IHOP declared today to be National Pancake Day. It says so on my Facebook feed, so it must be important. It is also Happy Faschnaut Day, a.k.a. Donut Day.
National Carb Days are almost semi-religious holidays for corporate Big Carb evolving from fear for the dawning of the Christian Lenten season, where Catholics in good standing will forsake the siren calls of the IHOP/Dunkin Donut/soft pretzel triumvirate.
Well, maybe not so much the latter in this area. That’s a Philly thing. We can only go so far in demonstrating our devotion. We barely survived edicts of meatless Fridays, which tended to put an economic crimp in the local cheesesteak economy.
In any the case, the point of this post is to celebrate the mystical properties of the pancake! Any connection with National Pancake Day is purely coincidental.
I say this because I witnessed the Power of the Pancake this weekend!
The story has its genesis in the struggle of addressing the needs for elderly parent care. There is never an easy solution to the question, what do you do when parents are aging to the point where more focused supervision is required?
My experience includes the breadth of care options available, from Independent Living through intensive, full-time managed care to end-life hospice services. There are blessings and curses with each choice.
Our latest experience and challenge is the decision to invite our last parent to join us in our home. My father-in law in a good guy, one I have always gotten along with though he has his blustery side and bouts with stubbornness.
When the choice was presented, I agreed easily enough, although there was a bit of anxiety about how such an arrangement might change a home dynamic with which we were all comfortable. My wife’s piece-of-mind over a relative living alone was enough to persuade me.
Our solution was to remodel our basement in recognition of my FIL’s desire to remain as autonomous as possible. So autonomous in fact that his new digs are the nicest in our home (just in case your first impression was an episode right out of the King of Queens)! The transition however has been anything but seamless.
We had to move him in earlier that expected and before his new palace was in move-in shape. The remaining construction and approaching holidays made the situation a bit dicier, resulting in a hangover that threatened our expectations for limited disruption to the established household routine.
The difficulties which developed involved the usual sources of close-proximity conflict … mismatched expectations, fumbled communications, and the tendency to avoid rocking anyone’s boat at all costs. Growing frustrations however required that the situation be addressed sooner rather than later; before the atmosphere we were trying to protect turned fetid, breeding anger.
I was tasked with being the Diplomat of Harmony.
My solution? Breakfast!
So this past weekend I invited my FIL out for breakfast at Hatboro Dish! I did not tell him the reason for the invite. Found out later he was suspicious, thinking we were going to through him out. (Insert link for King of Queens episode)
Carol, not a fan of Big Breakfast, opted to let the guys hammer things out at an establishment full of sharp objects.
As we sat down, Jim dithered over the menu options. I chose the bakery-quality cinnamon roll French toast, which is made by Lochel’s Bakery a few hundred feet up York Road, and Jim chose the pancakes … with strawberries … and whipped cream … soon to be marinated in maple syrup poured from a jar, not emptied from cheap plastic packaging.
Did I mention he’s diabetic? However, it’s my belief that once you get to a certain age, you should be free to enjoy whatever you can, reasonably and safely. I let him enjoy his loaded pancakes.
Once we finished our morning meals, it was time for The Talk. Dreading the moment I put all my cards on the table, I wasn’t sure how Jim would take the challenge. Changes had to be made. But addressing them would not necessarily be easy.
What I found out though was that Jim was as unsettled about what was going on as we were. We had a factual, very honest discussion of expectations vs. reality as it existed. It was more relaxed than I had anticipated … a friendly, direct, unemotional conversation about how to improve the home situation.
Our discussion couldn’t have gone better. Almost immediately function and comfort returned to our home!
Now this pleasant outcome could be attributed to a number of things – personality traits, mindsets, shared values – that helped us at the breakfast table that day. Either way you look at it, it’s hard to have a bad morning when looking over a stack of pancakes!
I had completed the first half of my grueling cardio workout (OK … a slightly grueling 20 minutes on the elliptical), and decided to take advantage of an open basketball court instead of Part II on the treadmill (normally 25 minutes).
My gazelle-like movements on the court (Picture a very old, slightly overweight gazelle.), abundance of old-guy energy, and my deadly accurate, quick release was obviously turning some heads. I’m pretty sure I sealed the deal when they saw my signature Jabbar-like sky hook.
That would be Maurice Jabbar, a 75 year-old I once saw play in the Smithsonian Geriatric League. He owned that guy in the wheelchair! And maybe “sky hook” is a bit of an over-sell; but it sounds a lot sexier than “hop hook”!
No, it looked nothing like this ..
Anyways … I’m working up a good sweat and in mid turn-around jumper (Picture … Well, you get the picture already.) I sense someone behind.
“Hey, want to play two-on-two?”
It’s a guy about half my age. (OK … Half my age 10 years ago …. maybe 15) Obviously he was impressed. Or maybe just really desperate for a playing partner.
What he doesn’t realize is I’m very near passing out; everything south of my waist (Yes, everything!) is groaning for me to stop; and I feel one sudden move away from a major muscle spasm.
I must have looked at him like he had six heads, because he suddenly looked alarmed and glanced around … probably to locate the nearest portable defibrillator.
I took in a huge breath; mustered all my remaining strength; and very slowly told him, “Thanks, but … I’m … almost done … here. And … have to … go soon. Besides … you guys … are … way … too young … for me …”
He looked either disappointed or relieved that he wouldn’t have to administer CPR. It was tough to tell through the gauzy haze of my overheated, sweat-drenched face.
Was so, so close to having the garage finally cleared out from the renovations.
Plenty of room to move around. No more playing Sliding Block Puzzle just to find the tool box. Maybe even fit two cars in there for the snows expected tomorrow!
(Get your milk and bread! NOW!!)
And then it was finally time to get the father-in-law moved in.
Mike’s Scratch ‘n Dent
I hate my life.
But my wife had some comforting words, “Stop whining.”
Now I know what a Zombie Apocalypse might look like …
I stand alone. It’s official.
At some point this week, my last hope that good parenting, a quality standard of living, and the example – so often set here – that a grounded political philosophy can hold up to any intellectual challenge was smothered in the simple act of renewing a Pennsylvania driver’s license.
My youngest son changed his voter registration to Democrat. And he is the smart one!
Was the smart one …
How did he express his change of affiliation when asked? “I changed my mind.”
He made it sound like he was changing his socks.
Maybe it’s a statement on my Leadership. Maybe I didn’t politically proselytize enough when the boys were so impressionable the correct politic would have been permanently ingrained, like their Philly accents. Maybe I made one too many mistakes as a parent.
Oh well …
So now I am surrounded. But that’s OK. I can take solace in the following.
Neither one of them votes to my knowledge; and unfortunately, getting an Absentee Ballot is about to get a lot harder for one Temple Owl!
Mr. Hoot is also going to love taking the Broad St Subway back to school in the company of so many of his Democrat buds!
The two lost offspring who still list our home as primary residence do not as yet have to buy their own healthcare on those sterling examples of Government efficacy and Democrat “know how”, those Obamacare exchanges. (I just want to be in the room when they find out how much they will be paying!)
Neither have they had to worry about supporting themselves entirely on their own, and by doing so discover just how hard it is to stay ahead of the curve all the while supporting so many who simply don’t bother trying.
Nor do they possess the baseline from which they can gauge all that marvelous Hope and Change to which they are obviously drawn.
I still hold very limited influence over my Better Half. Carol votes Republican – I think – but has little interest in changing party affiliation for some reason.
In the end, I will continue to stand as the Lion at the Gate. Politely accepting the political materials dropped off at the house by my Democrat opposition during elections cycles and quietly sorting the mail. Not sure why those materials never seem to arrive with their intended receivers.
I guess all’s fair in Love and Poltics!
Of course I told the house’s latest Democrat that he will always be welcomed back into the real Party of Progress … once he regains his senses!
But for now, I am the lone Grand Old Party stalwart beating back the political zombies seeking to weaken the ramparts, while keeping the inmates calm and reassuring them that they can have their political say the second Tuesday of every November!
OK … Maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But for Carol and I, it was definitely a week of incredible joy sandwiched by high-levels of anxiety and a touch of aggravation with an extremely cold coating of Winter.
The almost Head Injury
The Aggravation portion of the week started last Friday when I noticed a 7 degree difference between the house heater’s thermostat setting and inside temperature. After ten minutes of playing with the thermostat while listening for the reassuring sound of the heater kicking on (a well-known method of heater evaluation), my wife offered some of her folksy wisdom.
“The heater’s not going to come on just because you’re staring at it.”
I couldn’t argue with her.
Fortunately the heater eventually came on by itself, but it was a portent of things to come. And on Sunday morning I woke to a cold house and no heat from a unit just a year-and-a-half old (Lennox).
Sunday was a miserable day with rain freezing on the ground. Not that I appreciated that as I frantically called my very responsive HVAC guy.
Dan described the potential pitfalls of ice damming up outlet vents and warned of the nasty, icy weather outside. The first thing he wanted me to do was check the opening on the outlet vent for over-icing.
Of course I was half listening (Carol would be shocked …) as I wiggled into boots to contend with the snow piled up around the side of the house where the vent was located.
So I stepped out of the house, crossed the porch; stepped casually onto the first step … And promptly landed right on my gluteus maximus after a failed Flying Salchow with a Twist. Nothing hurt but my pride and my wet, cold butt. The scary part was feeling the back of my head lightly thumping the cement porch, inches from a serious head injury.
The solution to getting heat into our home this day ended up being the skillful hammering – That’s right, hammering – on a half dollar-sized piece of indubitably foreign-manufactured plastic that forms a pressure switch.
As I triumphantly declared “Heat on!”, Dan the heater guy, promptly offered me all his weekend emergency service calls!
Harper Jeanine (Needless to say, the highlight of the week/month/year!)
Princess Harper
Sunday night the alarms went off. A simple call from the northern edge of the Shortall family, a small town near Williamsport, set in motion a whirlwind of grand parenting speculation and frantic decision-making.
Mom’s water had broken and the Launch Clock was running!
We opted to wait until first thing Monday morning to leave for the Home of the Little League World Series hospital because the weather up north consisted mainly of freezing rain. And of course, shortly before we were to leave on our three-hour race to the north, we got the call that we were Grandparents!
Harper Jeanine … 7 pounds, 12 ounces of incredible unbaby-ugly cuteness was born at 0719 hours at Williamsport Hospital!!
And with hitting official Grand Pop status, I aged a decade – mentally – in an instant.
But without a trace of subjective Proud GrandPop blathering, I can assure you that she is in fact the Most Beautiful Baby of 2014!
She has all her fingers and toes. (I checked several times.) She smells of new-baby-scented perfection. (I checked several times.) And Harper Jeanine looks a lot like me. (That I checked a few more than several times.)
There is no doubt she is the product of a perfectly developed and extremely attractive gene pool, of which of course I consider myself Lead Specimen. And no, I am not saddled with an overactive self-perception!
Heat? Who needs heat?!?
After a joyous day of baby coddling and embarrassing goo-goo talk, Father Winter decided to ratchet up my desire to retire to Arizona with two days of the coldest weather many will remember ever experiencing. The Wind-chill in Williamsport on Tuesday began at -6 and wormed to a toasty +10 by mid-afternoon.
Since I was tasked with welfare checks on our new tenant, my father-in-law, who declined to make the trip with us, I made several “What’s up?” calls home. When I asked my FIL how everything was on Tuesday morning, he told me the house was cold.
uh oh …
“How cold?”, I asked, “What’s the thermostat reading?”
He laughed, and told me without a hint of concern, “53”.
uh oh …
Now fortunately, I have a very good neighbor, an ex-Marine who loves a good crisis. He’s a dependable, no-nonsense, get-it-done type. We help each other out whenever we can. Everything good neighbors are supposed to do.
What I felt like going out to my car Tuesday morning
And he’s good friends with my former Marine HVAC guy! So, with a minimum of frantic scrambling, more pressure switch pounding, and frequent house checks by the Marines, we were able to avoid Frozen Pop-Pop Syndrome.
Getting the cheap foreign-made replacement part was another problem altogether, complicated by the horrendous weather, or so the parts supply source kept telling us.
So for two days I spent a bit of time making phone calls and requesting neighborly Wellness Checks. And I harassed my helpless HVAC guy who eventually had to beg the required part from his Lennox tech rep.
This Winter is stacking up to be a real (select your favorite Adjective of Disbelief here). But Harper Jeanine is here, and everything will end up just fine!
A tribute to the only reason I ever watched a Sixers game
Now before I disappoint, I must warn you that this is not a treasure trove of Cranky Man’s various sports accomplishments. Many though they are, I was a child born before the Age of Electronics-at-Your-Fingertips. Sadly there is no video, films or even a decent grainy photo of those numerous magical moments from my past.
No video of those broken field runs on cold, snowy days with a well-worn pigskin under arm as I danced through flailing arms or plowed through helpless tacklers on makeshift gridirons along Ashton Road. No snapshots of my gazelle-like grace as I tracked down a moonshot homerun fail on a sun-scorched softball field at Thomas Holme School at Willits and Holme Avenues. No montage of my patented top-shelf, net-filling wrist shot during ridiculously hot and humid summer night street hockey games in the parking lot of the old Crown, Cork and Seal factory at Angus and Ashton Roads.
Sadly those magical moments are lost forever to the public except as they reside in my somewhat refracted long-term memory, exaggerated somewhat perhaps – like photo-shopped wedding pictures of an imperfect bride. However, I might be able to find a few witnesses, given enough time and access to a sufficient supply of memory jogging altering alcohol.
No, what we have here are those distance moments and recent events in Philly sports history that shaped my psyche as a Philadelphia sports fan.
Some of the moments I have selected may surprise you. In many cases they are not those iconic moments when Championships were sealed for the Ages. Instead, they might be the plays that made that Championship seem probable, maybe inevitable.
Some are simply those indelible feats of personal accomplishments from which heroic sports memories are made. Several memories are those of epic failure, that as an early sports memories many recall those long stretches of Philly sports futility.
Needless to say, your list of memorable Philly sports moments will include some of these, and others as well. So feel free to offer your own, and maybe it will show up on a future trip down Memory Lane!
The Earliest Baseball Magic – Fathers Day 1964: The family is bundled into the car driving home from an afternoon Fathers Day visit. I am eight years old. Dad turns on the radio just in time to catch the last few innings of Jim Bunning‘s perfect game for the Philadelphia Phillies against the futile New York Mets in the first game of a sun-baked doubleheader.
Bunning was an all out, full-body thrower; often finishing his follow through his left forearm on the ground. He would retire from baseball in 1971 and would be elected a U.S. Senator from the Commonwealth of Kentucky in 1999. He still serves in the Senate,
The Night Superman wore a “P” – June 23, 1971: It was an ungodly hot day in Cincinnati as the Phillies prepared to take on the Reds that night. Pitcher Rick Wise was not feeling well on the back-end of a bout with flu-like symptoms. When he stepped out onto the Riverfront Stadium Astroturf field, the on-field temperature was close to 120 degrees.
Wise recalled that his warm-up pitches seemed like they could barely reach the plate. Yet after the Reds went down in order through the first nine batters, Wise started to feel stronger figuring the heat had sweated the last of the flu from his system. When he batted in the fifth inning, Reds starter Ross Grimsley left a slider up in the zone and Wise hit it out of the park for a homerun.
At some point after this, a bored fifteen year-old heard from a friend that Wise was pitching a no-hitter. The Phillies weren’t much better – if better at all – than the 1964 version. So not many 15 year-olds spent their time inside the house during the Summer watching them struggle in their mediocrity. But a no-hitter is a no-hitter, so we all ran into the house to catch the last innings.
In the eighth inning, with a no-hitter a very real possibility, Wise came to bat against reliever Clay Carroll. When he looked down at the third-base coach for the sign on a 2-0 count, George Myatt simply turned his back to Wise. He could swing away. Carroll layed one out over the plate and Wise drove it for his second homerun of the game.
In the ninth, Wise got two outs and none other than perennial hit machine, Pete Rose, stood between Wise and no-hit, two homerun immortality. Rose worked the count to 3-2 then …
In one of those romantic twists that makes baseball such an interesting game, Rick Wise was the starting pitcher in that second game of the doubleheader in which Jim Bunning pitched his perfect game 7 years before!
Favell’s Big Flop … April 2, 1972: It’s the last game of the Philadelphia Flyers 1971-72 regular season. The hometown hockey club, which I had just started to follow, needed to simply avoid a loss to grab the last playoff spot. A win or even a tie against the Sabres in Buffalo would do the trick.
Doug Favell was in the nets. Favell was known as a flopper, who loved to flop and flail in the crease.
As the third period ran down into its final seconds, the Flyers clung to their first playoff berth in stubborn defensive hockey and a 2-2 tie. With just 15 seconds left in the game Sabres defenseman Gerry Meehan – a former Flyer himself – collected a puck inside the Sabres zone and made a pass in the neutral zone. As he cleared the blue line he got the puck back …
I was devastated and for months broke into nervous twitches every time I heard the name Doug Favell.
Clarke and The Hound: Of course much better Flyers memories were right around the corner!
Bobby Clarke‘s overtime goal in Game 2 of the 1974 Stanley Cup Finals didn’t clinch The Cup, but it convinced this Flyers fan that they would inevitably bring Lord Stanley to Philly for the very first time!
Then in 1975 the Flyers won the Stanley Cup again. But it was Bob “The Hound” Kelly who set the table just 11 seconds into the 3rd period of a scoreless Game 6. He absorbed a hellacious hit from Buffalo defenseman Jerry Korab; controlled the puck behind the net; and with a little help from Bobby Clarke nudging Korab out-of-the-way …
Current Flyers and NHL broadcaster, Bill Clement scored the second and final goal to wrap up the Flyers successful Stanley Cup defense.
Boone to Rose: Any Philadelphia sports fan knows the date,October 21, 1980. On this night the Phillies would win their first World Series. But it was this iconic play between Bob Boone and Pete Rose from the clincher that seemed to represent the hand of the baseball gods to anoint those Phillies as World Champions.
Wilbert romps through Cowboy-land: It was January 7, 1981. The Philadelphia Eagles had been improving steadily since Dick Vermeil had been hired as coach in 1976. By 1978 – and the Miracle in the Meadowlands – the Eagles were playoff bound over the next several seasons. Then, on a bitterly cold day in January 1981, they were facing the Dallas Cowboys in the NFC Championship Game and a chance to go to their first Superbowl.
On their very first drive of the game, the Eagles drove down to the Cowboys 42-yard line and Wilbert Montgomery set the tone for the rest of the day.
Wilbert’s romp and an unbreakable defense won the game 20-7. The Eagles lost the Super Bowl however, to Jim Plunkett and the Oakland Raiders.
J & J … No, I was never a big Sixers fan; but there have been times I watched, enthralled to see some of the best athletes to ever play in Philly.
In 1983, when the Sixers won their last NBA title, it was Julius Erving, Bobby Jones, and Moses Malone – the final piece to the puzzle – who made it possible. Jones playing the perimeter and stout on defense; Malone backing up his “fo’, fo’, fo'” playoff series prediction; and Julius simply being Julius.
Shane, Stairs and Utley’s Gambit: When the Phillies finally broke through again in 2008, their ascendency to World Series Champion was no sure thing. Yet it was a collection of plays that eventually convinced me that it could, should, then would happen.
Victorino did it again, with the Phillies down 5-3 in the 8th inning of Game 4 of the National League Championship Series at Chavez Ravine against the Los Angeles Dodgers. I always though Victorino’s home run off Cory Wade was even bigger than Matt Stairs‘ game-winning deep space launch off Jonathan Broxton, because it changed the entire Dodgers relief strategy as well as tied the game. Both were unforgettable moments that convinced me the Phillies should win the whole enchilada.
But it was Chase Utley‘s play in the rain-delayed Game 6 of the 2008 World Series against the Tampa Bay Rays that proclaimed to this fan that the Phillies would win their second World Championship.
And finally, I leave you with this little gem that slightly pre-dates my own backyard football career. How exactly we are able to reach all the way back to 1928 to watch a sandlot game of football is amazing!
No one wants to be unpopular, unwanted, or – worse – to feel used and abused. Yet for a significant portion of the Republican Party, many are encouraged to express their political beliefs only on Election Day. But when it comes to discussing the direction of the Party nationally and the Country in general, they better toe the most Conservative of party lines or prepare to be labeled.
For the past several years, it has become clear to self-described “moderate Republicans” that we are to sit quietly in the back; keep our thoughts to ourselves; and let the “real” Republicans make the grown-up decisions!
Yes, we are the RINOs (Republicans In Name Only). And it’s getting more than a little tiring.
Used to be that various permutations of the Republican value set were welcomed in the development of the GOP platform. We share the same values that fought slavery; checked the spread of post-WWII Communism; and punished the protagonists of radical Islamic terror.
We were welcomed in a strong coalition that valued – above everything – an efficacious American system of government. Smaller bureaucracy, productive budgets and spending, and compassionate solutions to social problems were the mantras of Goldwater and Reagan that we all worked towards.
It was a coalition of minds, accepting of moderately divergent views toiling in unison on core values we all shared.
Now, you dare not step off the strict Conservative reservation or risk the dreaded RINO label! This is an issue I have spoken of before in frustration at the lack of cooperation nationally and the loss of American governance.
Oh, we are here all right, hunkered down in our fox holes; reluctant to poke our heads above ground level. We seem to make such inviting targets.
Many like me, who live in largely suburban-metropolitan areas where some of us have evolved politically over time from the Liberal leanings of youth towards more conservative views on matters of economics and national ideals, have taken solace in the age-old adage that “All politics are local.” We work to keep our communities on sound fiscal footings, our schools and municipal infrastructures efficient and lean, our neighborhoods safe; and try to apply those same principles to County and State government.
But we dare not speak of our moderate approaches to social issues and the process of pragmatic governance, particularly on a National level. Because if we do, we know immediately where we stand with the more assertive Voices of the GOP.
RINO! You would think we were traitors to The Cause.
Certainly, if The Right wanted to portray us as CINOs (Conservative In Name Only), I wouldn’t complain. CINO sounds more pleasant than RINO too! But in the “good old days” you could indeed be less than Big C Conservative and still be considered a stand-up Republican.
Not so much any more.
Harrop makes a point which I believe go directly to the GOP Losses in the last two Presidential elections. Both John McCain and Mitt Romney were weak (McCain) or weakened (Romney) candidates once they went head-to-head with Barack Obama.
Shouldn’t be what a national Republican primary looks like
McCain was a horrible presidential candidate, although it’s difficult to believe he could have beaten the first African-American candidate regardless. Instead, he was simply the last Crash Test Dummy to survive the 2008 GOP Primary Candidate Roast. It wasn’t even that he was “conservative enough” to win the Party’s pageant. He was simply smart enough to stay on the periphery and survive the carnage.
In Romney’s case, for an election he should have been well-positioned to win, he was faced with the choice of moving hard to the Right to win the nominating campaign. Then he was faced with the prospect of a convention revolt to bring in a more Conservative nominee.
When he had finally nailed down the GOP’s endorsement, he was not only unrecognizable as the successful, bipartisan Governor of perhaps the most Liberal state in The Union, he had stumbled into several verbal traps that plagued his campaign throughout the National Election!
Defeat snatched from the jaws of Victory!
Used to be our moderate positions were viewed as the route to effective compromise, the bridge from one Far Side to the other Far Side. The way efficient Governance was effected.
Not so much anymore …
Now we’re the ones stuck in No Man’s Land watching the rockets screaming over head between the Right and the Left. That is when BOTH sides aren’t trying to outflank us and pick us off!
True story …
In the Spring of 2012 and the run-up to the Presidential Election, I was asked to participate in a TV show involving a round-table discussion of political issues, where two Democrats were to be paired off against two Republicans. It was a small local cable access station in Abington, PA; and the gig lasted all of two shows before the Producer up and retired. But I was flattered, and it was a trip just to be asked.
The experience was fun. I held my own despite the nerves. But it was clear that I was the more moderate of the two Rs participating that night.
After the first episode taped, my far more Conservative Republican counterpart and I went out to eat. And our dinner conversation revolved around our various positions on a number of political and social issues. When I wasn’t asked back for the second episode, but was mistakenly sent an e-mail with the agenda for episode 2. I checked around and found out that my spot had been taken by a much more conservative Tea Party member.
The message – to me at least – was pretty clear. Not Conservative enough …
If it comes to this, so be it!
Returning to Harrup’s question, my theory is that the RINOs – us RINOs – have tired so much of the frenetic fire fights, many of us have simply dropped out of the National Debate. We draw fire from one side simply through association with a more conservative set of governing ideals with which we agree. Then we get outflanked by those who believe us to be not “conservative enough” across the board.
No longer is it good enough to say we support a strong National Defense, the right to bear arms, and the need for sane, sustainable economic policies. No, we must toe the entire line, including those positions on social issues which many of us believe weaken our beliefs in the sanctity of Individual Freedoms.
Every new iteration of the GOP seems to pull farther and farther away from us. The Tea Party has a funny way of concerning itself with issues that never would have crossed the minds of the original Boston Tea Party contingent.
Libertarians appear to be the most attractive alternative until their dogma on international relations and geopolitical theory threatens a short-sighted return to a 1920s mindset, which turned into a World War disaster in the decades to follow. And who wants that?!?
So what’s a RINO to do?
Keep working the Local political scene to protect what you have and keep your streets and neighborhoods safe.
Promote those core Republican values as they relate to Government, Economics, and the Rights of the Individual. You may not agree with the recent strategy and tactics of national Republicans, however that’s no reason to abandon the economic values and limited government approach that makes the most sense locally.
Don’t back down from the kind of conservatism you believe is best for the Country as a whole. Moderate is not a dirty word!
Cooperate at the County and State level with fellow Republicans and like-minded Democrats to promote Business growth and expansion, more jobs, lower taxes, and compassionate solutions to social problems.
Be mindful that taking pride in the concept of Individual Liberty requires the Freedom for individuals to define their own way of life on their own terms, according to their own set of values.
And above all, always wear your helmet and body armor; and keep your head down!
If you appreciate the core values of true Conservatism, remember that it’s easier to instigate change from the inside. A true Conservative would not leave because they are disenchanted with Leadership. They fight for what they believe in!
What have I lost so far? Adult Jack Russell Terrier weighs in at 18 pounds
Starting weight:236.6 lbs. (Feb 18)
Goal Weight: 200
Plan: Lose one-and-a-half pounds a week
Daily Calorie Budget: 1909 per day (Started at 2020/day)
Projected Goal Achievement (Adjusted): December 2 12 January 12
Weight on September 6: 220.8 lbs.
Weight today: 218.8 lbs. (down 17.8 lbs.)
Finally!
We broke the 220 mark this week!
The first time I have been below the 2-2-0 in at least a decade. It’s been a lot of bouncing back a forth between 221 and 223, but I finally broke through with a little help from a sinus infection that made everything I ate taste like Nothing.
Confession Time 1:
Years ago – probably somewhere in the mid-1990s – I tried to lose a lot of weight fast because I was really concerned about my suddenly skin-tight pants. Decided to try the Slim Fast route – the powdered drink of Dieting Champions!
Worked well for a while, but the hunger never really subsides, which is predictable when you go from no-holds-barred eating to next-to-nothing. But for roughly 10-14 days I was a faithful powdered drink dieter.
That is until one day my wife finds me sitting out in the yard, unable to get to my feet due to dizziness. I had also noticed that day that my “droppings” had an unusual white color to them. (This can indicate more serious health problems; but in my case it went away once I got back to a normal diet.)
Carol – as wife, nurse and defacto protector of the family income stream – ordered me off the powder and into the kitchen for a load of high carb inputs. She was dead on right; and I realized Quick and Sudden wasn’t the best route to a slimmer me.
Confession Time 2:
I haven’t been as faithful to my good friend, the Lose It! app, lately.
The app has helped me out a lot. But by now – after 8 months of slow, semi-steady progress – I have sufficiently changed most of my bad eating habits, and can pretty accurately calculate where I am – calorie wise – without falling back on the app as a crutch.
I tend to use it more in the beginning of the day through lunchtime because it keeps me honest and allows me to plan my programmed calorie intake for the remainder of the day. It also helps me keep track of my trade-offs on those days when I’m at the gym or will be burning big calories working around the house or playing golf (1000 calories for a typical 4-and-a-half-hour round in a cart according to Lose It!).
She turned from watching the Phillies’ Cliff Lee on the mound, “What?”
“Something’s not right with me.” And that quickly, I was out cold.
The next thing I remember is coming out of this fog, my head drooped slightly. I’m freezing cold. I sense I’m still at the ballgame; but I can’t figure out how it got so damn cold at Citizens Bank Park.
Ice bags … There are pounds of ice in bags on my neck and shoulders.
Uh oh …
Then the yelling started … “Mike!! Mike!! Can you hear me?!?” Not just one voice either … a lot of them … No, not good.
My surroundings are under water; all these wavy figures are hovering over me. People … lots of people … standing in the early stages of a Phillies game.
No, not good at all.
As things are become clearer, I try to find Carol. The look on her face is a glaze of immense relief over deep concern.
Man, am I in trouble …
That fast and a Phillies game on a warm, humid September 11 turned into a six-hour medical ordeal.
The heat had nothing to do with it. Neither did the one beer I barely touched. I was feeling fine all day; had cut the grass in the mounting heat the previous evening with no problems.
We arrived just before the start of the game; and I was standing in the aisle minutes before for The National Anthem following the annual 9-11 remembrance. My only problem at the time was this stabbing pain high on the right side of my ribcage towards my back.
This illustrates something about my thing.
The pain was a couple of days old, self-diagnosed as a pulled muscle …
(Hey, I spent six months pre-pre-med in college, ya know.)
… probably the result of moving boxes or bags of solar salt for the water softener. It was intermittent and seemed random, but very sharp when it acted up.
For some reason on Wednesday night the pain was driving me nuts. Couldn’t get comfortable in my seat. Kept stretching and twisting my back which seemed to help a bit. It was the worst the pain had been since it started several days ago.
Finally, I get situated in a position that didn’t provoke any spasms and settled down to watch the game. For all of maybe 10 minutes …
As I’m sitting there, gazing towards the outfield, I suddenly get this weird feeling, a spell of dizziness I expect to pass quickly. Only it doesn’t. It starts getting heavier and heavier, as though someone had placed a wet bag of sand on my head.
I feel groggy, not nauseous … But something is definitely wrong. My vision gets murky.
I start to panic a bit because I can’t figure out what’s going on. What do I do?
Should I try to make it up to the concourse for help? Do I tell Carol? If I tell her, game over … rightfully … with swarming EMS teams and maybe even a medevac extraction from behind second base!
… And a chance to meet Chase and Jimmy!
So – of course – I decide to see if this will pass before I set off The Panic. Wishful thinking – most times – only gets you so far.
All this took place in the span of maybe 60-90 seconds.
When I broke out into a cold sweat, I gave up the struggle to hide my oncoming Medical Attack (a professional medical term). That’s when I turned to Carol and this blog post begins.
The episode was scary enough for me. But I feel terrible for what I put Carol through. She told me I was out of it, lips blue, face white, at one point convulsing, and unable to speak briefly when I did wake up …
… Minutes later apparently, and I remember not a thing from the moment I turned to her to waking up under all those bags of ice.
There … That’s better …
This was one of those moments when I was glad I married a very beautiful, accomplished, and knowledgeable nurse!
Fortunately, I was still sitting down when the lights when out. And after a preliminary evaluation at the Citizens Bank Park first-aid station and a more thorough going over at Abington Memorial Hospital’s ER, no obvious physical cause was found.
That’s a bit maddening though. Not knowing the whats and whys, only a theory.
The predominant theory appears to be the passing of a kidney stone or some other blockage that caused the back pain (which has disappeared since Wednesday’s episode), and triggering something called a vasovagalreaction to the pain.
It’s a weird, somewhat embarrassing explanation that seems to fit the circumstances. I had never heard of it, but every medical expert we have seen favors the theory.
Could have been a lot worse.
One lesson learned was it ain’t funny – apparently – to the spousal unit left to manage the care and maintenance of a cherished (might be a stretch here …) fainter, especially when there’s no readily available explanation. Got in Big Trouble posting my little adventure on a favorite social media site in mid-evaluation.
She promptly dislocated my iPhone from my possession.
Lesson: Never piss off a nurse!
I finish this with very high praise for the guest relations and first-aid personnel at Citizens Bank Park. They were responsive, professional, and very understanding given the circumstances. The Phillies guest staff did an excellent job!
IHOP declared today to be National Pancake Day. It says so on my Facebook feed, so it must be important. It is also Happy Faschnaut Day, a.k.a. Donut Day.
Our solution was to remodel our basement in recognition of my FIL’s desire to remain as autonomous as possible. So autonomous in fact that his new digs are the nicest in our home (just in case your first impression was an episode right out of the King of Queens)! The transition however has been anything but seamless.
So this past weekend I invited my FIL out for breakfast at Hatboro Dish! I did not tell him the reason for the invite. Found out later he was suspicious, thinking we were going to through him out. (Insert link for King of Queens episode)
Cranky Man's Lawn 