Saturday, September 26, 2015
Few things are odder in life than visits to the doctor’s office. It’s because they involve an uncomfortable degree of physical intimacy with strangers, though routinized, impersonal, and frequently bewildering. The other day I went to see Dr. Cosgrove (pseudonym) about my high blood sugar. I can’t remember how long my blood sugar has been on the high side, but it’s been quite a while. I monitor it before breakfast each morning, pricking my index finger with a little jabber and watching the drop of blood flow into the test strip. I always expect a superior result, but I’m inevitably disappointed. People’s blood sugar gets classified as normal (below 100), pre-diabetic (100-119), or diabetic (120 and over). Up until six months ago my readings vacillated between high-normal and pre-diabetic. Then they started creeping upward, and July saw them zoom into the 130s. That was unsettling. Because many of Katja’s clients at the Association for the Blind suffered from diabetes, I realize it’s a nasty, unacceptable condition. I called my doctor’s office, and they prescribed a daily pill and scheduled me for an A1c blood test in early September. The A1c test is quite amazing. By measuring how much glucose is stuck to the hemoglobin in your blood, it reliably assesses the average level of your blood sugar over the previous two to three months. I took an A1c test a year ago, and it fell just inside the normal range. It didn’t look like I’d be so lucky this time around.
I went to the lab for my new A1c test. then saw the doctor a week later. On the morning of my appointment I gathered together the various charts I’d been preparing (blood sugar, blood pressure, weight, etc.) and drove across town to Dr. Cosgrove’s office. A nurse checked my vitals, and Dr. Cosgrove came in and asked how I was doing. “Fine,” I said, “except my blood sugar is too high. It went way up in July.” Dr. Cosgrove checked my new A1c result on his laptop. Much to my amazement, my A1c score was identical to the score I’d obtained a year ago, still within the normal range. I couldn’t believe it. Apparently I am diabetic at home but revert to normal at the doctor’s office. “Very puzzling,” Dr. Cosgrove said. He asked which result I thought was correct. I didn’t know though I privately thought my home-testing results were more compelling. Probably Dr. Cosgrove believed more in his lab test. In any case, he said that he was going to put me in charge of my own treatment. He asked what I thought the next step should be. When I drew a blank, Dr. Cosgrove suggested that I could simply come back and get another blood test in three months. That sounded like a good course of action to me, and I agreed enthusiastically. Dr. Cosgrove also recommended a flu shot, then shook my hand and bid me adieu. Our meeting had lasted a little over five minutes. It dawned on me later that Dr. Cosgrove never asked me about any symptoms I might have or given me any advice about how to lower my blood sugar. On the other hand, I’d forgotten to show him my charts.
Since my appointment I’ve stopped worrying about going blind. Dr. Cosgrove doesn’t seem that worried, so I’m not going to torture myself. I decided I will step up my exercise, be still more careful with my no-sweets diet, and try to lose a few pounds. My next appointment is scheduled on Katja’s birthday in early December. When I told Katja about the timing of my appointment I said that a low A1c score would be a nice birthday present for her. Katja frowned. She said a good A1c seemed like more of a birthday present for me than for her. That’s probably true, though my birthday’s quite a ways off.
As the first step in my new treatment plan, I decided to discontinue my daily two glasses of red wine. Unfortunately, that didn’t have any impact at all. I did a Google search and discovered that, if anything, red wine lowers your blood sugar. Newly liberated, I promptly drank an entire bottle of my favorite $4.49 Cabernet Sauvignon in an hour or two. The next morning my blood sugar level had dropped 30 points, and it’s been refreshingly lower ever since. I may have stumbled upon a medical miracle. Now I can’t wait for it to be Katja’s birthday so I can get my A1c test again. I’m confident it will be the best birthday present ever.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Mike and I are just back from an overnight camping trip to nearby Winton Woods. When the sheepdogs were younger I’d regularly take both Mike and his brother Duffy on camping expeditions. Then Mike’s arthritic hips got worse, and, because he had trouble going on longer walks, I’d just take Duffy by himself. Since Duffy died in late June, I haven’t gone camping much, and when I did it was by myself. Katja suggested I take Mikey along. I was uncertain how it would work out, but decided to give it a try. Winton Woods, one of our Hamilton County parks, has personal meaning for me because it’s less than a mile from where my dad lived when he moved to Cincinnati at the end of his life. He and I used to go on occasional weekend outings to Winton Woods, and those were enjoyable occasions, if bittersweet. Now Mike and I were returning there, with me quite a few years older and Mike, at age thirteen, close to the end-stage of his life. Our trip turned out to be enjoyable for us both. Here are some photos that tell the story.
Mike got excited as he watched me pack up the camping gear, and he looked happy as could be when I brought him out to the SUV.
Despite its suburban location, the Winton Woods campground is set in a large grove of 60-foot pines, and we could well have been in northern Wisconsin.
On an uncrowded weekday we picked out one of the best campsites, right next to the lake.
I set up Mike's shaded playpen the very first thing. It’s a safe and comfortable den, and he stretches out and watches the goings on.
Mike did get restless as I was putting the tent up some thirty yards away, and he tried to get out the pen by pushing his head through the slats. His head got stuck, and I was frantic when I was initially unable to pull him back through.
Once our dome tent was set up, all the world was back in order.
Here is the lake view from our campsite.
Mike likes being in the playpen, but the tent is definitely his favorite.
After lunch we took a short hike around the marina.
Mike didn’t show much interest in the ducks, and they weren't intimidated by him or me.
It’s not fair but sheepdogs are prohibited from riding in kayaks.
Mike looked over one of the big RVs. Perhaps he was wondering if they’re more comfortable than tents.
Suppertime is the best time to be in one’s den.
By 8 p.m. it was almost dark.
I watched the campfire flickering and pondered old memories while Mike was fast asleep.
Inside the tent Mikey looked rather eerie by lantern light.
On the other hand, I looked like my normal self.
With a sagging air mattress, I had a fitful night. But Mike slept like a log. Here he is at 7:30 a.m.
After breakfast we went for a walk on the Kingfisher Trail.
There are lots of good things to sniff in the forest.
We took one last stroll around our campground before I packed up our gear.
Mike was happy to be back in the car. Camping is good, but nothing is as good as being at home.
I’m glad we went on our trip. Mike was a good companion – patient, cooperative, curious, happy to be with me, friendly to other dogs and people. Our hikes weren’t as long as they were years ago, but we took more of them, and we relaxed at our campsite as well. In a couple of weeks Katja and our friend Donna will be leaving for a two-week trip to France, and I’ll be in charge of Mike and Donna’s sheepdog, Sophie, Mike’s younger sister. Maybe Mike, Sophie, and I will do a longer camping trip. I think we’ll have a great time.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Just as regular as clockwork, another summer is winding down. Our family highlight this year was a four-day visit from our son J and grandson L who flew up from New Orleans in late July. L had grown several inches since last Thanksgiving, and he was bright, funny, and enjoyable. We did the zoo, Smale Park, Graeter’s, the movies, Skyline Chili, the Taft Museum, Ludlow Avenue, and a host of other spots. We’re eager for our next get-together, hopefully in NOLA.
Also in July I flew up to my 60th high school reunion in Menominee. I’ve known many of my classmates since 1950, so there was lots of reunion-ing to be done. I stayed with long-time friends, enjoyed the reunion events, had lunch with my cousins Ann and John, visited my favorite hometown spots, checked out my sister’s property on the river, and took a bunch of photos. Our class all voted to come back for Number 65.
It’s been a high tech summer. Katja bought me a new Mac PC for my birthday as well as an iPad for herself, and I spend many waking moments online. When J came to visit, he helped me activate the FitBit exercise monitor that Katja had gotten me at Xmas. I’m definitely a quantoid person, and I like keeping track of my daily steps and sleep efficiency.
Summer 2015 was marred by a sad and painful happening — the loss of our beloved sheepdog Duffy to bone cancer. Duffy has been a major life companion for me — hikes in the forest, long walks in the neighborhood, camping trips to area parks. He was a loving, loyal dog — funny, affectionate, and full of life — and we continue to miss him every day.
Katja and I celebrated our 55th wedding anniversary at the end of August. We had an excellent dinner at the Phoenix, one of Cincinnati’s finest restaurants. 55 is a special number. If you add up all the numbers from 1 to 10, the total is 55. Then if you square the numbers from 1 to 5 and add them up, the total again is 55. I don’t think there are any other consecutive numbers that do that. I think it means we’re in for a unique and mysterious year.
There were many other enjoyable aspects of Summer 2015: the summer opera season, dog hikes at Miami Whitewater Forest and Eden Park, Ray Donovan, neighborhood walks with friends, line dancing, Wimbledon and US Open tennis (and Roger Federer in person at the W&S Open), Friday night movies, flea market expeditions, my birthday dinner at Seasons 52, working out at the fitness center, art museums, our new Clifton library. All in all, a summer of pleasures and treats.
Monday, September 7, 2015
In honor of Labor Day, I thought I would post the lyrics of “Rosie the Riveter”. We identify Rosie, of course, as the iconic image of women defense workers in World War II. The original “We Can Do It” poster (above) was created in 1942 by a Westinghouse Company artist, J. Howard Miller, in response to the federal government’s urging industries to encourage more women to join the wartime work force. Miller’s poster, however, had no association with the name “Rosie” when it appeared, nor with the riveter occupation. Rather the name, “Rosie the Riveter”, first appeared as the title of a song composed quite independently by Redd Evans and John Jacob Loeb and released in early 1943. Recorded by the Kay Kaiser band among others, the song quickly became a national hit. Here’s how it went:
ROSIE THE RIVETER
All the day long, whether rain or shine
She's a part of the assembly line
She's making history, working for victory
Rosie, brrrrrrrrrrr, the riveter
Keeps a sharp lookout for sabotage
Sitting up there on the fuselage
That little frail can do more than a male can do
Rosie, brrrrrrrrrrr, the riveter
Rosie's got a boyfriend, Charlie
Charlie, he's a Marine
Rosie is protecting Charlie
Workin' overtime on the riveting machine
When they gave her a production 'E'
She was as proud as a girl could be
There's something true about, red, white, and blue about
Rosie, brrrrrrrrrrr, the riveter
Ev'ryone stops to admire the scene
Rosie at work on the P-19
She's never twittery, nervous or jittery
(FEMALE VOICE: I'm Rosie, hm-hm-hm-hmm, the riveter)
What if she's smeared full of oil and grease
Doin' her bit for the old lend-lease
She keeps the gang around, they love to hang around
Rosie (Hm-hm-hm-hm, that's me, the riveter)
Rosie buys a lot of War Bonds
That girl really has sense
Wishes she could purchase more Bonds
Putting all her extra cash in National Defense
Oh, when they gave her a production 'E'
She was as proud as a girl could be
There's something true about, red, white, and blue about
Rosie the riveter gal
While other girls attend their favorite cocktail bar
Sipping dry Martinis, munching caviar
There's a girl who's really putting them to shame
Rosie is her name
Oh, Rosie buys a lot of War Bonds
That girl really has sense
Wishes she could purchase more Bonds
Putting all her extra cash into National Defense
Oh, Senator Jones, who was in the know
Shouted these words on the radio
Berlin will hear about, Moscow will cheer about
Rosie (Hah-hah-hah-hee-hee-hee), Rosie (Hee-hee-hee-hee)
Rosie the riveter gal (3)
A few months after Evans and Loeb’s hit song appeared, Norman Rockwell created a cover for the May 29, 1943, issue of the Saturday Evening Post which featured a woman riveter with the name Rosie on her lunchbox. Historians speculate that Rockwell was familiar with Evans and Loeb’s song when he composed the picture. Rosie is a large, muscular women wearing blue work clothes and holding a riveting gun in her lap. A copy of Hitler’s Mein Kamp is under her feet, symbolizing Rosie’s contribution to crushing the Nazi war machine. The American flag in the background contributes to the patriotism of the message. (5)
Because of its massive distribution, Rockwell’s Saturday Evening Post image was well-known at the time and was widely used in war bond drives. However, because of copyright restrictions, it was seen less and less often after the war ended. Miller’s “We Can Do It” image was essentially unknown, having been shown only to Westinghouse employees, and it disappeared within weeks. It was rediscovered in the 1980s, became associated with the feminist movement, and only then became linked to the label “Rosie the Riveter.”
With widespread enlistment of males in the military in the early 1940s, women entered the American workforce in unprecedented numbers. The female percentage of the U.S. workforce increased from 27% to nearly 37% between 1940 and 1945. By 1944 4.1 million unmarried women between the ages of 20 and 34 worked in the defense industry, compared to only 1.7 million unmarried men between those ages. The aviation industry saw the largest increases for women. While women constituted one percent of the aviation workforce before the war, over 310,000 women were employed by the aircraft industry in 1943, making up 65% of the total workforce. In addition to factory work and other jobs, 350,000 American women joined the U.S. military, serving at home and abroad. (1) (5)
In my home town the largest industry in the 1940s was the Lloyd Loom factory which produced baby carriages and wicker furniture. 250 male employees left Lloyd to join the military at the war’s beginning, and they were replaced by local women, many new to the work force. 85% of the Lloyd plant’s work was in war production: glider fuselages, bomber trainers, airplane motor mounts, and high-explosive shells. I like to think that Rosie the Riveter might have been a part of the crew. (4)
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
I know Sept. 1 isn’t really the start of autumn, but it always feels that way to me. Poets sometimes depict autumn as a period of gradual decline, the entryway into winter’s desolation. There may be a kernel of truth to that, but it’s not the whole story. In fact, autumn is first and foremost a time of new beginnings. It’s the start of college and NFL football seasons, as well as the basketball season too. With daily highs in the 70’s, September is the most popular month of the year for camping. The year’s new TV shows premiere in the autumn, and, having slogged through its terrible summer doldrums, Hollywood rolls out its potential Oscar nominees. The election season moves into full swing, promoting remarkable characters like Donald Trump, Chris Christie, and Rand Paul. The new symphony, ballet, and theater seasons begin. Most of all, it’s the start of the new school year and all the good things that come with that, whether one is in second grade or graduate school (or even OLLI classes for seniors). Katja and I have enjoyed a lot of notable autumns over the years. Here are a few of our personal autumn highlights.
· 1942: Much to my horror, I had to leave my mother to start kindergarten at Boswell School on September 8, the day after Labor Day. I only survived because I got to walk back and forth each day with my five-year-old friend, Sally F.
· 1942: Katja began the settlement house music school in inner city Philadelphia where she learned to play the cymbals and the timpani.
· 1946: Swimming at our new home on the river reached its end in October, and we gathered red and yellow leaves to press and dry in thick encyclopedia volumes.
· 1947: On Halloween night our family joined the O’Hara’s at their house on Stephenson Avenue, and we kids went trick-or-treating in the neighborhood, gathering bags overflowing with Tootsie Rolls and bubble gum.
· 1948: Miss Guimond appointed me Captain of the Safety Patrol at Washington Grade School. This meant that I had to stand at attention on the street corner while the rest of the kids played marbles and ran in circles on the playground.
· 1949: I began seventh grade at Menominee H.S., hanging out with the Grant School kids during lunch hour and playing touch football until the snow arrived.
· 1951: Katja began ninth grade at Girls’ High in Philadelphia, a memorable year in which she failed geometry twice but began her four years of studying French with Mademoiselle Burnstein, an undertaking which was to shape her life course.
· 1953: With the high school football season in full sway, I worked in the Hi-Y refreshment stand at Walton Blesch Field, selling hot dogs and hamburgers to hungry Maroon sports fans. Afterwards we went to the high school dance where the boys stood around while the girls danced with each another.
· 1953: I began my year-long term as Junior Class vice-president at Menominee High, a nominal position that involved no duties or perks except being in the “Royal Court” at the Junior Prom with my date, Carol G.
· 1955: Katja and I began our freshman year at Antioch, a time of great adventure and turmoil. I saw Katja across the lawn on our first day, was immediately lovestruck, but didn’t find the courage or opportunity to meet her for another year and a half.
· 1957: I went on a coop job at Popular Science magazine in New York City. I lived and 163rd West End in Washington Heights, loved the city, visited Greenwich Village and the Bowery on weekends, and vowed I’d never live anywhere else.
· 1960: Katja and I got married at Antioch on Aug. 28, then promptly moved to Ann Arbor for graduate school. As Antiochians, Katja and I were entirely snobbish about Big Ten football until we actually went to Michigan Stadium. We were immediately transformed into avid fans and never missed another home game.
· 1964: At Katja’s urging, we took a break from grad school and did a six-week tour of Europe, starting in Brussels and ending at Hotel Roquebrun on the French Riviera with my dad.
· 1966: Having moved to Cincinnati, I taught my first class as a new university professor and immediately broke out with a fever blister on my lip, a stress symptom that was to repeat itself each September for forty-plus years.
· 1967: My parents took us to a below-freezing Packer game at Lambeau Field where Vince Lombardi, Bart Starr, and troops were advancing toward Super Bowl II.
· 1969: Our son J was born at Christ Hospital on September 19, the most momentous happening in our lives.
· 1973: Travelling from the East Coast, the Midwest, and the West Coast, we siblings and our families had the first of many enjoyable family reunions at my parents’ Birch Creek farm.
· 1974: J started kindergarten at Clifton School, walking each morning from our Clifton Ave. apartment with his friend Tom W.
· 1978: I began the academic year as a newly promoted full professor and promptly came down with double pneumonia, requiring a two-week hospital stay.
· 1981: J began 7th grade at Walnut Hills H.S., Cincinnati’s well-regarded college prep school. He worried the big kids would stuff him into a locker.
· 1984: With an eye on upcoming college costs, Katja enrolled in the MSW program at the university.
· 1986: Katja was hired as a social worker at the Cincinnati Association for the Blind.
· 1987: We dropped J off for his freshmen year at Columbia, and I was bedridden for 48 hours with a mysterious illness.
· 1993: Our father, Vic L., died in Cincinnati on Nov. 8, 3 days after his 85th birthday.
· 1995: J began medical school classes at LSU-New Orleans.
· 2002: Our new Old English Sheepdog puppies, Mike and Duffy, turned six months old in October.
· 2006: I began a two-year term as Acting Head of the Department of Sociology, a responsibility I’d actively avoided for some time but surprisingly came to enjoy.
· 2008: Our granddaughter V was born on Sept. 16 in Louisiana, and our grandson L was born on Sept. 30 in Taiyun, China.
· 2009: A half year into retirement I signed up for line dancing at the fitness center, continued regular visits to my office, did occasional camping with the sheepdogs, and busily worked on my blog.
· 2010: Our grandchildren L and V, along with their parents, made their first of several annual Thanksgiving visits to Cincinnati.
· 2013: I joined Katja in taking OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute) classes at the university.
· 2015: Katja and our friend Donna will go to Paris and Northern France in October while I will be in charge of sheepdogs Mike and Sophie. Who knows what other surprising adventures autumn 2015 will bring?