The False Ducks Blahg

Check out the third only False Ducks Video Blahg:

I’m in isolation this week. Last week I was on holidays and on March 8th and 9th I was in Toronto seeing a concert and visiting with my children. My boss felt it best to play it safe and have me isolate this week in case I was exposed to the Covid 19 virus while in Toronto. The above video talks about some movies and music I purchased and am enjoying this week.

I can’t post from any of the DVDs I bought and have watched but I thought I’d give you a sample of some the LPs I mentioned in the above video:

First up is “Cake Walking Babies” from Dave Van Ronk and his “In The Tradition” LP:

 

Continuing on with Dave Van Ronk and his “Sings The Blues” LP is a track of “Hesitation Blues”

 

Next up is The Hilltoppers and “At Sundown” from their LP “The Towering Hilltoppers”

 

 

Next up is something live. It’s “Bye Bye Blackbird” from Trini Lopez at P.J.’s”

 

Here we have Benny Goodman with “Diga Diga Do” from his “Happy Session” LP.

 

Acker Bilk is going to perform “Jump In The Line” from his LP “The Mr. Acker Bilk Omnibus”

Here we go with “On Treasure Island” from Humphrey Lyttelton and his The Best Of Humph 1949-56 LP.

 

Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen swing out “The Good Life” from their “The Big Ones” LP

 

And finally it’s the proverbial favourite “Sweet Adeline” from the LP “…to the tables down at Mory’s”… featuring Lee Gotch’s Ivy Barflies

   This Covid 19 thing is pretty scary and pretty serious so if you don’t have to go out, don’t. But take care of yourself and those you know. The world will soldier on.

      Well, it’s the day before Christmas and I’m going to post this quick blahg. Today is December 24th and I’ve been sick for four days.  Last week I had to have a prostate biopsy, a nice theme for a Christmas narrative, and I had to go off my Prednisone for three days leading up to the procedure.  I was in rough shape and crippled up so badly that I my wife was assisting me in all the daily living activities.  I won’t detail those.  While I’ve been on the Prednisone I haven’t had a cold or the flu all year because that little steroid keeps everything at bay.  Three days off the medication and a virus going around work managed to work its way into my system.  I’m on the mend now and I hope Christmas day will see me close to my normal. 

     I decided to write another story for this Christmas season.  I won’t go into many of the details regarding the theme because the title of this blahg is the same as the Christmas Entertainment below.  This year’s story is all true with nothing made up but some embellishment allowed.  I hope that people enjoy it.  It was an experience just living it, let me tell you. 

 

MEATS AND CHEESES AND BABY JESUS

For the last few years I have endeavored to write a new annual Christmas story.  All of these have been fictional and I always struggle to try and find an original idea.  Sometimes a funny thought or phrase will pop into my head while I’m shaving or driving or avoiding listening to someone droning on at me.  I should be clear that the droning on does not refer to my wife or colleagues but then I’d never admit to it.

            I swear that the process of writing a story starts earlier each year but with the actual writing part getting later and later into the season.  The idea usually germinates for a while and then I write sporadically until a glance at the calendar emphasizes the need to double down on my efforts.  This year I promised myself it would be different.  Oh, I’m still writing this past the half-way mark of December but I’ve decided that this year’s effort will not be fictional.  It’s just too hard coming up with characters and situations when sometimes the truth is so much more entertaining.

So this is going to be a Christmas Entertainment.  I’ve used that term before when I once self-published a collection of stories in a volume titled “Proof For Believing”.  There were sections for short stories, poems, radio scrips, and the catch-all of Christmas Entertainments that were observations or recollections from past Christmases.  This year’s offering fits well into the category and I swear most if not all of this is true.  I hope it entertains the reader.  I know I was entertained in the experiencing of it all or at least inspired to write this entertainment.

As I have said, the process of inspiration usually starts early in the holiday season.  Sometimes inspiration strikes around the end of November when I’m playing Christmas music or during the first weekend of December when I’m struggling to put up my outdoor light display and wondering why something’s not lighting or something else isn’t inflating or I’m wracking my brain to remember where I put certain extension cords last year so I can access them this year.  I usually give up looking for the cords and purchase replacements only to find the mislaid ones right where my wife eventually tells me I left them.

Around the beginning of December we also acquire our Christmas tree.  I insist on a real tree every year but we’ve now gone through two Christmas Tree farms and we’re now onto a third…but I’m getting ahead of myself because the new farm is part of this narrative.

A number of years ago we used to cut our tree at Dewe’s Tree farm.  I don’t even know if that was the name of the farm.  It was just a large lot run by the Dewe family.  My oldest daughter Emily went to school with one of the Dewe girls or the only Dewe girl.  I don’t remember exactly.  What I do recall is that you drove down a dirt lane or mud lane or snow covered lane and past the Dewe home.  The lot was out back and once you parked your vehicle it required a lot of walking after that.  Oh, and there was no bathroom.  One year my son pooped his pants.  To be fair, he was three or four and had snow-pants on and had walked quite a bit.  We had to have the windows down on the ride home.

Mr. or Mrs. Dewe was always waiting by the make-shift parking area with a blazing fire and hot-chocolate for the kids and white-fish for sale.  I could never get my children to eat fish before that but I recall it being candied white-fish and that made the experience all the better.  Of course toasting marshmallows over the open fire was something the kids looked forward to as well.

The process of finding the right tree was always interesting.  When the children were little, every tree was a giant to them so they’d pick ones that, to the average adult, were not tall enough.  As they grew in height, the process seemed to take longer because they’d argue about not only the height of the tree and which one was the fullest but whether we were robbing some woodland creature of its home.  We always checked closely for nests or nut stashes before deciding if a particular tree merited further consideration.  We would of course walk about again before deciding on the tree we saw in the first few minutes of our trek.

The tree would be tied to the roof and hauled away home where it always had a prominent position in the home after the heavy moving of furniture was finished.  The cats always hunkered under the tree and drank the water from the stand and batted at the ornaments hanging on lower branches.  Until the Children grew in height, most of the ornaments hung by their hands were on lower branches.

I remember one particular Dewe farm Christmas tree that either came with an extra surprise or attracted one.  I recall coming downstairs one morning with my son and noticing one of our cats perched on the back of a recliner and staring intently into the boughs of our tree.  There, on one branch close to where it grew out of the trunk, was perched a small mouse.  It was a beautiful sight and the mouse was cute.  I however, was terrified.  I don’t do mice.  That’s another story.  My wife is the trap and live release expert in our home.  That morning I mustered up enough courage though to hasten along the visitor.  I turned on the Christmas tree lights and the mouse booked it down the tree and across the floor and under the couch with our cat fast on its trail.  The cat held it at bay under the sofa until my wife got up and caught it later in a margarine dish and released it outside.  I missed that experience.  When she got up, I went back to bed.

Eventually the Dewe family gave up running the tree lot.  That’s when we switched to Moore’s near Bloomfield.  The price also went from Dewe’s $15 to Moore’s $30.  There was also more walking involved.  There was still no bathroom but at least the children were older and could hold it longer.  Unfortunately I also got older and had to hold it longer.  Moore’s was not only more expensive and required more walking, the return trip home was now thirty minutes.  Usually I was the first one out of the vehicle and into the house.

Moore’s retired their tree farm last year.  I’ll come back to this year’s Christmas tree search in a bit.  I should add that I also have a tradition of disposing of the Christmas tree.  At the bottom of our property is a creek that runs fast and deep in the spring after the snow melts.  Our annual live Christmas tree, after its stint in the house, rests out behind our garage until I can get to the creek in the spring and chuck it in.  It’s swept up in the current and disappears.  I tried following a tree one year and got about half a kilometer before the creek took a bend through a farmer’s field and was carried out of sight.  In my imagination there is a Valhalla for our Christmas trees down where the creek ends or maybe it manages to make its way to the sea.  More likely there’s a dam of trees somewhere along the creek route overflowing and flooding the farmer’s fields or perhaps the basement of his farmhouse.

Getting back to the real point of this narrative and another particularly enjoyable tradition, for several years now my wife and youngest daughter and I have attended the live Nativity at Emmanuel Baptist Church in Bloomfield.  I’m not an overly religious person and I usually keep my beliefs to myself.  Let me be clear I have an open mind.  I hope that covers me.  If there are those pearly gates and I get there maybe they’ll rule out any of my transgressions while I was alive because I kept an open mind.  It would be interesting to get through those gates and see deceased relatives, friends, pets, those past Christmas trees and that one little mouse who scared me but who I let live.  That should count for something.

The Nativity story is a fascinating one and makes for a very interesting interpretation when enacted live.  Bloomfield however is not the first live Nativity that I have attended.  Once, in a large park, in New Market north of Toronto, I saw my first live Nativity.  In my recollection there was a hill and I recall seeing the three kings crest the hill with matching camels.  It might only have been one camel, which would make the going rough for the King sandwiched in the middle or the one in the back, but I’m going to remember the experience being complete with each King having his own mount.

The Emmanuel Baptist Church live Nativity is completely different than that one in New Market.  My first live experience was like watching a play and different characters entering and exiting the story.  In Bloomfield the Nativity is a series of vignettes.  Each part is set up as a station and you move from one to the next viewing the scene and hearing narration.  I can’t remember the order but I know the angel comes to Mary, there’s a scene where Joseph is also visited to explain why his virgin wife is bearing a child that is not his, and there’s even a scene between Mary and her cousin Elizabeth announcing the latter’s miraculous pregnancy and that Elizabeth’s child would grow up to be John the Baptist.  Of course there are the shepherds in the fields visited by an angel, the three Kings visiting Herod, and eventually the birth scene in the stable with an abundance of farm animals.  There has never been a camel in Bloomfield but they’ve always been able to muster up a donkey.  I think there might have been an alpaca one year because there are a couple farms around that specialize in that.  I used to drive by one of those farms and notice the odd donkey in with the alpacas.  Apparently wolves and coyotes won’t go near farm animals if there’s a donkey around.  Now that I think about it, the farm might have been a sheep farm and the alpacas were the protectors.  Maybe that’s why the alpaca was in Bloomfield.  It was there to protect the sheep at the Nativity.  Go figure.

The live Nativity at Emmanuel Baptist is spread throughout the parking lot of the Church.  You start at one end and eventually work your way to the manger.  It’s more about crowd control because you can start as soon as you arrive and you can’t move on to the next station until the one in front of you is finished and the spectators have moved on down the line.  Lights come up and the narration or acting continues until the lights dim cueing you to move to the next station.  Some years it’s bitter cold and I’ve been there in blizzard like conditions.  You wait your turn, the lights come up and the narration starts, you enjoy the experience, and you make your way down the road to Bethlehem.

As I’ve said, the live Nativity is a fascinating experience and if you are not frozen by the time you get to the manger scene then you are truly and wholly moved.  But wait, there’s a topper to all of this.  After the birth of Christ, you exit the stable and are invited into the church proper where every table is laden with goodies galore.  There’s always an abundance of cookies, tarts, squares, candies, chocolates as well as crackers, meats, pickles and cheeses.  Forget that birth scene, the sight of that smorgasbord is the true miracle!

Every year I try to recover from the bitter cold of the live Nativity by stuffing myself full of every sugary treat that I can manage to sample.  There are so many delicacies that it takes an hour just walking about to be able to get your fill.  Oh, there’s live music and hot beverages as well but that heavenly banquet was always the true climax of the evening.

Last year I began to have some slight health issues and my blood sugars were creeping up.  My Doctor recommended I watch my sugar intake and I decided to go one better and give up sugar.  That meant no sugar in my coffee and a life with a limited intake of sweets.  It was probably a good decision and it helped me to lose twenty pounds.  This all came about however just before last year’s live Nativity so when I entered the Church I had to make do with the non-sweet items.  My Nativity experience in Bloomfield could now be summed up in a few words:  Meats and Cheeses and Baby Jesus.  Thus, the title of this narrative.

Now we cut to the current season and the flier that announced the Emmanuel Baptist Church live Nativity for the evening of December 6^th.  I marked it on the calendar and secretly counted the number of sleeps until the Nativity and the feast of snacks that would follow.  I think we received that flier well over a month before the event.  That was good, I thought, because I could make sure any other holiday plans would not interfere with the Bloomfield event.  Even another Christmas party that we attend yearly at our friends’ house was scheduled for the 7^th after having had the date changed three times and then back again to the 7^th.  It looked like nothing was going to interfere with our attending the live Nativity.

My luck ran out.  Even though that other event on the 7^th would not conflict with Bloomfield, I could not control plans made by others.  This time it was a staff Christmas party.  An email had been sent out in mid-November polling everyone for best dates.  I of course steered clear of even suggesting the 6^th.  I would have gladly have given up the party with our friends on the 7^th but when you’re a lone voice and everyone else picks a date you are holding close to your chest, you can’t win.  The staff Christmas party was a go for the 6^th.

To say that I was disappointed about not being able to attend the live Nativity is an understatement.  I tried not to grumble about it but some of my colleagues knew I was disappointed.  Some even thought I must be really religious if I had such dedication to the Nativity.  I thought about explaining my open mind policy regarding religion but in the end I just told everyone it was something more important than all of that.  It was about the meats and cheeses and baby Jesus.  It became my mantra when others became excited about how much they were looking forward to the staff party and becoming intoxicated.  I don’t drink.  So I’d just mutter “meats and cheeses and baby Jesus” under my breath and go about my business.

Two days before the staff party I broke my own vow against sugary confection.  I co-facilitate a men’s drop-in group at work and that particular day one of the attendees brought in some Portuguese Tarts to share with the group.  My colleague Alex extolled the virtues of the tart so much that I bowed to his peer pressure and ate one of the tarts.  It was a sugary custard tart delight.  The next day I was I sick.  Thank you, Alex.

I had been so good about avoiding all types of sweets that I think my body wasn’t ready for the rich sweetness of the tart.  It might also have been my body’s way of acting out its frustration that we weren’t going to get to sample all of those meats and cheeses.  The day after eating that tart I couldn’t be close enough to a bathroom.  There was a constant feeling that my bowels were ready to explode but all that would come out was sound or liquid.  I’m sure that’s not an image you expected to have in a story that also references the birth of Christ.

I still managed to go to work and keep up good spirits but inside my stomach was churning.  That evening I went out with a friend and I bought a platter of crackers, meats, and cheeses and a bottle of Schweppes Ginger Ale.  The platter was an assurance that I would at least be able to keep a part of my tradition by having the meats and cheeses on the night Jesus was being born in Bloomfield every five minutes.  The Schweppes was an added bonus because it was the only libation I would allow as an indulgence at this time of year.  The staff party was going to be held at my colleague Brittany’s house and she was a Canada Dry Ginger Ale fan and if I didn’t take the Schweppes then I’d have no say in what was offered to me.

The following morning, being the day of the staff party, was a Saturday and we had arranged to go cut down our Christmas tree for the year.  Our daughter Abbie was home but was taking a train back to Toronto that afternoon so she could attend a musical with her older sister Emily.  We would then drive to Toronto the following day to pick her up and bring her back home again for the rest of her holidays along with her necessities for the seasonal break and twenty pounds worth of laundry.  I really wanted Abbie to be included in the tree selection because she hadn’t missed a year of selecting a tree yet and with her older siblings in Toronto, it meant so much to me to have one of the children at least be involved.

I had done some research and with Dewe’s long closed and Moore’s finishing up the previous year, I still wanted to continue the tradition of going to a Christmas Tree farm and cutting down our own.  The closest farm, being 45 minutes away outside of Napanee, was Carol’s Christmas Tree Farm.  I thought the name of “Carol” and Christmas was a good connection and the fact that the last four digits of their telephone number spelled out “Xmas” synched the deal.  My stomach was still rolling from that Portuguese Tart but the thought of still being able to cut my own tree was a risk I was willing to take and outweighed the thought of the 45 minute drive and the inevitability that, like Dewe’s and Moores, there would be no bathroom.

There’s not much to mention about the experience at Carol’s.  There had been a good deal of snow over the days leading up to our excursion so walking among the trees was magical if not slow going.  The farm itself seemed to be more upscale than Dewe’s or Moore’s and lent itself more towards the pretentious side with wagon rides, overpriced hot beverages, and a gift boutique.  It was also more expensive.  This year’s tree cost me $50.  That was more than the combined total of a tree from Dewe’s and Moore’s.  At least I didn’t poop my pants.  There still wasn’t anything coming out of that end so the lack of bathroom facilities didn’t make much difference.

The only other major change with Carol’s Christmas Tree farm was that they had some sort of netting device that you rammed your tree through to end up with a tree that resembled those netted hams or those bags of onions.  The whole netting process made it easier to secure your tree to the roof of your vehicle.  That was usually what we would do and I had brought along a goodly amount of rope as I wanted to ensure that the tree survived the 45 minute drive home.  Instead, because the tree was compressed in its netting enclosure, we managed to load it into our SUV with only one seat folded down and Abbie riding comfortably next to the tree in the other seat.  It was a nice fragrant ride home.  The total opposite of that time that my son…well you know.

The rest of the day was busy securing the tree into its stand in the house and cleaning up the needles that inevitably shed in our vehicle and across our floors despite the netting.  We left the decorating for another day because we had to also make sure that Abbie got on her train.  We didn’t want to leave her out of doing up the tree and I could use a little rest before the staff party.  In other words, I had a nap.

The drive to Brittany’s house was an hour from my house.  Everyone else lived within thirty minutes of her house but I had to leave at 6 so I could be there for the 7pm start.  I was the first to arrive and got the tour of Brittany’s new house.  I also got the first view of the buffet that Brittany had laid out.  Indeed there were many sweet items as well as an assortment of meats and cheeses.  I needn’t have worried about missing out on the meats and cheeses.  I also didn’t have to bring the platter of crackers, meats, and cheeses that I had purchased.  In fact, I don’t believe the seal was even cracked open on the platter that night.  Oh well, I didn’t go without and I also had my Schweppes.

Within fifteen minutes everyone else arrived at the party and I sat next to my colleague Terry on the sofa until someone suggested a game of Euchre in the kitchen.  Terry and I were partners and I never moved out of the kitchen for the next two and half hours while Terry and I took on and took down four other pairs of opponents consisting of work colleagues or their spouses.  At one point Terry and I came back from a seven to nothing deficit to beat one opposing team.  At ten o’clock I begged out of another game because I had that hour ride home and had to get up and drive to Toronto the next morning.  Terry would go on to play that final game with another partner and would lose.  At least I would retire unbeaten.  Nothing says Christmas like the competitiveness of a card game.

The next day we drove to Toronto.  I was still feeling unwell and slept all the way up while my wife drove.  On the return trip I managed to drive half-way home before giving into my body again and sleeping the remaining way.  I also had another quick nap before my wife and I had to head out to the Christmas party at our friends.

The annual party at our friends, Rick and Debbie’s is always a joyous occasion with singing and eating.  Rick plays the piano and their friend Greg plays a portable drumming device while my wife and Debbie gather around the piano as vocal accompaniment.  The rest of us join in on the carols we know or fumble along on those we think we know.  The food is potluck so you never know what you’re going to get.  This year there were lots of crackers and cheeses but no meats.  I think my stomach was thankful for that.  Rick, at one point, offered me a glass of Ginger Ale.  It was Canada Dry.  I was holding onto the glass and talking with someone when Rick came back and asked me if there was anything wrong with the Ginger Ale.  I said I hadn’t tasted it yet but his concern wasn’t that I thought there was something wrong with my drink but that when he poured it out, from a still sealed bottle, it hadn’t fizzed.  It turned out the Ginger Ale was very flat.  My stomach was also thankful for that.  It further turned out that Rick couldn’t recall when he had purchased the six-pack of smaller bottles of the Canada Dry but a look at the label revealed they had expired four years previous.

I thought that the experience at Rick and Debbie’s was a good capper to my weekend.  Not only had I missed the Nativity but my stomach couldn’t tolerate the meats and cheeses that I could access at the two parties.  At one party I had to supply my own Ginger Ale and at the other, the Canada Dry had gone off.  I bet the Magi had never had such a rough journey on their road to Bethlehem.

Everything else came together in the days following that weekend.  The tree at our house was beautifully decorated and my stomach returned to normal.  There was another work party a week and half later without alcohol but with another heavily laden buffet.  My stomach tolerated that one better.

At this Christmas work party there was also an ugly stocking exchange.  Each year you brought an ugly Christmas stocking and stuffed it with goodies up to the assigned dollar limit.  You randomly drew a number then you got to select an ugly stocking as long as it wasn’t the one you brought.  This year I thought I would make the theme of my stocking Meats and Cheeses and Baby Jesus.  Unfortunately I couldn’t find a Nativity stocking but that’s just as well because I don’t think there’s such a thing as an ugly Nativity stocking what with it being such a beautiful story.  I found a stocking at a thrift store with a Santa scene that looked like it had been cheaply and quickly made with all of the threads hanging out on the inside.

I filled my stocking with a re-gifted bottle of wine, an assortment of pre-packaged baby cheeses, a word puzzle book, and a large salami.  Unfortunately, with all of the threads hanging out on the inside of the stocking, everything I tried to stuff into the stocking became snagged and it limited what I could cram in there.  I had other cheese and some crackers but these failed to make the cut.  I also couldn’t find a baby Jesus ornament in any of my travels to thrift stores and dollar stores.  That too, was just as well.  The stocking summed up my experience.  It was an incomplete experience where I had to give up Bloomfield and everything else paled or sickened me…literally.  The stocking could not hold all the meats and cheeses and there was no Baby Jesus.  Next year when I get that flyer from Emmanuel Baptist Church for the live Nativity I’m going to have it enlarged and copies given to everyone I know.  If they don’t get the message not to schedule events on that date then I’m going to call in sick.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

      Okay, so it’s been more than three months since my last blahg.  It’s been a long haul. Most of my problems have been been health related and I think the struggles with my physical and mental health can speak volumes for themselves so I’m going to let them do the talking…I’ll just channel everything. 

      The last I spoke about my Polymyalgia Rheumatica (PMR) my Doctor and a specialist didn’t think it was PMR. I was up and down with the Prednisone medication and my Doctor had put me back up again so they could ween me off and then the specialist could see if it came back and if he could figure out what this ailment is. None of that worked.

     I’ve lost track of all dates and times but I do know the specialist didn’t get it right. I was taken off the Prednisone and all of the aches and problems came back and the specialist wasn’t sure why his plan hadn’t worked. What plan? In his odd estimation he thought I was fine and that I didn’t know I was fine because the Prednisone was masking me knowing I was fine and that once I was off the medication then I’d know I was fine. Follow the logic? Only, none of his logic worked! I was still in pain and had to go back on the Prednisone and he was going to refer me to another specialist in another city an hour away but not until November.  My faith in the medical system waned.

     I decided at that point to take things into my own hands. I researched the PMR and discovered that most medical sites said that people needed to be on a six month dose of Prednisone before things were close to being cured. So, I went back on the maximum dosage and continued that with the one refill I had left. That took me into September but then I couldn’t get another refill. My personal doctor was on holiday and the specialist didn’t agree that I should be on the Prednisone so I had to taper it off until it was gone. The last day I had of one pill, one quarter of the dosage I had been on, was September 24th. After that I began to take Naproxen, a pain medication which the specialist had prescribed as needed, and which didn’t work when he first prescribed it to me. Four days on the Naproxen and I was having numbness in my legs, arms, wrists, palms, and fingers, as well as a rash on part of my abdomen and back. A nurse colleague suggested I discontinue the Naproxen because it might be causing the rash and numbness.

     Three days after discontinuing the Naproxen the pain and numbness was so bad I had to use a cane to get around and to help me get up from a sitting position. On the fourth day, I was so weak I couldn’t get out of bed. That was a Friday and my wife was already helping me get dressed and get around. The next day, Saturday, my wife was out all day and I felt like I was trapped in the house because I was so weak and couldn’t open doors or much else. When my wife came home about 3pm we made the decision to go back to the Emergency Room at Picton Hospital. It had been five months since I started my journey by going to the hospital in Picton the first time and being diagnosed with Myositis. Two weeks after than I had to go back and I saw Dr. Sarah LeBlanc who diagnosed me with PMR and put me on Prednisone. Surprise, surprise, when I went back to the Emergency in Picton this time, Dr. LeBlanc was the Doctor I saw again. She was very shocked to find me in the state I was in. I could barely walk, had numbness in all extremities, had little or no strength in legs and hands, and oh yeah, there was that rash. After a quick look at the rash, Dr. LeBlanc diagnosed that as Shingles. SHINGLES? WTF? In this case the WTF stands for what you think as well as WHAT’S THE FUTURE? What did this mean for me going forward?

     Dr. LeBlanc was none too pleased to see the sorry the shape I was in and that my personal Doctor and the specialist I saw, who will remain nameless so I can protect his incompetence, had monkeyed with my medication increasing and decreasing like I was some yo-yo being shared among children. Essentially by not having a consistent dose of Prednisone over those five months my body had gone into shock and the Shingles were the result.

     Long story short, Dr. LeBlanc put me back on the full strength of the Prednisone as well as a prescription to deal with the Shingles. The combination of both of those made me very tired and my boss insisted I take the week off work last week. The tips of my fingers also began to shed skin as a result of the two medications and I had to take sandpaper to my fingers every morning to remove all the loose skin. True story. Then I had to moisturize and moisturize again. Dr. LeBlanc also reviewed the specialist referral to the other specialist an hour away and agreed that I should continue with that appointment but that she was going to try and get it moved up because this newest specialist is a colleague of hers. So far, I haven’t heard about a change in appointment dates.

     Dr. LeBlanc stil maintains I have PMR until someone says different and told me not to listen to any other Doctors except her until I see this other specialist next month. She also ordered blood-work and an MRI to see if the numbness might be caused by something else like a pinched nerve or some other issue in the neck or spine. Unfortunately the Prednisone ramps things up in your mind, more about that next, and I couldn’t do the MRI when they put me in that long tube like a coffin. I had to ask to be taken out. They rescheduled a new MRI for three days later and suggested a sedative. I called Dr. LeBlanc’s office and they prescribed the sedative and the second MRI was much easier with me much more relaxed. I haven’t had the results back on that yet.

     So, onto the issue of the side-effects of Prednisone. This is where I hearken back to a previous blahg, P.M.R. where I parodied the PMR initials and this time will say that PMR could stand for Prednisone Mind Rage. The one thing I found about Prednisone, as I described earlier, is that it ramps thing up in your mind. Another PMR would be Profoundly Magnifies Results. Prednisone is a steroid and I found that it magnified little things in my mind so that I couldn’t ignore them and I stressed out about them more than I should have. The major problem was going to work and thinking everyone around me was stupid and then going home and rationalizing that it was the medication making me feel that way then going back to work and realizing people were still stupid and that they had learned nothing since the day before.

    This all affected my interactions with co-workers because I knew that it was the medication causing these thoughts so I would turn away from people or leave the room so I didn’t snap at them about things that weren’t really happening. Of course I did that anyway because I didn’t have full control. I was able to keep it down at home. I was very quiet during those times unless I was discussing the stupidity of co-workers. Talk about mind-games. Give me 20 questions or hangman anytime. Probably not good examples because I probably couldn’t have made it past two questions without getting frustrated and the hangman image was probably what I wanted to do to those around me whom I thought were stupid…so just about everybody.

     Eventually I had to tell my colleagues about the Prednisone and the side-effects and that it wasn’t them, it was me. Except I was still struggling with thinking it really was them. I worked harder at communicating with others so they knew when I was struggling and I believe before I went off the Prednisone last time, after being on it full strength for a month, I was able to separate out the stinkin’ thinkin’. I think now that I’m back on full strength Prednisone again, I can manage. This blahg will be the worst of it and having to share the issues I’ve had. Of course I reserve the right to think my Doctor and the first specialist are stupid but I have no such thoughts that way towards Dr. LeBlanc. Time will tell. 

     So, I want to move onto the next topic.  The reference to More Polly Tics again is a hearkening back to a previous blahg “I Hates Polly Tics!”  It’s election time again here in Canada, this time a Federal Election, with only days until we go the polls on October 21st to determine which party gets to govern Canada for the next four years.  In that previous blahg, I described Politicians as so repetitive with their dribble and you get tired of hearing the same old promises over and over again.  It’s like listening to a parrot with a tic.  Now, I bet you get that Polly Tics reference this time or maybe you got it last time but it still holds. 

     During the time of past elections I have posted about the yellow sign I would put on my lawn not advertising who I would vote for but who I was not going to vote for.  I have made it abundantly clear that I don’t trust the Conservative Party of Canada.  This election is no exception other than the one exception that I won’t be voting for any of the parties.  I just don’t think any of them deserve my vote. 

     The Liberals are the party currently governing Canada but they’ve made some missteps in the past year or so and the leader Justin Trudeau, doesn’t inspire confidence like he once did.  The Conservatives and Andrew Scheer are not to be trusted and are hiding deep cuts for the future and are touting a playbook like the one Doug Ford sprung on us in Ontario and that was disastrous.  Scheer and the Conservatives are also racist and homophobic.  Elizabeth May is the leader of the Green Party and I had personal interaction about 15 years ago trying to book her as a speaker for an environmental conference.  She acted like a rock star and had a number of demands that we found unreasonable so I remember that I don’t have faith in her.  Jagmeet Singh is the leader of the New Democratic Party and he’s certainly exuding confidence and a surge in the polls.  Unfortunately I would like him to make a stance against Bill 21, Quebec’s Secularism Law which is a ban on religious symbolism in the public sector.  I believe a Federal government needs to get involved when a law such as that limits people and borders on racism.  As for Maxime Bernier and his People’s Party of Canada, an offshoot from the Conservatives, they too are racist and should not get a single seat in government. 

     So where does that leave me and who to give my vote to?  It’s obvious.  No one deserves my vote.  The only clear choice is to go the polling station, register, and then deny the ballot that is offered.  This gets registered as a vote of No Confidence all of the parties and candidates.  I’ve done it before but I didn’t think I’d have to do it this time.  But, there’s five days left for me to change my mind or one of the leaders to change my mind.  I don’t see that happening because they’re too busy mud-slinging and regurgitating the same clap-trap like that parrot stuck on repeat.  I hates polly tics and I hates these politics even more.  I do believe in the process but more people should realize that you don’t have to choose between bad or worse and the choice of denying the ballot is a real option.  I’ll make it mine.  In the end, I can crow about not electing in the party no matter who wins the elections…especially when it feels like no matter who wins, we all lose.  Maybe that’s the Prednisone making Politics More Repulsive but I don’t think so.

      I’ve written many sad blahgs but this is one that I am not looking forward to writing. My father, George Arthur Henderson passed away January 19th, 2019. He was 81. Dad was born on May 24th, 1937. He would have been 82 this year.  I had previously written about the health issues my Father suffered after falling and breaking his hip June 1st, 2018.  You can read about that in my blahg “WHAT HAPPENED TO MR HENDERSON?”. 

     To finish the story started in that blahg, things did not get much better.  My Father was in and out of the hospital several times.  He returned home in mid-October with nursing and psw support but his health didn’t improve.  Equipment malfunctioned and he still had to have a feeding tube, a catheter, and was bed-ridden.  I’m sure he enjoyed the times he was home but internally, things were not good.  He returned to the hospital before Christmas and didn’t come home again until just before the New Year. 

     My Father had become very anemic and required blood transfusions on at least two occasions.  He had ulcers on his rear end that widened and never healed.  The week before he died I became very concerned that home wasn’t the right place for him and that it was also taking a toll on my Mother’s health.  My Mother and I had fought about him going back to the hospital and possibly going into long-term care.  It was not a pleasant time but finally she agreed and my Father went back to the hospital on January 17th with the intention that he would hopefully improve enough in the hospital with the eventuality of going into long-term care. 

     Around lunch time on the 17th I was called by the hospital and was asked to come and meet with the Doctor as she had some concerns about the care my Father was receiving.  I was prepared for an argument because we had provided good care for my Father but I clearly blamed Belleville General Hospital for what had happened to my Father from June of 2018 to January of 2019.  I was not prepared to hear what the Doctor really wanted to tell me. 

     When I met with the Doctor she showed my the large ulcers on my Father’s rear end and went over the list of health issues.  Then she asked me what was I keeping him alive for because there was no quality of life for him.  She even said if it were her own Father like this that she would let him go.  I was devastated.  I needed to take a moment to process this but she immediately asked who was the Power of Attorney for my Father.  I said it was me.  She said then I had to make the tough decision.  I didn’t hesitate.  I couldn’t allow my Father to continue to suffer.  I agreed to the recommedation to stop his feeds and all medications except something for pain.  She left the room after telling me that Dad would probably only last a few more days.  She said she was going to get another Doctor to come and talk to me. 

     After the Doctor left the room, I went over and talked to my Dad.  I asked him if he had heard what we discussed and he said yes.  I then said that if we continue on this course that he would die in a few days.  I asked him if he was ready for that.  He said yes.  Throughout all that time since his fall he never once talked about giving up.  I had asked him the hard question a few times and he always said he wanted to live.  This time he knew it was time to move on.  I bawled my eyes out. 

     Soon after, Doctor Webster came in to see me.  She had treated Dad four years earlier when he had broken his other hip but with better results.  I liked Doctor Webster.  She was very gentle and kind and she agreed with everything the other Doctor had told me.  She agreed there was no quality of life.  I told her that my Dad had basically told me he was ready to die.  I didn’t stay long after that.  I left and contacted my siblings and let them know.  I later met with my Mother and let her know.  It was one of the toughest things I had ever done. 

     I visited Dad in the hospital again the next day, Friday.  They had just given him something for pain but he was able to communicate a little with me.  I said “a glass of rye would probably be good about now.”  He said “yeah”.  He then mumbled something that sounded like “how are  you doing?”  I began to sob and tell him I wasn’t doing so well because I was losing my Dad.  I pulled back the covers to grasp his hand.  He was startled a little bit so I made a joke and said “calm down, I’m not getting in the bed with you.”  He smiled.  It was the last laugh between us.  He drifted in and out after that and there was no more communication. 

     On Saturday January 19th, my wife and I took my Mother up to say goodbye to my Father.  It was a very emotional time for us all.  Luckily my two brothers, Chris who lives in Ohio and Tim working in the Northwest Territories, had managed to make into Belleville to say goodbye to Dad.  They arrived when I was there with Mom.  Dad never spoke and he just stared off but he would raise his eyebrows whenever we spoke to him.  I think he heard us.  My other siblings also saw Dad on Saturday.  Just after 11pm, I received a call that Dad had passed away.  The Doctor was right, it had only been a couple of days.  Dad was on his final journey. 

     The next few days were very busy and very difficult.  Mom had said that Dad wanted to be cremated and she didn’t want any service.  Tim and I met with Quinte Cremation and handled everything.  We would eventually receive Dad’s ashes in a nice urn shaped like a deer.  We all agreed that Dad would have liked that.  Throughout that time I had been torn with guilt because as the Power of Attorney I had had to make that tough call to end treatment for Dad.  I had copies of the Will and Power of Attorney and it took me three days to find those copies.  When I did, I discovered there was also a Living Will that Dad had signed stating that if he ever was so ill that there was no chance of recovery or quality of life that we were to discontinue treatment and let him die.  I can tell you after reading that, a big weight was lifted.  I had honoured Dad’s wishes. 

     My Father was the last of his family.  His parents and siblings were all gone and the baby of the family was the last to go.  Here is the obituary that was posted for Dad:

George Arthur Henderson

HENDERSON, George Arthur – Of Belleville. Passed away at the Belleville General Hospital on Saturday January 19th, 2019 in his 82nd year. Son of the late Charles and Ada Henderson. Beloved husband of Sharron Nadine Henderson (Seeley). Dear father of Timothy Henderson (Rebecca Cameron) of Orleans Ontario, Todd Henderson (Tammy Thrasher) of Belleville, Scott Henderson (Jeanette) of Demorestville, Wanda Foley (Mike) of Wallbridge, Daniel Henderson (Debby) of Belleville, and Christopher Henderson (Valerie) of Hamilton, Ohio. Predeceased by his brother Claire Henderson, and by his sisters Helen Bradshaw and Muriel Grimpson. Loved by his several grandchildren and great grandchildren. In keeping with George’s wishes, cremation has taken place, and there will be no visitation or service. Donations to the charity of choice would be appreciated. Online condolences can be made at www.quintecremationservices.com

 

     I think that’s enough of all that.  Instead I want to share some photos of my Dad.  It’s tough because I don’t have many photos of my Dad.  I’m sure my Mother has some but I wanted to go with ones as they related to me.  The earliest I have in my possession is this one taken at the reception after my wedding to Jeanette on May 30th, 1987.  It’s a nice photo of both of my parents: 

 

The next photo was taken at my brother Chris’ wedding to Valerie in I believe 2004: 

Then there’s a photo of Mom and Dad at my other brother Dan’s wedding to Debbie around 2008: 

The picture below is a nice photo of Dad taken at the Celebration of Life for my Aunt Helen who passed away in 2016:

Next is a great photo of Mom and Dad with all their children on the occasion of Dad’s 80th Birthday in 2017: 
From left to right, Scott (me), Dan, Wanda, Tim, Mom, Todd, Dad, and Chris. My niece Keri is in the background in the purple dress.

The following photo I believe is one of the last photos taken of my parents together in August 2017.  This was taken on the occasion of my nephew Christopher’s wedding:

     I think that’s really all I want to post of photos.  Now onto some memories.  I have two special memories of my Dad.  When I was a kid, my Dad was a big fan of Stompin’ Tom Connors and I loved his music, too.  When Stompin’ Tom came to Belleville in the late 1960s or early 1970s, I begged my Dad to take me but I think he thought I was too young.  He took my two older brothers Tim and Todd and they weren’t even fans.  When Stompin’ Tom came again to Belleville in 1999 I got good seats and Dad and I went together.  It was a great concert and a great time. 

     My second favourite memory is of going to the movies with my Dad and my Uncle Rod (who sadly passed away last year) to see Walt Disney’s Snowball Express.  It became one my Dad’s favourite movies and I remember buying him VHS and DVD copies of this movie.  It’s still one of my favourites too.  We had a great time at the movies and it was one of the last movies my Dad saw in the movie theatre.  The last movie my parents saw together was The Exorcist from 1973.  They went with some relatives and friends.  Dad thought it was a comedy.  That was George Henderson for you. 

     Because there were no services for Dad I didn’t get to share any of these memories or to share a poem that was special to me about a poet’s Father and death.  I’ll share it now: 

 

WHEN MY FATHER WENT TO WALES

 

When my father went to Wales in ’61

for his father’s funeral

I was twelve

and knew nothing.

 

Death was real but remote,

like the origin of the world

or the Ed Sullivan Show.

But having touched my father

death became a constant

in my world. Having taken his father

my own was suddenly vulnerable

to that theft, and from then on

I guarded him with the magic

of a twelve-year-old: words,

 

things, the power of thought

unknown to him kept him free

of that other’s possession.

 

Once he came close to falling;

 

I forgot or relaxed or was distracted

and he glimpsed his father’s world.

 

Never again would I be so negligent.

 

And though he will fall, as he must,

into his father’s arms,

 

I know it will not be the magic’s fault

or mine, or anything to do with failure.

 

He will fall as we all must

into a world which was once his own,

and seeing his old man again

he will be happy, and happy

will turn to brace his arms

for me, following.

 

—Dermot McCarthy,  Canadian poet

 

I think I would have liked to have read that poem but if I’m being honest, I think my Dad would have rather I read from his favourite poems:

 

I found my thrill
On Blueberry Hill
On Blueberry Hill
When I found you

The moon stood still
On Blueberry Hill
And lingered until
My dream came true

The wind in the willow played
Love’s sweet melody
But all of those vows you made
Were never to be

Though we’re apart
You’re part of me still
For you were my thrill
On Blueberry Hill

The wind in the willow played
Love’s sweet melody
But all of those vows you made
Were only to be
Though we’re apart
You’re part of me still
For you were my thrill
On Blueberry Hill

BLUEBERRY HILL by FATS DOMINO

     All those years of listening to Stompin’ Tom Connors and country music growing up and I didn’t realize until I was into my twenties that Dad was a Fats Domino fan.  It came on the radio one time and he said that was his favourite song.  I don’t know if it remained his favourite but I’m going to play my Dad out with that song.  Rest in peace Dad, I Love You.