Spo-Reflections

I am on the mend from the flu, although it is a slow one. Perhaps it is age or the bugs these days are more virulent, but it seems it takes more time to come back from these ailments. I still don’t breathe through my nose. Rationalists in the house suggested I stick Vicks up my nose via a Q-tip. I’ve not heard of this remedy, which is surprising and I grew up in Protestant Midwest where Vicks is a sacrament. No harm trying. It worked fair. What helps are those little red pills bought at the pharmacy after you show them your ID and promise you are not making meth with them. I guess I just have to be patient and give it time, which is what really works for URIs.

Yesterday Someone hosted a series of gentleman callers to La Casa de Spo. This wasn’t as lurid as it sounds, nor was it as bad as feared:

The first spirit showed at the stroke of one. He was the garage door repairman, a fellow in his 20s, and well over four feet. He held an inspection and said we didn’t need a new door, but some rods. He bolted to the back of the door two long metallic rods to prevent sagging as it ascends and hey! that’s that! A new door wasn’t necessary; praise the gods of aluminum! Cost: a few hundred dollars.

The second spirit was the washer machine repairman, or someone like him. Someone tells me the 70sh-looking fellow ‘usually talks to the wife about these things but since he (Someone) here I will talk to you’. The diagnosis: the pump had died. The ersatz Maytag man replaced it and the machine is once again going allegro non troppo as I catch up with the dirty duds. He advised Someone to use less soap, based on something he found in his work. This is not news to me. Last year I heard an interview with a washing expert, who advised the same thing. As machines, soap, and clothes all improve the amount of detergent becomes less. Afterwards I played a little game with myself: how little detergent can I use before I see signs of ‘not enough’. This turns out to be about three tablespoons, a mere fraction of what the machine says to use. Someone isn’t so convinced, but I am Laundry Master, so I win. Cost: a few hundred dollars.

The third spirit, more mercurial, showed up on his own time. This was the AC/heater man, who shows up twice a year to inspect our ancient (twenty years old) AC-heater system. For some years he’s been saying ‘it probably just a matter of time’ when it all needs to be replaced. This time the prognosis was worse; he could patch a few things for a few thousand dollars but this would be postponing the inevitable. The best time to dig the well is before you are thirsty and that goes double for AC systems. Better to replace it now before it dies suddenly in the middle of another ardent summer. Cost: $20,000. Oh the horror. The new system will be far more efficient and cut costs of running them. Someone, clever man, has been squirreling away funds for some years knowing this dreadful day would arrive. A CD is coming up that will allow us to pay for the debacle without dipping into our retirement funds or selling plasma.

But let’s talk of something pleasant. It’s that time of year when the neighbor’s citrus trees all put out fruit at the same time. The house two doors down and across the street puts out a dozen bags of grapefruit and I got some. Oh, how I love grapefruit! In theory they cause the level of my medication to rise in the bloodstream and cause havoc. This could result in vomiting at the side of the road or mass hysterics but it will be worth it.

It’s been a long time since I tried writing a fairy tale. Hans Christian Anderson I am not. Having recently slogged through the Fairy Tales of the Word (all colors) I know the formula to write one. Here is a story on the origin of creatures who inhabit La Casa de Spo. Spo.

Once upon a time in an extraordinary week with two Mondays an officious-looking man appeared before the front gate leading to the entrance to Heorot Johnsons I. Without ceremony he nailed to the door a pamphlet:

By order of The Homeowners Association, per section 36.5(a) this establishment has been condemned and is scheduled for demolition to make room for the new municipal Burger King.

After he departed, the habitants of HJI (who were all well under four feet) crept out to gaze at the sign and soon went into a swivet worthy of an orchestra of scorched cats. There was vociferous complaints and much gnashing of gnashers (for thems who had any). One of the goblins called out they shouldn’t accept this rubbish but roll with the punches and eat no curried snacks but take action. This metaphor wasn’t completely understood (especially by the gnomes, who are ‘slow of study’) but they got the ‘gist’ of it. The whole group, consisting of goblins, sprites, gnomes, and stirges, looked up on The Google when was the next Homeowners Association meeting and made plans, up to no good that’s certain.

The day before the meeting they showed up at the president’s home office. Although they stomped and shouted, the president showed no sign of hearing them. At first, they were nonplussed. They figured he was merely engrossed by Tiktok entries on four item easy-to-bake recipes, but they connected the dots they were invisible, and he couldn’t hear or see them. Oh the pain. To get through to him, they would have to do something else. The gnomes started moving his keys about and the sprites hid his Starbucks. The goblins, hoping to move him to tears, staged the ‘death scene’ from Camile. No such luck. The president refused to come up from his iPhone. He either hadn’t heard the ruckus or he was ignoring it.* Then all of a sudden, Mr. President’s iphone was acting queer. Instead of seeing insipid TikTok recipes he was getting texts from Hello Cupid! and Scruff. Various Tube of Yous started to play, mostly ads for Liberty Mutual (they do that).

“Hot puppies!” said one of the goblins, “The Pixies got into boyfriend’s phone!”. Texts appeared along the lin “Stop the demolition of Heorot Johnsons or else!” and “We are ready to write on The Neighborhood app what you did last Saturday and where you bought the equipment” To keep it sweet, they included a text promising instead of the Whopper Uber eats could deliver Pita Jungle.

The next day at the HOA meeting Heorot Johnsons was declared a World Heritage Site and the demolition was cancelled.

The various creatures held a celebration back in HJ, but they soon realized they sort of enjoyed moving cups and keys and making gadgets inoperable, so they moved into La Casa de Spo where they continue their shenanigans to this very day. If ever your keys go a-missing or your phone isn’t working, maybe one of them is having some fun.

*Attributes that got him elected as president of The Homeowners Association.

I am home today with a cold or perhaps it is the flu. Regardless of the reason my nasal passages have closed as tight as the North Korea borders. The usual remedies of decongestants and nasal sprays are doing nothing. I have become a mouth breather, which quickly dries me out and wakes me. I am getting little sleep. It is times like this I wish I were Christian Scientist. I would say the bug it is only error, and tell it to go away. Alas Babylon! The bug refuses to leave.

There is not much to do but wait. I believe the usual so-called remedies do nothing to shorten the illness, but I bought a few cans of Campbells Chicken Noodle soup. It may not shorten illness, but it comforting to consume it. It is not the best chicken soup, but it tastes like nostalgia, and that’s nice.

Curious! When I read my gratitude journal, I had a cold/flu in 2024 at the same time. I looks to be an annual thing at this time of year.

While The House Manager was 100% supportive I take time off, I do not like taking time off from work. I feel sorry for the patients. The new ones probably had to wait for months to see me, and they are getting a call I’m out sick.

On the positive, I’ve been fretful I haven’t had time to read books and blogs and do language lessons. Now I have a full day to do all of this. I hope to take a nap, provided I can breathe.

That’s about all the news when one is sick. Perhaps I should make a hot toddy. The House Manager says this always works for her, and a patient said the same thing. That makes a double. I doubt it will help the flu but it makes the time more bearable.

My father died on Friday; George, my beloved godfather, died Monday. Three decades ago I felt bad I would die causing my loved ones sorrow. I’ve lived long enough now to see them die on me. Spo

On Monday one of my fellow residents from Chicago days called me to inform George Manning was in hospital. He had COVID and it had settled on his lung and he was going fast. A few hours later, a man I don’t know called me to tell me George had died. George was the occupational therapist in one of the hospitals I was in residency back in the 90s. He was amazing; we kept in touch. He was devout in his Lutheran faith; he was as close to a living saint as I have known. He radiated love; people adored George and they wanted to be part of his life. He didn’t keep an answering machine or carry a cellphone, as he would be inundated by loved ones wanting to talk to him. He gave me piano lessons. He had an annual Christmas pageant at his church where he was organist. One year I played the angel Gabriel and in another I was The Big Guy himself – both done signing ASL.

George never got into a long-term relationship, rather had many men in his life whom he referred to as ‘sons’ and ‘godsons” I was one of them. He never failed to call me on my birthday and I called him on his. Although we kept in touch, I hadn’t seen him since the 90s. Last June I went to Chicago for a conference. Oh what a lovely reunion we had! Like my late Father, I feel fortunate to have seen him before his death – another example of keeping in touch with your loved ones assuages regret.

Truth be told his death effects me more than my Father’s. Father was failing and his death was expected. George was no spring chicken, but his death was a sudden one. It is a reminder we can go at any moment and COVID can still kill.

I can only imagine the turn out for his memorial service. The church will be packed with thems who loved him. I won’t be able to go, alas, but in a way I don’t have to. Rather than being one of the thousands at his funeral, I have my memories. As I type this, I am looking at portrait from the photo I keep in the PHX offic. It stands next to a small Celtic cross he gave me. Love is always in the present, an ‘is’ never a ‘was’.

After a few heavy entries I thought I’d write a light one. Spo

I regularly advise patients to have something, anything, on the calendar, an event or a get-together for them to look forward to. Doing the same thing day after day is dreary; something in the future gives a sort of hope to life. I put something down each month. If there isn’t a holiday, then I make an event.

January: this month I look forward to The Travel Penguin coming to town. He is pow-wowing with his fellow wizards, who are up to no good that’s certain. I hope to have a few bourbons with him (no rubbish types) and perhaps see The Heard Museum, which is ‘the’ museum to visit for thems out-of-town types. Like a lot of local places, I only go when someone comes for a visit.

February: two events. The Brothers Spo will go as planned to KY to visit the distillery won by Brother #3 in a context. Brother #4, like a child excited at Halloween planning the best route to get as much candy as possible, has a route for us to follow. The other event in February is a week to Palm Springs. There’s been some debate whether to go or not, given the dog’s status. Someone hasn’t had a proper holiday in years, so I hope he has a good and relaxing time.

I see The Good Doctor and The Good Dentist this winter. No doubt the latter will find expensive things that need doing. These aren’t ‘fun’ but they are necessary.

March: Live from the Met HD is doing one of my favorite operas, Salome. For thems unfamiliar with this sordid tale, Salome is a 90-minute-long opera about the Bible story of Salome getting the head of John the Baptist. It is lurid, disgusting, and every character is appalling, and I like it a lot. I hope they do a good job of it. I want a proper Salome, rolling on the floor, out of her mind, making love to a severed head, singing on key.

April: I haven’t looked any further than this. There are no great matters for the rest of the year. We are sort of waiting for the dog to pass prior to making any major plans.

Tell me something you have down on the calendar.

Friday evening just before the symphony Brother #3 called to tell me Father was in hospital. That morning he was stuporous; SIL #3 (who is an ER physician) saw the prognosis was a poor one. He was brought to hospital for observation, where nothing specific was the matter, but everything generally shutting down. During the performance (Brahms symphony #4) Brother #4 called to tell me he was dead. He had gone in/out of alertness and then just closed his eyes and no more. One of his intrepid night aides was with him at the time. He was 88yo.

As B#4 puts it, it is 20% sorrow and 80% relief. He and the family have been more or less waiting for death. While he lived a long life, one could argue the past years weren’t worthwhile. He was blind and unable to do anything for himself. He needed 24/7 care. Spo-fans know I was with him for a week earlier this month. He didn’t like being helpless, or having his trousers pulled up and down and his butt wiped. However, among the concrete requests to go to the loo or go to his chair or get something to eat, he said out of nowhere how grateful he was I was there taking care of him and he loved me. What good luck it was I was there earlier this month!

As anyone who has lost a loved one knows, the next step is to call the relations. Happily, we are a close family. I called the cousins, who are no fools: a call in the night (rather than a text) meant not good new. As is often the case, after shared sadness the conversations turn to laughter with the memories and go back and forth until I have to hang up and call somebody else. Some of the cousins called the other relations and soon there were multiple text groups each recalling things and generally talking over each other, just as we do in real life.

Mostly I feel relief, for Brother #3 and family. For once he can go to sleep without having to wait up for the night aide or come running at Father’s needs. Another relief: there is no house to close down as when Mother died. The will, papers etc. are in all place. It’s not clear when but there will be a memorial service probably in the spring when people can travel and do an outside ceremony. He was quite the ‘freighter freak’; we kids think it’s best to scatter his ashes in the Lake St. Clair freighter channel, to be with his beloved boats, but he will be placed next to Mother in the church crematorium.

I feel bad for the night aides; they were very fond of him. We were fortunate they were. They are now bereft of income. Brother #3 thinks to write both of them a very generous thank-you check and the rest of us are all for this.

My father was a very fortunate man. He had a loving marriage of over fifty years. He had four sons, who turned out well over four feet and good men, which included caretaking him so he could live his life out at home with family rather than in a nursing home. He very much enjoyed his law practice and partners, many kept in touch. He was also fortunate he had the knack to save money, so at the end he had the means to pay for those night nurses.

All my life I have been compared to Father as we are as alike as two peas. This morning I got from his phone the number of his long time legal secretary. I called and started to introduce myself and she laughed and said oh you sound just like your father! – and I haven’t spoken to her since I was ten! He’s not a bad man to be second copy of.

I too am quite fortunate to have had a long time loving relationship with my father. What a fine fellow he was, well over four feet himself. I will miss him and I am glad he has finally passed. Brother #3 can keep all the possessions and the money as far as I care. I got all I need out of Thomas P.

The patients I see are more left than right in their political views. This may be because of who I am* or it may be a reflection on the type of person more open to seeking help.** Many of my patients have been coming in with angst about the future, particularly what will happen to them/the nation after The Orange Nero is sworn into office. I find myself giving the same talk and advice; I thought I would write them down to organize them, and to share them with you, if you should be feeling similar. Spo

You are not alone. The Felon-in-chief did not win by a landslide; the popular vote shows nearly half the nation is thinking and feeling the same way as you. There is a scene from Harry Potter, when he tells his friend Luna Lovegood, she’s the only one who believes him. She this isn’t true, but she supposes that is what Lord Voldemort wants him to believe, because if it just him (Harry) then he isn’t a threat. Rulers do not want people gathered together talking to each other; they want them at home isolated thinking they are alone. Keep talking to others.

Speaking of history, it remind us whenever people feel uncertain and anxious about things, someone rises up saying I am certain and I will make everything right. These are nasty times indeed, and it is sad we don’t learn the lesson not to repeat the pattern, but there is the assurance these types and times do not last, and when they fall, they often fall quickly like a pack of cards. It is our task to endure.

I point out to folks there were many times in American history when someone was elected that many felt the country was doomed. Most Americans cannot even recall these derisive presidents; go look for them now.

I remind my patients to be wary of the news and social media. They are designed to touch on our tendency to go to the negative. Worse case scenarios/isn’t this awful/the world is doomed make for sensational headlines to grab your attention so you will tune in for their ratings to go up to sell commercials. Like eating junk food, a strict media diet is called-for.

Our task is always to rise each day and remember our job is to be a good person and always Do The Right Thing. Do not put up with bullsh-t. Call out the lies and speak truth.

I think it was Viktor Franckl who said so long as we have some sort of meaning in our lives we can endure almost any what. We will go through this term with Hope, which is not optimism, but a sense we will have the wherewithal to last.

Think of all the trying and awful times you have gone through, and yet you are still here.

*I’ve had a handful of patients who didn’t return as they sensed they were in the presence of a gay man. Some leave because they don’t like that kind. Others leave as they worry about what will others think of them for seeing a doctor light in the loafers. Others scram as they fear I am going to ‘turn them gay’. The reason that makes me chuckle is the male patient who worries I may come on to them. Fat chance of that, bubba.

**Thems on the right often view mental illness as something that doesn’t exist or due to personal failure. The remedy is to buck up or pray a lot, and when this doesn’t work, they often shoot themselves, using one of the many guns they cherish. Truth be told thems who own guns are more likely to shoot themselves than so-called intruders.

I am slowly slogging my way through the 2.5 hour-long at-work instructional video on CPR. The ENT fellow is beginning to grow on me. He sure is enthusiastic about his profession. I cannot imagine a life as a paramedic. I’ve had a handful of patients in that line, and they all have PTSD from the horror shows they have experienced. In between my appointments, I watch another segment and try to get some actual education from it. Afterall, education is never a waste – with the exception of high school trigonometry. Not once in forty years have I been called upon to prove a theorem.

The garage door at home is not working. Oh the pain. In its defense it is over twenty years old and is worn out from continual use. When something breaks down at La Casa de Spo, the usual approach is to ignore it and learn to live without. In this case this is not easy to do. When I go to work in the morning, Someone has to get up to close it behind me. I am hoping this prompts him to call someone sooner than later to replace it. He is worried if we do this, the raw unpainted new door will look hideous. His proposal is to get the door and the outside paint job done at the same time. As the latter project is years overdue, maybe this is enough to get things going. Let’s see how long he is going to tolerate these early morning garage door actions.

As I write this, The Commendatore scene from ‘Don Giovanni’ by Mozart is playing as background music. For thems unfamiliar with the opera, Don G. goes around seducing women which is just an old-fashioned term for raping them. The statue of a man he murdered in the first five minutes of opera shows up at dinner and demands an apology, DG refuses, so the statue drags him down to hell. Jolly good fun! Besides the music, which is some of the best ever written, there is a child-like satisfaction of seeing justice and comeuppance. This is in contrast to life, where the rapists and nobles get promoted to political offices rather.

I’ve written long enough the music changed from Mozart to Wagner, specifically ‘Wotan’s farewell” from ‘Die Walkure’. It is an entirely different cup of tea but not less marvelous. Wotan has to renounce his daughter, take away her godhood, put her to sleep on a rock, and raise up around her an impenetrable fire to keep away all but the bravest to claim her. What Wotan and the Commendatore have in common is I want to sing both. Alas, Babylon! I have all the attributes of a great opera baritone but voice, worse luck, but I do lip-synch singalong with them, which is a good way to start at Thorsday morning.