Posted on May 25, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

Our society is obsessed with privacy and confidentiality.  Almost everywhere we go these days, it seems someone wants to check our I.D.’s.  Financial institutions are the worst.  If you happen to show up at the teller window with a wad of cash, they immediately suspect you are part of a money laundering operation and want two I.D’s , along with a blood sample.  I could have saved them the trouble.  I found a crumpled up five dollar bill in the dryer the other day.  That’s how I launder my money.

While I respect the notions of privacy and confidentiality, it is increasingly difficult to uphold these virtues.  You see, we are getting older.  And while many of us can still carry on a reasonable conversation, some of our faculties are in decline.  I have started to notice that I don’t hear my wife as well as I used to.  Is this a result of playing in a rock and roll band in my teenage years or something more sinister?  And my eyesight isn’t quite as sharp as it once was although I have no problem identifying the vast array of pies at the local bakery.

A recent trip to the outpatient department revealed some of the challenges of keeping things confidential.  The hospital was very busy on this particular day and many of the case rooms in the unit were being used by more than one patient, separated merely by a curtain.

While I waited patiently to be seen, I could not help but overhear the conversation going on not three feet away.  My hearing isn’t that bad.  An elderly couple that I had seen entering the room earlier, were shouting at each other.  It appeared that one or both had forgotten their hearing aids at home.

The harried nurse on duty arrived and proceeded with the intake interview.  The older gentleman was complaining of persistent stiffness.

“Are you a diabetic?  Do you smoke?  Are you on any medications”?  The questions were delivered with laser like precision but the answers were returned in something less than warp speed.  The lady answered the queries on her husband’s behalf – partially because he couldn’t hear a damn thing but mainly because this is how most conversations go after 45 years of marriage.

On the question of medications, the elderly lady opened her purse.  She was now no longer behind the curtain but in full view of everyone in the room.  She started to empty the contents of the purse.  The first two items were chewing gum and a bingo dauber.  Following this was what appeared to be the entire inventory of one of the local pharmacies.

“Well, he takes this for high blood pressure, and this is for cholesterol”.  The litany of the saints wouldn’t have taken as long to recite as she plowed ahead.  Finally and mercifully she found the bottom of the purse.  “Oh, Jesus, Harold, what in the hell are these blue pills called”?

I pretended not to hear any of this as I grinned at this last revelation.  I did my own diagnosis.

As I prepared to leave the room much later, I heard the doctor tell poor Harold that all of that planting in the garden yesterday had given him a stiff back and nothing worse.

Never judge a pill by it’s color.

Posted on May 22, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

Many of us have played team sports.  Most of us never rose above the level of mediocrity but it was a part of growing up.  It was learning about teamwork, mutual respect and taking directions from a coach. Occasionally, when you were out of line through bad attitude or bad performance, you were relegated to being a spectator.  You were “benched”.  It was a time to cool your heels and review the errors of your ways.  You were “riding the pines”.

These thoughts occurred to me on a recent trip to Halifax to visit our new granddaughter.  It was a Sunday and as a part of my penance for observing the Sabbath, I was “asked” to escort my wife to the Sears Bargain Basement. I will come clean and admit that I actually did a bit of shopping myself at an adjacent men’s wear store.

Why do women insist on taking men shopping?  Do they take some perverse pleasure in seeing their partner suffer?  Most men would rather clean a five day old cat litter box than go shopping with their wives or partners.  Shopping is not a team sport unless undertaken by more than one woman.

People love animals, especially dogs.  And dogs need to be walked to maintain good health.  You can tell when  dogs have had enough.  They start to pant and may even drool.  Or worse.  If you push them too hard, they may protest and you might be bringing out the pooper scooper in places you’d rather not.

Watching men trail their wives on a shopping trip isn’t  a whole lot different other than the fact that dogs like to go walking with their master.  Have you ever noticed at a Farmer’s Market that while the women are shopping, the men are pacing around the perimeter.  It looks like the recreation area in a prison yard where the inmates walk slowly and endlessly around the edges of the property.  Occasionally, a man will throw a curve ball and walk in the opposite direction which is definitely a “no no” at the market.. You always walk in a counter clockwise direction.  Luckily, most markets have an eating area which is usually occupied by off-leash men and some starving musician with his guitar case open, scratching out “ Purple Haze”.

Back at the shopping centre, I receive my orders and am told that the shopping is over.  I go through the large doors at the entrance to the building and in a dimly lit area behind the checkout counters is a solitary bench.  Sitting there, like inmates on death row, is a cadre of sullen looking men.  Their heads are down.  It is joylessness personified.  There is no music and there is no reading material.  Occasionally they raise their heads to see if their beloved is coming through the checkout.  Near the tills are the shopping carts adorned with long antennae topped with tennis balls – a herd of cyclops  observing the misery.

May I humbly suggest that all retail outlets place a couple of comfortable chairs with some reading material nearby, for the forlorn men who would otherwise get benched.  It’s easier to pick fabric out of your arse than splinters.

Posted on May 21, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Hope to be posting a new story later today. I never seem to run out of shopping stories. This story is very typical. It is about the plight of men waiting for their female partners or spouses while they shop. Why doesn’t every retail store in the world have a few comfortable chairs and a few magazines somewhere in the store? My theory is that if stores could keep men distracted and occupied, it would give the women more time to shop. Obviously my theory is wrong!

I want to draw your attention to two upcoming events. This Sunday, May 26th. is the MS Walk. Why not lace them up and come out and support a great cause. Check in is at 9:00 a.m. and the walk commences at 10:00 a.m.

And on Saturday, June 1st. the third annual “Fit For Lit” run will be held. This is a fundraiser for ACALA, a non-profit group that provides free learning opportunities for adults and their families. You have the option of walking, running, strolling a 5K or 10K course.

I would also like to report that the various fundraising efforts for the Walsh family have been very successful. There is still an account open at the Bergengren Credit Union for anyone who would still like to make a contribution the the fire fund. Their new mini home has arrived and they hope to move in within a couple of weeks.