Same old, same old

Thanks for all your comments. I always visit The Baron and read them to him. His private room is only 2 doors away, and since I’m mobile(walker certified) it’s easy to keep in touch.


I hope that my ramblings do not convey any disrespect to these Angels of Mercy, the staff at our Rehab Center. They are fantastic and work hard to help us heal for our eventual discharge. I would not demean them for the world. I write this, because an anonymous writer sent us a non denominational prayer extolling the healers of this world and I am very grateful to receive that note. If I teased these marvelous caring, folks, it was an act of love.

I expect to trade my walker in for a cane in the next therapy session. There will be no stopping me then. No corner of the house of healing will be safe from my visits and comments.

The Honeymoon is over

The above title refers to the loss of my roommate to another room, which will be solely occupied by him, our Revered Baron. No, this is not the consequences of my bizarre dining habits. (I’ve seen people who eat with their hands, but soup?) I will be discharged this coming Wednesday. After fulfilling the minimum requirements of being able to walk, (with a cane) bathe by myself, (where’s the fun in that?) and all that’s required to get the necessary papers signed.


Most of the rooms house two inmates, thrown together in a random fashion, so one never knows who will share your haven. This can lead, to a scenario from the movie, “The Roommate from Hell,” Since one has to put on a waiting list for a private room, and one, became available yesterday, at the same time that I was told my departure date, the Baron thought it prudent to take the room, rather than wait for one to become available after I leave. (Don't tell me about run on sentences.) There was no guarantee that next Wednesday, a private room would be available.

Each person reacts to the therapy differently. It’s painful teaching your muscles and limbs to react, after the trauma that sends you to a Rehab Center. Hopefully, Norman will heal quickly and with as little pain as possible. I will look forward to continue our early bird dinners and activities that we share at our Senior Asylum. OK, senior condo .

Cuz Ruth, I’m honored that I can consider you as a cousin. Since The Baron and I share a particular history, there has to be a link between us. My first wife’s name was Thelma also. Not Thelma Also. Just Thelma. Now, how’s that for coincidence?

For those readers who expect the wit and intelligence associated with the Baron’s Muses, I apologize. If I didn’t waste my youth by hanging out in a pool room in Brooklyn, New York. I might have amounted to something. I would have quoted from the world’s great literature. All I know are Dirty limericks. (Burn’s Who?)

This afternoon, Norman and I are picketing with our new sign, "Dirty Old Men are Nice People too."

2nd day at the Cuckoo's Nest

It's me, Mike Herbstman again.  Norman is not up to dictating the latest news, and is leaving it up to me.  Nurse Rachitt should be around shortly with our meds, which keep the occupants compliant enough to handle. 
For a while, I thought the 3:AM blood collection was cancelled, but I was awakened this morning, where I accepted my fate, while The Baron chased the nurse away and told her to return at a decent hour.  She obliged, since the Bill of Rights for hospital patients, allow for this decision.
I'm alone in the room awaiting the return of the Baron from his first physical therapy session.  When a hip is broken in a few places, any body movement is a horror and I'm, sad to post that placing my friend in the wheelchair for transport caused him extreme pain not completely alleviated with pain pills. I feel for him.
When unincumbered by pain, to keep our reputation intact, we are trying to organize a mass escape with a run to the wall with knotted sheets.

First day together

What a romantic title.  That's what the Baron remarked, when I read him the title of this latest blog.  I realize it reads "The Baron says," but it's me, Mike Herbstman, who will faithfully be his Sancho Panza to my very dear and close friend.  Unfortunately, I did not take my book of Passwords, in order to sign in with my name.  Since the Baron allowed me to pen in with his credentials, I will announce that it is me.
I found out that I am the befeficiary of one act, by rooming with Norman.  It seems 3:00 AM in the morning is the time we are awakened to have blood drawn.  When I warned my companion to expect that "assault", he said he would not allow that to happen at suxh an ungodly hour and they are aware of his instructions.  Surprise, last night was the first time in the 2 weeks that I am here, to have a good nights sleep without being awakened.  Kudos to my mentor, for that added bonus.
Will keep you all apprised of any new abnormal developments.........Mike Herbstman

Unforseen Development

This is Mike Herbstman, the Baron's good friend.  (At the least, he's a good friend to me)  The Baron, I am sorry to report, broke his hip on the Cruise Ship Oasis...(second time)  and is now in the same Rehab facility as I am, with my replacement knee operation, performed 2 and a half weeks ago.  He and I will share the same room, tomorrow, when my present roommate will leave.
Since I have my trusty laptop with me, I will glad to accommodate him if he would like to add to his blog.  In payment, I will have him pay for any extra early bird charges, we incur for the next 5 years.
The next few days should be interesting. 

The Red Baron Is Temporarily Grounded

This is written by a guest blogger. 

For those who have not heard: On Monday, the Red Baron fell during a cruise and fractured his hip in four places. He was airlifted to Ft. Lauderdale, and then taken to a hospital in Del Ray, where he underwent surgery on Tuesday. Today he was transferred to a rehab center, where he is expected to spend the next few weeks. He will eventually return to this blog, but it probably will not be soon. He requests that his loyal followers remain calm, don't do anything rash, and try to be patient for his eventual return.

He is doing well, under the circumstances, and the pain pills are keeping him comfortable.

This guest blogger will monitor any comments that are sent, and will publish those that are not too rude or do not violate the terms of use. We expect that some will attempt to blame this situation on Obama, or perhaps as an indirect result of Bush's tax cuts. Those comments will be published, even if facts or logic are ignored by the authors.

Health updates will also be provided.

MOOSE

The Great John Moose Reardon has gone to that big football field in the sky.  He was a giant to a whole millennium of boys.  In his honor, there will be a week of silence on this blog. But the Baron will return.

Judge not, Crazies, Lest Ye be Judged

.....The Supreme Court today ruled that Fred Phelps, the alien minister from outer space, has every right to carry signs, vilify gays, shout hate slogans, and burn American flags at the funerals of fallen soldiers under the protection of the First Amendment.  As much as I respect the Constitution and our Supreme Court,  I'm not quite certain that the Founding Fathers would go so far as to allow this to happen at the funerals of those soldiers who died in the Revolutionary War.  Of course the American flag back then had only thirteen stars, so perhaps that would have made a difference--and I suppose there were no gays.  This guy and his humongous family--the pastor has 13 children, at least 54 grandchildren and seven great grandchildren--spew hate around the country because America refuses to tar and feather all its homosexuals.  Considering the fact of his large family, it seems he ought to have been too busy to be standing with a sign or bullhorn in a protest line.  There are certainly enough individuals in his coterie to begin his very own country.  Isn't there an island somewhere in the world where we can dump this guy?  Antarctica could be a start.  We could supply them all with Bibles to comfort them should they happen upon a gay penguin.  


.....Perhaps I'm wrong again, but was it not God who said,  "Go forth and multiply"?   While Phelps remains here, he continues his multiplication as  well as his division.  And he has, no doubt, received text messages from God prodding him to hate Islam, Israel, India, and more Islam.  For him, anything with an "I" is hateworthy.  He probably believes Ishmael from Moby Dick was a fag.  Just examine the title.  Right now I believe that most people believe the First Amendment only guarantees free speech.  Not too many Americans can claim to know that it also guarantees several other rights.  The Bill of Rights part of our Constitution is a remarkable document, and the Supreme Court's function is to see that those rights are not infringed upon.  Lucky for Pastor Phelps who in a lawsuit against him required that he pay several million dollars to the family who were trying to bury their soldier son without the virulent protesters on the sidewalk.

Who's "sui generis"--one of a kind? Not me (or is it "not I"?)

.....It's important for me to clear up a couple of things.  First of all, I do wear replicas of the DFC & Air Medals that have been awarded to me.  I am honored that the Distinguished Flying Cross was first awarded to the civilian fliers, Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart by President Roosevelt.  Since then, only airmen who have seen combat can wear those medals.  I have been awarded two DFCs for my experiences in WWII.  According to the document that accompanied the medals, they are awarded for "valor and extraordinary heroism in aerial combat."  I am not prepared or interested in recounting what I, myself, did to earn these medals, and I never will care to discuss it--I wear the replica pins on my hats and on my suspenders (whose primary use is to uphold my pants) solely in memory of my friends who lost their lives in battle.  I do not wear them to glorify my own wartime record; but I do understand why people may believe so.  They can believe whatever they choose to believe, but the pins I wear help me to remember those that I lost, and to glorify their deeds, not mine.

.....And the second concern that I have is in regard to my PhD. The last time our theatre arts class put on a show for residents of our community, I had a monologue that I was to read, and our leader showed me a copy of the program which listed my name as Dr. Norman Ross.  I asked her not to use my title because it was not appropriate in that context; that is, in a playbill. The title Dr. should only be used in conjunction with a medical degree. Neither do I wish to be addressed by my title if not in an academic environment--for example, if I am teaching a class.  I do not want people to address me as "Dr. Ross" around here, although there are a couple of residents with that title who have no objections to being addressed as "Dr."  As for me, I cannot cure a cold or a disease or deliver a baby, or do hip surgery--if someone around here wants help from me, I can help them with their spelling--and that's about it.

.....So, let it be known and broadcast that I really do not go around patting myself on the back, nor do I think I'm the bees knees or the cat's pajamas.  If I am--that's for others to say, not me (or is it "not I"?)