Cabin Fever

I am so ready for a vacation.

I can't wait to take a few days and have no plans or hurries or worries or phone calls or scanner traffic or keyboards or pagers beeping or faxes printing or newscasts or... you get the idea.

True, I can't exactly escape (nor would I want to) my little boy. But the rest of it? I'm ready to leave it all behind and re-charge my duracells.

Sometimes, I just have to see the ocean. I know that sounds nutty, but let me explain. I do not believe in past lives... but had I lived a century or more ago, and been a man... I think I might have been a sailor. The sea actually calls to me. I just itch to feel its spray on my face and smell the salty fragrance of unhatched dreams, imagine the possibilities on the distant shores and think about where the wind may take me.

As a child, I discovered this poem that sums up exactly what I mean:

Sea-Fever
by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Bring on the Nap, Please!

Two full months after agreeing to do mornings, I am now officially suffering from chronic sleep deprivation. I don't make any sense... I start dreaming the second I fall asleep... and I have a hard time staying awake and with it during the day.

It's a lot like boot camp. I'm falling asleep standing up... at my desk.

Three more days. If I can just make it three more days... I get to go back to day shift!

It Was Inevitable

Got to see my grandmother this weekend. I have two grandparents still living (out of a total, actually, of six - I had two step-grandparents who have now passed on). The two who are left - my dad's mother and my mom's father - have both been healthy as long as I could remember. It seems nothing could possibly knock them down, not diabetes ("Mother," as we call her, fights the blood sugar disorder), not colon or prostate cancer (Granddaddy), not hard times or the divorces of their children or the destruction of the houses they grew up in by fire or even outliving a total of five children between them.

Until now. I think I had written before about my grandfather's failing health. The prostate cancer he fought well - but it left him with a suppressed immune system, and he wound up with a staph infection that sapped his energy, depleted his will to fight and brought to the surface what had long been hidden - a probable case of Alzheimer's.

Mother has been fighting Alzheimer's for a few years now, and her deterioration has been much slower than I would have expected. She was merely forgetful at first, then forgetful and suspicious (common in early Alzheimer's), then forgetful, suspicious and prone to do things out of order or in an odd way (for example, boiling eggs without any water or trying to prune a tree in the middle winter, using kitchen scissors).

Through it all, though, she's never confused me for anyone else, even on the phone - when it must be more difficult to keep things straight.

Until this visit. She did pretty good, but toward the end of my visit, turned to my dad and asked, "How's little Becky?"

Dad said, "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

She instantly realized her mistake, confessing to me with a giggle, "I thought you were your mother." It's true as I've gotten older I've resembled my mother more and more - as a kid, I was nothing like her and everything like my dad. But after two hours of my having been there, she not only forgot I was there, she mixed me up.

I have to wonder how much longer she will do this sort of slow-motion free-fall. It would almost be easier to watch if it was quicker... if it wasn't so much like pouring molasses from a bowl into a bottle.

I take comfort in knowing she is still reasonably lucid, and knows me most of the time. And I'm glad I went to see her... because I fear it won't be long before she really won't know me at all. That is the day I dread most.

You Go, Sandra

I guess it's a moot point, but kudos to Justice Sandra Day O'Connor for taking a stand against yesterday's controversial Supreme Court ruling.

This is insanity. Think about it: let's say you bought a piece of land out in the country and you saw the potential development closing in. This completely clears the way for government to swoop down and just decide they can seize your land... so forget about any profit you could have made on your own property.

A highway is one thing, but eminent domain for commercial use? I don't get it. Someone please explain to me why this would be a good idea. And while you're at it... explain to me how this *doesn't* trample all over the fifth amendment.

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Sweet

I haven't said much about my day job as a reporter on here because I don't want to increase the strength of my "nut magnet".

That said, I'm going to break format here for just a moment to savor a little revenge.

One of my co-workers has pulled a prank on me. Live. On the air. So all God's people can hear.

I've been biding my time. But today is the day for my revenge.

I brought in a cake. There's nothing wrong with the cake, mind you... but I want him to *think* there's something wrong with the cake. So I've got the entire staff plotting with me to sample the cake -- and then act like it tastes funny or there's something wrong with it.

He will, of course, have already eaten a big piece.

Tee hee hee.

Give It a Rest

Can I just say something without repercussion here?

I am so sick of hearing about the mass media frenzy of the day. After months of the battle over Terri Schiavo's right to live-and-or-die-depending-on-which-side-you're-on... I thought we'd finally heard the last of the story. But no.

Autopsy reports released yesterday apparently answered no questions and only re-opened old wounds on both sides of Terri's family.

I don't care which side you're on... it's a moot point at this stage of the discussion. But for the love of God, please let this debate drop! Get yourself a living will if you don't have one but for pete's sake STOP TALKING ABOUT TERRI SCHIAVO. Let the poor girl rest in peace.

No More Streaks

Well, the good news is the streaks are gone. The bad news is, my sunless tanner sure didn't last long! I can't even keep a fake bake more than a day or two! Sheesh.

Fake Bake

Let me say this first: I am unbelievably white.

Probably the whitest person I know.

No - I take that back - the whitest person I know is a friend and former co-worker who has gone on to create his own talk show. But I digress.

What I mean is, I am pale. Vampire pale. Now, mind you, part of the reason for that is self-inflicted - I come from a long line of people who have survived skin cancer. I don't want to be a skin cancer survivor... I'd rather just not have skin cancer in the first place. So I wear sunblock, and am careful about my exposure to the sun, and I don't go to tanning beds.

But my legs have induced blindness in the unsuspecting. And this week it's been in the 80's and 90's in the MOUNTAINS. That's hot for my neck of the woods, especially this early in the year. So I gotta break out the shorts when my son, Sir Runs-Incessantly-After-the-Beagle, insists on playing outdoors.

Long story short, I got the bright (no pun intended) idea to try out a sunless tanning product, courtesy of a friend who sells Avon. How hard could this be, I asked myself. You exfoliate, then you smear yourself with this clear stuff and let it dry. What could be easier?

Ri-hight.

You try to sit still and keep a two-and-a-half-year-old from touching you. You try to see where you've already put something that's clear. You try to just get enough time alone in the bathroom to exfoliate - let alone apply sunless tanner - with a potty-training kid banging on the door and yelling, "Potty, Mama!"

My legs are hilariously streaked orange and white now. I hope this stuff wears off soon so I can scare people again with my absurdly white legs. I'm sure as heck not going to put anymore fake bake on them!

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

A guy in my area was convicted yesterday of possession with the intent to distribute cocaine, use of a firearm in relation to drug trafficking, and being a convicted felon in possession of a firearm.

Two of the three charges carry a combined sentence of up to 25 years in the pokey. The third... that whole "felon with a gun" thing... means 15 to life by itself.

Now here's what makes this guy the stupid criminal of the year. According to court testimony, the guy is at his girlfriend's apartment when she picks up a gun that she bought for him, and it goes off accidentally. It grazes the guy's temple, and he's not *seriously* hurt, but they rush him to the hospital.

Apparently he was badly hurt enough that he couldn't take the time to rid his pockets of the 28 grams of cocaine and $1800 in cash he had on him.

So... let me make sure I've got this straight... you're just hanging around your girlfriend's house with this crap in your pockets? You couldn't be bothered to check your drugs at the door? And what are you doing leaving your gun out, loaded and unlocked?

Stupid is as stupid does... or another way to put it... if you do something stupid like carry a loaded, unlocked weapon, 28 grams of cocaine and eighteen-hundred bucks in your pocket... you get what you deserve.

Army Ignores Depression?

Spotted this in the New York Times... and I'm just wondering, having experienced this with a close friend who was diagnosed with depression but who wasn't allowed a reprieve from National Guard duties... is our military so stretched thin that we have stooped to sweeping legitimate medical concerns under the rug in order to have the manpower we need? That's a shame... a shame that's likely to keep good, quality soldiers out of the service, in my opinion. Let's quit ignoring legitimate medical concerns and get our fighting men and women the medical care they need!

Wreath for Those Killed, Even at Their Own Hands

By SCOTT SHANE
Published: June 3, 2005
WASHINGTON, June 2 - On Monday, in a Memorial Day ritual, President Bush laid a wreath honoring the nation's war dead in Arlington National Cemetery. Then Liz Sweet got her turn.

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Michael Barrientos for The New York Times
Liz Sweet, at a service Monday, held a ribbon that would decorate a wreath honoring soldiers killed in Iraq.


Accompanied by a military honor guard, she helped lay a wreath honoring soldiers killed in Iraq, including her 23-year-old son, T. J. His photograph hung below the wreath on a ribbon Mrs. Sweet had fashioned in red, white and blue, a rare public tribute to a soldier who took his own life.

Although military officials were not asked for approval, Mrs. Sweet and a veterans' advocate wanted to recognize the sacrifice of soldiers who committed suicide.

For their families, the loss can be especially excruciating. "Not only did your child go off to a combat zone," Mrs. Sweet said. "Not only did your child lose his life. But something happened that you will never, ever understand."

One of the questions that haunts her is whether her son's suicide could have been prevented. In a required predeployment health questionnaire in August 2003, T. J. - it stands for Thomas John - reported that he had sought mental health treatment during the previous year.

Such an answer should have triggered a referral for further evaluation, Army officials say. But under "Referral Indicated," an Army physician's assistant had marked "None," and declared Specialist Sweet "deployable."

"The system failed," said Mrs. Sweet, a 53-year-old mental health administrator who works near Washington and lives in Frederick, Md. She has written to military officials in search of answers, receiving letters of consolation that leave her unsatisfied.

According to the Pentagon, 40 soldiers in Iraq and seven others in Afghanistan have killed themselves, and 21 marines have committed suicide either in the region or while on active duty in the United States.

The numbers do not include suicides that occurred after discharge. Veterans' advocates have identified more than 30 such cases from news accounts but say the total may be considerably higher.

Some military health experts say they believe the surreptitious threat from suicide bombers and snipers in Iraq is even more stressful than open combat. Through the end of April, 1,118 Army men and women had been evacuated from Iraq for psychiatric reasons, according to official statistics.

Through February, according to the Department of Veterans Affairs, 12,020 veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan had been treated for post-traumatic stress disorder.

The wording on the wreath that Mrs. Sweet helped set in front of the marble Tomb of the Unknowns made subtle note of those who died at their own hand at home after discharge.

"In Memory of Those Who Served and Died in Afghanistan, Iraq, Gulf and Home," said the inscription, prepared by Mrs. Sweet and Stephen L. Robinson, the director of the National Gulf War Resource Center, an advocacy group for veterans of recent wars.

Mr. Robinson, a former ranger who wrote a report on the mental health problems of soldiers in Iraq, has become an informal counselor to some families of suicides. He invited Mrs. Sweet to present his group's wreath on Monday.

"This, too, is part of the cost of war," Mr. Robinson said. He said he was not aware of any previous occasion when a soldier who died by suicide was singled out in the Memorial Day observances at the Arlington cemetery.

The suicide of T. J. Sweet II came on Thanksgiving Day in 2003, just minutes after an angry exchange with a superior as the young Army specialist rushed to find parts for a .50-caliber machine gun and begin guard duty. He was ordered to do five pushups and told he was being taken off the promotion list, his mother said.

The promotion was especially important because Specialist Sweet had vowed to outrank his father, Tom, a retired teacher who served in Vietnam. Army investigators found that Specialist Sweet had shot himself with his M-16 rifle.

Growing up in Bismarck, N.D., where his parents lived until recently, Specialist Sweet had no history of mental illness, his mother said in an interview. On her blouse she wore her son's unit crest, with the slogan, "Faithful and True," and a tiny framed portrait of her son in uniform. But there had been hints of trouble, she said.

After basic training in 1999, Specialist Sweet was assigned to Fort Riley, Kan., and had difficulty sleeping. He went to a clinic and was given a diagnosis of "generalized anxiety disorder" but no medication.

When he was preparing to leave for Iraq, he told his parents he was eager to try out his skills. But having been trained as an artilleryman, he said he feared he would make a poor infantryman. In a letter from Iraq shortly before his death, his mother said, Specialist Sweet asked if his parents could immediately send him some Ritalin, a drug he had taken in childhood for attention deficit disorder.

"They were working 18-hour shifts and couldn't take showers," Mrs. Sweet said. Her son described sandstorms that resembled the whiteout blizzards of North Dakota.

But she said she had no idea of the degree of his distress, Mrs. Sweet said, until an Army officer knocked on the door as her family prepared to sit down for Thanksgiving dinner, bringing the worst imaginable news.

Specialist Sweet was promoted, to sergeant, after all, his mother said, a decision made by his Army superiors after his funeral back home in Bismarck.

Oh, the Irony!

This kid is pretty sharp - survived seven rounds of the National Spelling Bee, making into the top twenty or so, only to fall short on "ulpan."

But check out his name tag - put together, mind you, BY the National Spelling Bee folks (the Scripps-Howard Foundation - newspaper people). See anything wrong?

Nut Magnet

A friend tells me I've found the nut magnet (Google that phrase - it's fun) he used to carry around... explaining a lot about the listeners who pester our station at 4:30 a.m.

Great. A nut magnet.

You know what we really need? A giant bug zapper for the crazies. No really, bear with me here. What if we had a remote control with a big red button on it... and every time we spotted a nut job or were accosted by one... ZAP! We could just make them disappear!

We could send them someplace safe where they couldn't hurt anyone but themselves or each other, like Paul Brown Stadium in Cincinnati - Lord knows the Bengals could use all the help they can get, anyway. (Or as those of us who grew up an hour or so south of Cincy used to say, the Bungles.)

We could put them on the top of the Roanoke Civic Center. Or better yet - Victory Stadium - and if that doesn't mean anything to you, just suffice it to say the thing's going to be torn down eventually and no one uses it.

Just imagine what a happier world this would be!

The only possible thing better *might* be if they added Paxil to the water supply.