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Tuesday, April 4, 2017

DJT--naaaa, DAT

Guess I should start off with an “Oh, No!  Not again,” but then I would not feel comfortable using this in this particular Blog, now would I?  If there’s a question there, the answer is, “Yes, I guess that’s right.” 

Seems like my dog and my wife conspired to get this “Morningbrain” entry written.  At least that’s the way it seems, sitting here at 3:15 in the AM.  Wife has a problem with her dreams.  Which is to say, when she is having a bad one, she feels the need to “share.”  And when she “shares,” sometimes, just sometimes, Dog feels the need to put in his two cents too. 

Now, wife’s sharing is bad enough—often it is on the order of a “STEVE, WHAT THE?”  And this brings on the arf, arf…arf, Arf, ARF!  Which continues, in an escalating manner, until “ARF, ARF,…ARF, ARF, ARF! Etc, Etc, results in me, me, me getting up and trying to calm things down.  Well, I’m happy to say, I have been successful.  At least for a while.  Wife and Dog are both sawing logs.  But me?  OH, NOOOO.  

So “Morningbrain” takes over.  And what subject does it choose?  DJT.  (Not again, you say!)  (Yes, again, I say.)

Now, Dee, Jay, Tee is not exactly what I want to discuss, it is just what the brain picked out while I was trying to sleep through the occasional wife-dog middle-of-the-night shout-bark-around.  It is not a subject I care much for, it is just one that seems more than ubiquitous in today’s American society, for one reason or another.  Kee-Rap is my thought, though.  Still, considering the why behind the now, it is what I’m stuck with.

DJT (pronounce all the letters separately,) it’s what we are hearing today.  I guess “the Donald” just got tired of people simply referring to him as just plain ole “DT,” and when he realized this, he put out the word to his altogether-too-many surrogates to always add that middle-of-the-initial “J.”  At least that’s how it seems.  OK, “D, J, T,” if that’s what you want, that’s what you get, but, as Fred G. Sanford might have pointed out, “and the 'J' stands for 'Just ain’t right!' ” 

Now, if the “J” just ain’t right, what might we suggest as a replacement?  Well, why not go with a vowel?  If you try to pronounce “D-J-T,” you gotta admit, you’re going to have to slip in just a little bit of vowel somewhere, right?  So, instead of slipping in one of the little buggers, why not just go with an out-and-out substitution?  OK.  Problem solved, at least in part.   Let’s start with a “u,” and back up from there. 

“D-U-T?”  Why not?  Dut, Dut, widdle Trump, dut-dut, dut-dut you said?  No, not a “u”—definitely not—try something else, instead.

“D-O-T?” Dot, dot?  No, no, not that, not that at all, you say.  A morse code “S” is not the sound we want, for our President today.

“D-I-T?” Dit, dit?  The problem here is how it might rhyme, and we’re not thinking ‘bout spit.  The rhyme won’t do, so neither will “Dit” one more down, highly unfit.

“D-E-T?” Well, Det’s not too bad—it’s just (shall we say) too easy.  Let’s go with an “a,” and see what we’ve got—detraction’s defin-it-ly sleazy.

“D-A-T?” Yes! Dat’s it! Just what we need today.  You tell him, say, ‘tis the American way, Dat’s fine, dat’s good, dat’s OK.

Well, now that we’ve solved that minor problem, guess we might just see what we can do with the post.  No real problem there (tomorrow morning will be just fine.)  Wife’s fine, she’s back in bed asleep.  Dog’s fine, he’s the same down by my feet.  All that’s needed now is for this old man, somehow, to get back to bed to sleep (while our other two, too, do the same.)

On the couch, maybe?  Fine.  4:40 now.  Let’s see how long this might last.  And, as for that “A,” as Fred G. might say,  “and the “A’s” for Atrocious (much better than “J.”)  Just the thing for our Billionaire with the "common touch."  (It's Great, just Great! that way.)  

Saturday, January 7, 2017

Painkillers and other ‘problems’

I have a problem (and,) my problem is pain.  What do you suppose I should do about it?  Well, the obvious answer, to me at least, is I should take my problem to my doctor and see what he might be able to do about it:  And therein lies the rub:  My doctor does not want to prescribe pain killers.  So--why is this?

It seems pain killers are now a popular issue of choice for our lawmakers.  All of them (the lawmakers, not the pain killers) are jumping on this bandwagon lest they be seen as promoting the use of these addictive substances, mostly the oxycodons, or hydrocodons (each has various commercial names) and the problems (addiction, overdose, death) that may accompany their misuse.  And, while our legislators’ injecting their (questionable) opinions, bills, and votes into this issue may make them seem responsive and give them an issue that may increase their popularity in some quarters, it does nothing for the person who may benefit from using the medications in question—the person in pain.

Our legislators need to examine problems and issues that relate to the public.  Our doctors need to deal with problems and issues that relate to the needs of each individual patient.  While some time the twain will meet, when the legislators interject themselves between the doctors and their patients, they are making public decisions on issues that should be kept between two individuals—the doctor and his patient.  Public solutions are not solutions that may be tailored to the needs of individuals, as the decisions of doctors for and with their patients must of necessity be tailored to each individual situation. 

If our legislators insist on inserting themselves between us and our doctors, I think we need to insert ourselves between our legislators and their jobs. 

Correcting my pain is not a public matter.  My legislator needs to remove himself from interfering with my relationship with my doctor.

My pain is not a public problem.  

Monday, January 2, 2017

What, or where, is Ninety Six?

Watching CBS this morning, January 2, 2017, I found Conor Knighton’s clip on “Visiting all of the National Parks” interesting.  (  If you choose to call up this address, sorry about the leading commercial—guess CBS has to pay their bills some way.)  In any case, Ric Nipper, a friend of mine from Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina, and I have been taking annual trips to various Georgia and South Carolina sites for several years.  This year, we ended up in Ninety Six.

I had a dear French teacher in High School, who told her students she had grown up in Ninety Six.  Now, I have had occasion, over the past quite a few years, to drive down one or more of our state roads near Ninety Six, and I had noticed highway signs pointing “To Ninety Six,” but, until Ric and I set out on our annual pilgrimage to wherever, I had never even given consideration to visiting Mme. Butler’s home town.  Nor did Ric, or I, give any consideration to going there when we left Aiken this year just before Thanksgiving.   Guess we just gravitated in that direction.  So, you say, why bring this up now?  Well, it seems this year, we inadvertently went to a South Carolina National Park Service site—the one in Ninety Six.

And, should you need a reason to try this site, maybe the fact that it is one National Park site you might be able to visit and see in just one day might provide that reason:  Now, before I go any further, let me quibble just a bit.  The National Park Service calls the Ninety Six site a “National Historic Site,” making it one of nine sites in the state on its list of places you might like to visit:  ( .   In any case, if you are anywhere near it (it is close to Greenwood, SC,) I recommend it to you, whether or not it qualifies as a “National Park,” proper.

I would also recommend the other eight sites on the NPS’s above list (most of which I have had the pleasure to visit in the past) as being worth your time.  Maybe, next Thanksgiving, I might be able to convince my friend Ric to come a day or so early so we can show our wives this little bit of history, just down the road from Aiken, in Ninety Six, South Carolina.  As road trips go, this is a “good 'un.”

Friday, October 21, 2016

Politics, Politicians, and Prevaricators...say what?

Here I go again (to paraphrase RR,) "Morningbrain" has struck, and sleep is no longer an option.  Writing seems to work, though.  Problem is, by the time it works, it’s usually too late to return to sleep.  No matter, at least I feel the papers left by the process may, occasionally, have some value, if to no one but myself.

Facebook can be a waste of time.  Then, again, so is television, but, at this point in life, I’m not willing to totally give up either.  Politics has resulted in strange photo-fellows, it seems, and the picture of Trump alongside of Hillary is rife on both screens: Which  brings to mind the phrase, “I don’t know how to love him,” (followed by) “He’s a man, he’s just a man…and I’ve known so many men before, in so very, many ways, he’s just one more,” and while the first part definitely does not apply to this pairing, the second does, especially when you consider they are both genuine “superstars” in their own right, even though neither could appropriately be compared with the “Superstar” the quotation originally applied to.  (Can the election come soon enough?)

Which brings to mind a Facebook “friend” who I choose to call “Chad.”  Chad is an ornery sort,  one who majors in negativity.  He reminds me of a stanza from a Limelighter’s album:

            “The whole world is festering with unhappy souls:
              The French hate the Germans, the Germans hate the Poles;
              The Poles hate the Yugoslavs; South Africans hate the Dutch;
              And I don’t like anybody very much!”

He hates Hillary, and professes to not like Trump much either (but of the two, Trump is his stated choice, and if you disagree with that, YOU’RE a “DA.”  (And, for those who might seek clarification, as “Fred G. Sanford” might once have said, “And the ‘D’ is for ‘Dumb,’ dummy!”) Hope that gets the point across, ‘cause Ah ain’t a’clarifyin’ “Chad” any further.)

We are two days beyond the third, and final (thank God,) “debate”  of this pitiful political season.  Truth of the matter is, I knew “debate,” and this, my friend, was no “debate.” (Apologies are in order, I’m sure.)  Four years from now, hopefully, our talking heads will see the need to settle on the term “debacle” to define the process with an added degree of clarity.  Debaters everywhere need to rise up and see that this is done to preserve the sanctity of their time honored process. 

What went on the last three times we have seen a “Presidential Candidates Debate” would have been much more interesting, and just as informative, if the Candidates’ Podia had been placed about one foot apart from each other.  That would have given us a real spittin’ contest, with real spit, I’m sure.  At least we the audience would have had something to smile about if this had been the case.

Now, I have just enough time to make myself a cuppa and get back to my other tube for the six o’clock news.  Whatta way to go!  And to all of you, won’t you please have yourself a “Good Morning,” unless, of course, you’ve already decided not so to do.

(And, of course, that last was for you, “Chad.”)

Anyone else have any suggestions?  Comments are allowed.

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Addiction: Can anyone help?

Truth of the matter is, only one person can help an addict; the addict hemself  (i.e., herself or himself, etc.)  And, by the time that drug of choice has gained the upper hand in the addict’s life, permanent changes in the brain and liver chemistries will have occurred, making the attainment of a life of sobriety much more difficult than just the making of a mental choice.  It is, at that point in time, too late for the addict to simply make a decision and stick with it:  It is a problem of living with an addicted body long enough for the body’s continual need for the addicting substance to subside to the point where that constant physical craving no longer stands in the way of the addict’s decision.  This is why medically supervised withdrawal is suggested (if at all possible,) and it is why the tendency to relapse remains strong even after the body has rid itself of the drug.

What we were taught about that “weak-willed” alcoholic—or drug addict, for that matter—just is not the case.  Anyone who has tried to get an addict in their family to give up that addiction will attest to this truth.  No, “weak-willed” has nothing to do with it at all.  By the time the “experimenter” turns into the “user” and the “user” turns into the “addict,” the body and brain have teamed up to conspire against any flights of reason that may from time to time rail against the results of the disease. 

If you have an addict in your family, the best thing you might do for them is ask them to read two articles. 

First is a commentary from “Nora’s blog, “Addiction is a disease of free will” in one of the National Institute of Health’s web sites: 

Second is a personal description of addiction found in this writer’s blog: “My AA Story” something I wrote in response to a fellow AA’s request that I give “my story” to his group:

Should your addict have that “moment of clarity” and give consideration to a life away from drugs and/or alcohol, you might first help hem find a detox facility.  In Aiken, SC, that facility is Aurora Pavilion,, a division of the Aiken Regional Medical System.  Alternatively,  the Veteran’s Administration, Augusta Health, or possibly Augusta’s University Hospital may have similar, reasonably close, facilities. 

Following detox (usually a five day medically assisted treatment period,) a good second step would be a two week to one month stay at a rehab facility.  I took this second step twice (actually, three times.)  The first time was at a place called St. Simons by the Sea on St. Simons Island, Georgia.  The second time was at the Veterans Administration facility in Augusta, Georgia.  I would recommend either to your addict, if hem qualifies.  Had I known, I might have skipped the 5 day local detox and gone directly to the VA or St. Simons facility.  Both places also are more than able to provide the medically assisted detox if they have the beds when your addict becomes ready and willing.

Should this second step be out of reach (it often is quite expensive,)  a daily dose of Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous is, at a minimum, what I would recommend.  If you can, though, augment this with a weekly trip to a qualified psychologist.  Your addict needs all the help hem can get.

My third time was a bit more demanding.  Being an addict, I had finished my most current year in AA by picking up one more “blue chip,” AA’s way of saying “congratulations on having a year (or another year) in sobriety.”  I was in my current “first year away from my drug of choice” following my most recent relapse (relapse is a fact of life for addicts, you see,) and, several weeks later, when some friends came to visit for Thanksgiving, I had the thought:  “It will be different this time.”   Well, that’s the same thought I’d had prior to several previous relapses, but did I “remember” this?  Nooooooo!

Thanksgiving day, following an evening of drinking with our friends, I awoke to blue lights in the street in front of my house.  No more need be said here, though:  It’s in that second reference, the one to “My AA Story” in “” (above.)  Was it different, though?  Yes....  Quite.

In any case, I think I finally figured it out.  If you have an addict in your family, my hopes are that he or she (my “hem”) figures it out, too.

And the sooner, the better.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Politics, politics, don’t we all love politics.

My wife is, on occasion, an active Facebooker.  She also is currently being barraged (as are we all) by the current crop of political wannabes and “their” PAC’s and she has developed (as have we all) a certain amount of opinion from the experience.  Not too very long ago she decided she is not a “Republican,” nor is she a “Democrat.”  Nor is she (as am I) an “Independent.”  It seems she has done a good bit of reading about the “Libertarians,” probably due to my Cousin Joe’s posts, and that, so she says, fits her to a Tee. 

Fine.  Who knows, with the current selectees-apparent of the two “major” “parties, I could find myself on board with her too. 

By current “selectees,” I am counting on the opinions of the two so-called “leading” candidates, i.e., T. rump for the Reps and Hillary (Good Wife) for the Dems.  I guess one might ask why I have negative feelings about both these sterling candidates.  Well, no particular reasons—other than, perhaps, the following:

Let’s start with GW Hillary.  In spite of her long list of political qualifications, some of which the Reps may point out as being as much a negative as a positive for her, I just can’t understand why, in a country of 300 million people, anyone would think we would need not one, but two “Clinton” Presidencies.  The first “Clinton” Presidency will best be remembered by the phrase “I did not have sex with that woman!”  Now, the current Clinton candidacy  gives us: "I did not email any classified material to anyone on my email."  Why, oh why, would anyone want to bring that kind of “stuff” back to our oval office?  Who do you suppose might be invited to inspect the underside of our Presidential desk the next time we might invite a “Clinton” to occupy it?  Is there not a single person in the 200,000,000 (a WAG) or so eligible Americans who might be able to do as good a job as she?  I suspect there is at least one other—maybe a few thousand—who might do as good a job.  Maybe even T. rump (then maybe not.)  The Reps agreed we did not need another “Bush.”  What is taking the Dems so long to come to a similar decision?  We need a President—not a “Good Wife.”

Now—as to T. rump—you may have noticed how I have taken the liberty of slightly modifying The Donald’s last name to fit my own nefarious purposes.  In his own way, he is sort of a Tyrannosaurus, is he not?  He tried to eat a couple of lovely Ms’s early in the campaign, alienating quite a few of their sisters.  He tried to eat one of our two closest neighbors, wanting them to build a fence (“and they will pay for it.”)  He’s trying to eat quite a few of us when he singled out a religion for his Islamiphobic purposes, un-American though that may be.  The only question is: Who or what will he be setting his sights on next?  Is this presidential behavior?  Well, while it might be appropriate for the “Boss,” it is not and never will be “Presidential” behavior.  (My thoughts, “T. rump, ‘you’re fired!’”)

Candidates:  Zero for two so far.  How about those “Libertarians?”  My choice would have been Dr. Joseph G. Buchman.    Since, for some reason they selected a guy who’s already been dismissed by the voting public once, I’ll have to do some serious thinking here.  Dr. Buchman’s recommendation will probably carry the day, in this case, mainly because I happen to know just a bit about him (the good Ph.D.,) and he is one good judge of character.   And, as for that “Boss” business, if you want an interesting take on it, one you might have heard before, but one that seems to apply, you might go to: .

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Morningbrain, one more time.

Morningbrain, one more time.

God works in mysterious ways, or so it is said, and this morning he has given me thoughts from the day before to keep me from my sleep.  This isn’t the first time this has happened.  What to do?  Write, of course.

Yesterday, I had just finished collecting the various items we thought we needed that were defined on the 3x5 pad on the refrigerator.  I had been in Walmart and was in its parking lot, proceeding to unload my shopping cart into the trunk of my trusted steed, our Mitsubishi, when a man walked up and asked if I had a few dollars I could spare that he could use to buy something to eat.  This has happened before, and I said “sure.” 

Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, opening it to help him with his request, I told him if he had the nerve to ask, I certainly would not say no.  What’s the point?  Well, the credit cards were all there, but there was not a single one, two, five, ten, or twenty there, only that folded up hundred that I may or may not even have noticed at the time.  Sorry, I said, nothing but cards.  The guy wandered off.  I watched him as I finished up my business and sat down before the steering wheel.  Then I remembered the change that was always in the pocket of one of the doors.  Yep, enough there, I thought.  I started the car.  I could still see the man.

What happened next?  Well, perhaps this is where God took over.  The cars in the parking lot did not seem to want to cooperate with my need to drive to where I had last seen the man.  While I waited for a couple of them to move, I saw him walking towards Whiskey Road.  Still time, I thought.  The cars had other ideas.  He walked through some bushes at the edge of the lot.  I drove to the stop light near where he had gone.  Another car, turning right, was in front of me.  Not much traffic, but the car just sat there.  It did turn, after another minute, and I followed.  No man.  No man anywhere.  I put the change back in the door pocket and proceeded to drive home.  He would not get his couple of bucks, and I would have to be satisfied with knowing I had tried.

I’ve often thought I never would have to worry about having to worry about how to get a camel through the eye of a needle.  While my wife and I aren’t exactly rich, neither of us has missed a meal, or gone to bed hungry, (or wondered if we going to find a place to sleep that night, for that matter,) in a long, long time.  Maybe I do need to think about how I might get that camel through the eye of that needle.  “Rich,” like everything else, is relative.  So now I am up at 4:30, typing, instead of sleeping.

Thank you Lord.

Hope your man got some supper.