DON'T BE A MUSHROOM!

When I get frustrated with those who spout (political) conspiracy theories or believe obviously false opinions, I usually mentally yell "Stop being a mushroom."  As we all know, mushrooms are kept in the dark and fed a lot of sh*t.  So, dear reader, if you mainline Fox News or worse, then I implore you to stop being a mushroom.  Cable news has driven me to watching a lot of Bones reruns, Harry Potter, Midsomer Murder, and the Bourne Trilogy.  Last night, absent softball CWS and not yet baseball CWS or golf, I went with channel 1948 (music).  But I digress.

To be accurate of my understanding of the term Don't Be a Mushroom, I googled it.  Yes, it was exactly what I remembered.  But, because Google gives you more than you really want, they also showed that the spiritual meaning of mushroom is that of spiritual growth, enlightenment, and rebirth.  It represents the cycle of life, in that it emerges from darkness and decay to a healthy plant.  So, if you feel you are a mushroom, rise up from the sh*t and be enlightened and reborn! 

TMI, PROSTATE PROBLEMS

This all started over twenty years ago.  I noticed, at work, that when I went to pee I would "finish" then wait eight seconds and finish again.  I chalked that up to "getting old."  That went on for maybe five years and after I retired.  Then I noticed my stream was getting weaker and slower.  I'm not entirely sure of the chain of events, probably I mentioned it to my family physician who referred me to a urologist.  In any case, I did a bit of research and found an acceptable doctor ( Dr. Cuellar, highly recommended) just a few miles away. 

Dr. Cuellar did the various tests, digital and blood work and determined that yes, my prostate was larger than it should be.  Proper term is Benign Prostatic Hyperplasia (BPH).  The prostate forms a semi-circle around your urethra (tube leading from the bladder) so when it grows it squeezes the urethra, thus less urine.  It was then that Dr. Cuellar said the words that I often repeat to other men who are getting old: "In young men the prostate is responsible for a good erection (or words to that effect) but in old men the prostate will either become enlarged or it will give you cancer."  My emphasis is on "either/or."  It doesn't stay the same, it does one or the other.  In my case, just enlarged.

Apparently mine wasn't large enough to operate on (TURP, a laser treatment to cut away part of it).  We went with medication.  The medication worked well and I adjusted to the side-effects (not listed here).  But last year, after ten years on medication, at my annual checkup, he brought up the prospect of undergoing a new procedure which would get me off the medication.  This new procedure involved shooting staples through the urethra into the prostate which would pull it back from the urethra.  Think of purchasing multiple pairs of socks and snipping off the plastic thingies that hold them together.  

After thinking about it and looking it up online, I scheduled an appointment to have it done.  But the recovery time was very close to our trip to England and I thought that if anything went wrong or took too long, the trip would be a nightmare.  So I rescheduled.

Earlier this year I had the operation.  I have six staples in my prostate.  All went well and within a week I was almost back to normal.  The reason this post was done has to do with a 70-year old memory.  It has to do with strength of urine stream.  For years I couldn't hit the back of a urinal and always relied on gravity to keep things in order.  Within a few weeks after the operation, I could.  That was my clue the procedure was a success.  Back in grade school, John Burroughs Elementary, the boys bathroom consisted of a line of back-to-back urinals.  Maybe six urinals in a line on one side and six on the other, with a common wall.  As a grade schooler, I was maybe four feet tall and the wall was probably six feet.  I distinctly remember being able to clear that wall with my pee (no one on the other side).

ST. PATRICK'S DAY

 This post started out being about the table.  Our first kitchen table was orphaned at our apartment in Dallas and the apartment manager knew we needed one so just moved it over.  I'm pretty sure this one is our favorite.  White with a bright yellow flower (when the leaf wasn't in) and matching yellow chairs.  I have no real recollection of it's history other than we purchased it new for our house in Austin.  But in looking for a picture of the table, I came across this one about St. Patrick's Day.

Like many Americans, I become Irish on March 17th.  My maternal grandparents were quite Irish so I have some legitimate claim.  But somehow it got out of hand, I suspect it had something to do with competing with my friend Brian Boru O'Mara.  More on that later.

On March 17th we would have green pancakes and leprechaun juice (OJ with food coloring).  This is Jean, Chris, and Kurt but in other years we'd have the neighbor's kids over also.  Either the Trunkenbolts or the Murrays.  We also have pictures of them at this table dyeing Easter Eggs.

The pancakes were a big hit.  The year we tried green eggs and ham turned out to be pretty ugly.  Again, my memory is spotty, so I'm not sure if we actually consumed the eggs or just let them sit.  In any case, that was never tried again.

One year Marilane made me an emerald green corduroy jacket.  By then I had a green tie, green socks, and various Irish paraphernalia that I wore/took to work.  The next year Brian had a whole green suit.  I also hosted a St. Patrick's Day party with a keg of green beer.  Back then, you could get the distributor to insert the green food coloring.  Also back then, the smallest keg was a half.  Try as they might, it couldn't even get to floating.  We did that for several years.  At the last party we had, Brian came in his green suit but while some of the guests were from work, most were neighbors or Marilane's teacher friends.  As a result, Brian did very little conversing.  Afterwards, one of our friends remarked that they thought he was someone we hired to come and be Irish.

Once the kids left home and I retired, celebrating St. Patrick's Day returned to me wearing something green on March 17th.  I still have the T-shirt "You can always tell an Irishman, but you can't tell him much."  The letters are faded and it's hard to read, but the thirty year old shirt itself isn't worn out.

It has been pointed out to me that my memories are not always accurate.  That is, they might be in the ballpark, but lacking precision.  To that end, you might read a post one week and the next week find some editing at the bottom.  For instance, in the previous post, the lamps I talked about were purchased prior to our moving to the apartment.  

FIRST APARTMENT, PART II

 In the previous post I mentioned the apartment had a front and back door.  We mostly used the back door,  because the garage was in the back.  Speaking of parking, thus cars, Marilane (i.e. we) had a firm rule about no bumper stickers on our cars.  In our fifty-five years and multiple cars, there has been only one exception and it was while we were living here.  It was "Snoopy for President."  Obviously, we were disenchanted with both parties' nominees.  

It was out back that I brought two chairs I'd purchased at Unfinished Furniture.  I applied two coats of polyurethane stain and am proud to say that we still use the chairs and they still look very good.  Given my estrangement with paint and stain, this ranks as my #1 accomplishment.

This picture of our daughter is just next to the back door.  I picked this picture (10 months, 27 inches) because she was quite precocious.  Her balance was extraordinary and she took her first steps at eight months (maybe nine).  I really didn't think it was all that exceptional until the boys came along and Marilane had to alleviate my concern since they were over a year before they toddled along.  I  remember going to a July 4th concert/fireworks at Town Lake and as a pre-teen she stood on a parking bollard for something like an hour.  She was also very quick learning to talk.  Marilane tells the story of being in a store conversing with her and a lady (apparently) asked her age and remarked that she was too young to be forming sentences.  This was at fifteen months.  I suspect if you ask her brothers, she hasn't stopped talking yet.

She is wearing a nautical themed dress.  She had lots of outfits.  First child, daughter, mother a seamstress.   

FIRST APARTMENT

 If you read the previous post, you know that this is the second apartment we lived in.  But it's the first we actually had our own stuff in it and called "home."  So, we start with the apartment itself.  It was located just off Preston Road and Loop 12.  As you can see, it was two story with two bedrooms and bath upstairs and living room, dining area and kitchen downstairs.  We had both front door and back door.

I remember visiting with our neighbor, Mrs. Stitchke (sp?).  She was a long-time resident and her apartment was very nicely decorated.  The memory that sticks with me is she had hung drapes (I'm remembering a tangerine color, maybe champagne) across the whole front wall.  That wall only had one set of windows.  I thought at the time, and still do, that it was a very classy way of sprucing up a dull area.  We must have made a favorable impression on the manager because one day after work we came home to find a green dinette table and three chairs in our otherwise devoid dining area.  She told Marilane that other tenants had moved out and left it so she just had it moved over to us.  

Speaking of furniture, we had very little when we moved in.  The (Grundig) stereo in the picture was purchased when I was in the army in Germany.  The table was on loan from Marilane's parents.  We did the popular board-and-block bookcase to separate living and dining areas.  Marilane went shopping for a bedroom suite at Sanger Harris.  Ah, the old days!  The salesman gave her a deep discount on it because it was the display model and had a nick in the dresser.  The nick was so small I couldn't find it and she had to show it to me.  Fifty-five years later it is still in use and still looking great.  I'm thinking Sanger Harris delivered it to the bedroom because I would have remembered trying to get it up the stairs.  Shortly thereafter, Marilane went shopping for lamps, and brought back two very nice ones.  They still look good on the dresser, but today we have them in two separate bedrooms.

I would occasionally ride my bike to work.  We only had one car and Marilane's school was a good distance away.  On the morning of August 8, 1968 Marilane called my work.  This was 'way before cell phones.  As I remember it, I was at my boss's desk, maybe secretary's, when she told me it was time to go to the hospital.  Somewhere in the conversation I asked if she could make me lunch.  I didn't think much of it, it would take me fifteen or so minutes to get home and I figured I'd be in for a long wait at the hospital.  The ladies at work wouldn't let me forget it, though, and I received a few barbs when I came back to work.   

As you can see, the picture was taken at Christmas time.  I'm pretty sure we kept the garland for twenty-five maybe thirty years before upgrading.  The stereo had a tape recorder, radio, and record player.  I don't remember when we finally abandoned it, but it went through several moves.  I'm liking the album this picture was in, and the next post will have another one taken several months later.

CALIFORNIA DUSTERHOFFS VISIT NEWLYWEDS

But this post is about the picture(s).  Truthfully, I cannot remember precisely, but they were stopping by after a trip east.  Maybe to Disney World or maybe brother Rich in Atlanta or maybe both.  But they stopped by to see how we were doing.  

At the time, Marilane was teaching and I'm pretty sure I was still theatre manager at The Village theatre.  It is possible I'd just started with State Farm Insurance.  We were living in a two bedroom apartment so we gave them our apartment and asked our friends, the Warborgs, if we could bunk in their spare bedroom.  As you can see, our apartment complex had a pool and Jack and family took full advantage (I have multiple pictures).  We took them up to see the University of Dallas campus, somewhat barren in 1968. 
 The whole purpose of this blog is this picture of Terry, Johnny, and I'm assuming Mike (next to Terry).  I'm pretty sure I had two T-shirts, or maybe light sweatshirts, one of which said Bull Shirt and the other said Cow Shirt that I "gifted" to the kids.  I'm sure karma has come back to bite me for that in some fashion.  But you will notice that Terry has a very short bob.  She told (or reminded) me later that someone at UD commented upon her being a boy.  It may not have been direct, I'm a little sketchy on details, perhaps just mentioning to Jack and Diane what nice boys they have, something like that.  In any case, as she told me, that was the last time her hair was that short.  

  

 

PROM KING

A few years ago Marilane and I spent a few hours with an old high school friend.  She lives only a few miles from my sister in Maryland and about a half hour from my daughter and family.  On one of our trips to visit them, we included Annette.   During the course of our reminisces, she brought out a photo of us, Prom King and Queen.  Her being voted queen was a no-brainer, she was the prettiest girl in school, smart, well-liked.  While I was well-liked, it was pretty much a default.  Our graduating class of twenty broke down to fourteen girls and six guys.  Of the six, three were only there for the senior year, one was pretty much a loner, and the other had to work when not at school thus wasn't into school activities.  That left me. The guy standing next to Annette was Dick M (I know the last names) and next to him was his sister, Joanne.  Next to me was my date, Donna, then someone, then Bobby.  Donna lived in Baltimore, I lived in Riverdale.  That's about thirty miles or over an hour driving in those days.

 In my freshman year no one in high school lived in Glenn Dale; truthfully, hardly anyone lived in Glenn Dale.  I rode the public school bus to Laurel, about 15 miles away, with the elementary and junior high kids.  I wasn't old enough to drive, so there wasn't any after-school activity for me.  We were living in my cousin's house while they were in Florida for a couple years.  The house was next to a railroad track and there was a dirt road that ran along side of it.  On this road I learned to drive, that is, shift and steer, in a 1941 Ford.

We moved to Rogers Heights in my sophomore year.  I carpooled with a bunch of upper classmen.  The driver was Dick somebody, the other guy, Jimmy,  eventually went into the priesthood, and I will have to dig into the yearbook to remember the two girls.  I got my driver's license shortly after my sixteenth birthday and was allowed to drive the family car (1954 Ford station wagon) to and from school.  I picked up a few carpool folks myself, one of whom was Judy B.  I remember her because shortly after high school she died in childbirth.

Having the car allowed me to join after-school activities.  I was awarded a letter-sweater in girl's basketball because 1) I went to all the games and 2) provided transportation to the team.  There were no other sports at that time, although boys basketball came shortly thereafter.  I also made a name for myself in that in order to get the car started, I needed to push it down the slight slope in the parking lot and pop the clutch.  In Rogers Heights we lived on a steep hill, so it was much easier.  This went on for over a month until we got it fixed (I think it was the starter motor).  I also drove Sr. Michael and a couple of girls to Huntington, West Virginia to the nun's motherhouse.

One other thought just ran through my mind.  Annette played basketball and we both had the same memory: Judy J could drain six out of ten shots from mid-court, besides being a phenomenal all-around player.  For the younger folks, girls basketball was half-court back then.  Three forwards and three guards who could not cross the half court line.

That's a lot of memories from one picture.  I'll go trolling through the albums and find another.