john_m_burt

My Father Is Not The Man He Used to Be

2009-11-10T23:00:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-11-07T12:52:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-06T15:56:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-05T14:00:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-04T23:10:00.000-08:00

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."\\

Remember the Dead

2009-10-31T12:01:00.000-07:00

[Recycled from 09:54, 31 October 2004, and from 31 October 2005, and 2006]

This evening, we will be giving out what we usually give on Halloween: a plastic bag containing a comic book, a small toy, a piece or two of candy, and this card:

Remember the Dead

This is the night when the ancestors return to receive the hospitality of the living.

If we show them proper courtesy, with gifts and food, we will have their blessing through the coming year. As long as we honor the dead, they remain with us. Of coruse, if we fail to welcome them with proper courtesy, things may not go so well . . . especially tonight.

It is all too easy to ignore death and pretend it doesn't happen. But hiding from our fear will only make it greater. Better to choose a time to face our mortality -- and defy it.

So to memorialize the departed, and to confront our own fear of death, throw wide your doors tonight, and heed well the words of the evening's honored visitors:

"Trick or Treat!"

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "Have a mini-Snickers, Grandpa."\\

War of the Worlds

2009-10-30T12:01:00.000-07:00

[Recycled from 11:57, 30 October 2004, and from 30 October 2005]

Not nearly enough people saw the excellent film The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai: Across the 8th Dimension, but those who did were treated to Buck's stunned realization that all of the members of the conspiracy he had uncovered had registered for Social Security cards in Grover's Mill, New Jersey, on November 1st, 1938 -- the day after the supposed "Martian invasion" hoax!

I sat there in the theater, thinking, "That's not right -- although Orson Welles' War of the Worlds broadcast was intended as a Halloween fright, it actually went out on October 30th, the regularly scheduled night for the Mercury Radio Theater show. But since that was a Saturday show, November 1st would have been the next business day, so he's right after all."

My next thought was, "Good grief, I know all that stuff!"

What can I say? I'm very fond of the story, both the novel and the radio show. One of my great pleasures over the years has been tuning in repeats of the original broacast every Halloween. Alas, radio stations are now a bit reluctant to put voices on the air decribing the devastation of New York -- one more thing to tax Osama bin Laden with -- but the tapes are still there, and so is the book (the 1953 film and the 1987 TV series I never cared for all that much).

[Update, 2005: Twisting the dial on Halloween this year, I brought in part of a CBC broadcast of the Martian invasion of Ontario -- what fun! I also didn't think much of the 2004 Spielberg film, I'm afraid.]

//The Magic 8-Ball says, "Across the gulfs of space, intellects vast, cool and unsympathetic regarded our Earth with envious eyes and slowly, surely, drew their plans against us . . . ."\\

George and Dorothy's 50th Anniversary

2009-10-17T19:49:00.000-07:00

This is a photograph of my parents, George and Dorothy Burt, on their wedding day, October 21st, 1959. When they observed their 50th wedding anniversary today, Kathe and I brought a print of this photo, with a story written by Kathe superimposed over it. That story is below.

The Love that Never Gave Up

There was a boy whose Father was very Old, and as he grew older himself, he resolved that he would never be an Old Father, because it wasn't much fun for the son, and it couldn't have been much fun for the father either.

So as he grew up, he made plans. First, he must make a place for himself in the World. He must find good and rewarding Work, and then he could marry and start a Family. So he went to College, where he expected to learn many things and find something he would like to do for his Work

He found it very difficult, and he had to leave the College. He next tried the Air Force, but it didn't agree with him, or he with it, so he returned to College. It was hard, but he Didn't Give Up. He tried, and again he tried, and he got his Degree. About this time, he decided that he was well-enough along the way to his Work that he could marry, and start to be a Young Father.

But that did not work out well. He and his wife soon parted. But he Did Not Give Up on marriage either. He met another young woman, one who was well-familiar with Not Giving Up. Her parents had been refugees, people without a home. They were so poor that the famous Church Mice were richer than they (at least the Church Mice had a roof over their heads). But they Did Not Give Up, and gradually they became successful, and they raised a large family of boys and girls who Never Gave Up.

Although the man and his new wife started a Family very soon, the man found that to do his Work, he needed more Degrees. So he returned to College again. Again he found it hard. And now it was very hard, for he and his wife had several small boys to take care of, as well as the studying that was necessary to obtain the Degrees. But the man and his wife Did Not Give Up.

In the fullness of time, the man gained his Degrees, and found his Work, and he and his wife raised three happy, healthy boys, and later they had many Adventures.

And when the man was Very Old, and his wife was almost as Old, they looked back at their life together, and saw that it had been very good, and that they had children who were happy in their Work, and grandchildren who were happy and healthy.

And it was all because of the Love that Never Gave Up.

But why do you say that it was the Love, that Never Gave Up?

What was it, my children, but the Love? The Love this man had for his children long before they were born, that he was determined that they should have a better life than he, and that they should have what he had always wanted, a Young Father. That Love Never Gave Up, and it accomplished a Fine Thing Indeed.

All of us will pass from this earth, and our places will be taken by others, but what better thing can people say of us, when we are gone, than that our lives were driven by Love?

[I couldn't simply post the image itself because it is a .pdf, which Blogger won't support]

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Go ahead, make me scrye."\\

Phlebotomy Resources

2009-10-13T19:07:00.001-07:00

These are sites that might be of use to phlebotomy students, placed here for the convenience of my classmates.

Miscellaneous Resources

http://library.med.utah.edu/WebPath/TUTORIAL/PHLEB/PHLEB.html

http://www.accd.edu/sac/nursing/r2201/pedsg/heelsticks.htm

http://www.austincc.edu/mlt/phb/phb_links.html

http://www.plcofdenver.com/html/general.html

http://www.phlebotomypages.com/phlebotomy_resources.htm

http://www.ehow.com/way_5207554_phlebotomy-tutorial.html

Educational Videos

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6yS2iOF7AGo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRqxy_2g0NQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ecu2ZewPoNM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJHGzQXerSc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERu0vjDEVDw

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Look and see for yourself."\\

A Gathering of Willamette Valley Poets

2009-10-04T11:28:00.000-07:00

Kathe and I attended an event called "A Gathering of Willamette Valley Poets", part of Oregon Poetry Month, at the invitation of our friend Lana, whom we met by shopping at the bead store where she works.

At the event, we heard Lana join a group in a charming humorous recitation, and heard some other friends of longer standing read their works, as well as a number of people we didn't know.

It was fun. I wish more people had been there. I wish Kathe and I did things like that more often. Well, if we cultivate the habit, liekly we will.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Practice what you want more of."\\

Going To Phlebotomy School

2009-10-02T22:53:00.001-07:00

Well, as Moses said when he stood before the Red Sea and raised his hands, I sure hope this works.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "May Hermes guide your hand."\\

Flag This Entry

2009-08-26T11:41:00.000-07:00

The other day, Kathe and I were out delivering papers (that is, Kathe was delivering legal papers, and I was riding along), and we passed a lot full of waving flags.

Now, as it happens, I have long had a special fondness for the so-called Fort Moultrie flag:

"So-called" because the current consensus of opinion is that what actually flew over Fort Moultrie during the American Revolution was something more like this:

The display was flying the latter, but when we stopped and I asked about the former, the owner confirmed that he had that one, too.

So today we are flying the Fort Moultrie flag on our porch, where it will join the rotation with the Stars and Stripes and the U.S. Peace flag:

Next on our list, when we can afford it, is the Earth-from-space flag:

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Remember that the symbol is not the object."\\

No Self-Serve In Oregon

2009-08-25T10:18:00.000-07:00

Thanks to which, we don't have to put up with things like this:

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Count your blessings."\\

Opening Night of Twelfth Night

2009-08-04T23:59:00.000-07:00

Kathe and I went up to the OSU campus to see Bard in the Quad's first performance of Twelfth Night.

We both enjoyed it, in spite of Kathe's feeling poorly.

//The Magic Eight Ball says, "You could do worse on a Summer night."\\

Happy Birthday, Lana

2009-07-27T17:14:00.000-07:00

Lasy night, Kathe and I went to the birthday party of Lana, whom we met awhile back at her DayDreamers bead store I had to leave early and missed the live entertainment, but Kathe says it was pretty impressive.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Do what you have to do."\\

Jake and Claire Are Here

2009-07-02T08:03:00.001-07:00

It is good to have Kathe's eldest son and his wife here, and not just because Jake works like a yeoman of Trojan extraction when he gets up on the roof, and not just because Claire does all the cooking and makes me glad she does.

I wish we saw more of all of the kids. I wish we saw the existence of more grandchildren. Grump. grump....

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "If you keep talking like an old man, your knees will never stop hurting."\\

Call That A Solstice?

2009-06-21T23:42:00.000-07:00

The Northern Hemisphere's Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year, the day when the Sun rises highest in the sky, is not usually the hottest day of the year in Oregon (that is more often sometime in late July or early August), but you sure don't expect it to be so cold that a homeless person comes to your door and asks for a blanket.

But that's what happened tonight.

Fortunately, one of the reasons Kathe opted for a fixed dwelling place was so that she would have space to store things like extra blankets and food for those who did not, and she went right upstairs and fetched one.

You do what you can, by Golly, you do what you can.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says: "Sometimes even the Solstice will let you down."\\

An Enjoyable Night Out

2009-06-19T15:50:00.001-07:00

Kathe and I went out last night, inspired by a flyer from Basic Rights Oregon that advised us that if we dined at any of the listed establishments, the owners would make a contribution to BRO.

Hey, why not?

By the time we haukled our lazy butts out of the house our first choice, the Red Horse coffee shop, was closed, so we moved further downtown to the Old World Center, had beef barley soup, a sandwich and sodas.

We had a good time, with good food, and enjoyed the live music.

Nothing special, just a pleasant evening downtown.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Nothing wrong with that."\\

Lucy

2009-06-15T08:00:00.001-07:00

Julian Lennon has gotten back in touch with his childhood friend Lucy Vodden, whom he once depicted in a drawing as "Lucy in the sky with diamonds". Alas, Lucy, now 46, is suffering from lupus.

Alas, indeed, but people do get sick, become crippled and die, often at a heartbreakingly early age.

Lennon has his associations with the song. I have my own Lucy.

I'm not sure why I associated my stepdaughter Rebecca with Lucy, but by now the connection is too strong to ever be broken: Becca is my Lucy. I miss her so much since she died of cancer.

Kathe misses her more, of course. And she has her own associations for Becca, her own ways of remembering her.

And in the end, of course, she is neither my Becca nor Kathe's. Her life and her death were her own business, and we should not fetishize her memory.

But the people who loved her, and love her, and always will, can still remember her, each in our own way.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "We can hardly avoid it."\\

Happy Birthday, Maurice Sendak

2009-06-10T21:57:00.001-07:00

Thank you for everything.

But especially for Where the Wild Things Are.

Because every child (but perhaps especially a boy who has strange thoughts and passions) needs to know that it is okay to be wild once in awhile, and your mother will still love you.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "And it was still hot."\\

Bleeding

2009-06-10T00:28:00.000-07:00

Donating blood, I must be due to donate again, mustn't I?

What, it's been nine months? For shame!

Well, get on down to St. Mary's and make a donation.

Kind of a long delay. Really should have made an appointment. Never have, though.

Ouch. Sometimes the needle slides right in, and sometimes it flippin' hurts.

Ouch. Pain subsiding some, but still hurts something awful. Ouch.

Oh, well. Still needed to do that. People need the blood.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Sometimes doing the right thing is painful."\\

Neon Gypsies at the Vibe

2009-06-04T21:33:00.000-07:00

Kathe and I went down to the Vibe coffee shop last night to hear the Neon Gypsies play. We liked their music and we thought they looked awfully good playing, too -- and that was even before we found out that the drummer who looked like she was enjoying herself so much was Rose Cheyne, the daughter of an old friend of ours.

Go, Rosie -- try not to explode.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "People just explode, you know. It happens."\\

Life Among the Organelles

2009-06-03T16:02:00.000-07:00

The other day, Kathe and I entered the long-shuttered Whiteside Theater and joined a small group who were learning (on the job) how to rerstore the Wurlitzer pipe organ that one day will again delight patrons of the Whiteside with its music.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Yo, play the Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor!"\\

The Genocide Appropriation Project

2009-05-30T12:28:00.000-07:00

As members of the Genocide Appropriation Project, our goal is to appropriate images of the Nazi Holocaust and other historic crimes and use them to dress up our political or cultural cause du jour.

We find it easy and convenient to exploit the suffering of other people in order to persuade the ignorant, and to shock those who oppose us into silence.

The Genocide Appropriation Project is not a membership organization. We count as members of the GAP any person who has ever used a specious analogy to promote their own agenda. For instance. we are very proud to associate ourselves with former President Ronald Reagan, for his famous declaration (in front of an African American group, no less) that marijuana smoking was "Twentieth Century slavery".

So, if you are having a hard time getting people to listen to your eleventy-twelfth repetition of your opinion on some subject, just call muster on the unquiet dead of the long and bloody history of our species, preferably invoking a crime committed against a group which does not include your own ancestors (or even committed by a group who are your ancestors). You're sure to win lots of friends, even if it's only among your fellow Appropriationists.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Patience, like genius and unlike stupidity, has its limits."\\

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-09T21:58:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's day to all mothers.

To mothers who have raised their children.
To mothers who are raising their children.
To mothers who have children who are far away in a war zone.
To mothers who are far from their children on account of being themselves in a war zone.
To mothers who have to put their children to bed every night in a war zone.
To loving mothers.
To mothers who find they don't love their children, but do their best by them anyway.
To mothers who suffer from postpartum depression.
To mothers who are too sick to look after their children.
To adoptive mothers.
To birth mothers.
To stepmothers.
To divorced mothers.
To non-custodial mothers.
To mothers who hate the fathers of their children, but never criticize them in front of the children.
To single mothers.
To lesbian mothers.
To men who do the Mommy work, not just once in awhile but day after day as their children grow up.
To mothers who are forced to work all day and see their children only in glimpses as they grow up.
But perhaps most of all, to mothers who have lost a child.
Or two.
Or three.
It may seem inappropriate to wish them joy on this day, and yet I can only hope that it finds them, today, or someday.
Happy Mother's Day.

//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "God bless you all."\\