Author: gshorkeyblt2

The acquaintance that asked how things were going on the second book and other writing projects I’d mentioned last time we met was the difference maker, bless her soul.  Admitting I’d gotten – if not actually fat, very definitely lazy – about handling my personal blogging and project follow-up, was a thwap! in the back of the head.

Now that Awareness is right-er, Action is following.

It’s not like my thoughts are the second coming of the Mueller Report (un-redacted and with all supplements), and the world’s been waiting these past few months to hear from me. I did a 3,000 word guest post on world waste and recycling along the way though. Just sayin’…

Content creation is my forty hours a week job now, and economically I’m glad to have bennies, regular auto-deposits, and PTO! that I’m going to use some of for a golf outing this Friday. Still, blogging is not brain surgery, just a matter of discipline. I’ll stow any excuses about change in schedules, and state positively that I’ll never go this long again without doing MY blog.  Twice a week actually, count on it.

Absolutely nobody else to blame for non-production. Guilty, history now, mea culpa, Next.

* * * * *

Memorial Day weekend is my anniversary in Charlotte, although its a week earlier this year than when I actually landed here, back in 1995. I’ve got a concert date at the National White Water Center next weekend, and if the great weather we’re finally getting cooperates, I expect a great deal of psychic satisfaction coming.

Over the last couple months I’ve enjoyed getting a bunch of such satisfaction. Socially the Queens Cup Steeplechases last month were truly All That, and volunteering my communications skills for three scholastic events with the Community in Schools program was ‘social capital’ well spent.

I don’t really know if anybody got inspired during 3-25 minute talks at Career Day about my being a Writer, but one simple truth I mentioned was, the most important thing I ever wrote was my LinkedIn profile. After years of using it as an electronic resume, changing to a 1-1, tell-the-story-of-Glenn style produced a job offer in ten days, which was a terrific way to start 2019.

Having made a connection with a leader in the Marketing area of my company, I had the opportunity to discuss the benefits of our CBD oil company relative to a super organization called TEAM RUBICON. TR is about ‘veterans and kick-ass civilians’ doing disaster relief missions all over the country and world. It involves lots of intense physical labor, and I suggested our RECOVER product might be an element that would be greatly appreciated and (hopefully) have some PR value.

We’ll see how that rolls. I’m trying to help the world with some bigger stuff too, y’know?

Whether or not my golf game comes through in Friday’s captains choice format – three good putts can make you a hero – hey, its a PAID day off. It’s a specious analogy, but I haven’t put any effort into that golf area in a lot longer than I haven’t written a blog.

I may fix that practice thing after taking Mom to church though.

Writing is often about personal pride, and it definitely isn’t always about the money. I’m working on the Next One Thing though, and I promise it won’t take all summer to figure it out and let you know the results.

To all our veterans – and I told this to a couple active duty people in the tent at the Hotwalkers Ball for post-Queens Cup par-tayh! – the collective ‘We’ appreciates your service, and individually you are all loved by many.

Glenn

First off, I’m not a Grinch-type, nor do I have an attic full of ornaments and lights and reindeer waiting to be planted on the front lawn. I have yet to try peppermint latte, and while I have a red stocking hung by the chimney with care, its more because my Dad made them for all four boys about 1,000 (okay, 50-something) years ago, with our names in felt and a glittery star at the toe. Putting it up is a reminder how we– and I include family and the many, many friends he treated so kindly– miss his cookies and good cheer. Like Santa Claus, everybody liked Dad.

Several cousins are coming to visit this holiday season, mostly because they want to be with Mom, who at 84 moved to the assisted living side at her senior community at the end of August, but hopefully because we haven’t seen each other in a while. Frank– who was Skip for the first thirty years I knew him– retired this year, and he is financially set to do whatever the heck he wants over the next couple years. He even mentioned going to Minnesota for some *really* cold weather, not something you normally hear from a true Florida Boy. He’s got three terrific kids, as do two of my brothers, Steve and David.

That’s where the ‘Tweener’ thing comes in, because having someone truly special in life to share such times with is way ahead of wondering what you can or should be considering gift-wise. While I could actually use a new basketball, how fully I’ll throw myself into this season of cheer is open to debate. I’ll drink your spiked egg nog, I’m good with any Woman who wants to walk around with some mistletoe and surprise me– hopefully its a worthwhile kiss– and I travel with a small bag of food behind the seat in case I run across someone on a street corner who needs a break from that necessary worry, even for a day. I’ve got six stamps on hand, so a couple people get cards.

Okay, I just signed up for a Hawai’ian pig roast, and my experience on that is, no problem smiling about next Saturday. Brother Steve has an oyster roast on 23rd, and THAT’S always a winner, with enough testosterone–guys only at this event–  to float a battleship. Our church group’s 33rd annual Christmas tree sale ends in a couple days, and that’s been an uplifting experience, too.

The hitch of not being a Grinch– a role that’s soooo easy to slip into– or (overly) Super Positive Person for holidays– is over-thinking the Why not? that kind of comes with being a single guy, mistletoe or not. Yeah, yeah, I know its supposed to be about the Christ child’s birth, Peace on Earth-Good Will towards Men (and all other categories of humanity), but isn’t there some “What about me?” when you see a hottie elf nuzzling a geeky guy in one of those super-ridiculous tree lights suits? Without being disrespectful of the many who have much less, not having a couple things to open and wow! at someone’s thoughtfulness for getting it (or perhaps a negative if you recognize its a re-gifting with zero thought), that you’re getting the coffee on (as usual) and hanging out till church, football games and dinner is a relative downer.

It doesn’t seem legitimate to protest that things aren’t exactly as you’d want them to be

When brother Dave, Donna, Maria, Curtiss and his wife, Stephanie came down a couple years ago it was a great couple days, and even the recent Thanksgiving I got to participate in with twenty others in Gastonia, with food and beverage aplenty, was a harbinger of why many find the holidays somewhat depressing: It doesn’t last. We watch Trump being good (for Trump, no excessive butthead Twitter-ing, and there’s got to be PLENTY on his pea-pickin’ mind right now) at President George H.W. Bush’s funeral for a couple days, but there’s no doubt in our minds that’s going to change real damn soon, right? You don’t expect a three-year old grandchild to be perfect after the 26th either.

In the bigger picture, it doesn’t seem legitimate to protest that things aren’t exactly as you’d want them to be at a specific time. I pity the millions who will make New Years resolutions for 2019, knowing that 99.7% of whatever weight, job, relationship, economic, personal or altruistic promises they make to the Universe or whomever they’re accountable to in their goal-setting awaits failure. I’ve never worried about ten pounds too much-not tanned enough for swim suit season, never sworn I’d move into a perfect new, high-paying job before New Years. I loved the insurance commercial about Mayhem, who was resigned to doing the mundane safety stuff until he found out resolutions rarely make it very far into the new year, because he could be his regular self, the pressure was off at that point.

Of *COURSE* I’ve asked for the stockings I put in my stocking to be filled appropriately with a desirable Her. What I’m going to be glad about is Mom still recognizing me (most of the time) when I pick her up for church, for Mike, who never asks for the rent money absolutely on time (unless its poker week), and if he fixes the head he broke off the choir boys cutout, I’ll be glad to put it on the porch and put some framing tree lights in the window behind them. I’ll kiss under any mistletoe when prompted, just because. I’ll watch ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ (original version) with spiked egg nog and know I’m not him,  watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and consider whether I’m that kind of difference maker in other peoples lives. I will *never* say “Bah, humbug!”

That it probably only takes getting another good gig work-wise (half a loaf is still good) to brighten things brings HOPE, and isn’t that what the season is truly about? Positive expectations people, and Season’s Greetings! to all who might need a little extra cheering to make it though. I’m not a Grinch, you probably aren’t either. Tweener isn’t *bad*, not with all the alternatives and/or blessings we have to help us over The Small Stuff.

And while you’re up, could you get me another egg nog?

Thanksgiving Day I stopped by the fire station around the corner, and was glad the crew chief remembered me from bringing meatballs & sauce dinners a couple years ago. I brought dinners several times to two stations as a committed Thank you! for having given me another Christmas with my Dad at one point. I’d stopped by to say thanks over the years, finally decided I could do better.

I offered the hope that all their brothers trying to stop California from being a huge torch- and whatever calls Big 3 had for the day- were safe.

The next point isn’t about nephew Curtiss and Steph’s picture (I just really like it), it’s a straight-up, 180-degree political turn-around on Facebook with a guy from high school. Hard core Republican, I guess, but mostly on side of how athletes disrespect the flag version Trump flogged vs. freedom of speech and NOT what the kneeling was about, which was awareness of how many young black men were being shot to death by white police officers.

As many have noted, only VIETNAM has split large parts of America (as cynically planned by administration here in 2018) in recent memory, although those Stoneman-Douglas kids anti-gun tour certainly brought massive crowds into the streets– over 700 marches in one weekend

We can agree to disagree, on a factor that shouldn’t have split people so effectively.

I always mention ‘Nam was overrun the spring of my senior year in high school, 1975. I never served, all four guys in my Dad’s line did. Respect for those who serve has nothing to do with the message of kneeling, a pointed, silent event, not what Trump brands it with S.O.B! flourish. We can agree to disagree, on a factor that shouldn’t have split people so effectively.

On Facebook I mentioned dropping by that fire station, thanking them for service as first responders, and Tony Malizia, the long-time Air Force- 39 years– with stripes to the elbow for each three year hitch–guy from HS wrote it was cool what I’d done, they were the real heroes.

He also wrote that he’s taken politics out of previous gear, that  the country had so much more that bound us, which is certainly how we’d all like to live. I responded that was why I’d essentially reached out. For a lot of reasons, our COUNTRY is going to need to pull in same direction, heal and not commit continuous-contentious stressing. It seems likely indictments or publication of what could-should be damning stuff from Mueller’s investigation will upset the United States a while longer, and I believe Chief Justice Roberts, “We don’t have Obama judges or Trump judges…” even if everything Kavanaugh does will be under a microscope.

I’m heartened by how, under close examination (almost, sorry GA) every step of the way, there was absolutely NO DOUBT how America felt about VOTING for change. Don’t relax and think 2020 won’t be just as contentious people.

That tribe in the Dakotas that  managed to abide by having addresses, and people providing transportation so their voting counted, INSPIRATIONAL.

Like the judge said, “Both sides should turn down the rhetoric.” If I’m right in thinking it only took agreeing to disagree about the message or disrespect of pro athletes kneeling, we’re kind of back on a regular track. I mentioned going to school with the guy, right? He was a lightweight wrestler, Bob Massaroni’s best bud from forever.

Thank you again for your service.

Yes, America, that simple. 

November marks essentially two months since Mom moved from independent to assisted living side of the senior community (Carmel Hills) where she’s been since we moved her from Tampa, FL to Charlotte three Junes ago. I was her primary caregiver for seven months, and lunch-making, shopping, medication consistency, appointments, walking and just being around were the essentials. I worked my presence down to twenty hours a week for the last month before she moved to the assisted side.

I’m proud of having gotten her to Raleigh for my nephews seriously cool wedding weekend in July and yes, I was worried that her meds got messed up back in Charlotte during my terrific NY week without responsibilities. I went right back into service the morning after a 17-hour return trip, handling a situation with Mom’s cable because that’s what caregivers do.

Just days after we learned about a single room opening on the assisted side, my mother caused a smoke-out, the very first time she’d tried to reheat any leftovers.  The strangest part was getting a Sunday morning call just after pre-church shower about it, because nothing seemed amiss when I’d picked her up for ice cream at 7:30 and stayed till 10:00 the previous night, and smokers are still events that count heavily in determining when such moves are finally necessary.

Mom never mentioned it, mostly because she didn’t remember it. It turned out between 4:45 when I called about our ice cream date, the smoke alarm at 6:30 and time I arrived, Carmel Hills had done their emptying out drill, cleared up the charred stuff in the apartment, and was back to normal.  Overall, that was a fortunate stroke of timing, but having a plan for such moves when the time comes makes transitions easier on everyone.

That’s when we moved Mom, and its such a good situation for both her and- as I sit before a picture window with sunshine and finally changing color leaves outside- a lifestyle change I hadn’t really comprehended.

Primary caregivers have a different challenge

When I wasn’t jumping over there between 11:00-1:30 because she liked early lunch and card games, and post-dinner (7-9:30), I admit accepting that I couldn’t work for several hours because she wasn’t wired, and I felt guilty if I didn’t keep her involved in conversation.  While there was always a satisfaction about my caregiver role in the clutch, the difference when I didn’t have to  divide my time has allowed an obvious, positive rise in productive hours elsewhere.

My second book submission – with a tightened-up 7,300 word intro – is going out two weeks early, so this past month constitutes a successful conversion for me. A golf writing – travel gig possibility from August ended with several hospital stays by client, but I’ve had opportunities to present my flexible niche writing abilities  on a regular basis on well-populated professional sites. There are jobs and gigs, long enough and challenging assignments that make an economic difference.

Last week was a good one with Mom. Saturday evening I took her to an Oyster Roast by our Men’s Club, to church on Sunday, and Thursday I brought her tiger lilies after I bought a necessary new laptop, because that’s what you do when Mom’s are on the same side of town as business. I got to Carmel Hills when she was about to start a roast beef lunch, and  believe me, even if I was suit and tie dressed up and had flowers, that took priority. Helpers got the flowers into a container and on a table in her room.

I also let Mom know Edna, her best buddy since 2^nd grade, was going to visit in two Fridays. Of course, I’ll remind her a couple times, but that’s definitely a good news thing, and repeating isn’t any kind of negative.

At the Oyster Roast Mom kept saying she wasn’t sure she liked oysters, but she’s eaten every one I’ve fixed her before. We settled at a table with a lady and her Mom who remembered me trying to sell tickets a month ago, and they kept Mom company while I wound up managing a variety of situations with the roast. I made sure she had a wine, got back several times, and found her a good slab of chocolate cake. She appreciated getting out, so I loaded up on karmic rewards.

Mom wanted to treat to dinner after church this week, so Mike, Mom and I went to Red Lobster, beating the rush easily. As often as she says she’s hungry, Mom still doesn’t eat much, although she always has room to work with her sweet tooth, and sharing a nice warm brownie with ice cream worked without a hitch.

Mom needed a nap after the wine, and by the time I got back to the house, the Panthers were pounding the Ravens on TV, including a semi-sneaky 54-yard FG to end the first half with a 24-7 lead. I’m a FanSided/CatCrave blogger, so by the time I’d watched until the surprising 36-21 conclusion, a last touch on a good week for me included a twelve-mile bike ride.

I’m still thankful to the ex-HR person who definitively stated NOBODY had writers working in staff positions any more, that everything was out-sourced.

Having embraced that attitude, and forgetting about knocking out a straight forty hour week, the challenge remains the same—making my time worth while to a paying client.

Bringing flowers and getting Mom out several times, that still makes for a no doubt feeling about being a ‘Good Son’. Having said before that being a caregiver is about making other people’s lives go right and taking care of yourself—that still works. Having picked up the habit of utilizing smaller time frames for proposals and entrepreneurial projects, I’m better at utilizing the technology that’s making it easier for me to (relatively)  put myself in front of significant others.

Having mentioned how a knee replacement from last December has affected my life so positively more than once, getting a couple videos from my best friend in college- Ivan Marquez– about surviving prostate cancer for ten years is a valid point to assess time and circumstances and how it affects those we love.

More than anything, my desire is to encourage communication, because that always make a difference with major illnesses. Not everyone reading this will care, but beyond understanding the medical marvel side requiring ninety pills a day and a whole lot more, there’s a very real feeling of Joy that bursts forth when you learn something that’s heroic or unexpectedly Good.

The fact I reached out another time Friday to share something I was proud of with him and got something so decisive back, that rarely happens without a small, extra effort.

 I’ll shorthand things by noting my Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer and was dead in two years, and he died five years ago. How could you not think the worst was coming for your best friend?

After Dad told us (four brothers) about diagnosis, we were more than a little surprised when doctors did anything surgical. They don’t usually think that chemo and radiation improve quality of life in eighty year-olds, but in trying to implant a few radioactive pellets to kill the suspected cells, Dad was taken off Coumadin, had a stroke that night, and lost his desire to eat almost anything beyond power shakes.

That Christmas he was a bag of bones. While he survived another Christmas and died in late January from congestive heart failure—a family weakness, my Uncle Don died two days earlier in the same Tampa hospital from it—he wasn’t close to the friendly, active guy he’d always been.

My brothers all agreed that we wish he’d discussed it with us vs. just told us the prognosis. It was his being relatively healthy, and a desire not to leave Mom alone, that drove his decision to try the pellets vs. rigors of chemo-radiation. The next thing we knew, the stroke was a fact. I drove to Tampa the day after I learned Uncle Don died, I would have gladly driven down many months before that to beg Dad to reconsider the course he eventually took, but we’d all assumed there’d be another chance at that.

I’m certain I went into denial when Ivan first called about his prostate cancer, because it was a well known and vicious killer. When he called briefly last year about his survival, I asked why he hadn’t told me, when of course, he had.

While I periodically sent him notes or articles I was proud of and he responded with, “Good going, keep it on the blacktop (vs. driving into a ditch),” I always assumed he was keeping the ugly negatives from me, although he’d never really been a guy who wrote much. I called every once in a while– most recently when I vacationed in upstate NY for a week– but didn’t get responses, which reinforced that notion.

It didn’t occur that he was frequently busy with hospital (Mayo Clinic) things, just that he wasn’t responding, so it must be bad- and hopefully I’d get some notice about a funeral.

Ivan created a fine men’s volleyball program at Concordia College, then dropped the coaching when he became the Commissioner of EVIA (Eastern Volleyball Inter-Collegiate Association) because his ‘men beat boys’ recruiting style was built on getting ‘older’ stud players who flunked out on scholarships elsewhere a second chance back on campus. Although legal, he didn’t want any potential negatives to come back at the school.

I’m certain I went into denial when Ivan first called about his prostate cancer,  because it was a known and terrible killer.

The video he sent—which was done by students in the Communications Dept. at Concordia, where he’s been the Athletic Director since 1995—gave me 1000% more insight to his situation, and also showed he still talked and treated others as he always had. He speaks of Concordia athletics in terms of ‘playing with the toy,’ meaning figuring out how to do something better or desirable for the program.

The point about communication is that you often HAVE to keep pushing people to share, because many don’t want to be pitied or thought of as weak. They can’t talk about the regimen without admitting it mostly sucks, which he admits in the video. Many equate not talking about it with sparing you the boring details of ugliness, and maybe that was a righteous reason for me in past, but I’m getting on the phone shortly so I can communicate how important it is to know more about my best friend’s life.

One Really Good Story: I get to take a portion of credit for Ivan’s career, because after I repeatedly beat his brains out in basketball back in the early ’80s– surviving the heat stroke waiting to happen that 90-plus degree Tampa afternoons always is– he said, “Nope, I can’t go back to Puerto Rico and play in some league if I can’t stop THIS guy’s jump shot.”

FYI- If you’ve watched college or beach volleyball, he was the thinker who determined that volleyball missed the TV spotlight championships usually draw because only service scoring (vs. every point) meant some five-set matches went forever with side-outs. He brought his alternatives to several coaching friends with clout (BYU, UCLA) and today its 25 points wins, and the 5^th set is like sudden death, only to 15.