Have a Good What?!?!

Way back when, in days of yore, at the end of a transaction with the grocer, butcher, barber, etc, I would be dismissed with the following phrase, "Have a good day."

Or words to that effect.

An innocuous enough sentiment. Wishing me generally well for my immediate future.

But now, the clerk at my local Shopper's, Timmy's, Gas Bar and pretty much everywhere else I patronize ends the transaction with the following statement: "Have a good one."

But...have a good what?

Is it now up to me what I have a good one of?

Can they no longer offer me anything specific?

Is it a politically correct, gender neutral thing?

Should I have a good drive home?

A good time picking my lottery numbers?

Maybe a good dinner?

Fergawdssake, help me out here!

A good walk with my dog?

How about good time with my spouse?

Perhaps a good hair day?

Throw me a bone!

A good belch at the end of my meal?

A good cup of coffee?

A good nights sleep?

Give me a goal!

Have a good life?

Have a good bowel movement?

A good colonoscopy?


For crying out loud, don't be namby-pamby about it, be specific!

I CAN'T TAKE THE PRESSURE!

DJW

"I'm not crazy I'm just a little unwell..."

 

Born a Rebel

Born in a small town in South Ontario in the 50's,
it wasn't hard to want more from life than farm country could offer.

In a house full of music, she taught herself guitar, then eventually fiddle.

But it was her voice that was her true instrument.

In the 70's, she chased a dream to the west coast. Her dream chased her back.

She picked up work singing for some local Country Bands, and was good at it.

She earned a living as a bookkeeper, but music was always her passion.

Still the rebel, even with her job, she could be seen riding from client to client, on a Harley in a flowing dress, fur coat and an Easy Rider red white and blue helmet. Her employer at the time, a respectable art agency strongly urged her to change her mode of transportation, so she traded the Harley on a Cordoba. That didn't work for her, so she dumped the Cordoba for a T-Bird. 460 4bbl. White-on-white-on-white.

That fit.

A brunette Suzanne Sommers.

But the dream still beckoned.

She eventually found herself back on the left coast, this time in California. And the car for her now was a 68 Charger, 440 6-pack, red with a maple leaf in the middle of the white roof. She called it the Norma Lee.

Take that, General Lee!

She adopted Norma Lee as her name, a truncated version of her given name, Norma Louise.  

It wasn't long before she hooked up with the local Country Music scene, and then found the right music for her, Western Swing

She had some success, a few recordings. More than most of us could expect.

Writing music became a profitable sideline.

She still preferred performing, and did it whenever she could. 

A number of years ago, some strange things started happening, her fingers weren't working properly.

Parkinson's Disease.

Playing music became a problem. But she still sang and wrote.

Then Parkinson's took her signing voice.

She still wrote and collaborated.

When her husband died last year, he had the forethought to set her up in an assisted care community. Still her own home, but help on-site if she needed it.

About a month ago they diagnosed her with cancer. Liver, gall bladder, lungs and tumours in her brain.

Music was her passion.

Poetry her forte.

She is singing again, with a great back up band, and a huge audience.

DJW

When I turned 30, she declared me her older brother.

Farewell to my younger sister.

Enjoy the music. 

Again? Already?

 

 It's that time of the year again. 

Some people use New Years to reflect, I use my birthday.

My birthday traditionally falls on the Victoria Day long weekend. Here that means the un-official start to summer, parties, BBQ's, camping and fireworks.

When I was little, I thought they had fireworks just because it was my birthday.

When I was a younger, immortal man, it meant a weekend long camping party, the ones that movies are made of now.

A number of years ago, we went on a fruitless search of fireworks, and I was left feeling empty. That was near the time that the Old Man's health was deteriorating, and I was coming to grips with being a mere mortal.

Two years ago, My Darling Bride and several cohorts managed to pull off a surprise party on me. The first one I ever had.

This year, as I sat on the back patio listening to the fireworks going off around me, and thinking about the past year, I realize that all things considered, I'm pretty lucky.

Sure, I've got creaks and kinks that take an hour to work out every morning. A new health challenge, but it's not life threatening. Old health quirks that make life a little interesting, but that is just normal wear and tear as far as I'm concerned.

But the pluses outweigh the minuses.

I've been married for over twenty years to My Darling Bride who is also my best friend. (can you believe that? over 20!)

Thing One had her live debut last night, with much applause.

Thing Two has a steady job and is getting her feet under her.

Boy Thing has his life organized, if not his day.

I have a good job.

The yard is getting back in shape.

Project Bubble is coming along. (more on that later).

The bills are paid.

All in all, I'm pretty well off!

Cue the fireworks!

DJW 

In honour of the anniversary of DJ's 29th birthday, 

Canadians may have a day off with pay...

...and fireworks.

You're welcome.

Spellling Counts.

I got pulled over the other day.

Not exactly headline news, but kinda funny when you hear the whole story.

In my 30+ years of driving, I've been pulled over several times before.

Twice at gunpoint.

The first time was when I was driving cab. The cruisers boxed me in and an Officer came up from behind and extracted my none-too-happy passenger. When I told them he hadn't paid the six dollar fare yet, they pulled ten bucks out of his shirt and gave it to me. Cool! Cops, guns, and a four dollar tip!

The second take down happened when I was driving to work one dark winter morning.

I was waiting at a light not far from home, driving a dark blue Sunbird, when a cruiser pulled across my nose, lights flashing. The Cop hopped out, pointed his weapon at me and ordered me to put my hands on the dash. He asked me some questions about who I was and where I was going at this time of the morning. When I convinced him I was not up to no good, he explained that someone driving a car fitting that description was involved in a hold up a few blocks away not long before. There were three identical Sunbird's within two blocks of my home at that time.

M.D.B. had been a Police Communicator for quite some time at this point, and I understood that sometimes mix ups happen.

I was pulled over one other time for driving a car that 'matches the description'.

I was driving a 1974 AMC Javelin, dark green with primer on the rear 1/4's, a white roof and yellow doors. I believe it was the only car ever to match that description. Yet I didn't get a ticket.

Yesterday was kinda different.

Traffic was stop and go, up to 2nd gear maximum. I saw the cruiser behind me, but I had no concerns. The van in front of me drifted to the left, and I followed suit, trying to see the tail lights of the car 2 or 3 in front of me. Something I've learned about early braking. When the cruiser activated it's lights and motioned me to pull over, I thought I might have a light out or something similar. No way I could have been speeding.

When the Officer came up to the door, the story started to unfold.

"I noticed you were weaving back there. Had anything to drink today?"

"Um, nope. I'm just on my way home from work." Then I explained about early braking.

He asked where I worked and I told him. Then he asked what I did.

"I'm a Surveyor."

"Oh, that's what that says."

The frame around my license plate reads, "Surveyors know all the angles."

"What's with the part about knowing all the angels? Are you associated with the Hell's Angel's?"

"Um, that's angles. Like degrees, minutes and seconds. That's what I do, measure angles."

He ran my license anyway, and once he was satisfied that I was not drunk, nor a member of an outlaw biker gang, or a combination of both, he let me go with the following warning, "You should fix that. People in Law Enforcement might get the wrong idea."

First time in almost 13 years anyone has.

DJW

A professionally made sign I've seen lately urges you to 'Buy your supply's"
Does no one know how to speel any more?
...or use the F7 key?

Locates, Locates, Locates!

We interrupt your day with the following Public Service Announcement:

Call Before You Dig!

Unless you have x-ray glasses that can see whats below the grass, make that phone call.

It can save your life.

As most of you know, I've been working in Municipal Construction for a lot of years, and I can tell you first hand that too frequently underground utilities get dug up. Most of the time, unless you are directly affected by the loss of your hydro/phone/water/cable service, you wouldn't know about it.

But if a gas line gets hit...like in Milton, Ontario a while back, the whole country will find out.

And if a Fiber Optic line gets cut, the repair can start at $1 million and go up. You cant just splice that stuff back together with black tape.

So, its the end of February, and your not planning on putting in that new fence in the back or planting that tree in the front until spring.

Call now.

I work in the industry and sometimes it takes weeks to get underground utilities located. The warmer it gets, the longer it takes. Even if you aren't ready when the locates are done, they will give you a sketch of your property showing where the stuff underground is. You can re mark it with paint, or with little flags you can get at most gardening stores.

If you are hiring a Contractor to do some digging, make sure they have had the locates completed. Ask to see copies of the sketches. If they don't have them, DON'T LET THEM DIG!

"I'm putting a play structure in the middle of my back yard, there's nothing there," you say. Are you sure?

Buddy at work had a problem a few weeks ago with his electricity. It runs underground to his house. The local Utility Company came out and determined there was a break in the wire feeding his meter, and they had to dig up line.

It was through the middle of his back yard!

This guy is a do-it-yourselfer. Thank goodness he didn't go rent a Bobcat to put in his own pool.

"I'm not digging that deep." I once cut a home phone line digging up a property stake.

So, before you go rent that post hole auger from Home Depot, look at the pictures below...








This is a sign that was already installed on a right of way last year when I came along to do some surveying. After the locates were done, I nearly pooped myself. The orange paint is for communication lines. The sign missed by less than a foot. The yellow is for gas. They missed by inches! The blue marks you see indicate the water service to the building. The sign is right on top of it! These guys were lucky!

By the way, utility locates for home owners are FREE!

The utility companies pay for them because its a lot cheaper than making repairs.

DJW

Go! Call Now! Dig Later!

Living With It

Twenty-five years ago I was immortal.

Most possessor's of a Y chromosome in their 20's are.

I worked all day, slugging in a factory, and in my spare time, I served evenings and weekends in the Artillery Reserves, slugging 50 lb bullets. I also played around for a time with cars, twisting myself into contorted shapes to get at nuts and bolts. I once changed a clutch single-handedly by resting the transmission on my chest and balancing the tailstock on my knees.

I worked till I was beyond sore. Got up the next day and did it again.

Then one day it happened.

The pain in my back didn't go away.

"Over did it," I says to myself. the pain lasted days, then weeks. People noticed I was limping.

"Go see a Doctor,"they told me.

"Nah, it will sort itself out." After all, I'm a healthy guy in my 20's.

Finally I relented and saw the Doctor. X-rays, exams and much poking, prodding and twisting was performed. The diagnosis took almost two pages. The synopsis was that my back was screwed.

"...a small deficit in L-5 & 6. The Patient shows all the symptoms of Degenerative Disc Disease and is predisposed to Arthritis. No heavy lifting over 25 lbs., no long periods of standing, sitting or strenuous activity."

Predisposed.

Its coming at me like a slow moving train.

"So what can I do, Doctor?"

"Live with it."

These words echoed in my head.

Living with it meant giving up my job and the best part of my hobbies.

I fought.

Still I lost.

Changing a starter used to take 1/2 and hour. Now it takes 1/2 a day and 1/2 a bottle of codeine. And one bad hit on the track and I wouldn't walk again.

My role in the Militia was now reduced to a desk job and paperwork.

And in my day job, I was slowly pushed out the door.

In the first years, living with it sucked and I didn't deal well. But with the help of others around me, I persevered, found new ways to do things and modify my life to get on with it.

Living with a bad back I managed to find a new career, renovate a house, go camping in a trailer, fix my own car and be a Daddy. Albeit with a lot of pain killers, assistance and ingenuity.

I was indeed, "Living with it."

A number of years later it happened again.

The pain wasn't going away. This time it was in my gut.

X-ray, scopes and tests were done.

Diverticulitis. Small pockets in the colon where foods can get lodged, and cause infection. Untreated, it can lead to Peritonitis and death. Antibiotics and laxatives can treat infrequent attacks. If they become more severe and more frequent, a resection of the colon is performed.

"What can I do, Doctor?"

"Change your diet and live with it."

There were those words again.

Live with it.

Change.

Changing meant giving up some foods that I loved, but the alternatives were really nasty. "Give me cashews or give me death!" Or words to that effect.

Living with Diverticulois is not that hard. The only real pain in the butt (pun intended) with this is explaining to people in restaurants and at dinner parties that I'm not allergic, I just can't eat that.

A few years later I woke up one morning and couldn't move my head. My shoulder was on fire, my arm was all tingly and I couldn't feel the fingers in my left hand.

"Slept wrong," I told myself and everyone around me.

...and it didn't go away.

Again.

A few weeks later and I'm off to see a Specialist, and go through the whole routine again. X-rays, MRI, CAT Scan, nerve tests, strength tests, etc.

After almost a year of this the Doctor says to me, "You have mild to moderate compression of the nerves at C3 and 4. Get some physio and exercise. It will probably not go away completely."

"Live with it."

I've heard that before.

By this time, I had already been living with it for a while.

At work, I try not to carry things with my left hand, or on my left shoulder. When I can, I use a VOX headset and microphone. When I can't I use a remote mic on the radio so I can feel the transmit button. I try to look for over head items before I get there, so I don't have to crane my neck. When I have to do desk work, I try not to look down much, or I stand and work at a higher level when I can.

At home, well, its the same story. Working overhead is a chore that takes time. Doing the soffits and fascia on our small house took several weeks. Things on the top shelf I have to grab with my right hand. And I sleep on a heating pad, with my arm supported my a pillow most nights. Playing darts (which I'm not that great at) I stand with my right side to the board, pull the darts out and score with the right. And if a dart hits the floor (happens a lot with me) I have a magnet on a stick to pick it up with.

Again, I'm living with it.

A few months ago, I was experiencing some discomfort, in my right side this time. And I was off my feed. This time the Doctor predicted gall stones, and sent me for tests. About 24 hours after my ultrasound (how pregnant am I, Doc?) I get called back in.

Good, they found gall stones and we can deal with that easily.

"It's not gall stones," he says. "You have several cysts on the outside of your liver. The biggest is about 4 cm. There may be more inside. Your liver is swollen. It's called Polycystic Liver Disease and it's genetic"

"What can we do, Doctor?"

"Draining the cysts is ineffective, they will just fill up again. If we remove them, they will just grow back. In extreme cases, we remove part of your liver or do a transplant."

"To get the swelling down, change your diet and live with it."

I've heard those words before.

Live with it.

Diet changes this time are more severe, and I have to eat smaller portions and more frequently as my liver is pushing on my stomach. But on the whole, it's not insurmountable.

I'm again, 'living with it.'

I've had some help and some examples for 'living with it'.

My Father lived with Degenerative Arthritis and C.O.P.D.

My Mother lived with Diverticulosis and Colitis.

My Darling Bride lives with Diabetes and Arthritis.

Others around me are living with many different ailments and conditions.

I look at it this way, and I forget who told me this, but they were right...

"You can choose to suffer from it, or you can choose to live with it."

I choose to live with it.

It's much better than suffering.

DJW

For more inspirations for "Living with it," how about Lance Armstrong and Melissa Etheridge?