Water Under The Bridge

I am sure we all remember that quote from Auntie Mame. It has always been one of my favorites. And each time we see the movie I am sure most of us feel like we want to go out and take control of life. Yet it seems that all too often something stops us. Maybe it is working extra hours to get that new job, trying to pay off the house a few years early. It really doesn’t matter what the reason is. It seems to happen to all of us. When I notice it is happening to me I read this quote by Sterling Hayden.

To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen, who play with their boats at sea - “cruising,” it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in. If you are contemplating a voyage and you have the means, abandon the venture until your fortunes change. Only then will you know what the sea is all about.

“I’ve always wanted to sail to the South Seas, but I can’t afford it.” What these men can’t afford is not to go. They are enmeshed in the cancerous discipline of “security.” And in the worship of security we fling our lives beneath the wheels of routine - and before we know it our lives are gone.

What does a man need - really need? A few pounds of food each day, heat and shelter, six feet to lie down in - and some form of working activity that will yield a sense of accomplishment. That’s all - in the material sense. And we know it. But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention from the sheer idiocy of the charade.

The years thunder by. The dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it the tomb is sealed.

Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?

by Sterling Hayden (1916-1986), sailor extraordinaire

My point my friends is that life is too short not to take advantage and enjoy life. David you want to go back to Scotland someday. As they say in the musical Rent, “No day but today.” I know there are health challenges, but who is to say they won’t be more harder next year. Take a chance make it happen.

St. Andrew’s Day, November 30th, has become a particular day for celebration in Scotland this year since it is the first time that it has been declared an official holiday.

The Saltire Flag of Scotland will be waved vigorously this day in honor of St. Andrew who is the patron saint of Scotland. Based on the article in the Scotsman, these celebratons will circle the world.

There is a possible political connection to all of this since there is a yet another major move for Scotland to claim its total independence. It would take pages and pages, with historical references, to explain this issue; so I will leave this posting as is.

Let’s go plunder apples.

In the back garden of the home in Scotland there was an apple tree which had great apples; brightly colored, crisp and sweet with just a hint of tartness. Now you would think there would be no interest in savoring other apples; but I do remember one occasion when someone suggested to my next oldest brother that we go plunder apples in the Abbey Orchard. Naturally I tagged along; the runt of the group and, having typed that, I am reminded that the runt was also our name for the core of an apple.

I am sure that the owner of the orchard was just as keen to protect his applies as we were in watching for lads coming to steal apples from our tree. It was not unusual to see a boy or boys climbing up the wall and shouting, “Gies an aipple”. That’s me tryiny to type with a Scottish accent.

There were occasions when there was no request; someone would climb the wall and head for the apple tree. Some times someone in the house would see what was happening and the cry would be up, “They’re after the apples”. One brother would dash out the front door, another would wait a second or two; then head out the back door. There was a mad scramble over the wall by the plunderers who became caught in the closed lane at the back. A pincer movement.

Nothing was ever done; except to give them a good scare and be sure they left with no apples.

For those readers who are not close to being entitled to Medicare, this posting may not mean that much to you but for those who are close and, more specifically, for me it is a big issue.

My entitlement started in May of this year and my first experience of the change between being part of a company’s HMO and Medicare was when I had to have a thallium treadmill test; instead of being tested at the hospital, the test was done in the cardiologist’s office.

Yesterday, I had concerns that I was having heart problems again but could not conclude if it was heart or pulmonary; so I headed to my primary care doctor who did a review and then called my cardiologist who, in turn, asked that I go to his office.

Usually, with the symptoms I had, I would have gone directly to emergency but, for reasons unknown and as mentioned, I went to my primary care doctor first. In addition and based on prior experience, my primary doctor would have done an EKG and would have sent me directly to emergency. This time, the EKG was done in the cardiologist and blood work was done at the lab which could have been any lab but it was done at the hospital lab to expedite the results.

Apart from what I call an awareness of a lesser quality of service, a remark was made that I had learned the system. This left me with the feeling that the medical profession was being forced by cost parameters from Medicare to provide basic care without going that extra step.

This obviously concerns me if I have to go through another open heart surgery.

I do not think I am and I hope I am not. In a few minutes, I am heading to the doctor since I am not quite up to par.

Based on my symptoms, i don’t think it is bronchial and, also based on prior experience, it may be my heart again. Angiograms, angioplasty and open heart surgery are not new to me.

If it happens that I am hospitalized, it is hoped that with the help of my good friend, Daniel I will be able to dictate a post so I can complete my committment to post for a month.

Stay healthy.

This recollection goes back many many years when I was in my middle teens and a patrol leader with the 1st Stirlingshire Boy Scout troop. I was earning my badges toward becoming a King’s Scout; the British equivalent of Eagle Scout.

One of these badges was the First Class hike which required a hike and camping overnight; and was done in pairs. My buddy for that was Ian Wallace. Why this was planned for a November day and night escapes me right now; but the trail was set up by the District Commissioner.

Luckily for us, it was not raining as we trudged up, around and over the Ochil Hills and completed some of our assigned tasks. We pitched our tent, got a fire going, had a meal and settled in for the night. That is until I wakened in the middle of the night by the need to equalize the pressure - that really was water under the bridge - LOL

That November night had to be one of the coldest I had experienced in Scotland. The sky was cloudless; a rarity, the frost was intense, the stars could not have been brighter and the Northern Lights were dazzling.

It was a night not to be forgotten.

No; not as in Windsor Castle. On Tuesday I am heading up to Windsor in the Sonoma Valley of California. It is a lesser known wine valley compared to its neighbor, Napa; but there are many fine wineries to be visited. This is another of my mini vacations - well, I guess seven days is not all that mini.

At home, DSL is my connection to the internet; so this will be the first time away from home to test my connection to the internet by using my T-Mobile cell phone. Also, I will be trying out my new wireless optical mouse which I bought today and is an early Christmas present; but who says that we have to wait until Christmas; nothing wrong with a little indulgence throughout the year.

Next January 5th is the golden wedding anniversary of the brother next oldest to me and I was best man at his wedding. My oldest surviving brother phoned me today; offering to pay for my airfare to attend the celebration.

Finances are not an issue for me but, as much as I so want to be there, the current state of my lung problems are such that a trip back to Scotland could be devastating; considering that the weather is not conducive to my well being.

Right now, a decision cannot be made and I am keeping my options open in the hope that I may see an upturn in my health. My lung difficulties are currently more seasonal; and, perhaps, a re-introduction of Prednisone into my system on a temporary basis might be the answer.

Hope lives eternal.

Back in 1962, it was deemed necessay for me to undergo spinal surgery to stabilize my spine from further deterioration caused by scoliosis. It was my good fortune to have been taken under the wing of Dr. Paul Harrington, Orthopedic Sugeon at Methodist Hopsital, Houston. Following surgery, I participated in a five year study with the Texas Institute for Research and Rehabilitation.

While I was hospitalized I was visited by members of the Houston Scottish Society to add a little cheer since I was from out of town. One of my visitors took it upon himself to send a letter to the Sunday Post; published back in Scotland. One thing led to another and it finished up in Letters to the Editor; with the headline, “Now Dave Is No Texas Stranger”

It was next to no time before I received a letter from one of my aunts who asked the direct question, “Since when did David become Dave.” And, yes, I have been and always will be a David; but take no offense at being called Dave; except to advise of my preference to be called David.

My journey from Scotland to Canada was told in the previous post and now here is a brief review of my emigration from Canada to the States five years later.

When I went to Canada originally it was hoped that my health would improve and although it did to some degree, my doctor strongly suggested that I head further south; beyong the border. As mentioned previously, I was fortunate to complete the requirements to emigrate to the States.

Toward the end of January 1955, I headed out from Dawson Creek with a stop-over in Prince George, BC to visit with Scottish friends who had settled there. The weather, fortunately, was relatively reasonable; with snow on the ground but no storms. Continuing from there, I made a last stop in Vancouver, BC to visit with other Scottish friends.

Setting out on the day after Rabbie Burns‘ day I crossed the border from Canada to the States. It looked like the Beverly Hillbillies or a modern version of the Joads in The Grapes of Wrath. All my wordly possessions were stuffed - yes, stuffed - into a little - yep, very little - British station wagon and I had about $2,000.00 with me and had left some, not very much, in a savings account in Canada.

Blaine, WA was the border crossing town and compared to the present multi-lane crossing, my recollection was of a one lane road with a small building with perhaps about 3 US Customs and/or Immigration officers.

And thus was my arrival to the States where I have lived all these many years