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Surviving another year
- Thread starter Codger_64
- Start date
- Joined
- Apr 15, 2003
- Messages
- 175
Makes oneself look at what he/she has and realize, it could always be worse. Great post Codger.
Codger_64
Moderator
- Joined
- Oct 8, 2004
- Messages
- 62,324
Much of what I posted, I'll not explain. It will have to stand on it's own forevermore. One bit I will explain is about my friend Michael. He was a quad, paralized from the neck down. He was a Navy Seal until he took a deep dive in shallow water. Michael was a skeletal caricature of the man he was once. Sometimes he had a roommate who is also a caregiver, but mostly he lived alone. He'd regained some basic use of his arms, enough that he could propel his chair using the joystick, and with some effort pick up and fit his special ink pen to his hand so that he could write and sign his name. But Michael was a "dude with an attitude". It made it hard for some people to be around him. You had to really try to understand him and see him in his best moments to tolerate him in his worst. Usually his worst was ignited when his body betrayed him, as it frequently did. A severe bout of tremors left him weak as a kitten and angry at the world. I knew him well enough to handle his fits. And he appreciated it, and showed it. When I knew him, he was enrolled in college home courses getting an engineering degree. I helped him study, fill out complicated forms from the VA, hospitals, and a dozen assistance organizations. I also changed his colostomy bag for him, and emptied his catheter bag. Michael was creative. I did the artwork for patent drawings, and obtained the pro-bono services of a top notch patent attorney to win him a patent on the "catheter leg bag suspension system" which kept his bag from sliding down his emaciated lower leg when full. Working with Michael, I built his neoprene and velcro prototype. Michael was a survivor. I learned a lot from him. Unfortunately, the life expectancy of a quadropoligic is not real long. Michael made the best of the cards he was delt to play, and played til the game was over. Rest in peace now Michael.
Codger
Codger
Codger, you have succeeded in convincing me that I have it way too good for words!
A family, with everyone healthy, income, a home, etc. etc. etc.
My kids get 3 squares a day, go to school, we are warm at night snuggled in our beds.
It takes me back to the survival basics.
Shelter (our homes) , Fire (our heat source), Water (gotta love indoor plumbing) , Safety & Security.
Unlike other human popualtions in the world, we don't huddle under a torn piece of tarp or corrugated metal and call it a "roof".
We don't send our children to the stream to fetch "questionable" water.
We don't worry about "officials" seizing our livestock or property.
We have it pretty darn good. Actually, my Golden Retriever is lying in the room with me. He has it better than over half the human population on earth. Well fed, warm & healthy.
One thing I do make a practice of, is thinking about sleeping in the mud, rain, and cold, and just how miserable it can be. After reflecting back on those thoughts, I always sleep well, and the bed is just that much more comfortable and the house just that much more toasty warm.
thanks.
A family, with everyone healthy, income, a home, etc. etc. etc.
My kids get 3 squares a day, go to school, we are warm at night snuggled in our beds.
It takes me back to the survival basics.
Shelter (our homes) , Fire (our heat source), Water (gotta love indoor plumbing) , Safety & Security.
Unlike other human popualtions in the world, we don't huddle under a torn piece of tarp or corrugated metal and call it a "roof".
We don't send our children to the stream to fetch "questionable" water.
We don't worry about "officials" seizing our livestock or property.
We have it pretty darn good. Actually, my Golden Retriever is lying in the room with me. He has it better than over half the human population on earth. Well fed, warm & healthy.
One thing I do make a practice of, is thinking about sleeping in the mud, rain, and cold, and just how miserable it can be. After reflecting back on those thoughts, I always sleep well, and the bed is just that much more comfortable and the house just that much more toasty warm.
thanks.
Codger_64
Moderator
- Joined
- Oct 8, 2004
- Messages
- 62,324
I'll certainly not complain about my lot in life. Yes, things could be better, but like you, I have family, and shelter, food, fresh water on demand, and friends. Here is a bit about one of my friends, J.T.
Old J.T was the best neighbor a man could have. “We’z the first around here to have electricity. I bought Weona a washing machine that ran off of DC current. You’d a thought we were wealthy the day I hooked it up, that and our first light bulb too.” Weona died before I met J.T. He and his wife were pulling a stump with their old tractor, and as old tractors were wont to do, it flipped over backwards a crushed her. But he only mentioned that to me once when I was manhandling the old horse drawn turning plow behind his tractor, helping him dig his taters. He was not the type to dwell on the bad things in life. In his time, J.T. had survived a lot.
Born sometime around 1900, Mr. Bridges, as I tried to call him, was a retired deep miner of bauxite, the white ore aluminum is made from. He told me stories of caveins, of going so deep it was heated by the fires of hell, and of uncovering stumps of trees hundreds of feet down. He took a turn at mining kaolin too, the colored clay deposits that made the local pottery famous for a time. He never talked about the ruined whisky still down on stillhouse creek, or about the old black man for whom Bohouse road was named. He did appreciate the bottles of muscidine wine I gave him each year. J.T. was always on the go in his old Dodge truck when he wasn’t tending his three acre garden. He had a bit of “Fred Sanford” in him, and roamed the backroads of the county picking up scrap metal to sell. He wasn’t a hunter, but always welcomed an invitation to come eat a special venison dinner with us. We always cooked up the fresh okra, squash, new potatos and corn he had given us. Always showed up in clean overalls with his hair combed and hat in his hand. Complimented the meal with “So good, makes me wanna slap my momma!” Mentioned one time how my house was so small “can’t swing a cat by the tail without getting fur in your mouth!”. Mr. Bridges survived a lot over the years, and was generous to a fault with what little he owned. He didn’t live to see his 90th birthday, but I don’t really think he wanted to. He missed Weona a lot, and his friends from the mines who left him one by one. But never a more game man walked the earth. Such was J.T. Bridges.
Old J.T was the best neighbor a man could have. “We’z the first around here to have electricity. I bought Weona a washing machine that ran off of DC current. You’d a thought we were wealthy the day I hooked it up, that and our first light bulb too.” Weona died before I met J.T. He and his wife were pulling a stump with their old tractor, and as old tractors were wont to do, it flipped over backwards a crushed her. But he only mentioned that to me once when I was manhandling the old horse drawn turning plow behind his tractor, helping him dig his taters. He was not the type to dwell on the bad things in life. In his time, J.T. had survived a lot.
Born sometime around 1900, Mr. Bridges, as I tried to call him, was a retired deep miner of bauxite, the white ore aluminum is made from. He told me stories of caveins, of going so deep it was heated by the fires of hell, and of uncovering stumps of trees hundreds of feet down. He took a turn at mining kaolin too, the colored clay deposits that made the local pottery famous for a time. He never talked about the ruined whisky still down on stillhouse creek, or about the old black man for whom Bohouse road was named. He did appreciate the bottles of muscidine wine I gave him each year. J.T. was always on the go in his old Dodge truck when he wasn’t tending his three acre garden. He had a bit of “Fred Sanford” in him, and roamed the backroads of the county picking up scrap metal to sell. He wasn’t a hunter, but always welcomed an invitation to come eat a special venison dinner with us. We always cooked up the fresh okra, squash, new potatos and corn he had given us. Always showed up in clean overalls with his hair combed and hat in his hand. Complimented the meal with “So good, makes me wanna slap my momma!” Mentioned one time how my house was so small “can’t swing a cat by the tail without getting fur in your mouth!”. Mr. Bridges survived a lot over the years, and was generous to a fault with what little he owned. He didn’t live to see his 90th birthday, but I don’t really think he wanted to. He missed Weona a lot, and his friends from the mines who left him one by one. But never a more game man walked the earth. Such was J.T. Bridges.
...how seemingly negative and unfair "survival" circumstances can result in truly profound realizations of what is most important in life? Mine are nine and four and love to figure skate. Be strong.
"Surviving is a middle aged man being both Mommy and Daddy, and Doctor Dad too. And teaching a little girl how to bathe herself, and dress herself. Helping her with homework, explaining God to her, and morality. And setting a good example while not speaking ill of a wayward spouse."
"Surviving is a middle aged man being both Mommy and Daddy, and Doctor Dad too. And teaching a little girl how to bathe herself, and dress herself. Helping her with homework, explaining God to her, and morality. And setting a good example while not speaking ill of a wayward spouse."