Tag: habits

A Health Update

Subtle but unexpected health changes recently launched me on a path of exploration and understanding.

First was my teeth.

I began experiencing mild gum pain despite regular brushing, flossing, and using my water pick. That pain disappeared on its own. Concurrently, I discovered my teeth alignment better than before because my small overbite had vanished.

More embarrassingly, I developed nocturnal incontinence, just enough seepage for me to wonder.

Changed gums, teeth alignment, and incontinence seemed unrelated. But the body is a system. Restricting my sodium intake, exercising more, following a better diet ended with weight loss and less bloating. I began bloating years ago without fully understanding what was going on.

Adding up all these changes, I wondered if these disparate changes were related to my reduced bloating. I went on net searches, refining and gathering information, confirming, yes, these were all stacked and related events.

As I read, I gathered that several practices influenced my incontinence. I take Flomax for a benign enlarged prostate, which helps me urinate. I also raise my legs and massage them to combat edema and lymphedema – fluid retention – each evening. I also hydrate just before going to bed.

Research showed that if I changed the order of doing things, I could probably end the incontinence.

  1. Elevate my legs before taking the Flomax.
  2. Take the Flomax earlier in the evening.
  3. Drink less water late at night.

I made those changes, and yes, the incontinence was gone.

The body is a fascinating, dynamic system. Thanks to the net, it’s getting easier to understand.

And manage.

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Cars, Changes, and Control: A Dream

I drove into a Trader Joe’s parking lot to park and shop. I was driving my old white BMW 2002, a car I haven’t owned since I left Germany in 1991. It made ‘dream sense’ because I was about the age I was when I owned the car.

The parking lot’s left side was completely empty, bewildering me — why wasn’t anyone parked there? A large sign, facing the wrong way, explained not to park on the left side. Oh.

I moved my car. An older couple, dressed in fancy clothes, was there. I told them as I walked away from my car, “It would help if the sign faced the entrance, you know? Is something going on here today?”

They didn’t answer me but I heard the man saw as I walked away, “He’ll find out.” The woman tittered.

The store was busy inside. I decided to put down my cloth shopping bags for a moment and put them on a chair back by the older couple. Inside, shopping, I decided that I would buy a few things and picked up a frozen dessert that attracted my eye. As I thought about buying a few more things, I remembered that I’d left my shopping bags on that chair and rushed back to get them.

The bags were gone. I searched all over, but they were definitely gone. Morose, I returned inside to buy the frozen dessert.

Going back, my car was parked elsewhere but I knew where. It was also not my white BMW, but my wife’s gray Ford Focus. I went to the car’s right side to get in. Then I stepped back out and looked again where it was parked. The car to the left was so close, that door — which should be the driver’s side door — couldn’t be opened. I thought, it’s a good thing that I don’t drive on that side. Yet, I knew, with some confused reflection, driving is done from the car’s left side, not the right.

I was driving at the point and discovered a passenger, a pregnant young woman reading a book. First, I noticed that the book had my name on the front, but, startled by her presence, I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you there.”

She replied, “I’m Gail. My daughter was with you when you were driving an SUV in a foreign land, a wild country. She wanted to visit you because she’s worried.”

Driving, I wondered and asked, “Is your daughter born yet?”

Gail answered, “No, but she’s due.”

I then turned left. The road ended and I was suddenly driving through a woods heavy with water puddles and thick, black mud. Gail said, “I want to get out here.”

“No,” I replied. “I don’t know what happened to the road but I’m turning around. I’ll take you back and let you out.”

I whipped the car around and was back on the road in a few seconds. Gail got out. I opened the hatchback to put a bicycle in because I knew it was mine. Then I wondered, why is my bike here?

Dream end.

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Sundaz Wandering Thoughts

My wife and I were in Albertsons. A light replenishing mission, this wasn’t a full-on shop. Certain items are only available at Albertson’s or Safeway in Ashland. Albertson’s is closer, and so there we were.

I was in the sprawling produce section, which shares space with the deli and bakery. A frozen section of frozen mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese lines another wall.

Standing on the end, I gazed across these commingled sections and all of their offerings, looking for my wife and trying to remember what she was wearing, eagle-eyed for a purple hat or blue jacket. I think that’s what she was wearing.

As I did, I questioned myself and chuckled, “How many times do I end up like this, looking for my wife in a store?” Seems like every shopping venture with her has a moment like this.

I was perplexed. Everything — just five items — on our list was in the basket, and I had the basket. Clearly, my wife had gone rogue and was shopping ‘off-list’. That happens, but what did she seek? Answering that would let me find her.

I noticed a woman looking at me as she pushed her cart my direction. Not recognizing her, I decided she wasn’t looking at me but something around me.

She came right up to me. “You look confused. Are you looking for the frozen fish? They’ve changed everything around again.”

I smiled. “No, I’m looking for my wife. But you’re right, they’re always moving things around.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, they want us confused and lost, so we spend more time in the store, which might lead to more impulse buying.”

She wheeled her cart away.

I watched her heading down another aisle. She’d clearly given this a lot of thought.

But she was right. Like, right now, my wife was probably pursuing another impulse buy.

Then I turned and added a bag of pistachio nuts to the basket. I mean, as long as it’s there, and I’m there, waiting…right?

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Sundaz Theme Music

I looked out the window, and what did I see? Blue skies and sunshine looking down on me. No clouds nor fog! No snow but there is some frost. I did notice yesterday that our southern and northern mountains lack snow but the eastern mountains had snow. Snow there makes sense because the eastern mountains are higher.

It’s 27 at my house now, 29 at SOU’s weather station at the Farm, 30, according to Alexa, and 31 on the net’s weather report on MSN. We’re basically in accordance as elevations, mountain shadows, and the sun’s angle affect the temperature readings. They have forecast a high of 51 F for this late December day.

Yes, this is Sunda, December 28, 2025. Just three more sleeps and 2025 will bow out.

Dad’s end of life situation is worsening. I didn’t get an update yesterday but I understand how emotionally taxing that must be for his wife. She’s lived with him longer than me or my mother and is probably closer to him and knows him better. I will say that Dad and I have a lot of shared personality traits and easily move closer through conversations. As we were both in the Air Force for 20 years, he and I do seem to understand one another. His daughters, my sisters, either don’t speak to him because they’re angry and resentful, or only speak to him when they want something. He has another son, too, through his second marriage, and that son and I get along. He, too, only lived with Dad for about ten years.

Dad was active and gregarious all his life, flirting with women, charming everyone. He kept busy although he grew to enjoy sitting down and watching NBA basketball and college and NFL football. He was in the military 20 years, then worked as a grocery store assistant manager for about ten years before purchasing and running his own grocery store. Married twice, divorced twice, although he lived with another woman for ten years. He eventually moved to Texas and settled there, running a huge truck stop for twenty years, finally stepping down from that in his early eighties. That’s when he met and married his current wife. Back when Dad was in the military, he frequently had a second job, managing a club, bartending, or working in a store. He loved playing poker and he was highly skilled with a pool stick. He’s outlived his own father by almost thirty years.

On the other hand, Dad was never into arts, music, or dancing, admitting, “They’re not my thing.” He enjoyed a good steak and loved Italian and Chinese food but was never a foodie, and didn’t eat candy, sweets, or pastries.

Dad’s wife just texted me that she’s waiting for the nurse to arrive and will then send an update.

For Dad, I’m going with Van Halen and “Jump”. That’s because one of Dad’s usual, casual response was often, “Might as well.” That line is repeated through “Jump”, as in, “Might as well jump.” It’s an upbeat song, and he was pretty upbeat overall.

Hope peace and grace find you before the year’s end. Cheers

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

I park the car and head up the street towards the coffee house. As it happens on other days, four more people are making the same trek. We all share an urgency and focus to our movement. I think again, we’re like ants going toward a piece of food, and amuse myself again, thinking, coffee ants. I can almost picture the others with waving antennae…

Coffee ants. Coffants.

Brewants?

Espressants?

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Fridaz Wandering Thoughts

Mom and sis are coping and adjusting, per usual. Mom is an interesting case. When she’s doing well, she’s happy on her own. When she’s doing poorly, she gets crabby and wants visitors. But her crabbiness repels people, so they stay away. Not a good dynamic.

So many things must be tended for Mom. The emptying and cleaning of her house, of course, and then putting it on the market. Those are expected, straightforward, but work. The matters causing the most headaches and frustrations are these modern matters. Changing phone plans because Mom’s phone was on Frank’s plan. Canceling her internet and cable. Those things were done online, through passwords and account numbers and usernames and things like that. Mom has it written down but it’s all been changed so many times because they changed systems or the passwords expired, or it didn’t work for God knows why, as Mom would say.

Then there are the prescription drugs. Sam’s Club is Mom’s pharmacy. Frank was her delivery system. Now sis is her delivery system, but sis doesn’t have the time to make regular runs like Frank did. These things can be delivered but the co-pay must be paid for. Does Mom have a credit card on file? Yes, she does, she says, no, you don’t, the pharmacy replies. Back and forth they go, driving sis insane.

It all makes me think. Mom is but twenty years older than me, and the way my health is trending…LOL. I think, I must be better prepared. Sure, passwords are written down and secured but they must be found by whoever is taking care of me at that point.

Maybe it’ll be AI or a bot assisting me by that point. A Medibot. Watching AI and bots in action at this stage, though, I’m not reassured. Maybe, maybe, they’ll have it worked out in twenty years.

Time will tell. Always does, doesn’t it?

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The Writing Moment

I suffered from writer’s block this past week. Yes, it’s real. Writer’s block exists. And it affected me.

I traveled with my wife to Pennsylvania to see Mom and celebrate her 90 natal day celebration and see family last week. I thought I’d write on the side. But no. Each time I sat down to write, my phone would ping with a text or ring with a call. I love ’em, of course, and was happy to do whatever favor was being asked, and appreciated getting updates, but The Writing Neurons were not as accepting.

Even on the flights, I had writer’s block. I pulled out my computer. Set it up. Began writing and typing.

Tap, tap, tap.

Wife: “How do I turn the volume up?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Wife: “I can’t get my tray up.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Wife: “Can you open this bottle for me?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Flight attendant: “Would you like more wine, sir?”

Yes, I know, I’m really stretching the complaining envelope here.

It’s good to be back in my cossetted, coveted writing routine. The Writing Neurons had become manic about getting more of the novel-in-progress written, pinging me via the headnet with new insights and plot points.

Now, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Mundaz Wandering Thoughts

I have been reminded of how privileged I am. How easily I succumb to convenience.

I’m back in my regular drive. Mazda CX-5. Nothing fancy, we’ve had it for ten years. It’s packed 64,000 miles around its waist. The thing about this, though, are the automatic creature comfort features. And the key.

When we were visiting family in the Pittsburgh, PA, region, we trundled around in an older Toyota RAV4. Fine car but nothing special. But it lacked things like a key FOB that let me unlock doors just by pressing a button as I walked up to the car. The FOB permits me to start the Mazda without taking the key out of my pocket.

Man, did I miss that. I ended up putting the RAV4 keys in and out, out and in of pockets multiple times across the day. Oh, the horrors, right? But see, this is a matter of connections. With the FOB, I stick it in my left pants pocket and leave it there. With this RAV4 key, I was constantly putting it into a pocket or setting it down somewhere and then asking myself, where is that fucking key?

Wife and I approach car. It’s cold. About 40 F. Gray, with a light drizzle falling.

ME: “Wait.”

“What?”

“I can’t find the key.”

Wife stands, stares, waiting, not tapping her foot but looking like she’s on the verge.

Pockets are patted and felt, squeezed, then reached into it. “Here it is.”

My wife’s restrained look called me IDIOT so loudly, it hurt my brain.

One time I got out of the car to put gas into it. When I returned, it’s like, OMG, where is that damn key? Pat pockets again and again, dive into them…”Oh, here it is.” Damn it.

It was one of those big, long keys on a clunky handle. The key itself could be swung close to make it ‘more compact’. That was good because otherwise that thing gets caught on clothing. You press a button to flick it out, like a switchblade knife. This all required additional thinking about what I was doing, soaking up Neurons’ limited attention.

Me: “Where’s the key?”

Neurons: “We don’t know.”

Me, looking around and feeling pockets. “No one knows?”

Neurons: “We weren’t pay attention.”

Me: “Here it is.”

The button is clicked. The long key extends. I unlock the door. Put the key back into pocket. Get into car. Go to start it by putting my foot on the brake and pressing a button. The button is missing.

Neurons: “Dude, what are you doing?”

Me: “Trying to start the car.”

“You need the key. You must put it in the ignition and turn it.”

“Oh, yeah. Where’s the key?”

Neurons: “We don’t know.”

Thank tech that I’m back home where I just stick the FOB into my pocket and forget it.

I’m very, very good at forgetting.

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Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

Thinking about my travel packing this morning. Long ago, I developed a habit of packing my toilet bag a few days before I leave. Then I use my toiletries from it as though I’m in a hotel room. In that way, I sometimes realize something was overlooked, and I’m not rushing through packing it at a later time. This is all my own in that I’ve never read about it, subject to memory limitations. I’ve never mentioned it to others till now, either. Wouldn’t surprise me to learn that others do the same.

Follow me for more tips about drinking beer and coffee.

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Twozdaz Wandering Thoughts

It’s not an accident that my house keys are always in my right-hand pocket. As part of the setting, we have two cars and one house. My wife and I don’t put our house keys and car keys on one ring. She’s apparently just emulating me. I asked her why she does it, and she told me, “You don’t put them together.”

I don’t put them together because I didn’t like keys bouncing around in the car, making noise as we drove. Attribute that to my misophonia. Certain sounds jar and irritate me. I reacted by segregating the house and car keys to reduce my sound-related irritation. Now it’s my practice to always put the house keys in my right-side pocket. Never in the coat either, but in the pants or shorts I’m wearing. I do not buy pants or shorts without pockets. Not having those pockets is just unacceptable.

Now, the house keys are in the right-side because I’m right-handed. My spouse has a habit of locking the door between the house and garage. She often does it absentmindedly. But after parking and going to enter the house, often with my hands full, it’s easier to free my right hand and pull those keys from my right-side pocket. I don’t need to wonder where they are or shift anything because I know.

See? Everything is connected. Bet you’ll sleep better knowing all that, right?

Sure.

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