One more about the holiday luncheon, better pics coming & feeling at peace with things

A couple days ago a friend sent me this photo from last week’s Holiday Luncheon at the Greenstone Church and asked if I was singing here (yes).  Anyway, two things came to mind:

1. That woman across the table from me in orange is another friend from the senior center, Cussin’ Connie.
2. Whoever took this photo has a camera that’s much better than mine.

Before the caroling began, I asked Connie if I could take her picture for my blog.  She said “You better get that #$%^@ thing out of my face if you know what’s good for you.”  

Mary (or Debbie, I can’t remember which) said “Connie you better watch your mouth, we’re in a church!  Why won’t you let Doug take your picture?  Are you on the FBI’s Most Wanted List?”   Connie said “I soon WILL be, if you don’t shut the $%^@ up.”  Then she looked at me and winked—she’s a rascal.  She’s also 91 and inspires me to think young.

Anyhoo, seeing this picture really motivated me to upgrade my own phone, a 2021 Moto-g with a lousy 13 megapixel camera. 

I just got this 2024 Moto-g Power with a 50 Megapixel camera.  It’s 3/4” inch larger in screen size, but light as a feather compared to my old one. 

 

I actually picked this out last December, and put it in my Amazon shopping cart.  It was $299.99.  Then I got sick and held off buying a new phone.

So when I went on Amazon a couple nights ago, this phone was still in my cart but marked down to $199.99.  A nice discount, but was it worth being in pain for a year to save $100?  Nope.

Speaking of that long covid but on the road to recovery, I’ve gained back 6 pounds of the 52 lbs I lost this year, just in the last 2 weeks.  How did this happen?  I still weigh 46 pounds less than last December, and I intend to KEEP it off. 

(But the sooner the holidays are over, the better; I have a box of Christmas cookies in my freezer I still plan on gobbling up.)

Yesterday morning while sitting on my couch and transferring everything from my old phone to my new one, I could hear my neighbor Donna’s television coming thru the wall loud and clear.  It’s usually Gregorian chants (I think she watches a Monastery Channel 24-7) but this time it was the news. I knocked on her door and asked her to please turn it down a little, my apartment is a news-free zone.

She laughed and said wouldn’t it be nice if we could really do that, tune out the news completely.  I smiled and nodded my head, but I wasn’t kidding.  Sorry, I still can’t accept the fact that Trump… nevermind.

So last night I asked my friend Diana if someone important dies or something big happens in the world, would she please let me know about it.  She doesn’t watch the news either, but sees headlines on Facebook.  She said okay and asked “Did you hear about all the recent drone sightings?”  Nope—it’s the first I’ve heard of it!

And I’ve never felt more at peace not knowing too.

 

A holiday luncheon for silver singles is served

Well, I made it to that luncheon at the Greenstone Methodist Church, and was happily surprised to see several of my favorite people from the Lutheran Senior Center there too.

There must’ve been 75 attendees, but I only counted 4-5 men including myself.  A young man played music from “A Charlie Brown Christmas” on the piano (he wasn’t included in my count) and we sang Christmas carols after dessert. 

I won the poinsettias at our table—well, it was more like a tie.  “The winner at each table is the person with a birthday closest to November 2.” 

My birthday is October 31, 2 days before.  Mary’s is Nov 4, two days after.  So we declared it a tie, and after assuring that Mary didn’t want them, gave these to Elaine, a nice lady who sat between us.

I only managed to take a few photos, but thought I’d share them here.

Here’s myself & my orn—I mean good friend Mary.  She said “Don’t tell people who read your blog I’m ornery! The last time you mentioned me you said I was ornery!”   Okay Mary, my lips are sealed!

I was so happy to see my gals Gerri & Evvie.  (I accidentally hit the video button on my phone instead of the camera button, so they’re a bit blurry.)  When Gerri first told me about this single senior’s luncheon, I could’ve sworn she said “Swinger’s luncheon”.

 

Lunch is served—it was a very nice mandarin orange salad with cranberries & walnuts, warm croissant and chicken & swiss cheese quiche.  It was REALLY good, and they also served a hot cranberry tea punch that surprised me, how tasty it was.  I gulped down 4 cups of the stuff.

 

And finally, I forgot to take a picture of our dessert (green & red swirled cupcakes) but they sent everyone home with a big box of assorted Christmas cookies (below). They’re sort of famous for these, they bake them annually right there. 

I still don’t get it, the free grub just for being a swinger I mean single senior, but I really enjoyed it; I’m mainly thankful I got to spend a couple hours with so many friendly faces.

EDIT:  For those who asked about the cranberry tea (punch) recipe, here it is--I only had it steaming hot, but trust me it was delicious.   

The perks of being old and single, or widowed; I wouldn’t know about divorced

This is my Saturday dinner.  It’s a Texas brisket burger on a brioche bun (aka one fancy hamburger), fries and roasted broccoli topped with fresh parmesan.  For dessert, a slice of pistachio pudding pie.

On Saturdays I like to have a big breakfast, skip lunch and have my dinner 1-2 hours earlier, around 3pm.  I’ll enjoy the dessert later tonight, with some tv.

I feel like that character Wimpy in those old Popeye cartoons, always eating hamburgers.  I could eat one every night for the rest of my life and not tire of them.  But I’m not a kid anymore, so I only have one once or twice a week.

I wish I had something more to write about this week, but no luck.  Still tackling long covid symptoms, but getting 1-2 days a week that are more tolerable than the rest.  I’m hoping for a let-up in the next couple days.

Last night I was talking to my friend Diana (who lives in West Virginia) and telling her about an upcoming event I was invited to on the 10th, and hoping I’ll be well enough to attend.  It’s at the Greenstone Methodist Church, right next to my apartment building.

The Greenstone church; that’s my apartment building on its left

The last time I was at the senior center (a couple weeks ago) my friend Gerri told me about an event held at this church every year for single seniors, and I should call and see if I qualify. 

She said it’s a pretty fancy luncheon, there will be entertainment, poinsettias, and everyone will be sent home with a big box of Christmas cookies. 

I asked if she was attending, she said yes.  I asked how much it cost, she said there was no charge. 

I said “I don’t get it, what’s the catch?”  Gerri said “There is no catch!  This is a perk for being old!”

So I called the number she gave me, told them I was a member of the Lutheran Senior Center and was wondering if I met the criteria for this big wing-ding of theirs. 

The woman (Marcie) asked “Are you widowed?  Single?”  I said yes, single.  She asked “How old are you?”  I said 63.  She said “I didn’t get your name.  Are you male or female?”

I told her my name was Doug and I am very much a male.   Marcie said “You sound perfect.  See you on the 10th.”   That’s me alright—perfect!

Well, that’s all I’ve got to share right now—I could tell you about a great book I’m reading, “The Friday Afternoon Club” by Griffin Dunne, about growing up in the 1960s in the NY society pages, and how his sister Dominique’s death (she was strangled by an ex-boyfriend) changed his family’s lives forever.  That happened on Nov 4, 1982 and I remember that like it was yesterday.  Anyway, the book is hard to put down. 

I would like to give a special shout-out to my dear friend and former classmate Diana, who put in her final day of work on Friday.  She is officially retired, and like the old jingle from Total Cereal goes, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

And on that happy note, looks like it’s time for some TV and that pie. 

 

Erin and the 4th Turning: maybe there's hope for us yet

The other night I was talking with my friend & former coworker Erin, the only person I keep in touch with from my days at UPMC Health Plan.  We worked off & on together until my retirement, from 2000-2015.

I’m surprised we even became friends, she’s a bit younger than me.  I’ve always been more comfortable with people my age or older, but Erin’s different. Without giving away her age, let’s just say she was born when I was in the 10th grade. 

But we worked side by side for years, were sci-fi geeks and fans of The Walking Dead and Big Bang Theory.  

Where was I?  Oh that’s right—so we’re on the phone the other night, and she asked if I’d ever heard of a book titled “The Fourth Turning” or saw the video on Youtube.  Nope. 

So later that night I clicked on the youtube link Erin sent me and was very intrigued.

This man explains that throughout American history, from before the Revolutionary War to the present, our country has gone thru the same blocks of history lasting 80 years.  Each block is broken into four segments—High, The Awakening, The Unraveling, Crisis. 

Here’s a chart of our current history block.

The social scientist goes into elaborate detail on these segments, including ones earlier (for example, our last ‘Crisis’ segment saw the collapse of Wall Street, the Great Depression, the rise of Fascism, WWII). 

And then the 80 year cycle began anew.   Our history block above.

Here’s what I found particularly fascinating; this video (from 3 years ago) is based on a book written in 1997—where the author forecasts a crisis segment in 11 years, 2008-2028.  He had no idea what was coming.  But sure enough….

I know one can twist historical events to make anything fit their story.  For crying out loud, we celebrate Columbus Day and the man was a slave trader.  But you can’t deny we’re going through a pretty epic crisis in American history right now, and have been since 2008.  

So… four more years until the cycle begins anew.  I wonder if we’re truly on the cusp of the next High around 2028?  Fingers crossed.  If you want to check out the video, it’s only 10 minutes long and right here.  Here’s hoping history repeats itself.

 

Reunions, relapses & red waves: looking for the right words

Recently I had a couple good days from this long covid and made good use of them.  I cleaned my apartment, did some online shopping, wrote a new blog, had lunch at the Senior Center (my second time back since February).  What you’re looking at is that lunch, broccoli & cheese stuffed chicken, orzo with spinach, green beans and fruit.

When I arrived and hugged Courtney (the young woman who manages the center), someone asked me if she felt like the old Courtney.  I said “Well, her back felt a bit more stout…”  The other ladies laughed and said “She’s 4 months pregnant!”   I asked her for a side view and saw a cute baby bump. 

And then, being the dork that I am, asked if someone could take a picture since I left my phone at home.  Not of Courtney which would’ve been nice to share here, but my lunch. 

I got to spend a couple hours with some lovely friends, and when I realized I didn’t have enough in me to make the walk back home, my friend Evvie gave me a ride.

Since then, I’ve had a relapse (inflammation, pain in my head & face) that continue still.  I know I’m past the halfway point on this so-called road to recovery, but these setbacks make it difficult to see an end sometimes.  At least I’m starting to get out of the house again.

This past Saturday I had a couple text exchanges with my (very political) friend Anna, who asked in a half-joking way why I was writing about Baby Boomers and the Brady Bunch on my blog.  Hadn’t I heard about Morning Joe at Mar-a-Lago?  I know she was just pulling my chain, but I felt a little guilty just the same.  I guess those last 2 blogs were my way of burying my head in the sand. 

The truth is, between the long covid this year and this “red wave” on Election Day, I’ve never felt so despondent.  The night of the debate between Trump & Kamala Harris, the choice was so obvious (to me and 40 million other Democrats) I was elated. 

She was awesome, he was a dipshit and I was a fool, thinking half this country had learned it’s lesson after Trump’s first reign of terror in 2017.  Back then, I really did try to see things from his supporter’s perspective. 

Now… I’m just going to do my best to steer clear of them. 

The other night I was sitting here at my computer with the tv on and volume turned down.  I looked up to see a middle-aged woman in distress, with a caption underneath that read TRUMP SUPPORTER WISHES SHE COULD TAKE BACK VOTE.

(It turned out she has a grandchild with special needs who receives funding from the Dept of Education—the department Trump wants to scrap.)

They went on to report that more of these “voter regret” stories were coming in, and Trump hasn’t even taken office yet.  I didn’t want to hear another word. 

I said I was taking a break from the news after the election, but also from shows like SNL and Jimmy Kimmel, and their “we’re screwed now, folks” skits and monologues.  There’s nothing funny about any of this.  I’m tired of it already and worried what lies ahead.

Well, I said I was looking for the right words at the top and I’m still not sure I found them.  I’m sorry for not ending this on a more positive note, but thanks as always for listening.  And Happy Thanksgiving everyone, including you turkeys out there.

 

Me and Generation Jones, we got a thing goin’ on...

This all began a couple days ago when I ran into Kuhn’s (my local market) to get a loaf of bread.  The checker rang me up, handed me my receipt and said “Have a good one.”  I said “Um, can I have a bag for my bread?”  She said “Do you really need one?  It’s only one item.” 

I said “As a matter of fact I need two.  I store my clothes and shoes in them, line my wastecan with ‘em, all sorts of things.”  She said “Okay Boomer” and I gave her the biggest scowl I could muster.

Before I go any further, I should add I know this checker—her name is Jessie, she’s 20 years old and sweet as can be.  ‘Ok Boomer’ may be a derogatory expression, but I knew she was just teasing me.

After we laughed, I said “I don’t feel like a Boomer you know… I don’t feel old enough.”  She said “My grandmother says the same thing.”  I asked how old her grandmother was, she said 73.  I said “I’m ten years younger!”  She said “Are you sure you’re one?” 

I said “Yes, baby boomers are anyone born from the mid-1940s to 1964.”  Jessie said that did sound pretty old.  Whatever!

When I got home, I went online to look up the whole age demographic thing and was surprised what I learned.  Apparently many experts agree the age range for Boomers is too wide, and people on the tail-end (I was born in ‘61) can’t always relate to the older ones in this category.

Do I remember pull tabs on soda & beer cans?  I sure do, I stepped on enough with my bare toes growing up.  Do I remember S&H Green Stamps?  Yes, we got those sticky things at the supermarket and gas station.  Do I remember duck n’ cover drills in grade school?  No, those were before my time!

In 1999, one such expert came up with a boomer subset called ‘Generation Jones’, for people born between the years 1955-1964.  When someone says the name Jane Fonda, do you immediately think of a) Hanoi Jane, Vietnam War protestor  b) the woman who started the exercise video craze or c) Ted Turner’s wife? 

If you said A, you’re a Boomer.  B, you’re a Generation Jones.  C, you’re Generation X (born between 1965-1980).  The Jane Fonda Rule is mostly for laughs, but does make sense. Still, the more I read about Generation Jones, the more I related to this category. 

Later that night, I was talking to my friend Diana on the phone and telling her what happened at the store and the “ok boomer” thing.  When Diana said she wasn’t fully comfortable being part of the boomer demographic, I said “listen to this” and told her about Generation Jones.

Diana said “What does the Jones stand for?”  I said I didn’t know.  She said “Well, I don’t think I want to be part of Generation Jones.”  I said “You don’t get a choice in the matter—you’re the same age as me and you’re one whether you like it or not.”

Diana just laughed at me.  Why do I bother! 

I did learn the name had to do with younger Boomers having a cultural upbringing similar to their older counterparts, and wanting the same level of affluence after reaching adulthood but being met with a recession and stagnant economy instead. 

We “late boomers” had to work harder at keeping up with the Joneses, so to speak. 

Makes sense to me.  All I know is, most of my friends are boomers or older.  And right now I am jonesing for a sandwich on this Mancini’s bread. 

Hey it’s going to a good cause… right?

The other morning on the TODAY show, they were interviewing some of the kids from The Brady Bunch (Barry Williams who played Greg is now 70 years old) and I couldn’t help but stop what I was doing to watch. 

They were helping raise money for the charity No Kid Hungry with a contest:  for the price of a $25 ticket, you’ll be entered into a drawing.  Five winners will be selected, and those winners (and their guests) will be flown to Los Angeles for a tour of the Brady Bunch house recreated by HGTV, followed by brunch with the Bradys in the house. 

What’s on the menu?  Pork chops and applesauce, of course.  Hotel accomodations and meals are included in the prize.

I know a lot of bad things are happening in the world right now, this country included (more like this country ESPECIALLY); but as someone who grew up with this show, I’d love the chance to see that house in person.

Having lunch on the premises with the kids, including Eve Plumb (who played middle daughter Jan)?  That’s the icing on this groovy cake.

I’ve shared this story too many times to count, but will just once more; the night this show premiered in September 1969, I watched it with my family on our new Zenith Colormatic console tv.  Afterwards our mom said to Dad “What I want to know is, who do they think is going to watch this #%^&?” 

Dad pointed down at the floor, us 3 boys and 2 girls and said “Them.” 

(A few years later when Mom gave birth to our sister Courtney, we’d be just like those Bradys, kids-wise.  Three boys, three girls.)

If you don’t already know, five years ago the owner of the real home (used for filming exterior shots on the show) passed and her son put the house up for sale.  Several celebrities stepped up with offers, but HGTV got the house for 3.5 million dollars.

They spent an additional 2 million dollars ripping out the interior and recreating an exact duplicate of the Brady house, right down to the vintage… everything.  It was a summer-long series on HGTV, and the most-watched HGTV show in the history of the channel.Say what you will, but I dig this pad just as much now as I did 50 years ago; if they handed me the keys to the house, I wouldn’t change a thing here!

After the renovation series ended, HGTV put the house on their website where you could study every square inch of the interior if you so desired.  I’m sure many of those obsessive fans did just that and hey, do you know I spent over 3 hours on there and could find only one clock in the entire house?  A small alarm clock on Alice’s nightstand in her bedroom off the service porch.  Isn’t that crazy?  The one clock I mean… cough

I guess I should include the website where you can buy your own tickets, click here.  I’d say good luck, but you know I wouldn’t mean it. 

 

 

Hopes and prayers, that’s all I’ve got right now—a whole book of ‘em

Not that long ago, I asked my friend Diana (a devout Christian) if it was acceptable to say a prayer for oneself.

It sounded a little selfish to me, but I’d been living with the pain & inflammation from this long covid disorder for over 10 months now, and was feeling pretty desperate for some real relief.

She assured me it was perfectly acceptable to ask God for an end to the suffering.

That night as I lay in bed, I said aloud “God if you’re listening….”  I suddenly felt silly, talking to the chief deity in the darkness.  What would I say?  I rolled over and went to sleep.

The next day—honestly, not the next week or month, the next day—I went downstairs to get my mail and took a quick glance in the adjoining parcel room where the ‘Free Table’ is. 

(It’s a table where tenants in my apartment building leave canned goods, old romance novels, candles, anything & everything.)  And that day, the only item there was this brown leather book, “Prayers for Men”.

Of course it was just a coincidence.  But when you’re searching for words to say to God and then THIS turns up the next day… at least it gave me something else to think about.

That’s what I’ve been doing these last couple of days, a lot of thinking.  Between the long covid which has been making life miserable since January and now the results of this presidential election… I’ve never felt so defeated.  I’ve been feeling like a stranger in my own body, today I feel like a stranger in my own country. 

I’m not going to share what I think of Trump, I did enough of that several years ago.  Nothing he says or does surprises me.  I’m just dumbfounded how so many people chose to overlook so much and vote the man to be our president again.

If I do say any prayers in the days ahead, they won’t be just for me.

This morning I got up, came out here into my livingroom and turned on the tv.  No news.  Not today, not tomorrow.  I’m taking a break from all that for awhile.  I put on FreeVee, Amazon’s free streaming service where I’ve been watching The Waltons. 

(The show ran for 9 seasons, from 1972-1981; I’ve been watching one episode a day this past year.)  I’m currently in the final season.  It’s the year 1944, where even up on Walton’s Mountain they’ve felt the effects of World War II in Europe. 

John Boy is somewhere in France, his brother Jason is fighting Nazis in Germany.  But as awful as things were in the world then, much like now, at least our country felt like a beacon of hope.

63? I don’t feel a day over 62 (not a whole day, that is)

I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to everyone and say thank you for all the good birthday wishes.  Today I officially turned 63 years old.  I’m a little bummed that I can’t be doing what I did last year, celebrating my birthday at the senior center at their big annual Halloween party, but I’m still waiting to make a full recovery from this long covid.

I’m not complaining though, things could be worse.  My dad died 24 years ago at age 63, after a long battle with cancer.  I remember someone at the office expressing their sympathy and saying at least he lived a good, long life.  I wasn’t buying it then, I’m certainly not buying it now.  I feel like I’m just getting started. 

Anyway, I really am grateful for the people in my life.  Family and old classmates and the very kind people who visit my blog.  And of course, the ornery group of characters below, the folks at that senior center I’m always going on about.   This really made my day.

Happy Halloween, Everybody.

 

Rejoining society—well, for a couple hours at least

Here is yours truly, getting ready to venture out to the Senior Center for the first time in 5 months.  Do I look a little nervous?  I sure was.  I’m still on the mailing list, and a few weeks ago noticed that AHN (Allegheny Health Network) would be doing flu & covid shots there on October 24.  I contacted the center and asked if I could register, but was only 50% sure I could make it.  They said that wouldn’t be a problem.

So I got up yesterday morning, did a lot of deep breathing exercises, shaved and got dressed (and rubbed a couple ice-packs on my face to calm things down) and headed up there. 

I was surprised how long it took to walk there (it’s about 0.75 mile from my apartment).  This time a year ago, before contracting long covid, I was 50 pounds heavier and made the trip several times a week without even breathing hard.  Now it took twice as long, having to stop and catch my breath 4-5 times along the way.

I got both shots (AHN had a “health-mobile” in the parking lot) and after thanking them for the vaccines, ventured into the center and was immediately greeted by Courtney (who runs things there) and a couple others.  They couldn’t have been sweeter.  I had a pretty hard time getting my words out—this is weird, if I’m talking to my friend Diana on the phone late at night, no problem.  But if I’m face to face with more than one person during the day, it’s difficult to get out whole sentences.  (That’s from the long covid wreaking havoc with my central nervous system.)

Anyway, it was so nice getting to see old friends again.  Mary was in the exercise room where she always is, pumping away on a stationery bike with those long skinny legs of hers.  91 year old Melvin was at his same spot in the dining room, waiting patiently for his lunch—as were Dennis & Paul, huddled together at the guy’s table in the back corner.

(Those two are quite the pair; they know where every church & center offers free food in a 3 mile radius.  Paul offered to make me a list and when I said thanks but can afford to buy my own, he said “I can too, but why bother when you can get the grub for free!”)  

Geri and Evvie were preparing to head into the kitchen (they volunteer there) and what a treat it was to hug my favorite pair and talk to them both again.

I’m looking forward to becoming a regular member again, but it’s going to be awhile.  Still dealing with a lot of cranial and oral inflammation, pain in my collarbone and torso, chronic fatigue.  After leaving there yesterday, I made it home, laid across my bed and fell asleep for 3 hours.  Am I the most boring person on the planet right now or what?

That’s all I have for now, just wanted to put something new out here.  Thank you for reading.  By the way, don’t let that shirt of mine up there fool you; it may be MAGA red, but I voted early (mail in ballot) and blue all the way!

I sure hope all of you sensible, decent, intelligent Americans out there did so too.

 

Who are all these sixtysomethings? Your guess is as good as mine

This past Saturday was my high school class 45th reunion, an informal affair held in a park back home with a picnic.  My friend Diana is the one who organized it, and I cannot tell you how heartbroken I am that I couldn’t be there.  I’m still struggling with long covid, and unable to be outside for more than a few minutes, let alone be around more than one person without my central nervous system going haywire. 

(I’m improving but know my limitations.  Still, it would’ve been nice to see this crew in person, especially after losing 50 pounds this past year.  What a waste of my trim bod!)

To be very honest, when Diana sent me this photo I probably recognized less than five people.  We didn’t have a big class to begin with (I think the Jefferson Morgan Class of ‘79 was around 109 students) but of the classmates I was close to, none were here.

Still, I feel a real kinship with this group and may never see them again.  :^(

I don’t know why, but I was never big on class reunions in the first place.  I didn’t attend our 5th in 1984, because I was a college dropout and embarrassed to be working in the Garden Shop of our local Murphy’s Mart. 

By the time our 10th one rolled around in 1989, I had gone back to school, got a great IT job in the city, had a closet full of suits… but was anxious to focus on my future and leave the past behind.  Dumb.

I was ready to attend our 40th in 2019, but there simply wasn’t enough interest and it was canceled.  Diana wanted to do a “Happy 60th Birthday Party” a year later (as most of us were turning 60) but the covid pandemic nipped that event.  

Well, we have a 50th coming up in 5 more years.  Diana says I’ll be attending that one for sure, we’ll see.  Fingers crossed!

PS.  Back in 2017, when I met up with my former classmate Karen for the first time since high school (I wrote about her here) we talked about our class and how neither of us ever went to a reunion.  We made a promise to attend the next one together, which of course didn’t happen. 

Karen succumbed to the rapid onset dementia she was diagnosed with last summer, and passed on August 25, 2024.   Rest in peace, Karen.

 

 

I am not the person in this photo—I miss the guy, but hope I never see him again

This is me, one year ago, September 2023.  I was with my friend & former classmate Diana on one of our late summer road trips.  We were on our way to tour Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater house, but stopped at “Lucky’s Casino” to check things out.

That night when I got home and Diana sent me the photos she’d taken, I almost had a meltdown when I saw this one.  How did I get so fat?  How?  I weighed myself, 270 1/2 pounds.  I made a vow to exercise more and lose 20 pounds by Christmas.

Three months later, the week before Thanksgiving, I had my annual check-up with my PCP.  When I stepped on his scales, they said 272.6.  I was aghast.  Dr.Ahmed said “I sure wish you’d try to lose 20 pounds in the next 6 months.  You’d feel SO MUCH better.”

Two weeks later I got covid.  And two weeks after that I got long covid.  And here we are, now in it’s 9th month, and I’m getting hopeful signs everyday, but it’s been a very slow recovery.  One of my doctors said “From what we’ve learned about this condition, short of cancer it’s probably the worst thing a person will go through.”   I believe that 100%.

At the start of the year, I began weighing myself every 4-5 days (just to have something to do while living in misery).  Other than giving up ice cream, I pretty much eat the same foods and haven’t done a lick of exercise.  And yet, I still managed to lose 45 pounds.  With a little luck I’ll hit 50.

• Jan 04  -  270.5    Feb 05 -  266.6    Feb 20 -  262.5    Mar 04 -  259.1
• Mar 12 -  255.2    Mar 19 -  252.0    Mar 21 -  249.0    Mar 30 -  250.2
• Apri 03 - 249.0    Apr 10 -   250.2    Apr 12 -  249.8    Apr 16 -  247.0
• Apr 20 -  246.8    Apr 23 -  246.4     Apr 28 -  246.8    May 3 -   245.8
• May 08 - 244.4    May 15 - 244.6     May 30 - 246.8     Jun 03 -  245.6
• Jun 06 -  243.4    Jun 09 -  242.6     Jun 14 -  241.4     Jun 18 -  240.4
• Jun 22 -  240.0    Jun 26 -  238.0     Jun 30 -  237.8     Jul 04 -   236.8
• Jul 09 -   238.4    Jul 15 -   237.2     Jul 20 -  236.8      Jul 24 -  236.0
• Jul 27 -  234.8     Aug 01 - 233.8     Aug 05 - 233.0      Aug 10 - 231.6
• Aug 14 - 230.5    Aug 27 - 231.2     Sep 03 - 230.4      Sep 08 - 228.8
• Sep 13 - 226.6    Sep 18 - 225.6

I was trying to prove my weight loss with a selfie, but not having a lot of luck.  Trust me, this t-shirt used to be skin-tight a year ago, now it’s baggy

Anyway, I’m hoping to be 85% recovered (or more) by the end of the year.  I’d love to visit the senior center again at least once before 2025, I’ve only been outside 4 times since June.  Anything longer than 10 minutes causes me to shake and sweat profusely for an hour or so.  Still dealing with chronic fatigue (that’s a real thing) and godawful bouts of burning pain in my hands, face and backside but they’re not constant like before. 

Still smelling that creepy odor of diesel fuel off & on throughout the day though.  I swear I think my brain is frying.

Well, I know this must’ve been a real drag to read but just wanted to put SOMETHING new on here.  I also wanted to thank everyone who took the time to leave those very nice comments on my last post.  I hope you know I don’t take any of those for granted.

Take care, everyone.  Talk to you again soon.

 

There’s a light at the end of this long covid tunnel

While the world around me has been abuzz with Ukraine, Kamala, Tim Walz and Donald what’s-his-name, I’ve spent most of 2024 feeling detached from everything.  (I didn’t even know about Joe Biden dropping out of the presidential race until my friend Diana told me—and she avoids the news and is the last to know anything!)

It feels like I’ve been hunkered down in a long, dark tunnel but I’m finally seeing some light at the end.  It’s been a week since the tremors in my right side ended, and the rotten tension headache I’ve had constant for 8 months quieted down greatly 4 days ago.   

I’ve still got a ways to go.  Every muscle in my body aches, making it painful to walk; I move slower than a 200 year old sea turtle on land.  My face still hurts with pin-pricks of pain (like I slept face down in a rose bush) and just going downstairs to get my mail or getting in & out of the shower zaps me of all my energy.  I need to lay down after doing both.  I’m already sleeping 11-12 hours a day as it is.

But I know things are headed in the right direction—I’m finally able to wear my eyeglasses again too.  For the longest time, just having them on my face caused too much pain.  I’m sorry I wasn’t able to keep up with others blogs or with online friends.  This is the first time I’ve been on my laptop for more than a couple minutes in weeks.

Back around mid-July, I developed strong burning sensations in both my hands and in my face and mouth.  I contacted UPMC (my insurance provider) and they said I probably needed to see a neurologist.  Then they informed me one wouldn’t be available until late October to mid-November.

A week later, I downloaded the e-book “Final Exit” from the Internet Archives, on the various methods people have used to end their lives.  It was a frightful read but I was getting close to throwing in the towel.

I contacted UPMC again and told them that.  They arranged for me to meet a neurologist in two days time via Tele-Health, who put me on a six month prescription of 25-50mg Nortriptyline and recommended I begin taking 1000mg of N-acetylcystine (NAC) for inflammation as well, Vitamin D3 tablets daily and to avoid any exposure to sunlight.

She told me it could take 2-4 weeks for the Nortriptyline to take effect, and said it doesn’t help everyone, but several days after taking it I DID notice that drop in my orofacial pain so who knows. 

My face looks like I was in a car wreck—my mouth droops on the left, my eyes are sunken in and I’ve got heavy lines running down both sides of my face.  There’s even an online forum for ‘Covid Long Haulers’ with one discussion titled “Will I get my old face back?”   People who have fully recovered say yes, but it could take a year or more. 

Are you familiar with that quote “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”?  I’m sorry, but I think that’s a load of horseshit.  The other night I was looking at my blog from this time last year, at all the outings and road trips and visits with family & friends.  How did I manage to do so much?  I can’t imagine being that active or social today. 

Believe it or not, there has been a silver lining here.  Since January, I’ve lost 44.6 pounds.  No diet or exercise, just 9 months of being a nervous wreck.  I hope I can manage to keep most of it off.

Well, that’s all I have for now.  I wanted to thank everyone again for thinking of me and all your kind words.  I was going to wait until I was fully recovered before writing again but missed my blog.  Thanks for reading and talk to you soon.

What's going on with me and this long covid

Hi Everyone.  It’s only been a month or so since my last post, but it feels a lot longer.  Since then, I’ve gotten emails asking how I am, several cards in the mail (thanks for the stickers Bobi) and my friend Diana sent me some (very pricey) herbal supplements to help with things like anxiety and inflammation.  Thanks very much everyone, your kindness and well wishes have meant a lot to me.

When I last wrote on here, it was the fourth week of May and after 5 months of living with long covid, thought I was finally on the road to recovery.  I returned to the senior center a couple times, and went on that wonderful lunch outing at Red Lobster.  The day after that lunch, I spoke to my friend Diana on the phone (who was in Utah, attending her son’s wedding) and it was our first conversation in months that didn’t include long covid.

A couple days later, the weekend arrived along with a pretty serious relapse, and I’ve pretty much been in hiding since the first of June.   Lots of cranial pressure and burning sensation in my head and face, aching in my neck and jawline, cloudy thinking and difficulty concentrating, tremors in my hands, constant fatigue.

I try to get outside daily for a 10-15 minute walk around the block, but always return with the left side of my face inflamed and a desperate need to lie down for a couple hours.  (Sunlight and neurological long covid do NOT mix.)

Aside from those walks, I haven’t gone anywhere, seen anyone, done anything.  I talk to my friend Diana several nights a week on the telephone and that’s it.  She has been a wonderful friend and I’ll be forever grateful, but to say I’m still down about things would be an understatement.  Last year I had a wonderful summer, attending museum and restaurant outings with new friends I’d made at the senior center, visits back home with my sister Shawn and her husband Jim and my niece Sophia, a couple of fun weekend outings in West Virginia with Diana. 

I was hoping for more of the same this year and that’s clearly not happening.  I love and miss everyone.

I’ve been reading and watching everything I can find about long covid, and feel like I’ve learned so much.  A couple nights ago I watched a long interview with Emma Samms, a British actress who wrestles with the condition and talked about one of her lesser symptoms, “always whiffing diesel fuel”.   That knocked me for a loop, I’ve been telling Diana for months how I’m always smelling oil or a type of fuel.

But lately I’ve been trying to focus on recovery stories, and recently came across one man who considers himself 90% recovered and how he believes this condition works.  He says you have to break it down into 3 phases:  the first phase lasts 8-10 months, a roller coaster of anxiety, pain and relapses.  You think it will never end.

(I guess I’m still in the first phase.  I’m in my 7th month, and hopeless is how I often feel.)

He says Phase 2 is next, lasting 5-6 months and there are still relapses, but they’re infrequent and you will begin feeling real hope again.   Phase 3 is almost a full recovery.

He’s very popular on youtube, comes across as highly intelligent and his 3 phases timeline make a lot of sense to me.  I also read a recent study by the NHS, who compiled statistics for 750 people with neurological long covid like myself, and said the average duration was 321 days.  That’s a little over 10 months time.

Right now I have no choice but to hope and believe that old saying “Time heals all wounds” to be true.   Thanks for letting me share all this, and thanks again for the well wishes.  It may be awhile before I blog again, I want to make a real recovery and get some of my old life back again.   Take care.

A tasty outing at Red Lobster, and a surprise or two along the way

A couple days ago, the Senior Center had a lunch outing planned for Red Lobster.  I had a couple good reasons for going, no matter how my noggin was handling the long covid:

1. I haven’t seen Elaine, Claire, Rose or Margie (they don’t frequent the center, only go on restaurant outings) since my last outing on February 9.

2. I’ve never been to Red Lobster, and with their recent bankruptcy, I may not get another chance!

That’s Rose in the yellow & blue striped nautical sweater, more on this special person shortly

After we piled into the Access shuttle, I began feeling that familiar pressure building up in my head & sinuses. 

I muttered “Do whatever you want, I’m still going” and Margie turned around in her seat and said “Are you behaving back there?  I hear you talking to yourself!”   It was funny, but when you’ve been living like a hermit for 4 months and only talking to 1-2 persons on the phone, you tend to get a little eccentric.

Anyway, this was one of my favorite lunch outings ever.  The restaurant seated us at a humongous round table, so I got to enjoy the company of everyone, with Evvie by my side.  The food was delicious (they kept bringing out baskets of hot Cheddar Bay biscuits) and no lie, I ordered a Pepsi (my first one in years) and it tasted like the best one I’ve ever had.

I was a little surprised at all the drinking—Dennis and Paul polished off 6 Alabama Slammers and red wines, Rose had a draft beer in a glass that was 12” high and Evvie had a pretty potent Seven Seas margarita; these people don’t mess around!

I only managed to get a couple usable photos, my Motorola smartphone doesn’t do too well in the dark (but a new phone and camera are coming soon).

Dennis (left) and Paul.  Dennis (a 3 pack a day smoker for 45 years) lost his voice in February so he recently quit smoking and has gone one week without a cigarette.  I’m really impressed!

My Sailors Platter:  shrimp in a garlic butter wine sauce, breaded shrimp, crispy curled flounder and baked potato.  I usually eat half my lunch and take the other half home for dinner, but I scarfed this whole thing down!

My friend Evvie’s platter, similar to mine but with grilled shrimp instead.  I thought her cocktail looked refreshing.

After our meal, while we waited outside for our ride home, I complimented Rose (in the yellow and navy striped sweater at the top) on her pretty necklace.  It had an open heart pendant displaying a small color portrait of a handsome man.

I said “May I ask who the gentleman is?  Your husband?”  Rose said “Yes, a wonderful man.”  I said “Is he no longer with us?”  She said “He died was 60.”  I said “So he passed at age 60?  That’s very young.”  She said “No, he died in 1960.”

What?  That honestly startled me.  I know Rose has two children who talked her into moving back to Pennsylvania from Florida some years back.  But she was married, had a family and lost her husband, all before I was even born?  

She must’ve sensed my puzzlement, she said “I’m 93, you know.”  No I didn’t know that—but I just watched this woman eat a hearty sesame-soy salmon bowl and drink an entire foot tall draft.  I would’ve guessed her age at 75, tops. 

We were the last two riders on the Access shuttle and had a friendly chat. 

I don’t know what I’m trying to say here, I was just amazed at her energy and vitality.  I don’t have a death wish, but in the last 6-7 years I’ve dealt with so many medical issues I’ve sometimes wondered if I’m going to make it to 70, let alone 20 plus years after that.  Rose manages to make it look both doable and something to enjoy while you’re at it.  Thanks Rose.

Happy Memorial Day, Everyone

Revisiting the past with Evvie and Mary, and Andy & Don too

Last week I emailed the Senior Center and said I’d been doing better with this long covid stuff, and could they put me down for lunch the following Monday and for the next restaurant outing too?  Courtney (the director of the center) couldn’t have been nicer, responded and said she was so glad, and they had just been talking about me, and were looking forward to seeing me on the 20th.

I then forwarded the email exchange to my sister Shawn, to let her know I was on the up & up.  She replied she was relieved and glad, thanks for letting her know.

The very next day, I awoke with the left side of my face swollen and burning.  It stayed that way too, for 4 consecutive days.  This long covid is a persistent, stubborn critter.  When someone asks “Hey, feeling better?”  I nod and say I think so, and I do believe it, but the setbacks (or flare ups as my friend Erin calls them) keep a-comin’.

Anyway, I DID make it back to the center for lunch this Monday, as pictured above, my first lunch there since February.  That sandwich was a tasty pulled pork, by the way.  And I snuck a cake lollipop on my tray when no one was looking.  I was able to hang out for a couple hours before things got too much (for some reason, I get a lot of cranial inflammation when I’m talking to more than one person) but I was still glad to get out of the house and see my friends. 

Even if Cranky Connie did grumble “He’s a Chatty Cathy” to someone at her table, and I was just answering Geri’s questions!

As for the restaurant outing I’m scheduled to go on, right now I’m not sure if I’ll be up for that, just have to wait and see.  Fingers crossed.

The other day, I was skimming thru my personal library of e-books on my tablet for something new to read, and was surprised to see this: 

Andy and Don: The Making of a Friendship and a Classic American TV Show.  Why did I buy this?  I’ve never considered myself a big Andy Griffith fan, I bet I’ve only seen a couple seasons worth of The Andy Griffith Show which ran for 8 years (and I’ve never seen a single episode of his legal drama Matlock, which ran for 9).  

I looked up some reviews of this book, all were positively glowing—4.5 out of 5 stars.  I also learned I got it on Black Friday in 2020 for only $2.99.  Ah, okay!

Listen—this book DOES NOT DISAPPOINT.  It’s a huge, terrific read.  It was difficult for me to put down after I started.  I wound up rationing myself to 30 pages daily, I only do that with books I want to make last.

It covers both Andy Griffith & Don Knott’s lives, from their childhoods to the day both died.  Andy grew up a pampered child with an overprotective mother in Mt. Airy, North Carolina.  Don was born in a poor, abusive home in Morgantown West Virginia, 30 minutes from where I grew up.

They first worked together in a hit Broadway play “No Time for Sergeants” and quickly became friends as both admired the other’s talents and Southern roots.  In 1959, when Andy was offered a television pilot as a “good ol’ country boy sheriff” as a spinoff of The Danny Thomas Show, he was eager for work and accepted—but lamented to his wife it was a two dimensional character and doomed to failure.  When Don learned of the upcoming series in the trades, he was desperate for work as well and called Andy and said “Doesn’t a sheriff need a deputy?”  and soon, magic was born.

This book goes into elaborate detail, even pointing out various episodes in the first season where you can see Andy laughing in the background at Don’s theatrics.  Normally such scenes would get reshot, but the producers saw how much Andy adored Don and trusted the viewers at home would pick up on that—they were right, we did.

I could go on & on here about a thousand things, some of which weren’t exactly rosy.  Both drank to excess, and married 3 times.  Andy smoked 4 packs of cigarettes a day.  He also had a terrible temper and admitted as much to reporters and magazines like TV Guide.

He also did not forgive or forget being slighted, ever.  Remember Elinor Donahue from Father Knows Best, who played the new druggist in Mayberry?  She asked to be released from her 3 year contract after that first season.  When she saw Andy at a celebrity function in 2005, 45 years later, she apologized and explained why she left, but Andy curtly told her she hadn’t been right for the show anyway and walked away.

But after The Andy Griffith Show ended, whenever Andy was interviewed about current or upcoming projects, he always spoke of missing his days with Don, and how very much he hoped they would work together again.  He told everyone until his own dying day Don was his best friend.

When Don Knotts died in 2006, Andy (knowing Don wasn’t a religious man like himself) pleaded with his own pastor for confirmation he’d see Don in the afterlife; then Andy delivered a eulogy at his best friend’s funeral declaring he’d be seeing Don again in Paradise.

I sure would like to think they’re together again.

 

My friend and classmate Karen, our school marriage, aging and the realities of everything

This is my friend Karen Huffman, one of her senior class photos from high school.  She gave it to me along with a handwritten note that I somehow managed to hold on to after all these years.

We didn’t date in high school but were very close, and some in our class assumed we were a thing as did a couple of our teachers.  In our senior year we signed up for a class about marriage titled “On Our Own” where we took part in a mock wedding ceremony and were husband and wife for the year.

Karen has a quick, raspy voice and bossed me to no end—but I never minded, she was so funny and kind hearted.  One time Bob Stockdale (a classmate) said “If I was Doug I’d be filing for divorce” and everyone laughed, and when I said Karen’s words were music to my ears, our teacher Mrs. Kline told Karen “This is the man you want to marry!” 

By the way, if you’re wondering how I can recall something from 45 years ago, Karen wrote this was one of her favorite senior memories in my high school scrapbook.

Here’s Karen & myself in the center of our mock wedding ceremony, between the flags overhead.  Our friend Diana is 2 to the right of us, and that’s Mrs. Kline on the far leftBesides being good friends (and wedding partners), Karen & I were also selected by our senior class as “Most Likely to Succeed” for the Senior Personalities in our yearbook.  That’s us at the bottom on the first pageWe fell out of touch after graduating in 1979, but I got updates through the years.  She went on to college and become an elementary teacher, got married and had a son, moved to Virginia. 

We didn’t speak again for 30 years, until 2009 when Facebook came along.  Then we picked up where we left off like no time had passed at all.

In 2015 when I announced on Facebook I was sick of the rat race and taking an early retirement, Karen wrote me and said “Douglas you inspired me!  I’m sick of the race and retiring early too!” 

(For as long as I’ve known Karen, since the age of 12-13, she only called me Douglas.)  Anyway, true to her word she DID retire shortly after I did.

In 2017, when I wrote Karen and said I left Pittsburgh to move back to our hometown and was regretting my decision, she told me that every year she drove up to Pa to spend the holidays with her mom—but this year she was coming a couple days earlier to spend time with me.  We met up the first day for a 4 hour lunch, and the day after I went with Karen to visit her mom and see some old sights. 

She was just as funny, bossy and raspy in person as I remembered from all those years ago.  I am so glad we were able to get together again.

A recent photo of Karen (left) with our mutual friend and classmate Diana

I’m sharing all of this now, because last April Karen complained she was having trouble remembering things, and a couple months later pretty much went silent.  Diana reached out for answers, but only heard from Karen’s pastor that she was not well. 

And then a few days ago, Karen’s son posted this on Facebook:

Sorry to keep everyone uninformed for so long, but we did not have enough information on what was happening with my mother until recently.  She has been diagnosed with Coritcobasal Degeneration, a rare and aggressive form of dementia that resembles Parkinsons disease.  She has limited mobility using a walker at this time and is unable to care for herself in any way.  She is unable to comprehend what is happening and no longer uses her cell phone or social media accounts.  I have moved back in to help care for her until we can get some assistance with a long term plan.  We do appreciate all of the concern and support her friends have given in this time and I will try to update when I am able.

There is no treatment or cure, and life expectancy is short.  She is 62, same as me. 

I remember when we got together a few years ago, I asked Karen how she kept in such terrific shape.  She said “From doing the things I love, Douglas!  I swim at the Y nearly everyday and I have my friends & church family, they keep me very busy!”

Karen, you are and shall remain in my most heartfelt prayers.

 

Soon, this insanely lonnnnng covid will be a thing of the past

This past Saturday, I woke up feeling pretty okay—an hour later, a “spray” of pain washed across my face, stayed there for around 2 hours before going away.

But as the day wore on and it didn’t return, I began to feel elated and wrote that goofy post about my 30 year old vacuum cleaner.  Things were looking up, it seemed.

Sunday morning, I awoke and the left side of my head felt like it had been crushed by a giant’s boot.  I got up, paced for an hour or so and waited for it to fade away.  It didn’t and traveled into my face instead, and I spent a beautiful Sunday afternoon indoors, laying on my bed feeling angry and depressed.

Monday I awoke, and other than a very sore face felt pretty good.  I did my laundry, went for a walk, and later that night I spent a couple hours on the phone chatting with my friend Diana, and for the first time in weeks this post covid crap never came up once.

(Instead we talked about Diana’s upcoming trip to Utah to attend her son’s wedding, and her plans of organizing our high school class’ 45th year reunion.  I applaud her efforts, but have little desire to attend.  But that’s another story.)

Tuesday was a very bad day and I spent the day laying on my back on my bed again.  This seems to be becoming an “every other day” thing, but I hope that’s a sign I’ll soon have more good days than not and finally get to leave this long covid beast in the past where it belongs.

This was my face last May, and here it is last month; it’s gotten better, but still looks like the second photo in the mornings when I get out of bed. 

When I leave my apartment before noon—to get my mail, take out the trash or do my laundry and other residents see me, I always hear “What happened to you?  Were you in an accident?  Did you get beat up?”  I just tell ‘em it’s allergies.

    

Recently, I watched a couple of videos from the Center for Post-Covid Care at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York, where they have around 500 long covid patients both remote & in-house (and a couple thousand on a waiting list) and the doctor leading the efforts said a couple things that really stood out to me: 

• The more often you contract covid, the greater your chances you’ll get long covid (this past December was my third time getting the virus since 2020)
• Even though studies say long covid cases last on average 4-6 months, the center hasn’t seen anyone fully recover before 6 months
• They’ve also never seen a patient “spontaneously recover”; recovery is very, very slow

Well, I got covid the first week of December and these post-covid symptoms began emerging the first of January, so I’ve now been living with this 4 months.  (As of May 1, I’m in my 5th month.)  Why does it seem so much longer?   Anyway, I am seeing some improvements here and there, even if they’re small. 

I’ve said it before, but I don’t know how I would’ve made it through these past few months without my friend Diana, who has been on the receiving end of some pretty long phone calls.  I can’t believe what a patient, caring person she’s been.  I’m very fortunate to have such a friend.

Also, this blog where you kind people have hung in there while I pound out my 10th post about this.  Thanks as always for letting me share.