Things They Sell At The End of the Aisle

Things like inflatable tongues,
mustard-squirting mouths,
ketchup-squirting nostrils
and toothpaste-squirting dogs.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Goodness me."\\

John and Kathe's Blog

Come to our new joint blog, especially if you're one of our favorite people.

But really, even if you're not.

And our circle of favorite people is actually wider than you might think.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "You don't have to like someone for them to like you."\\

Strange Days

But then they are all strange these days. Just had a big mouthful of very comfortable but still disturbing work done at Sunset Dental. I suppose the phenomenon of giving more attention to pains and fears past is one of the hallmarks of trauma, and that was definitely the case for me just now. But I already knew I was working my way through a great deal of trauma.

Sitting in the Creekside coffee shop around the corner from the dentist's, cautiously sipping mildly warm mocha through a straw, my clever upper lip compensating for the lack of active support from my squashy lower lip. waiting for Kathe to give my doped-up self a ride home.

Still thinking about the trauma aspect of dentistry. I can tell that a lot of the anxiety and trepidation I feel as dental work approaches is compounded of long-ago dental work, as well as other medical procedures, my fear of being out of control while someone else decides what to do with my body, my shame and fear at the condition of my body, and so forth. Lots of issues.

It helps that I am better now at recognizing all of these things, and recognizing them as separate things tht I can deal with individually. That does help, some.

I look forward to my wife's arrival and a safe ride home, but I also relish this private time, this isloation here at a coffee shop where I not only don't have anything I should rush off and do, but am under doctor's orders not to try to walk home, much less drive, on my own. It's kind of cozy sitting here like this in this peculiar state of isolation, not unlike the way I feel when I am up in my imaginary lookout tower.

I should spend more time up there.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Don't forget, the rent is due on that thing."\\

Agricultural Equipment, Some Made from LEGOs

Kathe and I went to the Ag Expo at the Linn County fairgrounds. We really liked the LEGO farm equipment.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Sounhds like fun."\\

News From Asnakech and Tesfaye

Good news, as it happens: He is staying with her in Portland, clean and sober and not endangering her lease.
It's been awhile since we'd heard anything at all about him, so this is very good news indeed.
Hang in there, Tes.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Take very good care,"\\

Ghost Buicks in the Sky

Driving down Interstate 5 to Springfield for my phlebotomy class, I saw something truly marvelous: a small plane was coming in to land at the Eugene airport, dropping down through low-hanging clouds into almost-clear air. Its twin headlamps lit up the fog in front of them, sending out long beams that were visible from the ground.

I have seen planes of all sizes coming in to land, but never one that looked quite so much like a phantom automobile.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Driver, change your ways, or...."\\

My Father Is Not The Man He Used to Be

But then, who is?

There was a time when, if I heard that my father no longer enjoyed reading science fiction, that he now found bizarre images and concepts disturbing, I would have said that this man simply couldn't be my father. But I have learned to be more tolerant of the idea that people do change, and not always for the worse. Or anyway, not entirely for the worse.

The other day, I sat with him while Mom was out with her sister, and he stared out the window at the clouds. I had noticed him commenting on clouds quite often lately, but hadn't really paid it much attention. But as I listened to his continued and attentive description of the clouds as they rolled by, I understood that he had an appreciation for the patterns they formed and re-formed which most people never have the patience to develop.

It reminded me, in fact, of a scene I had read in a story years ago, in which a man sees what the reader is clearly meant to recognize as the Beatific Vision, although the culture he comes from doesn't have that concept. The man was entranced by the ever-changing image (which, again, the reader will understand better than the character, because his culture also doesn't have the technology to create false-color images of the photosphere of the Sun), but eventually becomes just a tiny bit bored. It is a tribute to the writer's skill that it is clear that the fault lies with the viewer and not with the vision -- if his mind were better prepared, it is implied, he would be content to gaze upon that ever-changing sight eternally.

So, in spite of the pain and tragedy of my father's decline, and in spite of the inconvenience and heartache that the entire family is feeling, there are some bright spots, good experiences that he could not have had otherwise. No, it doesn't make up for what he has lost, not even close. But he is as he is, and things are as they are, and the wise thing to do is to take things as we find them and appreciate the good things when we see them.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Once a man was being chased through a forest by a tiger, and scrambled up a sheer cliff to try to escape. As he reached the top, he saw above him a second tiger. He looked at the tiger above him, and the tiger below him, and then he felt the root he was clinging to begin to give way. Then he looked to his right and saw, clinging to the cliff, a strawberry bush, with a single ripe strawberry growing on it. He reached out and picked the berry and ate it, and said, 'Oh. That's delicious'."\\

Nora Ree Gror?

When my father and his siblings were little, they invented their own language, or anyway their own vocabulary (the grammar was, AIUI, German, as were any words they needed to complete a sentence which they hadn't made up), as well as a history for the country where it was spoken, the prehistoric civilization of Gror, which perished in a terrible war with the Rontrunes.

Anyway, the other day I saw an e-mail from my aunt Anne, and figured it was high time that Grorian had its presence online, no matter how small it might be.

Arseela: Fascist
Baen: No
Banya: To hate
Geen: to engage in reproductive activity
Gern Vasha: to like (Grordeutsch corruption)
Glind: Genius
Gnool: Mother
Grorian: An extinct civilzation
Ir: Yes
Lehr: Red
Na: Me
Naesor: to be
Ngosee: George Burt
Niklava: New
Nora: to like or desire
Nosan: to kill
Nosan ree: Go kill yourself
Ree: You
Ree naesor slorn: You are an idiot
Reesan: Communist
Rezh: Father
Rontrune: Cornishman
Sheel: Mother
Shula: Light
Slorn: Idiot
Vasha: to have

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Nora ree geen?"\\

We Aren't Going to OryCon

Kathe and I went to last year's OryCon, but various circumstances have led us to decide not to go.

Sometime before the end of the year, we expect to visit Portland, though, and see some people, and like that.

Just no OryCon. Oh, well.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Do what you can and leave the rest."\\

I Don't Blog About Work

I have worked as a massage therapist since 1985, with more or less success. To supplement my income, I have also worked as a nurse's aide, and I am currently training as a phlebotomist.

The most hours of work I do, and the most money I earn, are both under the auspices of Home Care and Elder Services, giving in-home care to the elderly and the incapacitated. I really appreciate the honesty and consideration I have received over the years from Kathy, Deborah, Anna and now Tia.

There are often times I would like to make a post about an interaction I've had with one of the office staff, or one of my fellow caregivers, or a client. These are all things that really would not be embarrassing or invade anyone's privacy or betray any secrets. But if I started doing that, sooner or later I would inadvertantly post something I shouldn't. And even if I never did, the staff or the clients who knew I was blogging would wonder if I might.

So I just don't blog about work, or anyhow not in that way.

But it's not because I am ashamed of my work, or find it boring, and not because I don't appreciate the people I work with. Quite the contrary, I am trying to spare them worry and possible embarrassment.

And anyway, work is hardly the only aspect of my life that I don't write about here.

//The Magic Eight-Ball sasy, "Walk with caution."\\

Last Friday

Kathe and I went to the Old World Center to see the annual Halloween performance by the Corvallis Belly Dance Performance Guild. As usual, the dancers were skillful and (mostly) well-practiced, and as in previous years, their Halloween-themed costumes and routines were impressive and/or amusing.
I ran into someone I wasn't expecting to see, didn't know she was a belly dancer. It was a bit odd to see her in such a different setting, and very differently dressed. But that's Corvallis for you.
Anyway, we had a good time. We don't have enough of those lately.
Maybe we'll go to more of their Wednesday night performances, the way we used to.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "You will have a good time."\\