Nursing Home Miracle

Miracle Man

By Charlie Melton

Miracles are all around us. One of those miracles just walked out of our door. We’ll call him Hank.

In April last year Chasity and Roas went to screen him at the rehab facility. Hank was alone as often happens. Other nursing homes had turned Hank away. He had no hope.

Hank had a stroke in January. He could move his eyes. He could move his left hand slightly. He had no other functions. He couldn’t eat. He couldn't communicate. He was just an inanimate shell of what he’d been 4 months before. In those 4 months Hank made no progress.

Chasity says Hank not having health insurance was an issue. Even when a person has health insurance, it’s hard to pay the bills when giving long term care. Hank obviously needed therapy, but even if he had Medicaid they only pay for outpatient therapy. With the decreased payments in 

Illinois, even with Medicaid it would be difficult to provide his care.

Roas tears up a little when she talks about Hank. Roas saw something in his eyes that compelled her. Roas took Hank’s hand in hers. She told him they work in a small home in Enfield, not far from his town. She asked if he wanted to come to Enfield and he cried. Hank tried to kiss her hand but couldn’t. The deal was cemented at that point.

Chasity and Roas brought Hank to the home in Enfield. They went about the business of providing for his needs, as they do for every resident.

The consensus is that Hank had no will to live. He thought he had no value. Hank gradually learned that he was wrong.

Darlene provided the restorative care for Hank. She hung a red balloon over his bed. Darlene told him to hit the balloon. He couldn’t. She didn’t give up on him. She became his coach and sometime nemesis. One day, probably to make Darlene shut up, he hit the balloon. That was the first step on a long journey. Hit the balloon. Such a simple but profound act forever changed everything.

Three weeks after coming to Enfield Hank spoke. In the 4 months at the rehab center since his stroke he’d not progressed but in 3 weeks in a nursing home he spoke.

Hank had been unable to eat, but after 4 weeks in the nursing home he was able to eat. His feeding tube was removed.

Jennifer was one of his nurses. She’s from the same town as Hank, and knows some of the same people he knows. She used this as common ground to talk to him. Jennifer learned about his family, especially the Grandson he adores. She engaged him in small talk. She, and many others, helped him see that Enfield had a support system for him. He’d never had one before

He cried, he got angry, he laughed. Every day with Darlene he would mouth the word “Why?” Darlene told him they just have to try. Just try. He mouthed “I hate you” every time to Darlene but she kept coaching him. When he could manage holding his hand up he’d give Darlene the finger but she still persisted.

Hank began to care.

Whether willingly or unwillingly, he worked and ultimately followed Darlene’s directions. Hank went from immobile to sitting and then walking. From blood, sweat, and tears he walked.

At first he couldn't even lift a 1 pound weight. He mastered and surpassed the weights. From heroic efforts and supported by the love of his caregivers he grew stronger and functioned better.

Hank worked for a year. He made friends. He got his sense of humor back.

Hank walked out the door to his own home.

Joyce was one of many aids that cared for Hank. Joyce says, “He worked so hard. He came so far and did so well. He is a miracle.”

Amy is another of Hanks nurses. She also tears up when asked about Hank. “He came here a compete invalid and walked out” she says. “He makes me feel I succeeded as a nurse. I think Hank is a miracle”.

None of us know how miracles work or why. Occasionally we all get to be a small part in a divine plan. Though impossible to explain or quantify what happens in a miracle, it’s incredible to see one.

Hank, your caregivers are thankful for the miracle that is you. Thank you for coming into our home. Thank you for walking out the door.

Earth Day Exposed

Exposing “Going Green”

By Charlie Melton

I really intended to write a nice, feel good piece on Earth Day, which is the 22^nd of April. A key tenant of this is “going green”. Going green is good for the earth. I really want to do that because I like the earth quite a bit. I've lived on it most of my life, and it hasn't killed me yet. I really want to do that but I can’t. I can’t because I did my research and I won’t lie to you.

Earth Day was started in 1970. Though I didn't find anything that said so, I assume it is an outgrowth of the hippie movement of the 60’s. That gives it a “coolness factor”, which I like. It also coincides with Vladimir Lenin’s 100^th birthday, which I don’t like. For you youngsters that don’t know, Lenin is the guy that brought Russia a revolution and communism, and the rest of the world a cold war. He was known as the leader of the commies, also known as “reds”. It’s probably just a coincidence that Earth Day is on his birthday. It would be paranoid to think otherwise. My research just made me paranoid.

Earth Day is an international event endorsed by the U.N. We all have opinions on the U.N. and for most of us it’s not favorable. I think they’re just another group of egomaniacs intent on telling me what to do.

The focus for this year’s international Earth Day is “Green Cities”. That seems like a good idea on the surface, because most of the cities I’ve been in could use some greening up. What could be so bad about that? City people growing gardens have to be a good thing. I looked up a green city in Virginia. They have more rules than a maximum security prison.  They’re green because green is good for you and you’re going to like it or else. When you build you pick one of 5 exterior finishes. There are a plethora of 7 materials to pick from. You don’t get to pick the atrium garden because you’re going to get one whether you like it or not. . Hooray, it’s Earth Day.

Do you have the curly compact fluorescent light bulbs? They use less energy than other bulbs. They’re “Earth Day” compliant. That means they’re “green”, so that makes it OK paying ten prices for one. They’re green unless you break one. According to the EPA if you break a CFL bulb you have to evacuate the room, turn off the ventilation, and do a lot of other things. Hooray, it’s Earth Day.

While we’re on the subject of electricity, hybrid cars are green. We believe that they’re energy efficient and good for the earth because “they” say so. I've found it requires more energy to make a hybrid car than to make a regular car. You make up the difference in gas, though. You’ll save about $300 a year on gas, and after only 7 years you’ll offset the higher cost of the hybrid. You’ll offset the cost unless you have to buy a battery pack for several thousand dollars. Hooray, it’s Earth Day.

The E.P.A. really made up my mind on the “Earth Day”-Lenin connection. They’re heavily into the Earth Day/Green Cities. One of their key indicators for a green city is equal distribution of wealth. For us familiar with communism, this is their thing. I couldn't believe I found this in the literature from our own government but I found it and many other troubling statements. Hooray, it’s Earth Day.

To sum it up I found that the United Nations likes Earth Day. They like “going green” as well. Going green means I use the things they want me to use, live the way they want me to live, and share my money with people who don’t have any. Am I paranoid, or is green the new red?

 Hooray, it’s Earth Day.

Smart Phones Are Destroying Families

Technology You Shouldn't Dare Use

By Charlie Melton

We baby-boomers are embracing new technologies. We've gone from a dumb old crank phone to a very smart phone. We gave up vinyl records for 8-tracks, then cassettes, then CDs. Our TVs are flat but hold hundreds of channels somehow. It’s hard to keep up. Even if we study new technologies we don’t really understand it. Let’s have a look into the seamy underbelly of one of the new gadgets.

Let’s start with the “smart phone”. It’s a computer. It’s a music player. It’s a camera, although frequently a fuzzy one. It is pretty good at just about everything, except functioning as a phone. If it was really a phone, wouldn't it look like one? Wouldn't it be ergonomic enough to actually hold to your ear? Using a smart phone feels like you’re holding a brick to the side of your head.

The ungainliness of using it as a telephone is a clue. I believe the unknown purpose of smart phones is to prevent communication instead a facilitating communication.

Smart phones are great to send text messages, but text is a method to communicate when you don’t want to commit to a real conversation. The messages are as obscure as semaphore on a foggy day. Typing a message requires use of a virtual keyboard with virtual keys the size of a grain of rice. You can barely see where you have to press. Being able to hit the correct spot 2 out of 10 times is about as efficient as it gets. The net result is that the recipient gets information totally unrelated to what the sender intended. Couple this with the devilish “autocorrect” and this can go very badly. An attempt to relay good cheer may result in getting beat up or fired from your job.

A smart phone is full of “apps”. That’s short for “Ain't Pertaining to People”. Many of them are games designed to make you obsess over something stupid, like crushing little candies.  Do you think I’m wrong? Try to talk to someone in a waiting room. Try talking to a teenager anywhere at all. You can’t do it. They’re totally engrossed in the game or whatever the distraction is.  Some apps show where your friends are in relation to your location, but I’m sure that is so you can avoid them so you can continue crushing candies.

Most smart phones come with “social media” programs on them. Social media is a means by which you lie about yourself so you can communicate with others that are lying about themselves. If everyone is lying is it really communication? Communication implies some sort of relationship. I would think that relationships require a genuine person on at least one side.

What is the point of making a phone that prevents communicating with others? It’s just like when you have a jealous spouse. It’s to isolate you so it’ll own you. If the phone thing consumes all of your attention it feels secure. More accurately, the company that makes the things feels secure. When a little plastic brick is your best and only friend, you’re a customer for life. That means you’ll continue to buy and upgrade and download forever.

We've learned what it means to embrace the technology associated with the smart phone. It gradually sucks you into a relationship that supersedes all normal human relationships. It will cut you off from the rest of humanity. It’ll make you a mind numbed drone. Beware the wiles of the smart phone.

Our next topic is Bluetooth: Evil speakers or colorful dental option? Just let me finish the next level on my game and then I’ll be ready.

Tax time is the Right Time

It’s Time to Pay Up

By Charlie Melton

It’s that special time of year. It’s not only the time of year we stare in disbelief at a stack of Christmas bills. It’s also that most patriotic time of year. It’s tax preparation time.

Paying taxes has been a highly revered ritual since time immemorial. Wait, I chose the wrong word. Paying taxes is a highly reviled ritual since time immemorial. Reviled is the word I’m looking for. We despise paying taxes, even though we reap many benefits from this civic duty.

By paying taxes, we get all sorts of benefits. Some, like procuring nice digs for elected officials, are readily apparent. Other benefits are harder to spot.

We pay taxes so that our trusted elected officials have nice places to hang out. Who wants senators or congressional representatives to be uncomfortable while doing what we overpay them to do? We can’t have them uncomfortable like our military is uncomfortable. That just wouldn’t be proper. They have to have those nice leather chairs and polished wood desks to sit at while sending others into discomfort. If we didn’t pay taxes, the legislators might get a splinter or pressure sore from less plush furnishings. Do you want that? I know I don’t. They also need the congressional gym to relieve the stress of spending our money. It’s all very necessary.

We pay taxes so that the less fortunate don’t have to, well, do whatever. I personally feel great going to work under the influence of a soothing balm and ibuprofen so that an able bodied male half my age can go fishing with his buddies. His value is so much greater than mine, I’m glad to pay for his numerous benefits.

If we didn’t pay taxes, protestors wouldn’t protest. There’ll be no time to loot, pillage, and plunder if they have to work to pay their own ways. What would become of our country without the violent and agitated rabble to keep us straight? It could be very bad.

We also pay taxes for prisoners. Judges say that lawbreakers have to be confined. They never say they have to be uncomfortable. If a judge sentenced a person and said, “Ten years in the state prison and no free dental care or college classes”, we’d pay fewer taxes. Would the discount on taxes be worth contending with really unattractive mug shots from a lack of dental care? I just saw an Illinois lawsuit demanding hearing aids for prisoners. I’ll be the first in line to pay for that. Elderly residents would probably agree if they had the appliances available so they could hear the proposal.

I’m being sarcastic, of course. I don’t think any of us would mind taxes if they were spent in a way that resembled sanity in any way. Thoreau felt the same way. He refused to pay his taxes because he didn’t approve of how they were spent. He went to jail because of his refusal, but he saw that as an adventure. They finally released him but he remained unchanged in his opinions.

We fought a revolution against taxes, and we won. I constantly remind British friends of this, but they are unimpressed. They still line up to pay their TV taxes, road taxes, and even taxes on the privilege of an outside faucet.We’re currently not far behind those British. Our legislators spend incredible amounts of energy taxing everything they can get their greedy little hands on. The rock song “Taxman” explains it best: “…If you try to sit I’ll tax your seat….If you take a walk I’ll tax your feet…”

It occurs to me that if politicians served like the military serves, we’d be better off financially. Put up some barracks in D.C. for congress and let the military stay in the capital building. I don’t have a problem with a young corporal having a nice chair and a deluxe gym. Perhaps if congress serves like the military serves we’d have a little more prudence in government.

Grandsons Rule- Literally

A Guide To Church

Papaw can't write today. He needs a little rest. Last time I looked, he had a cool rag on his head and was talking to himself.

My name is Charlie. I'm five years old. I'll write to you today.

What to do at church:

If your grownups make you go to church, like mine do, I can help you get through it. Just follow these simple steps.

1. If you stay close to your grownup when you go in the foyer, it will feel confident and start talking. Count to 3, then move away real quiet. Look for any tables, shelves, or drawers. Sometimes these things hide candy. Try to find a paper that grownups sign their names on. They use these to volunteer to do important things. There is only one copy so wad it up and put it in your pocket to color on later. This is a good place to stick your tongue out at a girl. Don't get too close because they have cooties.

2. Follow your grownup to the pew. Try to get an aisle seat in case you need to escape later. Sit quietly until church starts. Now, it's opposite time. When they stand, lay down. When they sit, stand up on the pew. When they sing, try dancing on your seat. When the grownups pray, count to 5, then drop a song book from real high to the pew. Watch for people to jump. It's funny.

3. Look for a little old Grandma. Get her attention. Give her a big smile. If she smiles back, run to her pew and give her a big hug. She may smell like old people, but you'll get candy or some money. On your way back to your seat run into the aisle and do a little dance.

4. Crawl. When the mood strikes you, get on the floor and crawl away. This causes a big uproar. Nice.

5. Look at your grownup. If it has a red face and bulging eyes, say "I love you." and give them a big hug. Sit quietly until they relax, then repeat steps 2 through 5.

I hope this helped. If you follow these simple steps you'll learn to love church as much as I do.

The State of Illinois is Ill.

The State Is Unwell

By Charlie Melton

Illinois has a disease.  We’re number 1 or near that in everything undesirable about a state.

Illinois is the only state that has an A- credit rating. We’re the worst. The states on our borders are AAA, which is good.

Illinois is bad for job growth. Our neighbor Indiana is near the top of the list but Illinois is near the bottom at number 40. While we’re similar to Indiana in geography and culture, we are way below them in job growth. This really doesn't make sense if you see that the average education level in Illinois is higher than the level in Indiana. We were all taught that education leads to better jobs, but Illinois defies that idiom.

Curiously, the rate of obesity in Illinois isn’t very bad. I can only assume that in Illinois most of us can’t afford to eat enough to be obese. Maybe so many of us are out of work and able to exercise daily it keeps the obesity rate lower.

It doesn't make sense we’re a dysfunctional state. We should have everything going for us. We’re in the center of the continent. We have one of the largest cities in the country. We have 2 of the largest rivers in the country and all of the commerce these rivers can possibly bring. We have use of the Great Lakes. Major air hubs are at our disposal. We have lots of interstate highways for numerous trucking enterprises. We have minerals and an ocean of oil. We can, and do, grow enough food for millions. Our universities are excellent. We have talent and drive and desire to succeed. We have all these things going for us and still can’t get our collective act together.

I think our state is sick but I can’t accurately diagnose it. Perhaps a multidisciplinary team of diagnosticians can come up with a diagnosis and a treatment plan. A couple of psychiatrists, an MD, and a social worker could get together and devise an intervention.

Maybe Illinois is bipolar. When the state is in its manic phase it starts a lot of projects it can’t afford and throws a bunch of money out the fiscal window. The inevitable depressive phase comes and the state locks itself away from everyone and covers its head with a blanket waiting for the sky to fall.

There’s a possibility Illinois is schizophrenic. While we don’t see a lot of officials walking around talking to imaginary friends, there are other indications of this disease. The state is completely out of touch with what the normal among us call “reality”.  Another indication is speech that doesn’t make sense. If you've read or heard the official gobbledygook in press releases out of the capital you know what I mean. The State having hallucinations would explain a lot of their behaviors.

Perhaps the great State of Illinois is psychopathic. The state lacks fear of repercussions for bad behavior. The state lacks any real human emotions like affection or responsibility for actions. Its pastime is torturing people; in this case its citizens.

I’m not a diagnostician but I know nuts when I see it. The state needs some intense therapy or a big injection of a mood altering medication in its rear end. After the State is subdued somebody smarter than me can devise an effective treatment plan.

Whatever the specific diagnosis of our State, we can all agree that it’s just plain nuts. It’s not the endearing “flowers in the hair dancing in the rain” nuts. It’s the scary “chainsaw and leather mask” kind of nuts.

The good news up is that when you’re at the bottom the only way you can go is up. I just hope we’re not chain sawed before then.

Life of a Hobo.

Hobo in the House

By Charlie Melton

I strut into work. I tried sauntering into work but it’s hard to appear busy when sauntering. Marching doesn't work well because it makes you look stupid. Slinking into work makes the boss suspicious, so I choose to strut. Strutting works for me.

So I strut into work and Mary looks up. Her eyes squint a little and she wrinkles her nose like she smells something overripe and distasteful. “Where did you get that shirt?” she asks. I reply I bought it for a quarter at a garage sale. “Do you like it?” I queried. “No. You look like a hobo” she retorts.

I’m devastated. Well, not devastated. A better word would be irked. I spent a good 5 minutes and good money for a barely used shirt. I don’t think I look like a hobo. 

What the heck is a hobo anyway?

Traditionally hoboes ride trains. I rode a train once. I rode Amtrak to Vegas. My compartment wasn't very comfortable and the shower had low water pressure. The food in the dining car was really overpriced for the quality. The trip as a whole was way overpriced and slow by travel standards. I can’t imagine why a hobo would want to go through that disgrace.

Hoboes are itinerant workers. They’re not bums, which don’t work. They’re also not to be confused with tramps, which travel a lot but don’t work much. Hoboes travel to work. I’ve traveled for work. I went to a conference in Boston for work. It was a really boring week. I’ve also filled in for a guy in McLeansboro while he was on vacation. I travelled 18 or 20 miles twice a day for work, which made me an itinerant worker. I didn’t like it much, but I did it because I have what I fondly call “bills” that I have to pay. I assume hoboes travel for work to pay their mortgages and truck payments.

Hoboes are often unwelcome in communities. I know how they feel. I’ve been unwelcome. I never felt welcome in my Mother-in-laws house. I wore a “Proud Redneck” shirt in Ferguson, Missouri and felt very unwelcome. Maybe hoboes suffer the same indignities.

Hoboes have a secret code. They mark symbols in diverse places that are decipherable only to other hoboes. You can see these in any city. The ones I saw were done in spray paint in large bubble letters. Some people call it “gang graffiti” but I guess it’s the same thing. I tried to decipher it but was unable to. The very large tattooed gentlemen socializing near the symbols were not interested in interpreting the symbols and threatened to “bust a cap” in one of my unmentionable body parts. I guess the spoken language is as private as the written symbols.

Hoboes have conventions. For some reason they hold these in Iowa instead of a convention center in Orlando or Southern California. They hold a big election and choose a King and Queen. They spend a lot of time around the camp fire telling stories and visiting. The convention sounds to me like it is part senior prom and part visit to the local diner. I wonder if they have a liars table like some cafés have.

Hoboes have a code of conduct. That’s one thing they have over most of society, which doesn’t seem to have a code of conduct anymore. They vow to respect others, look for work, and to help those in need. The hoboes should probably mentor our representatives in national government and executives at some of the larger corporations.

As I learn about hoboes, I’ve decided Mary was complimenting me. Hoboes travel, they work, they have a secret language, and they convene every year. They live by a code. I haven’t found anything that would cause me to dislike them. On the contrary, I’ve learned to admire the hobo. I may even aspire to be a hobo. The life seems quite romantic and fulfilling.

I like everything except the train travel. Perhaps I can be a hobo that flies. Does the airport have a hobo waiting area? I’ll have to check it out.

Oh, and thank you Mary. I’m flattered to be called a hobo.