I have no doubt that a Power Greater Than Me knows the outcome of all this, but I have no idea. It is late August 1966 and my father has taken me to the Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto. There is an old wooden rollercoaster there that they called the Mighty Flyer. By the extreme “no speed is too high and no cost is too much” standards of today, the thing was a little baby bear, but for in 1966 it was huge. So you click, click, click, up the top of the first hill and you for a second, seem to stop, but you know the ride is about to start.
So here I am in February 7, 2010, and I feel the same way. I know that I am supposed to show up at the University of Ottawa Heart Institute tomorrow at six in the morning and after that it is all beyond my control.
I am overwhelmed by my good fortune in all of this. I have been pain free. The problem was discovered before anything catastrophic happened. The support and love of friends was overwhelming. I am not Catholic, but my wife is, and I was at Mass yesterday and the priest announced my line that “I want prayer for my healers and not me”. He said that he was praying for both me and my healers that I thought was pretty all right. What's more, they prayed for me at the Lutheran Church in Ottawa today. Wow!! Two days, two churches, two prayers. I have this blog, that is therapeutic for me. My employer has been golden. The University of Ottawa Heart Institute has been golden. My wife has been platinum. The beagle and cats are showing mild concern. I feel that I am much better at hearing the voice of God.
It is a bit before noon as I write this. I want this recorded in this blog. I am one of the most blessed people on this planet and I do not have the vocabulary or skill to express my true gratitude.
I am not sure when we shall next meet but I intend to keep coming back.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Well it is getting close to surgery day. I have to be at the University of Ottawa Heart Institute at six a.m. on Monday , February 8th, 2010. I know enough that a cancellation is still possible, but I choose optimism.
I am concerned and fear is in me, but it is not getting the upper hand. I have never been in the hospital for anything more than a day procedure. I have never had stitches. I have never had surgery. I am certainly going to make up for lost time.
The most bizarre thing is that I feel fine, at least I think I feel fine. I have next to no discomfort or pain. The nitro patches give me flickering headaches some days, and some days I seem to fatigue easily. And yet part of my cure after the surgery likely entails me feeling the worse that I have felt in my entire life . Logically this all makes sense, but it is a bit strange to get my head around all of this.
Speaking of my head - that is the part that I worry about (please no snickering). I think of my self as: relatively sober thinking, at least in my own mind ; clever, at least in my own mind; sometimes witty, at least in my own mind; a capable of being spiritual, at least in my own mind, sort of guy. I think I am nice and decent and the sort of person that you would not overly object to being a seat mate on a trans Canada flight. I hope that the surgery and drugs don’t turn me into some sort of forgetful, spiteful, nasty, self-centred ogre. I hope that I don’t become a blubbering idiot. I have already apologized in advance to my wife for this.
You hear so much on the emotional side of this (well, at least you do as a patient). One friend of my wife’s even said that this surgery is like the finger of God poking your heart. I have seen pictures of the painting on the Sistine Chapel and God has huge honking fingers. I know that the God of my understanding is going to keep his paws to himself and let the surgeons do their job.
This blog has been all about my woes and my perspective. None of this would have been within my ability to stand it, were it not for my wife. She has driven me to a large number of my tests. She is the one that had to hang out all day at the hospital while I had my angiogram. She is the one that has to do all the worrying, I mean the real worrying because it is always harder to worry about the health of someone you love, than you own. I have every reason to be optimistic about my recovery, but she will be chauffer, day nurse, night nurse, maid, cook, dishwasher, dog walker, cat wrangler, sidewalk shoveler, psychiatrist, mother, father, pharmacist, DVD inserter, and whine attendant. I am not very good at prayers (still in learning) but if anybody out there is, please pray for her. I am so grateful and thankful that she is in my life that a prayer from me would not do my gratitude, or her, justice.
I am concerned and fear is in me, but it is not getting the upper hand. I have never been in the hospital for anything more than a day procedure. I have never had stitches. I have never had surgery. I am certainly going to make up for lost time.
The most bizarre thing is that I feel fine, at least I think I feel fine. I have next to no discomfort or pain. The nitro patches give me flickering headaches some days, and some days I seem to fatigue easily. And yet part of my cure after the surgery likely entails me feeling the worse that I have felt in my entire life . Logically this all makes sense, but it is a bit strange to get my head around all of this.
Speaking of my head - that is the part that I worry about (please no snickering). I think of my self as: relatively sober thinking, at least in my own mind ; clever, at least in my own mind; sometimes witty, at least in my own mind; a capable of being spiritual, at least in my own mind, sort of guy. I think I am nice and decent and the sort of person that you would not overly object to being a seat mate on a trans Canada flight. I hope that the surgery and drugs don’t turn me into some sort of forgetful, spiteful, nasty, self-centred ogre. I hope that I don’t become a blubbering idiot. I have already apologized in advance to my wife for this.
You hear so much on the emotional side of this (well, at least you do as a patient). One friend of my wife’s even said that this surgery is like the finger of God poking your heart. I have seen pictures of the painting on the Sistine Chapel and God has huge honking fingers. I know that the God of my understanding is going to keep his paws to himself and let the surgeons do their job.
This blog has been all about my woes and my perspective. None of this would have been within my ability to stand it, were it not for my wife. She has driven me to a large number of my tests. She is the one that had to hang out all day at the hospital while I had my angiogram. She is the one that has to do all the worrying, I mean the real worrying because it is always harder to worry about the health of someone you love, than you own. I have every reason to be optimistic about my recovery, but she will be chauffer, day nurse, night nurse, maid, cook, dishwasher, dog walker, cat wrangler, sidewalk shoveler, psychiatrist, mother, father, pharmacist, DVD inserter, and whine attendant. I am not very good at prayers (still in learning) but if anybody out there is, please pray for her. I am so grateful and thankful that she is in my life that a prayer from me would not do my gratitude, or her, justice.
Friday, February 5, 2010
I feel like I have rushed into a train compartment. Sort of a Hitchcock Movie, Black and White, Music by Bernard Herman, Cinematography by George Barnes. Adapted from a short story by Daphne du Maurier
It is the “Train of Life Changing Illness” and of course it is full. But I get on and go to my reserved compartment – two bench seats across from each other. My glasses are fogged and I cannot make out who is there, but I see two men - one seated on each side. I know that both are hoping that I don’t sit beside them, but that cannot worry me; I am tired and have to sit down.
Holy Moly!! I am sitting beside Jack Layton. He is looking a bit silly as he is wearing a Houndstooth Wool Cap in an NDP Orange Harris Tweed and a Gortex Macintosh. But he smiles the Jack Smile and tells me “Hi, I am Jack Layton. I have prostate cancer, but so do a lot of people. I am getting it treated here in Canada and while I may go down a couple of times, I am not staying down. Have you had your prostate checked out?” I tell him that I have indeed. I tell him that I have heart disease. I tell him that I am having it treated right here in Canada as well. I tell him that lots of people have heart disease. I tell him that it often goes undetected. I tell him that it is a real danger for women and that Olivia should really get herself checked out.
I also tell him that his cap looks silly. He looks hurt and tells me that this is really my fault for not having Edith Head do the costumes. Touch̩ Рthe man has a point. The guy sitting across from us is immaculately dressed. I can tell his navy blue blazer is a Samualsohn because he has not cut off the sleeve label. He is wearing a fedora pulled over his eyes, like he is trying to hide, and on his lap is a Valextra Diplomatico briefcase. He is really clutching it; his knuckles are white he is holding it so hard.
“Isn’t that Danny Williams” I ask. “I am pretty sure it is, but he won’t look me in the eye and pretended not to hear when I spoke to him” Jack replies. We wonder why Danny Williams or a Danny Look-alike is on the train.
The door suddenly flings open – it is Kathy Dunderdale , the Deputy Premier of Newfoundland and Labrador. I have no doubts where her surname came from – “It is none of your damn business who that man is, and what he has in his briefcase, it is private, private, private, you left wing rabble!!” I meekly try to tell her that I once shook Mike Harris’ hand (hey, he extended it – what was I supposed to do?)
Suddenly the train goes dark! We hear a blood curdling scream “It’s the Steve! It’s the Steve!” The sounds of loud and angry people pierce the air. I am frightened and don’t know what to do. Shouts of Equalization and Lying Bastards pierce the inky blackness.
And then there is silence, just the quiet and gentle rattle of the train. And there is light. But there is no man sitting across from Jack and me – just an empty seat. I move across to it to give Mr. Layton some more room. But we both are sad. I learned something from Jack Layton and I think he learned something from me. But from the mystery man on the “Train of Life Changing Illness” we learned nothing. What a missed opportunity.
Fade to the conductor, who looks just like Alfred Hitchcock, collecting tickets.
It is the “Train of Life Changing Illness” and of course it is full. But I get on and go to my reserved compartment – two bench seats across from each other. My glasses are fogged and I cannot make out who is there, but I see two men - one seated on each side. I know that both are hoping that I don’t sit beside them, but that cannot worry me; I am tired and have to sit down.
Holy Moly!! I am sitting beside Jack Layton. He is looking a bit silly as he is wearing a Houndstooth Wool Cap in an NDP Orange Harris Tweed and a Gortex Macintosh. But he smiles the Jack Smile and tells me “Hi, I am Jack Layton. I have prostate cancer, but so do a lot of people. I am getting it treated here in Canada and while I may go down a couple of times, I am not staying down. Have you had your prostate checked out?” I tell him that I have indeed. I tell him that I have heart disease. I tell him that I am having it treated right here in Canada as well. I tell him that lots of people have heart disease. I tell him that it often goes undetected. I tell him that it is a real danger for women and that Olivia should really get herself checked out.
I also tell him that his cap looks silly. He looks hurt and tells me that this is really my fault for not having Edith Head do the costumes. Touch̩ Рthe man has a point. The guy sitting across from us is immaculately dressed. I can tell his navy blue blazer is a Samualsohn because he has not cut off the sleeve label. He is wearing a fedora pulled over his eyes, like he is trying to hide, and on his lap is a Valextra Diplomatico briefcase. He is really clutching it; his knuckles are white he is holding it so hard.
“Isn’t that Danny Williams” I ask. “I am pretty sure it is, but he won’t look me in the eye and pretended not to hear when I spoke to him” Jack replies. We wonder why Danny Williams or a Danny Look-alike is on the train.
The door suddenly flings open – it is Kathy Dunderdale , the Deputy Premier of Newfoundland and Labrador. I have no doubts where her surname came from – “It is none of your damn business who that man is, and what he has in his briefcase, it is private, private, private, you left wing rabble!!” I meekly try to tell her that I once shook Mike Harris’ hand (hey, he extended it – what was I supposed to do?)
Suddenly the train goes dark! We hear a blood curdling scream “It’s the Steve! It’s the Steve!” The sounds of loud and angry people pierce the air. I am frightened and don’t know what to do. Shouts of Equalization and Lying Bastards pierce the inky blackness.
And then there is silence, just the quiet and gentle rattle of the train. And there is light. But there is no man sitting across from Jack and me – just an empty seat. I move across to it to give Mr. Layton some more room. But we both are sad. I learned something from Jack Layton and I think he learned something from me. But from the mystery man on the “Train of Life Changing Illness” we learned nothing. What a missed opportunity.
Fade to the conductor, who looks just like Alfred Hitchcock, collecting tickets.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Fear, Resentment, Anger - Guest Bloggers!!
This is my blog, and I should write it of course myself, but I have been having guests visit me at two or three in the morning, and rather than ignoring them or deflecting them, I have decided to let them plainly and openly state their cases.
Fear – Yes, thank you, I am ahh Fear and you have to excuse me. I am frankly a bit frightened …. That was a joke; you know to break the ice. Never mind, let’s get to it. Okay, you could die, you could have a heart attack, the pain medication may not work, or it may make you sick, or, best of all it may not work and make you sick. Ha!!! Those tubes down your throat and up your whazoo are going to feel very, very, strange. And what if something breaks while up your whazoo? Boy, I would not want to be in your shoes. And what if a Boeing Dreamliner is flying overhead and an engine falls off and lands in the OR? Hey!! That was not supposed to be funny!! How do you backspace on this? Oh, you can’t …. What kind of BS is that? Look, I do better at
Resentment - What a waste of time your summer was!!! All that kayaking, all that time with your fat ass on that bicycle. And the jogging … okay at the start you could barely run, and by mid October you were so proud of those ten and ones. But you are going for a frigging bypass!! And did you make your big race night on December 31st? Did you? Did you? Did you? Did you?
Okay, your family doctor that you love so much told you she was proud of you, and the cardiologist told you the running was the best thing that you could have done, but are you really so dumb that your don’t understand that they get paid to say that?
Oh, Fear is right, this writing stuff out is stupid. We don’t operate that way. That Father Jack told you to not ignore us, to feel us. He meant at three in the morning, not now. This is going to ruin me. I am going to play this back and play it back and play it back. It is going to drive me insane.
Anger – I am not biting. Those two stupid idiots Fear and Resentment fell for that trap Father Jack set out. Father Jack in his orange scarf from the Ashram telling you not to hide us away. Telling you to let us tell our stories. Telling you that we should not be buried because we would emerge some other way. He is a fool. And you are a fool. And that beagle of yours is a fool. And Fear and Resentment are Super Fools. I am leaving. It is so much easier to work with the Tory Caucus.
Well the boys have had their say. I think that I was fair and open and I let them say what they wanted, but I am of course not responsible for their comments. But yes, my friend Father Jack did indeed suggest that I do not repress my fear, resentment or anger. I feel that I was fair and open to them and I do not need to see them now at three in the morning. I plan on sleeping.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The whole Danny Williams story has brought out a lot of comments to me. Some of my American colleagues view my situation with pity , almost as I am a poor simpleton who does not know better. In the
But then I dig a little deeper. Would I really stay in my bed and have the bypass the next day? Well, not necessarily the next day, it depends on how much blood they have, it depends on the availability of the cardiac surgeon – they just don’t sit there waiting you know. So, I just lay in my room waiting? Sure, if you want to pay for your room, but it may be less expensive to go home and wait for the call.
So when the call comes, I just show up, right? Well, not necessarily, you have to check the surgeon out. How many of these things has he done? Have you checked out the rating websites? And what about the hospital; is it accredited? What is their germ outbreak stat? Their what? Germs, viruses, bugs, that sort of thing, you don’t want to come home sicker than you were.
This is delicate, but how much is this going to cost me? Ah, it depends on your plan (you do have a plan .. right?) , but it should be no more than eight grand, and if you take it easy on the pain killers you are not only going to avoid addiction problems but you will cut down on the out of pocket expense.
How about the rehab programmes once you are out? You mean the rehab programs? Are you out of your frigging mind? Why do you think God gave us the city block?
No question that the likes of Danny Williams and David Letterman will be well cared for by their healers. But I trust my family doctor. I trust my family consultant doctor who resides at the head of many waters. I trust my cardiologist. I trust my cardiac surgeon. I trust my triage nurse. I trust my spiritual adviser. I trust my Higher Power SOAPE. Sometimes you have to fall back and have confidence that the angels will protect you from being dashed upon the rocks.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
So, the Premier of Newfoundland and Labrador is off to the United States of America for heart surgery. The public does not know, as I write this, the nature of his disease; the public does not know where he is going in the US. Is he paying for the whole shot himself? Is not the Newfoundland medical system capable of helping the Premier?
All I can say from my tower of artificial ivory is this: Good for Him. I love nothing more than taking cheap shots at politicians; anyone from the Prime Minister, to that woman who claims she is our Member of Parliament. But I wish every politician in Canada, whether they are on village councils or on Parliament Hill itself, all the best when it comes to their health and security. (I wish this for everybody of course, but today’s focus is on Mr. Williams.)
The nature of his disease is no one’s damn business except for those that Mr. Williams chooses to share it with. The same for where he is going – why do we the public have this obsession with details that have no relevance to us?
As for the money: Danny Williams is rich – good for him. In fact he donates all of his salary as Premier to charity. I am rich enough, but I would not mind his wealth, but that is just petty envy. So, if he is paying money out of his pocket, then I am glad that he has the ability to do so. And if he can get the Newfoundland Health Care System to pay for a portion of the fees, then he should exercise that right just like any other citizen of the Province. I certainly am in no position to comment on the level of Cardiac Care in Newfoundland and Labrador.
I am rich beyond the dreams of most people on the planet. The starving in sub Saharan Africa would not believe what I throw out in the compost. A mother carrying her child to a clinic in Haiti would be astounded by the medical miracle that I am about to experience. A homeless person would not believe the square feet that my wife and I share with our pets. Someone lacking a family doctor would not believe the competence and compassion of ours. An alcoholic who cannot remember the night before, would not believe that I (for the most part) remember all of my nights before.
Health Care in Canada is a rationed resource. You cannot get what you want, when you want it. So yes, I am frustrated that I did not have my surgery two months ago. It does eat into my quality of life and my quality of time I give to others, most notably my wife’s and my employer’s. And, even thought I am repeatedly told that my risk is low, the Demons of Two A.M. see it another way.
But here is the Gospel Truth: If Danny Williams came to me right now and said this: “My son, I will trade you my first class airplane ticket and my bed at a top dog, top tier, top dollar, USA Hospital for your bed at the University of Ottawa Heart Institute” I would say back: “No thank you sir, but I hope that you have a successful surgery down South”
It is good to know that money cannot buy some things.
All I can say from my tower of artificial ivory is this: Good for Him. I love nothing more than taking cheap shots at politicians; anyone from the Prime Minister, to that woman who claims she is our Member of Parliament. But I wish every politician in Canada, whether they are on village councils or on Parliament Hill itself, all the best when it comes to their health and security. (I wish this for everybody of course, but today’s focus is on Mr. Williams.)
The nature of his disease is no one’s damn business except for those that Mr. Williams chooses to share it with. The same for where he is going – why do we the public have this obsession with details that have no relevance to us?
As for the money: Danny Williams is rich – good for him. In fact he donates all of his salary as Premier to charity. I am rich enough, but I would not mind his wealth, but that is just petty envy. So, if he is paying money out of his pocket, then I am glad that he has the ability to do so. And if he can get the Newfoundland Health Care System to pay for a portion of the fees, then he should exercise that right just like any other citizen of the Province. I certainly am in no position to comment on the level of Cardiac Care in Newfoundland and Labrador.
I am rich beyond the dreams of most people on the planet. The starving in sub Saharan Africa would not believe what I throw out in the compost. A mother carrying her child to a clinic in Haiti would be astounded by the medical miracle that I am about to experience. A homeless person would not believe the square feet that my wife and I share with our pets. Someone lacking a family doctor would not believe the competence and compassion of ours. An alcoholic who cannot remember the night before, would not believe that I (for the most part) remember all of my nights before.
Health Care in Canada is a rationed resource. You cannot get what you want, when you want it. So yes, I am frustrated that I did not have my surgery two months ago. It does eat into my quality of life and my quality of time I give to others, most notably my wife’s and my employer’s. And, even thought I am repeatedly told that my risk is low, the Demons of Two A.M. see it another way.
But here is the Gospel Truth: If Danny Williams came to me right now and said this: “My son, I will trade you my first class airplane ticket and my bed at a top dog, top tier, top dollar, USA Hospital for your bed at the University of Ottawa Heart Institute” I would say back: “No thank you sir, but I hope that you have a successful surgery down South”
It is good to know that money cannot buy some things.
Monday, February 1, 2010
I was visiting a good friend at the Ottawa Civic Hospital today. My friend was supposed to go into surgery three days after mine, but the way things have turned out, his surgery went on as planned, and he ended up jumping in front of me.
Mr. H’s surgery was the repair of an aneurism deep inside his body. In fact, his surgery was considered considerably of a higher risk than mine, so I was elated to see him up and at it, so to speak. He is two decades older than I and has an abundance of spiritual strength. He looked a bit frail and tired today, but still had his wry sense of humour. I jokingly (well, I tired to make it sound jokingly) told him that I did not want to see any scars and that worked until his friend Archie came in. Archie had similar surgery a while ago and wanted to see the scar , and well I was there and saw part of it anyway. I guess I am ready for my scar now.
This was my first visit to the general floor of a hospital in Ottawa in a few years – busy place. The nurse cheerfully told me that cell phones, BlackBerrys, iPods and even laptops are allowed in your room once you are a resident. I did not know that. The hospital is a hectic place – I am not trusting of having my company owned laptop there and I doubt that I would want access to the Company Network, or the Internet, or even my Blog ( the world will just have to live without it for a few days) . I am not sure that I would put the BlackBerry in the class of essential either. And (the non trusting side of me is emerging) I decided to purchase a cheap (sub $15 with taxes) MP3 player and leave the iPod at home.
My first thought was to on it, my long possessed, but not listened to yet CD of Moby Dick - all 21 hours , but I decided that , that would be enough for my relatively normal mind , never mind one in bypass self pity mode, so here is what I ripped to put on the $15 MP3/
1. The Essential Bruce Springsteen – Album 1
2. Meat Loaf – Bat Out of Hell
3. Elina Garanca – Bel Canto
4. Charlie Haden / Hank Jones – Steal Away
5. A Winter’s Solstice - Various Artists (New Age)
6. Andréa Bocelli - Romanza
7. Soundtrack to Philadelphia - Various Artists
8. The Greatest Musicals - Various Artists
9. The Bridges of Cape Breton (Fiddle and Fancy Steppin’ Music)
10. Cosmos – PA UN PAR
I figure the above will be enough in the simple, song at a time, no showing of the title, no shuffle mode of my little player. It will be like a giant Eight Track. Note 1 to Self – I just tried the thing. Steve Jobs is not going to lose sleep over $15 MP3 putting a dint in Apple or anyone else. Maybe I should have tried to find an Eight Track – but hey this MP3 will add to the fun. Note 2 to self – find one of your cheap (like $15 headsets or earbuds) – the ones included in the $15 for all bundle are real bad.
I also have to decide if I want to rent a TV or not. I think that TV would only add to my malaise but on the other hand maybe Jerry Springer is good for the soul. Maybe …..
The downstairs of the Civic Hospital is like a small shopping mall. Flower Shop, Book Store, Drug Store, Second Cup Coffee Shop, Greeting Card Shop - there is nothing wrong with that I know, and yet I found those commercial operations made me feel uncomfortable. Maybe it is like hawkers selling in the shadow of a shrine.
I think that overall I am becoming grumpy about things. I know that the surgery was delayed for good reasons (the reasons were good .. right?) but it is frustrating. I made a loan to American Express as somehow, last cycle I paid my bill twice on line. It is nice for once to have a credit with a Credit Card Company but I would rather have the money than them. It is just that the delays and worries and fears are eating away at me. It is not like the voracious devouring of flesh by a pack of rapid wolves. It is more of the nibbling of a cute little chipmunk on a pile of peanuts. Nibble, nibble, cute , cute, and then you see the little bastard’s cheeks and you see that he has half the bag in his mouth. Woe is me!! I am being consumed by a chipmunk!!!
Take a breath, rub the beagle’s snout, carry the black cat around the house …. Whew, take another breath. There , I am fine. I have my serenity back. Today, the mayor of yet another Ottawa Valley town expressed his concern for me (and I don’t even pay taxes to that town). I certainly owe AMEX no money. I have an MP3 player that anybody can steal without regret on my part. I had a very good visit at the hospital today. (Mr. H had been better telling the truth about the low level of pain he was having)
Mr. H and his friend Archie are two tough dudes by the way. I was not fit to be in the same room as them, but they did not seem to mind. Those two guys really know how to trudge the road that we share and it is good to be able to follow them.
Mr. H’s surgery was the repair of an aneurism deep inside his body. In fact, his surgery was considered considerably of a higher risk than mine, so I was elated to see him up and at it, so to speak. He is two decades older than I and has an abundance of spiritual strength. He looked a bit frail and tired today, but still had his wry sense of humour. I jokingly (well, I tired to make it sound jokingly) told him that I did not want to see any scars and that worked until his friend Archie came in. Archie had similar surgery a while ago and wanted to see the scar , and well I was there and saw part of it anyway. I guess I am ready for my scar now.
This was my first visit to the general floor of a hospital in Ottawa in a few years – busy place. The nurse cheerfully told me that cell phones, BlackBerrys, iPods and even laptops are allowed in your room once you are a resident. I did not know that. The hospital is a hectic place – I am not trusting of having my company owned laptop there and I doubt that I would want access to the Company Network, or the Internet, or even my Blog ( the world will just have to live without it for a few days) . I am not sure that I would put the BlackBerry in the class of essential either. And (the non trusting side of me is emerging) I decided to purchase a cheap (sub $15 with taxes) MP3 player and leave the iPod at home.
My first thought was to on it, my long possessed, but not listened to yet CD of Moby Dick - all 21 hours , but I decided that , that would be enough for my relatively normal mind , never mind one in bypass self pity mode, so here is what I ripped to put on the $15 MP3/
1. The Essential Bruce Springsteen – Album 1
2. Meat Loaf – Bat Out of Hell
3. Elina Garanca – Bel Canto
4. Charlie Haden / Hank Jones – Steal Away
5. A Winter’s Solstice - Various Artists (New Age)
6. Andréa Bocelli - Romanza
7. Soundtrack to Philadelphia - Various Artists
8. The Greatest Musicals - Various Artists
9. The Bridges of Cape Breton (Fiddle and Fancy Steppin’ Music)
10. Cosmos – PA UN PAR
I figure the above will be enough in the simple, song at a time, no showing of the title, no shuffle mode of my little player. It will be like a giant Eight Track. Note 1 to Self – I just tried the thing. Steve Jobs is not going to lose sleep over $15 MP3 putting a dint in Apple or anyone else. Maybe I should have tried to find an Eight Track – but hey this MP3 will add to the fun. Note 2 to self – find one of your cheap (like $15 headsets or earbuds) – the ones included in the $15 for all bundle are real bad.
I also have to decide if I want to rent a TV or not. I think that TV would only add to my malaise but on the other hand maybe Jerry Springer is good for the soul. Maybe …..
The downstairs of the Civic Hospital is like a small shopping mall. Flower Shop, Book Store, Drug Store, Second Cup Coffee Shop, Greeting Card Shop - there is nothing wrong with that I know, and yet I found those commercial operations made me feel uncomfortable. Maybe it is like hawkers selling in the shadow of a shrine.
I think that overall I am becoming grumpy about things. I know that the surgery was delayed for good reasons (the reasons were good .. right?) but it is frustrating. I made a loan to American Express as somehow, last cycle I paid my bill twice on line. It is nice for once to have a credit with a Credit Card Company but I would rather have the money than them. It is just that the delays and worries and fears are eating away at me. It is not like the voracious devouring of flesh by a pack of rapid wolves. It is more of the nibbling of a cute little chipmunk on a pile of peanuts. Nibble, nibble, cute , cute, and then you see the little bastard’s cheeks and you see that he has half the bag in his mouth. Woe is me!! I am being consumed by a chipmunk!!!
Take a breath, rub the beagle’s snout, carry the black cat around the house …. Whew, take another breath. There , I am fine. I have my serenity back. Today, the mayor of yet another Ottawa Valley town expressed his concern for me (and I don’t even pay taxes to that town). I certainly owe AMEX no money. I have an MP3 player that anybody can steal without regret on my part. I had a very good visit at the hospital today. (Mr. H had been better telling the truth about the low level of pain he was having)
Mr. H and his friend Archie are two tough dudes by the way. I was not fit to be in the same room as them, but they did not seem to mind. Those two guys really know how to trudge the road that we share and it is good to be able to follow them.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
