There haven’t been any new blogs from me for a week or so. It is not that I haven’t been thinking about my ChicagoNow readers, I just haven’t found a topic that has inspired the necessary 500 words. I suppose it is a form of writer’s block, but as long as writing is not my profession, that particular malady doesn’t overly damage my psyche.

Just to prove that I have been giving it a shot, here is a list of 10 topics that I have tried, and failed, to blog about.

1. Our cat that thinks it is a dog. Barb wants me to write a book about this one, but are there enough cat ladies out there who would want to read it?
2. A story in the New York Times about the difficulties in the Medical Examiners Office in New Hampshire. Overdose deaths have lead to an overworked ME. While in training I spent several months in the Cook County Medical Examiners Office, but I lack the knowledge and skill to adequately discuss what this story is really about, the opioid crisis.
3. The distressing comments of a rabbi who has buried 28 young adults, lost to overdose deaths. See #2.
4. The appeal of sitting in a dark room and listening to an album (ok, it was digital, not vinyl) from start to finish. For those interested in my musical taste, the album was the first Crosby, Stills and Nash release, the one creatively titled “Crosby, Stills, and Nash.” It is the one with the song that is the source of my ringtone for Barb–can you guess which one?
5. The sounds of silence. One afternoon I actually turned off the radio in my office. I gave up the usual background noise for a surprising calmness. After a day or two I broke, and the radio came back on.
6. My new role as a teacher.  I am educating my fitness trainer about classic rock music. For every extra ten push-ups he makes me do, I lecture him on an even more obscure band from the 60’s or 70’s. Quicksilver Messenger Service anyone?
7. Why we do this. ChicagoNow bloggers were posting on the CN  Facebook page about why they write. It made me think about why I keep writing, but it didn’t turn into 500 words of contemplation. It did make me think I need a new name for this blog, since I am no longer writing about building a house. Any suggestions?
8. Another assault on Trump. I was working on an acrostic, with the first letter of each line linking up to spell “Great Again.” I stopped after “Greedy” and “Repulsive.” I suppose the poem, if ever completed, could be about Harvey Weinstein too.
9. The return of “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” I have never been much of an enthusiast, and just wonder if Jeff Garlin does nothing but scream in real life, too.
10. Life hacking. The little sideways things that make life work better. Barb and I share one that I can’t discuss here…

Ten concepts, but no blog posts. I’ll keep pushing on my writer’s brick wall, maybe it will come tumbling down soon!

Peace and Love,

Les

***************************************

Like what you read here? Enter your email address and click the “Subscribe” box to join our subscription list. Or email me at les.raff@post.com. No Spam, Promise!

 

 

Ruminations at 6:00 a.m. this morning.

“Let’s see, it looks like someone brought a big bag of treats into the lunchroom for us bleary-eyed coworkers. From the size and shape of the package, it looks like about a month’s supply of some crunchy snack from Costco. The package has drawings and cartoons, so that’s a little bit more suggestive of Trader Joe’s. Got to be one of the other. I’m gonna try to hold off until after lunch before I dig in and have a few pieces of whatever it is.”

Post-Lunch snack time

“Hmm, OK here we go. Time to check out those “Veggie Chips.” I’m looking at the label, and it feels like I am reading the Google “Do No Evil” credo, or maybe my physician pledge to “first do no harm.” These things pass every hippy-dippy requirement of the decade.  The label says the chips are gluten-free (but I love gluten,) vegan (I love meat almost as much as I love gluten,) Kosher (good, tomorrow is Yom Kippur, but wait-I can’t eat on Yom Kippur,) free of dairy products (ice cream is my third love,) non-GMO (I think GMO’s will someday save the world,) and without hydrogenated or trans-fat (OK, even I don’t want hydrogenated or trans-fat anymore.)

“I flip the bag over and take a look at the ingredient list, see what tasty vegetables are part of this good for our souls and the world around us veggie snack food. Ingredient number one: potato flour. Ingredient number two: potato starch. Huh?  Where are the veggies? I know that technically potatoes are vegetables, but who thinks of them that way? Finally, after I read through the salt and the sugar and the (non-trans, non-hydrogenated) oil we get to things like tomato paste (remember, ketchup is a vegetable,) turmeric (more of a flavoring and coloring than a four-star vegetable,) spinach powder and beetroot powder. And that makes these Veggie Chips?  I think not. These are extruded potato chips. Pringles with a fancy disguise and a little red beet powder. And not even a stackable can.

“The question becomes, do I really want to eat any of these? I don’t see anything else laying on the table, and something crunchy/salty would be good, keep me from having food cravings all afternoon long. I think I will have one or two.”

Ten Minutes Later

“I can’t believe how many I ate. They are tasteless but addictive. I had better stop.

“Oh no, what’s this? Has a rep just brought in twenty bags of Garrett’s Popcorn? The caramel and cheddar mix? Now we’re talking. Pseudo-Pringles be gone, the King of Snack Foods is here!”

I made MY choice. Which would YOU choose?

*************************************************

Recent posts:

http://www.chicagonow.com/downsize-maybe/2017/09/did-48-years-worth-of-suckers-elect-donald-trump/

http://www.chicagonow.com/downsize-maybe/2017/09/pancreatic-cancer-took-my-dear-sister-but-not-her-light/

*************************************************

Like what you read here? Enter your email address and click the “Subscribe” box to join our subscription list. Or email me at les.raff@post.com. No Spam, Promise!

 

 

Sunday was a day spent at my friend Art’s lake house with a few other high school buddies, walking along the beach, downing chili, and watching the Cubs soar while the Bears and Sox flopped. My friend Gary mentioned that he enjoyed the blogs I have written about my family history. He quoted a line I had used in discussing my dad in a blog from two years ago, a piece that had faded from my mind, about looking into a mirror and seeing my father. Gary asked if I had any more family member to write about.  I hesitated, and Art said I needed to write about my sister.

I have always been reluctant to write about my late sister, Linda. Maybe it is a feeling that her story didn’t belong to me, but rather to her husband or to her two sons. Maybe I thought there is just too much pain involved. But with the exception of my cousin Judy, there is no one alive who knew Linda as a young girl, who remembers some of the early moments. So I have decided to try to honor her, as I have my mom and aunt, my dad, and my father-in-law in previous blogs.

When does a boy first understand he has an older sister, and how important she will be to him as he grows up? I first remember Linda as a flower girl at Cousin Judy’s wedding.  Was she seven or eight? I just remember being very sleepy as she walked down the aisle, doing an important grown-up thing. It was a few years later that she had first chance to “mother” me during our family’s month-long visit to our uncle and grandmother in Switzerland. Mom and Dad were traveling for a week in Austria, and Uncle Herbert really didn’t know what to do with his young niece and nephew. Linda made sure that there was food I would eat, that my blistered feet were taken care of, that we had time to swim and play in Lake Thun.

Linda was five years older than me, and because I spent part of my education in a parochial school, we never attended the same school at the same time. But I followed her at a few schools and had her reputation to live up to. I was expected to be well-behaved, courteous, a scholar and a willing volunteer.  Mr. Wohlberg, everyone’s favorite eighth-grade teacher, and Miss Nee, the freshman algebra teacher, insisted on nothing less from Linda Raff’s little brother.

I know Linda had the usual ups and downs in high school. Her four-girl gang would tighten and loosen, sometimes bringing hugs, other times bringing tears. Boys, dating, proms; it all followed as I looked on from one or two maturity levels below. I remember the cramped family drive to deliver her to Northern Illinois University, my uncle’s Chevy Impala totally unsuited for transporting six people and the clothes, makeup, and bric-a-brac needed for a seventeen-year-old girl to start university life.

Linda completed college in Chicago. She met Alan while I was busy being a high school over-achiever. Then in the blink of an eye, I was in med school and Linda was married and a teacher. Another blink and I was wed, Linda and Alan had two children, Barb and I had a pair of our own. Through it all, we never lived more than 10 miles apart. We spent so many birthday celebrations and happy holidays together and shared so much sadness over my mother’s bad accident and my dad’s passing away.

Linda never lost her sweetness and devotion to her family, but something inside her was changing and we had no way of knowing. She was only 46 when pancreatic cancer made its appearance. Alan and the boys did all they could for her, as did some amazing medical teams. We all lost Linda in January of 1999–a special light had flickered and gone.

But the reflection of that light continues, burning strongly in the eyes of her sons. Alan and his wife Yvonne made sure the boys always had a home and special place to be loved, and I hope Barb and I did so as well.

It is what Linda would have asked of us.

______

If you like what you read, don’t forget to subscribe. Just enter your name and email address in the column on the right and click. Spam free!

Did it make you laugh? The first time you saw the Hyundai TV commercial using  “Sweet Caroline” to sell Sonatas? It suddenly seemed as if it were everywhere. The bum-bum-bum sing-along between the guy and gal commuters  ranked as the most frequently viewed car commercial for a week over the summer. And audiophiles like me know that there’s a radio version too. Much to Barb’s delight Neil Diamond was back in our lives.

So with a song catalog that stretches back over 50 years, I thought I would give some thought to how Barb’s favorite singer-songwriter could cash in on a few more of his hits. Here are 10 for his consideration:

1. Chicago Tourism can link in with The Last Picasso. The last Picasso may be in some old museum, but we have our own rusting in Daley Plaza.
2. Kentucky Bourbon and Kentucky Women. A match made in whiskey heaven.
3. Nature Valley should be pushing product using Crunchy Granola Suite.
4. Joel Osteen and Rick Warren can battle it out over the rights to Brother Love’s Travelling Salvation Show. They can afford it.
   
5. Red Red Wine will make Gallo fine.
6. And while we’re drinking, Cracklin’ Rosie will fill the bill for Aldi’s $9 a bottle Rosé award winner.
7. In concert Diamond likes to show a video of his youth while he sings Brooklyn Roads. Sell the rights and let all the roads lead to The Barclays Center and the Brooklyn Nets. Grab some of that NBA cash, Neil.
8. And how about  September Morn for the beginning of the NFL season? You’ve got more fans than Hank Williams Jr., and we all need Sunday Morning Football.
9. President Trump might like the rights to Coming to America. “On the boats and on the planes, they’re coming to America–that’s because I built my wall and they can’t get here by land.”
10. And of course, Levi’s will pay whatever it takes to have the world Forever in Blue Jeans, even if it’s mostly those funky dad jeans now.

If some of these are a stretch, at least none are quite as much of a grab as the Cherry Cherry Christmas song from a few years ago; the one with the “Holly Holy, Rocky Rolly” lyrics where you wedged in as many of your own songs as you could. As one nice Jewish boy to another, all I can say is oy vey.

______

If you like what you read, don’t forget to subscribe. Just enter your name and email address in the column on the right and click. Spam free!

 

How long has it been? Do we even remember the early years? Every thing was so smooth and easy. It was like poetry in motion, just like a finely tuned ballet. If I was down, you picked me up; if I erred you were there to help me. I looked forward to being with you, when I was with you there was always a song on my lips, and a tune and a rhythm going through my head.

Who knows when it began to change? At first, there were only little squabbles. Beer and pizza would make things right. Or we would open some wine, have a birthday cake celebration. A few years ago, when we weren’t content being together in one place, we looked for another and made a change.

I was trying so hard to be honest, to be fair in my decisions. But I would look at you and see that grimace facing back at me. I was giving you all I had, but it wasn’t enough for you. I just wasn’t good enough. You were keeping score, and I was falling further and further behind.

In the last year or so has come the yelling, the screaming, the stamping feet. So much of it I couldn’t understand. I don’t even think you were angry at me, just upset at the way things were going. I would stand there mute, cutting myself off from all the emotion.

There were still some good moments when it all came together again. We would smile and catch fire. But those were few and getting fewer. This summer our meetings became a weight on my shoulders. I looked for reasons not to be there with you. A few weeks ago I made my decision. Resolute and with conviction, not sure I would even be missed, I told you it was over.

So now my Thursday nights are free. After almost two decades I have divorced myself from you, my Thursday Night Tennis League. I am saying goodbye to the wins and the losses, the highs and the lows. The time for arguing line calls has come to an end. I will miss many of my fellow players and the camaraderie over the beer and pizza, but I had to do what my heart said was right. And besides, Thursday night is Trivia Night!

I wake up as a tremendous ball of heat engulfs me. Throwing off the covers I  wonder. Did Kim Jong-un launch his first nuclear missile and chose the north Chicago suburbs as his target? Has Trump launched a pre-emptive strike and gotten the launch code parameters wrong? Maybe the decommissioned nuclear power plant up in Zion has gone rogue and had a core meltdown? While the grandfather clock in the hall strikes four, I realize the heat is far more localized, and presumably, less destructive.

First a word about that clock. It is a family heirloom, passed down from Barb’s parents and we treasure it. The wooden cabinet has survived three or four moves and multiple months in storage. To provide a proper place of honor for it in the new house we even modified our construction plans, eliminating a closet and replacing it with an enlarged powder room and a special clock alcove.

I treat the clock tenderly. Under my care, each pendulum swing measures exactly one second. The Westminster chimes ring out the quarter hours in exact synchrony with the time on my iPhone. The walls of its little cubby cause harmonic vibrations, and many times I have woken up to what sounds like an angelic heavenly choir. Only our house sitter hates the chimes, turning them off when staying in our home during our infrequent travels.

So with the reverberating notes filling my ears, I looked to my left at Barb, peacefully sleeping next to me, and knew she was the source of the Level IV heat wave. It is a malady we both suffer from, as we pass these warming trends back and forth faster than the charging frontal boundaries on a Tom Skilling weather map.

Their appearance is unpredictable, though mine seem to come during the day, usually with a cup of tea in my hands. My face flushes as the beads of sweat pop from my forehead.

Barb suffers more at night in bed; a myriad of “head-cooling” pillows all receiving a big thumbs-down. Some mornings at 3 a.m. a dive in the pond feels like it might be the only salvation.

Yes, both our doctors know about these attacks and have each provided a bit of testing and a just bit of help. But the improvement has been minimal. Just as global warming marches on, our local heat trend is up, up, up. Football gamblers may tell you “the trend is your friend,” but in this case, it is no friend to us. The clock keeps on ticking, while the heat goes on.

——

Like what you read here? To subscribe to our mailing list, just subscribe below, or email me at les.raff@post.com.

___

photo credit: peretzp <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/68877611@N00/7238289476″>Salem and Hope Creek Nuclear Reactors</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

I made a mistake in judgment. Yesterday’s blog post was a satirical look at our President and how he chooses to view the world and its events, man-made or natural. It was a pretty good piece, worthy of being an anchor on the ChicagoNow Weekend Front Page and to attract some attention in the Twitter zone, where it recently was popular in Scandinavia. No one complained about anything I had written, and my words were certainly not vitriolic enough to put me in the target zone of any Pro-Trumpers.

But in that post, I made a misstep, and I need to apologize for it. I used a slur, an out-dated word that I am sure is offensive to my LGBTQ friends, relatives and colleagues, and to anyone else reading the piece, either on ChicagoNow, Facebook or Twitter. I ascribed the utterance of the word to President Trump, in an entirely invented quote from a non-existent news conference. Yes, fake news, but lord, it was so outlandish I hope no one took it for anything but a bit of whimsy on my part!

Yet I printed that word. My usage was offensive in two ways. First, although it was one of those smears that used to flow easily off peoples lips, like the “N Word” or the “K Word,” it was wrong to use in the past and it was wrong to use now. I cavalierly placed it in my post; I should not have. Second, I have no evidence that President Trump has ever used the word in private conversation or in public speech. He has shown himself to be incompetent, intolerant, thoughtless and dangerous, but that does not permit me to put certain words into his mouth. Besides, he already has his foot in there most days, without any help from this blog.

I have gone back to yesterday’s post and performed a self-edit. It looks pretty seamless. I don’t know if  Mr. Trump will appreciate my cleaning up his (fake) act, but I know that I feel better now that I have cleaned up mine.

---

Like what you read here? Don’t forget to enter your email address and click the “Create Subscription” button, or email me at les.raff@post.com

 

In an early morning impromptu press conference in the lobby of Trump Tower, President Donald Trump refused to lay the blame on next week’s solar eclipse on natural astrophysical events, instead claiming the alt-left was directly responsible.

“There is no doubt in my mind that emphasis on solar power is overwhelming the capacity of the sun to keep shining on great white America. Coal is the only answer, the only way to prevent future occurrences of darkness in the middle of the day. With my next Executive Order, August 21st will officially be declared End the EPA Day. I encourage all my loyal core followers to attend a mass West Virginia Coal Dig In on that day. I understand white hood shaped hard hats will be available along with Tiki torches.”

When questioned, Trump appeared unaware that eclipses have occured throughout history. “This is the direct result of un-American activity bringing darkness to our great nation. A black sky in the middle of the day? Next thing you know they’ll be plotting to have a glowing rainbow flag fill the darkness. You know, that LGBTQ thing.”

As Trump spoke, several advisors were seen leaving an elevator holding their coats over their faces and sprinting for the exits. When contacted by telephone, Scott Pruit, head of the EPA commented, “Mr. Trump may have misinterpreted some comments that were made by me, but I guarantee you he understands the darkness will be caused by the moon moving in front of the sun.”  Appearing on “Morning Joe,” Kellyanne Conway supported the President, stating that he had one of the greatest science minds of our generation. “He is not an Einstein, but he is very close.” An attempt was made to contact the members of Trump’s Science Advisory Board, but the Board no longer seems to exist.

Following the interview, Chief of Staff John Kelly was noted in a fetal crouch, covering his head with his hands, and quietly sobbing. Via a leak to Breitbart, Steve Bannon was quoted as saying “Don’t blame this one on me.” Jared and Ivanka Kushner were on vacation and unavailable for comment.

_____

 

Speaking of science, donations still being taken for the SEABlue Prostate Cancer Awareness Event on September 10, 2017. Make your donations here.

 

_____

 

Like what you read here? Enter your email address and click the “Subscribe” box to join our subscription list. No Spam, Promise!

 

______

photo credit: bobosh_t <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/31801622@N07/36181480020″>DSCN0129</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

The email began with “I’m hanging in there. My husband passed away in an accident in June. Been very difficult, but I’m doing my best.”

I don’t know Jane well. She is my contact for a company in a southern state that our lab has used for several years for online learning and record keeping. If I have a question or concern I send her an email, and she usually sends her cheerful, informative, reply within the hour.

I responded to her email expressing my condolences. I knew it was a situation in which a few words from a stranger a thousand miles away could hardly provide any solace. But the friendly personality always apparent in Jane’s emails made me confident that she had many friends who would help her family in such unimaginable circumstances.

I did some ‘net research. Googling Jane’s last name as well as the state her company was located in I was able to locate her husband’s obituary and a video of a brief segment on a local TV newscast. An unusual accident, an unexpected death, a local tragedy.

And it shook me. Death is not a stranger. I have lost parents, in-laws, a sister, and many other relatives and friends. Professionally I faced death daily, particularly in the early part of my training and career. But this suddenness was different and saddening, even if it was just someone I “almost” knew.

Since I received that email the country has moved on, the focus is now on the hatred, bigotry, and yes, death, in Virginia. But my thoughts keep drifting back to that one lost life from the month before and the widening circles of feelings that it engendered until they reached me, like ripples on a pond.

Those ripples of empathy are what we need to keep us human, to help us conquer haters and hate. We are seeing where a lack of empathy can take us, it is now time to move away from there. Share the word.

The above are the views of the authors and are not the official views of UroPartners, LLC.

Like what you read here? Enter your email address and click the “Subscribe” box to join our subscription list. No Spam, Promise!

photo credit: blavandmaster <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/38134034@N04/33740003150″>Sunset with friends</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;