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All things are relative. I didn’t originate that phrase. Some German guy did. I just proved it.

My latest doctor’s appointment began with one of the assistants leading me to the scale. I stepped on and waited for the digital reading to appear. A few seconds later “209.0” flashed on the screen and I jumped for joy. The assistant wondered at my behavior and I explained that per the height/weight charts I had finally gotten myself out of the obese category. 210 was the dividing line.

When I arrived in Lancaster three and a half years ago, I weighed 247 pounds. So, I wasn’t just clinically obese then, I was 37 pounds into the category. By losing 38 pounds, I was now just plain fat. Halleluiah.

Most people wouldn’t be happy to be told they were overweight, but to someone who’s been obese for as long as he can remember, being just plain overweight was a cause for celebration. All things are relative.

Under normal circumstances a meal of bread and water would be considered a punishment, but to a man dying of thirst in a desert, a glass of water would be more precious than Dom Perignon Champagne. Someone who was starving would delight in a crust of bread. All things are relative.

Right now it’s pouring rain outside and I love it, because the usual precipitation around here in January is snow and I hate that. I’m sure there are others, like skiers, snowboarders, and my friend Patrice who would prefer snow. Once again, it’s all relative.

I just finished reading Where Nobody Knows Your Name, a John Feinstein book about life in baseball’s minor leagues. Most of the players were not too happy about being stuck in the minors, but there were a few who were happy that they were getting paid to play a game they loved. Even attitude is subject to relativity.

My target goal is to weigh 186 pounds. So, someday I may be disappointed to step on a scale and have it flash “187.” Not today, though. Today I am happy to be overweight. You might say that I’m now pleasantly plump. Someday I might be at Clipper Magazine Stadium for a Barnstormer’s ballgame and be disappointed by rain, but today, as it washes away all traces of the last snow dusting, I am happy to watch the rain fall.

To some, playing in the minor leagues might be a big disappointment. To me, at 68 years old with an arthritic hip, playing a sandlot game would be a dream come true. Attitude and relativity.

It’s warm today, but I know that most of the winter will be a lot colder and I will be cooped up in my apartment, but when I visit the local library I see a group of people who are there because they just want to stay warm and charge their cellphones and they don’t have their own apartments. They spend their nights in the Water Street shelter.

I am happy even when cooped up in my apartment, though. The cold winter days with the windows closed give me a chance to play my clarinet and saxophone. I’m not very good. Actually, I’m terrible. I bought the instruments when I moved here, despite the fact that I hadn’t played either instrument in 50 years. There are 59 notes that can be played on the clarinet, but, so far, I only remember how to play about half of them, and for some reason, I’m having a lot of trouble playing the note b flat. I haven’t yet developed the mouth control to make it come out cleanly. Every time I play b flat, it sounds more like an animal is screaming in pain, but I’m still having a ball playing simple songs poorly. I don’t think my neighbors are having near as much fun as I am, though. All things are relative.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

After I stuck out my tongue and said, “aaaah,” my doctor told me that I had a bad tooth in the back that would probably need to be extracted.  I told her that I would have it done as soon as possible, but I knew that wouldn’t be until after I cashed my annual annuity check in late September.  So, I forgot about it, until the tooth started to hurt, but that was about a month ago and I still had 3 weeks before the check came in.

So, I went to Plan B – shots of Jack Daniels with a Tylenol chaser.  That worked, and I forgot about the tooth again, even after the check came in.  Then last Thursday night it started to throb again, so I decided it was high time I made an appointment with the dentist.  By the time I got there on Friday, though, the Dentist office was closed, but the liquor store was still open and Dr. Jack was there waiting for me.  That got me through Friday night and Saturday, but by Sunday an infection set in.  Nothing helped, so I was at the dentist early on Monday morning.

They took x-rays, gave me an exam and the dentist said, “That tooth in the back, #31, needs to come out.

“Gee, I thought so.  When can you extract it?”

“We’ll do it right now, if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” I said, smiling for the first time in days.

“Are you on any medication?

“Oh yeah, blood pressure meds, cholesterol meds, Lasix, baby aspirin, and Plavix.”

“That’s a problem.”

“Problem,” I said, losing the smile.  “What kind of problem?”

“If you’re on blood thinner medication, I need your doctor’s approval before I can do any kind of oral surgery.”

“No problem.  My doctor is two blocks away, and she told me that the tooth should be extracted.”  So, I took the form that needed to be signed and hustled over to my doctor.  The receptionist took the form, looked at it, and said, “We’ll call you when you can pick it up.”

“Any idea how long that will be?

“A week to 10 days.”

“I can’t wait that long.  I’m in pain.  Surely, you can expedite it somehow.”

The receptionist took pity on me, and called the doctor.  She turned to me and said, “She’s at lunch now, but I’ll give her the form as soon as she returns, and I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Fine.”  I went home, waited an hour, and went back.”

“I told you that I would call you when it was ready,” the receptionist said.

“That’s okay.  I don’t have anything better to do.  I’ll just wait here.”  The Tylenol was kicking in, so the pain was subsiding, put I tried to keep my severe toothache face on, hoping that would speed up things.

After an hour went by, she went back to the doctor’s office to see if the form was ready.  It wasn’t.  After another hour slowly ticked by, I asked her to check with the doctor again.  She called my doctor, who told her that she was busy with patients and that she would handle it in the morning.

I snapped.  It didn’t help.  The squeaky wheel wasn’t getting any grease today.  I went home fuming.

The next morning, I got a call from the doctor’s office.  The form was ready.  I hustled over there and took it straight to the dentist.  The receptionist read it and in the details section my doctor had written that if the dentist preferred, I could come off Plavix for 7 days.  I told her that I wasn’t waiting 7 days.  She went to talk to the dentist.  The dentist said that as long as my doctor had signed the release form that was good enough for him.  I got an appointment 1 hour later.

A young man who just passed the bar did the prep work.  He’s also working on a screenplay, so we had a lot to talk about while he held a Q-tip dipped in a local anesthetic on the tooth.  When the tooth was numb, the dentist came in.

“Now, I’ll give you a shot to really make you numb.  You’ll feel a little pinch.”

He was right.  I felt a little pinch as he gave me some shots of what I assume was Novocain.  We waited a bit for it to kick in and he said that he would now give me a shot of something even stronger, because of the infection.

“No problem,” I mumbled.  My mouth was fairly numb.

“This is really gonna hurt,” he said, “because of the infection.”

“Bring it,” I said boldly, feeling that I already had enough Novocain in my system to neutralize any pain.

“Okay.”

He was right again.  It hurt like hell.

We waited a little bit longer and he said that he was now going to perform the extraction.  He said that because of the infection it was really going to hurt.

“As much as that last shot?”

“No, more.  This is going to feel like you’re giving birth.”

I didn’t believe him, even though he had been totally honest with me about everything else.

“Are you ready,” he asked.

“Just a second,” I joked.  “I’m still trying to think of a name for the baby.”

He chuckled and went to work.

The pain was excruciating, and my eyes pleaded with him to stop.

He tried to encourage me to hang on just a bit longer.  “It’s crowning.”

I wondered how any woman ever allowed herself to get pregnant a second time, as he continued to wrench away at the tooth.

“I can see the head.”

“Get it out,” I wanted to scream but my mouth was full of dental tools and dentist fingers.

“Here come the feet.”

“Get it out,” was my only thought.

Then, plop.  “It’s a boy,” he said, as he cast the offending tooth into the garbage.

“I think I’ll call him Hitler,” I managed to mutter.  “Now, please don’t tell me I’m having twins.”

An x-ray showed that there was no part of baby Hitler remaining.  So they packed the wound, gave me instructions to just sit quietly for the rest of the day, and sent me home.

I went home, propped myself in bed, and listened to a stack of audio books.  8 cd’s later I was asleep.

I woke up this morning feeling good.  The pain is gone.  The swelling is going down.  Good bye #31.  You served me faithfully for 60 plus years, but I’m not going to miss you.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Since I dropped my contract with Comcast, I’ve been a regular at the Duke Street Library.  I usually go there 4-5 times a week to use the WiFi.  I spend my time in the Gerald S. Lestz Reading Room, a section of the library where the quiet rule is strictly enforced.  If you want to have a conversation, or talk on your cell phone, you have to leave the room and go to another section of the library.  It’s so quiet that if somebody sneezes, nobody even says “Bless you.”

I don’t go there for the quiet.  I go for the big desks, the free WiFi, and the numerous electrical outlets to power my laptops.  I bring both of my laptops – one to download racing results, e-mail, etc. and one just for entertainment, as I catch up on episodes of The Daily Show and my other favorite shows.  I’m not the only regular, as there are about a dozen of us who appear almost daily.  There is one guy who always sits at the microfiche reader in the room.  I don’t know his name, but I get the feeling that he must work for a local newspaper.  There are two guys who usually appear with him, but they don’t go on the microfiche reader.  They sit at one of the tables and work on whatever they’re working on.  Then, there is another guy who must be trying to read every book in the library.  He’s almost always there reading a book.  His name is Dave.  I know this because one day the microfiche guy called him over to show him something on the screen that he thought Dave would find interesting.

There are a couple other guys who usually have their noses in a book.  One is well-built young black guy who I’ve never spoke to, but we nod at each other as a form of greeting.  The other is a slightly built older white guy who looks to me like an old-time barber.  He sits there with his right hand inside his shirt like Napoleon.

Then there are the other laptop guys.  I don’t know what they’re into.  There are 3 or 4 older guys who read every newspaper every day.  Then, there is the crew I call the Water Street Irregulars.  I’m fairly sure that they are temporary residents of the Water Street mission.  They come in to charge their cell phones.  The librarian usually has to tell them a few times to be quiet.  They pretend to be reading but I never see them turn the page.

So, there we were, all doing our thing, and there were two newcomers sitting together at one of the computers available exclusively for research and job searches.  (If you want to play video games you have to use one of the computers on the main floor of the library.)  The woman was doing the typing and the man was commenting quiet loudly.  One of the librarians came in to tell him he had to be quiet in the reading room.  As soon as she left he got louder.  Then he made a phone call and was even louder.  I heard him say his name was Fred, even though I was across the room wearing headphones listening to the races at the Delaware Ohio Fair.

Another librarian came in to tell Fred that he had to be quiet in the reading room.  As soon as she left he got even louder, and a few minutes later a male librarian came in to ask him to be quiet.  Fred got even louder, as soon as he left.  Then Dave closed his book and went over to him and asked him to be quiet.  That set Fred off and he told Dave, quite menacingly, to mind his own business.  It looked like he might hit Dave, and I jumped up to back-up Dave, even though I was sure that Fred would have no problem kicking both of our asses.  He was a big strong guy, about half my age and twice my size.  I was hoping that the microfiche guy might stand up, too, but he didn’t.  I guess he wasn’t as good a friend of Dave’s as I thought he was.  Then, Dave sat back down, I sat down, and Fred continued to run his mouth, mocking Dave.

Then I saw two of Lancaster’s Finest walk into the library, and I knew that Fred wouldn’t be able to ignore them.  Lancaster police are all quite large and imposing.  They told Fred that he would have to be quiet or leave the library.  Fred started arguing with them.  He yelled that he was an Air Force vet who served 12 years and he had a library card, and he was using the computer to try to find a job, so he could do whatever he wanted to do.  The cops told him that he had to be quiet or they would arrest him for disturbing the peace.

A couple thoughts went through my mind.  Why do you get out of the service after 12 years, just 8 years away from a pension?  I’m thinking that with his attitude, it probably wasn’t Fred’s decision.  I’m also thinking that Fred is not going to suddenly wise up and shut up.  I turned out to be right about that.

Fred argued loudly with the cops, repeating that he had a library card and that he could therefore do whatever he wanted to do.  The cops decided that it was time to physically remove Fred from the library.  They told him to put his hands behind his back and, to my surprise, he calmly and quietly put his hands behind his back.  One of the cops fumbled with his handcuffs, and it took him a while to cuff Fred, even though Fred was not resisting one bit.  I thought about my niece who is Lieutenant with the NY Police Department and famous for slapping cuffs on a perp at the speed of lightning.  She could have given these cops a few pointers on how to slap on a pair of handcuffs.

Anyway, they finally got Fred cuffed and as soon as they started leading him to the door, his mouth started working again.  “This is how they treat a black man in America,” he screamed over and over again as they led him out.  The people who were not in the reading room, had no idea what had taken place, but I’m sure that they thought it must have been race-related incident.  I’m sure that was Fred’s intention.

So, I’m back in the library today to watch the Little Brown Jug and the other races from Delaware, Ohio.  None of the other regulars are here.  I wonder if they were worried that Fred might be back and looking for revenge.  Me, I’m not worried, but I did bring pepper spray, just in case.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

 

I was looking for a computer book for my sister-in-law.  It seems that she doesn’t know how to use her laptop computer and no one in her family has the patience to sit with her and teach her.  When I told her that she needed to read Computers for Dummies, she got very insulted.  I tried to explain that “For Dummies” is just a brand name for a series of books about just about everything.  “They’re designed for beginners and they’re really good books,” I said.  She thought I was just trying to talk my way out of the grave I was digging for myself.

So, with her birthday coming up, I went to the bookstore at the local library to pick up a copy.  They didn’t have any computer books for sale, but the saleslady told me that I should be able to pick up a copy at Winding Way Books on Chestnut Street.  It was an omen.

My brother Kevin and his family of Super Heroes live on Winding Way in San Francisco in a house they purposely painted in Batman Blue, as they are all big Batman and Superman fans.

[Side story.  When their neighbor saw the color they were painting their house, he asked them if they got the paint for free.  He couldn’t think of any other reason why anyone would paint their house that color.]

I went to Winding Way Books and asked the saleslady to direct me to the computer section.  She informed me that they didn’t have a computer section.  I turned to leave, and then turned back around deciding to browse through the store to see what kind of books they did have.  It was a second-hand bookstore and they had pretty much everything – except computer books.  I decided to pick up a paperback book for reading on the bus.

At home, I like to read hard cover, large print books, but for the road I like something that takes up less room in my knapsack.  I picked up The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown, a sequel to The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons.  I loved The Da Vinci Code, and I loved the first 90% of Angels and Demons.  I hated the ending in that book and was pleasantly surprised when Ron Howard fixed it in the movie.  So, I figured that I’d give The Lost Symbol a shot.

Later that evening, I decided to plop myself down in my recliner chair and get a start on the 639-page book.  By page 30 I realize that I had read it before, but forgotten how it ended.  (A frequent occurrence for me.)  Still, I was caught up in the story and wanted to continue.  Then, the overhead light started flickering, and I started cursing.  I have a high ceiling in my living room and can’t reach the light fixture even while standing on a chair.  I would have to go get the step ladder.

I looked up at the accursed light fixture and saw there was nothing wrong with the bulbs.  The light was flickering because there was a small bat flying around it like a moth to the flame.  I jumped up and went running for a broom (since I don’t have a tennis racquet).  When I returned, the bat was gone.  I tapped everything in every room with the broom, but could not find the bat.  I told myself that he must have left the same way he got in.  I told myself that, but I didn’t believe me.

I don’t have air conditioning, because I don’t like to be cold.  I spent a year in Adak, Alaska and really learned to despise the cold.  So, it has been at least 80 degrees in my apartment for the past month.  That night it was 82, but I slept under a thick comforter, just in case the bat was still in my apartment and looking for something to bite.  On the positive side, I got on the scale the next day and found that I had sweated off two pounds.  I searched the house again and could find no sign of the bat (or “Bat Signals” as they are known in DC Comics).  That evening I was in the kitchen and I suddenly saw the bat flying around the living room.  I prepared for battle.  I put on long pants, my winter coat, and wrapped towels around my head for protection.  I would have donned oven mitts and my batting helmet, but I told myself that it was only a small bat and that I really should “man up,” at least a little.  I opened the front and back doors, hoping that my opponent would flee the scene before the fighting got too intense (or even began).  Then I grabbed the broom and charged onto the battlefield.  I felt like John Candy and Dan Aykroyd in the Bat Scene from the movie The Great Outdoors.

It’s already too late to make this long story short, but I will leave out the gory details of the battle.  Suffice it to say that my opponent chose fight over flight, and my broom was flying faster than Harry Potter’s.  Two lamps got knocked over and a mirror got knocked off the wall before I finally emerged victorious.  The bat is now in a body bag, and I, the great white hunter, can safely go back to my recliner and continue reading.  Plus, I’ll be able to sleep tonight without sweating my ass off.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

In my family we grew up knowing that no male Paulson made it to 68 years old.  Most died exactly at 67, with a few who met their demise earlier mostly due to accidents.  For this reason, my Dad retired early at 62 so that he could enjoy 5 years of retirement.  I don’t know if his early retirement made the difference, but he survived well into his 90’s.  The curse was broken – but not forgotten.  My brothers and I all felt that our Dad was the exception to the rule, and that the sword of Damocles still hung over us.

I have a few cousins who, if they’re still alive, have recently joined my Dad in the small group that survived past 67, and today I joined the club.  Today is my 68^th birthday.  So, in the immortal words of Rocky Balboa, “Yo Adrian.  We did it.”  The curse is officially broken, at least as far as I’m concerned.  Will I make it to my 90’s like my Dad?  I doubt it.  I partied a lot harder than he ever did, but then again, I didn’t have the strain he had of raising three hyperactive boys, so maybe I’ve got a shot.

Today I’m going to drink a toast to the two people who provided me with the genes to make it this far.  Thanks Mom and Dad.  I also have to thank Dr. Barry Kaplan and the staff at Long Island Jewish Hospital especially Janet Hyland for the stents they placed in me back in 2009.  I have to thank Dr. Paula Schlossberg at the VA clinic in East Meadow, Dr. Loren at the VA Hospital in Manhattan, who put in another stent.  Add the good people at Southeast Lancaster Health Services, Amy Vandergrift and Kathleen Brumbach, the cardiologists at the Heart Group in Lancaster, the doctors and nurses at Lancaster General Hospital, my physical Therapists, Susan Harroun in New York and Brittany in Lancaster, Dr. Jackson at the VA clinic in Lancaster, and my cardiologist at the VA Hospital in Lebanon, PA, Dr. Shankar.  They say that it takes a village to raise a child.  In my case it took a slew of doctors, nurses, and therapists to get that child to a ripe old age.

Thanks to all for getting me here.  Cheers!

Now, I’m counting on my siblings, Brother X and Kevin, to break the curse too.  As the Vulcan’s say, “Live long and prosper.”

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl