would have carried me. Seven minutes later, as the heel of my left foot was imbedded in my mouth, effectively muffling my screams, and the ball of my right foot was rubbing my left shoulder, the physical therapist asked, “Does that hurt?”
My mind raced. “Does that hurt? Does that hurt? Is the Pope Catholic? Is it cold in Antarctica in July? Does NCAA football need a playoff system?” But all that came out was “MMMPPPHHH!!!”
“I’ll take that as ‘a little’”.
So it went. I left with humiliating exercises to do, like the “Scared Cat/Fat Cow”, the “Ball Butt Lift” and my personal favorite, the “Hunting Dog Pointing at Pheasant”.
Quick cure my ass. Give me drugs!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
If the early indicators are accurate…
…2010 is going to suck the big one!
Let’s start the decade with freezing rain: not region wide freezing rain, but locality specific freezing rain. Or, as the weatherperson on some Portland channel said, “It’s going to be a pretty good day out there across the entire broadcast area, except for the Upper Hood River Valley, where they are will continue to get freezing rain, apparently until hell freezes over. Face it, if you live in Odell or Parkdale, you’re going to have one absolutely miserable day!”
The camera panned to the incredibly pert and not unattractive anchor. “Those stupid bastards, you’d think they’d learn. Why in hell don’t they move to someplace less hostile?” she said with a plastic grin.
Oh, in case any of you are unaware, freezing rain is slick. Butts of a certain age don’t bounce when they hit the asphalt. They splat.
Okay, so 1/1/10 is going to be one of those inside days. Richard and I bought ourselves a brand-spanking new VCR/DVD player for Christmas. It was time for me to hook it up. Piece of cake, as they say.
Forty-five minutes later, Richard comes into the living room to find me sitting on the floor with seven remotes strewn in front of me. There are enough cables connecting the VCR/DVD to the TV and the satellite box to satisfy even the most hardcore bondage disciple’s fetish. Sadly we no longer had TV reception. There were tears streaming down my cheeks.
Fortunately, Richard was able to re-establish a connection with the XPSISMTARDS satellite system and saved the day. Just in time for…
… me to go blank. The next five hours of the day are blocked from my memory. I can’t explain it. I just know that by evening I had a bitter taste in my mouth and an intense dislike for anything to do with the state of Ohio.
Umm… QUACK, QUACK
Let’s start the decade with freezing rain: not region wide freezing rain, but locality specific freezing rain. Or, as the weatherperson on some Portland channel said, “It’s going to be a pretty good day out there across the entire broadcast area, except for the Upper Hood River Valley, where they are will continue to get freezing rain, apparently until hell freezes over. Face it, if you live in Odell or Parkdale, you’re going to have one absolutely miserable day!”
The camera panned to the incredibly pert and not unattractive anchor. “Those stupid bastards, you’d think they’d learn. Why in hell don’t they move to someplace less hostile?” she said with a plastic grin.
Oh, in case any of you are unaware, freezing rain is slick. Butts of a certain age don’t bounce when they hit the asphalt. They splat.
Okay, so 1/1/10 is going to be one of those inside days. Richard and I bought ourselves a brand-spanking new VCR/DVD player for Christmas. It was time for me to hook it up. Piece of cake, as they say.
Forty-five minutes later, Richard comes into the living room to find me sitting on the floor with seven remotes strewn in front of me. There are enough cables connecting the VCR/DVD to the TV and the satellite box to satisfy even the most hardcore bondage disciple’s fetish. Sadly we no longer had TV reception. There were tears streaming down my cheeks.
Fortunately, Richard was able to re-establish a connection with the XPSISMTARDS satellite system and saved the day. Just in time for…
… me to go blank. The next five hours of the day are blocked from my memory. I can’t explain it. I just know that by evening I had a bitter taste in my mouth and an intense dislike for anything to do with the state of Ohio.
Umm… QUACK, QUACK
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