The Small Government Conservatives Cry For

With Trump's shutdown more than three weeks old, and hundreds of thousands of government employees on furlough, we're enjoying small government with a vengeance.
  Is it as safe to fly?
  How's your food safety?
  Can't get licensing for a new business?
  And so forth.A pretty sad state of affairs.

Tardy Blogs

 I'm not so great at resolutions, it seems. Three days late on my second of the new year.
I have been walking at the Maul of America. I blaze along while Kathy takes it slower because of a bad knee. Then we saunter over to Ikea for their 99 cent breakfast. Scrambled eggs, potatoes, and chicken sausage (which as a vegetarian I forego). Coffee's free until 10a.m. as well. All-around good deal.
I finally got the ice chipped off my back sidewalk. We had a slush storm a couple weeks back, during which I shoveled only the north side of the concrete.  By the next day, the temperature had gotten bitter, and the leftover slush had become glare ice. Very scary to try and negotiate.
I scattered grit, but warmer weather eroded the surface, and I kept chipping away at it until it was gone. No more half measures when shoveling.

New Year's Revolutions

It's time to grab the bull by the horns, at least, and start writing again on a regular basis.While walking at the Maul of America for exercise this morning, I resolved to write something new once a day. That's my revolution.
Exercise is my maulwalking reason, as it is for so many others. Those are the folks who rush along, pumping their arms while they try to extract every linear foot of space they can. To get the most, they walk with their hand almost touching the corridor wall. No short cut for these individuals; the travel right next to closed doors, all around the maul.These aren't the ones in a Calvin Klein tracksuit with matching shoes. No, the exercisers wear a t shirt and casual pants, highlighted by a look of grim determination and perhaps a sheen of perspiration. They're an older demographic, not too enthralled by the glitzy stores, the iconic little old lady (and man) in tennis shoes.
Another subset is the group that insists on wearing shorts and short sleeved shirts, irregardless of the weather. I hope they're tourists staying at a nearby hotel or motel. If they're locals and ever have car trouble getting to the maul, they'll chill their chilblains off.
There are the young women, dressed in an outfit skintight. They can walk quickly until they become transfixed by some display or other. After Christmas, an entire gaggle of them were sitting in line waiting for fresh cosmetics to be offered up.
Young men stride along, trying to look muscular. Most appear to be holding their arms away from their bodies due to immense biceps. Sadly, they appear to be trying to avoid aggravating sunburned armpits.
So, no golf today, because of weather. Soon, though...like four months. Stay tuned.

Panic Attacks revisited

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself: nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."

Panic Attack? Down, girl!

My father's doctor warned "If you ever want to see your dad again, you'd better come back to California."
My 56-yer-old dad was in one wing of a San Jose hospital with terminal lung cancer; mom in the other wing with a shattered ankle, awaiting an artificial one. I borrowed airline money, hopped the redeye flight from Minneapolis, then scurried back and forth between the two wings once I landed.
For the next three months in 1973, I helped care for both of them at home. In those days, doctors in their wisdom didn't tell a terminal patient the truth; that fell to me, the day before dad died, when he asked me if he was going to get better. I told him the truth, and I guess he gave up the fight: he went to the hospital and died next day.
After he passed, I stuck around another month until mom was stable, then left her to the care of my sister and brother. I drove dad's van back to Minnesota to take up my life where I had dropped everything.

A year later, I had given up the laidback longhair life and taken a job under some pressure: haircut, suit, tie, the whole shebang. After work one day, I hopped into my beetle, and dropped my car keys. When I reached down to retrieve them, I started to shake uncontrollably. I began to sweat, and could hardly breathe.

I had absolutely no idea what was wrong (it was the first panic attack I had ever had). Frantic, I checked a local emergency clinic, but they were no help. I stayed home the next day, and the day after that. My boss called to see what was wrong. When I told him, he advised me to get back to work immediately, or I'd get worse. (I didn't realize it at the time, but that was exactly the right advice.)
My doctor had no idea what my problem was. It took about four years before I hung a label on that nervous malady. In a newspaper article, the description of agoraphobia Fear of the marketplace named an antagonist I could begin to deal with.
While I struggled, however, if I could find a reason to avoid leaving my house, I would. If I did have to leave it, I would make a tightly-planned schedule, so I'd run multiple errands per trip. Biofeedback, drugs, etc., nothing seemed to help. I was at least able to leave my house; pity the poor woman I saw on TV that hadn't left hers in 20 years.
In my lost 17 years, I had driven to California and back for a honeymoon, moved to Indiana to work on a magazine, attended trade shows in Dallas and Chicago, started a magazine of my own, given speeches, had a radio talk show, played golf, forcing myself past panic, day after day.
Then, after 17 years of fear, I was divorced. It became crystal clear to me that if I continued to let panic control me, I would end up a hermit.

Soon I'll talk about how I've (mostly) gotten beyond that panicky feeling.

Braemar's New Par 3

Played the new Academy II 9 hole par 3 course at Braemar in Edina, MN, today. Very nice course, freshly groomed, with a real outdoors feel to a course within a few miles of busy freeways.
My playing partner was Greg Wires of Golf Minnesota, and I also met Steve Wetzler of Tee Times, Minnesota Golf & Living. Lots of publishing gossip. And I won a Ryder Cup t-shirt in the raffle after our round.
Stay tuned for more on the Ryder Cup.

Goodbye, Charlie

Mom had her 97th birthday party at the Hibachi Chinese buffet in Minneapolis, and the staff made a beautiful picture of flowers in a vase, utilizing cake, ice cream, chocolate for flower stems, and Mandarin orange slices to create posies. Mom devoured it with delight.
Four days later, she developed thrombosis in her left leg, and started the downward spiral via hospital and nursing home that ended with her peaceful death three months after.

She had a great life, though, and lived it to the hilt. Charlie kept her sense of humor up until the last breath, zinging me even in the nursing home. (I dropped the spoon I was feeding her with into the bowl with a clatter, and said "Well, that was stupid." She looked at me and said winningly, "Does that surprise you?") The impassive lady who shared the table with her, mute for weeks, erupted in a startled laugh.

Even though Mom only lived with me for five years, she made many friends in Minnesota and is missed.
But now it's time to take a deep breath, shake off any lingering sadness, and move on. She was always positive, and I will copy that page from her extensive book of hours.

Coming unglued

A week after my endarterectomy (the unclogging of a carotid by making an incision in the right side of my neck and stripping the plaque), the adhesive on my incision is getting a little tattered. I was warned not to tear it loose, though, so shreds of the glue flap around my throat like a tattered sail.

Selfie of an incision

I'm hesitant to scrub it, and am just thankful it doesn't itch awfully while it heals. I'm also advised not to lift over 10 pounds, or not do heavy work, for two weeks. With that restriction, I'm clearing up my internet blogs, and investigating others I might start.
The operation was done at the VA in Minneapolis after they informed me the 70% clogged artery on that side had become unstable. Apparently blood had seeped through the artery wall, underneath the plaque. If it had just been a clog, I would have tried to exercise some self restraint as to diet and exercise. You know, cut back on animal products and start working out 30 minutes a day. (Notice I said "tried".) The instability decided me in favor of surgery, since if I hadn't had it done, the danger of stroke would have doubled every year: in five years, it would have stood at 11%.
I showed up at 5:30, and was under the surgeon's knife by 7:30, then awake by 11 or so. There wasn't much pain involved afterwards, just a general lassitude. The tired feeling continues, more than a week later. I don't know how long the anesthetic will hang on, but apparently it can stay in the system for some time.
I may still have to get the left side cleared up, but that's in the future. For now, I'm grateful that the ordeal is over.
One tip: if you're in the hospital for any problem where you're semi- or wholly-immobilized, ask the nurse if  they have a leg compression system. This pushes compressed air up your legs from foot to knee to prevent an embolism (blood clot) from forming. In my case, my legs felt really cold, then began to shake and ache. Within five minutes of having the boot applied, the warmth returned and the ache was gone.

A Dell in the Farmer

A year later, and I still am in Minneapolis. I received a Dell Venue 8 from my mother and lady friend last year, and truly enjoy it. It has Windows 8, and came with Microsoft Office, for $239. My only complaint so far is the inability to expand Windows images. That is, if I look at the desktop, I can't expand it. However, once I have software running within Windows, I can make it larger for these old eyes.
With two still cameras and video capability, a sound recorder, speakers, etc., it's quite the package. I added a 64G microSD card to it, although I haven't added much to it as of yet.
I'm also looking at a Bluetooth keyboard and a folio case, $29.99 on eBay. That should make it easier to use.
My mother, Charlie, is now 96. It takes a lot of my time to care for her, like 24/7, although I've just gotten a personal care assistant through the local county board. She comes in three days a week for 4.5 hours a day. Pretty nice to suddenly get set free.

Entabled--Writing on a tablet

Sitting in a coffee house on a frigid Minnesota evening typing into a friend's Nook with Android enabled. It's a slow process, but for a lightweight way to write on the road, it's workable.
My laundry is drying at the laundromat next door, and I have a steaming cuppa. Not much golf in the Upper Midwest this time of year, so all's quiet.
Happy holidays.

Como Again?

Yesterday the temperature ranged near 90, but there was a nice breeze, and I was able to break free of my work and worries: What better to do than play golf?

We decided to play Como Golf Course, a rather constricted track in St. Paul, Minn. (Par 70, plays 5,581 yards from the middle tees, rating of 67.5 and a slope of 122.) To compound matters, we decided to walk it. (One onlooker was mystified why we wouldn't rent a driver cart. Hey, walking is healthy exercise.)

Now, Como is not flat. In fact, in winter they use (or used) it for skiing. (Wirth Golf Course, a Minneapolis parks course, does the same.) I have to admit, though, there were a couple of holes so steep I was pulling my cart uphill on my tiptoes to get to the next tee. You get a good calf muscle stretch on those.

To get an entire 18 onto the limited area of a city park, the designers had to do a little creative architecture. Tuck a dogleg in here, nip a fairway in a little there. If there's a steep hill on one side, flatten a little at the bottom: maybe someone will land there. Otherwise, let them hit with their feet above the ball.

How steep are they? My shoes were wellworn enough that when I plunked one high up on the hillside I decided to just drop another and let the first one evaporate, because I was afraid I'd slip and fall. (One wet morning a few years back, I spun a driving cart totally around and sailed down one of these slopes backwards, to the accompaniment of a lot of hollering!)

Overall, though, it's a nice course. Water on a few holes, trees edging alongside on others.

A few of the beginning holes run alongside the Como Park Zoo. The lion house overlooks the third green, and I pointed out that zoogoers could gaze at lions on one side and we old goats on the other. Every so often there'd be a roar, and not from any crowds.

Although I had started out only wanting to play nine holes, by the time we were partway through it I was anxious to go the whole way. A nice breeze cooled us down, and hitting the ball well heated us up. It cost us seniors $27 for the full boat. And a good time was had by all.

There is a plethora of elevated tees, and a few elevated greens as well.

If you're ever in St. Paul, take in the Como Zoo, the Arboretum, and Como Golf Course. It's just a few blocks from the state fairgrounds.

On the Run

As I talked about in my last post, my parents were always too busy to take the family camping. I dreamed constantly of camping and fishing as a 7-year-old back in the central California town of Hanford in 1950. I decided to go by myself, by folly. But I would need a pack, and they weren't the drug on the market they are today. As you can see from this picture from the 1948 Boy Scout Manual,however, it's simple to make something that could pass for a pack, even for a 7-year-old.

I didn't have a "flour or grain sack", but I did have a pillowcase stripped off my bed. Instead of a stone put in the corners to tie the string to, I employed marbles. I jammed in a blanket, some clothes, some matches, and I was ready to go camp.

On my way out of town, though, I realized I would need some food. So I stopped at the law office my mother worked at and asked her for some money.

"What do you need money for?" she said.

"I want to go fishing, and I need some food."

"Fishing." She took one look at my improvised pack and ordered me to go right home and go to my room.

The pillowcase returned to its place of honor on my bed, the blanket as well, clothes in the dresser, and matches back in the kitchen. I was grounded without dinner for my efforts.

Cycle forward to 1973. My father, a heavy smoker, was dying of lung cancer. The doctors in those days didn't tell the patient how sick they were, but they told close relatives. In our family, I was the only one who knew how sick he was.

Dad had been ill with a "cold" for four months. One day, my father asked me outright if he would get better. I felt he deserved the truth, and halting, I said no.

He looked at me with sad, tired eyes, and said softly "I just wish we had gone fishing more."

The next day he was gone, dead at age 56.

Packing it in

Today, of course, backpacks are a drug on the market. The late summer L.L. Bean catalog sported 13 pages of various choices out of 52 pages. One wall of a department store aisle had those colorful versions shown above.

 Growing up in the late 1940s in Hanford, Calif., though, the only choice a child had for a pack was afull-sized WWII Army surplus green one, or some sort of canvas rucksack. As a 7-year-old, I didn't have the money or the physique for such an esoteric piece of equipment. 

And I wanted one badly. Somehow I had been infected with the fishing and camping bug, possibly because I had joined the Cub Scouts and garnered a 1948 Boy Scout Manual somewhere. I dreamed about going fishing, and the only nearby water of any size was the King's River.

Dad, a veteran of the war, wasn't very interested in the outdoors. So, since I couldn't talk my parents into taking me, my brother and sister I camping and/or fishing, I decided to take matters into my own grubby little fists.

On page 147 of the Manual it had a solution to my packlessness: a way to make a pack out of a sack or, in my case, a pillow case.
(To be continued.)

I'm not lichen it

My last post was four months ago.

Since then, I had:

• A second cataract operation to remove the scrap of cataract remaining from the first operation. When the VA physicians realized this scrap remained in the eye, they rescheduled this operation within a week or two of the first. (Additional note: because it was a mistake, they didn't charge me for this or all the followup visits for six months. That's what I was told, but haven't verified they've removed those charges as of 7/4/2012.)
• A herpes infection of the eye that left me driving--at night--with one teary eye and a patch over the other.
• Twice or more weekly visits to the VA hospital to check on my eyes.
• Then I had some sort of rash on my left knee that turned out to be lichen planus. Lichen, as in moss! I guess I'm not enough of a rolling stone. But, as my friend D.R. pointed out, at least I can look at my knee and know which direction north is. So that requires a daily coat of ointment.

My eye still stings a little, and I have to keep putting drops in it, but the last time I had it checked, the vision was 20/30. Of course, the plastic lens they put in doesn't let me focus closely, so reading a book can be a task.

A Chrome Headlight

To protect the newly decataracted eye on my Bell's Palsy side, they put in a chrome eyepatch. I only have to wear it at night for a week, while avoiding lifting anything over 10 pounds. I also can't bend so my head is below my waist, sneeze or cough too hard, sleep on that side, etc., etc.

Although I have a slight inflammation, my eyesight on that eye the day following the surgery was 20/70. That compares to my right eye, which is 20/20. It also compares to very poor vision before the surgery.

For instance, I could barely make out the E on the eyechart before the surgery. Today I could read down as far as the 4th line.

When the inflammation disappears, my vision might be as good as 20/20 in both, although I'll have to read with glasses, Before, I only wore glasses to drive.

Since I want to travel, I suppose I'll need my eyesight.

Cataract Surgery Coming Up
My left eye is scheduled for surgery at the Minneapolis VA on the 29th of Feb. The rest of me will have to follow along.

I didn't realize anything was wrong until I had an exam in Dec. 2011. The pressure inside the eye was building up, and the doctor used a laser to cut a slit in the iris. When I went back for a check two weeks later, they had already healed. Good news that I heal so fast, bad news because that meant the pressure would build up. That's when the head of the department unequivocally said I needed cataract surgery.

I don't know whether this had anything to do with the Bell's Palsy I had in 2005. It's on the same side of my face, and gradually I've begun to have trouble reading. I have to hold books or stories within a few inches. At night, all lights begin to look double. It's hard to gauge distances.

Friends tell me the cataract surgery will work wonders, that I'll be able to see sharper than I have in years. I'll tell you whether that's true.

Progressive RV Show at Minneapolis Convention Center
Another show attended, another $20 + $9 parking + $6.50 for one beer gone. I am interested in taking a look at the Airstream, and that's why I attended with mom. I pushed her around in a wheelchair until we found the Airstreams, and then she clambered in and out of ones from 19. to 30, from $30K ti $90.

There were a lot of people kicking tires, but only one company selling A/S. After one tour through the perimeter of the show, we called it a day. I wouldn't have bought a beer, but I had to break a bill to be able to pay the parking. The Summit was good, though.

I didn't see anything really new, although one trailer had a sort of Art Deco feel, with rounded corners. Nothing special for golfers, that's sure.

I selected A/S after owning two Prowlers. After only a few years, they started coming apart at the seams. Those sharp edges stripped the screws right out, and the paint jobs got very dull. After 20 years, they were worth almost nothing. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Last April: After 35 years, I finally realized a problem in my swing (only one?). I was set to go out on Tuesday at GolfTodayMagazine‘s tournament in Napa, Calif. at Eagle Vines golf club, so decided to hit a few balls at the range.

For 10 years I’ve had a pad of faceplate-shaped carbon-paper adhesive sheets called LongShot Maximum Distance System that you put on the faceplate of the club matching the sweetspot and grooves. It was a lazy day, so I decided to try them again. I’ve usually only used one faceplate and didn’t really learn much. This day, however, I settled down to really try to plumb my swing.

When you hit a ball, the impact of ball against face leaves an impression of the dimple pattern in the carbon-paper sheet (illustrated at right) so you can see where on the club you’re hitting the ball. Obviously, you want to hit it right in the sweet spot. If you’re always up, down, left or right, you can adjust your swing. These are impact recorders, in short.

Is this a clue to consistent shots?

I suddenly realized my pattern was toward the hosel side of the club…every shot. I was standing too close to the ball! So I started to move back. I put the club on the ground, then adjusted my stance so the handle was against my leg, then moved back so I could put my fist between leg and handle. I used up five faceplates worth, but by the time I was done experimenting, I was hitting on the sweet spot and the ball was consistent and straight. Well, sorta straight.

It was such an exciting development, I had to share it.

See ya. Lemme at the course.

(Added 1/20/2012): It was a good idea, and I did hit a few shots better, but I really need to get out a lot more.

Another year over, a new one beginning
My big Ford E350 is serving as a lawn ornament at the moment, covered with a foot or more of snow, with a lifeline electrical cable keeping the batteries topped off. I'm hoping to ge it out of the drift shortly, and head for warmer climes.
It doesn't help that the price of diesel fuel has gone through the roof. My original intent was to tow a trailer around the country, playing golf hither and yon. At present, the trailer is a future possibility; right now I'd be happy to fix the van up a little as an RV...with space for my golf clubs, of course.

Two New California Venues
On the Crease: Pheasant Run G.C.
Highway 99 through the heart of California makes a person think of John Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath. It's hot and dusty, with mile after mile of asphalt running through flat farmland.
On every road atlas I've seen, the little municipality of Chowchilla is right on the crease, that dividing line where California is split in half, northern on one page, southern on another. As a result, pre-GPS, it was easy to miss it. Now, however, it has begun to prosper.
Pheasant Run is next door to The Lakes RV and Golf Resort, as well as The Lakes Real Estate project. The RV segment offers two free rounds of golf with a night's lodging: So for $45 or so, you garner $120 worth of golf during the week.
More on this later.
Trinitas hasn't opened to the public yet, but when it does, it's going to be a winner. At the moment, it's in a holding pattern while it clears the various hurdles its county commissioners have set. More on this soon.