Tiger and I…...

….have something in common!  Aside:  for anyone who is a reader of this blog, you understand the title explicitly.  For those of you who think this should read “Me and Tiger,” well, there’s not much hope for you.  You will probably end up with a job somewhere, even though your resume is no doubt a minefield of mistakes, with some lies thrown in for luck.  And it probably runs on for 2 or 3 pages…hint, you’re not that important. In the final analysis, there is no excuse for poor English in the better echelons of the working world. Wait, what is going on here?  Pain. Pain makes me rant, and I am in pain.

Anyway, Tiger and I do have one thing in common, and it’s not a flawless golf swing.  Tiger recently dropped out of competition to have surgery performed on his back.  To be exact, he underwent a microdiscectomy on his spine.  This to correct a herniated disc that caused him much pain and suffering. 

Well, I’m proud to say I’ve got one as well.  I always thought that people who complained of back issues were basically, well, faking it.  How could a back possibly cause that much trouble was my opinion on the subject….right up to the moment it happened to me.  Now I understand and shed tears when people tell me how they are sent to their knees, banished to the floor on all fours, unable to walk upright. Yes brother, I believe, and share your pain, literally.

Now, I’ve got some other issues as well – misaligned vertebrae, some stenosis, and a little arthritis throw in.  Tiger probably has some of that as well, as I’ve come to believe that once your back revolts and sends you the memo, it’s usually on more than one level. And I am amazed to learn that back pain, in various combinations, is rampant among us.  There is hardly a person I talk to about this who has not had back troubles of some stripe - young, old, and every back in between.

I’ve had this for over a year, but didn’t take it seriously until I could no longer swing a golf club (again, my kinship with Tiger).  Then I took this all VERY seriously. Off to the Docs.  Of course, they start small and work their way up the chain, but always waiting at the end is the dreaded phrase, “spinal surgery.”  I tried it all.  PT, gym, swimming, massage, acupuncture, reflexology (see “Better Than Sex” – 12/7/13), biking, walking, epidural spinal injections, offerings to the gods, and finally, serious sessions of sailor swearing while drinking adult beverages.  Nothing helped.

So, it was off to a specialist…. or should I say two specialists. Always get a second opinion. It pays…you’ll see.  Now, up front, I’ve got to tell you I was impressed with both of them, and liked them instantly.  But…..but….these two learned men looked at the very same MRI films, and presented me with two completely different treatment recommendations! Oy!  What now?

The one fella, my primary surgery contact, is an orthopedic surgeon here in Syracuse, while the other is a neurosurgeon.  The neurosurgeon is in Florida , and was my second opinion, even though I saw him first – long story, won’t bore you. He showed me a section of my spine where the nerve is supposed to be nice and straight.  My problem is that at that point (L3-4 for you amateur docs) my nerve resembled a bend in the Mississippi river.  The nice little disc was a leakin’ out of its rightful place and just twisting that little nerve into a pretzel. His opinion: I needed a microdiscectomy.  Minimally invasive.  In at 5:30am, out by dinner.  Treat the other problems if and when they started barking.  I liked the sound of that.

He also cautioned me in two areas.  Avoid any “laser” spine outfits…period.  And he told me the “ortho boys” would want to fuse me.  How right he was.

When I arrived back in frigid Syracuse, I went to the orthopedic surgeon for my consultation visit.  The first thing he said as he was reviewing my MRI was that I would need a fusion at 2 levels in my spine, with the full accompaniment of nuts, bolts, screws, and plates that would make an airport screening gizmo scream at me like I was a terrorist.  I would, they said, lose about 15% mobility in my spine…not good for a golf swing, but my swing sucks anyway, so maybe this would be an improvement.  They did assure me I would play golf again.

Gee, what would you do?  Well, I posed that query to everyone I talked with about back issues, which included folks who have never had an inch of pain in their life and others who had back surgery in one form or another.  Now that advice pool runs the gamut from my barber to my doctor friends.  To a person, they just looked at me and simply said:  DUH!

So, I’m off to Florida to be minimally invaded on May 22.  Sunny Florida….and now, also a very HOT and HUMID Florida.  Why couldn’t my neurosurgeon be at the Cape????

I’ll write an update and pass it on, so it may be awhile…..stay tuned. 

Mark Twain Quote:  “Dear Sir (or Madam):  I try every remedy sent to me.  I am now on No. 67.  Yours is 2,653.  I am looking forward to its beneficial results.”

Up, Up and Away

The Outer Banks from way up high in sky

Odd as it may seem, there's something liberating about being confined in a steel tube with 170 other sneezing, coughing, belching humans (not to mention screaming munchkins), cruising along at about 500 mph,  35,000 ft. above precious terra firma.  Every instinct in your body tells you you should be dropping like a stone.  Or, better still, you never should have been able to leave the warm embrace of the runway in the first place.  It just doesn't make sense…two oddly shaped metal surfaces, protruding from each side of the tube,  have the mystical power to actually LIFT prodigious amounts of weight far into the sky.  No way. Yet, way.

But I must not dwell on that.  Actually, I do love flying, with one exception, not including the process of actually getting to the plane.  I would kick about 1/3 of the passengers off the aircraft, so the rest of us could enjoy some breathing room.  There's just too damn many people squeezed into these things, plain and simple.

On my trip to Florida recently, I flew directly over the Outer Banks (See "My Unvisited Gem" - 3/13/14).  As luck would have it, it was a cloudless portion of the ride, and I could actually contemplate life and love, past and future, hot fudge sundaes, lobster rolls, golf swings, favorite movies, bucket lists and other fancy stuff, as I dreamily cast my eyes upon the vast landscape far below.  Millions of people within the scope of my vision, all with their own little trials and tribulations, all traveling their own road this day, a fair number of them also pondering the ultimate meaning of it all.  In a carefee moment, I was left to reflect on the fate of my fellow earth mates, before clouds secured the scene and all context for thought was removed.

Ah  yes, back to the OBs. How impressive they appear,  a seemingly unbroken line that protects the mainland shore from harm, while providing people a get away to paradise.  In a way they resemble  nature's containment boom, like the ones used to protect land from the ravages of an oil spill.  So much sand, so many miles to walk, so many wonderful miles.

Looking at them makes you wonder  how they got there in the first place.  Seems like they were perfectly formed for their purpose, which leaves out any idea of a random piling up of broken sea creatures and rocks.  The same elements that deposited the Cape (Cod, of course) in its unique position and prominence also worked their logic and magic to form a perfect blend of utility and beauty, all for our protection and ultimate enjoyment.  Like the Cape, they will one day disappear, but luckily for all of us, that day will never be a concern of ours.

So, if you can't make the Cape, head for the Outer Banks. Revel in beauty.  Enjoy the moments, memorize the views.  Walk the sand, drink in the salt breeze.  Promise to return.  You don't have your whole life, you just think you do.
                                                                                                                                                                                         
Mark Twain Quote:  "We despise all reverences and all objects of reverence which are outside the pale of our list of sacred things.  And yet, with strange inconsistency, we are shocked when other people despise and defile the things which are holy to us."

Global What the…?

I recently returned from Florida, against my most instinctive judgment.  I awoke my first morning back, looked out the window, and saw…….snow falling.  In Spring.  In good old Syracuse.  Betting this a fluke, an aberration to my senses, I put on my happy Florida face and a mere 6 days later, traveled to Buffalo to see my daughter.  I swear I could smell flowers blooming and hear jubilant birds finding their voice once again.

 

Syracusans gone mad - March 2014

Thus I woke, on my last day there and saw….snow falling. Sideways. Lots of heavy, wet snow.  In Spring. In good old Buffalo. A mini blizzard.

Ah, Spring.  What I would want to write at this exact moment I can not. I know not the limits of the blog host, but I am afraid I would severely test them.  I might even be thrown off and asked never to return again.  Such is the fire in my pen and the rancor in my heart. I am way beyond “had it.”

So, here’s some stolen material to hopefully bring some sense of life back to the world, at least that part of the world hiding in the northeast United States. Stuff you probably don’t know, or even care about. Whimsical stuff, odd stuff, who cares stuff …. stuff to get our minds back to normal.

 

First mowing of Spring in Syracuse, NY

Men can read smaller print than women; women can hear better.

Coca-Cola was originally green.  (Uck!)

State with highest % of people who walk to work:  Alaska (well, when you don’t have roads)

Percentage of Africa that is wilderness:  28%

Percentage of North America that is wilderness:  38% (seriously..check that)

Cost of raising a medium size dog to the age of 11:  $16,400 (worth every penny)

Average number of people airborne over the U.S. in any given hour:  61,000

San Francisco cable cars are the only mobile National Monuments.

Only two people signed the Declaration of Independence on July 4^th.  John Hancock and Charles Thomson.  The last signature was added 5 years later.  (The mail was awfully slow then)

Half of all Americans live within 50 miles of their birthplace.  (I’d check that one again)

 

The calendar says Spring - I'm going in!  Or maybe not!

In ancient times – for a month after the wedding, the bride’s father would supply his new son-in-law with all the mead he could drink.  Mead is a honey beer and because the calendar was lunar based, this period was called the honey month, which we know today as the Honeymoon. (There are so many directions this could go in – ain’t love grand?)

England gave us many things, these two highly ranked among them.  In olde England, ale was ordered by pints and quarts.  When things got unruly, the barkeep yelled at people to “Mind your pints and quarts, and settle down.”  Hence the saying:  “mind your P’s and Q’s”

Back to the olde pub (why not, after this winter).  Pub patrons had a whistle baked into the rim or handle of their ceramic cup.  When they needed a refill, they used the whistle to get some service.  “Wet your whistle” is the phrase you’re thinking of for modern day use.

 

Spring fishing on Oneida Lake - 2014

If you were to spell out numbers, how far would you have to go until you would find the letter A ?  One thousand!

And last, but not least, an old favorite:  It is impossible to lick your elbow.  (and you all know this because you have all tried to do just that – but if you’re Gene Simmons, maybe, just maybe)

Mark Twain Quote:  “April Fool – this is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.”

Florida

Or, as my Italian neighbor, fresh from the old country, likes to say ….   Flor-duh.

God's waiting room.  Land of the killer power chair, and versatile walker, replete with cut off tennis balls to grease the skids, making it a dangerous speed machine.

Oh, Florida is all of this, but thankfully, much more as well.  It has younger folk and places to eat, or wet your whistle, or both.  They all get along rather well, but do not, I repeat, do not, under any circumstances, try to outrace a senior citizen from the parking lot to the door of a restaurant at 4PM, the official start of the "early bird special."  They will cut you off, cut you down, and block you out like you were made of paper mache. No football player could dispatch you faster.  Nothing, no, nothing will keep them from getting ahead of you in the seating line. Go ahead, try it, I dare you.  You'll see.

Anyway, that's where I am right now, in a desperate race to ditch my winter mood.  Find me a pool, or take me to a beach. Let the sun shine on me, and warm me, console me, heal me.  And just in case that's not quite enough, can you fetch me a beer, or a wine.

Mark Twain Quote: "Bermuda:  I said it was like being in Heaven.  The Reverend rebukingly and rather pointedly advised me to make the most of it then." (The same could be said of me and Florida, I suppose)

My Unvisited Gem

I need to visit one more place while I'm still in the mental state that requires beach intervention as the sole savior of my spirit.  No ice cream cone, no sundae known, no drink so strong, no filtered bong, no painting clear, no book so dear, no, none of these can stop me from falling deep.  None but sand, and sun, and warm, and smell, and rhymthic waves that reach my ears, only these can tame my fears.  Can you tell that I've reached the end of the rope?  Yup, hanging by one hand I am.

So I write of a place I've never seen, but having once been to sea, know that it is near to me, near in mind, near in eye, near in spirit, near in heart. 

It is the special place of someone I know, and when more than once I would glorify the Cape, she would tell of the "Isle."  The Emerald Isle.  The name alone paints the picture.

The View From Up Top

All places have a history, and this is no exception.  It is an idyllic spit of land that makes its home at the southern end of the Outer Banks, at a location named The Crystal Coast, all of it resting on the Bogue Banks.  It is a barrier island some 30 miles long, give or take.  And Emerald Isle occupies a prominent spot on this landscape. And the whole island appears to be uninterrupted beach.  Imagine the luxury of it.

Originally, like everything close, it was home to the native tribes, Algonquin in this case, from about 500AD to colonial times.  Pirates too called it home, and one Edward Teach, who history calls Blackbeard, sailed from there to plunder and meet his fate. He was a pirate for but two short years, before he was hunted and killed on the Outer Banks, just north of the Crystal Coast.

Now this is a pier….The Bogue Pier

Later, in more civilized times, the land was settled by whalers and fishermen.  And the Isle came to be called Emerald thanks to the large maritime forests on that part of the island.  With all this history and beauty, it is rather odd to learn that it was sparsely popoulated for all but recent history. It started with about 15 families who arrived in 1893.  And it largely remained that until about 1950, when small family cottages began to appear. So, one may draw the conclusion that despite its romantic beauty, Emerald Isle did not, for some odd reason, instill in the natives any great desire to procreate.

But the secret couldn't stay hidden for long.  If the natives wouldn't cooperate, the population expansion would have to be imported.  For you see, in 1950, it was home to only about 14 people.  One of the most beautiful spots on earth one could imagine, and only 14 people were there to enjoy the view. Fast forward to 2008, when the permanent population stood at about 3,900 folks.  But a lot happened between the 15 and the 3,900.

It was called development, and it really started way back in the 1920s, with a dream that never really took off.  It got serious in the 1950s, when Emerald Isle was sold and sliced into parcels, Talk about "Oh, why didn't I get in on that?"  The whole parcel of Emerald Isle, some 12 miles wide, was purchased for $350,000. The price of one small house today. Oy.

The Portal to Paradise

The ferry service from the mainland started in 1960, and the Cameron Langston Bridge (the Emerald Isle Bridge) was  added in the early 1970s,  and away we go.  Fast forward to today.  In season, over 50,000 visitors will journey to Emerald Isle to renew, refresh, and recharge.  And they all want to stay forever.

Miles of Heaven

There are many reasons for this of course, a principal one being the family oriented atmosphere deliberatley built into the planning and development of this paradise.  Today, the oceanfront is lined with both large and small homes. While there is a scattering of condominiums, there are no oceanfront hotels to commercialize what nature created to be enjoyed in its birthday suit.  Imagine that….not one gaudy hotel for miles and miles.  Just homes.  Let's go for a walk.

Off the Crystal Coast, this needs no words

There was one other surprise I learned in researching the Emerald Isle.  The Outer Banks face the Atlantic Ocean.  How can it be, I once thought, that one could take a picture of the setting sun.  Rising sun, yes, but the last I knew, the sun still set in the west, not the east.  Well, check the  map I was told.  It turns out that the Crystal Coast, which is on the very southern end of the OBs, is tucked underneath the changing coast and actually is orientated east to west, so that the homes on the beaches actually face south…..what a treat.  One can sit on their porch and see both the sun rise and the sun set. Is this heaven or what?  Walk to greet the rising sun and walk again to put it to sleep.

End of another day in Paradise

Oh yeah, it's on my bucket list.

Mark Twain Quote:  "Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates."

Cape Break #2

Cape trivia was fun.  Tonight (Monday as I write this) it is 14 degrees and heading for below zero.  Just 17 days before Spring.  And even though the sun showed its face in Syracuse today, my blueness continues.  That may come to be a topic for more than one post down the road.  But for now, I need more Cape Trivia, for there is no end to this winter. 

Provincetown’s Pilgrim Monument, at 252 ft., is the tallest all granite structure in America.  And yes, I have climbed to the top. Worth the view.

Pilgrim Monument

Coast Guard Beach in Eastham is regularly named to Conde Nast Traveler’s top Ten Beaches in the U.S.

Cape Cod makes, for the world to enjoy – Cape Cod Potato Chips!  Some say they are the world’s best….and I’m one of them.  Kettle Chips w/ 40% less fat.  Hmmmm. You can tour their factory in Hyannis.

 

Wellfleet, MA

You reading this MG?  Wellfleet Oysters are prized by chefs the world over for their delicacy and sweetness.  This town has been famous for oysters ever since the explorer Champlain found them in 1606.  There is a Wellfleet Oyster Weekend in October each year.  Personally, well, steamed clams are about as close as I’m ever going to get to an oyster. I tried.  Succeeded once, caught in the midst of a nice buzz. One and done.

Can you say oysters?

On your way into Wellfleet, stop at the First Congregational Church, a handsome 1850 Greek Revival edifice, replete with the only town clock which rings ship’s time in lieu of regular time.  It takes too long to explain, so look it up and check it out as it is really neat.  Or confusing, depending on whether or not you know about the ship’s time thing.  It's in Ripley's Believe It or Not.  Believe it or not.  

 

First Congretational Church

Cape Playhouse in Dennis is America’s oldest professional theatre.  It has seen the likes of Jessica Tandy, Bette Davis (she ushered there too), Gregory Peck and Basil Rathbone.

Cape Playhouse

Cape Cinema, the 92 seat theater on the grounds of the Cape Playhouse, with its 6,400 square-foot Art Deco ceiling mural of Prometheus, opened July 1, 1930, world-premiering The Wizard of Oz.  The mural is the largest in North America.

The Mayflower Compact was drafted in Cape Cod Bay by the Pilgrims (probably eating Wellfleet oysters and drinking a pint or two) during their 5 week stay here.  It was the first written "constitution,"  an agreement whereby a free people would self govern.  It was the birth of our history. 

That’s enough for now.  Depending on the weather and/or the mood, we’ll be back.  Or perhaps we’ll tour another magic spot, this one much further south than the Cape.  I'm beginning to smell the sea. 

Mark Twain Quote: “Foreigners cannot enjoy our food, I suppose, any more than we can enjoy theirs.  It is not strange; for tastes are made, not born.  I might glorify my bill of fare until I was tired; but after all, the Scotchman would shake his head, and say, “Where’s your haggis?” and the Fijan would sigh and say, “Where’s your missionary?”