Tag Archives: books

HELLO AGAIN!

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All right, it was a wee break but I’m back now. Hello, how have you been?

So here is what happened, in a nutshell. Jack got sick end of May. It was touch and go for a day or so, and then three stable days before they let him come home. Short version of what caused it: smoking.

So Jack has not had a cigarette since, and I’ll tell you a funny story about that in a minute.

Right now, I’m sitting in Glenariff, at my friend Liz Weir’s camping barn, enjoying a cuppa tea and some lovely Irish breakfast bread with Damson jelly. Jack has been ensconced at his sister’s house in Stonehaven (very near Aberdeen) and will be staying the winter. I’ll be going back and forth while attending to some contractual obligations here: to whit, writing a book about Hurricane Helene with co-author Roxy Toddy, and running a few conferences.

Glen Ariff from Liz’s camping barn kitchen

People naturally have a lot of questions: how soon will you move to Scotland, is Jack coming back, will you sell your house? To all we give the same answer: we don’t know; ask us again in the Spring. Right now, we are glad Jack is alive, grateful for the National Health Service in Scotland offering free and quality care, and taking things as they come.

I am setting up my “retirement” jobs of editing, copy writing, indexing, and the rest. Probably get that onto this blog’s host site over the winter. Running around with Liz telling stories has reminded me how much fun it is, and how demanding physically. Sitting at Liz’s giant table enjoying my third cuppa tea, I’m reminded how many demands there are on my time in the US that keep me from writing, and how easy it would be to slip back into that on my return stateside. The Helene book is contracted, and is a project of the heart. What comes after, more bits and bibs or a return to the world of words, spoken and written?

We shall see. Meanwhile, I promised you a funny story about Jack’s hospital release:

Anthony was the respiratory therapist assigned to turn the assortment of machines, tubes and wires Jack was sent home with into something we knew how to use. He went through everything twice, patiently, until I felt I had it. Life was going to be different: no candles, no open flames, no cooking for Jack until he got the hang of trailing wires and all that.

Anthony turned to where Jack lay in the hospital bed. Fixing Jack with his steely blue eyes, Anthony said, “People set themselves on fire, lighting up while on oxygen. We had one yesterday we couldn’t save. Woman crisped herself.”

Jack nodded, looking something between calm and exasperated. Near death experiences have a way of taking the drama out of drama.

From behind Anthony, I piped up. “If Jack ever smokes again, I’ll set him on fire myself.”

Anthony choked back a laugh, then reached for a form. “Right, this is the release. We’ve covered everything, except–” he glanced over his shoulder at me, then back at Jack. “Well, the last question before we can release you.” He looked at me again, then spoke to Jack. “Do you feel safe in your own home?”

Jack signed. We went home. He hasn’t smoked since, and the equipment went back to its makers about a month before we left for the UK. We will keep you posted on journeys from here, both physical and emotional.

Oh, and if you smoke, quit now.

Here’s a link to Liz’s ceilidh barn: https://www.ballyeamonbarn.com/

For Those Who Have Ears to Hear

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My day job took me to DC. I’m on the 12th floor of a hotel, looking out over the city, which had a snowstorm. Overnight, it looked like the little pellets inside a snow globe, and in the lamplight as I watched the snow fly, it was beautiful.

I stood looking out my hotel room window, and thought, “There are two men out there who have done the same, only with acquisition on their minds. They don’t see a strange mix of buildings and beauty; they see something they feel they own.”

Tuesday, the meetings I attended talked about how to talk to the legislators regarding rural health policy (think the sexy topics of Medicare and Medicaid) which we will do today. I am at the National Rural Health Association’s annual Policy Institute, since you ask.

Tuesday, several men in suits told us which words to avoid, which words to focus on. What no one discussed much was, how do you talk to people who work for someone who considers us serfs? Who looks out over the city and doesn’t think, “how can I make this place better,” but “how much can I enrich myself from this place?”

Maybe we didn’t discuss it because there is no way to get into that mindset and come out whole.

There was one interesting group discussion. Someone pointed out that “rural health” can be framed as a national security issue. If we can’t make them feel compassion for the loss of places where women can go to have babies, perhaps we can shock them with the potential loss of their own safety and security? We supply the food, the raw materials that become power (as in electricity, don’t stretch that into a metaphor, k thanks?). We supply the soldiers that fight wars and “keep” peace. Rural is vital to the proper functioning of the United States.

Mmhmm. Today is the day we go talk to the elected men (and some women) in suits, who work for the men in suits looking out their windows at what they believe they own. Those elected ones, they must be in some confusion at the moment. One hopes. It depends on why decided to occupy an office in the capital in first place. Did they believe they could make the world a better place, or that they could better their worlds? That they could do both with integrity and good results?

Moral high ground is slippery, and sometimes it walks through dark valleys. Good luck, elected officials. You’re going to need it.

But so are we, the grass roots non-profits and other care providers who find ourselves suddenly framing arguments without using certain words, and shining bright lights on how lucrative we are to their agenda. We’re being drawn into their kind of fight, and it would be naïve to believe that we can refuse to do that with any good results for the people counting on us to get them care.

I am praying to hold onto some integrity, intelligence, and a sense of humor today. Humility may come in handy, too. When people speak different dialects, you need to speak theirs to get things done. It’s called code switching, changing your accent and vocabulary to make communication more clear. It doesn’t usually have a moral component.

Except this time. Here we go.