September 11th was the 15th anniversary of 9/11.
September 11th was also the 23rd anniversary of my father's death.
September 11th was the day I lost my mother.
My mother has been in assisted living since July a year ago. She developed a blood clot in her leg, resulting in three surgeries and rehab. But as a result, she couldn't go back home because she wasn't able to live on her own. So she went to assisted living. My sister had to make that decision, and while I'm sure it was not easy for her, she did the right thing. She found a comfortable place for my mother to live. I've visited there, and it's very nice. My sister checks on my mother regularly, takes her to doctor's appointments, does her laundry, and takes her shopping and out to eat. The personnel also check on her regularly.
Last Labor Day, I went to visit her and noticed her memory starting to slip a bit. I chalked it up partially to age (she's now 78) but also wondered if there was something else going on.
When her Christmas card came that year, she signed it with her first name, not, "Mom."
I saw her again this past July, and it was difficult for her to hold a conversation. She resorted to the phrase, "That one," when she couldn't think of what to say. About ten minutes after I got there, she said, are we going? It wasn't until we'd gone out to the car and driven a few minutes that I realized that she wanted to go to Walmart. I went along.
She, my sister, her husband, and my family went out to dinner on the Sunday that I was there. My mother had a hard time explaining what she wanted to eat and fixated on the amount of water that Matthew was drinking. We kept telling her, it's okay, he can go to the restroom.
This past Sunday--September 11th--I called her. Our conversation lasted about five minutes, and I'm not sure if she realized I was calling because it was the anniversary of Daddy's death.
After I hung up, I realized that I'd lost my mother, and she's not even dead yet.
Tuesday she had a brain scan. I don't know the results of it yet, and also, the doctor will need to see her as well. But I will not be surprised if the doctor's conclusion is that she's dealing with some sort of disorder. My grandmother--her mother--died of dementia as well.
Since telling people about my mother, I've heard so many say, this has happened to my parent as well. There are too many people who have lost loved ones to brain disorders.
T.S. Eliot was wrong.
April is not the cruelest month.
September is the cruelest month.
Especially September 11th.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Statcounter
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Thursday, August 11, 2016
Leave the girls alone!
The beginning of the end . . .
This week marked the beginning of the end.
Matthew got on a bus for his senior year in high school.
Next year at this time, he'll be getting on a bus to go to a different program, for life skills and job skills, run by the Gwinnett County Public Schools, called STRIVE.
So on Monday, when he got on that bus, it was the last "first day of school" for him.
In just a few weeks, it'll be the last open house.
Then it'll be the last Thanksgiving break.
Then the last Christmas break.
The last Special Olympics stuff he'll do this year.
In May, he'll be one of the ones honored at our church's Senior Honors Night. And on May 24, 2017, it will be his last day of school.
Sometime during the first few months of 2017, I will do my last IEP meeting before he graduates. (I will probably be doing IEPs for his time in STRIVE.)
The song "Sunrise, Sunset" has suddenly become more poignant for me this year.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Matthew got on a bus for his senior year in high school.
Next year at this time, he'll be getting on a bus to go to a different program, for life skills and job skills, run by the Gwinnett County Public Schools, called STRIVE.
So on Monday, when he got on that bus, it was the last "first day of school" for him.
In just a few weeks, it'll be the last open house.
Then it'll be the last Thanksgiving break.
Then the last Christmas break.
The last Special Olympics stuff he'll do this year.
In May, he'll be one of the ones honored at our church's Senior Honors Night. And on May 24, 2017, it will be his last day of school.
Sometime during the first few months of 2017, I will do my last IEP meeting before he graduates. (I will probably be doing IEPs for his time in STRIVE.)
The song "Sunrise, Sunset" has suddenly become more poignant for me this year.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
Underdog Olympics
One thing that Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, knows how to do is throw a party.
So when the loudspeakers blared the opening notes of the appropriately selected song "Brazil" and the audience roared its welcome, it should have come as no surprise that the flagbearer of the Brazilian Olympic team danced into Maracana Stadium.
I didn't stay up to see the entire Opening Ceremonies. I did watch the Parade of Nations, which to me, is one of the best and most intriguing part of the Olympics. I enjoy seeing the outfits bedecking each nation's team members. (In the case of the flagbearer from Tonga, more people enjoyed the fact that his chest was not bedecked in a national outfit.)
In the days leading up to these Games, I've seen speculation that they might be canceled, that Rio just wasn't ready for the Olympics. I've heard about the raw sewage in the water. I've heard about the poor Australians and their problems in the Olympic Village -- blocked toilets, a fire, and theft. The host of this Olympics is an interim president. The current president of Brazil is being impeached. And the budget of the Opening Ceremonies was cut. Severely.
So, Rio resorted to what it knew how to do best: Music, dancing, and color. They channeled the energy that is Rio into Maracana Stadium.
People love the story of an underdog. With an impeached president, a limited budget, and sanitation problems facing these Olympics, perhaps the city of Rio could be cast in the role of underdog.
I think that's one reason I like the Parade of Nations. When the athletes march in, the commentators will often find a story about one or two of the athletes to humanize the representatives of that particular country. Such as, the fact that Vietnam may have the chance to win its first Olympic gold medal, ever. (They did. Vinh Xuan Hoang won in the 10-meter air pistol event.) Or, the triplets from Estonia -- Leila, Liina, and Lily Luik -- who will all compete in the marathon. Their slogan? "Trio to Rio." We hear about such people, and we may think, "Nice story, but can they win?" Thus, they become an underdog, and most people have a soft spot in their hearts for underdogs.
Before the audience roared their welcome to the Brazilian Olympic team, they paid tribute to who are, perhaps, the ultimate "underdogs" in these games. They are ten athletes, five from South Sudan, two from Syria, and two from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, competing as members of the Refugee Olympic Team. Their handle on social media is #teamrefugee, and they were greeted with a standing ovation.
The underdogs, more than anyone, probably appreciate the Olympic creed: "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the more important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."
Rio, at the moment, is in the "fighting" stage. According to one news commentator, Rio's answer to their critics will be to put on a good show.
So, crank up your bossa nova and brush up on your samba moves. Rio de Janeiro is throwing a party and they have invited the world.
Let the Games begin!
Ole!
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
So when the loudspeakers blared the opening notes of the appropriately selected song "Brazil" and the audience roared its welcome, it should have come as no surprise that the flagbearer of the Brazilian Olympic team danced into Maracana Stadium.
I didn't stay up to see the entire Opening Ceremonies. I did watch the Parade of Nations, which to me, is one of the best and most intriguing part of the Olympics. I enjoy seeing the outfits bedecking each nation's team members. (In the case of the flagbearer from Tonga, more people enjoyed the fact that his chest was not bedecked in a national outfit.)
In the days leading up to these Games, I've seen speculation that they might be canceled, that Rio just wasn't ready for the Olympics. I've heard about the raw sewage in the water. I've heard about the poor Australians and their problems in the Olympic Village -- blocked toilets, a fire, and theft. The host of this Olympics is an interim president. The current president of Brazil is being impeached. And the budget of the Opening Ceremonies was cut. Severely.
So, Rio resorted to what it knew how to do best: Music, dancing, and color. They channeled the energy that is Rio into Maracana Stadium.
People love the story of an underdog. With an impeached president, a limited budget, and sanitation problems facing these Olympics, perhaps the city of Rio could be cast in the role of underdog.
I think that's one reason I like the Parade of Nations. When the athletes march in, the commentators will often find a story about one or two of the athletes to humanize the representatives of that particular country. Such as, the fact that Vietnam may have the chance to win its first Olympic gold medal, ever. (They did. Vinh Xuan Hoang won in the 10-meter air pistol event.) Or, the triplets from Estonia -- Leila, Liina, and Lily Luik -- who will all compete in the marathon. Their slogan? "Trio to Rio." We hear about such people, and we may think, "Nice story, but can they win?" Thus, they become an underdog, and most people have a soft spot in their hearts for underdogs.
Before the audience roared their welcome to the Brazilian Olympic team, they paid tribute to who are, perhaps, the ultimate "underdogs" in these games. They are ten athletes, five from South Sudan, two from Syria, and two from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, competing as members of the Refugee Olympic Team. Their handle on social media is #teamrefugee, and they were greeted with a standing ovation.
The underdogs, more than anyone, probably appreciate the Olympic creed: "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the more important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well."
Rio, at the moment, is in the "fighting" stage. According to one news commentator, Rio's answer to their critics will be to put on a good show.
So, crank up your bossa nova and brush up on your samba moves. Rio de Janeiro is throwing a party and they have invited the world.
Let the Games begin!
Ole!
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Ruby Bridges
Yesterday, I stood between two African-American women, our hands clasped together in prayer. We are all part of our church's praise team, and we'd just finished having a brunch and listening to two people talk. One of the people who spoke was an elder at my church, a very dear African-American man. (I was in a Sunday evening small group he led for a while. The reason he should be an elder is because, anyone who can put up with ME in a small group deserves to be an elder!)
Were it not for the courage of a six-year-old girl in November of 1960, such an occurence may not have been possible.
Today, I got to hear the story of that six-year-old girl.
Ruby Bridges (Hall) was born on September 8, 1954. Less than four months earlier, the U.S. Supreme Court had handed down their decision in Brown v. Board of Education, ordering the desegregation of public schools "with all deliberate speed".
The South responded with deliberation, but not with speed. In fact, in most places in the South, the "deliberation" they responded with was the deliberation to make it as hard as possible for black children to go to school with white children.
In New Orleans, Louisiana, in 1960, the NAACP put out a request: will you volunteer your children to help integrate the New Orleans public school system? Ruby Bridges' family said yes. Mr. Bridges was reluctant, but Mrs. Bridges convinced him to let Ruby attend.
So Ruby took a test--a test that was designed to set up kids to fail--and was one of only six black children, out of 140, who passed. The stage was set. The New Orleans schools would be integrated.
If any of you are familiar with Ruby Bridges' story, you probably have seen Norman Rockwell's painting "The Problem We All Live With":
When Ruby told her story today, she sat on stage with my minister and just spoke, very simply. It was her child's innocence, she said, that protected her. Everyone was excited for her to go to this new school, and people said over and over that she was so smart because she was one of the few kids that had passed the test to get into school.
On November 14, 1960, as Ruby was dressing for school (in a coat that she said she hated!) someone knocked at the door, and when it was opened, a man announced that they were federal marshals and they were there to escort Ruby to school. Ruby thought, "Who are they?" No one had told Ruby about the men, and no one had explained to her that she was going to be integrating the school. This was a time when children--especially in the African-American community, Ruby explained--were "seen and not heard". You didn't ask questions.
So, Ruby and four federal marshals climbed into a car, and they were escorted to William Frantz Elementary School by the members of Ruby's community.
But when Ruby got there, she was taken to the principal's office and stayed there all day. She had noticed the crowds screaming and shouting, and she thought, this is just like a parade! They all came out for me because I'm so smart and I must have gone straight from kindergarten into college!
At the end of the day, when she went home, she thought, college is easy!
She went home, and she jumped rope to the chant she'd heard that day: "Two, four, six, eight, we don't want to integrate!" What she did not know was that 500 kids were taken out of school that day by parents who did not want their children to attend school with a black child.
And then the second day came. And that was the day that Ruby's mother got very nervous. Because now the world knew that the New Orleans schools were being integrated. And the world sent the media to cover it.
The federal marshals came to the door, took Ruby into the car, and when they got to school, they told her, walk straight ahead and don't look at the crowd.
She got to her classroom, and the door opened and a woman named Barbara Henry introduced herself, and said, I'm going to be your teacher. Ruby's reaction: She's white. She's just like all those people out there who were screaming.
Except she wasn't like them. Ruby, while speaking today, described Barbara Henry as "the nicest teacher she had".
For the entire year, it was Ruby Bridges and Barbara Henry, alone, in a classroom.
On that second day, a white girl crossed the picket line. Five or six other families--at personal risk--sent their children to Ruby's school. Ruby could hear the kids, but when she told Mrs. Henry that she heard them, Mrs. Henry wouldn't tell her about them. Because, the principal--who was on the side of the demonstrators--had hidden the kids so that they wouldn't see Ruby.
Finally, Ruby got to meet the kids. Her reaction: "I knew I heard kids!" And like all children, she wanted friends. But one little boy told her: "I can't play with you because you're a nigger." That was when the light dawned. "So this is what this is all about."
She wasn't angry. If, Ruby said, her parents had told her not to play with a white child, she would have done it because her parents told her to. "We pass racism on to our children," she said.
Ruby finished that first grade. She grew up to become a travel agent, and then lost that job. Restless and at a loss, she asked God, "What am I supposed to do?" She heard in response, "You're not doing what I want you to do." Her answer, "Then you need to tell me what I need to do, and if you are who I think you are, I'll do it."
It so happened that, at that time, she was caring for the children of her late brother, and the kids were attending the same school she had integrated. The current principal, after telling her, I know who you are, encouraged her to volunteer. And around the same time, Robert Coles' book, The Story of Ruby Bridges, was published . . . and when the publisher said, we want you to do publicity for it, and we'll pay you $50,000, she said, "I think I can do that."
While her courage as a child moved me, it was the portion of the story she told about her adult life that nearly moved me to tears.
Ruby had four children. Her second son, along with one of her grandsons, was shot in a drive-by shooting. Ruby was just simply grateful that they were alive. Her oldest son, though, was consumed by the shooting. Four months later, Ruby's oldest son was rear-ended, and after her son got out and conversed with the driver, he turned around. The door to the driver's car opened. The person that emerged shot Ruby's son 11 times. He died four hours later at a hospital. The police thought that Ruby's son may have been investigating his brother's shooting on his own, and that the shooters found him first.
And right after that, Katrina hit and destroyed the home she lived in.
Two years after her son's murder, she awoke fearing that she was having a heart attack. At the hospital, she met a nurse and, in the conversation, learned that this nurse was the ER nurse who had cared for her son before he died. She said, I prayed with him the whole time. The reason you're here today isn't because you're having a heart attack (which she was not.) You came here for me. God had sent Ruby there so she could hear about her son's last moments. She said to us, there is a God, he is real, and he hears us.
Ruby was invited to speak on faith and politics at last week's Democratic National Convention. Given her experiences as a child and as a mother who'd lost a child to violence, the inevitable question came: So, how do you feel about Black Lives Matter?
Her answer: Black lives do matter. They mattered to her, her husband, her sons, her grandson, her widowed daughter-in-law, her grandchildren left without a father. Her son's life had been taken by someone who looked like him. And then she said, "Black lives have to matter to us [to other blacks] first."
And then she said, "There is an 'us and them'. It is good and evil. Evil doesn't care what you look like. We're busy talking about color, but there is a bigger force of evil. We are up against evil," she said, "we need to be aware of the real war."
That, she said, was the message she delivered to the Democratic National Convention.
She holds no anger, no bitterness against those who mistreated her as a child. She holds sorrow and grief over the violence that killed her son. But above all, she holds a faith in God that has brought her through; the God that she says is real, and that he hears us.
She was greeted with a standing ovation. She received several ovations during her talk. We thanked her with a standing ovation. All of them were deserved.
I visited the exhibit afterwards which told the story of how Christians had participated in the battle for equality in education. Several of our members acted as guides, telling different parts of the story and asking us to leave comments. At the end, we got a chance to briefly meet Ruby. Several members of our church had their picture taken with her.
In these days of violence, hate, and "us vs. them", Ruby Bridges reminded us today that the war is with evil. And she put a face on those that fought in the war against evil; a woman who sat in an empty classroom and taught her, a nurse who spoke of the last hours of Ruby's son, a publisher that encouraged her to tell her story.
Our theme this year at church is "Fear[less]", i.e. not being totally without fear, but learning to live with less fear. I do not think it is an accident that, in this year of police shootings, terrorist attacks, and a volatile, contentious Presidential campaign, that we are learning about fearing less, and that a woman spoke to us today who pointed the way to living with less fear.
Sunday at 10 a.m. has been called "the most segregated hour in America". My church tries hard to be the exception to that rule. Ruby Bridges, and other heroes of the Civil Rights movement, show that it is possible for love to overcome hate, for blacks and whites to clasp hands around a circle of prayer, for all of us to worship the God that loves us, no matter the color of our skin.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Were it not for the courage of a six-year-old girl in November of 1960, such an occurence may not have been possible.
Today, I got to hear the story of that six-year-old girl.
Ruby Bridges (Hall) was born on September 8, 1954. Less than four months earlier, the U.S. Supreme Court had handed down their decision in Brown v. Board of Education, ordering the desegregation of public schools "with all deliberate speed".
The South responded with deliberation, but not with speed. In fact, in most places in the South, the "deliberation" they responded with was the deliberation to make it as hard as possible for black children to go to school with white children.
In New Orleans, Louisiana, in 1960, the NAACP put out a request: will you volunteer your children to help integrate the New Orleans public school system? Ruby Bridges' family said yes. Mr. Bridges was reluctant, but Mrs. Bridges convinced him to let Ruby attend.
So Ruby took a test--a test that was designed to set up kids to fail--and was one of only six black children, out of 140, who passed. The stage was set. The New Orleans schools would be integrated.
If any of you are familiar with Ruby Bridges' story, you probably have seen Norman Rockwell's painting "The Problem We All Live With":
When Ruby told her story today, she sat on stage with my minister and just spoke, very simply. It was her child's innocence, she said, that protected her. Everyone was excited for her to go to this new school, and people said over and over that she was so smart because she was one of the few kids that had passed the test to get into school.
On November 14, 1960, as Ruby was dressing for school (in a coat that she said she hated!) someone knocked at the door, and when it was opened, a man announced that they were federal marshals and they were there to escort Ruby to school. Ruby thought, "Who are they?" No one had told Ruby about the men, and no one had explained to her that she was going to be integrating the school. This was a time when children--especially in the African-American community, Ruby explained--were "seen and not heard". You didn't ask questions.
So, Ruby and four federal marshals climbed into a car, and they were escorted to William Frantz Elementary School by the members of Ruby's community.
But when Ruby got there, she was taken to the principal's office and stayed there all day. She had noticed the crowds screaming and shouting, and she thought, this is just like a parade! They all came out for me because I'm so smart and I must have gone straight from kindergarten into college!
At the end of the day, when she went home, she thought, college is easy!
She went home, and she jumped rope to the chant she'd heard that day: "Two, four, six, eight, we don't want to integrate!" What she did not know was that 500 kids were taken out of school that day by parents who did not want their children to attend school with a black child.
And then the second day came. And that was the day that Ruby's mother got very nervous. Because now the world knew that the New Orleans schools were being integrated. And the world sent the media to cover it.
The federal marshals came to the door, took Ruby into the car, and when they got to school, they told her, walk straight ahead and don't look at the crowd.
She got to her classroom, and the door opened and a woman named Barbara Henry introduced herself, and said, I'm going to be your teacher. Ruby's reaction: She's white. She's just like all those people out there who were screaming.
Except she wasn't like them. Ruby, while speaking today, described Barbara Henry as "the nicest teacher she had".
For the entire year, it was Ruby Bridges and Barbara Henry, alone, in a classroom.
On that second day, a white girl crossed the picket line. Five or six other families--at personal risk--sent their children to Ruby's school. Ruby could hear the kids, but when she told Mrs. Henry that she heard them, Mrs. Henry wouldn't tell her about them. Because, the principal--who was on the side of the demonstrators--had hidden the kids so that they wouldn't see Ruby.
Finally, Ruby got to meet the kids. Her reaction: "I knew I heard kids!" And like all children, she wanted friends. But one little boy told her: "I can't play with you because you're a nigger." That was when the light dawned. "So this is what this is all about."
She wasn't angry. If, Ruby said, her parents had told her not to play with a white child, she would have done it because her parents told her to. "We pass racism on to our children," she said.
Ruby finished that first grade. She grew up to become a travel agent, and then lost that job. Restless and at a loss, she asked God, "What am I supposed to do?" She heard in response, "You're not doing what I want you to do." Her answer, "Then you need to tell me what I need to do, and if you are who I think you are, I'll do it."
It so happened that, at that time, she was caring for the children of her late brother, and the kids were attending the same school she had integrated. The current principal, after telling her, I know who you are, encouraged her to volunteer. And around the same time, Robert Coles' book, The Story of Ruby Bridges, was published . . . and when the publisher said, we want you to do publicity for it, and we'll pay you $50,000, she said, "I think I can do that."
While her courage as a child moved me, it was the portion of the story she told about her adult life that nearly moved me to tears.
Ruby had four children. Her second son, along with one of her grandsons, was shot in a drive-by shooting. Ruby was just simply grateful that they were alive. Her oldest son, though, was consumed by the shooting. Four months later, Ruby's oldest son was rear-ended, and after her son got out and conversed with the driver, he turned around. The door to the driver's car opened. The person that emerged shot Ruby's son 11 times. He died four hours later at a hospital. The police thought that Ruby's son may have been investigating his brother's shooting on his own, and that the shooters found him first.
And right after that, Katrina hit and destroyed the home she lived in.
Two years after her son's murder, she awoke fearing that she was having a heart attack. At the hospital, she met a nurse and, in the conversation, learned that this nurse was the ER nurse who had cared for her son before he died. She said, I prayed with him the whole time. The reason you're here today isn't because you're having a heart attack (which she was not.) You came here for me. God had sent Ruby there so she could hear about her son's last moments. She said to us, there is a God, he is real, and he hears us.
Ruby was invited to speak on faith and politics at last week's Democratic National Convention. Given her experiences as a child and as a mother who'd lost a child to violence, the inevitable question came: So, how do you feel about Black Lives Matter?
Her answer: Black lives do matter. They mattered to her, her husband, her sons, her grandson, her widowed daughter-in-law, her grandchildren left without a father. Her son's life had been taken by someone who looked like him. And then she said, "Black lives have to matter to us [to other blacks] first."
And then she said, "There is an 'us and them'. It is good and evil. Evil doesn't care what you look like. We're busy talking about color, but there is a bigger force of evil. We are up against evil," she said, "we need to be aware of the real war."
That, she said, was the message she delivered to the Democratic National Convention.
She holds no anger, no bitterness against those who mistreated her as a child. She holds sorrow and grief over the violence that killed her son. But above all, she holds a faith in God that has brought her through; the God that she says is real, and that he hears us.
She was greeted with a standing ovation. She received several ovations during her talk. We thanked her with a standing ovation. All of them were deserved.
I visited the exhibit afterwards which told the story of how Christians had participated in the battle for equality in education. Several of our members acted as guides, telling different parts of the story and asking us to leave comments. At the end, we got a chance to briefly meet Ruby. Several members of our church had their picture taken with her.
In these days of violence, hate, and "us vs. them", Ruby Bridges reminded us today that the war is with evil. And she put a face on those that fought in the war against evil; a woman who sat in an empty classroom and taught her, a nurse who spoke of the last hours of Ruby's son, a publisher that encouraged her to tell her story.
Our theme this year at church is "Fear[less]", i.e. not being totally without fear, but learning to live with less fear. I do not think it is an accident that, in this year of police shootings, terrorist attacks, and a volatile, contentious Presidential campaign, that we are learning about fearing less, and that a woman spoke to us today who pointed the way to living with less fear.
Sunday at 10 a.m. has been called "the most segregated hour in America". My church tries hard to be the exception to that rule. Ruby Bridges, and other heroes of the Civil Rights movement, show that it is possible for love to overcome hate, for blacks and whites to clasp hands around a circle of prayer, for all of us to worship the God that loves us, no matter the color of our skin.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Friday, July 22, 2016
Carb, two, three, four . . .
At a recent endocrinologist's appointment, I was told that my blood sugar was rather high. So, I did a glucose tolerance test to find out whether or not I had diabetes. (Do not misinterpret the name. The "tolerance" part is actually a test to see if you can tolerate the taste of the liquid glucose they make you drink!)
After getting my blood drawn, I drank the aforementioned liquid glucose and shudder at the sweetness. Then I got to wait for two hours. And since I had to wait for two hours, I was advised to bring a book or something to keep me busy. I took my iPad and iPod, and was lucky enough to be able to stream some video.
Two hours later, I got another blood draw. I've had so many blood draws that the veins around my elbows are shot. So I just tell the tech, take it out of the back of my hand. You can see the veins there. So yes, I got two blood draws in two hours. Ouch.
When the results came back, they showed that I was pre-diabetic.
Not good.
So I get to enter the wonderful world of . . . carb counting.
My endocrinologist has a dietician. I'm a bit skeptical of dieticians, because I've seen two of them in my lifetime, and both of them have told me that I need to "eat organic". When I protested to one that I couldn't afford organic, he said, "It's better for you in the long run." No mention of the cost factor.
The other one wanted me to eat weird food that I couldn't afford and probably didn't like.
So I approached that appointment with a mixture of fear and trepidation.
This appointment, however, was run by a reasonable person.
She gave me a guide to carb counting, and when I asked her if I was going to be told to eat weird food that I couldn't afford and didn't like, she said, "No." She also said that no, I didn't have to eat organic. Thank God. But she did say that I needed to add more protein, more vegetables, and exercise consistently.
So now, the challenge is, how in the world do I plan meals with fewer carbs? Probably, I just have to sit down and do it.
The answer to everything these days, it seems, is "exercise and eat your veggies."
So, all together now:
Carb, two, three, four; carb, two, three, four . . .
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
After getting my blood drawn, I drank the aforementioned liquid glucose and shudder at the sweetness. Then I got to wait for two hours. And since I had to wait for two hours, I was advised to bring a book or something to keep me busy. I took my iPad and iPod, and was lucky enough to be able to stream some video.
Two hours later, I got another blood draw. I've had so many blood draws that the veins around my elbows are shot. So I just tell the tech, take it out of the back of my hand. You can see the veins there. So yes, I got two blood draws in two hours. Ouch.
When the results came back, they showed that I was pre-diabetic.
Not good.
So I get to enter the wonderful world of . . . carb counting.
My endocrinologist has a dietician. I'm a bit skeptical of dieticians, because I've seen two of them in my lifetime, and both of them have told me that I need to "eat organic". When I protested to one that I couldn't afford organic, he said, "It's better for you in the long run." No mention of the cost factor.
The other one wanted me to eat weird food that I couldn't afford and probably didn't like.
So I approached that appointment with a mixture of fear and trepidation.
This appointment, however, was run by a reasonable person.
She gave me a guide to carb counting, and when I asked her if I was going to be told to eat weird food that I couldn't afford and didn't like, she said, "No." She also said that no, I didn't have to eat organic. Thank God. But she did say that I needed to add more protein, more vegetables, and exercise consistently.
So now, the challenge is, how in the world do I plan meals with fewer carbs? Probably, I just have to sit down and do it.
The answer to everything these days, it seems, is "exercise and eat your veggies."
So, all together now:
Carb, two, three, four; carb, two, three, four . . .
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Tina to GOP: Bye, Felicia
Although my dad registered as a Democrat when we moved to Florida -- for reasons he never explained to me -- I grew up with Republican Party principals. I remember riding in the car one time with my father when Ronald Reagan came on the air, and my father said, "Silence."
He also took me one time with him when he voted. And we watched every evening news program that was on: ABC at 6, NBC at 6:30, CBS at 7. So I grew up with a knowledge of current events and the idea that it was very important to vote.
When I went away to college, I went to Florida State, and in Leon County, you could register to vote if you were within six months of your 18th birthday. So I registered, and when asked for a party affiliation, I put down Republican.
The first time I voted for President, in 1984, I voted for Ronald Reagan.
I was young and ignorant in 1988, and I voted for Dukakis.
But ever since then, I voted Republican for president.
I've always believed in a rather limited government. I'm a moral, fiscal, and social conservative, and I don't believe that the government should be giving "handouts". (I also understand that there's a difference between a handup and a handout. There is a place for short-term help and for help for those who cannot work.) I worry about the increasing power of the federal government. Ronald Reagan is quoted as saying, "The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, 'I'm from the government and I'm here to help.'"
But the GOP has been sliding away from conservative principles for the last several years, and increasingly, I have grown very angry with their leadership. They say they have principles, and yet they abandon them for the sake of "getting along". You can say what you will about Sarah Palin, but in 2008, she did galvanize the conservative base of the Republican Party--a base that is now being ignored.
Over the past year, the Republican Party has rallied behind a man who, in my opinion, is not qualified for the Presidency. He has had success and failure in business, but knows nothing about foreign policy or how to work with Congress or foreign governments. If he HAS worked with foreign governments, it's in his capacity as a businessman and not as a world leader.
He has shot his mouth off about Muslims, immigration, Megyn Kelly, and other subjects, and he has refused to apologize.
He does not believe he needs to be forgiven by God.
People support him because "he says what everyone else wants to say but either can't or won't."
He wants to make America great again but has no specifics on how he will do it.
And one by one, the leaders of the Republican Party and conservative media have all fallen in line behind a Pied Piper playing his flute and leading the children, one by one, off to the side of a mountain, where the door will close behind them.
Last night, upon learning that Donald Trump had officially and formally secured the Republican nomination for President, I'd had enough.
My 35-year relationship with the Republican Party is at an end.
Conservative blogger Erick Erickson posted an article this morning that sums up much of what I also am feeling. He says that he cannot be a water carrier for Trump.
Neither can I.
So, here's my farewell to the Republican Party:
Bye, Felicia.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
He also took me one time with him when he voted. And we watched every evening news program that was on: ABC at 6, NBC at 6:30, CBS at 7. So I grew up with a knowledge of current events and the idea that it was very important to vote.
When I went away to college, I went to Florida State, and in Leon County, you could register to vote if you were within six months of your 18th birthday. So I registered, and when asked for a party affiliation, I put down Republican.
The first time I voted for President, in 1984, I voted for Ronald Reagan.
I was young and ignorant in 1988, and I voted for Dukakis.
But ever since then, I voted Republican for president.
I've always believed in a rather limited government. I'm a moral, fiscal, and social conservative, and I don't believe that the government should be giving "handouts". (I also understand that there's a difference between a handup and a handout. There is a place for short-term help and for help for those who cannot work.) I worry about the increasing power of the federal government. Ronald Reagan is quoted as saying, "The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, 'I'm from the government and I'm here to help.'"
But the GOP has been sliding away from conservative principles for the last several years, and increasingly, I have grown very angry with their leadership. They say they have principles, and yet they abandon them for the sake of "getting along". You can say what you will about Sarah Palin, but in 2008, she did galvanize the conservative base of the Republican Party--a base that is now being ignored.
Over the past year, the Republican Party has rallied behind a man who, in my opinion, is not qualified for the Presidency. He has had success and failure in business, but knows nothing about foreign policy or how to work with Congress or foreign governments. If he HAS worked with foreign governments, it's in his capacity as a businessman and not as a world leader.
He has shot his mouth off about Muslims, immigration, Megyn Kelly, and other subjects, and he has refused to apologize.
He does not believe he needs to be forgiven by God.
People support him because "he says what everyone else wants to say but either can't or won't."
He wants to make America great again but has no specifics on how he will do it.
And one by one, the leaders of the Republican Party and conservative media have all fallen in line behind a Pied Piper playing his flute and leading the children, one by one, off to the side of a mountain, where the door will close behind them.
Last night, upon learning that Donald Trump had officially and formally secured the Republican nomination for President, I'd had enough.
My 35-year relationship with the Republican Party is at an end.
Conservative blogger Erick Erickson posted an article this morning that sums up much of what I also am feeling. He says that he cannot be a water carrier for Trump.
Neither can I.
So, here's my farewell to the Republican Party:
Bye, Felicia.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
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