Happy Easter 2012

Here's a point to ponder for all you folks out in blogger-world:

What would happen if you woke up tomorrow morning and everything you DID NOT thank God for last night when you said your prayers, was gone?

Enjoy this Holy season, help those who are less fortunate, remember our fighting men and women, pray that our country chooses wise leaders, hug those you love, do not take anything for granted, count your many blessings and thank God for each and every one!

Pulmonary Embolism

Listen up everyone.

Even though we know better, we sat for five and a half hours recently on a crammed full Southwest Airlines flight. Ron, Marja and I tried the new non-stopper from Baltimore back to Tucson after a busy week in Washington, DC. Our reasoning was that it would be better to take one long flight, instead of changing planes on a connector. WRONG! At least changing planes is a form of exercise, that we now know we desperately needed. We were repeatedly told to not wait in the aisles for the restrooms, and the fasten seat belt signs were illuminated more than they were off. The result of turbulence, we were told, but it seemed as if one or two teeny bumps were a good excuse to turn on the sign. We were captive, so we stuck our noses in our books and our ears in our head sets and resolved to endure. Even after we finally landed in Tucson, the gate wasn't ready, so we sat still some more.

Two mornings later, Ron was awakened with extreme pain in his chest. He knew it was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, so we went to the ER to check it out. A blood clot in his lung was the culprit. SCARY stuff.

Then came an overnight stay in the hospital with blood thinners to bust the clot, IV's, needles and constant poking and prodding. The good news is that now he's home, with a passel of new meds, instruction sheets, needles for the stomach and needles for the finger, but with a blessed feeling of relief.

So . . . . don't forget, as we did, to move around on long flights. Flex your ankles while you are sitting, make circles with your feet, ala Tai Chi, nine times to the right and then nine times to the left. Last year, in my Tai Chi class, I asked why nine was the magic number and received the very Chinese-y answer of something about the ying and the yang. So, don't ask, just do it. Then thank us every time you DON'T get a blood clot on a long flight.

UPDATE on my last blog, "On Hold:" Our inquisitive, super, smart, always ready to check things out, son-in-law, Barry McNees did some research and discovered that every American spends an average of sixty (60) HOURS A YEAR ON HOLD. An astounding waste of time, not to mention the frustration it causes!

On Hold

Clint Eastwood got it wrong. It isn't Halftime in America. Not even close. America is ON HOLD.

"Your call is very important to us." "Press 1 for Directory Assistance." "Due to heavier than usual call volume . . . " "This call may be recorded for quality assurance." That last one is a crock of woo if there ever was one. If calls were actually being recorded to improve quality, why doesn't the quality ever improve?

No living person ever answers a telephone these days, only robots with pre-recorded voices and no ears.

Recently my AOL account was hacked and it has not been a good experience. In fact, I was really hacked off by the whole thing and remain that way. The results that are known so far, is that they made two computers terminally ill, used a credit card and compromised my Wells Fargo account. We used to have a great independent little bank in Jackson Hole that I loved, but unfortunately, it got crushed by a run away stage coach. I was heartsick. The original bankers were our friends and they always answered their phones in person, and they even invited us to their homes. Then my five digit account number became twice as long, and the level of customer service practically disappeared.

My recent stage coach calamity was caused by the big hat drivers letting some crooks and imposters order checks from my account and have them shipped to a different address, in a different state and they even changed the telephone number. How does that happen without notification to the account holder? Next, shady characters tried to cash the bogus checks in California and Virginia, but the person they were asking to cash the check got suspicious. Thank heavens! Then just try to talk to somebody at the bank about it. Every time you actually get a real person, after waiting forever in a holding pattern, it is not the right office/department/location, etc. When your ear gets really hot, and you are tired of listening to elevator music, or something worse, or when you can't wait any longer to run to the bathroom, you give up and then hang up. Now, that is no doubt what they were hoping you would eventually do. And you are forced to choose that option because their menu options have drastically changed.

And it isn't just Wells, I must point out to be perfectly fair. It is every place you try to contact by phone these days. The doctors office gives you numeric choices for the reason you are calling, so does the drug store, your cable provider, the local library, and the neighborhood pizza joint, just to name a few.

Here's a novel idea to create jobs, reduce America's stress level and improve productivity and customer service. Hire people to answer telephones all across the U S of A. Just like in the good old days. Train those folks to properly direct incoming calls and answer questions relative to the business where they are working. Just think, if every office in every town in every state chose this way to run their business . . . . oh but that's way too drastic a move. That would be way more change than we should hope for. Silly me!

Just Call me Lucy

Funny how every day tasks can trigger huge flash backs into our past!

Just recently I was whipping up a truck load of noodles and meat balls for our grandson, Hugh's, school pot-luck dinner. It made me think back on another time when I was cooking huge amounts of something. Back then, it was spaghetti, and we were living in Dallas. Our daughter Lisa was on the swim team. The team was having their end of the season dinner and the coach asked me to make spaghetti. I was given the recipe. I bought the stuff. I don't know what I was thinking, but clearly I was not thinking . . . . clearly. I opened all the boxes of spaghetti noodles and dumped them in a big pot of water. As they cooked, they grew. Imagine that! Soon I was putting some of them into another pot. Then another. And then another, again. Soon every pot in the kitchen was piled high with spaghetti noodles. I was panting and sweating from the stress of running around the kitchen, searching for more containers to hold all the hot growing things. It was total chaos and I was all by myself. HELP! I wanted someone to help me.

Then, I had to stop and laugh. I even looked around my kitchen to see if this was a "you're on candid camera" moment. I felt just like Lucy Ricardo on "I love Lucy."

Now this blog won't surprise my friend, Claire Scott Alcindore, one tiny bit. She always laughed and said I reminded her of Lucille Ball, and she never even saw my cooking piles of spaghetti act. Hey, my middle name is LUCILLE!

Busy Mom's need help. During those days of juggling the kids schedules, homework, shopping, driving, cooking and the endless laundry that I used to be convinced the neighbors brought in when I wasn't looking. There is NEVER enough hours in the day to get it all done. I sure could have used the help of my Mom with that spaghetti project. She would have laughed too. We would have had fun!

It makes me happy to help Lisa with projects like the meat balls and noodle dish. I see it as a fun and rewarding part of finally being a grandma.



And . . . news flash! Our Mighty Might, football playing grandson, Jake, scored his first touchdown on Saturday. He is eight. I asked Ron if he remembers scoring his first touchdown, but he said NO. I hope Jake remembers his. When he was asked how he felt afterward, he said that he felt "really good. It was awesome. Now we are going to be in the playoffs. Then next it will be Pee Wee, and then high school and college, baby."

Yeah, it sure will be here before we know it, Jakie, baby. You go, Mr. Touchdown!

Ron and I have been singing, "You Gotta be a Football Hero" to Jake, but The Crew Cuts we're not!

Weird But True

Do you ever have cramps in your feet at night? Or Charlie Horses? Wouldn't you love to find out how to not have them any more? (Drum Roll) I've got the answer. It is Weird but true. Just tuck a bar of unwrapped Ivory Soap at the foot of your bed, under your fitted sheet. Huh?

My friend Marty read about the cure in her newspaper. She assured us it worked. Ron scoffed. Said it was "stupid". I hurried to the store and bought the magic little bars. At first I just put them at our feet, but Ron took his out and said the the little brick bothered him. So I re-arranged them under the sheet at the end of our mattress, the end that faces the foot board. Magic happened. We haven't had any foot cramps, or the dreaded charlies, since. I don't know what is in Ivory Soap, but I remember that their slogan used to assure us that they were 99.9% pure. And "It Floats." Now, the slogan on their bar says, "IVORY, Joy is in the sharing."

What a great thing to share with all our friends, an end to the excruciating foot cramps and charlie horses that strike in the middle of the night and make us want to scream with the pain.

I called this blog "Wierd but True" after the segment that is in THE DAILY every day. If you have an I-Pad and are not getting THE DAILY, you don't know what you are missing. It is an amazing combination of high quality, articles, pictures and videos. I turn it on every morning while the coffee is brewing. I love it.

Wild, Wonderful, Welcoming Wyoming

We are getting settled in our cowboy cabin. A summer tradition for us that was interrupted when himself flunked retirement. This is an amazing little piece of heaven that can be wild and peaceful at the same time. The Grand Tetons jut straight up out of the land, always surprising because they have no foothills. The clouds roll down the Grand, heading for Yellowstone, and spreading the ever-changing dancing lights and shadows. They never look the same and one never gets bored with the looking.

The first morning we were here, I had coffee with a large herd of elk, as they enjoyed their breakfast across the street on the Bar-B-Bar. The beautiful mountain blue birds fly in and out of their home on our fence rail. The magpies squawk their welcome that reminds us to get out the bird feeders. Maggies must be perpetual two year olds because they spend most of their time throwing temper tantrums over one thing or another. They, also, are just about the only birds that hang around the Hole all winter, a sure sign of their toughness and ability to survive. They are beautiful as well as brutal. I saw one grab a shrieking bird right out of the air and gobble it up. When I screamed, "shame on you, maggie," she wasn't the least bit ashamed. It is interesting to note that Lewis and Clark were so amazed by the magpie that they built a cage and took one back to President Thomas Jefferson. I can just imagine what that bird probably had to say to that President.

Ron has always said that this little place, dubbed "The Director's Cabin" by our girls, gives you a hug when you come through the door. How nice!

The Nixon connection for this blog is that we enjoyed a delightful visit with David and Suzy Young. I always thought that David was responsible for naming the White House Plumbers, but Suzy told me the originator of the name was actually David's grandmother. When she found out that David had been asked to head the effort to stop the leaks in the Nixon White House, a very important goal in light of the damaging Pentagon Papers release, she wrote to David. "Your grandfather would be so proud today to know you have followed in his footsteps. He was the plumber that worked on the Waldorf-Astoria, and now you are a plumber,too."

Isn't it too bad that the term has been forced to take on a sinister meaning, rather than the very vital and important National Security role that it had in the beginning?

The Youngs live in England. They did before and after his White House years. All of their children were born in the UK. On this trip, they toured many National Parks with their friends, Keith and Carol Leaman. It was fun to show them around the fabulous Grand Teton National Park Vistor Center and then enjoy a delicious buffalo burger at Dornan's in Moose. Buffalo is probably not found on too many pub menus in the UK.

As I have said many times, one of the biggest benefits of Ron's flunking retirement and serving as President of the Richard Nixon Foundation, was the opportunity to reconnect with so many wonderful former colleagues and friends. Ron encouraged David and Suzy to join us in November when Geoff Shepard's Domestic Council joins the February Group, under the new name of "White House Reunion". We are looking forward to it!

BLUE HEART

Most of you know that the RN Library Docent newsletter is called the "Blue Heart." I wondered about the origin of the name and asked a few folks, but no one I asked knew too much about it. While working on an upcoming blog, "The World in the Time of Watergate," I re- read RN's Memoirs. (A really good read if you haven't opened it recently.)

RN writes in the chapter about 1970:
I knew that those days in April and May were as hard for my staff as they were for me. Haldeman, Ehrlichman, and Kissinger, in particular had borne the brunt of the Cambodian crisis. I wanted to do something to show how much I appreciated their strength and support. While we were were in Key Biscayne over the weekend of May 15, I asked Bebe if his girl friend, Jane Lucke, would mind doing a little sewing for me.

On the plane back to Washington I asked Haldeman, Ehrlichman and Kissinger to come to my cabin. When they arrived, I thanked them for all that they had done. "In fact," I said, "you deserve something like the Purple Heart for all the wounds you have sustained in the line of duty over the past week."

They all laughed and said that they had only done their jobs.

"No," I continued, "you have done more than your jobs, and I have devised a new award - a Blue Heart, for those who are true blue."

I gave them each a small heart made from blue cloth. "This will be our secret," I said, "but I wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you have done."


You can imagine my surprise when I found this tucked in the back of our autographed copy of the book.




Most of the readers of this blog undoubtedly consider themselves "Blue Hearts." If you have something to add to this snippet of the legacy of President Nixon, please add a comment.