Today I am spending the next six hours in the Doctor’s office. A specialist office at that. That seems like a long time but mostly I am just here for observation as I start a medication to ensure that some noted side effects do not occur. Six hours seem like a long time and to be sure, it is (thankfully I brought the laptop and the iPad to occupy my time). Six hours though is really nothing compared to the time I have spent in the Doctor’s office and especially various labs since early April. It is a bit of a long story, but clearly I have the time and it seems somehow appropriate to start the story here on the blog the day I am starting the medication for my life with MS. Continue reading “Six Hour Dr. Visit”
Okay, I admit that it sounds like it could be bad spin-off movie title. Or even better, that Amos Lee could be a Jerry Clower or Mayberry character from the past. The fact is though that Amos Lee is an awesome musician that I have recently been introduced to, aside from being singer-songwriter by nature, Amos has inspired a few things for me and my hats go of to the person that introduced me to him. Some additional information about his music, specifically the Supply and Demand Cd can be found by clicking.
The biggest thing I was realizing yesterday morning (or is that still today?) on my normal drive into the office was just how little I actually pay attention to the news of late. Now for some of you that is not such a big deal but you have to get it from perspective. Go back seventeen years and you find someone who had such set in stone morning routines that they were almost ritual. It would start with waking at an early hour, immediately starting coffee brewing, which was followed by retrieval of both the paper and flipping the television on to CNN. After about thirty minutes of watching, drinking, and flipping pages, we then proceeded to shower and dress for the day. Often time from there we would take the paper with us for additional exploration, especially during the years I rode the bus to the office. On the weekends, especially Sundays the ritual often expanded into multiple hours and was truly my time with minor interruptions by first Abraham and later whole slew of different cats.
I was tempted to call this posting centennial+1, but I am not sure if that would have been followed by everyone or not. A more obscure one still would be centennial++. How appropriate that the last post, about my being a slacker from generation-x, was indeed the 100th post to this blog. Granted, the original two or three post here were made when experimenting over on the WordPress hosted blog site and were later moved to this site. If my math is correct, the first post was made on November 17th, 2007, 285 days ago. So that puts the average at something around the a post once everything three days or so. Of course, it took almost two months between the first and second post and there have definitely been some times in there that the posting stream slowed to a trickle and nearly seemed dried up completely.
Obviously I am not living up to the idea of two to three post in a day. I do seem to get that fairly easily when I have the time to write here. I suppose I should say that when I make myself make the time to write here, I have the time to fairly easily post two or three posts daily. However, between working, trying to move some things, and dealing with horses, not to mentioned my own selfish desire to be a social person two or three times a week, I have not managed to make the time but about every other day. I think, without actually counting and doing the math, that the average number of posts in a given week or month is still close to seven or thirty, respectively.
I started this blog on mephistos.com sometime late last fall. I had been doing a bit of blogging off and on another site, as well as the original post that was initially completed on the wordpress.com hosted version of what eventually became the basis of this blog.
Anyway it occurred to me last night when I was walking through a park near to my new residence with Bitzer on our nightly walk for exercise and some vain attempt to get in shape, look good, and live forever that I had been blogging for a total of just about one year now. It further struck me that one of the first blog notes I had ever written, maybe the second or third one was about a day that I took Jack, the horse for a trail ride just about this time of year. It was reinforced in my mind by having walked beneath a walnut tree and finding the green hard husk that contains the shell and eventually the nut itself. I of course had to pause and pick up the nut, as that faintly citrus smell mingled with the unique smell that makes it a walnut, is somehow one of my favorite fragrances in the world.
So I am still drinking stiff bourbon and coke (recall the last post – just enough to color them) and I am thinking of some good old memories. One that comes to mind is of me, my brother, bikes, and a couple of tobacco sticks.
No, for those not aware, a tobacco stick is what burley tobacco here in Kentucky is speared onto (the stalk and leaves) and hung in the barn for curing. The sticks are made of oak most typically, more modern ones being sawed and old ones were split (like a rail for a fence). They are usually getting close to one inch, roughly square, though the split ones were often a little thicker in one direction. Oh, and between three and four-foot long.
Another thing for those not aware, I do jousting and sword fighting on horses today, waxing nostalgic for time period well over 600 years ago. It is no wonder considering the how often me and my younger brother did sword fighting. Often with a tobacco stalk, which is not so bad, as they give. However, often time with a tobacco stick. In case you are wondering that is one heck of a smarting blow on the fingers.
When doing this kind of thing as an eight to ten-year old, there were a few rules. Don’t hit the hands, as that hurts like heck.
Take this one step forward. We didn’t have horses at the time, but we did have bikes and a long down hill slope so you didn’t have to work to hard. We were knights on iron steeds sword fighting over our heads over and over again. Imagine a fall day, with the smell of wood smoke in the eye, damp ground, leaves already on the ground, you can also smell the horses and hear the ping of metal on metal.
What ends up happening is at some point my brother hit my fingers, hard. In anger I retaliated, by yelling, “I will get you – I will slay your horse.” And with that I stabbed the front, em, er, legs(?) of his mount.
Immediately I learned a lot of physics regarding what happens when you stop a wheel in motion by jabbing something into and how a bicycle seat suddenly resembles a catapult as my brother flew through the air like a boulder to land with a horrible sounding thud flat on his back a number of feet in front of the mount I had caught up on the end of my sword.
Thankfully my brother was only winded. The funny thing was my freaking immediately after him landing. I was at his side saying, “You gotta get up and be okay – Mom will kill us both if you are hurt – come on, get up.”
I find myself sitting here at the computer, a few good bourbons with just enough coke to give it a darker shade, and I am cleaning out some old files, moving some to an archive, and generally looking at things I have not seen in three to five years minimum. Anyway, it was with a tinge of sadness that I came across the picture that follows. That ugly dog, and yes, I fully agree he was ugly, as that is what you get when a Australian Shepard is crossed with a Terrier. Anyway, his name was Walker. Walker Dog to be specific. He had a funny step that reminded me of my Tennessee Walker Horse at the time (another blog deserved to be posted about Special Dark, aka SD).
So I am currently re-reading parts of the book entitled The Complete Agrarian Reader, a collection of essays by agrarians and their opinions on things. Probably the book that first introduced me to the idea. Actually, I should say, that made me realize it was not necessarily a some romantic notion that I alone had, that there were other people with similar thoughts on things.
Anyway, there is an introduction to the book by Barbara Kingsolver. In it she talks about her days in college and in the world at large where she in as many words hesitant or even almost ashamed of her background of having grown up on a Kentucky tobacco farm. Both the tobacco and the farm were considered less than desirable things to bring up in her circles of associations in a positive light so instead she stayed quiet. I have been there with her. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I would never deny, but there were times when I tried to distance myself from my own personal history.
First things first – for those that were watching (don’t think it was many), I have moved the blog from the free space over on WordPress.com to my own hosted space at mephistos.com using the wordpress engine and such. I have, as was stated in one of the two post from so long ago, felt a major need to for an outlet of this nature. Hopefully, with this move and a bit more time, I will get more opportunity to post things here.