GET YOURS AT KOHL'S OPENING AT 3 AM FRIDAY! NOT!
I don't know about y'all, but I can't think of anywhere I would rather not be at 3 am this Black Friday than Kohl's. Oh, yeah, maybe someplace like the Alameda County Jail or the ER at Highland, but Kohl's would be right up there. And just when did the day after Thanksgiving become "Black Friday"? I always enjoyed the traditional trip to The City for the SF Auto Show that day, and I would never have perceived it in such a negative way. Surely the retail world didn't coin that name, so who's behind this? Sounds very much like a Tea Party sort of idea to me.
THANKFUL HARDLY DESCRIBES IT
Not a day goes by that I don't find myself boggled by what has transpired this past year. So I think it is fitting that instead of the normal hodge-podge of depraved "humor" that I try to inject into this strange concoction you are reading, I would step out of character once again to express some truly sincere thoughts. Thanksgiving is approaching at a frightening speed and we are deep in preparation for the annual trek to The Family Compound, aka The Venetian in Capitola. Why did the Kennedy's have a "compound" in Hyannis Port? Sounds like a prison to me. But anyway, this Turkey Day 2010 is doubtlessly a symbol of what has to be the holiday most worthy of thankfulness of any previous one in my life.
I sort of know how those Oscar winners must feel. There they are with a truly amazing award in their hands, and many whip out a crumpled little piece of paper with a list of people to thank before the gentle music that indicates "time's up" starts to play. I don't hear any music yet, so excuse me if I bend your ear for a wee bit.
It is a very real impossibility, just as it is in the movies, to properly thank everyone without either missing about 92% of them or writing a Michener-length blog. You already moan about how long this blathering is, so forget that. This is difficult to properly abridge, but........
As you can no doubt guess, the largest piece of gratitude has to go to the love of my life, My Dear Cheryl. I have previously expressed that on numerous occasions, but if you are a recent Transplant Trib devotee (and why would any one not be?) then you know the way she kept both of us going all this time. I privately thought about throwing in the towel on several occasions, but Cheryl's drive and focus kept me moving ahead slowly, kicking and flailing all the way. And what about after the operation? That was when the intense care giving started, and we both had to step it up to meet those demands. I am truly one fortunate guy, one who managed to pick an outstanding lifetime partner.
I have the best family anyone could hope for in a situation such as this. I cannot say enough about our two outstanding kids and their partners. My brothers-in-law both offered to be living donors when it looked like a kidney alone would do the job. We had happily-provided help from my brother and sister-in-law, our kids' in-laws, cousins from both of our families, and our nieces and nephews.
Friends have always been a source of enjoyment and love for both of us. We have an all-star assemblage of friends, some of which have been so for as long as 40+ years. Damn, we are old! But despite that, during my dark days, I lacked the motivation to contact friends or initialize activities. i was basically a deadly bore, unable to effectively participate in conversations. People apparently recalled enough about my former persona to cut me loads of breaks and hang on in the hopes that the real me might someday return. Many who I consider friends are from various locations along the course of my "illustrious" career. Several of them kept periodically checking in on me, and incredibly three actually offered to become kidney donors. Incredible barely describes it.
It is impossible for me to name all the people along the way who added one or another form of medical assistance. I even doubt if I could recall and mention all the groups, departments, and professions that had a hand. I had care at several hospitals, from the powerhouse UCSF Medical Center to ValleyCare to poor (literally) little Community Hospital of Long Beach. The staff in these facilities were caring, skilled and so unbelievably knowledgeable 99.99% of the time. I guess I knew this from over 20 years of working in hospitals, but until I became virtually a full-time patient, I did not fully understand the level of trust these qualities create in the mind of the person under their care. I do need to specifically salute Dr. Eddie Rame, who was the "sales department" when we were first (brutally via a letter) referred to the heart transplant side of the house. The Cardiac Rehabilitation program at LifeStyle Rx here in Livermore has kept me largely upright and functioning for almost five years, miles and miles longer than the normal 12-week rehab regimen. I adore all the staff over there, and they watch me like a hawk!
OK, OK, the orchestra is starting to play that gentle "get outta here" music.... In addition to first-class medical care, my messed-up head was attended to by a great therapist, in addition to my psychiatrist and the many hospital social workers. Also on the non-medical treatment front, I was added to the prayer list at at least different three houses of prayer which I deeply appreciate.
I often think about our parents and how happy and relieved they would be. My folks suffered with me and my diabetes and heart ailments for many years. Cherie's Mom and Dad were the early introduction to the realm of transplantation. My dear, late Mother-in-Law, Joan Cook, introduced me to that world formally through TRIO, and she also provided the example that Cheryl followed when it came to be our turn.
Daily, I think about my young donor and his family. My gratitude to them for the seriously difficult decision they had to make can't be adequately described in words. I as yet have not had direct communication, and it is possible I never will. I have been told they do particularly want to meet the heart recipient, and the opportunity to express my boundless thankfulness is something I hope will take place. I am composing a Thanksgiving letter for the family in an attempt to express that directly to them.
I am incredibly happy to arrive at Thanksgiving and the upcoming Holiday season in 2010. Last year at this time, things started getting worse quickly, and luckily for us, the Heart/Lung Transplant Team recognized it and put me on 10 Long until organs were available. The rest, as they say, is joyous history.
Humble and sincere thanks to everyone along the Transplant Turnpike. Happy Thanksgiving.
Bob/Irv
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Failure to Launch, Version 2.0
THE THRILL OF VICTORY, THE AGONY OF DA FEET
After all that excitement about and anticipation of our little Las Vegas fling, it all came a'cropper once again. For some still unknown reason, an infection attacked my already-vulnerable big toe. It started last weekend, and by late Monday I could barely walk. It was throbbing with pain and somewhat red. I called Dr. Schwartz, my long-time podiatrist at Muir. He was in surgery that day and he recommended I call my primary care physician.
I happened to be participating in a test of a new blood glucose meter at Muir Concord on Tuesday, and my primary, Dr. Cahill walked in. She had not started her day yet, but when I asked her if she had any time, she arranged for me to come to the office and she would see me before her appointments started. Awesome, she is definitely a doc who is genuinely interested in her patients. She said it was infected, prescribed an antibiotic, and set up a visit with Dr. Schwartz. She thought it might be necessary to remove the toenail. Include Dr. Cahill with all the other truly incredible doctors who have cared for me for the last many years.
Before taking Cheryl to meet her travel group for their airport trip, I saw Dr. Schwartz. The toe hurt less and was less red than the previous day, and he did not think removal was warranted. That would have been a rather major annoyance which would keep me out of action for three days or so. He looked over his glasses at me, hesitated, and said he was strongly against me going to Sin City. What? Not again! I had told him about the car stuff since he is a major enthusiast of collector cars. He has personally restored several, and has owned two very desirable Ferraris in the past (a 250 GT Lusso and a 365 GTB4 Daytona, for those familiar). With that, he left it to me but was concerned that if something happened, it would not be good to be in an ER where they probably were not too familiar with transplantation or podiatry. Memories of Long Beach 2009 came flooding in. I knew I was dead meat.
In addition to Lost Wages and a visit with old friends Larry and Linda Flashberg, I also missed a fun Guy's Deal on Wednesday. I was to join Frates and Henry for lunch in Sacramento with Miller and Johnson, followed by a tour of a tractor and farm implement museum in Woodland. By all accounts it was fascinating, and I am sorry to have missed it. Some other time, yet again.
So this became a sudden test of my ability to take care of myself for a short but significant period of time. Cheryl was of course concerned about medications, driving, and low blood sugar events. So was I, but I knew I could do this. And yes, in fact I have. No problems, no issues, no fuss, no bother and only one meal eaten out the whole time, accompanied by The Younger Chaws as well as Taryn and Andy Bliss. I also must thank Kitty Lucy for outstanding companionship, no bites, no scratches and even an adorable snuggle or two. Cheryl returned Saturday evening and everything is back to some version of normal once again. And oh yeah, my toe is good too.
ROCKIN' OUT ON THE BAGPIPES
One positive outcome of the above was the opportunity to attend the monthly UCSF Heart/Lung Transplant Support Group meeting. A speaker was secured for this month, double-lung recipient Isa Stenzel Byrnes. For those new to this blog, or too forgetful to recall, Isa and her twin sister Ana were victims of cystic fibrosis since infancy. Nasty, nasty disease, requiring literally hours everyday of difficult treatment. They survived to receive lung transplants and have written a biography, The Power of Two, describing their amazing lives. A feature-length documentary of the story will be out in 2011. We have known both ladies from our TRIO group since we started going about seven years ago.
Besides sharing invaluable thoughts and strategies surrounding transplants, Isa brought her bagpipes to the meeting. Playing this instrument is a testimony to the remarkable achievements of both sisters. It takes some kinda lungs to keep that bag inflated, to be sure. And it is LOUD, which I really enjoyed. Everyone in the room was grinning while Isa played. She is part of the Stewart Tartan Pipes and Drums, and we are tentatively planning to see the troupe perform their Christmas concert in Saratoga in a coupla weeks. There are a LOT of members, all in authentic (and expensive!) Royal Stewart Tartan regalia. I cannot imagine how overwhelming a gaggle of bagpipes (a gag o' bags, get it?) with drums might be, but I would love to find out! I, like many Transplant Trib readers, was exposed to some fairly high-volume music in my life (not to mention very noisy racing cars), and my philosophy is "Turn It Up, Please". This may be due to a deterioration of my hearing (Huh? I couldn't hear you, Dear) but it was worth it, don'tcha think?
And so with a clean, unharmed residence, clean dishes, clean clothes and well-stocked pantry My Sweetie was pleased with the results of this experiment. Hey, remember I am the Domestic God(dess), and damn proud of it. It is now headlong into prep for Thanksgiving in Capitola with the fam. Look for the Special Giving Thanks Holiday Collector's Edition of this publication, coming to your computer and/or noozstand soon.
But wait, there's more! Tonight will there will be a Blue Moon, sponsored by your very own Transplant Trib! Any readers who know what a Blue Moon is will score a free lifetime subscription. So go for it! And so, blue in the face, I remain...
Bob/Irv
After all that excitement about and anticipation of our little Las Vegas fling, it all came a'cropper once again. For some still unknown reason, an infection attacked my already-vulnerable big toe. It started last weekend, and by late Monday I could barely walk. It was throbbing with pain and somewhat red. I called Dr. Schwartz, my long-time podiatrist at Muir. He was in surgery that day and he recommended I call my primary care physician.
I happened to be participating in a test of a new blood glucose meter at Muir Concord on Tuesday, and my primary, Dr. Cahill walked in. She had not started her day yet, but when I asked her if she had any time, she arranged for me to come to the office and she would see me before her appointments started. Awesome, she is definitely a doc who is genuinely interested in her patients. She said it was infected, prescribed an antibiotic, and set up a visit with Dr. Schwartz. She thought it might be necessary to remove the toenail. Include Dr. Cahill with all the other truly incredible doctors who have cared for me for the last many years.
Before taking Cheryl to meet her travel group for their airport trip, I saw Dr. Schwartz. The toe hurt less and was less red than the previous day, and he did not think removal was warranted. That would have been a rather major annoyance which would keep me out of action for three days or so. He looked over his glasses at me, hesitated, and said he was strongly against me going to Sin City. What? Not again! I had told him about the car stuff since he is a major enthusiast of collector cars. He has personally restored several, and has owned two very desirable Ferraris in the past (a 250 GT Lusso and a 365 GTB4 Daytona, for those familiar). With that, he left it to me but was concerned that if something happened, it would not be good to be in an ER where they probably were not too familiar with transplantation or podiatry. Memories of Long Beach 2009 came flooding in. I knew I was dead meat.
In addition to Lost Wages and a visit with old friends Larry and Linda Flashberg, I also missed a fun Guy's Deal on Wednesday. I was to join Frates and Henry for lunch in Sacramento with Miller and Johnson, followed by a tour of a tractor and farm implement museum in Woodland. By all accounts it was fascinating, and I am sorry to have missed it. Some other time, yet again.
So this became a sudden test of my ability to take care of myself for a short but significant period of time. Cheryl was of course concerned about medications, driving, and low blood sugar events. So was I, but I knew I could do this. And yes, in fact I have. No problems, no issues, no fuss, no bother and only one meal eaten out the whole time, accompanied by The Younger Chaws as well as Taryn and Andy Bliss. I also must thank Kitty Lucy for outstanding companionship, no bites, no scratches and even an adorable snuggle or two. Cheryl returned Saturday evening and everything is back to some version of normal once again. And oh yeah, my toe is good too.
ROCKIN' OUT ON THE BAGPIPES
One positive outcome of the above was the opportunity to attend the monthly UCSF Heart/Lung Transplant Support Group meeting. A speaker was secured for this month, double-lung recipient Isa Stenzel Byrnes. For those new to this blog, or too forgetful to recall, Isa and her twin sister Ana were victims of cystic fibrosis since infancy. Nasty, nasty disease, requiring literally hours everyday of difficult treatment. They survived to receive lung transplants and have written a biography, The Power of Two, describing their amazing lives. A feature-length documentary of the story will be out in 2011. We have known both ladies from our TRIO group since we started going about seven years ago.
Besides sharing invaluable thoughts and strategies surrounding transplants, Isa brought her bagpipes to the meeting. Playing this instrument is a testimony to the remarkable achievements of both sisters. It takes some kinda lungs to keep that bag inflated, to be sure. And it is LOUD, which I really enjoyed. Everyone in the room was grinning while Isa played. She is part of the Stewart Tartan Pipes and Drums, and we are tentatively planning to see the troupe perform their Christmas concert in Saratoga in a coupla weeks. There are a LOT of members, all in authentic (and expensive!) Royal Stewart Tartan regalia. I cannot imagine how overwhelming a gaggle of bagpipes (a gag o' bags, get it?) with drums might be, but I would love to find out! I, like many Transplant Trib readers, was exposed to some fairly high-volume music in my life (not to mention very noisy racing cars), and my philosophy is "Turn It Up, Please". This may be due to a deterioration of my hearing (Huh? I couldn't hear you, Dear) but it was worth it, don'tcha think?
And so with a clean, unharmed residence, clean dishes, clean clothes and well-stocked pantry My Sweetie was pleased with the results of this experiment. Hey, remember I am the Domestic God(dess), and damn proud of it. It is now headlong into prep for Thanksgiving in Capitola with the fam. Look for the Special Giving Thanks Holiday Collector's Edition of this publication, coming to your computer and/or noozstand soon.
But wait, there's more! Tonight will there will be a Blue Moon, sponsored by your very own Transplant Trib! Any readers who know what a Blue Moon is will score a free lifetime subscription. So go for it! And so, blue in the face, I remain...
Bob/Irv
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The Old Nooz Issue, and a Look Ahead
BUT FIRST, A LOOK BACK
As previewed in the last blog, last weekend had some significant, nearly transplant-related elements. It's a stretch at best, but what the hey? Under the category of What Old Farts Do for Fun, and for Free, we excitedly joined our machatunum the Chaws for a community open house at John Muir Health, Concord Campus. Oh, and if you are unfamiliar with the term machatunum, I would be happy to explain it to you. Anyway, after a bit o' lunch, we arrived at what once was known as Mt. Diablo Medical Center for the big event, celebrating the upcoming opening of JMH's new Emergency Department and Cardiovascular Institute. I have been a guest at several similar departments at a variety of hospitals, far and wide. I am not a doctor (although I do portray one on TV), but from the user perspective, this place rocks.
After ignoring the huge kid jumpy thing and the churro wagon (?), we queued up politely for our tour. First stop was the ED, and having had several unfortunate sessions there myself, it was an incredible leap ahead into the current century. The old joint was a bit murky, and the treatment areas were separated by curtains so privacy was non-existent. This was so you could plainly hear the drunk dude in the next bed throwing up his guts and swearing at the cops who brought him in. Mt. D has always had one of the more entertaining emergency facilities, and I cannot even imagine the kind of strain this puts on those docs and nurses in there.
Leap ahead to 2010, and you find a bright new ED with individual treatment rooms, lots of room to move about, and the latest gear. Our hosting nurse was quite excited about the impending opening of the unit, for good reason. I sincerely wish the very best to ED Medical Director Dr. David Birdsall, who I happily served with on several projects, and the whole bunch. They really do a lot of tough, valuable work there.
We then got to see the Cardiovascular Institute, designed to accommodate a long-time Muir priority of treating heart attacks, congestive heart failure and all the attendant ailments that are such a large part of health care. Complementing the ED, The CI is also state-of-the-art, from the Cath Lab (a UCSF favorite of mine!), to the Cardiac ICU and the step-down unit where patients are progressed through post-procedure care ultimately to discharge. I could not help but compare these facilities to others I have experienced, and the priorities of high-tech care with patient comfort are very obvious. My most objectionable living arrangements at UCSF, Mt. D, and poor old Long Beach involved multi-patient room arrangements. Fond memories of the old farting guy at UCSF, the loud all-night TV moron at Mt. D, and the incredible three-man room at Muir Walnut Creek came rushing back. This menage a trois included a truly amazing Code Blue at 2:00 am for the guy across from me, which wigged me out worse than my own similar experience over on Parnassus. The third poor guy was a diabetic on dialysis with both legs amputated, in for some sort of brain problem. This did not cheer me up much. No such situation in these new Muir Concord rooms; they are all private.
Besides the new building, I did get to see Chef Alison, Eugene W., RD's Patty C. and Brian D., and my former co-worker Debbie T. while we were there. Debbie is kinda special since she actually was one of two of the staff there who seriously offered me a kidney back when I was managing the department. Pretty heavy-duty stuff, and I am glad she is back working and healthy after a long illness. Thanks, Debbie, that was quite an offer.
We polished off a great weekend with a pleasant visit with Andy and Linz. Sacramento's K Street Mall was eerily unpopulated, except by mysterious shadowy figures huddled in doorways. We did successfully reach the Pyramid Brewery, which was awarded the coveted Cheryl Moss "Worst Fish Tacos Ever" Award. The lettuce wedge and my beloved Apricot Ale were just fine, thank you.
SO WHAT ABOUT THE UPCOMING WEEK?
Main feature will be our fling in Las Vegas. We will stagger our departures, with my dear travel agent leaving Wednesday and I will join her Thursday. There is a direct and profound relation to transplantation on this trip, so indulge me for a moment.....
Back in the 1950's, a Texan named Carroll Shelby became a professional racing driver after flings in trucking, flying and chicken raising. He was fairly successful and gained fame when he won the 1959 24 Hours of Le Mans, a very coveted prize in the world of motor sports. He also was known for his unusual racing attire, a striped bib apron from his chicken days. Safety? What's that?
After he retired from driving, Shelby was able to achieve his goals of building and racing an American sports car when he convinced Ford to help him create the Cobra in 1962. This make has become legendary in the world of racing and high-performance road cars. Shelby continued various car projects on for many years, even now still turning out cars at his factory in, yes, Las Vegas.
What was really unusual was that his last races in 1960 were driven with a nitroglycerin tablet under his tongue. Shelby had a congenital heart condition which kept him confined to bedrest from the age of seven to fourteen. Symptoms subsided and he pursued his various endeavors until things got serious. He stopped racing that year, and again was able to ignore the situation for quite a while. But by the late Eighties the situation became progressively worse, and he became a candidate for a heart transplant. In 1991 he did receive a heart at Cedars Sinai in L.A., interestingly coming from a 34-year old donor who suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage while rushing through a casino in, yes, Las Vegas. Carroll was 68 at the time. In 1996, his failing kidneys necessitated another transplant, with his son Mike donating.
Carroll Shelby is 87 now and still doing car things. His various achievements include the Cobra and its glorious racing history, the Shelby Mustangs (still being built by Ford today), Shelby Dodge, and Dodge Viper. I was a Shelby Mustang owner briefly; mine was a black 1966 GT 350. He even had a Cobra built for Bill Cosby that was known as "The 200 MPH Cobra" which scared the poop outta Cos. He let Shel' keep it, it was just too powerful (900 hp). Reportedly Carroll did drive it over 200 MPH in Nevada (no, NOT Las Vegas), then sold it at auction for yes, five million bux. Yeah, MILLION.
He also supervises The Carroll Shelby Foundation. His primary focus is helping kids get transplants and treatment for other illnesses, as well as providing automotive scholarships. Pretty great guy for several reasons, one of my all-time racing heroes.
OK, OK, I know, TMI but this is My Thing, y'know. I "experienced" the whole Cobra thing as it burgeoned in the Sixties, and so likewise did my original UCSB roomie, Larry Flashberg. Flash and wife Linda now reside in, yes, Las Vegas. And Larry's love of Cobras encouraged him to build his own, something beyond my capabilities. Ask my Brother Gary about the famous Moss Brothers Oil Change Project. So, this Vegas/Carroll Shelby/Heart and Kidney Transplant/Cobra thing is just too cool for school, I'm thinkin'. Larry has suggested a tour of the Shelby Factory and Museum, followed early Saturday morning with Cars and Coffee. Here enthusiasts gather with their vehicles in an informal assembly of all sorts of cars. Of course, Flash motors up in his Cobra, and then checks out all the other cars and owners. Pretty awesome, eh?
Cheryl will be a busy bee while Flash and I wander about. Hopefully she will get her fill of travel seminars, cocktail receptions, lavish dinners, vendor presentations, and of course a free trip to Somalia or something. I plan to independently visit the incredible Penske-Wynn Ferrari/Maserati dealership, located in a Wynn hotel. I understand they actually charge ten bux to check out the cars, I dunno.
THANKSGIVING LOOMS
As soon as we return, we will Reverse All Engines and prepare for the annual Thanksgiving soiree in beautiful Capitola. I now admit I have been sad, weak and uninspired the last few years down there, actually kinda dreading it. Bad, bad. But NOW, I can't wait to be with all the friends and relatives there, and throw down massive quantities of Bud with Allen and Sean. Burp!!
Hey, wake up! It's over now. Thanks for letting me ramble on again, as if you had a choice. Kiss my grits...
Bob/Irv
As previewed in the last blog, last weekend had some significant, nearly transplant-related elements. It's a stretch at best, but what the hey? Under the category of What Old Farts Do for Fun, and for Free, we excitedly joined our machatunum the Chaws for a community open house at John Muir Health, Concord Campus. Oh, and if you are unfamiliar with the term machatunum, I would be happy to explain it to you. Anyway, after a bit o' lunch, we arrived at what once was known as Mt. Diablo Medical Center for the big event, celebrating the upcoming opening of JMH's new Emergency Department and Cardiovascular Institute. I have been a guest at several similar departments at a variety of hospitals, far and wide. I am not a doctor (although I do portray one on TV), but from the user perspective, this place rocks.
After ignoring the huge kid jumpy thing and the churro wagon (?), we queued up politely for our tour. First stop was the ED, and having had several unfortunate sessions there myself, it was an incredible leap ahead into the current century. The old joint was a bit murky, and the treatment areas were separated by curtains so privacy was non-existent. This was so you could plainly hear the drunk dude in the next bed throwing up his guts and swearing at the cops who brought him in. Mt. D has always had one of the more entertaining emergency facilities, and I cannot even imagine the kind of strain this puts on those docs and nurses in there.
Leap ahead to 2010, and you find a bright new ED with individual treatment rooms, lots of room to move about, and the latest gear. Our hosting nurse was quite excited about the impending opening of the unit, for good reason. I sincerely wish the very best to ED Medical Director Dr. David Birdsall, who I happily served with on several projects, and the whole bunch. They really do a lot of tough, valuable work there.
We then got to see the Cardiovascular Institute, designed to accommodate a long-time Muir priority of treating heart attacks, congestive heart failure and all the attendant ailments that are such a large part of health care. Complementing the ED, The CI is also state-of-the-art, from the Cath Lab (a UCSF favorite of mine!), to the Cardiac ICU and the step-down unit where patients are progressed through post-procedure care ultimately to discharge. I could not help but compare these facilities to others I have experienced, and the priorities of high-tech care with patient comfort are very obvious. My most objectionable living arrangements at UCSF, Mt. D, and poor old Long Beach involved multi-patient room arrangements. Fond memories of the old farting guy at UCSF, the loud all-night TV moron at Mt. D, and the incredible three-man room at Muir Walnut Creek came rushing back. This menage a trois included a truly amazing Code Blue at 2:00 am for the guy across from me, which wigged me out worse than my own similar experience over on Parnassus. The third poor guy was a diabetic on dialysis with both legs amputated, in for some sort of brain problem. This did not cheer me up much. No such situation in these new Muir Concord rooms; they are all private.
Besides the new building, I did get to see Chef Alison, Eugene W., RD's Patty C. and Brian D., and my former co-worker Debbie T. while we were there. Debbie is kinda special since she actually was one of two of the staff there who seriously offered me a kidney back when I was managing the department. Pretty heavy-duty stuff, and I am glad she is back working and healthy after a long illness. Thanks, Debbie, that was quite an offer.
We polished off a great weekend with a pleasant visit with Andy and Linz. Sacramento's K Street Mall was eerily unpopulated, except by mysterious shadowy figures huddled in doorways. We did successfully reach the Pyramid Brewery, which was awarded the coveted Cheryl Moss "Worst Fish Tacos Ever" Award. The lettuce wedge and my beloved Apricot Ale were just fine, thank you.
SO WHAT ABOUT THE UPCOMING WEEK?
Main feature will be our fling in Las Vegas. We will stagger our departures, with my dear travel agent leaving Wednesday and I will join her Thursday. There is a direct and profound relation to transplantation on this trip, so indulge me for a moment.....
Back in the 1950's, a Texan named Carroll Shelby became a professional racing driver after flings in trucking, flying and chicken raising. He was fairly successful and gained fame when he won the 1959 24 Hours of Le Mans, a very coveted prize in the world of motor sports. He also was known for his unusual racing attire, a striped bib apron from his chicken days. Safety? What's that?
After he retired from driving, Shelby was able to achieve his goals of building and racing an American sports car when he convinced Ford to help him create the Cobra in 1962. This make has become legendary in the world of racing and high-performance road cars. Shelby continued various car projects on for many years, even now still turning out cars at his factory in, yes, Las Vegas.
What was really unusual was that his last races in 1960 were driven with a nitroglycerin tablet under his tongue. Shelby had a congenital heart condition which kept him confined to bedrest from the age of seven to fourteen. Symptoms subsided and he pursued his various endeavors until things got serious. He stopped racing that year, and again was able to ignore the situation for quite a while. But by the late Eighties the situation became progressively worse, and he became a candidate for a heart transplant. In 1991 he did receive a heart at Cedars Sinai in L.A., interestingly coming from a 34-year old donor who suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage while rushing through a casino in, yes, Las Vegas. Carroll was 68 at the time. In 1996, his failing kidneys necessitated another transplant, with his son Mike donating.
Carroll Shelby is 87 now and still doing car things. His various achievements include the Cobra and its glorious racing history, the Shelby Mustangs (still being built by Ford today), Shelby Dodge, and Dodge Viper. I was a Shelby Mustang owner briefly; mine was a black 1966 GT 350. He even had a Cobra built for Bill Cosby that was known as "The 200 MPH Cobra" which scared the poop outta Cos. He let Shel' keep it, it was just too powerful (900 hp). Reportedly Carroll did drive it over 200 MPH in Nevada (no, NOT Las Vegas), then sold it at auction for yes, five million bux. Yeah, MILLION.
He also supervises The Carroll Shelby Foundation. His primary focus is helping kids get transplants and treatment for other illnesses, as well as providing automotive scholarships. Pretty great guy for several reasons, one of my all-time racing heroes.
OK, OK, I know, TMI but this is My Thing, y'know. I "experienced" the whole Cobra thing as it burgeoned in the Sixties, and so likewise did my original UCSB roomie, Larry Flashberg. Flash and wife Linda now reside in, yes, Las Vegas. And Larry's love of Cobras encouraged him to build his own, something beyond my capabilities. Ask my Brother Gary about the famous Moss Brothers Oil Change Project. So, this Vegas/Carroll Shelby/Heart and Kidney Transplant/Cobra thing is just too cool for school, I'm thinkin'. Larry has suggested a tour of the Shelby Factory and Museum, followed early Saturday morning with Cars and Coffee. Here enthusiasts gather with their vehicles in an informal assembly of all sorts of cars. Of course, Flash motors up in his Cobra, and then checks out all the other cars and owners. Pretty awesome, eh?
Cheryl will be a busy bee while Flash and I wander about. Hopefully she will get her fill of travel seminars, cocktail receptions, lavish dinners, vendor presentations, and of course a free trip to Somalia or something. I plan to independently visit the incredible Penske-Wynn Ferrari/Maserati dealership, located in a Wynn hotel. I understand they actually charge ten bux to check out the cars, I dunno.
THANKSGIVING LOOMS
As soon as we return, we will Reverse All Engines and prepare for the annual Thanksgiving soiree in beautiful Capitola. I now admit I have been sad, weak and uninspired the last few years down there, actually kinda dreading it. Bad, bad. But NOW, I can't wait to be with all the friends and relatives there, and throw down massive quantities of Bud with Allen and Sean. Burp!!
Hey, wake up! It's over now. Thanks for letting me ramble on again, as if you had a choice. Kiss my grits...
Bob/Irv
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Yes, I Am the Domestic God(dess)
A NEWLY-ACQUIRED ENTHUSIASM FOR HOUSEKEEPING
Not to belabor the point, but for a very long time Cheryl did more than 100% of everything while I was busy being not busy. I know marriage is ideally not about debts like this, but for sure I need to take on some stuff in order to at least allow her to assist her clients to achieve the cruise vacations of their dreams. And so, in this blissful post-transplant state of mind, I have enthusiastically done just that. Today seemed to be a good example of this brave new world, and it went kinda like this......
After an early wake up call, I let Lucy out, made the coffee, and got the paper. A brief dash downtown to drop off some papers at the attorney's, then back for a quick brekkie. Next, a vigorous hour of Gym followed by a pleasant session over at "our family jeweler" (more on this some other time). Back home for another incredible lunch while Cheryl enjoyed her meeting with Helen and Cindy at Taheri's. We jointly picked up the van from service, then a bit of shopping ensued. An attempt to watch news unfortunately resulted in a short gap caused by an unintended snooze in my chair.
Then the real action started. Although it was dangerously late, I launched into dinner preparation. Out came some pasta and one of my limited repertoire of tossed salads. Delightful dinner banter led naturally to cleanup and dishes.
Now it was my time. Cheryl retired to my recliner to watch Biggest Loser as I began my evening ritual. I luxuriously slipped into something more comfortable, specifically my Danger Men Cooking BBQ apron. Felt good. Slowly, slowly I drew on my bright yellow elbow-length Mr. Clean rubber dish washing gloves. I began to feel......a little naughty. I reached for my headphones and selected the theme from Bolero on the iPod. The persuasive, driving melody relaxed me, putting me in the perfect mood for the task at hand. Starting on the utensils, I felt my hips almost imperceptibly begin to sway, just that tiny bit, y'know?
The first rinsing session was divine, as I tossed back my (lack of ) hair and let out a loud giggle of enjoyment. Scrubbing the cooked-on saucepan gave me chills up and down my spine, and I could no longer contain my feelings. Struggling to maintain, I mentally tried to name every Indy 500 winner since 1939 ( Wilbur Shaw, uh, uh, ...). It was no use, I had gone too far and I had not even cleaned off the top of the range yet. My mind scrambled aimlessly all over the emotional map, and I could swear I heard an imaginary old lady look over from the dining table and tell an imaginary waitress "I'll have what he's having".
It was over more quickly than it had begun, more's the pity. I dutifully cleaned the counters, slid out of my gloves and apron, and collapsed, totally spent, into my chair. Unfortunately, Cherie was still sitting in that chair, and luckily suffered no serious injury. I relocated to the couch and carefully lit up an after-dishes cigarette. As the smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, I found my self looking forward to my next domestic-god task.
THE LAUNDRY BECKONS FROM AFAR
As a bit of background, well, basically there isn't much background. Flash back to September of 1967. After breakfast at one of the very first Sambo's (Cabrillo Blvd., Santa Barbara), Ruth and Walter Moss stop at a local grocery store with me, the apprehensive and dorky as crap freshman. In her infinite wisdom, my Mom of course realizes that for my entire 18 years she has done every single piece of laundry existing at the Moss household. In order to arm me for the rigors of college life, she purchases a box of Salvo tablets. Reminiscent of that part of The Jerk in which Steve Martin's father explains the difference between s**t and Shinola, Mom carefully describes the clothes-washing process to me in slow, even tones, kinda like you would explain how to go poopie to a two-year-old. I dutifully did a load that first strange and confusing week.
Leap forward 43 years, to this very day. That was roughly the time between that landmark first laundry session and the very next one. I am not making that up. During my storied college adventures, I never again did any clothes washing. I did in fact save up my dirties and schlep them home to L.A . and my dear Mother did the deal. And I didn't have a car (or car magazines!) freshman year per W.V.Moss, as he considered these interests to be potentially distractive to my studies of Mechanical Engineering. I merely substituted other distractions and managed to exit Engineering pretty quickly for the romantic and sensual world of Art.
As you might imagine, the transportation issue made trips home few and far between, so perhaps it was a might too long between laundry loads. One time I even brought my dirties along on Greyhound for a weekend visit to the folks, that's how pathetic it got. And yes, one of my very first "conversations" with Cheryl L. Cook was outside the laundry facility at Carillo Commons, but be assured it only involved her clothes. It wasn't until sometime later that our dainties became forever intertwined, so to speak, as they are to this very day.
Oh, yeah, the current state of the laundry. As an ignorant moron, I begged and pleaded with Cheryl to train me on the prodigious task of washing our clothes. She reluctantly finally acceded and gave me the quick-and-dirty version. This reluctance frightened and confused me, since who in their right mind would not wanna give up such a tedious duty? Turns out she was interested in Quality and Care, and she was largely unconvinced that I could produce results in keeping with her desires. Cooler heads (mine) prevailed, and as I blog on endlessly this very moment, I have a load of darks working away. Ruth would be proud of her sonny boy, and no Salvo tablets for me, either.
THE OTHER CRAP WILL HAFTA WAIT
As you recall, I am completely and utterly spent after dishes, so when this load of clothes finishes drying, I must sadly end this chapter and toddle off to bed. I will tickle your collective fancies (why yes, I certainly can do that from right here. There's an app for that) and promise to delight you in the near future by relating a truly remarkable last weekend. I know it's gonna be difficult to wait, but I know y'all can do it if you really try.
Until then, I remain...
Bob/Irv
Not to belabor the point, but for a very long time Cheryl did more than 100% of everything while I was busy being not busy. I know marriage is ideally not about debts like this, but for sure I need to take on some stuff in order to at least allow her to assist her clients to achieve the cruise vacations of their dreams. And so, in this blissful post-transplant state of mind, I have enthusiastically done just that. Today seemed to be a good example of this brave new world, and it went kinda like this......
After an early wake up call, I let Lucy out, made the coffee, and got the paper. A brief dash downtown to drop off some papers at the attorney's, then back for a quick brekkie. Next, a vigorous hour of Gym followed by a pleasant session over at "our family jeweler" (more on this some other time). Back home for another incredible lunch while Cheryl enjoyed her meeting with Helen and Cindy at Taheri's. We jointly picked up the van from service, then a bit of shopping ensued. An attempt to watch news unfortunately resulted in a short gap caused by an unintended snooze in my chair.
Then the real action started. Although it was dangerously late, I launched into dinner preparation. Out came some pasta and one of my limited repertoire of tossed salads. Delightful dinner banter led naturally to cleanup and dishes.
Now it was my time. Cheryl retired to my recliner to watch Biggest Loser as I began my evening ritual. I luxuriously slipped into something more comfortable, specifically my Danger Men Cooking BBQ apron. Felt good. Slowly, slowly I drew on my bright yellow elbow-length Mr. Clean rubber dish washing gloves. I began to feel......a little naughty. I reached for my headphones and selected the theme from Bolero on the iPod. The persuasive, driving melody relaxed me, putting me in the perfect mood for the task at hand. Starting on the utensils, I felt my hips almost imperceptibly begin to sway, just that tiny bit, y'know?
The first rinsing session was divine, as I tossed back my (lack of ) hair and let out a loud giggle of enjoyment. Scrubbing the cooked-on saucepan gave me chills up and down my spine, and I could no longer contain my feelings. Struggling to maintain, I mentally tried to name every Indy 500 winner since 1939 ( Wilbur Shaw, uh, uh, ...). It was no use, I had gone too far and I had not even cleaned off the top of the range yet. My mind scrambled aimlessly all over the emotional map, and I could swear I heard an imaginary old lady look over from the dining table and tell an imaginary waitress "I'll have what he's having".
It was over more quickly than it had begun, more's the pity. I dutifully cleaned the counters, slid out of my gloves and apron, and collapsed, totally spent, into my chair. Unfortunately, Cherie was still sitting in that chair, and luckily suffered no serious injury. I relocated to the couch and carefully lit up an after-dishes cigarette. As the smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, I found my self looking forward to my next domestic-god task.
THE LAUNDRY BECKONS FROM AFAR
As a bit of background, well, basically there isn't much background. Flash back to September of 1967. After breakfast at one of the very first Sambo's (Cabrillo Blvd., Santa Barbara), Ruth and Walter Moss stop at a local grocery store with me, the apprehensive and dorky as crap freshman. In her infinite wisdom, my Mom of course realizes that for my entire 18 years she has done every single piece of laundry existing at the Moss household. In order to arm me for the rigors of college life, she purchases a box of Salvo tablets. Reminiscent of that part of The Jerk in which Steve Martin's father explains the difference between s**t and Shinola, Mom carefully describes the clothes-washing process to me in slow, even tones, kinda like you would explain how to go poopie to a two-year-old. I dutifully did a load that first strange and confusing week.
Leap forward 43 years, to this very day. That was roughly the time between that landmark first laundry session and the very next one. I am not making that up. During my storied college adventures, I never again did any clothes washing. I did in fact save up my dirties and schlep them home to L.A . and my dear Mother did the deal. And I didn't have a car (or car magazines!) freshman year per W.V.Moss, as he considered these interests to be potentially distractive to my studies of Mechanical Engineering. I merely substituted other distractions and managed to exit Engineering pretty quickly for the romantic and sensual world of Art.
As you might imagine, the transportation issue made trips home few and far between, so perhaps it was a might too long between laundry loads. One time I even brought my dirties along on Greyhound for a weekend visit to the folks, that's how pathetic it got. And yes, one of my very first "conversations" with Cheryl L. Cook was outside the laundry facility at Carillo Commons, but be assured it only involved her clothes. It wasn't until sometime later that our dainties became forever intertwined, so to speak, as they are to this very day.
Oh, yeah, the current state of the laundry. As an ignorant moron, I begged and pleaded with Cheryl to train me on the prodigious task of washing our clothes. She reluctantly finally acceded and gave me the quick-and-dirty version. This reluctance frightened and confused me, since who in their right mind would not wanna give up such a tedious duty? Turns out she was interested in Quality and Care, and she was largely unconvinced that I could produce results in keeping with her desires. Cooler heads (mine) prevailed, and as I blog on endlessly this very moment, I have a load of darks working away. Ruth would be proud of her sonny boy, and no Salvo tablets for me, either.
THE OTHER CRAP WILL HAFTA WAIT
As you recall, I am completely and utterly spent after dishes, so when this load of clothes finishes drying, I must sadly end this chapter and toddle off to bed. I will tickle your collective fancies (why yes, I certainly can do that from right here. There's an app for that) and promise to delight you in the near future by relating a truly remarkable last weekend. I know it's gonna be difficult to wait, but I know y'all can do it if you really try.
Until then, I remain...
Bob/Irv
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