I'd Like To Thank....

I received a very warm and heartfelt thank you note from a family member Thursday. For her it has been a long and difficult year which, I really don't think could have been any worse. Her note reminded me of a couple of important points, especially good to keep in sight as we approach the end of another year.

One of the defining characteristics of any good family, and certainly of mine, is the group's willingness to never tire in coming together in the aid of one another. We've done it time and again in mine. My family of eight siblings has more than a generation's length from oldest to youngest. We live separate and active lives. Several of us live quite removed from the others. We don't each see eye to eye on religion. We don't each see eye to eye on politics. And yet, with all of those variables which could be so terribly divisive, we remain a bonded group, from first to last: interested, concerned and caring about one another. It's truly amazing and wonderful good fortune to be a part of such a family.

If you are fortunate to be a member of such a well connected, concerned and loving family, this might be a good time of year to make certain your siblings know just how lucky you feel to be a part of your family and to have them. If not genetic family, then maybe a community of friends or associates who function in much the same manner. Either way, this would be a good weekend to send a message or get on the phone. Don't assume they already know.

The other thing this letter did for me is it served as a reminder to say thank you. Most of us try to take time each year at the holidays to send a card and acknowledge the people and relationships, both personal and professional, that are important to us. But beyond that, this would be a good time to look back at 2011 and take inventory of all the special gifts we've received from others. During the course of a year there are those who have really come forward and contributed in a manner that has provided a particular and powerful good in our lives. Whether driven by your needs or simply the other person's desire to reach out to you, there are always those people who seem to step out each year and do the thing that confirms the good in humanity; the value in friendship. Whether only one person or several, this would be a very good time to say thank you and acknowledge the difference they made.  Even if you've said it once already, this is the perfect time to let them know, once more, how much you appreciate those who care about you.

Let's Talk About It Later

Funny how the year end motivates so many of us to assess our lives. We try to take a look at what's transpired in the previous 12 months and, many times, resolve to make changes. As if duty bound we make a plan for the next twelve months.

Personally, I have flirted with resolutions often enough that I don't even give the topic any serious consideration. If I were one for resolutions and life planning I would think I might find greater success if I launched my plan in the spring, a time of growth and renewal. Living where I do it seems tough to give serious consideration to initiating plans to start anew as you find yourself settling into the long dark cold winter. It's more like, let's roll over and go back to sleep. We'll talk about it in April.

Resolution #1

My wife, along with millions of other Americans, got an iPad for Christmas. My previous estimate that there were 2273 American adults that did not receive iPads this holiday season has been revised. It now appears the actual number of adult Americans who did not receive an iPad this holiday season is closer to 78. 78. And I'm one of them. Suddenly a MacBook just ain't good enough anymore. Of course, my laptop can't take pictures of anything other than the mug in front of the screen which, in my case, is a good thing. See photo above. Then read on.

My wife, in her enthusiasm for her new iPad and its versatile little camera, has discovered the efficiency in taking a photo of things, like a recipe, in an effort to collect and organize "personal data.".  I, in my unflagging enthusiasm for being the resourceful helpmate, offered to assist her in capturing an image of her soon to be famous Chicken and Dumpling recipe. I, the man who provided her with that spectacular technical tablet. I, the man who guided her along the many treacherous steps to the culinary success to be had in the simple combining of chicken and Bisquick. For my efforts? Documentation of a fabulous recipe and a photo that inadvertently illustrates my need to accept, pursue, and complete resolution #1 for 2012: Lose that f'in waterfall of a double chin, man! Holy crap! One can try to photoshop it away but that really doesn't help. I'm afraid it's time to face the music and do the work.

My problem can't be blamed on any fancy schmancy iPad. No. My problem requires I take a long hard look in the mirror, stop distracting myself with toys and gadgets and admit that, what I need is not an iPad of my own. It's plastics! I'm afraid nothing less can restore the plateau that should be found between my dimple and my neck. That's it. Problem number one, numero uno, for 2012. That gives me just 4 more days to knock off the rest of the pumpkin pie, the ginger cookies, the shortbread, the peppermint ice cream.......

Last Call

We are now entering the last week of 2011. It's as good a time as any to take inventory of all the things you wanted to do and didn't. More important, it's time to think about those few things left undone that you still have time to complete.

For me, I feel good about having completed many of the things I had on my to do list for 2011. There are a few for which I have little hope: My office here at home remains a mess and holds little possibility of being sorted out this week. Very little possibility. And I am beginning to feel fairly certain I am not going to get a holiday card out before the 31st. I do think I will be able to attack both and salvage my shortcomings, though, sometime in the next few weeks. Sitting here last night watching The Polar Express with Evan for the 3rd or 4th time this season, however, I suddenly realized one project that I definitely want done this week before the 31st: Charitable giving.

I have several groups and a couple of schools I donate to each year. Times are challenging for both donors and recipients. Many groups and projects are becoming more and more dependent on those of us who are willing and able to donate. So, for those of us who can, please do. And, if you can't, as the old song goes, "and if you haven't got a ha'penny, then God bless you."

There's Got To Be A Morning After

I can't imagine that having this Monday off is a good idea. We have already spent days and weeks, if not months, thinking, planning, and shopping for December 25th. For the majority of us it was a hectic sprint in the final stretch, desperate in our struggle to reach the finish line with the rest of the pack. And then, mission accomplished, we cross the finish line entering an explosion of activity. After weeks of preparation the celebration is over in just a few hectic hours. If you're lucky, garbage day is the 26th.

In our home we had 4 new iPad owners yesterday afternoon. Not all members of my immediate family and I am not included among the chosen. In fact, I'm thinking I must be among about 2273 adults who did not get an iPad in the past 24 hours. (I'm not complaining.)  At least iPads don't have to make noise in order to work. Most all of the paper and ribbon debris was hauled out and dishes done by last night. Evan's back to normal and everyone seems intent on getting back to business as usual.

So, what's up with the 26th being a holiday? No work. No pre-school.  Just frustrated consumers standing in customer service lines at big box or department stores. For my money?  Can I please go back to work now? I'm exhausted. I just want to get back to a full day of activities..... a day when I can't wait to get home with nothing to do.

Spreading the Cheer

Whatever you may think of the airlines these days, it's nice to see one get it right. I mean, I'm not a real frequent flyer by the standards of those poor slobs who have to travel 2, 3, or more days per week. We're lucky if we manage one trip a month, at best. It's enough, however, to realize that air travel, at least the commercial variant, is short on glamour and long on tedium.  Nonetheless, those airlines usually do get you where you want to go pretty quickly and in one piece.

When I saw this posted at one of the gates in Phoenix last weekend I had to snap a picture. Corny? Perhaps. But, darn it anyway, thanks for shedding the corporate armor for a bit, US Airways. On a Sunday when the airport was absolutely jammed with seasonal travelers I'm sure many of the people in that gate area didn't really care. But the little ones loved it, along with anyone else who still finds the time and place to spread a little holiday cheer. And who knows, maybe it chipped the ice off the cold exterior of a few of those air-weary business types as well.

Today is the day I traditionally make my list and check it twice. By the 24th most all of the last minute shoppers are done, leaving the stores relatively open and easy to navigate for shoppers like me. But yesterday, the 23rd, we made plans to meet friends for lunch and so I found myself immersed in a fluid mass of holiday shoppers. It was insane. In spite of the lateness of the hour, in spite of the swarm of urgent consumers, in spite of sales floors that were to remain open until 10PM and, by all appearances, would require another 2 hours to tidy-- in spite of all the drama I was pleased to find so many salespeople who remained helpful, patient, and, well, down right cheery.

Its a tired adage but often true: Happiness is a choice. I hope that you are among the fortunate who will be able to relax a bit today and tomorrow. Stay cool, calm, and take a page from those spirited employees where I shopped and at US Airways: Choose to spread a little cheer.

Charley Brown Chocolates

Every year at this time my office starts to fill with all sorts of candy, cookies and other assorted treats. It’s the yearend holiday thank you ritual which is always enjoyed but equally dreaded for it’s high fat low fit content. The other day each one of the docs received a nice box of Frango chocolate mints, a holiday truffle that is a well loved tradition in these parts. They’re delicious and each one of us received a one pound box.

In our office we all pretty much "toss it all on the pile.” What comes to the office, stays at the office. But this year, after opening my box of truffles and leaving them out all afternoon, I found only a couple had been eaten. It was then that I got to thinking, maybe I should just take the rest home. Afterall, Evan and Kelsey will love these. And the inlaws will be over on Christmas. No one’s eating them anyway and the medical assistants all but pleaded with me to get them out of there.

Needless to say, I decided to take the rest of my box of candy home. I had a bit of a guilty feeling over this but figured, what the heck. The package had my name on it. I had offered and no one took advantage. They’re going! I did kind of hind them under some x-rays I was taking for the next morning; not that I was feeling too guilty. By the time I was driving out of the parking lot I was wondering if anyone would notice my chocolates had been removed from the pile of treats.

By the time I stopped at the hospital to drop off the x-rays I was feeling downright defensive: they were my chocolates, dammit, and they weren't being eaten at the office. As I opened the back door of the truck to get out my x-rays fate took a hand. The first thing out was my box of Frango Chocolate mints which, unbeknownst to me, had slid over against the door, ready to escape my kidnap. I was completely frazzled as my little box of chocolates hit the ground spilling almost all of its contents on the surface of the parking lot. I was so farmisht I almost left them, like those bums who finally get around to emptying the ashtray of their car in the grocery store parking lot. But I didn't. Instead I bent over there in the wind and mist, quickly placed the box with the few that had been considerate enough to stay put back in the truck, and then spent a long couple of minutes trying to collect the fallen and their little white paper cups before they sailed off.

Next time I'll buy my own damn chocolates. These were definitely not worth the physical and psychological effort. I just hope I won't have to answer any questions from the staff about a missing box of candy. Good grief!

The Chicken and Dumpling Problem

Tam made Chicken and Dumplings for dinner the other night. I choose to capitalize the spelling because it is one of the all-time great comfort foods. Straight out of the depression: milk, flour and baking powder (okay, okay, so we use Bisquick) dropped into a boiling pot of chicken pieces, carrots, onion, celery. (It's actually the gentile version of matzo ball soup, developed in part because only Jews know how to spell matzah matzoh matza matsa, whatever.) It’s one of my specialties and I led her through to a culinary touchdown complete with two-point conversion.

What a bummer that I’ve taken chicken off my menu. The longer I go without eating meat the more unappetizing it becomes. But the smell of that chicken and dumplings was too much. So, this evening I decided to counter back with cream of celery and dumplings with fresh celery and peas. No caps there. It was good but, to paraphrase, it don’t light my wick if it ain’t got that chick. I ate it, but I’m not proud.

So, sitting here looking at my pot of cream of celery and dumplings next to her pot of Chicken and Dumplings, I’ve come to the only rational conclusion: I’ll cheat. After all, my shoes are leather. I wear leather coats. My cooking mitts are leather. Next pot of dumplings I make is going to get doused with chicken—chicken bullion that is. All of the flavor and none of the parts. I can live with that. You can call it situational ethics if you like. I call it a tasty solution to a meaty problem.

Happy Hanukkah

As a kid I loved Christmas as much as any other kid. To say I grew up in an observant Christian household  is a significant understatement. But when it came right down to it, after all the many days of Advent preparation with services on Wednesday nights and such, it was about the tree and Santa Claus and presents. Observant Christians like catchy phrases like, "Remember the Reason for the Season" and "Keep Christ in Christmas." But for kids, the reason for the season is presents. Specifically, toys.

In about 1966 I learned from my new best friend Danny that not everyone celebrates Christmas. I found that to be an impossible piece of misfortune until he countered back that they celebrate Hanukkah. More to the point: They observed eight days of gift giving. Talk about disconcerting. Why the hell had a major slice of humanity ever moved on from Judaism?? Trade eight days of getting stocks, money, toys, clothes, gelt, and chocolate oranges for some pie in the sky theory of salvation? Not if I'd been king of the world! Not much later I discovered those friends who were reformed. Those lucky stiffs celebrated the 8 days of Hanukkah followed by christmas (small c in their case) complete with Santa!!  At the tender age of 9 I was beginning to understand what religious war was all about: Envy.

At any rate, I haven't converted and so remain stuck with my one measly day of gift giving. But this year, in the name of cultural diversity, I think I'll give the kids some chocolate gelt. Happy Hanukkah.

Gun Control

My friend Larry warned me I would probably get killed if we bought in Phoenix. He was kidding but he was commenting on the fact that Arizona is a cowboy and gun state. I don’t have a gun and I definitely am not an advocate of sporting one for “personal protection.” Living in Phoenix, however, you do see them from time to time.

So, there I was, looking for a check-out line at the local market. I thought I was clever following a woman with no groceries into line. I figured she’d be quick. She looked a little rough around the edges, was yakking on her phone, and had her “piece” holstered on her right hip. Probably wanted cigarettes. “S’cuse me, partner, I’m with the lady.” I turned and there was Romeo looking like a church going meth dealer on a Sunday.  “No problem” I responded and stepped aside, moving to another check-out line.

I didn’t mind any of the having to surrender my spot in line to his cart loaded with groceries, it was just the gun part that bugged me. First, it scares me that, apparently, the only qualifications for personal handgun ownership in Arizona are a pulse and upright stature. The other thing that bugged me was that the gun itself was an easy target for theft. The woman was so busy with her conversation that a tough guy (not me) could have easily pushed her down and removed that weapon in about 3 seconds.

If I ever run for office this may come back to bite me but I’ll say it now: handguns do far more to facilitate crime that they do to prevent it. It’s like the 68 year old woman in my office the other day: when I commented on the size and bulk of her purse she laughed and said, “Yeah. And all I have is my holster. I took my semi-automatic out.” A handgun in a purse is more likely to get to get pinched by a lucky purse-snatcher than to be used to stop one.

Oh well, I guess I’ll just start using the damn automated checkout line. Or maybe a market with home delivery. Meanwhile Larry, if you're keeping score, I like to think this cowboy dodged his first bullet in the Grand Canyon State.

See's Sucker

Well, as will eventually come to all other innocence of childhood, my son’s candy-less days have passed. Halloween proved his undoing. With classmates bringing all manner of sweets to school as “snacks” for the class, the cat was out of the bag. Just days ago he came home with his first sucker, a nasty little green thing, a poor excuse for candy, compliments of the pre-school’s holiday party. Humbug.

“I like suckers. They’re good!” Slurp, slurp. Ya, ya, ya. Okay. I guess four years was long enough to hold out. At least he's old enough now to know the importance of regular brushing. And, unlike his father, he knows to stop eating when he’s full. Oddly enough, my daughter is the same way. She has minimal interest in sweets and she stops eating when she’s had enough. How come I couldn’t have gotten her genes??

At any rate, it’s the holidays and so, full speed ahead. In the Phoenix airport I had to stop and load-up with See’s Suckers. (They’re called “Lollipops.” Go figure. I guess "sucker" has just too many alternate usages.) If the kid wants a sucker there's no point in poisoning him with crappy little 'dum dums'. Lollipop or sucker, Ev seems content to have made the happy acquaintance of Mary See's hearty version of the confection. And, really, does it get any better on an airplane-- Tom and Jerry on the laptop and chocolate sucker in hand?

Bad Choices

A friend of mine recently posted to facebook that she had lost her iPhone. More critically, someone in the neighborhood had found the phone and they're using it! Apparently she's confronted them, thanks to Find My Phone, but the party has denied their having possession.  Incredibly, this is a well-to-do neighborhood, the type where folks hosts high end political fundraisers and the like. Who knows, maybe the thief is in foreclosure and financial dire straits. Be that as it may, it sucks. It's nice these phones have the smarts to let you lock out your info and shut them down but you still have the hassle of replacing the thing and restoring the data, providing you're the type that backs up your data.

The part that is funny about this is that, in her post, she writes, "I get so disappointed when people make bad choices." I don't think there is a more magnanimous way of stating it. I would have said something more akin to, "I hate a**holes."

"You're making bad choices" is the new "Stop or you're going to get a spanking!" or, "Don't make me stop this car!!" In the adult world it is more akin to, "You're well on your way to being fired" or, "I'm about to punch you," or, as in the example above, "You're acting like a complete jerk."  In short, it is the p.c. way of telling someone you hate what they're doing/did.

The phrase drives me crazy. My wife uses it with Evan. I still prefer, "Stop it!," "No!," or plain ol' "Don't do that." With adults I still stick with the old standby, "You're being an ass."

When it comes to making bad choices I like to think my buying a 1996 Impala SS was a bad choice. Or the 1955 Ford Ranch Wagon. Or buying pull-on ankle boots a few years back. Those were bad choices. My son not turning off the T.V. when asked is misbehaving. Wearing flip-flops on a cold and rainy day is a bad choice. An adult buying a Hello Kitty case for their iPhone is a bad choice. Stealing someone's phone is being an ass.

I Want, I Want

On Good Morning America they showcased a website where one can post their gift wishes for the holiday gift season. It's like a bridal registry for holiday giving (I'm refusing to use that word "gifting".) GMA reports it's gaining popularity and people say it performs a service. Yes, a service: They report it facilitates people getting what they want and giving what is desired.

Okay. I get part of that. But not much. I understand the frustration of not knowing what to get someone. But a website? Bridal registry, yes. It's good to be able to help equip a new home, providing a needed spring-form pan as opposed to a Jello ring mold; or a serving piece that actually matches a set. Not so with holiday gifts.

Kels can be evasive but she's usually straight forward. She talks when questioned. Evan is pretty smart and focused on what he wants for Christmas. He talks, we listen. Easy. But he's not capable of going on line and registering his wishes. No, an adult would have to use that service.

Before you file my profile under "Grinch" hear me out: I firmly believe in gift giving...as long as it involves children or other people with whom you actually share deep care and connection.  Your Mother's Aunt Martha in Connecticut? No. Your adult siblings? Maybe. Your spouse. Definitely. Your kids, at any age, definitely. But the fun in it, at least in my opinion, lies in the hunt for that great idea. That one thing or things you've noticed that would make a great gift. It does require some degree of attention on the part of the giver and, most importantly, connection to the recipient. And if you just don't know for the grand kids, nieces or nephews? Call someone who does. A gift registry for holiday giving is about getting you to buy more stuff-- more meaningless, unneeded, soon abandoned, landfill stuffing junk. It is not about finding deeper meaning in this season of giving.

Like great sex, gift giving should involve someone you really care about, be spontaneous, and often best unscripted. And, hopefully, it will also answer the question 'was it good for you?' in the affirmative.

The Dreaded End

The Detroit paper has been running a series on Michigan nursing homes. Not so good.

I have some skin in the game as I both expect to live long enough to need one and I have the insurance to cover the costs-- at least for six or so years of need. Financial planners these days advocate individuals making nursing home insurance a part of one's financial plan.

The stories in the Detroit Free Press do not paint a pretty picture: Miserable conditions with poor physical plant and inattentive or wholly absent care. Stench, filth, and rot. I'm looking forward to this. There are good ones to be sure. But with the population of potential residents growing by the thousands every day, it's going to get more and more expensive to find a spot in any nursing home, let alone a good one. I can see it now: Nursing homes are the pre-schools of the future. Kids who actually care about their parents needs will be having to sign their folks up years in advance, submit them to pre-admission testing, and pay inflated premiums to secure a spot. I can hear their cocktail conversation in 2025, "Ya, it's expensive but we wanted the best for our dad. We were just thrilled when he got into the Harvard of nursing homes." And here's an idea: How about a 529 plan for nursing home care? When you finish socking away for your kids college you can start socking away for your extended end of life care with pre-tax contributions of up to $10,000 per year!

The ugly flip side to the above scenario is one in which corporate entities come along to develop nursing homes as a revenue producing business venture. Residents will be sure to wind up living at the intersection of cost control and care: A hazardous corner for an invalid. An attractive lot for the family that must manage a limited budget in an effort to minimally impact their future estate. Ouch!

For years parents have told their children that someday they will be the child's responsibility. That's why you see the bumper sticker that reads: Be nice to your kids. They'll choose your nursing home.  Now it could get worse: As kids learn we have insurance to cover the costs of nursing home care we may be lucky to even get a ride over to the stink hole, let alone regular visits on the weekend. Paybacks can be hell.

No worries here. I trust my daughter to do the right thing... but she's definitely getting what she wants for Christmas.

Calling Agent 86

The US, so very proud of its stealth technology and its leading edge technology in the development of  unmanned aircraft, managed to lose one to the enemy last week. I see the news blip that the US has asked Iran to return it...please. Riiiiiight. The President of the United States is more likely to find Santa Claus coming down his chimney here in a couple of weeks then we are ever to see even the twisted, hacksawed remains of our precious unmanned spy ship.

When I first heard the report of the loss I wondered why they don't equip the thing so that, in a scenario such as the one at hand, you push a button and the thing self-destructs. Apparently no one thought about the need to do that. I would think that after losing a rather expensive Blackhawk helicopter or two the thought might have crossed someone's mind.

Thinking back a few years they might have taken a page from Agent 86. Maxwell Smart may have bumbled into losing the thing behind enemy lines but he would have had the means to destroy it-- and I wager he would have singlehandedly won the war as well as been home in time to say goodnight to Agent 99. Mel Brooks. Buck Henry: Please report to the Pentagon.

The Drug Culture

Seriously?

I watched the Obama interview Sunday on 60 Minutes. I enjoyed watching it and I like to think the man has the potential to accomplish an important human agenda. His biggest obstacle remains an opposing party that seems fully committed to obstructing any policy the President presents-- opposition that, in spite of all rhetoric to the contrary, appears to be opposition for the sole purpose of being obstructive.

The thing that killed me, however, was the fact that I saw two pharmaceutical ads, one for Lipitor and one for Cialis, aired during the course of the interview. I have to say, I don't think people outside of medicine really get it. Does anyone in all of the United States think pharmaceutical advertising to the public-- those sophisticated slick television, web, and print ads-- does anyone really believe those ads do anything other than add to the cost of healthcare?  Does anyone really think direct pharmaceutical advertising to the public makes American healthcare better, more informed? Seriously? Having Obama's interview sponsored by a pharmaceutical concern is like having Budweiser run ads on an interview with a raging alcoholic struggling to find the path to recovery. For a guy who is committed to healthcare reform the irony was too much to take.

What direct advertising to the public does provide is unrealistic expectations, unrealistic outcomes, and exceptional successes portrayed as routine, all the while adding millions of dollars to the industry budget. They aren't public service announcements, you know, they're enticements to buy. And they contribute to the obscenity that is the cost of healthcare in the United States. Pharmaceutical advertising is detrimental to America's health. The drug company ads need to saddle up and follow the Marlboro man off into the sunset.

Chex Mix, Small m

At the hospital the other day someone brought in Chex Mix. (I know. I should have a little copyright c next to that. Everything is owned by someone these days.) At any rate, taking a look in the bowl I a.) was reminded how much I used to like Chex Mix and b.) was a little critical of all the "stuff" that had found its way into the mix: stuff like m&m's and bagel chips.

When I was a kid my Mom would make Chex mix (small "m" back then) around the holidays. It was for guests although, once it was put out, it was fair game. What wasn't to love about that salty snack? Seasoned with butter and worcestershire it extended the notion of nutritional value in a tasty treat-- like Rice Krispies Treats.

Passing along the aisles of the grocery store yesterday I came across this jumbo package that contained Rice, Corn, and Wheat Chex cereals along with the recipes for several variations on the theme of cereal based snacks.  Needless to say, I grabbed a package and determined I would make a nice sized batch of just the good old fashioned Chex mix, small m.

I didn't trust the enclosed package of seasonings so went online to find the classic recipe from the '50's. There it was: Corn Chex, Rice Chex, Wheat Chex, pretzels, nuts, garlic flavored bagel chips-- waaait just a doggone minute!! Bagel chips! I don't think there was a bagel chip outside of a delicatessen dumpster in the 1950's! I've tried going through old cookbooks but so far I haven't found a vintage recipe. I won't pursue an online search because I'm suspicious General Mills has purged any truly authentic editions, seeing how they refer to the bagel chip version as their "timeless classic" in every reference I've found.

Personally, I think the inclusion of the bagel chip is an effort on the part of General Mills to break Chex Mix out of its mid-century white bread, middle American, protestant mold and go ethnic. When you're based in Minnesota, believe me, bagel chips are definitely an ethnic food.

It turns out I'm not alone in this latest obcession. Check out this discussion. Then make some Chex Mix.

Grumpy Old Me

I must be turning into a grumpy old pink-o, socialist, commie, hippie: I took care of a woman the other day and she tells me she is paying $1800 a month for health insurance for herself and her husband and they still have a significant deductible. What the fuh.....!

It just seems that in a modern society if you get sick or you need an operation or your teeth need care or you need medication...it just strikes me that you should be able to get that as a human being living in the United States in the year 2011 without having to choose between food-- or gas or housing or clothing-- and healthcare. Canada seems to be able to accomplish this along with a whole lot of other modern countries. And, yes, they do pay higher taxes.

I have heard the comments about access and quality and I don't buy them. I sat next to a man on a flight a few months back, a duel citizen of the U.S. and Canada. He teaches at the University of Saskatchewan and is a native of Illinois. His appraisal? "I just like being able to get care when I need it without having to think about deductibles and all that." I have also heard about the Canadians who cross into Michigan because they don't want to wait 4 months to get an MRI of their knee. Boo hoo.

Like I said, I guess I'm just getting grumpy. But every day 10,000 Americans-- 10,000!-- are turning age 65. I see older people every day and I cannot imagine how our present system of medical care is going to even begin to handle the volume of need that's coming. It's enough to really piss me off.

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

The other morning while driving I heard a story on Michigan radio I found utterly disturbing. It seems the Michigan legislature is volleying back and forth about what to do with the loss of funding that provides assistance to low or no income families to assist with paying their winter utility bills. The funding is about to expire and the debate is how and if it can be painlessly replaced. One legislator interviewed said something to the effect of, "we want to take care of this because we don't want anyone to freeze to death this winter."

Not freezing to death seems like a rather absurdly low benchmark. In this state freezing to death is more than hyperbole, however, it happens. The sad thing about the funding in jeopardy is that the population most needing assistance are the elderly and families with small children. Knowing those demographic parameters I can understand the legislator's concern: frozen kids and old people send one's chances for re-election straight down the toilet.

In spite of the lame comment, the part of this situation that bugs the crap out of me is the fact that we should be having this dilemma at all. Losing one's utilities during life threatening conditions because of economic hardship seems down right inhumane, anti-social, and beyond possible in these United States. Free enterprise? Sorry. Please make another selection. I have confidence the matter will find legislative resolution before any lives are threatened but I find it maddening that our system- economic and political- plays chess with lives in deference to corporate prosperity. In a country with the wealth and resources of ours, poverty should not carry a death sentence.

Pearl Harbor Day

As a kid my Mom used to always announce, "Today is Pearl Harbor Day." She and my Dad would recall where they were and what they were doing when the news came that the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor. They would usually then recollect the many personal hardships associated with wartime. The discussion always included the Japanese families they knew who lost everything as they were relocated to internment camps for the duration of the war. Accounts of World War II in my childhood home included discussions of events and conditions that led to war but certainly gave emphasis to the cost of war as measured in terms of human suffering, loss of life, and the interruption of peacetime lifestyle. We didn't get much in the way of nationalistic glorification of battle. We received volumes speaking to the social and human cost.

A recent article in our local paper featured an interview with Pearl Harbor survivors from that December 7th 70 years ago. In it they describe the terror experienced in the events of that day, the loss of colleagues, the grotesque injuries, the disturbing memories which have lasted a 90 year lifetime. "I'd like people to stop and think about staying away from wars" says one of those interviewed.

I've never been in a war. Most of my family has been spared the experience as well. Reading these accounts, however, leads me to the following three thoughts:
1.)  In spite of the hatred and horror inflected by both sides on the other, I am amazed and grateful that today we count Japan among our most dedicated friends. The bitter pill of war appears to have dissolved with time.
 2.)  In spite of a chorus of stories along with modern media reporting that graphically conveys the terror, destruction, and inhumanity of war, we are still, in 2011, unable or unwilling to find any other recourse than to send young people to die in order to confront differing political, economic, and religious agendas. There still seems to be no limit to what we as a nation are willing to spend, measured in both dollars and lives, to wage war.
3.)  In spite of the terror and inhumanity of war, one of the most popular and sought after entertainments today is "Call of Duty Modern Warfare," a video game that brings realistic action, death and destruction into millions of homes-- as entertainment. One would hope that people would have lost their appetite for "playing war"at this time in world history. It's beyond my comprehension how the explicit violence of war has become palatable entertainment amassing an enormous following of enthusiastic "players." I wonder how many veterans of Pearl Harbor would enjoy the game.  How many veterans of any conflict who have had to literally scoop up the remains of a buddy, retrieve a severed limb, or have felt the searing heat of a battle injury?

Then again, perhaps we should promote and encourage war gaming. Going forward perhaps we should advocate a change in the way in which wars are conducted, letting gamers worldwide fight our battles virtually via interactive web based conflicts and give real conflict a rest. It should be obvious by now the real thing doesn't work.

Old People's Phones

This past Thanksgiving both my 19 year old daughter and my north of 65 year old sister were here for the holiday. I notivced something then that I've seen before but really came into focus with them both in the house: Old people's phones.

The same is true in the office. If you're in the clinic area and you here an "old phone ringer" or Seger's "Old Time Rock 'n Roll," you know who owns the phone. Heavy metal, late 40's to late 50's; A Broadway show tune? The answer depends on how high the volume. But here's the deal: If you can't hear the phone, the user is under the age of 25.

I guess I'm fortunate to have nothing more to complain about but visual and hearing loss drives me crazy. Being reminded of the fact is worse. Thus it was that having both my daughter and sister here at the same time was an assault on two fronts. My sister's phone, always misplaced, would be ringing away. My daughter's phone, never out of her hand, was a nonstop center of texting and voice messaging and was never heard.

I was probably just being over sensitive but it drove me crazy: My sister's phone was an audible reminder of what lies ahead while my daughter's was audible proof of what's fallen behind. Geez-- one more use for a cell phone!

Cotton Candy

Each year between Thanksgiving and Christmas our local Steam Railroading Institute operates "Polar Express" excursions as a fund raiser. They take passengers by train to the North Pole and Santa's Village (a surprisingly short 45 minute ride through the country from here). It's great for kid's and once at Santa's Village there is a large building filled with amusements and activities for kids as well as crafts and junk for adults to buy. It was there, this weekend, at Santa's Village, at the North Pole, that I discovered one of those bizarre twists in this modern regulated life.

Among the many concessions available was a cotton candy vendor. It was staffed by a young woman who appeared to be a junior or senior in highschool. Thinking this might be a good time to introduce Evan to cotton candy I wandered over and poked my head in the service window. The walls were lined with plastic bags stuffed with multicolored cotton candy, but she had the big round open metal tubs one uses to make the confection and they appeared to be on and ready for action. "Can you still make one of those pink numbers that comes on the paper tube?" I asked. She shook her head no. "The Health Inspector won't let us. He says it's unsanitary or something."

Unsanitary? Who cares, unsanitary! It's a friggin' Phyllis Diller wig of spun sugar. There's not one thing in the world to recommend ingesting cotton candy beyond its color, the experience of it melting on your tongue, and holding onto that paper tube as you pick, pull, and bite at the thing. Et tu, cotton candy? Would they cloak you in the false dignity of sanitation?

I walked away as much disgusted as disappointed. We re-boarded the train before departure time and ate the peanut butter sandwiches we'd packed. I didn't even stop to consider an Elephant Ear, French Fries, or Deep Fried Oreo-- all of which were available and all of which must have met the approval of the health inspector. Fat free spun sugar on a paper cone? Not on your life. Deep fried Oreo? Step right up.

A Small Voice

I'm the kinda guy who likes to mix and match.  Cereal, that is. So it's not unusual that I have Grape Nuts and Granola, or Cheerios and Raisin Bran. The other morning I had what my brother-in-law Leon likes to call "mustgos." Those are all the remainders, left-overs, less than one portion items that must go. First on the list, about a quarter cup of Rice Krispies. Then some oat bran squares, some Cheerios, and, finally, a dash of granola. (Hey, at least I don't drown the mess with coffee like my old friend Danny's Dad would do. By way of explanation to a wide-eyed 10 year old: "It all gets mixed up in your stomach anyway." Okay. But can't you wait til it gets there?)

The thing I noticed was that, even under the weight of all those other cereals,  even after pouring on the milk-like-substance and submerging that little quarter cup of cereal well below deck-- walking back to the fridge I could hear that small band of Rice Krispies, out numbered and crushed under the weight of their bowl mates-- I could still hear "Snap, Krackle, Pop." Maybe I'm stoned but, is there a message in that, or what? Perhaps a reminder about personal integrity?

Here, Drink This

Tam and I went to a holiday party put on by the hospital here in town. They did a nice job, too. Well decorated in a big room at the local country club. They found a very sweet jazz duo, guitar and saxophone. And there was wine and beer and cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. May be its the economy or maybe it's just that we never go to these type functions, but it sure seemed like there was a big turnout.

The hors d'oeuvres were quite good and Tam and I, both having expected this would be a dinner party, stood beside the round tables and slowly made the loop, noshing all the way. Suddenly, Tam takes a drink of cab and pulls back the glass in horror, "Oh crap! Yuck!" It wasn't the cab. It was just that she was drinking cab, not her white zin. Just who's cabernet it was we never determined as it was quickly trotted over to the nearest bus tray.

Tam's a little squeamish about sharing a glass with a total stranger-- perhaps even more so when you never find out just who it was. I had to laugh, however. "Obviously you've never been to a bar mitzvah." I never attended that many bar mitzvahs but it takes only a couple to surmise there must be an unwritten rule: At least 3 kids will circulate and drain any unattended cocktails. In fact, I think there is actually a sign that is placed in the center of each table: "Caution: Unattended cocktails will be ingested by unattended children."

Now that's a fun idea. Next year we could have a holiday party where the guests are challenged to see how many drinks they can sneak without getting caught. Take a sip, put it back. Move on to the next. On second thought, maybe not: The older you get the more you realize just how dirty a mouth can be.

Cake Balls

Well here's a subject that'll make you think twice before you hit Google Images. Someone in the OR the other day was lamenting the fact she was going to miss out on a potluck where one of the "girls" was going to bring "her famous cake balls." That's what I said: "What?!"

Cake balls, unbeknownst to me, are a popular item on the food circuit these days. (That'll teach me to give up on the Food Network.) For the curious, you can check out a recipe here. If you need an enticement, just consider the author's comments which accompany the recipe:

"This recipe is very versatile and heavily addictive. You can mix and match cake and icing flavors as well as the chocolate coatings. If you want to go the extra mile, cake balls can be rolled in nuts, sprinkles, coconut, etc. or double dipped in white and dark chocolates." (Emphasis is mine.)


How does one say no to that?? Sounds like an activity taylor made for a couple of glasses of wine, a fireplace, and a bearskin rug.

What's amazing to me is this: I've been making "cake balls" since I was probably around 8 or 9. I made one giant one tonight. I just take my slice of cake, mash it in a bowl with its frosting, and then mash in some ice cream. Presto! It's a freakin' cake ball happenin'. Been doin' it for years! If only my Mom would have known all those years ago that I was creating a dessert sensation to sweep the nation off it's bored little 21st century culinary feet, then maybe she wouldn't have made such a fuss about my playing with my food. Granted, my method is a little more free-form but, with time and encouragement, I certainly could have become the Kake Ball King.