Blood, music, SCOTUS

I got a big chuckle out of my daughter vigorously singing the chorus to a Phil Ochs song.

I’ve now donated blood 149 times. The only two times I’ve ever had difficulty were time #59, obviously several years ago, and time #148, in April 2012. The commonality was that I was sitting in a chair each time, rather than lying down. The April visit was brutal, with three different attendants manipulating my arm, the needle…it took well over 20 minutes when it generally takes me 6 or 7; I’m talking about the actual blood flow time, not the preliminary exam, et al. I was so exhausted and bruised afterward, that I went home and went to bed, instead of going to choir, which had been my intent.

So when I went again last week – getting “back on the horse,” as it were – I made sure I went to a place (Empire State Plaza, for you locals) that had cots.

Sure enough, 7 minutes and 6 seconds, and I’m done. The medical person helping me this time insisted that lying down is better for the blood flow, and easier for recovery, but that people prefer the chairs because they are more comfortable. She also noted that 5 to 8 minutes is optimal; some guy who bragged about being able to donate in 4 minutes would be in serious trouble if HE were ever in a serious accident.
***
For Father’s Day, my wife gave me a ticket to the Old Songs Festival at the Altamont Fairgrounds, about a half-hour from here. When I was younger, I went all the time, but I think the last time I attended was in 2002, the year my wife went to Ukraine. She did not go with me this time either because of church obligations; she is on the Administration Committee and is helping sort through over 100 resumes for a part-time church secretary.

But the Daughter went with me on Saturday, June 23. We spent the first hour trying to wash sunscreen out of her eye, but eventually, we could enjoy the program. Went to see a couple called Magpie, and another couple, Kim and Reggie Harris perform songs of Phil Ochs, the noted folk singer who died over 35 years ago. Sunny Ochs, Phil’s sister, was there, too, and she has long encouraged singers of Phil’s songs to change the lyrics to more contemporary references when necessary. I knew LOTS of the songs, but I got a big chuckle out of my daughter vigorously singing the chorus to Love Me, I’m a Liberal, one of those songs with changed verses. (No one knows who the late talk show host Les Crane was anymore.)

Then we went to the Songs of the African diaspora with Peace Train, a black woman and a white woman from South Africa, assisted by Kim and Reggie Harris, who had come from about as far on the fairgrounds as one can. Kim noted that the girl who was sitting in front at this show (yes, the Daughter) was dancing at the Ochs show (true) and that Kim wishes she had that kind of energy.

The last Sunday in June, the whole family attended a high school graduation party. Ever have a really good friend you lose touch with, even though they aren’t that far away? That was the case with my friend Debbie, the mother of the graduate, who was one of my very best friends in the 1980s, but who I’ve talked with only intermittently since. It was good to see her again, though she was so busy playing hostess that we didn’t talk much. Maybe next time…

So what did you think of that Supreme Court ruling last Thursday? Oh, not that health care thing, the decision that the Stolen Valor Act is unconstitutional. “The Stolen Valor Act…makes it a federal crime to lie about having received a military decoration or medal, punishable by up to a year in prison if the offense involved the military’s highest honors.” I support the ruling that the law was unconstitutional on First Amendment/freedom of speech grounds with the same biting-of-the-lip sensation that had when I agreed with the Court allowing Nazis to demonstrate in Skokie, IL. I support the principle more than I hate the action.

As for that OTHER case, I had taken a “Well, it’s better than the status quo” take on that 2010 health care bill, the Affordable Care Act. But with the meltdown by its opponents, I am enjoying its affirmation by the Supreme Court far more than I expected. Meanwhile, CNN should slink off in shame for reporting, for seven minutes, the absolute wrong outcome. (FOX News also muffed it for two minutes, but it HAS no shame.) The term “Obamacare” had been designed as a dis, but that putdown may now work in the President’s favor.

A Real Red-Letter, Pink Ribbon Day

If you want to learn more about cancer and the history of cancer treatments, I strongly recommend the book, The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer. It reads like a mystery novel and is written by an oncologist.

When I got to church this past Sunday, someone from the choir hit me up to contribute to a breast cancer walk. She is a breast cancer survivor; I always comply.

That afternoon, the Wife and I go to a potluck party celebrating the end of the medical treatment of a friend of mine of 30 years and her “return to the world”. I had found out about her diagnosis of breast cancer on February 1, right after my mother had had a stroke. The lump in her breast was discovered during a routine mammogram, something she had not had in several years. She had surgery “on the coldest day of the year,” she wrote in the invitation, followed by the “part-time job” of chemo, then radiation.

At the party, she did the big reveal, as she took off her hat to reveal her hair of “about 1/2 an inch long which is about three feet shorter than it used to be!” She practically insisted that everyone touch her hair, which was like a baby’s hair, or maybe a kitten’s fur. But it was nice. She and I talked a bit, mostly about how poisonous the post-surgical treatment was, but of course, everyone wanted a chance to visit with her.

An interesting paragraph from the invitation:
If you want to learn more about cancer and the history of cancer treatments, I strongly recommend the book, The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer. It reads like a mystery novel and is written by an oncologist [Siddhartha Mukherjee]. Reading this book made me appreciate the incredible, amazing amount of work that has gone into researching cures for cancer. Such as – did you know radiation was used for the first time in 1896 (that is not a typo!)? Or that mustard gas leads to chemotherapy?

The Wife and I had to return home to care for the Daughter after a couple of hours, but we both had a splendid time.

A lllooonnnggg quiz from Sunday Stealing

My best friends I met the first day of kindergarten and the first day of college.

Which Jaquandor did a lllooonnnggg time ago.

1. Tell us who the last person that you took a shower with.

The Wife.

2. Tell us about your favorite tee shirt. Extra points if you show a pic. (We know. What can you do with freakin’ extra points?)

This is one of the T-shirts I got for becoming a Coverville citizen. The model, BTW, is Coverville host Brian Ibbott’s wife Tina. I also like the red one with white text that says, “Not the real thing,” a parody of the Coca-cola message.

3. Has anyone ever hit on you even though they knew you were taken?

Actually, yes, though not in years, thank goodness.

4. Do you plan what to wear the next day?

Generally not. I’m pretty decisive, though, in the morning.

5. How are you feeling RIGHT now? Why?

Hot. The spring went from too cool to too hot in about three weeks.

6. What’s the closest thing to you that’s black?

The computer mouse.

7. Tell me about an interesting dream you remember having.
Continue reading “A lllooonnnggg quiz from Sunday Stealing”

N is for Nostalgia

Strange, but I found even then that people have a greater recollection of things that I allegedly said and did than I do.

At some level, I’m not a very nostalgic guy. As Billy Joel put it in Keeping the Faith, and I quote, The good old days weren’t always good. It seems as though, in the US, there are dreams of the 1950s being the “good old days”, represented by TV shows such as Ozzie and Harriet or Father Knows Best, with dad out working all day, with mom home raising the kids and wearing pearls when her husband came home for dinner. It was never MY experience.

The 1950s were a period of the cold war paranoia of “duck and cover”, and an unsettling racial climate; I’ve written before how the death of Emmett Till affected me deeply.

And it’s not just the 1950s. I went to my 10th high school reunion back in 1981 and I found it quite disturbing, so annoying, still fighting the same fights that should have been over a decade before. Or lots of conversations about “remember when so-and-so did such-and-such”; well, either the answer is yes, and so what, or no, and so what. It’s like the Springsteen song from Born in the USA, Glory Days:
Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture
a little of the glory of, well time slips away
and leaves you with nothing mister but
boring stories of glory days.

Strange, but I found even then that people have a greater recollection of things that I allegedly said and did than I do.

Therefore I was quite interested in this story I saw on CBS Sunday Morning last year, Nostalgia: Power of the “Good Old Days”

But you might be surprised to learn that nostalgia – which is all about the past – has a notorious past of its own. For centuries it was considered a disease and a form of depression. Soldiers even feared it as homesickness and thought it could kill them.
I could almost believe that.

But it is not so, apparently. In fact:
Reliving good times can be a critical tool for surviving these bad times.

“If right now everything is terrible and bleak if you’re out of work and you can’t pay your mortgage and you’ve been evicted and you think, ‘there’s nowhere for me to turn,’ it is actually healthy to look to the past and to say, ‘What else have I survived before?'”
(l-r, Carol, Lois, Karen, Roger, Bill)

Now I DID agree to go to my 35th high school reunion a few years ago, but there was only one reason. There were a group of my oldest friends that were going to be there. When I say “oldest”, I mean that we all went to kindergarten together at Daniel Dickinson school in Binghamton, NY, and all graduated together from 12th grade at Binghamton Central High School. The thing about THESE friends is that we had known each other for SO long that we didn’t NEED to rehash old stuff, just needed to catch up on things.

We didn’t say, “Oh remember in second grade when we danced to the Minuet in G?” (I danced with Carol, Bill with Karen, Bernie with Lois.) Well, they do or they don’t and it doesn’t matter. “Do you remember going to Carol’s parents’ summer place in northern Pennsylvania?” Of course they do; no need to ask. There’s a certain shorthand you develop when you’ve known people a long time, even when you haven’t seen them in many years.

Still, I try to be a proponent of Carly Simon’s Anticipation, specifically the last line: “THESE are the good old days.”


ABC Wednesday – Round 7

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