Yesterday I woke up with pinkeye, today my dining table exploded. What’s next??

I feel like someone is trying to tell me something and I’m not hearing them.

I’M LISTENING, I’M LISTENING!

I awoke yesterday morning with my left eye swollen shut.  What happened while I was sleeping??  And why does this bad stuff keep happening? 

I know this hasn’t been an easy summer for many, but how many people can say they lost 65 pounds from lockjaw and wound up in a psych-ward for 5 days to boot?  And I’ll tell you something else that I wasn’t going to share on my blog—while in the hospital, I was infected with Covid-19 and wound up bedridden for 10 days. 

I didn’t write about it because all I’ve been doing for the last 2 years is sharing blocked intestine woes, kidney stones & TMJ, TMJ, TMJ.  I figured getting infected with Covid was Fate’s last jab at me before moving on to the next poor sucker.   (It was pretty rough too, I wound up wearing adult diapers for several days and dealt with breathing issues and chronic fatigue syndrome for 5-6 weeks.)

But I began getting better, and a couple weeks ago, things began looking up…

AND THEN I GET THE PINKEYE.  I can’t even see what I’m typing here!

And then today while I’m trying to pry my left eye open wide enough to read an email from my sister, who wanted to let me know she was feeling a little guilty this morning for not being more appreciative of how good her life is, my dining table exploded.

 

WHY DID MY TABLE BLOW UP??  I was sitting roughly 5-6 feet away on my couch when it happened.  It sounded like a small bomb had detonated, and I was pelted in the face & arms with pellets of tempered glass. 

For several moments, I couldn’t figure out what happened; did my ceiling cave in?  Did someone shoot one of my windows out?  It honestly took a minute or two to realize the windows were fine but my table was pulverized.

I later learned (courtesy of Google & my friend Danielle) that this “spontaneous implosion” of tempered glass tabletops is not common, but it does happen enough.

Well, at least Wayfair (where I bought my table 3-4 years ago) still has it in stock!  Let’s hope the second one’s a keeper.

AND PLEASE GOD, NO MORE BAD THINGS FOR AWHILE OKAY?

Taking Chance: The story of a fallen hero, revisited

NOTE:  I originally shared this in Nov 2009, but given the recent allegations of President Trump’s disparaging remarks towards our fallen troops, I thought this movie deserved another watch yesterday.

I'm going to admit a couple things upfront:

I'm proud to be an American (like the song goes) but I don't own a big American flag, look only for products made in America, or sing along to Tim McGraw.  And when it comes to war, I'm not in favor of American troops in places like Iraq or Afghanistan, but I'm not necessarily against it either. 

What I DO know, regardless of where our forces are stationed, they deserve our unconditional support.  Tonight I got a good reminder of that with the film "Taking Chance".   I've seen a lot of movies, and I honestly cannot remember watching one that put a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes for the entire duration of the film.  

The movie is based on the true story of a Marine, Lt. Col. Michael Strobl, who has worked stateside behind a desk for most of his military career.  One morning in 2004 while glancing at the latest casualty list of soldiers from Iraq, one stands out; not the soldiers name (PFC Chance Phelps), but his hometown, where Strobl also grew up. 

Strobl volunteers to accompany Phelps remains back to his family for burial.

Never seen in the film, the real hero here:  PFC Chance Phelps, who died in battle in Iraq 

While Col. Strobl receives instructions on being a military escort, we witness Chance Phelps body being prepared for delivery to the family's funeral home.  Specialists gingerly wash the deceased, and carefully clean his personal possessions.  (His wristwatch, dog-tags, a wooden cross necklace.) 

A full dress uniform is custom sewn complete with all medals and polished brass (even though, because of his injuries, it will be a closed casket).   Colonel Strobl is told that during the trip, from car to train to various planes across the country, he will stand at attention and salute the young soldiers remains at every entrance and exit point.

Kevin Bacon said that filming these scenes brought tears to both his eyes and the film crew

 

Along his cross-country trip (from Philadelphia to Wyoming), Strobl is taken aback by the respect shown to him, both civilian & from other branches of the military.  At one airport as he salutes the plane unloading, he turns to see the entire airport crew standing behind him, hands on their hearts.  On another flight, the pilot asks the passengers to remain seated after landing as there is precious cargo to be unloaded; a soldier killed in the line of duty.  Strobl seems the only one surprised.  The other passengers watch quietly as Chance Phelps container is wheeled off and saluted on the tarmac.

The real Lt. Col. Michael Strobl, who's report of the events surrounding his escort service inspired so many,  and eventually this movie

This is only part of the story, of course.  Along the way we learn more of Strobl and his modest yet fierce dedication to not just PFC Chance Phelps remains, but his grieving family as well.   (There is only one emotional scene by Kevin Bacon, who somehow manages to maintain a low profile while remaining the central character in the movie.)  

There is no great adventure here, no drama.  It is the voyage of one young hero's remains from the battlefield to his final resting place on a lonely Wyoming plain.

The movie isn't pro-military or even pro-America; just a poignant reminder on the goodness of dignity, humility & the showing of respect.  Chance Phelps father (in an interview after the film) talked proudly of the visits, calls & letters his family still receives from other Marines in Chance's battalion, and says "These men fight for their country, but they die for their friends."                         

Take my antagonizer, please (really… what would you do?)

In the classic Star Trek episode ‘Mirror Mirror’, Captain Kirk and his officers are on a planet, beaming up to their ship when their transporter beam is caught in an ion storm.  Their atoms are pulled into a parallel universe where they materialize on another Enterprise.

How do they know they aren’t where they’re supposed to be?  Well, for starters they’re greeted by a pretty sinister looking Mr. Spock, who’s sporting a goatee and instructing the transporter chief to hand over his personal agonizer.  “No Mister Spock—it wasn’t my fault!  Aargh!!”

(On this parallel Enterprise, the crew are forced to carry their own torture devices—yikes.)  Anyway, this “agonizer” episode has been coming to mind a lot lately, namely whenever I encounter Betty, a resident in my apartment building.  She’s MY personal agonizer—well, more like antagonizer—and right now I’m wondering what to do about her.  Help her or kill her.

Okay, I made a promise to myself (and to people who read my blog) a year ago that I wouldn’t talk maliciously of my neighbors… I just can’t believe how much one of them is getting to me and NOT IN A GOOD WAY.

This all began a couple years ago.  While the younger residents in my building keep to themselves, the older ones want to know you, especially if you’re of the retired type.  I was befriended by one--Betty (a widow, 70 years old) who somehow got it into her head I was a widower like her, Catholic, and a conservative. 

It took me awhile to learn this though, and once I set the record straight I was none of those things (and only went to Assumption Catholic Church on Fridays for their fried fish), everything changed.  She couldn’t seem to talk to me without sounding snarky.  This is just in the last week:

MARYLOU:  Doug is it true that management painted an accent wall in your apartment and it didn’t cost you anything?

ME:  Yep, you just have to choose one of their 3 colors:  Honey Mustard, Green Apple or Summer Suede.

BETTY:  Whoa, funny how you remember those fancy names!  Most men just call paint by their color!

Here’s another:

OPAL:  Doug, would you like a pumpkin scented candle?  My daughter got me a real pretty one but it’s making my cat crazy.

ME:  Haha—um, no thanks Opal.  I’m not into scented candles… guess it’s a man thing. (wink)

BETTY:  You have to guess when it comes to man things?  That doesn’t surprise me!

I just shake my head, roll my eyes.   Oh Betty… how I want to throttle you.

Anyway, earlier this week several of us were sitting outside on our building’s stoop getting a little sun & talking about the latest Trump lunacy, when one (Mary Lou) said she wished she could vote in this election, but she wasn’t registered (her husband used to say it was how they tagged you for jury duty).  Another admitted she never registered either, and my friend Mary Bean said she meant to, but it was too late now.  

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  I said I was called for jury duty a few years ago, and it was an exciting experience.  (I wrote about it here.)  I added that it wasn’t too late to register, they could do it from home (online) but it takes a couple weeks to get your registration card, so they’d have to do it soon.

I asked “Do you ladies have a computer?”   All three smiled and said no.  Wow.  I said I could help, and both Marys thanked me and said okay. 

Sure enough, word got back to Betty who confronted me downstairs this morning and asked who elected me mayor of the building.  I smiled but didn’t say anything.  She said “Does that offer of yours extend to everybody?  Because I want a mail in ballot.”  I said I guessed so, and she said “Good then you can help me.  But if I were you, I wouldn’t ask who I’m voting for.”  

Aarrgh!!