Tag: personal

Rent Party at Charming House

When a realtor describes a house as charming, we have four words of advice: RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! Our house is charming. It is possibly the oldest house in town. The new part was built in 1845 to be the hotel for the railroad when it came through. The last owner was an Irish woodworker. He did some lovely work on the trim. He made a nice back door and beautiful window over the kitchen sink. Why he used single pane glass is beyond me. He restored the hardware to period. He did level the floor in one of the rooms. He made it into one house out of three tiny apartments. (sort of) It still had three electric meters with two wire, knob and tube and old romex to much of the house.

The oil burner was on its last. The old iron pipes to the upstairs bathroom were mostly occluded. The drains weren’t much better, but the switch plates had fairies and waterlilies on them. The wood trim in the kitchen has charming little crosses drilled in it. I have basically replaced the heat system, the plumbing and the electrical service. I am working on rewiring, bit by bit, sorting out the mess. I won’t even start on the shape of the barn. But they say the value of real estate is mainly location. It is a great location.

We were rebuilding the barn to make the ministry and the business more efficient. Then I got sick. That messed everything up. There have been a series of setbacks. Bishop Thomas really wants to see a team of college kids come here to help finish the barn. I don’t know how that is going to happen. Bethann lost her job last summer. We have to pay for Cobra health insurance out of pocket. That takes more than her Unemployment Compensation. We had the court case against the city to keep the ministry going. that put the business on hold and hurt the business. We were both sick around Christmas, so that hurt the business. I was very sick last month, so that hurt the business again. We are on the verge of being able to make some major progress in helping the homeless in Philadelphia, if we had a basic facility there and could be full time working at that, instead of being distracted by the icon business. At the same time, we are on the verge of possibly losing our house, losing our current base of operations, and joining the ranks of the homeless ourselves.

So we are making an appeal.

We are having a rent party this Saturday evening, March 16, starting at 6:30. Since it is Cheesefare Sunday next week, we will be serving vegetarian chili, “Tender Hearted Shepherd’s Pie” (vegan), some cheese and veggies, chips and dip, dessert, etc. The $10 cover charge includes the food and soft drinks. Beer and wine will be available for additional donations. If you want to play an instrument to add to the festivities, please make it unplugged. Kevin Paige is bringing his guitar and his keyboard and his great talents to make music. We are hoping that the Ackers will favor us with some music as well. We are clearing out the furniture, so if you want to dance, you may.

We live at:
27 North Front St.  (in the middle of beautiful downtown)
Souderton, PA 18964

Call or email to let us know if you plan to attend, so we know how much food and drink to prepare.
phone: 267:497-0267
cranford@shoutforjoy.net  (If you can’t attend, but want to help, you can Paypal gifts to this email. If it is designated as a gift from one Paypal account to another, neither one is charged fees. Thanks! God bless you!)

It’s a cheap date for a good cause. We are going to try to have green beer in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. Hey, I was tickled that the first one to RSVP to say that he was coming was Philly rock legend Kenn Kweder! Please come join the fun.

Rent Party

We organized a “rent party” last week. I have been wanting to do this for some time. It is a practice that comes out of 1920s Harlem in New York City. Fats Waller and James P. Johnson used rent parties to help get by. When someone was going to come up short on their rent, they would throw a party to raise the rent. You clear the furniture out of the main room, invite all your friends and neighbors. Tell them to invite all their friends and neighbors. Charge a cover charge at the door. Provide some food. Have some musician friends play and sing for their supper and free drinks. Have some cheap beer and wine available for more contributions to the cause. This is where line dancing was invented. The most famous of these is the Electric Slide. These parties would be so crowded that, in order to dance, you had to synchronize. It was only later that Nashville expropriated it to turn the Electric Slide into country line dancing. It was a good way to have some fun on a Friday or Saturday night; for less money than at a bar or nightclub, with people you knew, while helping someone out of a tight spot.

Hard times are here again. But unlike during the Great Depression, most of us are unaware of one another’s situations. We are used to being anesthetized by the internet and by cable TV and by constant, on demand entertainment, infotainment, news and propaganda. We have been conditioned to think that anything that is not packaged and branded and sold to us is inferior, and possibly suspect. We get upset about the statistics we see on whatever “news” outlet we prefer, and we will argue about politics that ultimately will benefit the rich regardless of which party is in power, because, let’s face it, they’re all rich and out of touch with any personal sense of neighbors in need. A lot of people on the right are screaming that government is not the answer. A lot of people on the left are crying that the government is too slow to respond. Yet most, on both left and right, just continue to holler at each other while we could actually be doing something to address the suffering and the poverty about which we all say we are concerned.

A rent party is the perfect blend of free enterprise spirit and socialist concern! It’s a cheap date with live entertainment, good, home-cooked food, spirits, laughter, and friendship. Or you can choose to give more with the expectation that when you are short, the others will come to your aid. Another thing I want to say is that there is no shame in coming up short some times. “Events conspire” as they say. Kids get sick. Hours at work get cut back. Utility prices change. Oil and gas prices change. Appliances break or wear out. Expected Christmas bonuses are not given or are miserly. There are dozens of nickel and dimey things that can get a household behind the 8 ball before you can say, “Bob’s your uncle!” Then there are the salesmen and bankers who can paint a rosier picture of the future to get one to finance things one shouldn’t and acquire more debt than one should. Then there is student loan debt. When people are working hard and still not able to make ends meet, there is no shame.

We had a great time. The duo of Kevin Paige, who teaches music at Clemmer Music in Harleysville, PA, and Jeff Bonnet, who usually is part of a classic rock cover band “Out of Touch”, provided most of the entertainment. They were joined on some of the numbers by Dr. Raymond Acker, known to some as Deacon Herman, who also did some solos on guitar and vocal, both originals and some by Bob Dylan. His two sons did a beautiful medley from The Lord of the Rings acapella. April made a leafy salad, rice and beans, veggies and dip, chips and salsa, and coffee. Bethann made chicken breast, potatoes and peppers, orzo and spinach, pigs in a blanket, and wacky cake. Uncle John tended bar with a box of Merlot, a box of Chardonnay, a case of PBR, a case of Icehouse, and a mixed case of Mike’s Hard. We bought way too much alcohol. We have lots leftover. I guess we need to have another party. Thankfully, somebody bought some of the leftovers.

Unfortunately, it was a foggy night, so a number of people did not feel confident to travel. We charged $10 cover and $3 suggested donation for beer or wine or hard lemonade. We had a great time! We raised about $700 to help a young couple with their mortgage. Everyone said we should definitely do this again.

I hope the idea catches on. We could use more live music in our homes. We could use more joy and happiness. We could use more helping one another in hard times.

“Guys Night In” Avocado Surprise

Once a month, usually a Tuesday, a bunch of ladies, mostly from St. Philip, go out to dinner somewhere together. This practice started on the occasion of Bethann’s birthday two years ago. I had had a terrible staph infection on my neck and reactions to medications to treat it. Another lady had lost her husband in October. It had been a pretty grim time. A friend decided it would be a good time to have a good time. So a bunch of them took Bethann out to dinner. They had such a good time, they decided to do it again the next month, etc. It is now a regular event: Ladies’ Night Out.

So I got the idea to have a couple of the guys over to our house to make manly meals and watch manly movies while the ladies went out. We have watched “Monty Python’s: The Holy Grail”, “Napoleon Dynamite”, “Hannah”, “The Man Who Would Be King”, The Grammy Awards, a Leonard Cohen concert, a Bob Dylan documentary, etc. We have eaten “turtle burgers” (recipe by Southern Culture on the Skids), hobo hotdogs, veal steaks, stir fry and corn dogs. One night we ignited a tiny bit of bootleg, Greek Raki to prove that it was well over 50% alcohol. I concocted this recipe for one of those nights. It was a hit. I made it for Bethann and Hilary later. They loved it, too. This is especially amazing, because Hilary says she doesn’t like avocados or feta and it contains both. I told her they cancel each other out. She said they must, because she claimed the leftovers for her lunch.

Ingredients:

  • about 1-1/4 pound 80% lean ground beef
  • a  small onion, chopped
  • a handful of chopped green & red peppers
  • a handful of baby bella mushrooms
  • a large handful of frozen corn
  • 2 avocados peeled and cubed
  • salt
  • granulated garlic
  • mixed peppercorn grind
  • Greek oregano
  • cilantro
  • a generous handful of feta cheese

In a large skillet, fry up the hamburger and the chopped onion. If there is a lot of fat; drain some of it. Add the peppers, mushrooms and corn. Add the spices. Be liberal with the cilantro. It’s good for you. Stir and cook them until the peppers start to get a bit juicy, but not mushy. Add the avocados. Cover and let them get warm. Top with the feta and serve.

Enjoy!

An MRI for My Birthday

Each birthday marks the passing of another year into the tomb of time. It means I am another year closer to my death and during the year I have passed through the anniversary of that death. I don’t mean to be morbid. It’s just a realistic view of the brevity and frailty of this life. I turned 56 yesterday. That’s only 14 more Christmases until I’m 70, a man’s allotted time on earth. Any way you calculate it, the road ahead is a whole lot shorter than the road already traveled.

It’s a frightening prospect when one is confronted with one’s own mortality. It forces one to take stock and, hopefully, prepare in such a way that one’s death is a smooth and joyful passing. But this is not just about me. I have too many unfinished projects. There are the unfilled icon orders. There is my messy, indecipherable office. There is the unfinished barn, the unpainted windows, the gas boiler that arrived yesterday, the electrical wiring that needs sorting out, the grandchildren that need guidance and love, the rain garden that needs to be completed, the homeless people who need to be fed and clothed. Then there are all the people; my wife and family and others whom I love and who love me. There are countless reasons to not embrace my mortality. Yet it stares back at me from the mirror and I am keenly aware I am on the waning not the waxing side of life.

So, for my 56th birthday, I got an MRI of my brain. I had experienced several severe, lengthy migraines with strange aura and stroke-like symptoms. As I was waiting to hear the results of my MRI, I sat on the front step of our house on Front St. in Souderton. It was a beautiful, clear day. The spring flowers were giving way to the summer flowers. I saw a man walking on the sidewalk on the far side of Chestnut St. downhill from us. His image vanished for about three feet, then reappeared, continuing to walk. The scenery suffered no interruption. It was much like a continuity flaw in stop motion animation. So I called this aura “Gumby vision”. Soon after this, my phone rang. It was the radiologist from Grand View Hospital. He told me that the MRI indicated that I had had three little strokes on the right side of my brain. I should arrange for someone to bring me to the hospital to be admitted for further study.

So Itchy I Can’t Sleep

It’s nearly 3 AM and I haven’t been able to sleep yet. I have a cold with a bit of a runny nose, but it is my itchy skin that is keeping me awake. When I finally finished the Prednisone, on December 15, the hives were disappearing and did not flare up; that is, not until a week later.

On the 23rd, I went to the doctor. She told me that the water pill that I took in conjunction with my blood pressure medicine was sulfa based. I am allergic to sulfa, but had not reacted to this medicine any time in the last year since I became allergic to sulfa, as far as we know. We switched the blood pressure medicine and dropped the water pill. I also got a fresh prescription of Atarax for the itch. The change did not help, nor did the Atarax. I was taking it every six hours along with two Benadryl staggered between doses. My muscles were tired and weak and I was grumpy with unpredictable mood swings.

On Tuesday evening, Dec. 28, Bethann told me that I was tired, grumpy and unusually hard to live with, so I should call the doctor (since I was obviously still sick). The next morning, I called Dr. Jonathan Cohen, the infectious disease specialist. He had told me to keep in touch. He took my call on the first try. I told him that Bethann had told me to call him, since I was tired and grumpy and hard to live with. I told him that the hives had reappeared. To that, he replied, “Interesting.” He said it in that Dr. House way that you never want to hear from a doctor, because it means that you have entered uncharted waters. He also told me, “Dude, you’ve been sick since I first saw you in the beginning of October. You have every reason to be tired and out of sorts – wearing the hair shirt.” I asked him if he could give me an answer that Bethann would like. He started with, “Well you should be feeling a little better since you talked to a doctor.” (Dr. Cohen can be a funny guy!) He then told me that I should marshal my more positive energies that he knew I had and try harder. He told me to go back to my PCP sooner than scheduled and to make an appointment with an allergist. He told me to move quickly on that, because allergists are notoriously slow and I would be lucky to get an appointment within 30 days. He also told me to go to the city to find an allergist. My case was more exotic than what any of the allergists he knew here had ever handled.

I saw Dr. Oswald on Monday, Jan. 3. Since the side effects of Atarax had gotten worse and it was no longer effective for the hives, she switched me to 5mg Xyzal per day and 20mg Famotidine (Pepcid AC) twice daily. This regimen took care of the side effects, but still isn’t altogether effective against the itch. Since I started writing this post, I looked up Famotidine on the NIH website. Interestingly, among the possible side effects are itchy skin and hives. Like I keep on saying, this whole episode is like playing Whack-A-Mole!

Death in the Mirror

After four or five days in ICU, I finally looked in a mirror and saw death staring back at me. My  face was all dry and wrinkled as if I had aged by 15 years in one week. It was startling to see. I examined the shape of my creases and noted that they weren’t smile wrinkles, but showed more worry and sadness. They reminded me of my depressed, alcoholic Grandma Ingham. I tried to scrub and scrub to get all the dead flakes of skin off, hoping that would allow my skin to smooth again. I was hoping that I would still have a shot at smile wrinkles, those magnificent, friendly crow’s feet; marks of a happy life.

Twice in the prior four weeks I had left my home for the hospital emergency room thinking that I may not be coming back. I looked around my house and yard and lamented all of the unfinished projects I was leaving for Bethann. I also admired the diversity and color of the front yard that I had turned into flower beds last summer and wondered if I would get to see them come up again. The third time, which was the most serious, my mind didn’t go there. I was too distracted by the burning all over my body.

Visitors Bearing Gifts

Sunday afternoon and evening, I had several visitors to my hospital room. I do not remember who all came. Perhaps you can cut me some slack on that. I was on morphine and Percocet; and still felt pain. I think Vladimir was there. Irene came and brought a most thoughtful gift: a small CD/tape/radio stereo, along with the loan of 10 liturgical CDs. That helped me get through the nights. The nurses and aides all enjoyed them as well. I think Dr. Joseph Kyriakos visited me, but it could have been another doctor. There was a doctor, who is not my doctor, but a friend. I received lots of visits like that. It was interesting to watch the aides or nurses excuse themselves, thinking that they were interrupting a doctor’s visit and we had to explain it wasn’t official; he’s just my friend not my doctor.

I should have had a guest book for visitors to sign. That way I would know who visited when. Thanks to all! You know who you are. I was blessed by your presence.

PICC Line Installed & Biopsy Taken

It was Sunday morning. On any other week, I would be in Matins at St. Philip Antiochian Orthodox Church, Souderton. Instead, I was being wheeled down to a room with a CAT scan machine. Steve even headed my gurney into the room in the correct direction. It was a tight fit. The room obviously had not been built with this huge machine in mind. They gingerly slid me from the gurney onto the bed of the machine. They fed me into the machine feet first.

While the machine was imaging the area, Dr. Osuego carefully snaked a line in to take a biopsy of, or a sample of the fluid from the sac that had attached itself to my spine at T10-T11. He then installed the PICC line from my left forearm for the intravenous antibiotic. It was going to be a long haul.

A PICC line is, by definition and per its acronym, a peripherally inserted central catheter. It is long, slender, small, flexible tube that is inserted into a peripheral vein, typically in the upper arm, and advanced until the catheter tip terminates in a large vein in the chest near the heart to obtain intravenous access. It is similar to other central lines as it terminates into a large vessel near the heart. However, unlike other central lines, its point of entry is from the periphery of the body  the extremities. *

He was a sweet, gentle, middle-aged man, with what sounded like a hint of a South American accent with kind eyes. I thanked him for working on a Sunday morning. He was cheerful and that made all the difference. I don’t remember any unpleasantness in the procedure. I just remember this beautiful man.

Inexplicable Pain

I started to feel a pain in my back on Sunday, October 3. There was no good reason for it, as far as I could tell. I hadn’t lifted anything incorrectly or slept on it funny. It just started to hurt. The pain gradually grew more intense over the next two weeks. On Saturday, Oct 16, I co-led a “Living on the Street” tour in center city Philadelphia for The King’s Jubilee. I barely made it up onto the platform to Mark’s place. I sat at his table and drank coffee while the rest of the tour hiked through the underbrush to visit Fred’s old camp. The pain had spread, so that now when I coughed, it felt like my kidneys hurt.

By Sunday, I was continuously miserable. That afternoon was our granddaughter Isabella’s birthday party in the park and I was useless to load or unload anything. Bethann made me promise to go to the chiropractor the next day. Monday morning, I called the chiropractor and my medical doctor. I got back to back appointments. First I went to the chiropractor. He examined me, doing that thing where he pokes his fingers on either side of my spine working his way up the back. He didn’t find anything seriously amiss, but one point where he touched on the left side in the middle of my spine caused excruciating pain. He did a minor adjustment and put heat on my back. He was mystified. There was no chiropractic cause for the kind of pain I was having.

I went on to see my doctor. She examined me. I told her of my experience at the chiropractor and that I was afraid it must be something in my organs, perhaps my kidneys, that was causing the pain. I gave a urine sample. there was no blood, so that made it less likely that it was my kidneys. She agreed that it did not seem musculo-skeletal in cause, but not sure, and ordered x-rays to be done the following day.

I was given a prescriptions for Valium for a muscle relaxant (since I am allergic to Flexiril) and Percocet for the pain.

Thursday was reading night.

In our home, when I was growing up, Thursday night was reading night. This was never, ever announced or even mentioned. It was never enforced. None of us kids were even aware of it. However, it was intentional, consistent and disciplined. My mom, B.J., told me about it when I was in college. I asked her about it, because I had realized that I had never seen any of the TV shows that were on Thursday nights.

My folks wanted to make sure that all four of us kids would enjoy reading and make it a part of our lives. They determined that the best way to do this was by providing opportunity and example. So they chose Thursday. On Thursdays, the television did not get turned on. Mom and Dad would sit in the family room and read. There were built in bookshelves on either side of the fireplace and they were filled with books. Of the approximately forty lineal feet of shelves, half were taken up with reference books: an encyclopedia, dictionaries, thesaurus, legislative manuals and almanacs. The other half were filled mainly with history and biographies, with maybe three feet of philosophical fiction and two feet of family photo albums. My brother and sisters and I each had our personal collections of books in bookcases in our bedrooms.

On Thursdays, we could pretty much do what we wanted. There was a stereo, pool table and fireplace in the basement recreation room. There were games and books there, too. There was a table for puzzles and crafts in the family room. We could play organ in the living room. But we would find our folks quietly reading. I don’t remember being told that we couldn’t turn on the TV. They were reading in front of it. It just wouldn’t seem polite.

We all grew up to be readers.

Years ago, I heard a story on NPR about Iceland being a super-literate country. Thursday was family reading night. All broadcast television would go dark on Thursday evening. It was practically considered one’s civic duty to write at least one book in your lifetime. I haven’t been able to run down the source of this story or substantiate it. Perhaps the internet and cable have erased this distinction there, by now. I did think it was curious that they also chose Thursday. We know a man whose full name is Samuel Shakir Kamees Massad, which translates from the Arabic as: “asked of God to be thankful for Thursday.” To that I say Yes I am!