Tag Archives: life

Milkshakes & Memory

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It had been ages since my wife and I indulged in a milkshake, a simple pleasure we’d long forgotten. After running an errand at the local pharmacy, we spontaneously decided to stop by McDonald’s. The moment the creamy, cold beverage touched our lips, nostalgia washed over us. The familiar, sweet taste transported us back to carefree moments of our past. My wife, savoring every last drop, continued to draw from her straw long after the liquid had disappeared, her contentment evident in her lingering smile.

During my freshman year of high school, I often relied on milkshakes as a quick meal replacement. These creamy beverages provided a satisfying blend of calories and temporary fullness, perfectly suited to my slender teenage metabolism. At a lean 130 pounds, I could indulge in multiple milkshakes without concern for immediate dietary consequences.

During my time in Da Nang, an unexpected craving haunted me: milkshakes. The mess hall had spoiled us with exceptional cuisine—diverse, well-prepared meals that defied the challenging circumstances. Yet, amid the culinary abundance, milkshakes remained conspicuously absent from the menu, leaving a sweet void in my dining experience.

During my R&R in Sydney, I embarked on a personal mission to savor a milkshake each day of my six-day stay. However, my culinary expectations quickly deflated when I discovered the local interpretation of a milkshake dramatically differed from my own. The beverages served were more foam than substance, with an airy composition that seemed to be at least 70% empty space, leaving me utterly underwhelmed and craving the rich, substantial milkshakes I knew from home.

Upon my return to the United States, two vivid memories stand out: savoring a creamy milkshake and enjoying a slice of pizza, though not in a single sitting. Curiously, the details of my actual arrival remain a blur. I can distinctly recall boarding the initial flight, spending a memorable week exploring Okinawa, and then embarking on the return journey. Yet, the specifics of landing on American soil—including the location—have completely escaped my recollection. The peculiarity of forgetting such a significant moment puzzles me, leaving me to wonder how one can simply lose track of such a pivotal experience.

So many little things I remember as if it were yesterday. My return from Vietnam is completely blurry. I sit here pondering, just how can this be?

Something a Little Different, Please?

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As the evening radio crackled with another traffic report, I caught the familiar refrain of a roadway collision: “Accident on Goodman Road and Interstate-55.” The precise location blurred in my mind—was it at the intersection or along the highway? Such announcements have become so routine that they barely register as noteworthy anymore, a sobering reflection on road safety and daily commuter risks.

I rarely comment on local issues, but the situation at this interchange has become unbearable. The frequency of daily accidents is alarming, with collisions occurring with such regularity that it seems this might be the most dangerous intersection in Mississippi. The consistent pattern of crashes demands immediate attention and intervention from local transportation authorities.

At Interstate 55’s junction near Goodman Road, the highway configuration is notable. Southbound traffic flows through three lanes, with three lanes concluding at or adjacent to the Goodman Road overpass. The northbound direction features six expansive lanes, providing substantial capacity for travelers moving in that direction.

The Goodman Road bridge spans seven lanes, with one dedicated to eastbound left-turning vehicles, somewhat facilitating smooth traffic flow and efficient transportation. Much of the traffic turns north towards the hospital or the Lowes store. To help, the one lane splits into two.

The intersection’s complexity stems from its proximity to multiple major destinations. Surrounding the junction are two shopping centers to the north and another sizeable retail complex to the southeast, with a large hospital positioned to the northeast. These locations generate significant traffic congestion. Drivers navigate multiple turning patterns: some aim to head south on Highway 55, others seek to access Walmart via Goodman Road eastbound. Conversely, northbound travelers on 55 may need to transition to Goodman Road’s eastern route, while those bound for the hospital must strategically cross multiple lanes to make a timely left turn.

The interchange’s intricate design forces drivers to navigate multiple lane crossings, often catching unfamiliar motorists off guard. Many travelers may not anticipate the complexity of the roadway ahead, potentially leading to confusion and increased risk of traffic disruptions.

The complexity of daily travel is heightened by the necessity of crossing the interstate, a challenge that impacts numerous motorists. My personal experience illustrates this inconvenience: my medical provider is located on the opposite side of the highway, and nearly every destination requires navigating this infrastructural barrier. I am sure I am far from the only one with this problem.

The daily commute transforms into a nightmare as rush hour descends. What begins as a manageable journey quickly deteriorates into a traffic standstill. By late afternoon, Interstate 55’s three southbound exit lanes funneling onto Goodman Road become a sea of motionless vehicles. Most evenings, the interchange resembles a parking lot, trapping drivers in an endless, frustrating gridlock. Vehicles on the bridge remain stranded, unable to exit due to massive backups extending in both directions. By 5 PM, the southbound exit lanes stretch into a serpentine line of brake lights, extending one to two miles, testing even the most patient drivers’ resolve.

A persistent issue has been unfolding before my eyes, and I find myself questioning whether others recognize its significance. The extent of apparent indifference is startling, leading me to suspect this neglect might be deliberate. As the familiar saying goes, “out of sight, out of mind” seems to be the prevailing attitude. Despite the problem’s escalating nature, there appears to be a troubling absence of proposed solutions or meaningful discourse addressing its underlying complexities.

My words might seem futile, but if shared, they could gradually propel our solution forward, much like the slow crawl of rush-hour traffic inching toward its destination.

I Thought It Was a Little Mistake

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I forgot to tell the doctor that my wife was low on two of her medications. No big deal. We went back today, and he wrote the prescriptions for them. We then headed to Walgreens. As I was entering the store, I saw a well-displayed sign: their pharmacy was closed.

There ought to be a linguistic term for this peculiar incongruity—something akin to an oxymoron, but manifested through actions rather than language. Consider the irony: a pharmacy store chain store without a pharmacy seems as absurd as a McDonald’s with no burger inventory. The dissonance is palpable, a logical disconnect between expectation and reality.

I glanced down at my watch, a sudden urgency washing over me. While numerous Walgreens dotted the local landscape, only one remained open around the clock. Given her critical medication shortage, I knew I couldn’t risk waiting. The catch? This particular pharmacy was located in Memphis—a city I habitually steered clear of—yet tonight, it seemed to be our sole lifeline.

We embarked on our journey, my apprehension stemming not just from navigating Whitehaven, the Memphis neighborhood notorious for its frequent media appearances, but also from the anticipation of a prolonged wait at the sole open pharmacy—a scenario all too familiar from past experiences.

Navigating the congested highway, I felt the weight of my earlier error intensifying with each passing moment. The surrounding vehicles seemed poised to exploit my vulnerability, their drivers laser-focused on potential opportunities to alter my trajectory. In this unforgiving urban landscape, lane discipline had become a forgotten art, with each motorist operating as if turn signals and careful observation were mere suggestions rather than essential safety protocols.

My trip to the store was uneventful, a fact for which I am grateful. The wait time passed quickly, and during our browsing, one detail stood out dramatically: the heightened security measures. Compared to my usual Walgreens, this store seemed to take precautions more seriously, with numerous items securely locked away. Despite being less than 10 miles from the store I usually visit and crossing a state line, the difference in security protocols were striking, suggesting they might experience more significant theft challenges than my familiar shopping environment.

On the positive side, the folks at the store seemed friendlier and more professional than where I usually visit. Didn’t expect that.

Answer: Because We Make Mistakes.

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Question: Why do they put erasers on pencils?

It’s true, though I must admit, I didn’t think of it. However, you will have to go far and wide to find a person more mistakes prone as I am. For the most part, the mistakes can be eradicated. As with the eraser, the error can be figuratively and easily rubbed out.

Life’s challenges aren’t always simple to overcome. Some wounds, both physical and emotional, leave lasting marks that we carry with us. Forgiveness might come, but the consequences of our actions or accidents can persist. My own journey with a severely damaged ankle serves as a testament to this reality. Despite an orthopedic surgeon’s meticulous hours of surgical intervention, the injury continues to haunt me. The persistent throbbing pain seems almost independent of the physical limb itself. When I sought a solution, the doctor’s stark response was chilling: surgical removal was an option, but the pain might well remain, a phantom reminder of past trauma. Some scars, it seems, transcend physical boundaries, etching themselves into our very existence.

Navigating life’s pivotal moments requires careful reflection, especially when facing choices with lasting consequences. Our decisions can echo through time, leaving indelible marks that no simple correction can erase. Like permanent ink on the canvas of our existence, some choices demand thoughtful consideration before we commit. Not all mistakes can be easily undone, and wisdom lies in pausing to truly understand the potential long-term impact of our actions.

In one respect, I have been fortunate. I have never directly taken part in the taking any human life. The thought that I might one day scares me. Yet one day, either by accident or in defense, it might happen. It might happen on the highway or in defense. As I contemplate such a remote possibility, I wonder how I might cope with it. This is especially true if it be an innocent child by accident.

Some people have no problem living with it. They take the lives of innocent unborn babies. Some doctors do this by the hundreds without hesitation and not an ounce of guilt.

Some women, in the name of freedom of choice, pay those doctors. I would say that they do it without a second thought. Their conscience becomes seared to a point they don’t care. How-some-ever, I suspect, sometimes, it might strike later in life. Disagree with me as you will, I have found God does have a way of calling things to our attention in ways and at times we least expect. And yes, it hurts more than the broken ankle. And it nags at you any time you’re awake.

Some mistakes leave permanent marks, etched into memory like scars that time cannot fade. The consequences of our actions linger, a constant reminder of choices made and paths taken. No amount of wishful thinking can erase the emotional weight we carry, a burden that becomes part of our very essence.

Our Phones!

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The subtle tremor against my sternum stirs me from slumber. Logically, the smartphone nestled in my breast pocket is the source of the disturbance. Yet, in the stillness of the night, I’m perplexed by the unexpected interruption, wondering who could be reaching out at this hour.

Groggily, I fumble for my phone, its screen a blurry mess of light and shadow. With heavy-lidded eyes, I swipe to answer the call, mumbling “Hello?” three times before a human voice briefly breaks through the static. Suddenly, the voice morphs into a robotic recording, draining away any hope of meaningful communication. Resigned, I disconnect the call and sink back into my pillow, sleep beckoning once more.

Unsolicited advertisements intrude on my personal space, flagrantly disregarding my privacy. Unlike traditional media where advertisers fund the platform, I bear the full cost of my communication device, yet receive no compensation for these unwelcome interruptions. The disparity is stark: television and radio ads are subsidized by marketing budgets, while my personal phone becomes an unpaid billboard for corporate messaging.

Frustrated by the constant barrage of unwanted calls, I long for a platform to reach millions and share a crucial message: ignore these intrusive telemarketing attempts. If consumers collectively refused to engage, these disruptive businesses would quickly disappear, allowing us all to reclaim our peace and quiet. By simply hanging up and refusing to participate, we could silence these persistent interruptions and restore tranquility to our daily lives. The one and only reason they continue to persist is that sometimes they succeed.

During the period from late October to early December, unsolicited marketing intensifies, particularly targeting seniors like myself who are Medicare-eligible. These advertisers seem to have access to demographic information, though their targeting isn’t always precise. In one instance, I received a call claiming to offer thousands of dollars from Tennessee, despite living in Mississippi. Such blatantly false claims reveal the desperation and disregard these marketers have for potential customers, using the pattern of lies in hopes of our business.

Some corporate sharks swim in boardrooms, armed with MBAs instead of machetes or guns, plotting to extract every last penny from our wallets with surgical precision and spreadsheet finesse. Their weapons? Slick marketing, fine print, and a smile that says, “Trust me, this is totally in your best interest.”

And… They use the phones we pay for to do it.

Humana; Just Plain Wasteful

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Food waste is a persistent concern that weighs heavily on my conscience. Today, I discovered a thawed frozen meal in my car, a frustrating reminder of my unintentional negligence. The irony of an unfrozen “frozen” dinner is not lost on me, and the situation feels both perplexing and disheartening.

Frustrated, I reluctantly discarded the forgotten item. Had I discovered it earlier, I could have salvaged and consumed it. The previous night’s freezing temperatures suggested it might still be edible. I distinctly remembered seeing it fall from the grocery bag and mentally noted to rescue it, but somehow failed to follow through.

In a moment of self-reflection, I acknowledged my forgetfulness and offered a sincere apology to God for being wasteful. The irony of relying on mental notes struck me—they’re as desirable as a thawed microwave meal that once held promise. My frustration simmered beneath the surface, a reminder of my own fallibility.

After discarding the spoiled frozen meal, I retrieved the mail. Amidst the stack of unsolicited papers, a Humana insurance brochure caught my eye. I recalled the challenging period when my wife was 63, and our monthly health insurance premium approached $1,000 due to Obama Care.

Throughout the year, I diligently paid Humana twelve full insurance premiums, yet not a single claim was filed. These payments were mandated by law, not a voluntary choice. When the year concluded, I found myself searching for alternative insurance coverage after Humana abruptly terminated my policy. The experience left me frustrated and feeling cheated. I vividly recall paying ten thousand dollars for essentially nothing, receiving only a dismissive farewell from the company.

Dismissing the Humana correspondence, I swiftly discarded the unnecessary paper, recognizing its irrelevance and considering both the document and its postage a futile expenditure of resources.

My silence feels like a futile resistance against their misguided persistence. Despite knowing they won’t listen, their relentless pursuit seems tragically wasteful—consuming resources and paper in a fruitless attempt to reach me. Their determination remains blind to the environmental cost of their unheeded communications.

Somehow, I suspect I am not the only one with feelings towards Humana. Perhaps we are losing trees by the thousands in similar efforts to reach similar former customers. Do you think the tree huggers care? I sincerely doubt it. They have no hope to gain any political gain from it.

G49

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A while ago I purchased a Glock 49. As advised, I always clean a gun before using it. In this case, I spent over an hour breaking it down. Naturally, I have no one around to show me how so, well, I was not to good at it.

After months of neglect, I finally carved out time to visit the shooting range. My firearm had been sitting idle, and I was determined to maintain my proficiency. Practicing would ensure I could handle the weapon effectively if the need ever arose.

A nagging doubt crept into my mind. The hand gun had been neglected for two months, untouched and uncleaned. While logic suggested it would function without issue, the uncertainty gnawed at me. The prospect of discovering a malfunction at the range was unsettling. Equally unappealing was the looming task of cleaning it- a process I could no longer clearly remember.

After extensive online research and multiple tries, I initially questioned my purchase. However, I soon mastered the technique, disassembling and reassembling the firearm with remarkable ease. Comparable only to my military-issued M16, this weapon’s field stripping process proved incredibly straightforward. Skilled professionals can likely complete the task in mere seconds, it takes me about half a minute. The reassembly was even faster and intuitive, clarifying why Glocks have such a devoted following among firearm enthusiasts..

The pistol’s accuracy astounded me, far exceeding my expectations. My groupings were impressively tight—a 3-inch cluster at 7 yards and a 4-inch spread at 10 yards, reminiscent of my precision during my Marine Corps service. Despite its slightly challenging concealability, I’m convinced this firearm will become my go-to defensive weapon.

Each Solution Breeds New & Worse Problems

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New Mexico has implemented a groundbreaking free child care program, as reported by CBS News. During an interview, the state’s governor explained that the initiative will be fully funded through oil revenue, providing significant relief for families across the state.

Wait a minute! I thought the production and use of petroleum products were going to destroy the world. It is what the Democrats have been warning us about for decades now. It was causing decreases in temperatures and then increases in temperatures. It was supposed to flood massive amounts of land, including virtually all of Florida.

Do we really want to rely on and hence encourage the production and use of that horrible cause of climate change, oil? According to that climate expert, Al Gore, if we persist at that, danger lingers just around the bend. Well, maybe not. You see, climate change only occurs when the fuel is used by Republicans. That is the way it works, you see.

Now, back to the primary subject, daycare. First, bear in mind that there are potential problems. For instance, both my wife and I worked nights. Does this mean that they will have to provide daycare at night too? (That is, if you can comprehend the obvious conflict of daycare at night.)

The proposed regulations for day care centers aim to elevate quality standards, which will likely result in increased operational costs. While ensuring high-quality childcare is commendable, these changes may inadvertently drive up expenses. The potential surge in demand could necessitate expanded infrastructure, including more day care facilities and additional teaching staff. This scenario exemplifies the fundamental economic principle of supply and demand: as costs to parents goes away, the desire for such services naturally increases.

Perhaps one thing not thought of is the two-parent family where only one works. I’m sure that rare wife who stays home will appreciate that babysitter, though not actually needed.

It’s the way it is with those short sighted democrats. They come up with all these wonderful ideas and they don’t think them through. Then again, maybe it is as they want. One of the most important goals of the communist for government control of children to start as soon and as much as possible. We just might find something two-year-olds coming home and preaching the wonderful benefits of Marxism.

Don’t be surprised when it comes to past.

The Great Pretenders

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The haunting melody of “The Great Pretender” by The Platters resonates deeply with my personal journey. This timeless song has become an anthem that mirrors my own experiences of masking inner turmoil. When life dealt me a devastating blow, I perfected the art of wearing a facade, skillfully concealing the profound pain that churned beneath my composed exterior. No one could glimpse the emotional storm raging within me, as I maintained an impenetrable mask of normalcy and strength.

Most people, if they’re honest, experience a period of putting on a facade. In fact, I’d argue that this is universal. Feel free to challenge my perspective, but I remain skeptical of anyone claiming complete authenticity from the start. We all wear masks at some point, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not.

The captivating television series “The Pretender” featured a protagonist with extraordinary intellectual capabilities, enabling him to seamlessly adopt diverse professional identities. In a memorable scene, when questioned about his medical expertise, the main character confidently responded, “I am today,” highlighting his remarkable ability to adapt and excel in any role. Throughout the episode, he skillfully navigated both medical challenges and complex social criminal investigations, ultimately helping a young patient while unraveling a deeper mystery.

To be sure, there are real professional pretenders. Years ago, they told us the greatest danger facing man was global climate change. They pretended to be great experts on the subject.

The silence surrounding the previous climate discussions is puzzling. Have the critical issues truly dissipated, or have they simply been swept under the rug? What unprecedented meteorological phenomenon emerged that warranted such abrupt dismissal? More importantly, why has the discourse fallen silent? Did the purported meteorological authorities conveniently shift their focus, abandoning this critical narrative without substantive explanation? This, of course, while pretending great knowing on who knows what else.

A Little Good, Maybe, Hopefully

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One of my first posts was a true story about my wife and her very persistent rash. She had visited multiple doctors, and still the rash persisted. Finally, in an act of frustration, we changed from Tide laundry detergent.

The rash vanished instantly, prompting me to share my experience not out of frustration, but to help others facing similar challenges. My journey revealed potential issues with certain personal care products, including a widely used bath soap that I now carefully avoid. By speaking out, I hope to provide valuable insights and support to those seeking solutions to unexpected skin reactions.

Furthermore, this might be a call to be careful to completely rinse the soap, regardless of the brand or type.

Recently, after publishing my blog post about laundry detergents for sensitive skin, I was intrigued to see Tide launch a new product line targeting this specific market. While I can’t definitively say my writing influenced their decision, I can’t help but wonder if my message resonated with the company. Perhaps my small contribution has helped raise awareness about the needs of those with sensitive skin.

How-some-ever, this is far from the last of notes that make me wonder if I’ve done a little good. I have seen some changes that make me suspicious that I might have.

On the other hand, maybe not. Maybe I am just being a little egotistical. I must say, I do believe that more little efforts have had some effect. When someone takes the time and effort to tell me there is no God, it tells me he might not be the only one to consider my argument.

Embracing our collective mission, I find value in every contribution, regardless of individual outcomes. Being part of this team is a profound privilege, even if my role seems minor. My true success may lie in supporting a fellow team member’s efforts to guide someone towards spiritual transformation, highlighting the power of collaborative purpose.

The ripple effect of a single conversion can be profound, potentially inspiring countless others to embrace faith. Ultimately, the significance lies not in my personal success, but in guiding individuals toward a transformative spiritual choice that impacts their eternal destiny and deepens their connection with Christ.

Every individual’s salvation ripples through humanity, subtly or profoundly transforming the collective human experience. When one life is rescued, redirected, or redeemed, the potential for positive change expands exponentially, creating unseen yet meaningful impact on our shared global landscape.

This is a reality so profound, it transcends even the most resolute skepticism.