A Day in the Life

Warning; The following blog might make you question everything you thought you knew about me. .  I thought I would once again try my hand at writing a blog with more on the uplift and less on the downcast.

We arrived at the cabin on Thursday night since Tammy was able to take a rare Friday off.  As a CEO, she works very hard making sure her rehabilitation  hospital runs well and that all of the patients receive the highest quality care.  I don't know how she does it.  As is our custom, we celebrated the week's accomplishments and discussed the coming weekend's adventures over glasses of red wine prior to our retiring for a night's well deserved rest.

Friday was a day for quiet reflection while lounging around in the cabin enjoying the tail end of the winter storm and the crackling warmth of the wood stove fire.  Tammy has begun to place a large pot of water with cinnamon sticks atop the wood stove and the wonderful aroma wafts throughout the entire cabin.  After a hearty breakfast of whole wheat pancakes and apple/pecan maple syrup we headed outside to begin the exhausting but satisfying task of digging out from the ten inch snowfall. Lunch was gourmet pizza at our favorite bistro in Phoenicia and then a few hours of splitting firewood and filling the bird feeders.  Now I was ready for a cup of steaming  hot cocoa, a hearty dinner of home made split pea soup and off to a well deserved early bed time.  Were it not for my exhausting day of woodland chores I most assuredly would have had a hard time falling asleep because of my eager anticipation of Saturday's planned day of cross country skiing.

If you've never brought your family to the Frost Valley YMCA camp in the Catskill Mountains they have missed out on a great outdoor learning experience.   While we were enjoying a brilliant sunny day of x-country skiing a New Jersey chapter of the Y-Adventure Guides was also enjoying the idyllic experience of pastoral play.  The Adventure Guides is the new, more culturally sensitive name for the old Indian Guides and Indian Princesses YMCA clubs we remember from our own childhoods.  While some may have felt the original name insensitive to our Native American friends I could not help but think about the noble aboriginal father, arm around his own son, teaching him about the ways of our great Mother Earth.  Perhaps standing atop what is now Peekamoose Mountain  staring out at the great eastern arboreal forest delighting in their disencumbered lifestyle.

While taking lunch in the beautifully appointed chalet style dining hall we had the great pleasure of watching all the young boys running around the tables in their youthful exuberance while the dads held their own "powwows" planning the afternoons activities. In the afternoon we took one more three mile glide through the woods and it was back to our cabin for a muscle restoring soak in the Jacuzzi. Too sore from our first skiing adventure of the season to do much more than lay in bed that evening, we decided to rent The Social Network and watch it on our big screen TV in the bedroom.  Those crazy dotcom billionaires and their kooky ideas about social networking really give me a chuckle.

Is That a Skeleton In My Closet?

So it seems that the new chairman of the Committee on Oversight and Government Reform has quite a scandalous past history.  Darrell Issa (Republican, CA) has been accused of, or investigated for; car theft, arson, and illegal possession of a concealed firearm.  And he is going to be our nation's gate keeper for the ethical behavior of our political leaders?  His excuse for any past ethical missteps is twofold.  First and most importantly, it was his brother who actually allegedly stole the cars and owned the gun. And he certainly is not guilty by association.  Secondly, and most curiously, is his assertion that, "everyone has a past" (that they may not be proud of).  Oh really?  

I don't know about you, but I for one am sick and tired of morally challenged people accusing me of having done things in my past that best never see the light of day.  Ok, sure, I might have stolen a pack of Fruitstripe gum from my local candy store in 1969.  And does drinking a quart of Colt 45 in eleventh grade count as morally reprehensible behavior?  How about the cops being called to your house because of a boisterous Chinese New Years party involving the peace shattering explosions of fireworks? Is that shameful?   Or how about...............ummmm, never mind.

The Tyranny of Math

Quick, what is two thirds in decimals?   I'll tell you what it is; it is exactly three turkey sandwiches on standard size sandwich bread.  Don't know what I am talking about?  Think about it.  How many times have you bought three quarters of a pound of lunch meat and on Thursday your kid gets a goyish style (a topic for another day) bologna on white because you ran out of Hebrew National? Or more commonly, after making your planned number of sandwiches you end up with just one or two slices of olive loaf at the end. What do you do with those?  Put them on a Ritz and serve it as an appetizer?  Another goyish idea, no doubt.

Why does this happen?  Because you order one half of one pound, or three quarters of one pound or even one pound exactly.  And all this without even the vaguest notion of how much meat you are actually putting on each sandwich.  But that, of course is only the proximate cause of your cold cut  miscalculation.  What is the ultimate cause?  When you say to the lunch meat slicing serf at the Acme (or Waldbaums, for our North Jersey readers) "I'll have two thirds of a pound of the honey baked ham (sweet meat, yet another goyish concept) she looks up from her cell phone and with that vacant, I'm not really here, stare, asks "Is that more or less than one half pound??"
And because you are already stressed from the lady who rolled her cart up to the deli counter after you, and ordered seventeen different meat, cheese, and prepared salad selections before you have a chance to say, "I'm next", you buckle and say "just give me three quarters of a pound".  And thus the math deficient among us have won. So you dejectedly push your cart toward the Milano cookies which, you are quite certain, will make you feel better about the future of America when all of our doctors and engineers are Chinese.


But why can't the clerk just weigh out two thirds of a pound on the scale?  Because the scale is digital and it only measures in tenth of a pound increments.  So the meat slicers union has convinced the Department of Labor to implement a regulation stating that Acme can only force its employees to memorize three fraction to decimal equivalents; 1/4, 1/2, and 3/4 of a pound.  So there you have it Johnny.  That is why you must  take algebra and geometry because you really do use it every single day whether you know it or not.

Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, Christina Green, Judge John Roll, Dorothy Morris, Dorwin Stoddard, Phyllis Scheck, Gabrielle Zimmerman, and All Those Injured are In Our Thoughts.

                                                                                                                                                                        
                                                                                                                                                                        



                                                                                                                                                       . . . . . .

Is She Becoming Me?

Pity the poor wife for she has forsaken her good nature for the harmony of the union.  Whether it be so noble a task as providing a cherished but insalubrious repast or so ignoble a cause as fulfilling a certain forbidden desire she has no remedy but to capitulate to her spouse's yearnings.  For the grace of maintaining a concordant relationship she unreservedly subjugates her needs for those of her dominant consort.

And what becomes of her own ascendant essence?  It becomes hidden from the world much like the delicate piquancy of a tender artichoke heart enveloped within a collective of spinous petals.  And what do I, the churlish member serve in return?  Nothing but a token shrug and the reckoning that thank God Almighty my day has come at last.  I cannot pretend to fathom the reason, but because she actually profaned our fellow travelers while driving on the New Jersey Turnpike today I feel exonerated and free.

I am Sorry Sir, But We Cannot Give Out That Information

So this weekend we get get up to the cabin and part of my usual ritual is to traipse through the snow to check the propane levels in our tanks.  Last week we had arrived on Wednesday evening in preparation for the New Years holiday weekend and I noticed the tanks had gotten low even though we hadn't been up for most of December.  So I called the propane company to see if they could come Thursday or Friday before the holiday since we were having company and our usage would be up.  The woman in the office assured me that 20% full would be enough till they came out the next week.  She told me we were already on the dispatch list for what is now this past week so not to worry.  Fine.

You guessed it.  This Saturday morning the tanks were nearly empty at 5% capacity.  It should be noted that we are on their company's service plan and we also prepaid for our estimated  propane needs for the winter.  Tammy called the company on Saturday morning to see if we could get an emergency delivery and to ask why our tanks were not filled as promised.  Of course the women had no information as she was only the Saturday person and besides, was our driveway clear of snow as this could be the reason for the lack of delivery. They are trained, I see, to immediately blame the customer.   First off, our tanks are accessed via the road (albeit down a steep hill), and I had called last year to inquire about our responsibilities in keeping the path clear to the tanks but was given no guidelines.  The office people seemed to have no idea about the actual parameters of the field delivery.  After much cajoling she finally agreed to contact the delivery guy who "will have to fire up the truck" and she implied what an ordeal it is to make a Saturday delivery.  So blah, blah, blah, the guy shows up 4 hours later and Tammy says "Sorry, I hope we didn't spoil your Saturday.  And he is all like, "No problem.  We were out moving the propane to our satellite tanks anyway.  I make deliveries in Woodland Valley every Tuesday and the path to your tanks is great. ( I built steps this summer-Richard).  And no, you were not on my delivery list last Tuesday." Gee.

You maybe do not give a rat's ass in hell about  propane delivery issues here at my upscale log cabin in the mountains while you have your own issues with the cable company at home.  Nor do you want to read another boring blog detailing the minutiae of some braggart's meaningless life.  Well you should care, because if you know anything about me and my blog there will be a few words of insightful wisdom somewhere in the story.  And by insightful wisdom I mean unfettered griping.  So here is what I got out of this episode:  Large companies do not like to give out helpful information to their customers.  They guard their policies and procedures as if the security of an entire nation depends on their propane delivery schedule.  Okay maybe that's a bad example because some crazy could plan to blow up the propane truck in front of my house if he knew when it would be there.  But think about this; food processing companies do not want you to know where your food comes from.  Internet based companies do not want you to know what cookies they hide on your computer or what  info they collect about your preferences.  Hospitals certainly aren't forthcoming about the side effects of the IV drugs dripping into your body.  And the bank most definitely does not want you to read the small print on your variable rate mortgage contract.  Because one thing is certain; Knowledge is power and if Americans could actually make well informed decisions about things that affect their everyday lives we would all want to crawl back up the tree in East Africa that we came from (or retreat back to Eden depending on your beliefs).

Here is my advice: Do not let other people dictate the parameters of your life.  Don't be a gadfly but don't be afraid to take control of your own life.  Ask questions and insist on answers.  But one thing; do not ask the dentist what's in the filling he just put in your tooth.

Life is a Mystery

My Dad is 84 years old and he doesn't like the computer.  There are too many icons and he finds it quite confusing and frustrating.  I can understand this.  He does like to argue though.  And he likes to get answers to many of the various modern day puzzlements that arise in the course of an average day.  When he can't get an answer from the proper authorities he calls me.  For example, today he called and asked "how come the turkey labeled "fresh" we bought for Thanksgiving had ice in the body cavity?  If they never froze it how did this happen?"  Apparently he wrote a letter to Butterball asking this very same question.  They actually refunded his money, (more than he paid since Mom bought it on one of those spend $300.00 and get a discounted turkey deals),  but offered no explanation for the ice.  Still not satisfied even after making a profit on the deal, he called the 800 number.  I am not making this up.  The earnest, but unlettered customer service rep still could not give him a straight answer.  So he called me.

Being fifty and in the prime of my working life I have a tendency to minimize some of the more urgent matters affecting our senior population. But he is my Pop and I too had bought a fresh brined turkey that had obviously been "frozen" at some point in its journey to my table so I understood his consternation.  "I will Google it Dad, and I will have your answer in a few minutes."
"Really?", he replied.  " I didn't know you could get an answer to something like that."

In the Navy during World War II he showed an aptitude for electronics and math so he was trained as a fire control gunner.  He was the one who used the mechanical computational device to figure trajectories and velocities to aim the big guns at the Nazi airplanes.  I say mechanical computational device because it was basically a glorified abacus, but it weighed 500 lbs and was made of grey steel.

When he was in dental school, I like to remind him, Watson and Crick had not yet discovered the double helix structure of DNA.  Yet he conducted research on the chromosomes of Drosphilus melanogaster (fruit flies). The air powered high speed dental handpiece had not been invented either but they somehow managed to produce dental work that lasted 40 years.  Men also wore fedoras on the boardwalk in Atlantic City.

I remember interviewing my grandmother about life in Russia prior to her emigration to the United States in 1905.  Aside from worrying about being raped by the Tsar's Cossacks, she spoke about the first car that drove into her village.  And I remember speaking with my brother-in-law's mother about life in a sod home in  Nebraska when people still traveled by covered wagons.

What does all this have to do with iced up fresh turkeys?  Nothing.  This post is about the parallel trajectory our lives take with technology. We never really think about how drastically our lives change as we adapt to modern life.  We just do it.  My grandmother grew up in a time when most people traveled by horse yet she watched her television as we took our first step on the moon.  As each new innovation came along she incorporated it into her life while her identity remained the same.  At some point she ceased to keep up and for her the black and white television became good enough.  The same barrier has happened to my Dad and the same will happen to you and I.  But in the meantime we subconsciously adapt to the changes until at some point we decide that it isn't worth it.  Why and when that moment arrives has a lot to do, I suspect, with our physical limitations as we age and not any loss in an emotional gusto for life.

As for the iced up fresh turkey you will have to Google it yourself.

Rome Was Not Built in a Day

I see we have a new listener.  Perhaps they were surfing the net in search of a way to remove a coffee stain from a favorite silk shirt and the words "this sucks" in their Google search brought them to my blog.  Or perhaps a search for images of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt brought them to the Bad Kharma post (okay there is no Bad Kharma post but Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt???).

In any event we encourage all readers, rookie and veteran alike, to comment on the posts because otherwise what the hell is the point?  Sure the cathartic act of writing this crap makes me feel better, but what really pulls me out of my depression when I think of John Boehner as speaker of the house, is a well thought out and insightful response  to one of my blog posts.  Even a "this essay is derivative as Mark Twain already expounded on this topic in the 19th century" would cheer me up.  At least I would know literacy still exists in America.  And of course plain old words of acknowledgement such as "you're funny" or "I am worried for my sister's emotional well being" are always appreciated.

I have been writing this blog for one year and I have 65 posts and 6 admitted followers.  Pathetic numbers no matter what the "p" value.  Of course the Catholic church started out with 12 followers and a couple of letters to the Corinthians but it wasn't until about 250 years later when Constantine decreed every Roman should believe in only one god that the ideas really took off.  I am not comparing myself to Jesus (though we are both bad Jews) but you get my point.

So Happy New Year and thank you for reading this blather.  My New Year's resolution is to...............
is to.............................................
is to..................um..........um..................

Out to Lunch

I like lunch.  It is the meal of accomplishment.  It doesn't matter what activity you are engaged in.  Nor does it matter whether we are at work or play.  It does not matter if we are in the waiting area of a hospital while a loved one is undergoing surgery.  If you are having lunch in the hospital cafeteria the possibility still exists that things will work out well for your loved one. If you are having dinner there, it most likely means things may not be going too well because doctors don't perform non-emergency surgery at night.  And forget breakfast.  Who could even eat before getting to the hospital?  If you are the patient having lunch in the hospital, you are probably getting better because the feeding tube has been removed. But if you are still there for dinner, that means at least another night laying on your back pressing the call button waiting for the evening shift nurse to acknowledge your leaky catheter.

The same principles apply no matter what the activity.  Whether you have a big day ahead or you will be sitting around waiting for the cable guy to show up between 8 and 12, breakfast can be filled with uncertainty and worry.  Will he show up at 8 AM or will I be last on the list and he will come at 11:58 AM?    You have no idea at breakfast.  By lunch time, you have your answer and you can relax.  If it is summit day and you wake up at 2 AM, you are both anxious and excited while you eat your oatmeal.  By lunch time you are most likely headed back down the mountain or you are eating your PB&J on the summit.  Suppose you have a big presentation at work, or a complicated surgical case that day.  At breakfast your adrenaline is already building but you have no way to dissipate your energy so you feel a bit anxious (good anxious or bad anxious, it doesn't matter).  At lunch time, you are either finished with your project or if not, and you have more to do in the afternoon, at least you have your momentum and rhythm going so you feel more relaxed and in your groove.  At least the question of whether it is going to go smoothly or not has already been answered.  If you are in the middle of a group activity, lunch time is a great break where everyone can take a moment to discuss and reflect on the progress of whatever it is you are doing.


I know what you are thinking.  Dinner is better because you are done for the day as in "thank goodness I'm done with that day".  Well, dinner just means that you are that much closer to having to go to sleep only to wake up to face another rough day.  Lunch on a really rough day, however, is a welcome break from the stress.  If, on the other hand, you were doing something fun, or on vacation, dinner means that day is almost over.  And breakfast on a fun day is usually rushed and too filled with anticipation to be savored properly.  If you are planning on having a big day of shopping, during breakfast you are most likely worried (or should be) about spending too much.  By lunch time in the food court, you don't give a damn.  And how much fun is lunch while you are out shopping?  At dinner that night you are back to feeling guilty for buying another leather coat.

When you were a kid what meal did you always look forward to?  Whether you were in school, on a field trip, or out sledding on a snow day, lunch was always excellent.  After dinner you had to do your homework or take a bath.  Or dry the dishes.  No one ever had to dry their lunch plate.  I don't know why, but do you ever remember complaining about doing the lunch dishes?  Or your breakfast cereal bowl?  No, it was always the dinner dishes that were a chore. 

My favorite activity is hiking and climbing uphill.  There is nothing I enjoy more than eating my lunch on top of a mountain.  Nothing.  The hiking is hard and my feet usually hurt.  I am either sweating or cold.  My pack is too heavy and I haven't drunk enough water.  The trail is rocky and treacherous or I am post holing through snow.  I have rolled my ankle several times and I am getting a blister.  The only reason I do it, I am left to conclude, is so I can sit on a rock and eat my lunch.


I am also a dentist.  Everyday I see anxious patients and I do tedious and demanding procedures in the faces of people who would rather be shopping.  There is blood and saliva.  There are crying kids.  There are crying adults.  Blue Shield pays me half my normal fees.  Root tips break near the sinuses and sometimes people don't get numb.  The lab uses the wrong color teeth for a denture and the state of New Jersey forces me to recycle the old fillings I drill out of teeth.  The only thing that gets me through the day is dreaming about lunch.

This is Cabin Living Redux

For some perspective on the contents of this blog post, please click on the link in the title prior to reading.

Not really "cabin living".

Picture cabin living.  What images are in your mind?  Now picture southern living.  What images come to mind?  If you are like the thousands of subscribers to Cabin Life Magazine, or Southern Living Magazine,  a certain genteel image is formulated when you think about the lifestyle.  Why, the very name of my blog is meant to instill a certain aura of idyllic living into your psyche.

The reality, of course, deviates somewhat from the promise.  A more appropriate title for these lifestyle magazines would incorporate the word "estate".   This would serve to better illustrate the content found within and to more accurately reflect the zeitgeist of the targeted demographic.  In addition to owning a cabin in the woods I have logged extensive miles on the blue highways of all fifty states and the general consensus among my fellow woodland dwellers seems to be that; One, I better not bring this to the dump because I might need it one day, and two, I need to cover it with a blue tarp.

This is cabin living.

This is cabin living.

This is cabin living.

And this is southern living.....