Americans tend to say, "in the hospital," as if there were only one.  Brits will say "in hospital."  Much as we might say, "I'm at home, rather than at the home.:

Well, all in all, I am in the hospital.  Been here since Friday. Likely going tomorrow to transitional care.

And, of course, i just want to go home at be with Tori, my tortoiseshell cat.

So much has happened

When I last posted,

I was 68. 

I could walk without a cane 

This month I turn 70. 

My mobility and strength are limited 

Although I still do part-time teaching, I'm retired from full-time teaching

Come July 1, I'll be retired from being a licensed local pastor in the United Methodist Church 

Seems like a good time to return to blogging 

A Microsoft-free Mac. (Don't worry - it's not an anti-MS rant.)

Five years ago, while I was in the hospital, I took advantage of tax-free weekend and ordered a new computer - a refurbished iMac. I still have in my (home) office today. I very much needed a new desktop Mac at the time and I saved hundreds.

Last Sunday I was again the hospital and it wasn't tax-free weekend, but I found a fully-loaded Macbook Air, 11 inch size, in the refurbished section  (refurbished isn't used - it's never been open, but was ordered, then the order cancelled; by law it can't be sold as new")   And again I saved hundreds. It's got the fastest processor, the brand new Haswell i7, eight gig of RAM, and - sweetest of all - a 512 gig solid state hard drive.  It boots up in eight to ten seconds.

It arrived Wednesday afternoon and I've finally got all my necessary files transferred over.

One thing I didn't transfer:  Microsoft Office 2008, the second most recent version of Office for Mac.

OK, PC friends, this is not an anti-Microsoft rant.

It's a sign of how things have changed.

A new version of MS Office would cost me - at the cheapest - $95.  A year. Yes, it is cloud-based; yes you can collaborate with others on documents.  But over five years on a computer, you've paid $500 for the privileges of creating and viewing documents, spreadsheets and presentations.

I've long been a user of Apple's suite called iWork:  Pages, Numbers, and Keynote.  Over the years it's become much more compatible with Office. Now the compatibility is almost absolute.  It's cloud-based (or you can still keep all your docs on your hard drive).

And it costs $20 for each module. Once. Not once a year. It imports from and exports to MS Office formats.

I've also been using a little word processing gem for years - Mac only - called Nisus Writer Pro.  Nisus has been around since the days of 1980s Macintosh and it's evolved beautifully.  It will do everything from a simple letter to a fully laid-out document, prepared for publishing.

It costs $79 once.  I create my church bulletins with it.

I've set my Mac to open any .doc or .docx, or .xls or .ppt, etc., with the appropriate iWork program. I've set things so any .rtf (rich text format) opens in Nisus Writer Pro.

Another advantage of iWork, being cloud based, is that I can even access - and edit - my work using a web browser on any Windows PC.  Which means PC users can edit - with log-in permission - documents I created on a Mac.

Plus all my iWork documents can be viewed and edited on my iPhone and iPad.

The world is changing. No one software company will ever be the dominant one.

I hope my 11 inch Macbook Air (I've nicknamed him, "Toby") appreciates what I've done.

Nisus Writer Pro:  Nisus Writer Pro

iWork: Apple's iWork (scroll halfway down the page)

It's been since May when I last posted here.  How many blog posts could I have done, had I been faithful, to cover all that has happened since.
I've gone on at home peritoneal dialysis, four times a day. I've endured multiple related infections and illnesses.
I''ve spent eleven days in the hospital to discover where a blockage resulting from a failed umbilical hernia surgery was. Now it'll take me weeks to get my energy back, but the problem is solved.

Related experiences:
Arriving at the doctor's office too week to stand.
Being taken in an ambulance about 300 yards from the Jackson Clinic to the Jackson General Hospital, across the street from the clinic.

But I'm on the mend, I have a beautiful new Macbook Air, and I promise to post more updates and reflections.

Long Distance Funeral

Apparently I once conducted a funeral without even being present.

I had taken a week's trip to Upstate New York to visit family. When I returned and entered Short Creek United Methodist Church on Sunday morning, the lay leader greeted me, smiled and said, "I hear you preached a really good funeral this week."  

"Really?" I replied, "And just where was that?"  

It was at Duff UM Church, the other church on the two-point charge. The deceased was an elderly woman, a member of Duff in her youth, but who had been living for years in Indiana. The family had brought her back to be buried in Duff Cemetery. 

So how did I get to conduct the service while being nine-hundred miles away?

When doing the write-up for the local weekly paper, the reporter realized the pastor conducting the service was not listed. So he called a member of the church, but one who had not attended the funeral. All she could provide him with was my name as church pastor. 

After church I picked up a copy of the paper and there it was:  "Service conducted by Pastor Gary Drum."  

To this day I have no idea who did the service (and probably have no way of finding out). But somewhere I still have the newspaper clipping attesting to my, um, versatility. 

Clowns, mimes, robes, and artifice

I don't like clowns. Never have.

I don't like mimes. Never have.

I don't like magicians. Never have.

I don't like tuxedos. Never have.

I don't like wearing robes, either in church or in academic processions. Never have.

What I really don't like is artifice. 

When I was a young boy, yes, I did dress up for Halloween.

In my many experiences in theatre, I've worn costumes.

But that wasn't artifice. I wasn't dressed up to say, "Hey, look at me, I'm wearing a costume." I wore the costume for a purpose. On stage, the purpose was to tell a story, so what I wore wasn't a costume; it was what my character would naturally wear. The same with my Halloween costumes, which my mother and I made (never bought those pre-packaged store costumes).  The purpose was to become the character. I wasn't saying, "Hey, I'm dressed up as Captain Hook" (my all-time favorite, complete with a hook that would probably attract the attention today of Child and Family Services), but "I am Captain Hook!" 

In the Middle Ages, academics wore robes to keep warm in drafty classrooms. To wear an academic robe today is artifice.  The same for clerical robes.  To wear one today is, at least for me, artifice.

Now I know some dear clergy friends who feel very differently, and that's fine. They find wearing such things to be natural for when they are in the pulpit; I doubt they wear the robe when, say, mowing the lawn. 

The same with men's formal wear. Tuxedos were first worn in the late 19th century by dandies, by people wanting to stand out from the crowd. Their first appearance created a lot of controversy. 

Today a tux is basically a uniform, a way to blend in, rather than stand out. 

Uniforms are fine for staff at a restaurant or a retail store. It helps me know who to ask for service. But to wear a uniform otherwise is to blend in, not stand out. 

So what about magicians and mimes? We know there is no real magic done by magicians. It is all pretense. Same with mimes. And clowns. And the makeup is a real put-off. They aren't trying to be someone. 

I like reality. 

A little background about my situation

Kidney failure officially came in late January, but it started decades ago.

I have congenital hydronephrosis. That means I was born with kidneys that were only half tissue and half fluid right from the start. Not a problem for years, because one needs only one kidney - a fully functioning kidney - to live normally.

The problem was, that's really all I started with - two halves making a whole.

I didn't discover this, however, until I was 28, when it showed up on X-rays.
Again, that didn't present a problem at the time, but it did seven years later.

Horrible lower back pain led to the discovery of a massive stone - the size of a child's fist - that had to be surgically removed. I recovered and all seemed fine until ten more years passed and another surgery. From then on I was regularly monitored, but kidney function remained just fine, or at least nothing to really worry about.

Until this past year. Serum creatinine, which measures how well the kidneys clear wastes from the blood, continue to climb, but still within functional levels.

Then, in January, it his 9. Normal creatinine is about .5 and most folks who go suddenly to 9 are suddenly dead. That I was still active and vertical sort of confused my personal doctor and he sent me to a nephrologist.

And that led me to this, sitting four times a day next to an IV pole, transferring dialysis fluid from and into the peritoneal cavity.

Next Monday I begin training to use a machine called a cycler, which I'll connect to at night and it works while I'll sleep, leaving my days free away from an IV pole.

Yes, it's quite expensive. But we are all paying for it. End stage kidney failure dialysis is covered under Medicare Part B and would be if I were younger and not yet on Medicare, but didn't have insurance coverage. (My Medicare supplement I pay for covers all the co-pays and deductibles.) So you can imagine I'm not open to any debates about universal health care.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

End stage

The Spring semester did not begin well.

Caught a version of the flu not covered by this year's vaccine.

Was declared end stage in kidney failure

Had surgery on Valentine's Day. Missed a week of classes.

My mother passed away in March. Missed another week of classes.

Had a week of dialysis training in April.  Missed another week of classes.

Spent the final three weeks of the semester (a) doing at-home peritoneal dialysis four times a day and (b) having classes four nights a week to make up the lost time from surgery, a funeral, and training.

On the brighter side, Anthony and I explored Washington D.C. while attending the annual national conference of the Popular Culture Association.  Had I known what my blood work the following week would indicate, I might not have taken the trip, since I was apparently clinically dead.  

I've decided to use Blogger to cover my situation in more detail.

Don't worry. I'll write about other things.  Like going to see One Direction next month in Nashville. I bought the tickets last April.  That's right, April 2012. And, no, I'm not selling them. 

Later in the Summer, it's back to Nashville for Bruno Mars. I'll document these trips too.

Stay tuned. 

The First Day of Christmas . . .

Well, it's not actually the first day, according to the calendar.
But getting together with Anthony and Justin to exchange gifts made it seem that way.
Here is one of the prized possessions I received:



Yes, it's Peter Pan, from the Disney Store. My childhood hero.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Two weeks in a rental car

I love my Honda Fit. Always have. And all the more so because, in eight months, it will be mine, all mine.
But, since I got side-swiped two weeks ago, I've been driving a 2013 Fiat 500 Sport.
And I really don't want to give it up.
I want my Honda back.
I just don't want to give the Fiat back.
And I don't want to trade one for the other.

First world problem, right?

Time for an upgrade

I waited six months after the first generation iPad was introduced before succumbing to its charms. Since the I've found it to be a creative workhorse. I've written syllabi, recorded grades, created presentations (and presented them) and so much more.
But today I took advantage of tax free weekend to spring for the new iPad. 64 gig, Wi-Fi and 4G. Now I can shoot and edit video and more.

"Driving in Memphis"

OK, so it doesn't have quite the charm of Marc Cohen's, "Walking in Memphis," but it's been a fun day here, the first time in forever that I've gone to Memphis other than to (a) catch a plane, or (b) get service at the Apple Store. Set foot on the University of Memphis campus for the first time since June 1991. The Communication Dept. is now in the old law school building; very nice digs. Went to the ginormous Macy's at Oak Court Mall, then drove out Poplar all the way to Saddle Cree, something I also haven't done in years. Now I'm about to leave Barnes and Noble at Wolfchase and head back home. Two classes in Trenton tomorrow and one tomorrow night at Jackson State.
Just over three weeks until Spring Break.
(I'm supposedly "retired," yet I'm still counting down to Spring Break!)

You are a Christian? I Do not think so.

OK, I can handle diversity. I even celebrate it. Diversity keeps life rich and prevents boredom.
As a Christian (with a Kierkegaardian existentialist perspective), I can consider many as Christian brothers and sisters who may have different doctrinal beliefs that I. They may be Catholic, may be Baptist, may even be "Reformed," and I'll find it quite easy to fellowship with them. Our differences do not overcome our unity through the Holy Spirit.
Recently, however, I've realized there are a number of people calling themselves "Christian" with whom I just cannot consider fellowship. I can value their lives as creations of God, I can care for their welfare, as I am called to do.
But I cannot consider them to be fellow Christians.
Certain things are what they are. I'm male and can't claim to be female. I'm white and can't claim to be black. I'm a native-born American and can't claim to be Canadian or European.
I am who I am either because of biology or belief.
So when some people claim to be Christian, but believe blacks are poor because they are lazy, or claim that God "called them to be president," or that God called them to "cure gays," or that God requires them to keep women in subjugation to men, then I have to ask:
Where do you get such ideas?
From Jesus?
No, that can't be, because he never said these things.
From the Bible?
Well, yes, what Christians call the Old Testament does have some strange rules, but we have to put them in context. Of time and of purpose.
From God speaking to you?
Yes, God does still speak, but he doesn't give private lessons. No, God hasn't told Pat Robertson who will win in 2012, but to keep it secret. God never even spoke to the great prophets of scripture that way.
Look, we can agree to disagree over the proper age for baptism, over the administering of the sacraments, over which Bible translation is more "true" to the original, over whether clergy should wear robes (I don't think they should), and so on and so on.
So long as we are united in our belief in the saving grace of God through Jesus Christ, then we are brothers and sisters united by the Holy Spirit.
But if you believe a Christian should denigrate another based on race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, social class, ethnicity or income, then you are not a Christian.
I'll still regard you as a fellow human being, created in the image of God, but I will not, will not, will not, consider you a Christian.
How you regard me is your choice.
How I regard you is something you have no say in.

Christmas after Christmas

It's Christmas Eve and I'm, as the movie title goes, Home Alone.
But don't feel badly for me.
It's one of those years where I'll be going home to see the family after Christmas.
There are advantages, of course.
Some years when I've had to be home late, it's allowed me to do my Christmas shopping during the after-Christmas sales.

Now that most of the family is into giving and receiving gift cards, I actually have my shopping done before Christmas even though the recipients won't get them for a few more days.
There's no savings involved except for saving time. I'm flying home and packing gifts is a hassle. (Not to mention a potential extra charge for overweight luggage.)
So I'm kind of mellow being alone on Christmas Eve.
The cats will see what's in their stocking (hung on the fireplace mantle, of course) in the morning.
Then church, then packing, then a quiet Christmas evening at home.

When I was growing up, my family didn't put up the tree until a few days before Christmas and it didn't come down until just after New Year's Day. Very traditional.
So I'll be going home to Christmas trees still decorated, lights indoors and out still shining.
In other words, it will still be Christmas when I get there.

Conservative? No, not really

I not only have conservative friends, I kind of sort of used to be one. In college. Undergrad.
I can respect and dialogue with conservatives.
But those currently running for the GOP nomination are NOT conservatives They are rabid extreme rightists who want to return this country to the 1920s or earlier. Abolish Social Security. Abolish minimum wage. Allow workplace safety rules. Abolish food and drug regulations. Abolish the income tax. Abolish direct election of U.S. senators. Some even advocate taking away women's right to vote. Others are for limiting the right to vote to only property owners.
They are not conservatives.
They are destroyers.
They hide behind twisted interpretations of the Bible and the Constitution.
They hate America as it is.
They want to destroy this country.
We cannot let that happen.

So connected, I almost feel cut off . . .

A week ago tonight I was still on the train, returning from New Orleans, alone in my sleeping car roomette.
A week later and I've (a) got the new iPhone 4S (64 gig, enough for everything), and now I'm even on Twitter.
Yet tonight still feels little different from being in that room on the train a week ago.
Perhaps we're all so cyber-connected we are keeping really connected.
Maybe?

Just three days back and ready for a break

I never realized that, once I had retired, I'd be thinking about things such as Fall Break.
But, since I'm teaching more courses now than I did when I was a full-time faculty member, I'm getting that "It's almost Fall break" fever.
What's worse is that it's only Tuesday and I've only been back from New Orleans just over two days. (Well, two and a half. )
Next week was to be my trip to Hot Springs, AR for the 20th anniversary celebration of the Documentary Film Festival. I've been every year since 1996, and taken a van load of Lambuth students every year since 1998.
But Lambuth is gone and, apparently, so is my energy for driving six hours each way to see films and meet some people I see once per year.

My life as New Orleans tour guide

"No, I'm not a resident. I just visit here. A lot."
So I replied to the couple from Paris, France, to whom I'd just given directions to a restaurant in the Garden District. Earlier I helped a young couple from California find their way to a vegetarian place on St. Peter. And then there was the couple on the Riverfront streetcar needing to know which stop was closest to Café du Monde. I correctly told them Dumaine St.
Oh, and I did I mention the cab driver from Union Station appreciated my suggestion on the best way to cut through rush hour to Chartres St.? (He also appreciated the tip, I'm sure.)
I'd move here in a minute.
If it wouldn't be such a long commute to my classes at Jackson State.

Day 2 begins in The Big Easy

Beautiful warm, sunny morning in NOLA. Although I'm going to check in on the goings-on at the conference (for which I'm not actually registered), I've decided this is a day for photography. I bought the adapter for importing photos from my Kodak camera into my iPad, so I can post some while here.
So I'll take my leave of Café Rose Nicaud on Frenchmen Street and head across the Vieux Carré for Canal Street.

"Riding on the City of New Orleans . . "

Eventually I'm going to have to sleep.
I haven't in a while.
If I'd made my Amtrak reservations earlier I could have gotten an affordable roomette (two person private room) on the trip from Newbern to New Orleans. The train comes through Newbern around 4 a.m. and, if I have a bed to get into, I fall asleep right away and arrive in NOLA rested.
Coach, however, is a different story.
Oh, it's much more roomy and comfortable than coach on an airplane. But it's just not conducive to a good night's sleep.
No matter. I'm here in the Crescent City and once I finish my decaf café Americano here at The Orange Couch, my bed is awaiting me a block and a half away at the Lions Inn.
I arrived at the B&B around 4:15, stayed around for the five p.m. ritual of wine and cheese by the pool, then headed into the Vieux Carré (the French name for the French Quarter) to pick up some things.
Like a short sleeve shirt since it's warmer here this weekend than anticipated.
Like ankle socks since I forgot to pack any.
Tomorrow morning I'm heading fo the J.W. Marriott (different from the regular Marriott) to attend some of the annual meeting of the Popular Culture Association-South. I'm not registered, but I'd like to meet some folks in the group.
That will be much easier because two women who boarded at Newbern with me are on the faculty at UT-Martin and are presenting at the conference.
So I have friends already in a group I haven't even joined.
But, for now, The Orange Couch is about to close and I'm headed to sleep.