HinesSight

Good news is, I don't have a blood clot. Bad news is, Trump still is president.

Being an ardent progressive in election year 2020 means that I'm prone to view everything through the lens of what it means for the prospect of making Trump a one-term president this November. 

Yes, even being tested to rule out a blood clot in my right leg -- which occurred yesterday.

A bit over a week ago I had a physical therapy visit to get some advice on what to do about annoying leg pain. When Michael, the therapist, asked me what caused the pain, I gave this 30-something guy my 71-year-old perspective on health problems like this one.

"Michael, when I was your age, I could figure out why something hurt. Like, playing too much tennis with my questionable serving technique led to tennis elbow pain. But now that I'm the age I am, aching body parts happen mysteriously. I get out of bed the wrong way, or lift a bag of groceries weirdly, and -- bingo! -- pain. Except the pain doesn't occur right away, so I can never be sure what caused it."

Which is typical for us Medicare folks, based on lots of conversations I've had with people about my age regarding their bodily afflictions. 

Anyway, yesterday the pain in my right leg was so bad, I kept thinking about what a nurse at my family physician's office told me a few days ago when I talked with her about my leg pain. Her main concern was a blood clot, so she told me that if my leg is swollen and feels warm to the touch, I should seek medical care right away.

After some Googling of "blood clot leg" and measuring my calves to see if the right one was the same size as the left one (it was), and feeling that both legs were the same temperature, at first I was reassured that I didn't have a clot. Until I read one more article that said sometimes a blood clot can be present with none of the usual symptoms.

Then I got a second leg warmth opinion from my wife. She spent way more time comparing my lower legs than I did, eventually concluding, "Maybe the right one is a little bit warmer."

That tiny maybe got me to thinking that I should go to Salem Health Urgent Care to rule out a blood clot. However, that didn't turn out to be as simple as I expected, even though it was easy to make an online appointment for 2:40 pm with a Nurse Practitioner. And I was seen close to on-time.

She felt my legs, questioned me about the pain I'd been having, and did her own measurement of my calves. She also prescribed a topical NSAID that could replace the oral Advil I'd been taking, but seemingly with less risk of side effects. Somewhat surprisingly, though, she also strongly recommended that I get an ultrasound to make sure I didn't have a blood clot in my leg.

Yes, I was worried about this possibility, as low as the chance was that I had a clot. And it made sense to rule out a potentially fatal problem, like a clot breaking free and heading to my lungs, or maybe even heart. 

But having been a health planner and policy analyst in my pre-retirement life, I also was aware of how legal liability concerns can affect medical care decisions. I'm not saying that occurred in this case, but just now the Great God Google did reveal a number of law firms who have web pages along the lines of "Medical Malpractice for Failure to Diagnose Deep Vein Thrombosis."

The symptoms of DVT can be missed or misdiagnosed.  This can be extremely dangerous because a person may think that they have something simple like a leg cramp or strain when they actually are experiencing symptoms of DVT.  

I was fortunate that the Cardiac/Vascular center at Salem Hospital could perform an ultrasound on my legs later in the day, which avoided an E.R. visit. The "lower extremity venous duplex unilateral" procedure went smoothly, and I enjoyed chatting with the technician who explained what was being shown on a large screen which, pleasingly, didn't include a blood clot.

This gets me to Trump.

Health care is super-important for everybody. When you're hurting, sick, or needing medical attention for whatever reason, getting that care with a minimum of fuss and cost is Job #1 on your mind. I'm fortunate to be on Medicare, which I like vastly more than the private health insurance I had before.

Medicare For All makes a lot of sense. So does Medicare For All Who Want It. So does the Affordable Care Act. 

What makes zero sense is Trump's unceasing effort to dismantle the Affordable Care Act, or Obamacare -- undoubtedly in part because of that word "Obama," which fills Trump with irrational anger (and maybe envy, since Obama was a much more popular president than he is).

Trump has no interest in making our nation's health care system better. He simply wants to destroy the most conservative approach to providing health care to all Americans, the Affordable Care Act. Since it relies on private health insurance, Republicans like Trump should be embracing the Affordable Care Act instead of trying to demolish it.

The plain fact is that, like me, most people feel good about their doctors and other health care providers, while being indifferent (at best) about their insurance company. So if somehow Trump, or the Supreme Court, succeed in killing the Affordable Care Act, that makes Medicare for All much more likely, given that Republicans have no viable health care plan of their own.

Lastly, Trump's health care incompetence is on full display as he stumbles through a response to the coronavirus crisis. It's evident that Trump cares much more about how the stock market is doing (horribly) than overseeing a fact-based, transparent approach to dealing with the coronavirus.

One big problem that Trump faces is that his incessant lying makes people automatically believe that whatever he says isn't true. Thus his efforts to calm people down about the coronavirus are having the opposite effect, as Catherine Rampell says in a Washington Post opinion piece, "With coronavirus, Trump's lies and his reassurances backfire."

Trump clearly understands that government messaging can move markets; he blames the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention for issuing warnings that may have unnerved traders. At his news conference Wednesday, he also scolded Democrats for allegedly “trying to create a panic.” Trump seems not to realize that saying everything is fine when no one trusts you to assess the situation honestly can cause people to freak out, too.

...In this context, it’s clear how Trump-delivered reassurances might backfire — and already have. While Trump spoke Wednesday from the White House, telling Americans that the government has things under control, stock futures fell. Ordering government scientists to clear comments with Vice President Pence’s office, as has been reported, threatens to dilute the value of any soothing words such experts might offer, too.

There is a corollary to the Goolsbee rule on crisis and credibility. It’s one that Goolsbee told me he learned from the late, great former Federal Reserve chair Paul Volcker during the financial crisis a decade ago, when Goolsbee was advising President Barack Obama. Volcker said that the only asset you have in a crisis is your credibility. Hence this other rule of thumb: All normal, non-crisis time should be spent establishing the credibility you’ll need when a crisis inevitably hits.

Would that the Trump administration had done so, instead of fibbing about crowd size and so much else that followed.

After criticizing its construction, Salem Health Rehab Center helps my sore leg

My right leg has been really painful, so yesterday I got a physical therapy referral from my family doctor.

The letter said that I'd been referred to Orthopedic Physical Therapy at 755 Mission Street. I'd never heard of that name, and I couldn't remember any physical therapy clinic near that address.

All became clear when I called the phone number on the referral. I'd been referred to the Salem Health Rehabilitation Center that was constructed a few years ago.

Amazingly, I was offered an appointment with Michael that very afternoon. (Must have been a cancellation.) 

"Do you know where we are?" the appointment person asked. "Not really," I told her. "We're on the site of the old Blind School, next to the adaptive playground."

Ah, I thought, this is the Salem Health facility that I'd criticized so vociferously in some 2014 blog posts such as: "Save ancient trees and Howard Hall from Salem Hospital's greed" and "Salem Hospital construction likely kills majestic White Oak." 

Representatives of the blind community have said that five times their attempts to negotiate a compromise with Salem Hospital over Howard Hall were rejected. Likewise, professional architectural renderings that show it is possible to save most of the ancient trees on the property, rather than cut them down for a barren parking lot, have been rejected out of hand by the hospital.

If you care about preserving trees and historic buildings, take a few minutes to learn about what will be lost if Salem Hospital gets its greedy way.

...It is evident in the top photo that construction activity was taking place all around the White Oak.

This tree was several hundred years old. My wife and I have a similarly-sized White Oak near our house that is about 250 years old, according to an arborist from Elwood's Tree Service (we use Elwood's for tree work on our ten natural rural acres).

The tree that developed the split lived for centuries through countless wind storms, ice storms, heavy rains, and drought. Yet Salem Hospital apparently wants us to believe that soon after heavy construction equipment worked around the tree for weeks on end, the split just coincidentally happened.

I'm still bothered by how Salem Health handled the demolition of the Blind School and the unnecessary destruction of many old, beautiful, large trees to make room for a parking lot. 

But I was impressed by how attractive the Rehabilitation Center is, both inside and out. 

So a lot of good has arisen from Salem Health's disturbing construction activity. That's the way of the world. Rarely is an issue completely good or bad, positive or negative, productive or destructive.

And I've got to say that with my sore leg, it was nice to be able to park close to the Rehabilitation Center rather than having to deal with Salem Health's parking garages. I also liked seeing children enjoying themselves in the adaptive playground.

Michael Bragiel, the physical therapist I saw on such short notice, was a delight.

Personable, energetic, humorous, knowledgeable, and... young. I told him that people his age can explain that their leg pain was caused by a skiing accident, or whatever, whereas often people my age (71) have little or no clue about why their leg is acting up.

(I have my guesses, notably that my habit of using my laptop while sitting on a non-ergonomic bar stool at our kitchen counter finally caught up to me, leg-pain-wise.)

After Michael checked out the strength of my legs and did some prodding and poking of my body, he concluded that I could continue exercising so long as that didn't make the leg pain worse. I only was given one nerve stretching exercise to do a couple of times a day.

Thus I came away grateful that the Salem Rehabilitation Center exists, and that it is filled with such caring, competent staff.

I just wish Salem Health had been more responsive to the concerns of the blind community about what Howard Hall meant to them, along with modifying its plans for the Rehab Center parking lot so many or most of the existing large trees could have been saved, especially the majestic White Oak.

My recipe for a fully satisfying car buying experience

Last Friday, one week ago today, I had one of the best car buying experiences of my life. And since I'm 71, I've had a lot of experience with buying cars, many of them frustrating.

Before I share the recipe that was used to cook up my purchase of a 2020 Subaru Crosstrek Limited, here's the final product in all of its "cool gray khaki" glory sitting in our driveway's turnaround area. (Note: I agree that the color is cool, but it sure isn't gray, nor khaki.)

Basic ingredients are simple:
Patience
Good salesperson
Good sales manager

I contributed the patience, after deciding in early November of 2019 that I'd rather order a 2020 Crosstrek to my specifications rather than choose from the few 2019 Crosstreks that were still available, or take my chances on the Capitol Subaru dealership here in Salem, Oregon getting a 2020 model sent to them that was close to the car that I wanted.

Dan Penick

Dan Penick was the sales associate who put together the order. He sat down with me and went over every available option, most or all of which I said "yes" to. The Limited is the top Crosstrek trim, so it had most of what I wanted built-in.

But we added: footwell illumination kit, splash guards, rear seatback protector, LED upgrade to map and dome lights, all-weather floor liners, and exterior/interior auto-dimming mirrors. All were excellent choices.

Kelly Stewart

Kelly Stewart was the sales manager who did his part to make my purchase of the Crosstrek so smooth, along with trading-in my 2017 VW GTI. My wife and I probably have bought at least a dozen cars from Kelly during his various stints with the Capitol Auto Group. So we built on that lengthy history of trust in this deal.

Dan and Kelly were both appealingly low-key and non-pushy. I never felt pressured in the slightest. This is an excellent sales technique, especially if you have a quality product to sell, like the Subaru Crosstrek. 

I'd given much thought to what car I wanted to replace my GTI, so when I headed over to Capitol Subaru last November for a test drive, all I needed was to get a feel for how the Crosstrek drove and how the instrument panel was laid out.

After that, it took me a few days to realize that my best bet was to order a Crosstrek Limited just the way I wanted one, even if it took a while to get the car.

Which turned out to be a bit under three months.

Fine with me. I understand the appeal of buying a vehicle that is on the lot, or readily available. However, as noted above it seemed highly unlikely that Capitol Subaru would be allocated a Crosstrek Limited that was the right color and had all of the options that I wanted. 

Now, here's the timing part of the "recipe" that made my purchase and trade-in so smoothly pleasurable.

(1) Preparation for trade-in offer. My wife and I have sold three cars via the CarMax in Beaverton after getting low-ball trade-in offers from dealers.

This time, I scheduled a trade-in appointment for Thursday at Capitol Subaru after learning that our Crosstrek had come in, and we had an appointment for Friday at CarMax -- figuring that we'd take the highest offer, then pay for the Crosstrek on Saturday.

A few days prior to Thursday, Kelly emailed me, asking for some photos of my VW GTI and the VIN so he could do some advance work on a trade-in offer. Great idea. Because when I took the GTI to the dealership on Thursday, an offer sheet was waiting for me. All Kelly wanted was the GTI key so he could briefly inspect the GTI. 

I'd used the Kelly Blue Book web site to do my own trade-in estimating. Kelly's offer of $18,500 was about what I'd expected for a trade-in offer.

And I'd taken a look at what CarMax was selling 2017 GTI's for with about the same mileage as mine. Subtracting a few thousand dollars for their profit margin, it seemed to me that probably CarMax would offer about the same amount for the GTI.

So I accepted Kelly's offer. That saved us at least three hours of time to drive up to CarMax and get an offer. (A Salem CarMax is slated to open on February 12, 2020, which is excellent news.)

(2) No dickering needed on Crosstrek price. I'd told Dan and Kelly that it'd be good to know the price of the Crosstrek ahead of time, because I detest the usual several hours-long process of making an offer, having a salesperson disappear into a back room to talk it over with their manager, then repeating the process if the price still seemed too high.

By contrast, I also told Dan and Kelly that I trusted them to give us a good discount on the Crosstrek, given how many cars we'd bought from Capitol Auto Group over many years. 

So it was a pleasure to be handed a piece of paper when my wife and I arrived to pay for the Crosstrek that had a $1,765 discount from the suggested retail price of $32,103. This seemed fair to me, being in the neighborhood of the discount that the Consumer Reports Car Buying Service showed for recent Crosstrek purchases.

(3) Purchase took just 45 minutes or so. With both the trade-in price and Crosstrek price settled ahead of time, it only took about 45 minutes for Dan to do most of the work on selling the car to us.

He said that was a record short time for him. Sure, signing papers took about another 30 minutes, after which Dan gave me a brief introduction to the Crosstrek's features, including pairing our iPhones to the infotainment system.

All in all, I ended up writing a check for about $12,000 to cover the difference between the GTI trade-in offer and the discounted Crosstrek price. That wasn't too painful.

I'm enjoying the Crosstrek a lot. In another blog post I'll describe why.

Sure, it doesn't have the speed and handling of my VW GTI, but few cars do. And the Crosstrek has a bunch of safety and other features that the GTI lacked. It's just eight inches longer than the small GTI, so the Crosstrek feels almost as nimble and easy to park in small spaces.

I'm not saying that what I've described is the best way to buy a car, just that it worked well for me.

I can heartily recommend Dan Penick and Kelly Stewart if you're in the market for a Subaru and you live close to Salem. Tell them that Brian sent you. (Maybe I'll get some Subaru swag out of that referral.)

Sexy Super Bowl halftime show by J. Lo and Shakira offends some, but not me

Call me courageous -- Brian, you're so brave! -- but I've got to take an outspoken stand on yesterday's Super Bowl halftime show featuring Jennifer Lopez, a.k.a. J. Lo, and Shakira.

I am unabashedly in favor of beautiful women wearing as little as possible during a musical performance, and dancing in a sexually provocative manner.

There. I said it.

Let the .000001% of men who disagree with me take me to task, along with the almost equally small percentage of women who believe that female performers should cover themselves demurely on stage, and dance as if a Puritan God was watching.

If you didn't see the halftime show, you're in luck. Here's a video of the whole performance, which my wife and I thought was fantastic. 

However, this morning someone on my Twitter feed shared a tweet by conservative religious nut-job Franklin Graham, with this right-on comment: 

Imagine if your church were less worried about women displaying their sexuality and more worried about your president trying to rape them.

In a similar vein, the conservative Washington Examiner also found a lot not to like in the halftime show.

During this year’s Super Bowl halftime show, Shakira and Jennifer Lopez took the stage for a performance that was supposed to be about celebrating their Latino heritage and empowering women. That's all fine, but the show was still completely inappropriate for children and the Super Bowl.

When J-Lo shimmies down a stripper pole in Hustlers, she’s doing so in an R-rated film. In theory, no one under age 17 sees it. That isn't so when she does it at the Super Bowl.

Worse than Shakira's and J-Lo’s oversexualized performance, however, was the message it sent to young viewers. Millions of families watch the Super Bowl each year, and for the finale, J-Lo even brought her 11-year-old daughter on stage with her for a performance of Let’s Get Loud. By that point, a convenient outfit change had made her look a bit more appropriate for sharing the stage with children.

Yeah — but what about everyone else's children?

Answer: it was fine for them to watch also.

Outrage over what's viewable at the Super Bowl should be focused on the spectacle of grown men running around doing their best to give the other team brain damage, knee damage, and damage to other important bodily parts. 

Fortunately, wiser minds than Franklin Graham and the Washington Examiner had positive things to say about the performance by J. Lo and Shakira. 

Washington Post: The Super Bowl poses the question: What's more obscene, sex or sexism?

Given this thicket of seemingly incompatible truths, the easy way out is to complain that the halftime show was obscene, the opposite of family-friendly, proof of the corruption of American mass culture. If you can condemn the entire enterprise, you’re not obligated to work your way through the mess at the heart of it, much less to accept that you’re going to have to live with certain hypocrisies.

But sometimes the only way — and the more fun way — out of a mess is through it. If you’re inevitably going to be valued based on your body, might as well make a whole lot of money off the one you’ve got. If you’re inevitably going to be characterized as a whore or a Madonna, why not insist on the best of both, as J-Lo did when she alternated between working a stripper pole and delivering a moving duet with her daughter? If beauty standards aren’t going to be dismantled in a day, might as well enjoy the women whose discipline at maintaining their physiques ­­­makes the men look like slackers by comparison.

New York Times: J. Lo and the Power of 50

Fifty won the Super Bowl.

Fifty years between wins for the Kansas City Chiefs, and 50-year-old Jennifer Lopez, whose halftime performance in a series of barely-there Versace bodysuits sent social media into something of a meltdown.

More than four decades ago, Gloria Steinem crafted an aphorism that went down in history when, on her 40th birthday, a reporter told her she did not look her age — and she responded: “This is what 40 looks like.”

Well, on Sunday Ms. Lopez showed the world what 50 looks like — at least her version of it.

...Yes, the outfits were a little silly. Yes, they were racy (though they did show less skin than Adam Levine revealed last year when he went topless during his halftime Super Bowl show). Yes, Shakira, the other halftime star, also wore a teeny tiny micro skirt with lots of sparkling fringe by Peter Dundas — and yes, she’s 43.

But the total J. Lo effect was kind of mesmerizing: an in-your-face demonstration of a woman glorying in her own physicality, and a dare to anyone who might render judgment based on a number.

How a doctor's waiting room suddenly turned pleasant

Almost always, in my experience, a doctor's waiting room has a funereal feel to it. Just about everybody sitting in the chairs is there because they've got some sort of medical issue, which isn't exactly a cause for joy.

And if people were feeling good when they entered the waiting room, generally they soon understand why it's got the word waiting in its name. 

But yesterday was different. Here's why.

My wife had gone with me to an appointment I had at a clinic here in Salem. We arrived a few minutes early for my 1:50 pm appointment.

After checking in, we sat down in a waiting area that, at first glance, worried me. Almost every chair was filled, which indicated that, per usual, my doctor was behind schedule.

There were just two empty chairs adjacent to each other, so we sat down in them. Per usual, the area was completely quiet. No one was talking. I'd brought some magazines, so I started to read one. My wife took out her iPhone and perused what it had to offer.

I'd noticed that a woman to our right was sitting with her head in her hands. After we'd been there for about ten minutes, she let out a sigh. 

My wife, who was sitting next to her, said, "Have you been waiting long?" 

Turns out, she had. "I made the mistake of getting here half an hour early," she said. Then she described how she'd been having kidney pain.

That kicked off a lively discussion about a topic dear to the heart of everybody in a waiting room: waiting. I told a story about a professor I had in graduate school who would only wait for 20 minutes to see a doctor. Then he'd walk out and bill the doctor for his wasted time.

A man sitting next to me said, "But then he'd never get medical care, right?"

I had to agree that my professor probably had embellished his story, and that I wasn't recommending billing a doctor for time spent in a waiting room, since I don't think the professor ever had gotten paid.

"Sure sounded like you were recommending this," the man said with a laugh. "OK, I guess I was," I responded.

And so it went. Once the conversational ice had been broken, the four of us, two strangers plus my wife and me, passed the time pleasantly. 

It made a huge difference to my mood.

I don't like seeing a doctor, and I especially don't like having to wait 45 minutes, like I did yesterday. But my wife's simple act of speaking to the woman, who clearly wasn't enjoying herself prior to that, changed the atmosphere in the waiting room completely.

Instead of being patients with medical problems having to passively wait for our names to be called and then ushered into an examination room, we became people with quite a bit in common.

Like a distaste for waiting. And a love of dogs, along with other subjects I've forgotten.

Just remembered another thing I said -- how another clinic I went to a few times had a whiteboard with the doctor's names on it, which, sort of like an airport waiting area, indicated whether the doctor was on time and, if not, how many minutes behind schedule the doctor was.

Great idea. Shows a lot of respect for the patients. Or rather, people, in the waiting area.

The Unwinding of the Miracle -- a marvelous book about cancer and courage

At age 37, Julie Yip-Williams was diagnosed with terminal metastatic colon cancer, a very rare disease for someone her age. It took me a long time to finish reading the book she wrote about her journey from diagnosis to death, The Unwinding of the Miracle.

I'm not sure why. Maybe because... i have a fear of death; I have my own chronic medical problem, albeit much milder and not fatal;  her blunt honesty was both appealing and appalling, given that I, or anyone, could fall prey to a fatal diagnosis at any time.

At any rate, after I finished the book, it's been sitting on my desk for months, waiting for me to feel the spirit to write about it. Today was the day.

I highly recommend the book. It's a public diary, really, of how Yip-Williams looked upon the ups and downs of her battle against cancer from 2013 to 2018.

In the prologue, she writes:

Hello, welcome.

My name is Julie Yip-Williams. I am grateful and deeply honored that you are here. This story begins at the ending. Which means that if you are here, then I am not. But it's okay.

Here's some excerpts from the book that will give you a feel for how she approached her battle with cancer. She was an amazing woman who lived an amazing life. And was generous enough to leave behind an amazing book.

Being alone reinforced something I had been feeling -- and denying -- for quite some time now. As terrifying as it is, battling cancer is an individual journey, and the individuality of it is what I must come to embrace.

Sure, there are parents, siblings, cousins, friends, lovers, children, co-workers, and many other people who fill our lives, and sometimes their presence and chatter can make us forget that our journey is solely our own to make of as we will. 

But the truth is that we each enter and leave this life alone, that the experience of birth and death and all the living in between is ultimately a solitary one.

********************************

The sense that we ever had control over any of this seems nothing but a mockery now, a cruel illusion. And also, a lesson: we control nothing. 

Well, that's not exactly true. We control how good we are to people. We control how honest we are with ourselves and others. We control the effort we have put into living. We control how we respond to impossible news. And when the time comes, we control the terms of our surrender.

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It is as John Donne wrote in his "no man is an island" meditation: "Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind." 

Yes, I suppose my death will diminish you, but I also understand now that my living and fighting makes you greater than you are. We human are resilient little bugs.

And indeed, anyone who chooses to live and fight and show by example the power of the human spirit that we all share, and its determination to persevere against the brutalities of what life can bring, strengthens us all with a sense of the tremendous potential and fortitude that lie within each of us, a potential that is realized only when truly tested.

So I fight for myself, for my family, for the message that my war against cancer conveys to all of you, to all of humanity, about the incredible strength of which we are all capable. 

And by that same token, I urge all of you who face your own challenges that make you want to fall into the darkness to fight, too, because you, too, are part of humanity, and your fight matters and gives me and others strength when we falter.

********************************

A brave and strong person pulls herself out of the abyss with the help of those who have more strength, hope, and faith than she and goes about the business of living even though she doesn't necessarily want to.

A brave and strong person goes back to doing more research as she tries to figure out what to do next. She does all this knowing that there will be another abyss and many more moments and hours and days of darkness before she succumbs to the inevitable.

********************************

It took me two solid years of living with metastatic cancer to realize an important truth: barring some physical pain or other impediment brought on by cancer or its treatment, it isn't cancer that denies me my dreams; it isn't cancer that would prevent me from going on vacation or buying a new home or doing anything else that I long to do.

Rather, it is a paralyzed mind succumbing to the fear and unpredictability of cancer that would deny me my dreams. In its paralysis, it groups into one category all dreams that are truly gone (such as having another biological child) with dreams that can be reshaped and redefined, or even new dreams that are derivative of a cancer diagnosis.

In its paralysis, the mind cannot form contingency plans; it cannot be brave and bold and forward thinking; it cannot accept what is without running from what will be. 

In one of the many ironies that have come with having an incurable prognosis it is as if by accepting the inevitability of my death from this disease, I have freed myself from that paralysis.

Similarly, I can move forward now with some degree of certainty; I can plan for myself and my family, for as much as I emphasize living in the here and now, living and loving those whom we love by necessity requires some degree of planning, of thinking about what might be, of dreaming for them if not necessarily for ourselves.

I rejoice in my liberation, in my own courage to move forward, in the rebirth of a dream I once thought was forever lost to me.

Live while you live, my friends.

********************************

I am being brutally honest, as part of my commitment to give voice to all those I know who feel as I do, and to depict the dark side of cancer and debunk the overly sweet pink-ribbon facade of positivity and fanciful hope and rah-rah-rah nonsense spewed by cancer patients and others, which I have come to absolutely loathe.

I believe, as I have always believed, that in honesty -- a brutal yet kind and thoughtful honesty -- we ultimately find not vulnerability, shame, and disgrace, but liberation, healing, and wholeness. I hope my family and friends do not take offense at this honesty.

********************************

Usually, as expressive as I am in writing, I have the same compunction to verbally unload my heartaches to those closest to me in life (besides Josh), because I know that for me the process of verbalization is healing. But not now.

I didn't and still don't want to talk to people who have my disease, at least not anyone who is in a better position than I am, and I imagine anyone who is in a worse position doesn't want to talk to me. My self-imposed reclusiveness and isolationism is partly because of the jealousy and the hate.

I cannot imagine anyone saying anything to me that would be remotely helpful or comforting. I don't want to hear about the promise of immunotherapy. I don't want words of sympathy. I don't want sage words of advice about how to live the remainder of my life. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to answer any questions. I don't want to have to be forced to explain anything to anyone.

Whatever explanations I give and whatever information I divulge must be on my terms and at my initiation, not because someone asked or because I was forced into some social interaction.

Perhaps isolation, at least emotionally if not physically, is what happens as you get closer to death, as you understand more powerfully than ever before that this journey to the end is one that must be made absolutely alone. It feels as if whatever comfort there is will be found within, not without, from private conversations with my innermost self and, when I can muster belief, the gods.

********************************

In those moments of utter and complete emotional pain, I wanted the irrational and the impossible. I wanted to travel back in time to warn the little girl and the teenager I once was of her fate so she could change it. I wanted the unknowable; I wanted time to be circular rather than linear; I wanted the afterlife to hold the promise of second and third and fourth chances, the opportunity to live this life again and again and again until I could get it all right, until Josh and I could live out all our dreams together.

But most of all, I wanted to simply live out this life, also an impossibility, it seems. I never pray for myself, because I think to do so is supremely arrogant and selfish.

Why would God -- if there is indeed a God and if he does in fact intervene in our lives --spare my life and not the life of an innocent child who deserves to live more than I? I would never dare to suggest to an almighty being that I am somehow more special than others. 

But in those desperately painful moments, I prayed to a God I'm not sure even exists that I be spared from this cancer. 

********************************

We live every day not in the shadow of greatness and grandeur but within the confines of our small but seemingly enormous lives. It is a natural way to be; after all, we must live our lives.

And then things happen that jerk us out of our complacency and make us feel small and powerless again. But I have learned that in that powerlessness comes truth, and in truth comes a life lived consciously.

When the time comes, I will happily and with a great sign of relief climb into my bed knowing that i will never need to get up again. I will surround myself with family and friends, as my grandmother did.

I will eagerly greet the end of this miracle, and the beginning of another.

Why my wife and I are hooked on The Morning Show

Since my male ego is so small, a fact I'm tremendously proud about, I readily admit that my wife was right. Laurel kept saying, we should start watching The Morning Show, and I kept responding, but the reviews I've read haven't been very positive.

Well, we've been firing up Apple TV+ almost every night since taking our first plunge into The Morning Show, and now we're both enthralled by this compelling drama. 

Rotten Tomatoes has it right. Critics aren't wild about the series. But viewers love it.

Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon are indeed great in their roles. So are the supporting actors. Plus, the writing is excellent, with compelling scenes that are truly can't-look-away television.

What I like most about The Morning Show is the moral ambiguity. 

Just as in the larger real life drama featuring each of us, there's no clear-cut heroes and villains. At first it seems like there could be, since the co-host of The Morning Show is guilty of sexual misconduct that causes him to be fired, leaving Aniston to deal with a replacement played by Witherspoon.

However, as later episodes demonstrate, every main character, and some of the minor ones, are a blend of positive and negative qualities.

Or perhaps better put, their good and bad qualities shade into each other in such a complex fashion, it's impossible to see these people as anything other than decidedly human beings who are doing their best, even though sometimes they're accused of being the worst.

Watching The Morning Show thus has been therapeutic for me. I've become a bit less critical of my own shortcomings, and hopefully this will transfer over to how I see other people who fail to live up to my expectations. 

Life is tough.

It's tough for the high-paid, good-looking, well-known people who put on The Morning Show, a mix of news and entertainment, and it's tough for almost everybody else also. I love how Aniston and Witherspoon peel away the facade of their TV personas, revealing the realities that lie beneath their on-camera selves.

Jumping into the world of present-day politics, this goes a long way toward explaining why I dislike Donald Trump so much. He rarely, if ever, displays vulnerability, admits he was wrong, or acknowledges uncertainty about what to do. So when Aniston's character does all of those things, it's marvelously refreshing.

Yes, we had to fork out $5 a month to upgrade from Apple TV to Apple TV+. But that money has bought us a lot of viewing pleasure. Here's the official trailer, though it doesn't capture how good The Morning Show really is.

 

Why not buying an Arcimoto FUV still seems like a good decision

It's been almost a year since I wrote my last blog post about the Arcimoto FUV, a three-wheeled electric motorcycle that has some of the attributes of a car (notably, a roof). All of my Arcimoto posts, including this one, can be found here.

In February 2019 I laid out the reasons I wasn't getting a FUV (Fun Utility Vehicle) in "Why I'm not buying one of the first 100 Arcimoto FUVs." 

The reasons were: 

(1) My wife hates the idea of me buying one.
(2) No compelling reason to buy a FUV.
(3) I can buy a FUV later.
(4) The maximum range has dropped.
(5) Lack of long-term reviews.
(6) Questions remain unanswered.

(I explain each of them in the above-linked blog post.)

I'm still interested in Arcimoto, though. Ive been reading most of the posts, and some of the comments, on the Arcimoto FUV Club Facebook page. 

So here's an update on my thinking about the FUV.

What seems to be happening is that the early adopters eager to buy one of the first production Evergreen models are men, mostly, who are mechanically-inclined and willing to put up with considerable trouble and expense. 

For example, there's been considerable discussion about the best way to transport a FUV -- from the Eugene factory where they're built back home (the FUV only has a city range of about 100 miles, so you're not going to get very far at highway speeds), and/or afterward, in part because so far as I can tell, Arcimoto doesn't have a local servicing network, thus necessitating return of an FUV to the factory for upgrades, repairs, and such.

Tesla doesn't have dealers either. But I've been told by Tesla owners that if you need servicing or a repair, Tesla sends out a mobile unit that checks out the problem at your home.

Since Arcimoto is charging $1,000 to deliver a FUV, it makes sense that initial buyers on the West Coast are looking for ways to transport their FUV themselves.

However, I'm skeptical that large numbers of people are going to be willing to buy a vehicle that isn't sold through a local dealer, has a hefty delivery charge, can't be serviced in most locations, and costs about $20,000 with no federal electric vehicle tax credit. This skepticism affected my decision not to buy a FUV, because there's a big risk in being one of the first to purchase a vehicle with no long-term track record.

The January 2020 issue of Consumer Reports had a cautionary story, "Why It Pays to Wait" about the reliability of new or newly-redesigned vehicles. Here's how it starts out.

For car lovers, a dealership showroom can evoke that proverbial "kid in a candy store" feeling, as you ogle the high-sheen brand-new models, dripping with cutting-edge technology. Not to be a buzzkill, but we're here to advise you to resist, and instead consider a model that's several years into its redesign life.

Why? CR proprietary analysis shows that vehicles tend to be most reliable by the final year of any particular model run (typically five to seven years), after many of the bugs have been worked out, and least reliable in the first year of a redesign, when freshly configured and often touted as "all new." 

"It's tempting to want to be the first on your block to have the newest car, but that comes with reliability risks," says Jake Fisher, CR's senior director of auto testing. "Being patient can save you from years of frustration."

Thus those who buy one of the first Arcimoto FUVs should be aware that they're taking on a significant reliability risk. Indeed, on the FUV Club Facebook page I've read several accounts of people who drove off in their new FUV and almost instantly encountered a significant mechanical problem. 

I understand that this is the price some are willing to pay to be, as Consumer Reports said, the first on their block (or indeed, city) to have a FUV. I'm just saying that most people, which definitely includes me, want a reliable vehicle, even it it means not having a brand-new model.

Lastly, while I admire Arcimoto's commitment to making an electric vehicle, and thereby reducing carbon emissions, I haven't found any reason to back away from what I wrote about the FUV in the "No compelling reason to buy a FUV" part of my above-mentioned 2019 post.

I'm always looking for more fun. Though I haven't driven a FUV yet, I'm sure it's fun to zip around in. However, so is my VW GTI. And it is much more practical than a FUV.

I can go grocery shopping in the GTI and lock my car when I go from store to store. I can take our dog along. If it rains, I don't get wet. If it snows, I don't get cold. The FUV lacks the fun-factor of a motorcycle, while also lacking the features that make my GTI both considerably safer and more useable, given my daily transportation needs.

So I continue to see the Arcimoto FUV as a niche vehicle that will appeal to only a small number of people: those who live in cities; are OK with a limited electric range; have another vehicle for practical purposes like grocery shopping, carrying children around, and such; and possess enough mechanical ability to do their own maintenance and repairs.

That said, I'd be overjoyed if, a few years from now, I re-read this post and say to myself, "Wow, I sure was wrong," because I'd like to see the FUV become a big success. It just isn't right for me in its current incarnation.

The Dreaded Christmas Letter is a darkly humorous must-read

Every year I look forward to getting The Dreaded Christmas Letter from Nancy, a long-time friend of my wife,  who ives in the San Francisco Bay area and teaches piano, plus water aerobics.

This year Nancy's appealingly funny letter arrived via Facebook today, where it was easy to copy into a blog post where, hopefully, it will receive the worldwide adulation it deserves. 

Enjoy. Since I stole all of the words from her newsletter, I figured I might as well steal the Facebook photos also.

The Dreaded Christmas Newsletter

What fun we had this year!

Walking through walls, being able to see through floors, exposing ourselves to the outdoors and getting better acquainted with all the little insects and animals that populate this earth. Haz mat tents went up and piano students feared for their lives as the dangers of asbestos, mold and lead were cheerfully brought to their attention in bright red letters.

Our new roommate – Murphy – quickly laid down his law and insured that everything that could go wrong, did.

And in case you’re wondering, no, the house remodel is still not finished. Contractors follow the biblical timetable where a minute is a day, an hour is a week and materials that should arrive in 2 weeks do so only after crossing the interspace date removal line.

Following Greta Thunberg’s lead, I am contemplating giving up air travel. Why pay hundreds of dollars to be scanned, searched, deprived of water, forced to stand in endless lines only to then remain motionless in a narrow seat, fearing the norovirus. I’m getting a yacht!

Our California utility company must be the only one in the nation that aims to serve us best by continually cutting off our power. Blackouts have pitted one neighbor against the other as the no-lights glare across the street at the have-lights. Wisely I have stockpiled scented candles gifted to me over the years and the next blackout will, at least, stink nice.

Did you know that a single person’s road trip to L.A. produces 0.3 tons of carbon dioxide? And that it could be halved if there is another person in the car? Savvy girls that we are, Gina and I now use a chauffeur for the trip.

Gina is back in school now getting another degree. Her job at Savers continues to offer her a selection of strangely-abled old men that make her feel desirable and sought after. She is absolutely fearless zipping about town on her scooter, leaving a wake of panicked pedestrians and startled motorists.

Years of lecturing Johnny about safe sex and birth control have paid off. He and his wife Jenny are not procreating. I’m not sure how involved I should be in all this. Gentle suggestions and intimate queries are all met with the same empty stare. His job at the bank is going well and he continues to climb up the corporate ladder without missing a rung as he crashes through the glass ceiling.

Waldo is happy. We pulled out 8 of his teeth and shaved off all his fur while he was asleep. Now he bounds around the house like a new puppy. I hope he never retaliates in kind.

Squash has been good to me this year. I invented an exo-skeleton that I just drop my body into, play a match and then pull out what’s left of it afterward. Not a pretty sight! But definitely better than me teaching aqua aerobics. I have to wear a cloaking device until I get in the water, which I remove after entry. Gives everyone their first heart rate experience of the day!

In addition to playing piano, I am giving nose flute concerts. They have been especially popular in memory care units, where the ability to quickly forget is a plus.

Wishing you a belated Merry Christmas and all the best in the New Year!

"Salem is a really friendly town." So says a couple considering moving here.

Last Monday my email inbox presented me with an interesting message, which said in part...

Brian Hines:

So, my wife and I are exploring Salem as a place to retire... from crazy, CRAZY Silicon Valley.   Two days before Christmas, just at this moment we're sitting in our AirBNB living room in South Salem, exploring by cyber-means what we've been doing by car and by shamelessly accosting locals on the street, in coffee houses, and at Northern Lights for the past week. After seeing a million prospective houses in West and South Salem, our real estate lady took us to Pringle Creek Community and we're hooked.

They'd found me via my Strange Up Salem Facebook page. Or maybe my blogs. Regardless, they offered to buy me a beer or coffee so they could talk to me about Salem -- an offer I couldn't refuse.

So on Tuesday morning, Christmas Eve, I met up with them at the French Press on south Commercial. When I arrived, they were talking with a couple at the next table, who had moved to Salem fairly recently. 

We covered quite a bit of ground in the 90 minutes or so I spent with the Silicon Valley couple. Early on they told me how impressed they were with the friendliness of people in Salem.

While waiting in line at the Northern Lights movie theatre, they found it easy to strike up conversations with other people. That doesn't happen in Silicon Valley, they told me, theorizing that because people work such long hours there, when they have free time they aren't much interested in chit-chat.

I enjoyed listening to them talk about what they liked about Salem. Those of us who have lived here for a long time (in my case, 42 years) often take the good things about Salem for granted, while focusing on what we don't like. 

Salem really is a friendly town.

Like a fish who fails to notice the water that surrounds them, I'd just become accustomed to the friendliness of the city that I've called home since 1977. The couple noted that people here stop for cars trying to merge into heavy traffic, another sign of friendliness.

Now, I'm not sure whether this couple has made a final decision to move to Salem, though it sounded like they were leaning in that direction. I told them that Pringle Creek Community, the environmentally-friendly development on the old Fairview Training Center property, seemed like it would be a good fit for them.

After all, no matter how friendly a city is, it isn't all that easy for retired people to make new acquaintances. They liked how Pringle Creek Community offered a built-in social network, with various activities offered to both those who live there and the surrounding neighborhood.

Anyway, let's keep Salem friendly. That's good for those of us who already live here, and it's also a good way of attracting people who are thinking of moving here.