WHERE TO BEGIN

 I don't even know where to begin . . . Usually when I take a hiatus from blogging it is because life is good, I have no complaints, all is well with the world. (That doesn't happen often but it does happen.) This time you have not heard from me for a while because, quite honestly, I just don't know where to begin.

With the arrival of each new month we flip the pages of our wall calendar and look ahead to see what is in store for us for the next 30 days.  Usually, because we are retired, the calendar is a fairly clean slate for the new month.  There are a few doctor appointments scattered here and there but for the most part the days are blank.  This time when we turned from May to June there were 2 doctor appointments for The Man and one Chiropractor appointment for me.  THAT WAS IT !!  We drew a sigh of relief and looked forward to a nice month of being out doors and "getting stuff done".  

Because we are so far north the summer is very short so those lovely out door days are cherished and filled to the max with things that The Man can manage to do outside on his own.  He loves riding around on his mower checking out the property and cutting paths in the tall grass from the pond to the house so the deer have a nice trail to walk on when they come each afternoon for their corn.  Occasionally WE will take a trip, (him on his mower and me walking alongside), around the property to play one of his favorite games, "Pick Up Sticks".  The Man is obsessed with sticks in the grass because, "They mess up the mower blades and those blades are EXPENSIVE". And so I go along with him as he points to sticks and I pick them up and put them in the little trailer that he pulls behind the mower.  Once the trailer is full we drive up to the fire pit where we dump the sticks to be burned on the next calm day. (The wind up here is ALWAYS blowing so some times the stick pile is huge.).  Last week when The Man suggested we go for a ride to pick up sticks I got out the 12 gallon spray can of bug spray, doused myself from head to toe and headed down the driveway to help him in his adventure.  He turned off the driveway and headed onto a path that cuts across the woods from one side of the property to the other.  He likes to mow a path through there, I have no reason why. Maybe so he doesn't have to go out on the road to cross the property out front? I don't know.  Anyway, we turned into the woods and about twenty yards in he stopped and said, "Can you get those?" (As usual he didn't point anywhere to give me an idea of where to look.) I looked on the ground next to him searching for sticks . . . Nothing . . .  He sees me looking on the left side of the mower and starts yelling, "No No, Not THERE !  Over HERE!" and this time he gives me some waving arms so I have a clue that I need to look on the other side of the mower.  I walk around the mower and look and still I don't see any sticks.  The Man by now has lost all patience with me and is waving his arms and yelling, "THERE !!  OVER THERE!!!".  It is at this point that I realize he is pointing to a pile of LOGS !!!!!  Not STICKS",  LOGS !!!   These freaking pieces of wood were trunks of small trees that had been cut down a couple of years ago.  They were at least 3 feet long and 8 inches thick. There was no way on God's green earth that I was going to be able to pick them up and carry them to the trailer.  As I looked at him the words of my Michigan sister-in-law Rhonda came to mind. She had once told me that these brothers were all nuts and there are times when you just have to tell them, "F - - K   NO !!!! I'm not doing that!"  I did not actually say that to The Man but I muttered it under my breath for the rest of the day.   I later told him I was flattered that he thinks I can do these "small" jobs but I just physically can not manage them.  I'm freaking 77 years old and he wants me picking up logs and putting them in his trailer ?  He is crazy. 

At the beginning of the month The Man was feeling fairly well.  His breathing wasn't awful and he had some energy. Then something happened and it was like he was a balloon with a small pin hole that was causing him to deflate a little more each day,  He was getting tired much faster, his breathing was getting worse each day and he felt like crap.  Part of this was because the heart doctor in Milwaukee that we had visited last month changed his medication. That was not a good idea.  After several calls we got The Man back on his original medication but even that didn't really help.  The Cardiologist said the problem is his lungs and the pulmonologist said the problem is his heart. Of course neither specialist speaks to the other so we are caught in the middle.  We made several trips to the "local" Va, (an hour away) but nothing really seems to be helping. 

In the midst of all this The Man celebrated his 75th birthday on June 17.  We had a surprise party for him here at the farm on that weekend and 30 family members and friends stopped by to wish him a happy birthday.  He loved every minute of it.  The weather was perfect and everyone had a great time. The down side was it tired him out for days after. 

Once he recovered from the party it was back to business as usual.  His breathing is still getting worse AND his memory is also fading fast. I have reached the point where I want to record every conversation we have because The Man will not remember it 24 hours later. We are now moving things that we took from the house last year to store in the garage back into the house because he has no memory of cleaning out the parlor before he had it painted and putting lots of "stuff" in the garage.  This is all coming to a head because he has a woman who owns an antique shop coming here tomorrow to "look through the garage" to see if she will buy any of this crap.  WE purposely put all sorts of things in a specific place last year with this thought in mind.  Yet when we went out to the garage yesterday to see what he had for her to look at he was all pissed off that some things were out there.  I believe his words were, "That is good stuff that I need to look at before YOU, (meaning me) get rid of it!"  As if I was the one who had decided to put these things out there.  He honestly has NO memory of going through all this last year. 

That nice clean calendar page was a total joke.  It has been one crazy month in which I have had many discussions with The Lord ranging from "Really God?", to "What do you want from me?"  God just smiles at me, gives me beautiful weather, good health and a good book to read when things get crazy.  As we always say, "This too shall pass" and "Don't ever say it can't get any worse" because you know it can and probably will.

ROAD CLOSED

 Is there anyone out there in the English speaking world who does not know the meaning of the words, "ROAD CLOSED",????????  I mean, it should be pretty simple, right ?  We know what a road is . . . "A wide way leading from one point to another", a highway, a lane, a street or an avenue. And the word, "closed" as in not open, shut down, no access.  Simple concepts, no? 

Let's take this one step further and accompany the words, 'road closed" with the words, 'DETOUR", "TURN LEFT HERE", and a HUGE flipping black arrow on an orange sign. Are you beginning to get the picture?

As you can probably tell by now The Man and I had an adventure today.  We had to drive from Gladstone to Iron Mountain, a drive that we make an average of 4 times a month when we are in Michigan.  The Man has his favorite route to drive for this hour long journey and usually all goes smoothly. But today God must have been bored and decided to play with The Man and test my patience yet again.  

The first 15 minutes of our journey takes us on back roads that wind through some lovely farm land. Big red barns, fields that are now just starting to turn green with the young shoots of corn starting to grow.  Lots of cows with little calves dot the countryside with an occasional deer standing near the road munching on the fresh new grass that the cows are enjoying. It is a lovely, quiet drive.  UNTIL . . . 

As we neared the point where the back roads lead into the "highway" we saw detour signs up ahead.  The THREE signs warned us that the road ahead was closed.  The signs also told us to FOLLOW the DETOUR signs.  OK,  no biggie!  There are bunches of small bridges that cross numerous streams and creeks and the Michigan road commission is forever repairing these structures. One day the road is open and the next day you are making a ten mile detour.  This is not the first time this has happened to us. 

BUT . . .  for what ever reason The Man decided that when we got to the cross road where the detour wanted us to turn left  HE  was going to continue straight ahead because there was no barrier across the road and this is the way he always goes so therefore the road must NOT be closed and ALL the signs must be a joke.  Five hundred feet later we were stopped in front of a large orange barricade blocking the entire road.  

It was at this point that the thoughts of this blog began to form in my brain.  It is also at this point that the conversation between The Man and I went down the tubes.  It went something like this;

The Man . . . "J.... C....  What the Hell is going on here?"    Me . . . "Looks like the road is closed" (DUH!)     The Man . . .  "What the Hell? Why didn't they tell us that back there", (he is pointing back the way we just came where there were all the signs saying the road was closed).    ME . . .  (I am not stupid so I did not say anything).  The Man . . .  "You would think they would put a barricade across the road back there to tell you the road was closed!!"   (By now he is waving his arms and is all pissed off that he drove 500 feet and now has to turn around and follow the detour signs because HE didn't believe the signs when he saw them.). ME . . .  (I'm still not stupid so I'm not saying a word but he knows damn well what I'm thinking!)

And so for the next 45 minutes I heard about the stupid highway commission not telling people the road is closed.  When we got to the VA at Iron Mountain The Man actually called the Michigan State Highway Commission to complain to them about their terrible road signs. Then I got to listen ALL the way home about how STUPID the highway department is!  

I wonder what the highway department was saying about the idiot who just called to complain about the signs.

FLORIDA FANCY . . . MICHIGAN MESS

I think that one of my favorite things about living in Michigan for the summers is that I can dress like a slob.  This thought occurred to me yesterday afternoon when I was getting dressed to go to 4:30 PM mass.  I actually found myself considering wearing jeans to church.  GASP !!!!!!     But that would be totally acceptable up here in the UP.  

Not that there seems to be any sort of a dress code for going to church these days but I am old school and still feel the need to dress up when I go to mass.  I do not go all out with hats, gloves and high healed shoes but I do dress in nice slacks and blouse. That is my going to church outfit no matter where I am in the world.  Sunday/Saturday afternoon mass calls for a NICE wardrobe. 

Up here in Michigan I know that 70% of the people at the 4:30 mass have been working around their homes and yards for a good part of the day. They will clean up and head for church in their jeans, tee shirts and work boots or sneakers. It is completely acceptable as long as they don't smell.  Meanwhile the over 70 year old population of the parish are all dressed in their Sunday best which is anything other than jeans and tee shirts.  Some of the ladies are so well dressed they would fit in nicely at my Palm Beach Gardens church but they are few and far between.  Up here it is a different culture where flannel and jeans are acceptable evening wear no matter where you are going. 

I have adapted nicely to this life style.  My wardrobe now contains at least THREE flannel shirts, (two long sleeve and one short sleeve), FOUR pairs of jeans in varying lengths and colors and any number of tee shirts and sweat shirts.  I own 3 pairs of sneakers, (one for the garden, one for everyday wear and one for "dressing up") and a pair of sandals for church. (Most Sunday's my feet freeze but I don't have any closed toe shoes to wear when it is chilly and I will NOT wear sneakers to church).  Going along with this relaxed life style the only time I wear make-up is when I go to church.  I doubt if anyone in The Man's family would recognize me if they met me on a church day.  The other six days of the week I am a mess.  NO make-up, no nice clothes and an attitude that fits slopping pigs. (I have never "slopped" a pig in my life but living up here it is a good possibility it may happen any day). 

The flip side of all this is when I return to Florida.  I usually go into culture shock for the first few weeks when I return to The South.  My Michigan wardrobe is left in Michigan because there is just no need to flannel and jeans in 80 degree weather and I would look like one of the Guatemalan lawn care workers if I wore either one. My Florida wardrobe is a mix of capri pants and colorful, pastel, tropical print tops along with sandals, sandals sandals.  I even have different jewelry that I wear in Florida.  My Michigan jewelry consists of a clunky silver watch and a pair of plain hoop earrings.  There is just no reason to wear jewelry when working in the garden or feeding the deer.  

My mother always thought I had a split personality . . . sort of a Jekyll and Hyde thing,  I guess she was right.  

RULE NUMBER FOUR THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY THREE

 No matter what game you are playing there are always rules.  There are rules in life like, "Don't Do Drugs", "Don't Drink and Drive", "Never tell a Lie".   These rules help us to live a good life and stay safe.  

Living with The Man also has its rules.  I have learned these rules over the few years that we have been together and I live with them because basically I don't want to point out just how stupid they are.  There are certain rules that are BIG and there are some rules that are small but no matter their size they should all be obeyed.  (The Man has yet to realize that I am going to do what ever the hell I want no matter what "rule" he has about something.  I always listen and pretend I am in total agreement.  Then when he's not looking I do what ever I planned on doing in the first place.)

There are really only 2 BIG rules in The Man's world here at the farm.  The first involves the septic tank.  Out here in the country we do not have sewers like the rest of the civilized world.  Up here we have a septic tank and because it is a "container" it can get full. When that happens it gets expensive and nasty to have the "honey truck" man come to dig up the septic tank and empty it with his big sucker upper truck.  (Ewwwwww !).  Because of this nasty and expensive job The Man tries to keep the flow of water in the house to a bare minimum.  

Rule #1 is to NEVER EVER let the water just run in the sink.  We always use paper plates just so we don't have too many dishes to wash. (I now have the ability to wash all the dishes from an entire twelve course meal for 32 people in less than a cup of water.  Well, not really but you get the idea.  Good thing I have camping experience where I learned how to conserve water when washing dishes).  When I shower I must do so quickly and efficiently so as to not let the water run for hours.  And always be sure not to flush too often! ( It is different from my dishwasher, three shower a day Florida life but I get it).     

Rule #2 also involves the septic tank . . .  DO NOT drive over the septic tank which is out in the yard about twenty feet from the side door.  You would think that would be easy except that The Man parks his car right outside the side door so he can switch over his oxygen from the car to the house with a minimum of trouble.  When you go out to the car and want to leave the house you have to back up because going forward brings you too close to where the septic tank is.  I have only broken this rule twice.  The first time was because I didn't know about the septic tank. I was told (OMG) "DON'T DRIVE THERE !"  OK, makes sense to me until a few weeks later the I was in the car with The Man and HE drove FORWARD.  HUM ???   I didn't say anything but after he did it again a few days later I figured maybe if I drove in the EXACT same spot that he did it would be OK.   Apparently not !   When I tried doing that I was again told, (OMG), "DON'T DRIVE THERE!"   This time I had to say something to question the fact that he had driven that way so what was the problem.  I never did get a sensible answer to that question but he never went that way again.  

So now you know the two cardinal rules of The Farm.  There are many other silly secondary rules but the dumbest one of all is, "Don't put the trash in the trash can". This rule hurts my brain.  I have tried over and over to puzzle this out but so far I just can't get a handle on the rational behind it.  We have trash pick-up twice a month.  The second Wednesday and the last Wednesday.  Most months it works out that the trash is picked up every two weeks.  The LARGE trash can, that is provided by the trash company,  sits out by the road. It is so large that it could probably hold a Volkswagen or at least one of those little "Smart Cars". It is not a dumpster but it is big.  My point is that it can hold a LOT of garbage.  There are only 2 of us living in this house so we really don't have that much trash. (Although we do use a lot of paper plates.  See paragraph 4).  For what ever reason The Man insists that we always have a "Burn Bag" hanging from one of the kitchen cabinet doors. When ever something is being thrown away it is to be placed in the burn bag rather than the lovely, metal garbage can that stands next to the stove in the kitchen.  When the burn bag is full to overflowing, (about twice a day) it is then taken out to the fire pit in the yard and burned.  The bag could contain paper, plastic, soup, vegetable, or human remains . . .  no matter . . .  it is getting burned.  Because we live out here in the country no one cares if you are burning stuff. The wind could be blowing 40 miles an hour but we will be burning trash.  I don't want to even think about the plastic milk jugs or aluminum foil that is getting burned.  This is just what The Man does.  

So why then do we have trash service ???   I don't know the answer to that one.   Every other Tuesday evening I go around the house and yard collecting things to put in the trash can out by the road just so the garbage men feel needed.   I will also take plastic things out of the burn bag and hide them until I can walk out to the road un noticed by you know who.  It doesn't make any sense to me at all but hey . . .  

That's the rule.  

GETTING THE MESSAGE

 It is said that God speaks to all of us, all we have to do is listen.  I have daily, sometimes hourly, chats with the Lord and I know for a fact that He listens. He also always answers me. I may not care for the answer I get but there IS always an answer.  

My latest "adventure" with The Lord has been through The Holy Spirit.  Now if you're not Catholic you may not be that familiar with The Holy Spirit. Read the book "The Shack" and you'll get a very unique and cleaver idea about what this part of the Holy Trinity is all about.  

A few months ago I received a small booklet in the mail from one of the MANY religious organizations that like to send me daily requests for support.  They will often send me little items such as prayer cards, an occasional rosary, books and greeting cards.  This particular booklet was for a 9 day novena to the Holy Spirit. The Novena started this past Friday and will continue until this coming Saturday.  Each day there is a "theme" along with some very short readings pertaining to that theme.  Yesterday's topic was PATIENCE. A favorite topic of mine because I REALLY struggle with this virtue.  As a child my mother would forever be reciting  "Patience is a virtue, possesses it if you can.  It's seldom in a woman but NEVER in a man."   (My mother was a very wise woman! Of course I didn't realize this until I became a mother.)

So yesterday when I opened my little novena booklet and saw that the day's focus was on patience I had to laugh. Apparently God heard that laugh and it was down hill for me from that moment on.

First let me explain that it has been quite chilly, windy and rainy up here for most of this past month. That does not bother me in the least because I enjoy putting on 12 sweat shirts and pants, wool socks, gloves, hats and boots just to go out to the mail box.  I keep telling myself it is a refreshing change from Florida. If it is just too nasty to go out I find many things to occupy my time besides eating and watching TV like some people we know.  Each year The Man can't wait to return to Michigan after his winter in Florida because in Florida he has nothing to occupy his time. He always thinks that as soon as he  returns to MI the weather will be perfect for him to get out on his mower and do some things outside. It is not easy to be so limited because of his breathing issues so the joy he gets from riding around on his mower on his property in MI keeps him alive.  Unfortunately the weather has not cooperated since our return and he has been staying inside all the time.  (There are only so many episodes of "Cops", hunting shows and that show about the pawn shop owners in Vegas.  The hockey play offs for the Stanley Cup have been a God send but those games are all in the evening.) The damp, cold dreary days are wearing thin on The Man which means I need to have extra helpings of patience.  

It was a particularly trying weekend so the little reminder from God for me to be patient really made me laugh.  I mean who wouldn't be loosing their patience when cooped up with The Man AND two 12 year old little girls ?????  Oh, did I forget to mention the house guests we had on Friday night ?   

Last Monday I received a text message from The Man's youngest grand daughter asking if she and a friend could come spend the weekend with us here at the farm.  (We shall refer to the grand daughter as "DK"). DK LOVES being at her grand pa's farm.  She lives in town with her dad and is often "pawned off" on relatives and neighbors in town while her dad runs his bar. (It has got to be a difficult way to spend your childhood.). So when DK asks to come out here I try to get The Man to agree, even though he doesn't like having kids around getting into his "stuff". (ie, the barn, garage, house.     PATIENCE !    When it comes to kids The Man needs a novena about patience).   I did get him to agree to DK and friend coming for ONE night and one day.  I picked the girls up at 3:00 on Friday after school and brought them back here where they promptly asked if they could go out into the woods and explore the farm.  That prompted a 20 minute "discussion" (lecture) on where they could and could not go on the property. Basically what The Man said was, "Don't do anything or go anywhere). I told them to go out and be careful.      PATIENCE !

Apparently The Man has forgotten what it is like to be a kid.  Even though I have heard story after story about him and his brothers growing up in this area.  They spent their lives in the woods and around the farm with no supervision at all.  And they survived.  But when his grand daughter wants to walk out to the pond she is given a lecture.  This kid has been taking care of herself since she was two.         PATIENCE !

I had a great time with the girls and they had a great time being here.  I was patient with them, they were patient with me, grand pa was patient with no one.   The girls went home on Saturday evening so The Man was able to return to his routine of food and TV.  Sunday we were both exhausted so we just laid low. Then came Monday.  The day that God was waiting for to teach me    PATIENCE !

The Man has been watching the weather all month waiting for THE PERFECT DAY for him to go out on his mower.  MONDAY was going to be THAT DAY !!!!!!  Temperatures in the low 70's.  Sun will be shining. The grass has been growing like crazy because of all the rain so The Man was up and ready to go. His mower has been gassed up and ready to go for weeks.   But wait . . .   first we have to wait for the sun to get shining which it usually doesn't do until around 9AM. (Mornings here are usually overcast and/or foggy because of Lake Michigan being so close.) OK, sun is starting to come out but it is still only in the 50's so we now have to wait for it to warm up.  Then the "breeze" off the lake starts to build into something like a category 4 hurricane.  (There is ALWAYS a breeze off the lake and it is ALWAYS a COLD breeze because that lake water is freezing!) The "Perfect Day" is still trying to pull itself together and The Man is chomping at the bit to get outside.  Just as he decides he is ready to venture out of the house the neighbor kid shows up on his bike, hops on The Man's mower and starts to mow the lawn ! (This is an arrangement The Man has made with the kid.  Mow my lawn for me all summer and I will pay you.  The "lawn" takes about 4 hours to mow and The Man is not up to riding on his mower for that length of time.  At most he makes it about an hour before he is exhausted.) But the timing on this particular day was priceless !!!!  The Man was ready to ride and now here is the neighbor off and riding on The Man's mower.  I found it all pretty hysterical but I am smart enough to have kept that to myself.  PATIENCE !

Could The Man have gone outside anyway and found some small thing to do out there ?  Of course but instead he stayed in side all moopy and grumpy until he decided we needed to go get gas for the mower. Excellent plan !  We left the kid mowing and off we went to the gas station at the top of the hill.  When I took the gas can out of the car and went to twist off the cap the spout and cap disintegrated in my hand. (Who says plastic doesn't decompose when left out in the elements for 10 years? )  We left the can in the gas station garbage can and came home.  PATIENCE !  

All I can tell you is that I think I got the message and I am asking The Lord to PLEASE stop giving me any more opportunities to practice patience.  

I can't wait to see what today's message will be.  

THE PLUG

 I realize I am a little ACDC . . . Oh wait,  not that, I'm OCD . . .   Yeh, that's what I am. Obsessive/Compulsive which is just a fancy term for being a know-it-all that likes to be right. What ever the "disorder" is I OFTEN find myself screaming inside trying very hard not to slap someone up side their head.  It usually works but it continues to get harder by the day.  The permanent scar that I have on the tip of my tongue from "bitting my tongue" is now so thick that I have developed a lisp.  (All of this is of course an exaggeration but not too far from reality.)

Today's exercise in tongue biting comes from You Know Who,  AKA The Man.  (I know for a fact that Husband is up in Heaven laughing his fool head off because it is no longer him causing my insanity. Something he was quite good at!).   

When The Man travels anywhere, whether it is 3 miles into town or 3 thousand miles across the country he ALWAYS carries several sources of oxygen. I totally understand that the thought of not being able to breathe can be quite stressful so naturally the more oxygen tanks and concentrators the better.  I have NO problem what so ever with this. In fact I totally support and assist in making sure we have all the tanks, machines and power sources that might be needed should one or more of the concentrators fails to work. The new mini van has been a God send in this department because it is now so easy to slide open the side door and load two concentrators right in back of the drivers seat.  Another concentrator gets loaded into the van  on the other side of the vehicle. In addition to the 3 concentrators there is also a full tank of oxygen in the "way back" and a small tank of oxygen on the seat in back of the driver.  In case you are not counting that is FIVE sources of oxygen being carried with us at any given moment.  The two small concentrators are not plugged into the van's power source until they might be needed but we carry all the charging wires with us.  All three of the concentrators have plugs that go into the cigarette lighter in the car and an additional set of wires that plug directly into a wall outlet at our destinations.  We are prepared for any and all possible emergencies. 

The Man is a meticulous person when it comes to his breathing.  As well he should be.  It is, after all, quite literally a matter of life or death.  With that in mind then would someone please explain what his problem is regarding THE PLUG !?

OK . . . The Man has had the larger concentrator for quite a few years.  It was one of the first machines that he got when his COPD had progressed to the point of needing air 24/7.  In all this time I have NEVER, EVER seen this machine receive any maintenance what so ever.  I have not seen The Man clean filters or do anything to any part of this machine to keep it functioning at peak performance. For the most part the machine just sits in the back seat of the car waiting to be turned on when we get in the car.  It has a battery that will power it if it's left on by mistake when the car is turned off but its main source of power is the car's engine. It is connected to the car's power by a cord that plugs into the cigarette lighter. (I'm sure you know what that little plug looks like . . . sort of torpedo shaped with a little metal button on the end) When we get into the car The Man turns on the car engine and then reaches over and turns on the concentrator. If all is working as it should be the concentrator starts up, a series of little green lights come on and off we go.

Over a week ago . . .  WELL OVER a week ago . . .  there was one little green light that did not come on when the machine was started.  This particular little light indicates that the concentrator is getting "juice" from the car so you know it is not using up its battery power.  (These batteries last about two hours so if we are on a six hour trip the concentrator needs to be powered from the car engine, not its own battery)

 I don't know how The Man first noticed this issue but it was cause for much cursing and swearing. Along with the verbal tirade The Man began pulling the plug out of the cigarette lighter and putting it back in. (This is all being done while he is driving) When that didn't work I had to reach into the back seat and pull the cord out of the machine and re plug it to see if that made any difference.  (NOPE) So The Man resumed pulling and pushing the plug.  (Nada) The next step was to remove the plug from the lighter, shake it, slap it on the palm of his hand and then plug it back in. (Nothing) (By now I am thinking that maybe we should just pull over to work on this but those words never were spoken). FINALLY . . . after much pulling, pushing, slapping, shaking and even a small spray of spit the little green light came on !!!

PHEW !!!  We are good to go.  NOT !!  Only a short time later the little green light went back out but because we were near home we just rode in using battery power.  Once at home The Man went through all his antics again and then plugged the machine into an extension cord connected to the house.  The battery charged back up, the little green light came on and all was well with the world.

UNTIL the next time we got into the car and turned on the concentrator.  It was like the movie "Groundhog Day",  Repeat repeat repeat . . .  This has now been our daily routine for at least 2 weeks. EVERY single time we get into the car the EXACT same things occur.  Light goes out and The Man goes nuts.  Kind of sounds like the definition of insanity to me . . .  Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results . . .   

My take on the whole thing . . .  the machine is tired, probably as tired as I am, and it needs some R&R. I have gently asked if there is someplace that the machine can be taken to have it "overhauled" or at least cleaned but so far I am being totally ignored.  Today The Man did say he was going to call the VA and tell them he is having a problem with the charger and see if they can send him a new one. So far that hasn't happened.

 I guess that 's a start at least but if my breathing depended on it I think I might be a little more proactive.

THE "HOPTEL"

 We had an adventure . . . Any given day with The Man is"An Adventure" but this was a bonafide REAL adventure.   

On Sunday we left The UP around 10:30 AM and headed south. Going anywhere from the UP constitutes driving about 2 hours on "back roads" to get to anything that resembles a highway.  Sunday's  adventure took us down M35 from The Man's house to the Menominee River where the highway ends because the Menominee River is the boarder between Michigan and Wisconsin.  Once into Wisconsin the road becomes Rt. 41 and we pass into the Central Time Zone so we gain an hour.  It's one of those trips where we can leave the farm at 10AM and get to Menominee at 10AM.   I Love it !      Anyway . . .  once across the river and into Wisconsin we continued south another 3 hours until we arrived in Milwaukee .  (If you had asked me 2 years ago how to spell Milwaukee I couldn't have done it.  Now I'm a pro.). 

The reason we come to Milwaukee is to go to the doctor.  Yup !  A FOUR hour drive to see a doctor!  But when your doctors are all VA doctors and you live in the UP you have to travel to see any sort of specialist.  This is where we travel to in order to see cardiologists and pulmonologists. (The Man has "end stage COPD" AND a crappy heart. A charming combination of problems that seems to run in his family.)

Back in 2017 when I first started spending time with The Man he was only using oxygen occasionally. He rapidly "fell apart" soon after that to where he needed oxygen full time.  Later that year we became aware of the fact that much of his breathing issues were a result of the poor functioning of his heart.  Crazy how they are both related.  As a result of all this The Man sees both heart and lung doctors about every three months.   Thus the trip to Milwaukee and our stay at the hoptel. ( Hospital and Hotel combined.)

I understand that one can not or should not "look a gift horse in the mouth" but this place to stay REALLY could use some improvements.  We have stayed here before and I have noted the same complaints each and every time we are here and each and every time I think that we really should spend the freaking money and stay in a real hotel.  I think that maybe this time The Man may have gotten the message so that hopefully our next trip to this VA hospital we will make reservations at a hotel, not the hoptel.

Why is it so bad you may ask . . . well . . .   The building itself really isn't bad.  It is right next to the hospital so it is super convenient but that is about all it has going for it.  It is a one story building that makes me think of an elementary school. The main door, (which is always locked so you have to speak to the office through an intercom by the door) leads into a long hallway off of which are lots and lots of rooms. The office is right inside the front door and the lady in the office is super lovely and helpful. Once we "sign in" she gives us our lanyards that contain our "pass" to the hoptel and a key card that opens the main door and the door to our room. We are also given a "goodie bag" that contains a bottle of water, a small package of tissues, some cookies, some candies and a small bottle of sanitizer.  (They should keep their cookies and tissues and give you a blanket !)

 The room is something out of a 1960's hospital.  The walls are painted some nondescript color, there are 2 hospital beds next to each other with an old fashioned recliner and a basic chair standing side by side between the 2 beds.  As with most hospital rooms there are curtains on a track that runs across the rook and between the beds for privacy. (If you are staying in a "hotel" I don't know why you would need the curtains but who knows.) There are 2 closets, (no hangers) 2 night tables that hold several spare towels, (that are so small and scratchy you need about 12 of them to dry yourself), and no curtains on the windows.  There are Venetian blinds on the large window but they are all bent at the bottom so they really don't do much good.  The two beds are something else entirely.  They each have 2 pillows on them which are covered in a stiff plastic case under the scratchy cotton pillow case.  Not the least bit comfortable. (I was smart and brought my own pillow.  The Man was being macho and told me he didn't need his pillow, The one in the room will be fine.   NOT !).  Like the pillows the two inch thick mattress on the bed is also covered in plastic and the sheets on the bed are old and worn. (I counted 7 different holes in my bottom sheet.). The top sheet had no holes but it was very thin.  That along with the "thin blanket/bedspread" does nothing to keep you warm.   Did I mention the room is FREEZING !!!!!! ???????   The room is freezing, as is the entire building.  There is a heating unit in the room but it only produces cold air blowing constantly.  There is NO thermostat so you can not regulate the temperature in the room.  Thus it is freezing !   (Did I mention how cold it was in the room and the building ?).  

As I have told you we have stayed at this place a couple of times before.  After the first time I learned to bring the small portable heater AND our own blankets.  Even with these the room remained colder than an ice berg in the North Atlantic in January.  It is COLD !   Now the fact that WE have stayed here before and The Man is always freezing you would think that he would remember this minor detail and pack accordingly.  I TOLD him to pack warm clothes.  (I don't like to "give orders" but this time I did tell him straight out to pack warm clothes for the hoptel.  I even asked him if he remembered how cold the place is.  He did say he remembered and he would pack accordingly.   HE DID NOT !).   

As soon as he entered the building he started complaining about how cold it was. (DUH!). We got into the room, I unpacked the car and we turned on the little space heater.  An hour later with the heater running full blast it was still cold. (DUH!)  Two hours later it was the same as it was for the remainder of our stay. (DUH DUH AND DOUBLE DUH !!!).  The man never got warm, had a lousy nights sleep on the hard bed and plastic pillows and complained all the way home.  (DUH!) 

In defense of the US government Veterans administration . . . they do try.  The building does provide a place to stay for families of veterans who are in the hospital there.  There is a full kitchen that is kept stocked with frozen dinners, milk and eggs, cereal, snacks galore, ice cream, juice and endless coffee pods for the coffee maker. There is dinnerware and Tupperware if you have leftovers.  

I guess they figure that if you stay there you can at least have a full belly when you freeze to death.