17 Monday Apr 2023
Posted in aging, exercise, poetry
≈ Comments Off on Pinkie
She is old
and brown.
Wrinkled like a walnut.
Her clothes and bags
are tattered and worn.
She peers into the
train station mirror
and carefully, carefully
applies the hot, pink lipstick
with her pinkie finger.
Moving her face back and forth,
she observes her handiwork.
Satisfied with its vibrant glossiness,
she is ready to face the day.
3/12
Cew
17 Monday Apr 2023
Posted in aging, exercise, poetry
≈ Comments Off on 1953 Forever
I’m stuck behind Grandma.
She is ahead of me and
I can’t get by.
She plods along looking
neither right nor left.
She can’t hear me behind her.
Doesn’t she know I am in a hurry?
I have places to go and things to do
and I am late.
She doesn’t see, she doesn’t know.
She is in a time capsule and it is 1953,
forever.
She is not concerned about my little life.
She has seen a few things and has earned
her spot, plodding along,
ahead of me,
born in ’53.
17 Friday Mar 2023
Posted in aging, exercise, Book Sales: Amazon.com/Kindle Books, Fiction
≈ Comments Off on Chap Five – Millie gets Kidnapped
from: Telephone Call for Carolyn Keene
Good times were not to last and George Benson also suffered a stroke and died the night before the couple was to leave on a trip to Central America. Heart broken, Millie did not marry again.
Times changed and the demands for the girl sleuth changed. Stratemeyer had died and his
daughter Harriet had taken over the Syndicate. Other ghostwriters were hired to work on the series.
Eventually, Millie herself got tired of Nancy and wanted to move onto something else. She eventually worked on a number of series for kids, some under different pen names and some using her own. Her favorite, Penny Parker, was about a girl reporter full of pluck and independence. She still worked as a reporter for the Toledo Blade and was busy taking trips to Central America to explore her favorite ruins. It was there it happened. Mildred Wirt Benson was kidnapped in Guatemala!
#
After the death of her husband, George Benson, Millie continued to take trips to her beloved Central America to look at the Mayan ruins. It was on one of these trips that it happened. Mildred Wirt Benson was kidnapped in Guatemala!
Millie was with her local guide and was eager to start their exploration of the Rio de la Pasion River. Their canoe was ready, provisions were packed, she had her leather messenger bag complete with camera and notebook. Millie loved to record her journeys and show pictures when she got back to her friends in Ohio. The guide spoke passable English, the weather was good; they were set!
It was mid-morning, the sky was bright blue and the sun was gaining on the sky but it still wasn’t completely hot. Early November and the real heat had not yet set in. The jungle around them was a deep green. Birds could be heard calling to each other overhead. When Millie looked up from her paddling, she could glimpse their bright colors fliting from tree to tree. Her guide promised to take her to some Mayan ruins off the beaten track that not too many people had seen. Millie was giddy with excitement. She loved this!
They paddled down the seemingly tranquil river and had been gone from their dock about a half hour. Millie could see a canoe approaching them from the opposite direction. She assumed it was a farmer come to sell his goods at the little market in the village they had come from.
“Buenos Diaz!” Her guide shouted and waved at the oncoming canoe.
“Buenos Diaz, amigo!” was the reply as the two men seemed about to row past them. Suddenly, as the canoe glided past them one man pulled his paddle out of the water and stuck it into the back of their boat and pulled. Her canoe started to swing around, the other man pulled out a gun and pointed it at the guide who dropped his paddle in the canoe and held up his hands. Rapid fire Spanish flew between the two men. The other canoe came along side of theirs. The man with the gun gestured at the guide who then stepped over to the second canoe. The man with the gun got into hers.
“Vamonos!” Millie heard the man from the second canoe shout and the two canoes made a detour toward the shore. There, the two strange men quickly jumped out and secured the canoes on a short shelf of sand.
“Out, out,” one of the men shouted at her. Getting up while the canoe was still rocking, Millie slung her messenger bag over one shoulder and steadied herself to get out. Her guide rushed to her side to help her and she put a dainty foot over the side of the boat. The two men were still shouting and the one with the gun gestured for them to walk.
They entered the jungle and Millie realized they were on a small dirt path through the trees. They walked in silence for another half hour. Later, Millie remembered hearing the howler monkeys calling to each other from above. Sometimes from a branch of safety, she thought she could see bright eyes in dark faces peering at them through a canopy of glossy green leaves.
Finally, they reached a small house or more like a hut in the middle of a small clearing. One man went forward, opened the door and gestured for them to go in. The hut was small and dark and smelled like goats. The two men had Millie and the guide sit down on two rough chairs. One went and fetched rope from a corner and then tied both travelers to the chairs.
The men started talking to the guide and he translated.
“Ms. Millie, these men know you are American and they want money for your release.”
“How much money?” Millie asked. More conversation.
“One thousand dollars, American.”
“But I don’t have that kind of money on me. I only have a few dollars.”
More back and forth in Spanish.
“They say you will have to get it or they will have to hurt you.”
“Well, tell them not to do that. We can work something out. If they would only release this rope and give us some water, maybe we can talk about it.”
More Spanish.
“They say okay, but if you try to run, the man, he will have to shoot you.”
“Tell the man I won’t run. However,” Millie replied, “I am very thirsty and would like some water. All our supplies are in our canoe.”
The man without the gun, a short, squat man with dark brown skin and black hair came over and loosened her rope. Then he went and ladled some water from a bucket into a rough cup and handed it to her. Millie drank it down and said “Now him,” she gestured at her guide with the cup.
The man stared at her a moment then grabbed the cup and went to refill it with more water. He walked over to Juan, loosened the ropes and handed him the cup. The guide finished it with a gulp.
“Tell the nice man, Juan, that I am a writer and don’t make very much money. $1,000 is really a lot to pay.” Millie said. Juan translated.
“But you are American, they say, you all have a lot of money.”
“Not really. Ah, ask if I could have my bag. I could show him something.” Juan translated and the man with the gun, stuck the gun in his belt, grabbed her bag. He looked through it first and then handed it over. He loosened her ropes so she could use her hands.
Millie reached in her bag and pulled out an old battered copy of The Hidden Staircase. “See, I write books. This is my book.” She pointed at the title.
The shorter man, without the gun, reached over and took the book from her.
“No, is not you,” he pointed at the cover. “Is Carolyn Keene, writer. Is not you. You is Wirt. Not the same.”
Millie was surprised the man spoke any English. But, she thought, that’s a good thing.
She slowed down her speech. “No, it is me. That is my book. That name,” she pointed at the book, “that is like,” she paused, “a stage name. Like an actress’s stage name.”
Juan translated. Millie could hear actriza spoken over and over.
“So, dis is your book, you are worth much money!” The short man said and he and his friend laughed.
“Oh, no,” Millie replied. “Not much money. That book, only $125 to write.” Juan translated the dollars into dineros. The two kidnappers shook their heads. “Plus, I’m only a woman, and kind of old. People probably wouldn’t pay much for me.” Is fifty-five that old? Millie thought to herself.
The two kidnappers shook their heads and again and went to the corner and whispered to each other. They came back. The short one did the talking.
“How we know you really write the book?” The short man asked.
“Oh,” Millie answered pleasantly, “I could read it to you. I have it practically memorized anyway. But you really must untie me. Where would I run to? I have no idea where I am.”
The two men whispered to each other and seemed to come to an agreement. They untied Millie and handed her back the book. Then they pulled her around to a small kitchen table. The taller man got more cups of water. They gestured for Juan to come over. He hobbled over on his chair.
The four of them sat at the table; Juan still loosely tied, while Millie read them The Hidden Staircase.
Continued Part II
Taken from – Kindle Vella
Carolyn Keene, Telephone for Miss Keene
Courtney E. Webb
ASIN:
06 Monday Mar 2023
Posted in aging, exercise, homelessnes
≈ Comments Off on Homeless Deaths from the Cold
TUCSON (KVOA) – So far this year, 46 people experiencing homelessness have died in Pima County. Internet 3/23
The number of homeless deaths has been steadily increasing over the past few years.
“It’s heartbreaking,” Lisa Chastain of Tucson’s Gospel Rescue Mission said.
Chastain said she has seen the number of people experiencing homelessness continue to increase in Pima County.
The lingering pandemic has only made the situation worse.
Many have one thing in common.
“The majority of the people we see are either drug issues or mental health,” Chastain said.
For some, those drug issues can prove deadly.
According to the latest numbers from the Pima County Office of the Medical Examiner, there were 125 deaths of individuals experiencing homelessness in 2020, the first year statistics were available. In 2021, that number rose to 158.
OME said more than half of those deaths were due to accidental overdose. In addition, about three-quarters of those who died were men.
“One of the challenges that we’re having right now is we’re seeing a lot of weapons,” Tucson City Councilmember Steve Kozachik said. “And we are seeing a lot of drug use.”
However, getting people into drug treatment is an ongoing challenge, even though it may be exactly what they need to keep them alive.
“It has to be somebody’s choice; we do have some people here who have been court-mandated and their lives have been changed,” Chastain said.
There is not one solution. It takes us all to combat this problem.
m.
Paul Birmingham is an Investigative Producer for KVOA News 4 Tucson. He is a three time Edward R. Murrow award winner, native Tucsonan, and a proud Arizona Wildcat.
L.A. has great weather, yet more homeless die of the cold here than in New York
Esteban Velasquez, 54, tries to stay warm as pedestrians walk along South Broadway in downtown Los Angeles on a rainy day in January.
(Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
BY GALE HOLLANDSTAFF WRITER
FEB. 17, 2019 8:30 AM PT
John D. Brider was found passed out near a homeless shelter and taken to Los Angeles County-USC Medical Center, where he later died.
Brider, 63, had gone into cardiac arrest and oxygen had been cut off to his brain. But another, seemingly improbable, factor contributed to his death last winter: hypothermia, or loss of body heat, from being out in the cold, the Los Angeles County coroner’s office ruled.
One of the abiding myths about Los Angeles is that homeless people come here from the East Coast or Midwest because at least they won’t freeze to death.
But despite L.A.’s typical sunshine and mild temperatures, five homeless people, including Brider, died of causes that included or were complicated by hypothermia in the county last year, surpassing San Francisco and New York City, which each reported two deaths. Over the last three years, 13 people have died at least partly because of the cold, the coroner’s office said. And advocates worry that this cold, rainy winter will mean more fatalities.
Hypothermia has led to more deaths in L.A. than in colder regions because 39,000 homeless people here live outdoors — by far the most of any metropolitan area in the country. L.A.’s generally moderate Mediterranean climate is no shield, because hypothermia can set in at temperatures as high as 50 degrees, experts say.
Going without a hat can drain up to half of a person’s body heat, and wet clothing can intensify heat loss twentyfold, according to a 2007 report from the National Health Care for the Homeless Council. Underlying medical conditions, alcohol and drug use — including the use of psychiatric medications — mental illness and the privations of living outdoors intensify the risk. Brider, for example, tested positive for cocaine and had cancer of the throat and tongue, the coroner said.
“Many people experiencing homelessness suffer from malnutrition and sleep deprivation, leading to some of them remaining out in the cold. Ultimately, sometimes they die,” said Bobby Watts, the homeless council’s chief executive.
L.A.’s hypothermia cases, first reported in the Capital & Main online publication, are a tiny fraction of the overall homeless death toll, which climbed from 720 in 2016 to 900 last year. But hypothermia is a particularly appalling , and preventable, way to die.
“The idea that people froze to death is really horrible; it is a shared societal tragedy,” said Jim O’Connell, founding director of the Boston Health Care for the Homeless Program, who researches hypothermia among homeless people.
Cristal, 31, left, sits on a skid row sidewalk in downtown L.A. on a recent cold, rainy day.
(Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
A spokesman for Mayor Eric Garcetti said the city and county had added 1,607 new shelter beds in a year and expanded outreach. The county’s winter shelter program provides 1,200 extra beds from December to the end of March.
“The number of emergency beds for our homeless neighbors has increased each year for the last three years,” said spokesman Alex Comisar, “and we’re doing more outreach than ever before to bring people inside during inclement weather.”
But although most cold-exposure deaths occur in the winter, Mark Stuart, 56, died of probable hypothermia on a Long Beach embankment in April 2016 — after the winter shelters shut down. O’Connell says hypothermia is a particular risk when the temperature drops more than 10 degrees over the course of the day, a common phenomenon in L.A.
Jonathan E. Sherin, director of the Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health, says homeless people with severe and persistent mental illness are in jeopardy of hypothermia.
Over the last six to eight months, the county’s specialized Homeless Outreach Mobile Engagement teams, with 30 staff members supported by a psychiatrist, have fanned out to remote encampments to find homeless people who need help, he said.
“I wish it were happening more quickly,” said Sherin, who hopes to double staffing in the next year or so. “It’s our highest priority.”
Some homeless people perished from the cold in public view. A 44-year-old man sat outside a business for two nights in January 2018 before someone inside the building called 911, the coroner reported.
28 Saturday Jan 2023
Posted in aging, exercise, dating, families, Fiction, FRIENDSHIP, romance, teenagers
≈ Comments Off on Old Town Pasadena – Part II
#
( Previously, Kristie was getting some unwanted attention at church. She called on Sam Reynolds, her boyfriend to help. He then decided they could both use a short vacation. They are on their way to a B & B in Pasadena.)
They stopped at a McDonalds on the way down to get some lunch and regroup. Sam pulled out his street map of LA.
“Okay, I think it’s right here.” He pointed.
“Alright,” Kristie replied putting some French fries in her mouth.
“I think we can, yes, get over the Grapevine down on the 405 and then branch over at the 210 to Pasadena. That should save us a bunch of LA traffic.”
“Sounds good,” Kristie said, “want me to drive?”
Sam stole some of her fries.
“Uh, sure. You want?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll put the address into my phone for the GPS thing.”
Back on the road, they had traded places and it was Sam’s turn to snooze.
Kristie looked over at him. I love watching him sleep, she thought to herself. Actually, I love watching him anytime. A buff dude, Sam spent a fair amount of time in the gym keeping in shape. He would wear a turquoise cut off gym shirt that played up his bright blue eyes and she would just sigh. I am a lucky gal. Not everyone my age, divorced with two grown kids can say the same.
Driving along, her mind wandered back in time to her divorce. She had filed when she discovered her husband was cheating on her on his out-of-town trips. When she had confronted him with the evidence, he had just crumpled like an over-blown balloon. He had wanted reconciliation, but she had suspected this for a very long time. Who knew how many women it had been. She was done playing games.
Oddly enough, her two daughters continued to take his side for a long time and insisted she was being unreasonable. She learned to stop arguing with them about it. Phil was still in the LA area and her two girls still gravitated more to him. Although he had been the absent parent, always gone with work and trips and she had been the caretaker, they still seemed to care for him the most. She couldn’t understand it.
She sighed at the memories. However, since Sam had showed up on the scene, they seemed to be coming around more. They both enjoyed his easygoing manner and gentlemanly ways. He would kid them about this and that and they would both laugh hysterically. Like kids again, she thought. Just like kids again.
She consulted her cell phone again, the little arrows were starting to point toward the 210. Traffic began to slow and Sam woke up.
“We there yet, Mom?”
“Getting close. Look at this map again would you, I think the offramp might be the tricky part.”
Forty minutes later they were traveling south through Pasadena towards South Pasadena. The weather for late fall was sunny, crisp and clear.
“Hey, look at that bridge,” Sam called out.
Kristie pulled the car to the curb.
“Yeah, that’s the Colorado Street Bridge, been here a long time. Called the Jumper’s Bridge.”
“The what?”
“Jumper’s Bridge. Apparently, more people have jumped off that bridge than anything else around here.”
“Whew, good to know, I guess.”
They traveled through dense foliage next to the road as it curved around the soft hills of Pasadena. They could smell the faint scent of something burning. A few houses had chimneys and wispy trails of smoke escaped from the tops.
Sam looked at the map. “Think we’re almost there. It’ll be on the right.”
Abruptly a sign came into view and Kristie barely had time to signal and make a sharp right into a drive. The drive led up the hill and was edged with large trees and bushes. They pulled right into the parking lot and the three-story house came into full view.
“Wow!” Kristie let out as she pulled in.
It was a beautiful, turn of the century home that had been carefully restored. It had a peaked gable roof over a large front porch cluttered with easy chairs and occasional tables.
Sam reached over and popped the trunk while Kristie walked toward the house. There were large plate glass windows on the front and the tops of each had clear decorative glass panels with lead scrolling. She went up the steps to admire the scalloped shingles on the outside.
She was touching one with a finger when the front door flew open, and a very large Bill Bass appeared.
“Kristie! Sam! You’re here!”
Bill squeezed Kristie in a bear hug and she momentarily stopped breathing.
“Thanks, Bill,” she gave a little gasp.
“Go in, go in! Mialee!” he boomed, “they’re here.”
A little woman of about 5’3” came hustling around a corner and lead Kristie into the living room.
“You must be Kristie. I am Mialee.” She smiled and gave a tiny bow.
Kristie put out her hand for a shake. “Yes, I am. So nice to meet you.”
“Let me show you your room and then we do lunch.”
Kristie let herself be lead upstairs. Sam and Bill were still booming at each other down in the parking lot. Might as well take the opportunity to wash up, she told herself.
Mialee led the way to an enormous bedroom with a huge double bed covered in a white, fluffy comforter. “The bathroom is here,” Mialee pointed. “Lunch in about twenty minutes.”
“Good, thanks.” Kristie put down her purse and as soon as the owner was out of the room, she sat on the bed and began to bounce up and down. Then, she sank backwards into the comforter and let the softness enfold her.
Sam came into the room backwards holding suitcases in both hands.
“What are you doing darlin’? It’s not time for bed yet.”
“Sam, I might never move again,” she told him.
He laughed. “Okay, but more grub fer me.”
She sighed, pulled herself up reluctantly and went to wash her face and hands. The tantalizing smells from the kitchen started to waft their way upstairs as she descended the stairs.
She entered a very large dining room off of the living room. It had two big walnut tables set for lunch and turrets of steaming food were being put down. Mialee was helped by a guy that looked to be the cook and the table was rapidly full with various dishes. Suddenly, Kristie realized how hungry she was and that McDonalds was a distant memory.
She began to serve herself.
“Wild mushroom soup,” Mialee pointed. “Long grain rice. Chops, stuffed chicken breasts,” she pointed at another bowls. “Rolls, butter. Would you like wine?”
Kristie waved it away. “Too early for me. Tonic water?”
“Coming up,” Mialee scurried away.
“. . . bought it when it was just a shack and have been rebuilding it for about ten years. Old guy finally ran out of money and Mialee was on the scene and just happened to have the ready to bail the guy out. I mean, he didn’t want to sell of course, but what could he do? Couldn’t afford the utility bill anymore.”
Sam nodded as Bill blathered on about the history of the house. Not so much to stop him filling his plate and shoveling in the goods.
Kristie cut into a very delicious pork chop and had a bite. That combined with the fluffy mashed potatoes and gravy and thin, green asparagus and she was almost in heaven. She chatted with some of the other guests around the table and admired the heavy crown molding that edged the top of the white plaster walls. Views of the Pasadena foothills could be seen through the enormous plate glass windows. She noticed a second building out back, a smaller, two-story affair.
“So, what’s that,” she pointed a fork at the building.
“Oh, that’s our overflow building. It gets too crowded here, we stuff them in over there.”
Kristie nodded.
“Yeah, and, um, Mialee’s sister lives there too,” Bill added through a mouth of mashed potatoes.
“What’s her name?”
He looked momentarily embarrassed. “Jen, yeah, uh, Jen.” He took a swig of his beer and his eyes slid over to Mialee.
Kristie grabbed a hot roll for buttering and glanced at him. Wonder what that’s about, she thought.
After the filling lunch, Kristie wanted to walk. She and Sam motored over to Colorado Blvd. to walk around the shops. The boulevard was festive and the city had already started to put up fairy lights on the overhead light standards. Pumpkins and signs of Thanksgiving could be seen in abundance. They ended up at Vroman’s book shop and wandered the shelves.
The store had a coffee shop so Kristie ordered her favorite…pumpkin latte. Sam couldn’t be persuaded to try anything stranger than a latte so Kristie gave up trying. They took their drinks to a table and sat.
She had found a cute book on cooking for the holidays and Sam was leafing through a new issue of Field and Stream.
“So, the place is beautiful,” she commented to Sam. “Where did Mialee get the money to buy a place like that?”
“Ever the nosey one, aren’t you?” he gave her nose a little tap. “Well, apparently, Mialee had a restaurant in Thailand that was fairly successful, which she sold. Plus, she is divorced from an American GI and I believe, don’t quote me, she did pretty well in the divorce.”
Kristie nodded and sipped her latte.
“The place is probably mortgaged to the yin-yang so, let’s hope they stay successful.”
She raised her cup to that. “And the food is divine.”
“It is that, it is indeed.”
After window shopping, they drove back. Kristie wanted to take a nap and Sam had plans to go out with Bill to a cigar shop. When they got back, Mialee’s daughter, Crystal was busy running back and forth with fresh towels. Her son, Daniel could be seen emptying trash cans.
“Looks like everybody gets to help,” Kristie whispered to Sam.
They wound their way around the two. Even Bill was busy, running a vacuum of all things. Kristie escaped to their room and closed the door. Throwing off her shoes and dumping her bag she fell face first into the giant coverlet and was soon fast asleep.
A couple of hours later, a groggy Kristie awoke from the sleep of the dead. She was disoriented a moment and didn’t know where she was. Looking around the room, she finally got her bearings.
What woke me up? She wondered and then heard it again. Voices drifting up from the kitchen.
“I told you no. How many times do I got to say it? No is no and why don’t you quit asking?”
There was a low murmured reply Kristie couldn’t hear.
“Jesus! I got to get dinner ready. If you’re not going to help, why don’t you go do something with yourself. I’m busy.”
There was the sound of a slamming door and then sounds in the kitchen. Mostly pots and pan getting banged around loudly. Kristie got up and went to wash her face in the lavatory. She combed her hair and changed her shirt.
Walking down the stairs, it looked like Sam was still not back. She remembered some hot tea fixings in the dining room. Quietly, she went in to make herself a cup. She could hear Mialee in the kitchen. Cup in hand, she gingerly pushed open the swinging kitchen door.
Mialee was standing at the sink, both arms stretched out straight, leaning against the porcelain. It looked like she had been crying.
“Oh, I’m sorry. . . “
Mialee jerked her head around and wiped her face with a shirt sleeve. “No, it’s okay. Just me being emotional. Did you have a good nap?”
“Oh yes, like a bear in hibernation. Your beds are great.”
Mialee walked out of the kitchen into the dining room. Kristie followed and watched while the woman made herself a cup of ginseng tea. Mialee gestured for Kristie to sit at the big table. The other guests were either still out sightseeing or napping upstairs.
“This is such a beautiful house…” Kristie started.
Mialee nodded. “Yes, and a great deal of work. You probably heard me with my sister, Jen.”
Kristie shrugged and sipped her tea.
“She, I, uh, both of us have put so much into this place.” She waved her hand around expansively.
“I am sure,” Kristie replied, “but your business seems to be doing so well.”
Mialee nodded. “It is doing well, but it has to do really well for us to make the mortgage and pay the bills. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything, but it is hard to make it in the restaurant trade.”
Kristie nodded. “I’m not expert, but I work at a credit union, and we see a lot of struggling owners. I guess it’s easy to lose your shirt in this kind of operation.”
Mialee sighed and wrapped both hands around her mug. “Jen used to help all the time with meals and maintenance. But then Bill showed up, they kind of . . .clashed and she got a job tending bar. Now, I hardly see her anymore. Then with her weird hours and these friends she brings home…I just don’t know.” Head down, the woman stared into her cup.
“Ah,” Kristie replied. A picture was staring to form. “And you don’t like her friends.”
Mialee shook her head. “No, not at all.” She sipped her tea some more. “Listen to me. I don’t know why I am telling you all this. You’re a guest! Time to get the dinner on. But, thanks for listening, Kristie. Bill talks about you and Sam all the time.”
“No problem,” Kristie replied. “Anytime. But now I think I’ll take a little walk before it’s time to start eating again!”
Mialee disappeared into the kitchen. Kristie grabbed her key, a cold bottle of water from the guest fridge and a sweater. She walked outside and saw the Ducati motorcycle parked next to the annexed building. There was no sign of Jen. Kristie walked down the driveway then a few blocks toward town. The leaves were turning bright red and yellow, and she was enjoying the sights and smells of fall. As she was returning, she noticed a little footpath close to the B and B that seemed to run from the street, up through the trees. Wonder where that goes, she thought.
A little later Sam and Bill got back, and Sam smelled of cigar smoke. Kristie didn’t mind because she loved the smell. Even though she knew he shouldn’t be smoking, she decided to not nag. Sam had got them a video to watch for the evening, so she was content.
As dinner was served, they heard the loud roar of the Ducati as it sped off from the back of the house and left the property. Bill and Mialee exchanged glances. Kristie noticed but said nothing. Not really my business, she chided herself.
Later, dinner was done and Mialee and Bill were busy with clean up. Kristie and Sam got half-way through the movie in the big living room. Both were tired and decided to go upstairs.
Later, Kristie woke up and pawed at the side table for her water glass…empty. Getting up, she decided to get a fresh bottle of Fiji water from the little frig downstairs. Quietly, she made her way down to the dining room and got a bottle. Something made her turn. Someone was standing next to the window smoking a cigarette.
She realized after a moment that it must be Mialee’s sister Jen. At first all Kristie could see was the glowing end of the cigarette.
“Oh,” she said, “you startled me.”
There was a little laugh, the young woman came forward.
“Yeah, I have that effect on some people.”
Mialee and her sister were about the same 5’3” in height and had the same coffee colored skin. That is where the similarity ended. Where Mialee had long hair tied in a pony, her sister had black hair cut in a jagged bob sticking out in angles all over her head. It was half purple and stood up in spots. She must use some killer gel, Kristie thought to herself.
She was dressed in tight, distressed jeans, over that a black leather jacket with chains and buttons everywhere. On her neck and everywhere skin showed, there were tattoos of all variety of pictures and colors. She wore heavy black eyeshadow and spikey silver jewelry in her ears, nose and neck. Reminds me of an anime character. Kristie thought absently.
“So,” Kristie commented, making conversation, “you must get off work very late.”
“Yeah,” the young woman replied, “the bar closes at 2 am and then there’s clean up.” She puffed on her cigarette. “You a guest here?”
“Ah, yeah.” Kristie started to inch toward the stairs. The girl had dark, intense eyes that were staring at her hard. She felt uncomfortable, almost like a question was hanging in the air. Somehow, she didn’t feel like waiting around until that question found a voice. “Well, back to bed.”
The eyes kept following her, the cigarette continued to glow in the dark. Kristie hustled back upstairs. She made sure the bedroom door was locked.
“What in the hell is that all about?” she mumbled to herself as she got back in bed.
“Wha. . .” Sam mumbled at her and then threw an arm over her. She smiled and snuggling up close to him, closed her eyes and was soon asleep again.
(Part III – Sam and Kristie have gotten to the B & B in Pasadena and are enjoying their visit with old friend Bill Blass and his girlfriend, Mialee. However, a sister seems to be a little less than friendly.)
25 Wednesday Jan 2023
Posted in aging, exercise, dating, romance
≈ Comments Off on The Wind
Tap, tap, tap! Father Paul jabbed at the blank piece of paper with increasing staccato force. Jab! The page stayed blank.
In disgust, he threw down the pen and stood up and walked to the double pane windows and looked out. The trees bent and swayed in the afternoon wind, the last lingering leaves hanging on tenaciously. He brushed his unruly bangs out of his eyes once again and they immediately fell back into the same place. He folded his arms together and stared out.
As the newest parish priest, young Father Paul had some big shoes to fill. His predecessor, Father Lee had recently been kicked upstairs to a much larger church, with a bigger, more established and wealthy congregation. Whenever they had cause to get together to share mass for the holidays, Father Lee was positively leaking bonhomie, good will and enjoyment of life in his new, more comfortable surroundings.
Father Paul couldn’t really complain. This was his first promotion to head priest at this largely immigrant parish church with its tiny, cramped rooms, worn out facilities and a nave so small it could hardly hold the throng of Pilipino parishioners that pushed in every Sunday.
“Ah, well,” he sighed to himself, “here I am wondering about how well I’m doing when it’s questionable how many of them speak English and understand anything I say!”
Father Paul was no stranger to doing time in the trenches. He had spent three long, hot years in the Philippines and one wonderful year in Australia. Apparently, he had impressed the higher ups with his abilities and had been transferred to this small, poor parish in the city. He knew that if he just did his job diligently, to the best of his abilities, the nicer, fancier parish offers would eventually appear.
“I just have to get through this part,” he thought to himself, “and by the way, that damn homily!” This was Friday and he was completely out of ideas for the Sunday Mass. His writer’s block was blooming into panic.
He was about to turn away from the window when his eye was drawn to the one last little brown leaf stubbornly clinging to the tree in front of his window.
“The wind,” he snapped his fingers, ‘that’s it!” he almost shouted. He ran over to his desk and pulled out his Old Testament reference manual. He paused for a moment and looked up. “Thank you, Father,” he said with quiet sincerity.
#
Dan, a thirty-eight year old construction superintendent, was balancing his huge frame on a little metal folding chair. He was also balancing a blue Big Book in his lap trying hard to concentrate on what he was reading.
Successful in most areas of his life, Dan had never been academically inclined, but had managed to scrape by in high school. After two years of college, he managed to get his coveted General Contractor’s license. Dan valued this license very much. Also, Dan’s wife-Cecile, two kids, bank officers, his Mom, Dad and various friends and relations all valued Dan’s license too, along with his prodigious ability to make money. Dan’s innate good looks, easy manner, and charm helped to land many housing contracts that afforded his wife and kids the life they had grown very accustomed to.
Cecile’s brunette beauty queen good looks were the perfect complement to Dan’s 6’2” rugged build, blond hair, blue-eyed, Viking self. Ten years after they were married, Cecile was still very much a looker and when she turned those big brown doe eyes on Dan with disappointment written on her beautiful face, his heart just broke. He couldn’t let her down with this drinking thing, he just couldn’t.
Dan sweated under the bad florescent lights in the shabby AA meeting hall and tried hard to stop mentally replacing the horrible brown carpet with a higher-grade brand.
“Just focus!” he thought viciously. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “This getting sober is the shits,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.
Dan read out loud about Bill W’s experience of meeting God and it how it felt like a great mountain wind blowing through him.
The lady next to him whispered that is was the wind not of air but of spirit blowing. “Heavy,” thought Dan.
The next Sunday, some miles away in another section of town, Christine McCarthy was getting ready to go to Mass. She could do a lot with her long red hair, she had a bunch of it. The rest of her was a bit more of a challenge.
Of Irish ancestry, Christine was tall, skinny, with pale white skin, freckles and unfortunately, a big nose. A little past the comfortable middle of middle age, Christine resembled, in profile, the Witch of the West. The nose combined with a pronounced chin needed a lot of expensive cosmetics to soften.
After doing her very best with bottle and brush for an hour, she knew it was as good as it was going to get this side of a Hollywood makeover. She picked up her purse and did one last glance at the hall mirror. She was looking forward to hearing Father Paul, the new priest today, even if she had to drive a little farther to that tiny church. She liked him and he was kind of cute. She almost thought there for a minute that he was a little taken with her.
“Oh, no,” she laughed at herself, “a priest, never!” Shaking her head, she went to get her car.
#
Later, Father Paul did deliver.
“And a whopper too,” Christine thought. He had delved way back into the Old Testament to discuss their interpretation of the word ‘wind’ and its being the visible sign of the presence of God, almost like the moving finger itself.
“Thus, it is with the symbol of the wind, a fundamental event in the revelation of the Holy Spirit: ‘And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house where they were gathered [with Mary]” (Acts 2:2),’ quoted Father Paul.
Also, “We must also note that the wind symbol, as an explicit reference to the Holy Spirit and the Spirit’s action, belongs to the language and doctrine of the New Testament. In the Old Testament the wind, like a ‘hurricane,’ is the expression of God’s wrath (cf. Ez 13:13), while the ‘tiny whispering sound’ speaks of the intimate nature of his conversations with the prophets (cf. 1 Kgs 19:12),” he went on. The very wind itself can be seen as a sign of God he told the congregation.
“Wow,” thought Christine, “this Father Paul is the goods!”
#
Six months had passed since the sermon and Christine, in addition to being a regular church goer, was also an AA old-timer and had been asked to speak at a meeting, an invitation she gladly accepted. Christine was definitely between boyfriends – way between and did everything in her power to increase her public exposure.
“You never know,” she thought to herself, “when the next He might be listening.”
It just so happened that Dan was in the audience that night with six solid months of sobriety under his belt. He had gotten past the sweaty, bright light and loud noises phase. He was almost able to concentrate now when one of the speakers was talking.
Dan got his coffee and said his hello’s and sat down to listen to Christina speak. She talked about her life, her former singing career and her aspirations to return to the stage. Dan was touched, he was moved. He sat there, crammed in between other big, hunky, sobering up drunks, absorbing her every word.
It was at that moment, when something swept over him like a strong, what?
“What?” He sat grasping. “Like a strong wind, yes, yes, that was it!” A strong wind: he heard what she said and he understood and understood her feelings at that very moment. It was a complete epiphany moment. For the first time in his life, this good-looking, selfish, pampered, self-centered guy had complete empathy for someone else. Wow! He couldn’t believe it. Incredible. He realized he was having a spiritual experience.
After the meeting, Christine was surrounded by well-wishers telling her how much they liked her talk. Dan couldn’t get through to thank her and had to inch his way forward. He kept glancing at the big clock, his ride was due to leave and he couldn’t be late.
Finally, he got close enough. “Hey, can I get your number?” he burted out to her.
Christine gawked, she had seen this guy before at a distance at meetings, but, up close, what a looker!
“Sure,” she fumbled and grabbed a piece of paper and scratched out her phone number. Snatching the paper, he thanked her quickly and ran off.
She stood staring at the back of his retreating head before getting caught up in the babble of member’s voices again.
Later, Dan was careful to compose his text to Christine. He was still new to this AA thing and wanted to get it right. He told her how much he had enjoyed her talk and how much he really wanted her to have everything she wished for. He sent it to her phone.
Christine stared at the text message a long time. She read it over several times. She had no idea that she had made such an impression on him. Besides, he was so much younger than she was. But, what the heck! Age was just a number and if he didn’t care, well, neither did she! Three days later, after thinking it over carefully, Christine sent back a very warm message to Dan thanking him for the kind words.
Things continued to progress with Christine and Dan over the next few months. They would exchange the odd text back and forth, always regarding some AA matter or other. They would also see each other at meetings and Christine found herself, almost unconsciously, gravitating toward those meetings where Dan was a regular attendee. Dan for his part was forever grateful to the AA old-timer who had helped him with his newfound understanding of others and their feelings. This was especially true with his wife, Cecile, who had often in the past accused Dan of being insensitive.
In solid AA fashion, Dan attended an all-men’s meeting and kept personal remarks about his wife to that meeting and shared more generic, general stuff at the mixed meetings.
Christine for her part was getting foil treatments on her hair to increase glossiness, Botox in the forehead to reduce wrinkles and buying Victoria Secret super-gel bras to increase volume and lift. She was also looking for blouses with increasingly lower front cuts.
The happy day arrived for Dan when he was about to turn one year sober. Dan was happy, Cecile was thrilled, his parents were delighted and nothing would do but to crank out the all-weather BBQ set in the backyard and throw the first ever summer celebration of Dan’s new found sobriety.
Dan and Cecile published a flyer to invite ‘everyone’. Dan made sure to place one firmly in the hand of Christine with endearing words about how he really wanted her to be there to celebrate his day.
Christine almost blushed. Instead, she rushed home, checked her closet and decided she did not own one thing sexy enough for a day-time BBQ. She grabbed her purse and headed for the mall.
Three days later, with a new flouncy hairdo, teeth cleaned (and whitened) at the dentist, fresh polish on nails and toes, she surveyed herself in the full length mirror. “What do you think?” she asked Frisky her dog. He seemed to like the get up. The outfit was a slinky blue-green top and pants set that was close fitting and looked good on her lean frame. It actually brought out the green in her eyes which was really why she bought it. “Frisky, the whole enchilada cost me a small fortune, but he’s worth it right?” Frisky looked thoughtful.
Christine found the place, address clutched in her hand, nestled deep in the burbs with kids, cars and dogs everywhere. It was clearly the right address because of all the cars parked up and down the street. She walked in the front door which was half open, displaying a clutch of colorful balloons.
She grabbed a diet coke and started making the rounds of the gabbling AA’s filling up the house. She preened and pirouetted as person after person complimented her new outfit. She was of course waiting for the perfect moment to make maximum impact on her boy. Just as she was turning to go out to the pool area she was greeted by a delicious brunette pushing a large plate of canapés in her face.
“Try one, they’re great!” The brunette twinkled and smiled at the other guests as they walked by. “You must be Christine.”
Christine had popped a tasty morsel into her mouth when the young woman said “I’ve heard so much about you, I’m Dan’s wife, Cecile!”
The morsel caught in Christine throat, and she almost choked. She started to cough. Cecile looked alarmed and cried “Fred, Fred, some water please!” Fred, a guest, a look of alarm on his face, grabbed a glass, splashed some water in it and came running.
“Oh, oh, are you okay?” Cecile was patting Christine on the back. Christine grabbed the water and gulped it down.
“Thank you, thank you,” she gasped. “I’ll be ok,” as she waved away the concerned Cecile. She took a big breath. “See, I’m okay, fine really. I’ll just go use the bathroom a mo….” Christine escaped down the hallway into the first tiny loo she could find.
She splashed some water on her face. “The hell with the makeup,” she snarled at her own image in the mirror. For a minute she rested both hands on the cool ceramic and stared at herself in disbelief.
Collecting herself, she slowly and softly opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Speaking cheerfully and in as normal a voice as possible, she made her way casually and quickly out the front door and fairly trotted to her car, wiping the tears away as she went.
The next Sunday Christine was back in church wearing flat black shoes, black tights and a plain black synthetic fiber dress. Her hair was in a knot at the back of her head and for makeup she was wearing lip gloss. She clutched her rosary beads in one hand and her little prayer book in the other.
She was listening very hard to Father Paul talk about the necessity of forgiveness of others.
Christine sat very still and listened, not moving a muscle.
25 Saturday Jun 2022
Posted in aging, exercise, homelessnes, Jobs and the workplace
≈ Comments Off on Commercial Real Estate and Big Business force out the Middle Class
Commercial Real Estate and Big Business force out the Middle class in Arizona.
Why are Americans choosing to live overseas? Can small business survive Amazon and Walmart?
Can an employee afford to live here? Why are Americans moving overseas? This is a chart of the number (estimated) of US citizens living abroad.
| Country | Number of Americans (estimated) |
| Mexico | 799,000 |
| Canada | 273,000 |
| United Kingdom | 171,000 |
| Germany | 153,000 |
| Hong Kong] | 85,000 |
| Australia | 117,000 |
| Israel | 77,000 |
| South Korea | 68,000 |
| France | 62,000 |
| Japan | 58,000 |
| Spain | 57,000 |
| Italy | 54,000 |
| Philippines | 38,000 |
| New Zealand | 36,000 |
14 Countries With the Most American Expats: Updated: 05/31/2022
Over 8.7 million non-military Americans live overseas.
However, where do most of them live? Well, the answer may surprise you.
Countries With Most American Expats
First off, this chart won’t include U.S. military personnel. Moreover, since governments collect information on immigration in various ways, there’s no way to provide factual information about the number of American immigrants in each country.
The chart was sourced from the U.N. International Migrant Stock at Mid-Year by Sex and Region, Country or Area of Destination, and Origin.
What country has the most rich and poor? Is this what is happening in the US? Are we becoming the land of the rich and poor? Why does it take two armed Country Sheriffs to guard the local Walmart store during the day?
Top 10 Countries with the Highest Wealth Inequality (World Bank Gini index):
South Africa’s income inequality has become worse over the years. The top 1% of earners take home almost 20% of income and the top 10% take home 65%. That means that 90% of South African earners take home only 35% of all income. ________________________________________________________________________
China, India and the U. S. are projected to retain the top three rankings as the countries with the largest middle-class populations, according to World Data Lab. Slow or negative population growth in some advanced economies will lead to a shrinking middle class in countries like Japan, Germany, Italy and Poland.(World Data Lab – Bloomberg).
(Note: The WDL study uses 2011 dollars at purchasing power parity.)
First Published: Fri, September 03 2021. 06:36 IST
GDP = Gross Domestic Product
And PPP = Purchasing Power Parity (per capita/per person on average)
| Country | GDP-PPP ($) |
| Luxembourg | 126,569 |
| Ireland | 111,360 |
| Singapore | 107,677 |
| Qatar | 100,037 |
| Switzerland | 78,112 |
| United Arab Emirates | 74,245 |
| Norway | 69,859 |
| United States | 69,375 |
| Macao SAR | 67,475 |
| Brunei Darussalam | 65,675 |
| San Marino | 65,446 |
As you can see, The GDO and PPP (Gross Domestic Product and Purchasing Power Parity of the US: is 50% of that of Luxemburg and Ireland! Are we gradually slipping behind?
Commercial Real Estate owners in AZ own 25% of all property, private owners, 18% and the Federal government 43%. People also ask: https://www.fs.fed.us/rm/boise/AWAE/labs/awae_flagstaff/watersheds/basics/management.html
| Bottom of Form Public Land Management and Land Ownership in Arizona Public Land Management and Land Ownership in Arizona There are 72.9 million acres of land in Arizona. Approximately 12.9 million acres, or 18%, in Arizona are privately owned. Approximately 9.6 million acres in Arizona, or 13 %, are managed by the State of Arizona. Approximately 20.1 million acres in Arizona, or 27 %, are held in trust by the United State Government for native Americans. Approximately 30.3 million acres in Arizona, or 42 %, are owned by the citizens of the United States. These public lands are managed by the USDA Forest Service, the National Park Service, military organizations, and USDI Bureau of Land Management |
Search Resultshttps://chamberbusinessnews.com/2022/03/23/bill-to-lower-arizona-commercial-property-tax-inches-closer-to-passage/ As rents skyrocket, commercial owners seek to pay less tax. The meteoric rise of homelessness is clearly linked, in part, to rising rent prices.
“Arizona commercial property makes up roughly one-fifth of the property owned in the state, and yet we pay around one-third of the total cost incurred by property taxes,” said Tim Lawless, the president of CREED, Commercial Real-estate Executives for Economic Development .Mar 23, 2022
18% property privately owned
42 % owned by Federal government
25% commercial real estate
85% of all property
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Every resident in the state needs to know that commercial real estate investors are not your friends. They are not your neighbors, they won’t be your neighbors, it is unlikely they will ever live here. They don’t care about the city, the state, the wildlife or the schools. They are here for one reason only and that is to make money. They will then take the cash and live in very expensive and exclusive places (maybe New Zealand or some small island) and leave the residents to deal with homelessness, gangs and crime.
The residents of AZ need to curb the influx of commercial investors of properties that turn us all into the rental poor with no hope of ever buying a home. If the influx cannot be stopped (or we don’t want it to) the people of the state need to put a lid on the rapidly escalating % of rent increases that are happening all over the state. If this does not happen, the middle class drain out of the state will continue and increase. We will be left with a situation that is occurring in California where the cities are becoming composed of the rich, the poor and the gangs.
This state, much like what has happened in California, will not only become not affordable, it will become unlivable. I clearly recall a story told to me from a California transplant. She sold a nice home in Victorville for a loss because the homeless had become so aggressive around the grocery stores, middle-aged housewives were carrying guns in their purses. That is starting to happen here and we need to stop it.
Cew 7/22
14 Thursday Oct 2021
Posted in aging, exercise, Crime - Fioction
≈ Comments Off on Samuel Takes a Trip – Pt I
(Chap 5 of The Jeremy Beans Files book)
The Beans’ household was sleeping.
David and Alice Beans snored gently in the master bedroom. Paws, the cat, slept close to Alice’s feet. Tyler Beans, aged fourteen, sawed logs in his long twin bed in his own bedroom. He dreamed of
walking up to the podium and accepting the first prize in the national science fair. He posed for pictures with his mom and dad. Samuel and Jeremy tried to get into the picture but Tyler shooed them away.
Jeremy Beans, aged twelve, snored gently and dreamed of catching a long fly. He caught it and the crowd went wild. His teammates ran to him and pounded him on the back. He turned over in his twin and pulled at the orange and brown plaid bed cover. He disturbed Beamer, the dog, sleeping at the foot of the bed. Beamer lifted his head a moment and then laid it back down with a grunt.
A bright moonlight shone on the Beans’ back yard. It shown on twinkling dewdrops covering the grass and two large maple trees in the back. All was silent and still. A dark shadow appeared at the back corner of the slum-stone fencing. The shadow came over the wall silently and dropped to the grass in a crouch. The figure paused, listening.
Inside, Samuel Beans, almost eight years of age, tossed and turned in his sleep. His dreams were restless and intense. He clutched his gold and black metal tiger in both hands. At one point, he even cried out a little.
“No, no. Not him!” he said softly to the air.
A battle raged on in Samuel’s brain. He was back in the desert. It was like the one where they had been before. Where he had gotten lost one time with Jeremy. When they landed in the wrong location through the portal. A portal given to Jeremy by his uncle Al.
Samuel dreamed on.
The sand whirled around and it was hot. The sun was dropping but it was still hot in the desert and Samuel was frightened. He was with a little boy, a few years younger. The boy was small and skinny, and also very sick. Jeremy was trying to help him. They desperately needed to hide. Jeremy was frantically trying find a place and it seemed hopeless. They were in a small village with lots of sand and few buildings.
They had been eluding the men on horseback for two days. But, the men were strong and the horses were fast. They would be here in no time at all. Jeremy wanted to weep with frustration. The little boy with him needed rest. They both needed water and a place to sleep.
Toward the outskirts of this very tiny village, Jeremy spotted something different. It was a small house. Or was it a house? He hustled the little boy toward the structure. A house? No, there were no people living there and there was no real door. Just an opening with writing over the entrance. It was in Arabic so Samuel had no idea what it said. He went inside dragging the boy behind him. It was immediately cooler here and the wind stopped. He pressed his face to the thick plaster wall. It felt cool and inviting.
The Arabic boy shivered even with the heat, goosebumps on his arms. His large brown eyes looked sunken in his small, pointed face. His black scraggly hair was plastered to his head with sweat and his lips were dry and cracked. Samuel looked back at his companion again with concern.
If we could just find a place to lie down, maybe he’ll get better, Samuel thought to himself. Half of him believed it.
He took out his precious reserve of water and had the boy sit down. Then he squeezed some drops from the leather pouch into the boy’s mouth. The kid swallowed gratefully and closed his eyes. His hands still clasped a smaller leather pouch tied around his waist. He had kept one hand on the pouch their entire journey. Samuel had wondered many times what was in the pouch and why the boy clutched it so tightly. He allowed himself some drops of water and rolled them around in his mouth before swallowing. They weren’t going to last if they didn’t get more, he thought desperately to himself.
Samuel left the boy and got up to explore the small building. There was more writing, in Arabic, on the walls. In the front, there was a small platform, like what they had in church back home. Samuel wondered if this was a church of some kind. He went and touched the platform, it too was cool; done in a black and white streaked marble.
Fingertips trailing along the edge, he felt his way to the back of the podium. It was not a lot taller than he was.
Geeze, these people must be short, he thought. Not like those guys on horseback. Man, they were huge!
Samuel thought of the men on horseback, all wearing turbans, black leather belts and curved swords stuck in their belts. Frightening.
Behind the marble podium, Samuel stared into the gloom. Was that a hole in the floor? He went overand stared down. It was and there was a rough wooden ladder leading down. He thought he could see a flickering light at the bottom. Cautiously, he turned around and went down the ladder carefully so he didn’t miss his step, like Jeremy always told him. He dropped to the bottom and thunked lightly on dirt floor. There was an old torch stuck in a holder in one wall. He went forward and saw dim corridors going off in two directions.
What the heck? He thought to himself. This very much reminded him of someplace else he had been. On another adventure with Jeremy and Uncle Al. It had been a crypt with a lot of skeletons. Was this the same? On tiptoe he went forward and saw carved into the hard packed dirt, squarish cubicles. There were a couple that were empty, further on he found the bones. There were rows of dead people. Mostly skeletons that were bones with some cloth hanging off them. There were two that were a little fresher; he averted his nose. Further in, they were just very old bones lying on their backs.
He had an idea. Yes, they could hide here. Who could find them? Who would think to look? Hustling back up the ladder, he went to retrieve his companion.
“Kid, hey kid.” he shook the little boy’s shoulder. The boy had fallen to sleep where he sat, curled up in a ball. Samuel had a moment of discomfort. “Kid,” he didn’t want to shout or make too make noise.
Slowly the boy opened his eyes and focused on Samuel’s face. “We got to go. Get up. Please.” Samuel made upward motions with his hands. Wearily, the boy let Samuel pull him up to his feet. He was very weak now. Samuel placed one skinny arm over his own shoulder like they learned in camp and pulled the boy toward the podium.
“You got to climb down,” he pointed at the ladder. The boy slowly shook his head no.
“You got to, they’re coming.” Samuel pointed back at the door. He knew the kid couldn’t understand the language but the gestures were pretty clear. The boy’s big eyes rolled back to the door and he sighed. He turned and put one foot on the ladder and then another.
Samuel hung onto the back of the boy’s cotton shirt until he was down several steps, then he
started to go down himself. Suddenly he stopped. His stomach lurched. They had left some
footprints in the dirt on the church. Sweat popped up on his upper lip. They can find us, he thought. He let go of the boy’s shirt and went back into the church. He flecked the dirt and dust around until the footprints were pretty well gone. Have to do, he thought hurriedly as he followed the boy down.
(Continued in part II.)
See more of Courtney’s writing on:
https://sites.google.com/view/webbywritercom/page-5?authuser=0
04 Friday Nov 2016
Posted in aging, exercise, Uncategorized
≈ Comments Off on Preventing Falls in Older Adults
National Council on Aging
Did you know that one in three older Americans falls every year? Falls are the leading cause of both fatal and nonfatal injuries for people aged 65+.
Falls can result in hip fractures, broken bones, and head injuries. And even falls without a major injury can cause an older adult to become fearful or depressed, making it difficult for them to stay active.
If you have an aging parent, grandparent, or neighbor in your life, helping them reduce their risk of falling is a great way to help them stay healthy and independent as long as possible.
The good news about falls is that most of them can be prevented. The key is to know where to look. Here are some common factors that can lead to a fall:
6 Steps to Reducing Falls
Here are six easy steps you can take today to help your older loved one reduce their risk of a fall:
Ask your older loved one if they’re concerned about falling. Many older adults recognize that falling is a risk, but they believe it won’t happen to them or they won’t get hurt—even if they’ve already fallen in the past. A good place to start is by sharing NCOA’s Debunking the Myths of Older Adult Falls. If they’re concerned about falling, dizziness, or balance, suggest that they discuss it with their health care provider who can assess their risk and suggest programs or services that could help.
Find out if your older loved one is experiencing any problems with managing their own health. Are they having trouble remembering to take their medications—or are they experiencing side effects? Is it getting more difficult for them to do things they used to do easily?
Also make sure they’re taking advantage of all the preventive benefits now offered under Medicare, such as the Annual Wellness visit. Encourage them to speak openly with their health care provider about all of their concerns.
If your older loved one wears glasses, make sure they have a current prescription and they’re using the glasses as advised by their eye doctor.
Remember that using tint-changing lenses can be hazardous when going from bright sun into darkened buildings and homes. A simple strategy is to change glasses upon entry or stop until their lenses adjust.
Bifocals also can be problematic on stairs, so it’s important to be cautious. For those already struggling with low vision, consult with a low-vision specialist for ways to make the most of their eyesight.
These are all signs that it might be time to see a physical therapist. A trained physical therapist can help your older loved one improve their balance, strength, and gait through exercise. They might also suggest a cane or walker—and provide guidance on how to use these aids. Make sure to follow their advice. Poorly fit aids actually can increase the risk of falling.
If your older loved one is having a hard time keeping track of medicines or is experiencing side effects, encourage them to discuss their concerns with their doctor and pharmacist. Suggest that they have their medications reviewed each time they get a new prescription.
My mom had an elaborate spreadsheet to keep track of her medications and schedules. Adding a timed medication dispenser that my sister refilled each month promoted her peace of mind and allowed us to ensure her adherence to the prescribed regime.
Also, beware of non-prescription medications that contain sleep aids—including painkillers with “PM” in their names. These can lead to balance issues and dizziness. If your older loved one is having sleeping problems, encourage them to talk to their doctor or pharmacist about safer alternatives.
There are many simple and inexpensive ways to make a home safer. For professional assistance, consult an Occupational Therapist. Here are some examples:
For more ideas on how to make the home safer, the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) offers a home assessment checklist in multiple languages.
NCOA, the Administration on Aging, and the CDC also promote a variety of community-based programs, like A Matter of Balance, Stepping On, and Tai Chi, that can help older adults learn how to reduce their risk of falling.
07 Friday Oct 2016
Posted in aging, exercise, dementia, Uncategorized
≈ Comments Off on Rudolph Tanzi- Fight against Alzheimer’s Disease – amyloids
The cure for your infection, may be the thing that eventually kills you; amyloids which build up plaque in the brain associated with Alzheimer’s Disease. The brains reactive inflammation to the plaque may cause the onset of Alzheimer’s.
RESEARCH ARTICLEALZHEIMER’S DISEASE
A protein called Aβ is thought to cause neuronal death in Alzheimer’s disease (AD). Aβ forms insoluble aggregates in the brains of patients with AD, which are a hallmark of the disease. Aβ and its propensity for aggregation are widely viewed as intrinsically abnormal. However, in new work, Kumar et al. show that Aβ is a natural antibiotic that protects the brain from infection. Most surprisingly, Aβ aggregates trap and imprison bacterial pathogens. It remains unclear whether Aβ is fighting a real or falsely perceived infection in AD. However, in any case, these findings identify inflammatory pathways as potential new drug targets for treating AD.
The amyloid-β peptide (Aβ) is a key protein in Alzheimer’s disease (AD) pathology. We previously reported in vitro evidence suggesting that Aβ is an antimicrobial peptide. We present in vivo data showing that Aβ expression protects against fungal and bacterial infections in mouse, nematode, and cell culture models of AD. We show that Aβ oligomerization, a behavior traditionally viewed as intrinsically pathological, may be necessary for the antimicrobial activities of the peptide. Collectively, our data are consistent with a model in which soluble Aβ oligomers first bind to microbial cell wall carbohydrates via a heparin-binding domain. Consistent with our model, SalmonellaTyphimurium bacterial infection of the brains of mice resulted in rapid seeding and accelerated β-amyloid deposition, which (entrap invading bacteria). Our findings raise the intriguing possibility that β-amyloid may play a protective role in innate immunity and infectious or sterile inflammatory stimuli may drive amyloidosis. These data suggest a dual protective/damaging role for Aβ, as has been described for other antimicrobial peptides.
webby1dotnet 