May 29 '04
Volume 417


I've Had Surgery An Exploitation Study

I have never been accused of being a hypochondriac, but perhaps that's because my health has always been relatively good. Of course, I had several of the childhood illnesses of my day, including chicken pox and German measles, but I managed to miss polio and the mumps. A vaccine for polio was discovered during my formative years, but it came too late for a few children in or near the town of Iuka, MS, where my family lived when I began my schooling. Were there an Olympic event for worrying, my mom would have been a medallist, and there's no way to measure the worrying she must have done over the possibility that I might contract polio.

I've never been one to wish ill fortune upon myself, but I do recall thinking it would have been nice to have had my tonsils and adenoids removed. Naturally, Mom prayed otherwise, for she had read or heard of children dying either during the surgical procedure or from hemorrhaging later. Yet, I knew of children who survived the procedure and were allowed to eat all the Hershey candy bars and ice cream they could hold. In my simple mind, the end justified the means. However, I now doubt that candy and ice cream would have been served in the generous portions I so imagined. As for my tonsils and adenoids, I still have them. As for polio, it is apparently no longer a threat, and I must have developed an immunity to mumps.

I've made it this far without a broken bone save the one in my nose which I never knew was broken until I visited an ear, nose, and throat Doctor, thinking my breathing problems were all sinus related. Surgery was required to repair my "deviated septum," but I rarely think of my "nose job" as surgery, because I wasn't cut open. In a similar vein, my last kidney stone required a surgical procedure for removal. I would just as soon not explain that procedure, but I was put to sleep for the surgery, and I was not cut open.

My mostly spotless record of good health and that of not being cut open came to an abrupt end on February 17, 2004 when I was cut open in order to have a cancerous prostate removed. Slightly more than three months have since passed, and folks still caution me about trying to do too much for fear I shall hurt myself. In most cases, I appreciate their concern for my well-being, and in a few cases, I use their concern to my advantage. For example, consider my fishing trip with friends a few weeks ago.

When Gordon Sansing and I were getting our gear into his lightweight aluminum boat, and as I was about to grab the battery, he advised, "You don't need to pick that up!"

Later that afternoon, as we attempted to drag the boat onto the bank, Lee Gordon or Jim Hess offered, "Wait a minute, Wayne, let me do that."

At first, I was a little uncomfortable allowing others to do for me the things I felt I could do for myself. Back at the lodge, Gordon Sansing helped me unload everything from my car including a couple of heavy ice chests.

By our second day on the lake, I began to use the phrase, "I've had surgery, you know," to my advantage.

If I failed to set the hook properly, I chimed, "I've had surgery, you know."

If I snagged my lure on a stump or limb, it wasn't my fault because, "I've had surgery, you know."

My friends didn't seem to mind my reminding them continually that I'd had surgery and good-naturedly accepted my attempts to be humorous.

Their reactions were predictable, "Well, that explains it, or I should have known."

I only regret I didn't think of using "I've had surgery, you know," sooner, and maybe Gordon would have strung the fish I caught, instead of me having to do it.

Having returned home from my fishing trip, the occasions to sing my new song haven't been too numerous, but I've managed to talk Jason into cooking supper more than once.

Folks, with whom I work often ask, "Well, are you 100% yet?"

For a laugh, I typically respond, "I'll never be 100% again. I've got parts missing."

I’ve probably gotten all of the mileage out of my surgery that I can expect, and any sympathy that’s still out there is getting harder to find. I told someone earlier that I feel physically strong enough to do anything I want to do. However, I’ve discovered I’m not as strong as I feel, and I do strive to keep that in mind whenever I’m engaged in any strenuous physical activity.

After all, "I’ve had surgery, you know."


Landscape Project It Started Out Small And Grew

My sister thinks it was my visit to Lamar Bearden’s home that prompted me to begin a landscape project. I had to correct her thinking and remind her that my flowerbed project had begun before I went to Atlanta. However, I must say that upon seeing Lamar’s manicured landscapes, I was inspired to do more than I originally planned.

There are not many flowers in our flowerbeds, partly because I don’t know which types of plants to put where and partly because flowers take a lot of time to maintain and/or replace. Therefore, I'm more comfortable working with shrubs and monkey grass in that these require less attention.

A few weeks ago, as I inspected the flowerbed adjacent to the driveway, the one that is anchored with a lamp pole, I noticed the grass was about to take over the bed. I used the tiller to uproot most of the Bermuda grass and extended the bed a couple of feet, thinking at the time that I would plant some variegated monkey grass in front of the hedge to balance that along the front walkway. Then, having returned from being inspired by Bearden Acres, I attacked the grass in the flowerbed with a vengeance, getting on my hands and knees to remove as much of the root structure as possible.

As I inspected the badly worn plastic edging that enclosed two sides of the triangle-shaped flowerbed, I realized it should be replaced, and I decided I should go ahead and purchase enough new edging to enclose the whole bed.

At The Hardware Store, where I had bought edging last summer, they told me they had sold out, and because it was a special order item they could not tell me when they would have any more. Instead, they directed me to Paradise Pools, east of Pontotoc. In turn, Paradise Pools explained they didn’t sell edging and referred me to The Hardware Store. When I told them The Hardware Store had sent me to them, they suggested Moore’s Feed Store. After walking around for what seemed like miles both inside and outside of the feed store someone finally offered to help me.

"I’m sorry sir, we don’t sell edging," he shared, when I explained what I needed.

My next stop was our local Wal-Mart, though I didn’t really expect to find the heavy-duty edging I needed. And, sure enough, they didn’t have what I wanted. Had I chosen to use what they had, it would not have been enough to enclose the flowerbed.

I remembered seeing my neighbor, Raymond Montgomery, with some in the back of his pickup a week or so earlier. Finding him cutting his yard, I asked him where he had bought the edging.

"I’ve got some if you want to use it," he offered. "But, I can show you something I think you’ll like better. It’s made out of concrete, and it comes in red and natural colors. Come on; get in my truck, and we’ll drive down the street to Barbara’s. I did all of her landscaping."

We hopped into the truck, but we didn’t go anywhere. Mr. Raymond’s wife had forgotten her purse when she left the church, borrowed his keys to the car, and was gone to find her purse. Mr. Raymond’s truck keys and car keys were together, so we sat and waited, but it didn't take us long to decide to stand outside the pickup and in the shade. After about a half-hour, I told him to just pick me up when Miss Sue got back, and I walked back home.

A half-hour later he pulled up in my driveway in his Cadillac and honked the horn. I was in the back of the house and didn’t hear him, but Jason came out about the time Mr. Raymond pulled in, and he told me Mr. Raymond was waiting on me.

Mr. Raymond was quite pleased with how his project turned out. Barbara had chosen the red edging and Mr. Raymond recommended a reddish colored mulch.

"I kinda' like the red mulch," he commented. "I think it makes the plants stand out."

I had to agree with him, and I thought the concrete edging would be the perfect thing to use at my house, too. I'll have to see if my Barbara wants red or plain edging, but I definitely want to use concrete instead of plastic.

"What I like about the concrete is it's permanent," Mr. Montgomery added. "That plastic stuff will work it's way out of the ground."

"I wonder how permanent it'll be if Sara Sue backs over it some night when she's leaving my house," I thought.

Back at my house, I showed Mr. Raymond the flowerbed I wanted to enclose.

"You know what you ought to do?" he suggested. "You ought to go ahead and run the edging in the front of your house from the garage door to the front door. It would really look good."

The area he suggested was already bordered by a concrete walkway, but I had to agree with him once more.

"What I’d like to do is run it all across the front, and if I have enough money, then I want to replace the plastic edging around the berm near the street," I responded. (Berm may not be the correct landscaping term, but the area consists of a small mound of dirt and mulch and houses a white crepe myrtle, several dwarf nandinas, a section of hedge and several clumps of monkey grass.)

"John, my brother-in-law, has one of those old-timey picks. It's just right to dig the trench to set the edging in. We could help you, if you want us to," Mr. Raymond stated.

John Schubert and Raymond Montgomery were kind enough to trim shrubbery for me back in February while I convalesced and wouldn't take any pay for their work.

I'll let y'all help, but I insist on paying for your work," I bargained.

The two men team-up and do a lot of landscaping around Pontotoc. One of them is seventy-nine and the other one is eighty-two, and, believe it or not, either one can outwork me on one of my good days.

All of a sudden, my simple flowerbed project of removing the grass and replacing the plastic edging had mushroomed into a major project. Originally, I figured it would cost as much as forty dollars for the plastic edging that I needed. After measuring the linear footage of all that we discussed, I saw the figure rise closer to three hundred. My simple project was no longer just mine. I turned it over to a real crew.

When Mr. John and Mr. Raymond showed up at my house all loaded down with concrete edging and tools, I kept out of their way for perhaps an hour or two. When I could stand it no longer, I began helping them unload the two-foot lengths of concrete edging. Soon after that, I was helping tap the edging into place.

I had told Mr. Raymond that I wanted to divide some of the monkey grass and set a few clumps of it in the flowerbed I wanted to enlarge. He thought that was a good idea and suggested a few yellow lilies mingled in, too.

"I can get those for three dollars each," he explained regarding the lilies. "I think a dozen would be plenty."

"I also think it'd be better to edge the other side of your garage, rather than spend the money to put a ring around the berm," he continued, "But, we'll do whatever you want."

I liked his suggestion and gave my okay to proceed. However, I soon learned there didn't seem to be a stopping place with the expanded edging project. Mentally, I could see the costs getting out of hand, but even then I sent Mr. Raymond back for more edging to go in front of our guesthouse. That afternoon, I tried to keep up with Mr. John, but the physical exertion and the ninety-degree weather sapped my strength. At the end of the day, all that remained to be done the next working day was some clean-up and the scattering of two more loads of mulch. The three of us got more accomplished in one day than I could have done by myself in six days, but it took a toll on my body.

That night after showering off the dirt and sweat of the day, I sat in the recliner in the living room, as my muscles complained with soreness.

"Well dear," I said to Barbara, "I think I may have overdone it, today. I'm hurting, right now."

And I did truly hurt. My feet hurt and my toes were sore, probably because I never changed into my boots. My thumbs felt as if they were stretched, and my arms hurt from lifting the concrete edging. My legs hurt from all the squatting, and my back muscles were sore from bending down. My face was mildly sunburned and that also hurt. I had no doubt that I had overdone it.

Barbara looked me over and replied, "Yep, I think you have overdone it."

It's been a few days since Mr. John and Mr. Raymond finished the edging project, but I'm extremely pleased with the results. The front of our house and the front of the guesthouse, look great. The edging sharply defines the flowerbeds and the red mulch really does bring out the color of the plants. Most of my soreness is gone, and Mr. Raymond and Mr. John have volunteered their time to help me dress up the berm, just as soon as I'm able to get the area prepped. I hope that's no further out than Memorial Day.


Bodock Beau Reminicsing Time Again

Ken Gaillard sent the following our way. For folks over fifty, some of the following give cause for reminiscing.

Remember "Continental kits?" They were rear bumper extenders and spare tire covers that were supposed to make any car as cool as a Lincoln Continental.

When did we quit calling them "emergency brakes?" At some point "parking brake" became the proper term. But I miss the hint of drama that went with "emergency brake."

I'm sad, too, that almost all the old folks are gone who would call the accelerator the "foot feed."

"Coast to coast" is a phrase that once held all sorts of excitement and now means almost nothing. Now we take the term "worldwide" for granted. This floors me.

On a smaller scale, "wall-to-wall" was once a magical term in our homes. In the '50s, everyone covered their hardwood floors with, wow, wall-to-wall carpeting! Today, everyone replaces their wall-to-wall carpeting with hardwood floors. Go figure.

When's the last time you heard the quaint phrase "in a family way?" It's hard to imagine that the word "pregnant" was once considered a little too graphic, a little too clinical for use in polite company. So we had all that talk about stork visits and "being in a family way" or simply "expecting."

Apparently "brassiere" is a word no longer in usage. I said it the other day and my daughter cackled. I guess it's just "bra" now.

"Unmentionables" probably wouldn't be understood at all. It's hard to recall that this word was once said in a whisper - "divorce." And no one is called a "divorcee" anymore. Certainly not a "gay divorcee." Come to think of it, "confirmed bachelors" and "career girls" are long gone, too.

Here's a word I miss - "percolator." That was just a fun word to say. And what was it replaced with? "Coffeemaker." How dull! Mr. Coffee, I blame you for this.

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