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Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Do the benefits exceed the drawbacks?

I've not had much to say of late about my opiod. I think it's an important subject and I stay abreast of the subject. God, I hope so! I visit the office every two months, and the exam in rigorous.   

I understand how patients can be drawn in and succumb. I see a physician whose practice is limited to pain management. I need to understand his practices, and so far I do. I started with a daily dose of 75 mcg, the lowest possible. 

When I broke my way up the bones on my right side, Dr. Pain said he should double my dose to see me through. In fact, pain was stinking unmanageable and my 150 mcg dose now is twice a day, twelve hours apart. Dr. Bone is quite comfortable with that. 

Like Dr. Kidney and Dr. Heart, Dr. Bone happy I see a real pain management doctor. (And those are all the doctors I see, except my primary care, which we are obliged to have, and my therapist, who helps me sort my problems.)

I maintained for two or three years, I think, on the 75 mcg dose. I wonder if I can ever go back. I hope so, and will stay on it like the duck and the June bug. My replaced shoulder is magnificent, but my broken femur is slow, slow, slow.

At some witched hour in the night, I woke from pain in my right knee and left shoulder. I considered it all, and attributed it to yesterday's three hours of sewing. I put all in a new position and went back to sleep.

At some more witched hour, but not yet eight a.m., Laura, in jammies, wakened me. For the third time this year, she and the bus did not connect. 

Sigh! I got up, put the morning dose in my mouth, dressed and drove Laura to school. In two and a half months, it's over! Came home, and have literally frittered away the rest of the morning. I'm cold, and Mr. Cat feels sorry for both of us!


A warm cat leaning on my shoulder makes me sleepy. Opiods and sleepy do not mix well. I'll be off to play cards and eat Fritos soon, and that is good. Mr. Cat has been sent to find a new shoulder. And, I'm still in charge of the opiods. 














Sunday, March 17, 2019

A nice surprise!


Jan called this morning.
She finished the quilt and was in the neighborhood.


Here is the quilt and here is Laura
with blue hair.


And here is the quilt, sure to be extra warm
from its wool batt and velour backing.
Almost too thick to quilt, but doable.
Thanks, Aunt Janice!


Saturday, March 16, 2019

My rock garden, and other good news


My towel project nears its end; I have twenty or so bloggers left to contact. I've slowed down, in order to have another color off the loom, for one more selection pile. I'm close to done with "denim"; I probably will finish them Monday.

So many people wanted to send something in return, and I explained this was for me, and if they really wanted, a thank you note. Some nice people still persisted, and it came to me: a stone for my garden. But not the little garden out front, where I would never find them, but in the beautiful old ironstone platter from Alberta



Until the denim are done, here is my tiny inventory. A very foresty green. They only lack bluebells, to set off their color. Then the periwinkle, the cream and the pumpkin.


My loom has ears! Sometimes that happens. And finally, spring is coming. There was only a dusting of snow this morning.


Thursday, March 14, 2019

More of the story



When I wrote that last post, two local events crossed my mind. Perhaps they should have been part of that post.

I live in NE Ohio, in Boston Township. The township is divided by the Cuyahoga River valley; some township is north, some is south.

I live south of the river, as does most of the population. The largest number of inhabitants south of the river live where I do, in a mobile home park. It’s not about the amenities of housing south of the river, it’s about availability (almost 300 homes in the park), and the school district.

Three school districts serve the entire township. Mine is Hudson. I’ve mentioned Hudson schools in many contexts over the years, including its exclusiveness, its cost to taxpayers, and the quality of education ranked among the highest in Ohio. Although Hudson has declined recently in a realignment of Ohio scores, it remains a top tier high school, and exclusive.

Hudson is not an open enrollment school. As that implies, you must live in the district to attend Hudson schools. When we moved here, thirty years ago, Roger next door had a live-in girlfriend with two very undisciplined boys.

My sister and I became friends with a couple of women with shared interests. They were knitters and we were spinners. Rosemary also was Student Records Administrator for Hudson Schools. On one visit to the shop, Rosemary mentioned the lack of motorbike racing noise from next door.

“Oh, yes, Roger’s girlfriend and the boys moved to Akron.” “When?” “Over the summer.”  “Interesting; the boys still come to Hudson,” said Rosemary. “Oh, yes,” we volunteered. “Their mother drops them for the school bus every morning.” And that was the end of the boys attending Hudson.

Truth be told, I felt little sympathy for those boys, who had ruined more than one family picnic by raising all hell, dirt and noise with their racing bikes on the track Roger carved out for them behind his house. But ten or so years ago, I had to rethink! A woman in the southern part of our county enrolled her daughters in another out of district school. She lived in Akron in a dangerous neighborhood with substandard schools.

When caught she took her case to court, and lost. Then she had a thirty thousand dollar invoice for unpaid tuition. Her eventual sentence was probation and community service. I suppose the tuition was resolved in some fashion.

I checked Google to see if anyone is in prison for hopping school districts, and found cases of probations and fines for falsifying addresses. I was not successful with Snopes, so I sent a request to investigate.

Why is this in a story about rich people falsifying records to advance school admission? Because it’s a story about poor, poor people doing the same. And I think it’s something we need to think about.



Tuesday, March 12, 2019

Stay positive. Remain cheerful and upbeat. Just ignore it.


            
Those are mantras I use to sort of kick my butt and get past annoying situations. The older I grow, the more often I walk into “old person” situations. Situations in which I am a faceless old person.

Today I read in The Washington Post, the FBI finds wealthy parents, including “stars”, use bribery and fraud to have their children admitted to Georgetown, Yale, Stanford. Fifty are charged, thirty-three are parents. 

The investigation is ongoing and others can be investigated and charged. Boston’s U.S. attorney called it the largest ever college admissions scam prosecuted by the Justice Department.  And the scheme was discovered accidentally.

“These parents are a catalogue of wealth and privilege,” said Lelling, Boston U.S. Attorney.  “This case is about the widening corruption of elite college admissions through the steady application of wealth combined with fraud. There can be no separate college admission system for the wealthy, and I’ll add there will not be a separate criminal justice system, either.”

That raises my confidence in returning honor and integrity to the process.

Parents being duped are half my age. Colleges participating, or receiving rigged SAT’s and other college admission scores range from coast to coast.

Laura’s junior class took ACT tests today. That acronym stands for American College Testing. SAT is Scholastic Aptitude Test. The tests took all morning. I asked what classes she had in the afternoon, and she replied “Nothing. All the juniors went home and had no classes.” Well, the juniors with cars.

Laura ate lunch until all the lunch periods were over. Then she cleaned her art teacher’s palettes, spent one period talking with her 9th grade history teacher and another talking with her 10th grade history teacher. Then rode the bus home.

I stopped to read some comments to the Post article. Here is a showstopper: “The rich don't look at everyone else and see people, they see the unwashed masses that are obviously not as good as they are, otherwise they would be rich too.Signed therealgrimm


 A Depression era quilt: "Prosperity is just around the corner."