Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the month “January, 2015”

Makes Scents to Me

When a person has the aches and pains as we do around here, it hints at an advancement of age. Now, far be it from me to suggest such a thing, however, in my heart I think I am more than qualified to speak about that subject.

The aging of our population arrives in such a manner that we often fail to realize it. One moment you are a freshman in high school and then all of a sudden you are attending your 55th high school class reunion. I mean, this thing did not just creep up on me; it knocked me over like a bowling ball whacks the pins in a bowling alley. It came with a bang. It clearly was a strike.

In the days before my existence, there were traders and traveling salesmen who went from town to town, hawking their wares, anything from cabinets to fabrics to suspenders, even underwear. They sold their products from the back of a wagon, sometimes sell and run. Also high on the list was cure-all medicines. Horse liniment was a top seller, because it was “good” for the skin and worked miracles on aches and pains for both humans and animals.

Of course, the travelling salesman also used his rather easy-going lifestyle and his manly abilities to ply his wares to unsuspecting farmers, to take advantage of their beautiful daughters; however, that’s another story.

For aches and pains, one can always call the doctor for an appointment to investigate aches and pains such as twinges, throbbing, hurts and tenderness; however, the primary care provider will first ask you to come into his/her office. The days are long gone when a doctor would call in a prescription, or heaven forbid, make a house call.

After waiting two weeks, the appointment finally arrives. First, an assortment of tests will be administered, blood will be drawn and he/she will probe in the general vicinity of the discomfort. It will not accomplish much other than a bit more excruciating pain. He/she will then wait for the test results to come back from the laboratory and upon such results two weeks later; (if they remember to call) he/she will then refer you to a specialist. You will make an appointment for three weeks later and upon working you in to see the specialist, he/she will then proceed to administer the same tests and lab work as the primary care health provider did the previous visit to that office. This is in addition to the co-pays at both offices. In the meantime, you are directed to take two aspirin/ Ibuprofen/acetaminophen, (whatever you are not allergic to) every four hours and rest. If you do not feel any better, call them back.




You can visit the local pharmacy and walk the aisles looking for something that will alleviate your symptoms. As you make your way through the store, you may pass the perfume department. In this section, one can purchase fragrances for men or women. They have a large variety of such scents meant to attract the opposite sex. In fact, they have more varieties of fragrances than Walmart has wine choices. I am not suggesting that wine will cure any of the aches and pains but both do stimulate the senses.

So, the other night as the “Rancher” and “Rancherette” prepared for bed, the subject came up about our aches and pains. (I realize I am one of her pains for which I know of no cure) I recently, gave the “Rancherette” a rather distinctive bottle of perfume for Christmas. That did help resolve a portion of her pain and put a feather in my cap at the same time.

However, there was another scent emanating from the room. I could not discern this particular smell.

I immediately wondered if it was “Lancome La Vie Est Belle Eau de Parfum”, perhaps “Dolce&Gabbana Eau de Toilette”, or maybe even “Eau de Cologne”. However, I was mistaken. The “Rancherette” informed me that the name of this particular product was “Eau de IcyHot”.  There was much laughter in the bed.

Me, I think I prefer, “Eau de Ben Guay”.

Have an ache-free day.

Rated PG13

The “rancherette” and her chick “delivery room” just completed an incubation period for chicks. It appears this particular hatch was not very successful. There were not as many hatched as we had hoped. This is a sad state of affairs. The “rancherette” so wanted the little chick babies, however it was just not to be.

I got to thinking, (A highly unreliable and dangerous process,) perhaps there was an underlying problem. Could it have been the incubator? There is some scientific evidence that incubators do not always do their job, or, is it possible that the rooster did not do his part? This is a dilemma.

I began to wonder about the egg fertilizing process. Just how difficult is it for a rooster to fertilize eggs? Then, does the rooster fertilize each individual egg, thus repeating the cycle every day, or is there enough fertilizer from one episode for, say, a dozen eggs?

From what little I know about the mating of chickens, (I guess this is where they do the Chicken Dance, do-de-do-do-do-do, do-de-do-do-do-do), it is an ongoing process for the rooster. I am pretty sure from the rooster’s point of view, he would prefer to fertilize each individual egg; do the Chicken Dance, fertilize an egg, do the Chicken Dance…

This gets me back to my original thought. Did the rooster not do his part?  Judging from the facade of the hens, they are all having a “bad hair” day. Their little topknots are wrangled and somewhat spiked. Perhaps, the rooster can account for their hairstyle, or maybe they used a “gel”.  However, it is evident they need to see their local feather duster to streamline their appearance.

From their outward appearance, the rooster was involved in some sort of ill-conceived (pun intended) venture. Yet, it may not have been as enterprising as hoped. Perhaps, he may need to see a specialist. Who knows what is lurking in his DNA?

It is definitely not his presentation. He has the “side-stepping” and the “wing-flapping” down to a science. (See “do-de-do-do-do”, above). However, I don’t believe the rooster is really concerned about any offspring anyway.

I think I really need to study this more. I might just enroll in Chicken Psychology 101 and take the rooster with me. He might appreciate a few pointers. Or, I could just set up a camera and video the egg fertilization process. Naah, I might be arrested.

The rooster did not agree to an interview, thus, these opinions are mine and mine alone.

Have a great day.

I Love My Doctor(s)

I Love My Doctor(S)

Well, I made another trip to the dermatologist yesterday. He and I are like family cousins, you know, the one you like the best, except that the doctor charges when I visit him.

My visit was to remove another one of those pesky skin cancers from my forehead. I have a history of Basal Cell cancers.  I make a lot of visits because of the many years I spent outside without taking precautions to protect my skin. 

WARNING: Here is where I provide some cautionary advice. PLEASE take care of your skin.                                        

In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that every year I wanted a new birthday suit for Christmas and Santa never delivers. One reason I need a new birthday suit is because I did not take care of my skin during all those years when I worked outside. Not that I worked outside in my birthday suit, but you know what I mean. I have it on good authority; you will NOT get a new birthday suit. I do not charge for my advice, it is completely free.

So the nurse began the process. First, she takes my picture. I told her not to paste it on Facebook. She agreed. It was a detailed picture of my forehead. I think it was a “before” picture. Eventually, she will take an “after” picture. That way, I can end up in a TV commercial.

The next thing she did was to inflict pain on my forehead. She stuck me with tiny needles that numbed the area for surgery. Do you realize there is not much skin on your forehead? Maybe it is better if you are thickheaded.

The first two or three penetrations on my head were indeed painful, however, afterwards,  it began to numb. (some would say, I am already numb in the head.) Then my “good” friend, Doctor G. (name change to protect the “innocent”) welcomed me into his establishment. He asked how I was doing. My reply was not good. One would think that a doctor would know his surgical unit was not high on the list of places to visit. They have no windows, consequently, no view to enjoy. They have no refreshments, no pictures on the wall. This seems to be the place where one would need a good stiff drink. (Coke, fully caffeinated)

He discussed how during The surgery,  I would feel a little pushing and shoving and possible pressure as he slices and dices, (My words, not his) but not to worry. (he called it a procedure, Note: It is a “procedure” when it happens to someone else when it happens to you it is definitely surgery.) He told me that if I feel any pain to tell him and he would administer more local anesthesia. I’m thinking if I felt any pain, it would already be too late.

Doctor G. Said if he removed it all the first time, they will bandage my head and send me home. If they did not get all of it, then we would have to endure the process all over again. This is why they call it a “practice.”

As he began to cut, country music was playing in the background, more specifically, bluegrass music. I am a fan of bluegrass and thought it was appropriate however, there was a fiddle tune playing that was very fast. I suggested to my “good” friend, Doctor G. that perhaps he could play something a little slower as I could feel him keeping time with the music. Since my face was covered I could not see any expressions on their faces, however, I’m pretty sure they were giggling under their breath. They were also reliving their New Year’s Eve experiences. After listening to that, I am glad this took place several days after New Year’s Day, for I would not have wanted to be the first patient of the new year.

Well, to make a long story short, as they say, they actually removed all of the skin cancer the first time. That was good news. He explained how he did his best to do the surgery in a wrinkle so that it would not be too noticeable. I asked, “does this mean I did not get a face lift?” He said maybe a mini-face lift. At my age, a lift of any kind is welcome news.

The nurse finished suturing the wound, instructed me how to deal with the consequences of the surgery and followed up with an appointment to remove the sutures. So I left with no facelift and a hole in the head, for which some say I already had one of those.

I thanked both of them, being polite, you know, and made my way to the door. Doctor G. shook my hand and wished me well.

I have an appointment tomorrow with my primary physician. We are on a first name basis, too.

Hope your day goes well.

The Three Stages of Life (In our Backyard)

Shortly after the first of every New Year, many writers sometimes want to stop and reflect on the happenings of the past year. Me, I have a problem with remembering the events that happened the past twenty-four hours, let alone the previous 12 months. Now, I am not one to pick on the mature generation, after all I am a charter member, (of an elder generation, not a maturity level).
So we will dispense with the reflections of yesteryear and focus on what is happening today, January 2, 2015.
I call it “The Three Stages of Life (in our backyard)

Around our home, we have varying degrees of maturity. For example, yesterday, the hatchery introduced a “peep” of ten baby chicks. Newly hatched chicks are called a “peep” or “clutch”. Quite ingenious to name a group of birds “peep”. Wish I’d thought of that. They had just enough “maturity” to break out of their shells and begin the process of life in the fowl world.
At this stage, we do not yet know which birds are cockerels and which are pullets. It isn’t like determining the difference between a male and female puppy. One cannot just roll the bird over and look underneath.
Baby chicks must be taught how to eat and drink and since the Mother Hen (AKA, rancherette) is good at teaching old dogs new tricks, I believe she is very capable of teaching new birds old tricks. It is my privilege to allow her that discretion. That would be a bit of maturity on my part, you know, old dog, new trick. So, this is our nursery and the First Stage of Life (in our backyard).

On to the kindergarten group. There are nine birds in this group. They are not yet out of the “peep” stage, but not into the “big chick” flock, either. Sort of like a youngster turning thirteen going on twenty-one. (Where they think they know everything). These birds range in age from five to six weeks and are beginning to feather out nicely. Because they are Silkies, their skin is black and you can see their flesh through the feathers of the lightly colored chicks.
They are like five-year-old children; do NOT want to share anything. And they will NOT take direction from anyone. Of course, there is dissension among these birds however; the “Mother Hen” is still the mothering type. I can hear her now, “You two stop that fighting; wait ‘till your father gets home, etc…” Have you ever heard that before? Hmmmmmm, maybe I do remember some things from my past. That counts for maturity, doesn’t it?
Soon these birds will be ready to move next door to the “big chick” pen. It will be like a middle schooler moving to high school. (where they think they know everything) While in this pen, they can observe the happenings of the “big chicks”. They should learn from their elders, as if that ever happens.
But such is the Second Stage of Life (in our backyard)

And speaking of the “big chick” pen, there are six hens and one rooster in that group. We can officially call this group a flock. This is when a chick becomes an adult, (where they think they know everything,) and is now past the age of thirty-seven. I’ve noticed this trait in our kennel dogs as well. In fact, this even sounds a lot like human characteristics. Maybe it hits closer to home than I imagined.
Most of these “big chicks” have names and are quite proficient at laying eggs. Well, obviously not the rooster, he is so busy annoying the hens that he wouldn’t take the time to lay an egg even if he could. However, he does “lay” it on pretty thick. He also does a good job of protecting his harem. He encourages them on egg-laying procedures. He wards off evil spirits; you should see his voodoo dance, and he makes sure they have an abundant supply of mealworms. Occasionally, he mistakes the legs of the “rancherette” for a wayward hen and has to be brought back to the real world. That, perhaps, is a lack of maturity on his part.
So, those are the Three Stages of Life (in our backyard) for today. I’m thinking of making a video of these happenings in our backyard. I am going to call it “The Big Chick Flick Trick.” Sounds a bit mature, don’t you think?

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