That Shooting In Texas

Getting hit by lightning is not fun! If you would like to help me in my recovery efforts, which include moving to the SW, feel free to hit the fundraiser at A New Life on GiveSendGo, use the options in the Tip Jar in the upper right, or drop me a line to discuss other methods. It is thanks to your gifts and prayers that I am still going. Thank you.

By now, if you haven’t seen the video of the would-be robber of a taqueria and it’s customers getting shot, you are in the minority. When I first saw it, I implemented the 48-hour rule as I wanted to see what else came out. It’s now well past 48-hours, so here goes.

One of the best analyses I’ve seen is here at the always excellent Legal Insurrection. If they are not a daily read, they should be. In this case, the author of the post is a noted legal expert on use of force/deadly force/etc. For all I would love to see Guy Relford break this down for Indiana law, the article is an excellent breakdown that actually cites some of the relevant Texas law. It is well worth the read, and should provide a lot of good food for thought.

Now, some personal takes and experience on the shooting.

On many levels, this is a FAFO moment and a fitting fate for a career violent felon. For all that I can understand, and even sympathize a bit with the shooter, for me it crossed a line. And I say that as someone who has been shot at by someone committing a crime and who also accidentally broke up an armed robbery that also featured a perp with what turned out to be a fake pistol. Circumstances matter. If this had been in a period of violence or other breakdown of authority (given crime and soft prosecutors, you could make that argument IMO), I’d frankly be inlined to give it a pass.

But, it wasn’t and I agree with the author of the linked post a good bit. The first group of four shots was righteous. The second group was, for me, iffy. Given all, would be very inclined to give benefit of the doubt. The last shot was a kill shot, and probably superfluous. It is that shot that is likely to see the shooter indicted and convicted. Politically, very wise to convene a grand jury (though those are easy to rig) to do any indicting. That said, even if indicted the shooter has a fair chance given this happened in Texas. Will see what happens.

Now, for some of the handwringing I’ve been seeing online.

First, there is no law that requires you to only shoot someone in the front. To think otherwise is to engage in romantic ignorance void of reality. Whether in your own defense, but particularly in the defense of others, the safety of those others is of paramount importance. To use deadly force in that situation requires you to think about and act in accordance with trying to maximize their safety, not minimize it. The shooter showed good thinking with his actions, as he waited until the armed robber was not observing him and further that his gun was not pointed at any of the other victims. That the gunman waited until he had a green board says some good things about him. In fact, I hope they mitigate things.

Second, the claim that because he was turned away and headed towards the door made it an unrighteous shoot. Bullshit. You have no idea what that person is going to do next. They might run, they might decide to kill everyone they can, the fact is you don’t know and you have to expect the worst. If you don’t get that, ask the ghosts of all those killed simply to eliminate witnesses even after they’ve handed over the till, safe, jewels, etc. without a fight. You have to assume the worst, hope for the best, and act without a lot of time for introspective thought. Whatever happens, a lot of people who find themselves in that situation will second-guess themselves for years to come with what-ifs.

Third, it was an unrighteous shoot because the gun was a fake. Oh, save me. First hand experience: an evening of visiting various, er, cultural establishments in Columbus, Georgia resulted in a need to refuel my friend’s car and for me to offload. Long story short, I broke up an armed robbery. Even as things started to unfold, a part of me noted that something was odd with the perp’s gun. Turns out, after some chaos, shooting and a very brief chase by me, it was eventually discovered that it was a toy. Problem is, in the few brief seconds of time you have, you need to be acting, not thinking. Go with real gun, it’s safer for you and others. Also, keep in mind that it can be a thing to put orange tape or other devices on real guns to make people think they are toys. Deal with the situation as it appears and sort things out later when there is time.

All you can do is the best you can do. Take a gun law course in your state from someone who knows what they are doing. Don’t just practice, get training and even advanced training if you are going to carry. Know the law, know the tactics, and most of all, know yourself. Spend some time thinking about how you will deal with things if you do have to shoot, especially knowing that everyone from the prosecutor onto the keyboard warriors and the screaming gibbons of corporate media are going to paint you as a murderous psychotic no matter what. Think about it, figure ways to cope, and prepare as best you can. It’s never enough, but a start helps in the long run.

Thoughts On Flooding

Getting hit by lightning is not fun! If you would like to help me in my recovery efforts, which include moving to the SW, feel free to hit the fundraiser at A New Life on GiveSendGo, use the options in the Tip Jar in the upper right, or drop me a line to discuss other methods. It is thanks to your gifts and prayers that I am still going. Thank you.

Flooding is one of the hardest things for which to prepare. Unless it is something like your basement flooding because of drainage issues, there is little practical about it.

In my case, where I rent does have flooding of the basement because of issues with sewer drains and lines that are headed towards being a century old. Clay pipe has a useful life, and it is long past. Short-term solution is sump pumps to divert the rain water elsewhere. Really need to add a battery backup to that, but that is up the landlord. FYI, at great expense, the landlord replaced the pipes and such out to the property line. It’s from there to the sewer that the problems lie, and that means lawyers and a huge amount of expense.

In watching what is hitting California, and the hurricane(s) in Florida last year, a few quick thoughts to share this morning. The quickest and easiest way to avoid flooding is to not move onto a flood plain. That may not always be possible because of circumstances, but it really is the only way to avoid the issue.

If you can’t avoid it, look at how often the area floods. If it is every year, no. Don’t care how good the deal, it’s not worth it. If it is subject to 10, 20, or 100 year floods, the roll of the dice is up to you. It may be possible to find a place where through creative landscaping, you can reduce your risk. Or, you may can find a place where you can use sandbags over a limited arc to prevent flooding.

If you have to encircle your entire home, it’s not good. It is, in fact, a massive amount of work that may not work as well as you need it to. The higher you need the wall to go, the wider it needs to be at the base to be water resistant and to support the weight of the wall. And you are going to need pumps to handle what does come through. You will also need to have a way to shut off your sewer as water can and will come in and flood you via that system. For all that cities are supposed to have backflow prevention, they often don’t or it fails under the load.

If it is recommended (or required) that you evacuate, do it. Grab your bugout bags, if there is time grab some important things, but get out. It’s like evacuating for a wildfire: your life is worth more than even extremely sentimental possessions. If you don’t, or the flooding happens too fast, if you have an upstairs, move as much up as possible. If not, make sure you have access to the attic and a way to cut a hole in the roof so you can get out. I will suggest that if floods are frequent and of a surrounding nature, you might want to invest in a life raft as it’s a better option than drowning.

Which brings up another point. For the love of all that is Holy, DO NOT WALK OR DRIVE INTO FLOOD WATERS!

When walking, you don’t know what’s below, and drains are a great way to get you or your children sucked down to drown. You can get hurt other ways as well. If you watch them in action, you will note that rescue crews are very careful when they have to walk in flood waters, and even in shallow water they are inclined to use boats. You should be paying attention to that.

When driving, you are going to be (often briefly) surprised at the power of the water to take your vehicle where it wants to rather than to where you wanted to go. The bridge that used to be there may no longer be there. There are other hazards as well, and even if you are in the biggest most badass military truck there is, the water will win if you fight it. Notice how rescue convoys operate in flood waters and learn from it. We lose more people than we should each year to this bit of idiocy.

The smart thing to do is, unless absolutely a matter of life and death, don’t get out in or on floodwaters.

Just a few quick thoughts to share on the one thing for which there is very limited practical preparedness.

2 Forward, 1 Back?

Getting hit by lightning is not fun! If you would like to help me in my recovery efforts, which include moving to the SW, feel free to hit the fundraiser at A New Life on GiveSendGo, use the options in the Tip Jar in the upper right, or drop me a line to discuss other methods. It is thanks to your gifts and prayers that I am still going. Thank you.

For all that I feel like I was a WLB for writing this post, I have to admit that it was good to write it. It was a reminder to myself, and mayhaps others, that it is okay to have bad days. They are going to happen and we just have to ride them out. While the memory/cognitive side recovered quickly, and a memory ended up being recovered, the body has not and it was an interesting weekend.

To answer some questions, I want to expand on this post where I talk about what happened. Obviously, one of the first questions people have is ‘what was it like’ and one of the follow-ups is often along the line of ‘why aren’t you moved yet?’ I want to expand a bit on what it was like and some of what I’ve learned over this last year and a half.

Understand, some of the memories from around the time I was hit may be fuzzed up a bit. Go figure! It’s another reason I want to share this as if you or someone you know has a close encounter, there’s good reason to get checked out even if you think it missed.

I’ll skip a lot of the background, and will say that I don’t remember any lightning anywhere close to me at the time. There may have been a strike several blocks away, but nothing close. It was a habit to do flash/bang calculations of distance while watching storms, and I knew from that and radar that the storm was moving off.

Our best guess is that the lightning strike that got me hit a tree just off the porch and that some of it came over to say hello. How much is a good question, and the sad answer is that we don’t know and there is no way to tell. This is especially true since it took a couple of weeks for us to figure out I had been hit. More on that in a bit.

I think I remember that I had just put down the phone, which is in an insulated case, before the strike. In fact, just after I had done so was when my world went white. I remember thinking that I had clenched up out of fear, and yes I had a Buckley moment where I thought ‘this is going to hurt.’ Even as I thought that and my world went white, there was a roaring sensation — not sound — in my head, and it felt like my brain was vibrating at a very high frequency. Then my world went black and I remember part of my mind thinking ‘bleep, power’s out we will have to reset every flippin clock’ followed by the thought of wondering if I would see Hell, Heaven, or something else when the lights come back on. I really didn’t want to see Hell, but also remember being strangely calm and curious as I sat there locked up.

When I could see again, I was still on the porch. I was much relieved, and had several thoughts along the lines of ‘wow that was close, too close!’ I was surprised the phone was still working and that the lights were on inside. I will note that the radio in my car, which was parked partially under the tree at the time, was later found to be fried.

Since I was alive, I obviously couldn’t have been hit. Cough. Just take it as a given that in a case like this, you might not be thinking clearly. Add that to my normal Captain Oblivious state, and I didn’t have a clue. No major blast or burns, so again, I couldn’t have been hit. The most common injury reported in lightning strikes are concussion symptoms, and there is data that suggests that burn and blast injuries may not occur in a majority of cases. Keep that in mind if an arrogant/ignorant/inexperienced doctor tries to tell you that you/other don’t need to be checked out after a close encounter because you don’t have such. Keep in mind that most doctors never see, and even ERs may only see one or two lightning hits in a year or years. The linguistic/cognitive therapist who worked with me (wonderful lady!) was told she would only see one such case in an entire career. She has now seen two.

Now, let me take a moment to give some thanks and note a couple of miracles that morning. After all, one of the things I did after going inside was to give thanks to God and the Blessed Mother that I was alive and it had missed. Yeah, off a little on that last. First miracle, the entire bolt did not hit me, as at least some portion took out my car radio, and I suspect some went into the ground. Second, I wasn’t dead on the spot. If I had been sitting on the other side of the table, the electricity that did go through me would have gone directly through my heart, with the most likely result being me dead right there. Instead of the left, it went down (mostly) the right side of my body. Why do I say that?

Let’s chart the damage. In my right ear, I no longer hear any higher frequencies. The associated nerves are dead. My heart took some damage, but I was alive. There was a small, black hole in the ball of my right foot, and when I checked the shoes I was wearing that morning, you could see where rubber melted at the matching spot on the sole and where rubber had melted and reformed in lightning-type shape as the electricity ran to ground. I had concussion symptoms out the wazoo, and still have occasional moments of something similar to vertigo. The EEG and MRI show no tumors and obvious physical damage to the brain, but more on that in a bit. There may have been some other, non-permanent things, but if so, I missed them.

What I find fascinating is the amount of delayed damage if you will. We will never know for sure what might have turned out different if I had gone to the ER that morning. Could things have been caught/prevented? No way to be sure, as just doing a 12-lead would not (and did not) catch some of the damage. That took a heart cath. Do I wish I could have gotten in for cognitive testing and therapy much, much sooner (or that I had a neurologist who wasn’t as useless as teats on a boar)? Yes. Would it have prevented anything? No.

The cardiac issues were, in many respects, somewhat straightforward. The first indicator I noticed that there was damage/issues was when my BP hit somewhere in the neighborhood of 214/148. Two weeks (pretty much to the day I think) after the hit, the BP sent me to the ER though I just knew something was off. Visit to my doctor’s office the next day slowly started the ball rolling. I reached out to a very nice, helpful, and sadly retired MD who used to treat lightning strike and electrical shock victims. It was her gentle questioning that resulted in my learning that I had locked up, not clenched up, and it was somewhat amazing I was alive. It also led to my finding the hole in the ball of my right foot, which looked almost like a large-bore needle hole, but instead of the red track down through your skin and such, this one was black like carbon. It was also hard to see given the suddenly large callous. More on that in a minute.

My GP and I never did do a thorough search in my scalp and back, given that about three weeks had passed at that point. I really do wonder though if we might not have found an entry point back behind my ear given the number done on the audio nerves and other parts of the ear.

This was also the time of the Great Referral. With the BP issues continuing and increasing, time for a cardiologist. With the concussive effects and various issues cropping up, time for a neurologist. Issues were cropping up with the right foot, time for a podiatrist. No partridge in a pear tree though. Took some time, as only select doctors take my insurance. Cough. For all that it is not the best out there, and quite a few don’t take it, I will take a moment to note in thanks that for the last year and a half they have stepped up and done more than I ever expected. That could stop tomorrow, but it’s been a major factor in not moving as fast as I would like to do, as it will not move with me.

Let’s start with the podiatrist. It took a few weeks for my GP’s office to find one they liked that would take my insurance. Then we had to find an opening in his schedule. By then, it was painful to stand and walk on my right foot. Got in, he looked at my foot, and was the first doctor who believed me from the start. Even my GP had been skeptical. But, as the podiatrist looked things over, he sat there and told me how he wasn’t surprised it had exited there, why, and some other interesting stuff. He also was the first referral not to recommend surgery. Instead, he grabbed a scalpel and started back towards my foot. Think my reaction may have hurt his feelings, but it is better to tell me ahead of time what you are doing when approaching with sharp objects. He cut off a large amount of dead stuff, recommended custom orthotics and regular visits to a nail place to keep it trimmed, and since my insurance was not going to cover the orthotics, how to modify store bought to work. Great guy, if I ever need a podiatrist again, would go back in a heartbeat. While I bought some things to work on the callus, I did have to hit a nail place a couple of times as they wield the cheese grater far better than do I, and for about six to eight months after the strike it grew like the dickens.

Guess we do have to discuss the neurologist. To say they don’t have a good bedside manner is to venture into opposite world. The immediate take was, if I had been hit (no burn, no blast, pah), nothing can be done. Almost grudgingly ordered an EEG and MRI. When those showed no tumors, lesions, fractures, or other signs of gross physical damage, think they were pretty much done. Took a LOT of effort to get the referral to RHI for cognitive testing. Was worth it, even though the first opening they had was some six months out. So, it wasn’t until around February of 2022 that I got in to see them.

Spent a day being tested. Good news, I didn’t fail (NOTE: edited the good as just got my files and while I did good on some…). Bad news, yeah, you took a hit. Took a while to get it worked out with insurance, but did several therapy visits over a month or two where the excellent people explained things, helped me develop several coping mechanisms for the short-term memory problems, and did what they could to help. One of the most important: don’t beat yourself up. There are going to be slips, oopses, and such. Take a moment, relax, start over. That and pay attention to how you are doing. Know it’s a bad time, don’t try to do too much. Those are both sorta hard for me. Learned a lot from them, including the time it is likely to take for my brain to fully heal.

The cardiologist is the one I still see. Methodical. Took longer than I would have liked to get the BP down and under control. I’m not an impatient patient, really (sounds of hysterical laughter coming from my doctor’s offices). Some things weren’t adding up for her, so we started doing some testing including a nuclear stress test and imaging. Heart cath ordered, but afib got so bad that I was sent to the ER. At the ER, told them why I was there (and something told me to grab the go bags) and I was quickly put in a people mover (not a wheel chair) and sent back for a strip. Nurse/tech looks at it and disappears. When she comes back, I’m pushed back out into the waiting room and told firmly that I was admitted, I was not to leave or get up from the mover, and they would get me back as fast as they could given that they were full. Think I’ve put the full story elsewhere, but I ended up spending the night in the ER (FUN!), the next day had a heart cath, then a visit from the nice surgeon who said I could wait up to two weeks but it really would be a good idea to have open heart surgery the next morning. We did so, and it proved to be a remarkably pain free event and recovery. Still tease him that I want ten percent back from the bill since my cut is at a diagonal rather than straight up and down.

After recovery came the rehabs. 2022 was a year of rehab and testing. There was cardiac rehab, where I really enjoyed a couple of the staff (think I got one hooked on Baen Books) though I was rather frequently told to slow down, stop, take it easy. For whatever they may think, I was being good. Honest. At least for me. I’ve always pushed heart rate, endurance, and such as high as I could at the gym. For that one person, write down what the patient tells you not what you want to put on the chart, and also saying that the doctor is wrong and you are the only one who can save someone is not a good look. Don’t miss that one. Looking for some way to join the Y that’s nearby, need to be working out more. Even the cardiologist is encouraging that.

The neural rehab was interesting and on some levels fun. I’ve learned a lot about the brain, cognition, and how to work around some of the issues. Some of it may seem fairly straightforward, but the angel of healing lies in the details. I still have my binder out where I can get to it to check things. The help they gave is why I can do as much as I do. I’m actually quite thankful that things were not such that I had to be in some sort of facility. I like my life as it is, having minders would crimp my style. Not that I do anything the doctors wouldn’t like. *best innocent look* Another two or so years, the brain should be fully healed, and maybe something can be done to see how much of the “missing” files we can find.

The testing last year leads into a very interesting area. Early on, I was told to beware of other survivors attributing a range of things to the lightning strike, from cancer to various endocrine problems. It is interesting how many survivors do develop other problems, ones that clearly can’t be directly linked to the lightning (or electric shock) strike. Hence some of my discussions of quantum probability cascades in a not completely joking manner. In my own case, a couple of things (like the diverticulitis) were there at a you-have-it-no-big-deal level before the strike. 2022 saw more “Welcome to the ER” moments than I care for. Not quite on a first name basis with the ER staff a block away, but closer to it than I care for. So, several CT scans and a colonoscopy later, I am glad to say that no cancer we know of and everything else is livable/treatable at need.

Now, that may end up with me getting new shoulder joints. I had a doc recommend an “emergency” replacement of the right joint a couple of years ago, with a push to go ahead and do both. Got a second opinion about a year after that, and the idea is to wait (if possible) for five to seven years to do the surgery. There are some issues going on, including having blood flow cut off to my arms at night such that they “go to sleep.” So far, have always caught it early, and while I don’t like the tingles, I can live with it. Suspect it is a positional thing. Need to remember to tell this to the GP. Meantime, lots of pain and hard to sleep as a result. Hoping this doesn’t turn into an ER or surgery moment in 2023.

As for the arthritis, I do wish I could remember which doc told me I had advanced severe osteoarthritis. I’m thankful it’s not rheumatoid, but that doesn’t make it fun. Since the strike, it has — in my estimation — kicked up. Lower back, hands, arms. Given that I have done a few interesting things in life, from jumping out of planes to a lot of hiking/backpacking and a small amount of marching, I’m amazed my knees and hips are as good as they are. There’s not much that can be done, so I try to ignore it as much as possible. Meantime, between this and the shoulders, Ranger Candy!

Allergies are the one thing that don’t seem to have increased since the strike. In fact, other than needing benadryl for the CT scans, have been doing pretty good. More of them than I care for, but that’s been true since childhood.

That’s enough for today. Safety Brief: Be smart, be safe, and remember that if the lightning is at a range of 1-3 miles, you are in range too. Even if there are no obvious burns or blast damage, if you have a close encounter with lightning, go get checked out and remind the doc that the most common symptom of a lightning strike are concussive effects. Otherwise, press on and remember to count your blessings and give thanks for them. Also, don’t hesitate to ask for prayers, they do make a difference.

UPDATE: From the comments, getting hit by lightning can and does cause personality changes. It can also have an impact on if you can learn new things, or remember to do things you used to know how to do. While I have heard of someone getting nicer, most of the information on personality changes trend towards nice people not being as nice (to be polite). Thankfully, any personality changes for me seem to be fairly minor, and while it takes a lot longer, an old wolf can eventually learn new tricks. Sorta.

Oriana Fallaci

Getting hit by lightning is not fun! If you would like to help me in my recovery efforts, which include moving to the SW, feel free to hit the fundraiser at A New Life on GiveSendGo, use the options in the Tip Jar in the upper right, or drop me a line to discuss other methods. It is thanks to your gifts and prayers that I am still going. Thank you.

This morning I bored you with my tales of woe, mostly focused on the short-term issues. This afternoon, I am going to bore you with something aimed at helping the long-term memory issues.

I actually need to thank Glenn Reynolds for sparking a memory moment with this post on the passing of Barbara Walters where he mentioned she was no Oriana Fallaci. It actually triggered several memories, but one stood out. Been meaning to write this post, but kept forgetting to put it on the list…

One of the great things about having Daryle Feldmeir as head of the journalism program is that the man had the personal and professional connections to bring in guest speakers others could only dream of getting. Mike Royko was one, but the most interesting out of all of them (and they were all interesting and notable) was Oriana Fallaci.

She was a striking woman, with a personality that made her seem larger than she was. There is much written about her, but some quick highlights include being a member of the resistance in Italy before and during WWII, interviewing some of the most notable leaders and artists in the world, and an interview style that is not wrong to be described as an interrogation. It is worth noting that after interviewing Kohmeni that her criticisms of Islam brought howls of protest and accusations of Islamophobia.

She, like Daryle and Les Brownlee, was a bulldog for the truth, and I honestly think she would be disgusted with the state of corporate journalism today. In fact, I could easily see her with the bloggers and others like Project Veritas and the New Journalism start-ups.

Her talk that day was amazing. It covered a lot of ground, as she talked about some of the people she had interviewed, why she interviewed the way she did, and why those she knew were hiding things were given no mercy. It got into some of her other work (she covered Vietnam in person) and her other writing. When she talked about having a servant tie her to a chair and not let her out until she had written so many words on a book, my eyebrows probably ended up well past the crown of my head.

She did get a little into journalistic ethics and the Canons of Journalism. It was not her job or ours to make people comfortable. It was our job to make them uncomfortable, to dig for what was hidden, and to hold leaders of all stripes accountable. If you could do it with style, all the better. Be truthful above all. There was more, but that’s about all I can pull up right now.

Between her unscripted speech, and the question and answer session, we learned a lot. About the only thing off limits was her love life, other than that she had one. Active even. As for with who and when, that was off limits. Got some good tips on writing, and on journalism. I even have an autographed copy somewhere of one of her books, as she gave them out to our class.

I remember an energy and intensity to her that was distinct. It is hard to describe, but it would be hard to imagine her as hesitant or scared. She was passionate on a number of issues, and that came through loud and clear. What she would think of my politics today, I don’t know, but the one thing I am sure of is that we could and would talk. It might get loud, it might get passionate, but there would be genuine discussion, unlike so many today.

As with all real people, she was complex. There are things where I agree with her fully, and parts where I disagree. The fun is in discussing the differences.

I do wish I could have sat down with her again before she died. Thing is, had any one of us in that class contacted her, I think she would have. She would have wanted to know what we did, were doing, etc. Most of all, were we doing our job as journalists and making the right people uncomfortable.

Thank you Glenn, for sparking that memory cascade. Maybe some more of it will surface, but for now I have an amazing memory of a remarkable person restored.

Bad Day

Getting hit by lightning is not fun! If you would like to help me in my recovery efforts, which include moving to the SW, feel free to hit the fundraiser at A New Life on GiveSendGo, use the options in the Tip Jar in the upper right, or drop me a line to discuss other methods. It is thanks to your gifts and prayers that I am still going. Thank you.

I mostly try to share the positive here, for all that it may seem otherwise sometimes. Sharing the successes of life help reinforce them, and encourage more. Yet, I also need to share some of the other, so that you understand why things can be spotty sometimes.

Getting hit by lighting has done some interesting things. To be polite. These include both short-term and long-term memory issues. The long-term issues may not be a permanent loss, just an inability to access. For those more modern, my directory file has been corrupted and the brain doesn’t know where to find some of the files. In more old-fashioned terms, I describe it as someone going into a room full of filing cabinets, selecting some cabinets at random, and dumping random drawers on the floor. Then the jerk cuts on an industrial fan.

The short-term issues basically come down to my now having the short-term memory of a mayfly, and a brain permanently set to “SQUIRREL!!” The polite term used by the linguistic/cognitive therapists is “attention lapse.” I have a lot of them, and some days are worse than others. To work around the lapses, I have routines and use a lot of lists. If you own stock in generic post-it notes, you’re welcome for the dividends as I use a lot of them. If it doesn’t make it onto a list, 99.999999999999999999999 percent chance it won’t get done. From texting a friend to writing a story, I pretty much have to write it down on the list.

Shoot, even normal things take an extra step or two. When taking my medicines and supplements in the morning, I actually have to go down the list and put each pill in a bowl. I then count them, and if the count is off, track down what pill got skipped. May not be pretty on some levels, but it works. More of my life than I care for is built around such hacks.

Even very routine things can be difficult. For example, it is not uncommon for my mind to blank as I venerate my scapular or say a familiar prayer. I trust that the Lord understands and makes allowances, and hope friends and others do so as well if I blank on things with them. It’s one reason I’ve been hesitant to do any podcasting or be on a podcast, besides the fact I have a face and voice for radio. It’s also why I don’t see regular work in my future for the next few years. The lapses, even with notes and routines, get me. Add in all the other physical issues, and, well… Just really hope they are right and things will eventually get better in a few years.

Last night was rough. Weather changes do a number on me, and we have a good one in process. Possibly snow tonight, though the lower back, shoulders, and hands aren’t swearing to that yet. Well, they are saying some, but not how much. May just be a dusting. May just go get in the shower to see if the heat will get them to quit swearing, I mean hurting, as much.

This morning, my cooking routine got zorched. It is designed in part around ensuring burners are cut off, which makes one of my most common mistakes forgetting to cut on a burner, which does slow things down a bit. This morning saw me do both, with a few other minor bobbles. No harm, no foul, and breakfast was eventually tasty. That said, there have been a few other issues and I’m thinking it might be good to call it a day already.

I’m supposed to go pick up some medicines and the few groceries I can afford, but think that unless and until things improve I don’t need to be out on the Real Indianapolis 500 (I-465) where you need to be on high alert at all times. Heck, Indy traffic in general can on occasion make me nostalgic for the traffic in Baghdad. Things may get better, but until I see signs of it I may just look at cute animal pictures and such.

Oh, for those of you who are regular readers: the promised contact from SSA? Nope. I wish I were surprised. I had hoped on some levels, but on others I really didn’t think it would happen. May look at talking to a congresscritter here soon.

So long as this doesn’t get me put in a padded room, I’ve been writing in my dreams, or maybe my dreams are writing a story. If you liked the New Year’s short story, which is based off the universe in the Christmas short story I dreamed, there looks to be more. The Christmas story really is the outline for something else, and in the odd hours of the early morning, I’ve been dreaming that more. To the point of working through issues, how to handle some other issues, and otherwise building that story and world. Yes, trying to make notes as it could turn into a very nice story or stories. Not sure where it’s coming from, but it’s not a bad dream to have. Looking at polishing up the New Year story for sale, and see what I can do on the larger story.

All that said, I’m hoping to get back to regular posting soon. There is more on preparedness, some pithy comments if not full stories on Russia and the war, and the other things you all seem to enjoy. More soon, promise.

UPDATE: Instapundit triggered a memory a few days ago, and I finally remembered to write about it today. Slowly but surely getting some of the long-term memories sorted.

Another Fun Day!

Trying to get medical records and such. Hoping to resume normal posting sometime soon.

Getting hit by lightning is not fun! If you would like to help me in my recovery efforts, which include moving to the SW, feel free to hit the fundraiser at A New Life on GiveSendGo, use the options in the Tip Jar in the upper right, or drop me a line to discuss other methods. It is thanks to your gifts and prayers that I am still going. Thank you.

Lite Day?

I had planned to get a lot of things done yesterday, but that was before I remembered it was a holiday for many. So, things got shifted to the right. I’m jumping through some hoops, trying to get records, juggle prescriptions, and see if I have enough funds to go to the grocery store here soon. Here’s hoping more people remember to switch their phone systems back off holiday mode here soon…

Winter Storm Quick Wash

Don’t know who created it, but thanks!

Getting hit by lightning is not fun! If you would like to help me in my recovery efforts, which include moving to the SW, feel free to hit the fundraiser at A New Life on GiveSendGo, use the options in the Tip Jar in the upper right, or drop me a line to discuss other methods. It is thanks to your gifts and prayers that I am still going. Thank you.

While other storms have come to parts of the country since, the major winter storm has passed. Thankfully, it was not nearly as bad here as predicted. I hate to say this, but we may need to thank our mayor Boss Hogsbreath for that, since he said in advance it would be historic. As with almost everything he says or predicts, not so much.

Others were not so lucky, and sadly the death toll is still climbing. The worst area was also the one area that should have been the best prepared: western NY state. Rather than focus on the failure and/or incompetence of the governments state and local, let’s look at this more with a focus on the individual.

While the failure to pre-position equipment and supplies was one of the largest and most glaring failures of government, it raises a question: Did you have emergency stocks at work and in your vehicle(s)? It may not have been a huge amount, but I always had some things tucked away in the desk or cubicle when I worked office jobs. Same held true for non-office jobs as my locker usually held a few things.

When it comes to vehicles, there’s been a meme going around Twitter that points out that if your vehicle has weapons and magazines everywhere, but no food, water, etc., that basically you’re an idiot. I agree. Your vehicle should always have a bail-out bag, and when a winter storm is coming you should also have a bag with food, water, blankets, and anything else you can think of to help you stay warm and safe.

Which brings up another point. It’s not like this storm hit with no warning. Blizzard. Massive lows. Here’s a thought: stay home! I’ve worked a few jobs that were designated critical, where I had to go in as the job had to get done no matter what. Most jobs aren’t critical for all management would like people to think otherwise. I (and others) got a former manager mad a few years ago because during a winter storm we flat out told him the job was not worth our lives, and no we would not be in until conditions improved. He huffed and puffed, and we didn’t care. It literally wasn’t worth our lives, and they would have been in severe risk.

A blizzard or major winter storm is not the time to be out driving, and it is also most especially not the time to be out walking around. I don’t care how bad the craving for a candy bar may be, walking any distance in heavy falling snow with deep snow already on the ground and well-below-zero wind chills is a bit foolish. Life or death, layer up and do what you have to for the situation. If it is not literally a matter of life or death, just stay home.

While I know that some businesses count being out as a strike against you if there is no government no-travel order in place, again, is that job worth your life? Are they going to pay for your injuries or provide for your family if you are killed coming in to work (or at work for that matter)? If no, take the strike and you really should be looking around anyway IMO. Just look at how many died in NY because the no-travel order came criminally late.

All over the country there were a LOT of house fires. Most of them the result of improper (and sometimes impromptu) heaters. I will admit I need to up my heater game, but the time to do that is not during the storm. Make your choices in advance, ensure safety and proper ventilation, and be sure you have smoke/CO detectors and fire extinguishers. Also, if you use any form of electric heat, make sure the circuit can take the load.

That will do for a quick wash, and I hope that all of you survived the storm in comfort and safety! Here, the power flickered but did not go out and the local power company was on top of all the outages in the area. While literally tens of thousand did lose power around here, it was — for the most part — of short duration.

May all our emergencies be of short duration, and remember that preparedness always pays!

Trouble

No, not with me or the site (I hope), but the title of a little short story for your enjoyment. It is very rough, needs some polish, but I hope you will enjoy it and laugh a bit on this fine New Year’s Day. FYI, St. Ailbhe is the patron Saint of wolves and hospitality.

The day was to be one of rest, relaxation, and recovery.  The forces of evil had been dispatched from the area for now, and I was still quite sated from the huge and excellent breakfast my wife had cooked.  She had disappeared into the back, which wasn’t odd but was a little surprising.  I had thought she might snuggle with me for a while. 

Unconcerned, I settled into my modified recliner, and smiled at the snacks, bowl of water, and bowl of brandy on the small table beside the chair. The recliner was oversize, given that I am in werewolf form a good bit of the time, and had a special cut-out to accommodate my tail. And, yes, bowls.  Muzzles are not designed for glasses as a rule, and while it can be done, let’s just say you dribble and it’s messy.  

The water bowl was a standard pottery mixing bowl, but the brandy bowl was an antique crystal piece that had a very odd shape.  Different people saw it as different things, though Friar Bernard swore that it faintly resembled a skull.  I didn’t see it, but it was heavy, and a perfect size for my needs.  

I was wearing the Victorian smoking jacket/robe my wife had found for me as I puffed contentedly on the custom Nate King pipe in my left paw.  Well, something that was a cross between a hand and a paw.  Thankfully werewolves were not truly shaped like wolves, and I had enough fingers to work a door, read a book, and smoke the specially constructed pipe.  It had been made on the QT for the victim of a tragic accident, and not advertised as said victim wanted privacy. I also highly suspected Mr. King also didn’t want to get flooded with such orders since they are labor intensive and not a money maker as a general rule.  

Cigars were now a human form only treat, as two attempts to smoke them in wolf form had resulted in my managing to catch my fur on fire.  My wife had been quite amused on one level, and very unhappy on another.  She regarded my fur as her personal property and wanted to protect it.  So, she found the smoking jacket somehow, somewhere, and I wore it to smoke and relax.  As the Victorians said, better it take any hits than your good clothes — or my fur.  Besides, on the off chance Sister Agnes (who I had discovered was a retired Marine) or someone else stopped by, it provided some modesty.  While visitors were rare, one should still be prepared.  

As I cheerfully began to open up the latest Baened Book’s novel I’d been saving for a treat, it struck.  

The doorbell rang.  

No car had pulled up, and we didn’t get random visitors.  I had built remote for a reason, and the exterior was native rock, which caused many an eye to pass over it at first.  Since getting married, the Sacred Order had warded the property.  The outer wards, about three quarters of a mile out, sufficed to turn most ordinary people and creatures away, and to warn those of evil not to continue.  The next set at about half a mile more strongly deflected the ordinary (if dense) people and critters.  Evil bounced unless it was very strong and very determined.  The final wards would surge in power as needed, and so far evil had not been able to penetrate it though they did try one time.  

So, whoever or whatever was at my door was either innocence personified or trouble.  No one is that innocent.  No sign of my wife.  My hackles came up a bit, as I smelled a trap.  All right, let’s dance.  

I carefully put down the book and got up from my chair.  If something somehow knocked me down into human form, there were various weapons and implements of destruction scattered about either hidden or in the open as decorations.  Before I opened the door into the mud room/entrance hall, I rolled my shoulders and relaxed as I had learned to do in human form for martial arts.  I went into the entry, opened the door, and realized that I was truly in for a fight.  This wasn’t trouble, this was Trouble. 

She looked to be about eight, and was wearing the white blouse and plaid skirt of a school uniform.  Over that, however, was the sash showing that she was a member of the Girl Guides, and in her hand was a box of Solomons.  Growing up, the Chok-O-Mints had been my favorite, and while I still liked them, I could and would eat my weight in human form of the chocolate/coconut/crack that were the Solomons.  To be that good and addictive, they had to have crack or something like it in them.  

It is possible that at the sight of that box I might have drooled a little bit as I gazed down at the tiny terror at my door.  I had been set up by my beloved wife, and from the scent wafting off the girl’s clothes, Sister Agnes.  

Her head had been turned away as she looked around while waiting for me to come to the door.  Now, as it came around, and the predatory smile that goes with the cookie pushers started up, she looked up at me, and started to scream.  Pretty sure she spent a small penny but caught herself before she truly soiled herself.  

Eyes round with terror took on a new look as she quickly looked me up and down, and fashion outrage overcame fear. 

“What is that thing you are wearing?”

I drew up with all the dignity I could muster, and did the most lordly “Harumph!” possible as I stroked the lapel of the  robe.  While I personally went for blues and greens, the jacket my wife had found was crimson.  Not red, crimson.  The Victorians being peacocks, it was made of crimson velvet, silk, and even had some thread-of-gold in it.  The sash was dark emerald that somehow worked with the robe rather than clashed.  From down the drive I heard Sister Agnes’ smothered laugh.  

She had the grace to look a little abashed as she picked up the box of cookies she had dropped.  

“Mister, er, Sir, ah, would you like to buy some cookies to help the Girl Guides at St. Ailbhe’s?” 

Here was my chance.  A shake of the head, closing the door, and the battle could be avoided.  But, with my wife and the good Sister involved in setting me up, this was one of those life lesson things for the girl, and possibly for me too.  Besides, we all had to face our demons, even when they are just 8-years-old pushers.  

With a little sigh, I opened the door further, stepped to one side, and bowed as I extended my left paw to gesture her inside.  With a little trepidation she did so, and I indicated she should go on into the living room.  As I closed the outer door, I took a second to make a rude gesture in the good Sister’s direction with my right paw and gave a flick of my tail to go with it.  Paws, even my paws, really aren’t made for that gesture, but if you work at it, you can do it.  Sometimes it’s well worth it. 

Inside, I gestured towards one of the wingbacks we have for guests and she carefully sat in it.  As I suspected, the tablet we used for me to “talk” to visitors was in its spot and charged.  I picked it up, and returned to my chair.  This was going to be a very different battle, and I quickly took a lap of brandy to fortify me.  

“Mister, are you going to eat me?” 

Brandy burns like a taste of hellfire as it goes out your nose.  

My eyes actually teared up a bit, and my humor was not helped by hearing the faint sounds of my wife trying to smother her laughter as she rolled on the floor.  I cleaned up as best I could, then turned to girl.  Quickly I shook my head for no.  Then, I activated the tablet and began to type.  Leaning forward, I handed her the tablet. 

No, I am not going to eat you.  Still rather full from breakfast actually.  You are safe physically and have the hospitality of my home.

She read it, relaxed a bit, and handed the tablet back to me.  

“But don’t werewolves eat people?”

I hesitated for a moment, bit my tongue, and typed again. My wife was clearly watching somehow, and I could hear her giggle very faintly.  

Some probably do, but I don’t as a rule.  I serve God as best I can, in this or human form.

She read it, and got a perplexed look on her face.  Her look was almost pleading as she looked at me. 

“But werewolves, vampires, and all the other monsters aren’t real!  My grandmother said so!”  

I nodded at her, looked around, then lifted up my left arm, reached over and pinched it with my right paw.  Then, I leaned forward and carefully pinched her arm, making her give out a yelp.  Holding up a finger, sort of, to indicate she should wait, and went to typing.  

I’d say I’m pretty real based on the pinches.  Also, I’m sorry to say that your grandmother is wrong.  We do exist, and some strive to do good and others fall into evil because of what was done to them.  The infections, think of them as being like a virus — like a cold — were a corruption by evil of something created by God.  Evil intended all to fall, but some of us fight back, and that which was corrupted is changing, so that it is easier for someone to stay good.  I, and those like me, fight evil as best we can.  Thing is, you can’t tell anyone about me, or those like me. 

She read the message, then looked at something in her mind, her face pensive.  

“But why hide?  Why not let people know that there are good monsters?”  

My smile was sad as I typed.  

And what was your first reaction?  People are scared of “other” and we are definitely that.  Besides, how can they tell us apart?  How can they truly know who is good and who is not?  It will come, in time, but that time is not yet.  Until then, we stay hidden and fight where most will never see.  

She still had a pensive look on her face as she read it, then something caught her eye. 

“Were those your clothes when you were human?” 

I couldn’t help but laugh, which startled her.  I waved a paw to let her know it was okay, and returned to the tablet.  

No, I am not that old.  And despite this gift from my wife, it’s not how I normally dress.  Think you may be confusing me with vampires, who still love to dress up in opera capes and such.  Clothes horses.  

The next question did not surprise me at all. 

“You have a wife?” 

It wasn’t completely incredulous, as there was some flat-out disbelief mixed in.

Yes, I do.  I’m incredibly lucky in that regard.  She is, but isn’t, like me.  Her fight is a different fight, and as such she does not transform as I transform.  We support each other, love each other, and fight together as needed.  We were brought together years ago, and I give thanks for that each day.  She’s away right now though.  

I caught a bit of side eye from her, but she was smart and tactful enough not to outright suggest I was lying about having a wife.  Though, from her face and body language, I think it was a struggle for her.  What came out this time was back to the original tack. 

“But science says you can’t exist.” 

I snorted at that and it took a while before I handed her the tablet.  

Science says no such thing.  Science is a process, and a good process for investigating the world.  There are people who claim science says or proves a number of things, though it does not.  Some words of wisdom for you:  if you can’t question it, it is not science, for science is a process of questioning.  There are gaps in science, as data can only tell you certain things, and in those gaps are things many would ignore, like me and those like me.  Keep an open mind, but not so open your brains fall out.  Question, gather data on the world, make your theorems, and then test them.  If reality is different from theory, reality is right and the theory wrong.  Finally, the only thing in this world that is beyond questioning is God’s love for us.  Everything else is fair game.  

She read it, clearly puzzled at parts.  Then she re-read it.  I hoped that she would remember it.  

Her mouth opened for another question, and I shook my head and raised a paw.  She sighed. 

“That’s what Father Leesom does when I ask too many questions.” 

My answer was quick, and accompanied by a strong feeling of commiseration for the good Father.  I was tempted to send him a bottle of brandy, but had the feeling a case or ten might be needed rather than a single bottle. 

There is no such thing as too many questions, just too many at one time.  Ask, but take the time to savor and think over the answers.  

Now, it is time to do battle.  Show me your best cookie pusher, and it had better be good. 

The grin that lit her face was distinctly feral.  I knew she would be a formidable foe, but I would prevail.  

Who the heck am I kidding?  $200 later she trotted out the door with my order and wouldn’t even leave the box of Solomons.  

I waited at the door and sure enough, Sister Agnes came up the drive.  Once she saw me, she stopped, made a rude gesture with one hand, turned, and slapped her rear a couple of times before stalking away.  The girl had obviously delivered my message of “Rangers rule, Marines drool” along with an offer to wash out her coffee mug.  

As I turned and walked inside, I made a face of sorrow and hurt.  My wife, now standing beside my chair in her robe, was laughing.  The laughing turned to concern at my face, and as she tilted her head in inquiry, I said to her in my mind. 

“I think Sister Agnes just asked me to spank her!”  

She fell into my chair laughing, and I do wish I could see the good Sister’s face when she heard about this.  I sat down carefully beside my petite bride, and sighed with contentment.  

“You could have warned me you know.”  

She chuckled as she turned into my chest.  

“This was more fun, and it was good to throw you a different challenge.”  

I harrumphed gently, but had to smile too.  

“I take it she’s been an issue at St Ailbhe’s?”  

She cracked out a ha, then looked up at me. 

“Oh, you could say that.  Given that the children there have had a brush or worse with the supernatural…. She doesn’t seem to remember anything, and her grandmother was very firm about there being no such things as monsters.  Add to it the amount of questions she has, and what might be called a shaky grasp of tact, and it has been interesting.”  

I nodded my head, glad that there was a place like St. Ailbhe’s for those children.  It was a school, an orphanage, and more — and the local diocese had no idea it existed.  The Sacred Order did it’s own thing in the long fight against Evil, which sometimes meant hiding locations in plain sight.  And from the Church that had founded it.  

It was no surprise when my robe was opened, hers came off, and she snuggled into my chest.  Together, we closed my robe back up over her, and it was her turn to give off a contented sigh.  I liked snuggle mode, and a smile twitched my muzzle as I thought of what I called ‘cold little girl’ mode.  In that case, her robe would have remained on but been open in the front, she would be lower down, and my robe would have closed over all of her.  She would then have done her best to wrap my hide around her.  Oddly appropriate since she has me wrapped around her little finger… 

I had joked one time about if I was killed she should tan my hide and use it as rug in front of the fireplace.  To say she didn’t take the joke well would be an understatement, and the fear in her eyes even more than the ugly cry had me promising to never make the joke again.  

She snuggled into my fur some more, and gave a small laugh.  

“I really am proud of you.  You resisted the temptation to make some entendres today.”  

“There were some opportunities, but not the right thing to do.  Besides, if she stays cute and asks nicely in about ten years, I’ll think about…”

THUMP! 

If I’d been in human form, that fist in my ribs might have hurt.  Yea werewolf!

“You’re incorrigible!”  

“No, I’m very corrigible, but the only person who can corrige me is you,” I said with a smile. 

She groaned at that, but smiled.  

I carefully reclined the chair back a bit and we finished getting comfortable.  We dozed and snuggled, and enjoyed what was left of our day of rest.