My Father In Law

My Father In Law, Dick Patterson, passed away a week ago Friday morning.

He had not been doing well since he suffered a debilitating stroke, February 2016, 3 years ago.  He was paralyzed on one side, and had cognitive impairment. (See note 3)  Since then, he has been a shadow of the man we always knew.  But he seemed happy, cheerful even, and content being well cared for by Cleo and the caregivers at The Palms, the retirement home where they moved after the stroke.

In-laws can be a sensitive issue for some people, but my in-laws were not at all like any stereotype.

Dick has always been much more to me than just my wife's father.

I actually knew Dick as my Sunday School teacher, back when Lyn was just the oldest of his young kids years before I had any designs on his daughter.  And he was a really good Sunday School teacher, from whom I learned not just about the Bible, but about how to read, study, examine, reason from, and understand the Bible.  He had a very rational, engineer's approach to reasoning from the Bible.  His approach was always to go to the Bible itself to understand it, not to depend primarily on commentaries or other people's answers.  His example was that you and I can understand it for ourselves if we just look at it rationally.  That approach has always stayed with me.

He was our church youth group leader for many years while I was a teenager and young man, well before I started courting his daughter..  As always, he was cool, calm, organized, efficient, but I think the key thing was, he listened, made sure to get participation, didn't lecture, he was a master at leading a discussion, to give everyone a chance to speak. And shy Lyn mostly sat there annoyed at listening to me, my brother, and Dick go on and on discussing things.  She still hates "discussion."

I guess it's no coincidence that Dick and my father were both engineers, as I too became:  I had two great examples to follow, totally different in many ways.  Dick was a Cal Tech graduate Civil engineer. My dad had a two year degree from LA City College, and was a mostly self-educated Mechanical engineer.  But Dick was very much into self teaching also.  My dad was a hoarder.  Dick was an extreme thrower.  My dad was a shy introvert.  Dick was a social leader, always organizing groups, doing things in groups. The differences attracted me, though, personally, I am much more like my dad. (I became both Civil and Mechanical engineer, and Electrical too)

Dick and his family were part of a group of families that went camping together, and invited us to join them, which we sometimes did:  Easter break on the beach in Baja.

Dick was always a leader in our church.  When I first knew him, they were in a little congregation in San Gabriel.  Then they joined ours in Eagle Rock, where he became one of the most active, enthusiastic, and consistent members, a teacher, speaker, motivator, and leader.  He encouraged me in many ways, by example, as well as by words.

When I started going with Lyn, Dick and Cleo welcomed me as part of their family, and always made me feel at home in their home.

After Lyn and I got married, Dick helped me get my first real engineering job, at Bechtel, where he was a project manager.  There, he continued to serve as a role model and mentor.  He encouraged me to join Bechtel's lunchtime Toastmaster's Club, which really gave a boost to my public speaking confidence, and also enabled me to talk to managers as equals, a real eye opening experience for a young engineer.

I have to tell the story of the first time I saw his office at Bechtel.  I ventured up to his executive floor of the Bechtel building and found his office, but it was practically vacant.  He was out at the moment, but I thought he must have moved to a different office, as there was no sign of anyone working there.  There was a bare desk, with nothing on it, a chair, a couple of guest chairs, and an equally bare credenza, with I think one thin binder. No trinkets. Not one piece of paper visible.  That was Dick:  Totally organized, orderly, totally self disciplined. (see note 1)  Some might think him OCD, but that would imply an irrational compulsion, and Dick was always totally rational.

Cleo used to joke that Dick would discard anything that wasn't in use, so she had to stay active, or Dick might throw her away.  No real danger of that.

After Lyn I were married, we continued to camp together as families, and with the group of friends.  Campfire singing was a grand tradition in that group, and Dick was the consummate campfire song leader.  He couldn't carry a tune with a bucket, but he sure could lead campfire singing.

He was also a very good pianist, despite his tin ear.  He applied himself with his usual orderly self-disciplined approach that overcame his unnatural relationship with musicality.

Dick was an experienced Sierra packer. His mother had lived in the San Joaquin Valley and had hiked in the Sierras. Dick's first job out of Cal Tech was with the LADWP in Independence in the eastern Sierra, where he packed with Cleo after they married. He helped lead Boy Scout pack trips.

He led my first backpacking venture, with Lyn pregnant with Evan, from South Lake, over Bishop Pass, to Grouse Meadows. I got altitude nausea; Rained most nights; but I loved it. With two small children, we didn't go again, until:

When our children were old enough to backpack, he became our llama leader.  Lyn and Dick came up with a plan to borrow pack llamas from our mutual friends, the Barratts, who raised them.  Dick helped train the llamas, and was our lead llama wrangler and guide.

For about ten or twelve summers, we spent a week or two hiking the high Sierra.  We hiked most of the John Muir Trail in bits and pieces.  I think I may still have one of Dick's packing checklists in my files: Always spare and orderly.  He was still leading llama packing trips in his 70s, even after a recalcitrant llama dislocated Dick's shoulder in the back country and he had to be helicoptered out.

In 1985, I had occasion to work with Dick on a small engineering project:  Our church building in Tujunga which we had bought in 1984, was under an upgrade order from the City of Los Angeles as an unreinforced masonry building.  I had some experience with testing firms in the area, and hired one of them to test the strength of the mortar.  Dick did the engineering to design seismic upgrades to the building. I think he did a very clever job of finding simple minimalist solutions. (see note 2)

He retired from Bechtel, but Dick was never idle.  He entered a new phase of his engineering career, doing residential structural engineering.  He got involved after the 1994 Northridge earthquake as a favor to a church member who was a mason and had requests to rebuild brick chimneys.  Dick, in his usual brilliant methodical way, figured his way through LA City Building and Safety bureaucracy to get plans approved. I think he was one of very few engineers getting masonry chimneys approved in Los Angeles.  Later, he broadened his private practice to all residential work.  I don't think he really did it for the money. He mostly just enjoyed helping people and doing engineering.  He never really charged what he was worth.  He said it was just vacation money. (See note 4) He was still doing residential engineering at age 88 the day he suffered a stroke, which tragically took away the ability to move from one of the most active people I have known, and took away the keen mind from one of the most brilliant men I have known.

Dick was a hard act to follow. Lyn idolized him. Living up to his standard was a challenge.  The attempt made me a better person.

What the stroke did not take away was Dick's personality, which was always kind, loving, optimistic, ever cheerful, and always interested in and concerned about others. He remained organized, concerned about punctuality, even when he couldn't really tell time. Still mentally organizing things into lists, even when, sadly, he couldn't remember what the things were.  He was way more to me than a father-in-law.  He was a force of nature (or dare I say, a force of God) that I was blessed to have in my life. I loved him dearly.

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Note 1)  Whenever I told this story in Dick's presence, he would explain that early in his career, he took a management class, which taught that a desk was for paper to flow across, not to store paper.  I'm sure however that thousands of people took that class, but I doubt that any of the others succeeded in practicing that as well as Dick.  I'm not sure he even needed that lesson.  If anything, it just reinforced his natural inclination.  I tried to follow that lesson many times, and really worked at it, but it's just not me.  I simply cannot do that.

Note 2)  Later on in my career, I went to UCLA, and became responsible for technical oversight of their very extensive seismic renovation program.  They hired some very sophisticated top structural engineering firms, with PhD engineers, and cutting edge computer analysis, to do what Dick did with paper and pencil.  I think his solutions may have lacked some of the cutting edge sophistication, but I concluded that we could have paid more than the construction cost in engineering fees, and not gotten a more suitable design.

(Note 3)  It is frustrating and sad that his stroke was very preventable. It was due to clogged carotid arteries in his neck, which can be checked very easily. After the stroke, when it was too late, he had surgery to clean them. If he had that surgery before the stroke, he could still be working today.  Given that he had heart surgery some years ago, it's hard to imagine why that was not checked before.  Get your arteries checked, before it's too late.

(Note 4) Dick never bothered with professional liability insurance, which some may have thought unwise, but Dick just preferred to do things right and keep his clients more than satisfied. I can't imagine anyone wanting to sue him.

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In Dick's honor, I feel the need to add an enumerated summary list, outlining Richard Patterson as I knew him.

1. A man of undoubting faith in the God of the Bible, who read the Bible every day, using the Bible Companion chart, perhaps reading the Old Testament 80 times through, and the New Testament 160 times. Who lived his faith, and practiced what he preached. Shared his faith with anyone who was interested, but never forced it where it was unwelcome.
2. A leader in all that he did, faith, work, play.  A teacher, example, mentor.
3. Consummately organized and self disciplined. He planned his work, and worked the plan. He made rules for himself, and followed those rules. Everything he did was organized. THE most organized person I have ever known.
4. An executive, who managed people, organized and delegated work, leveraged his effort to get things done, efficiently, and effectively. Listened, learned, applied it to the job. Got consensus. Made decisions, and then moved forward.
5. A brilliant engineer, who could do most anything he set his mind to.
6. Loved nature, walking, hiking, camping, fishing, the Sierras, and knew them, and shared that love and knowledge with many.
7. Liked tradition, order, there is a way things ought to be done. Do it that way. But surprisingly flexible: Could be persuaded that traditions need changing, sometimes.
8. Loved to compete.  He entered a contest to do his very best, which was usually good enough to win. Played as hard as he worked. Anything he did, he did his best.
9. A social person, who liked groups of all sorts. Liked to bring people together. Not naturally charismatic, but made up for that by his genuine interest in others, and by organized effort to put that concern into action.
10. Not by any means perfect; could be annoying in his ordered efficiency and decisiveness.
11. A kind and understanding Family man, and Family was inclusive. For all his self-discipline, he understood that others were not like him, and enjoyed people as they were.
12. Had an impressive ability to avoid and ignore drama and bickering, to cut through all that and just get on with getting things done.
13. Generous with his time and energy. Happy to be active and useful in any way he could.

Halfway Done With Clinical Trial

Wednesday I got my seventh infusion of fourteen in this ABBVie Arise clinical trial.  It was a light day for other tests: No blood draws or ECG.  Just neuro and psych exams.  It has gotten pretty routine.  Took a couple tries with the needle to get the infusion started in my arm, but not a big deal.  Then just waiting three hours for whatever is in that black IV bag to infuse into me.

I started getting screening tests to qualify for this study in August; got the first infusion in October; with infusions and tests continuing until this coming October.  Seven infusions done. Seven more to go. Halfway to somewhere.

Thankfully with the light schedule today, we didn't have to leave home in the dark of night and were able to get up at a halfway decent time (5:30 alarm this morning).  The weather wasn't great: Not as cold as it has been (only 31F), but freezing rain forecast for this morning.  Lyn was apprehensive about driving in the freezing rain.  As it turned out, the roads were icy until we got on the expressway, but after that, the worst part for Lyn was being sandwiched between two semi's on both sides of us, both throwing out spray that coated our Mini's windshield.

Google Maps suggested an alternate route in Chicago to avoid traffic on I-90, but then changed its hive-mind and said just stay on the expressway, which was a relief to stay with familiar routes.  Having Google tell Lyn what to do instead of me is great, as it is hard for me to speak loud and clear enough for Lyn to understand.  I just crank up the phone volume, and let Lyn get impatient with Google instead of with me. If I could just get Google to answer Lyn's questions, that would be great, as I often can't get words out fast enough to answer her.

I also got six Botox injections in my jaw during the morning when I saw my doctor.  No, not for cosmetic purposes: Looking younger was never a big goal for me.  This is to try to control excess saliva that, among other inconveniences, increases difficulty speaking.  The excess salivation (Sialorrhea) is a symptom or side effect of the PSP, which causes loss of control of the oral muscles that normally control salivation.  This was my second such Botox treatment.  The first didn't do much, so they tried a stronger dose this time.  Three little shots on each side of my jaw with a tiny needle. Surprisingly, to the outside of the jaw. Slight burning sensation, but not really painful.  I'm hoping the stronger dose has more effect.  Takes a few weeks to take effect.

Getting back to the clinical trial, I have no idea whether it's working.  I also don't know whether I am getting the drug, or the placebo.  I think I will find out at the end of the trial, sometime, hopefully.  The doctor said she had heard that the trial overall is going well, but I haven't seen any announcements.  I continue to be optimistic.

My condition is just a little worse overall than it was a year ago.  I think my speaking and walking skills may have declined a little, but it's hard to measure.  On the other hand, the double vision problem I was having a year ago seems to have mostly gone away.  So, I'm not dying imminently, as far as I can tell. Sooner or later it happens to everyone, but we're still buying green bananas.

At the next infusion, in March, I get another MRI, to see if my brain is shrinking.  That will be a longer day.

Of course, assuming this trial shows the drug works, I would hope to continue getting infusions in the two-year "open label" extension study.  So, I actually hope the infusions are nowhere near half done, and will continue.  We'll have to wait and see.

When we were done at Rush, after 3 pm, the weather had warmed up just a bit, to about 37F, and the light rain was no longer in danger of freezing.  We made our usual side trip to Trader Joe's on Roosevelt at Michigan Ave in Chicago.  Tried a different route, taking surface streets instead of I-290.  Seemed good, but always an adventure trying different routes in an unfamiliar big city.  For some reason, Ms. Google seemed not to realize the entrance to Trader Joe's is on Wabash, and was recommending making a U-Turn on Roosevelt at Michigan Ave., which we humans thought unwise, so we improvised.  Just like in California, Trader Joe's always has tiny congested parking lots.  Hard to imagine they succeeded in Southern California with that formula, but in the Chicago Loop it seems normal.

On the way home, Ms. Google recommended avoiding a traffic jam on I-90 by getting off for two miles and taking the parallel surface street.  Not sure that was worth all the lane-changing stress that caused Lyn, but she did it.

Home a little after six in the evening, to a great salmon dinner (the cats' favorite) that Sarah had ready.

Speaking of Sarah, she is also now making frequent trips to Rush, to get injections in her knee, to hopefully keep her running on it.  Rush seems to be the place to go for cutting edge treatment.

Now Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding

Lyn's MacDougall family Plum Pudding, Christmas 2010

The traditional (and seasonally ubiquitous) English caroling song, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," contains the famous, but mysterious to most Americans, lyrics about "Now bring us some figgy pudding , , , bring it right here . . we won't go until we get some (etc)" Here's a link to a video of the carol, if you need reminding of the words:  Video: We wish you a merry Christmas

Now bring us some figgy pudding? But just what is this figgy pudding, of which we won't go until we get some? It turns out to be just another name for Plum Pudding, or Christmas Pudding, though that won't mean much to most Americans. Also, it may well have neither figs nor plums, which can refer to raisins or currants. 

If, unlike the MacDougalls, you've lost contact with English traditional cuisine, you may not realize that an English pudding is generally a steamed solid doughy dessert, ending up like a hot, moist, crumbly fruit cake served with hard sauce or custard sauce. A key ingredient is suet. 

If you watch that video in the link, of the "We wish you a merry Christmas" song, the song could give us the impression that Caroling was near to the American Halloween "Trick or Treat" tradition:  A way of extorting sweets from residents.

The excerpt below, from the book "Lobscouse & Spotted Dog" (a gastronomic companion to the Aubrey/Maturin novels of Patrick O'Brian) describes the British navy version of such pudding,, including figs, but the figs are not that typical. And the "Spotted Dog" in the book title is actually just another version of steamed suet pudding, the "Dog" being another word for Dough, along with Dick, Duff, and Dowdy. The pudding is such an important feature of English cuisine that they have many words for it. 

(Most land lubbers use bread crumbs rather than pounded ships biscuit)

You might also find NPR's article helpful, in this link:  NPR - Figgy Pudding
The NPR articles uses a photo of a molded pudding,

rather than the more traditional tied cloth shape, shown in the top photo, of one of Lyn's.  My mother used to use an aluminum steaming mold, but later went to the tied cloth instead.  A mold gives it a better presentation, but it tastes the same.

In Charles Dicken's classic "A Christmas Carol," Ebenezer Scrooge, after proclaiming "Bah!  Humbug!" to his nephew, imprecates:

"If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.  He should!"

And then, in Dicken's familiar story, at the poor Cratchit house, after the extravagant feast of Christmas goose, comes the pudding:

"Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook’s next door to each other, with a laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing."

If you follow Dancing With The Stars, you may have seen judge Len Goodman coyly refer to a "spotted dick", which you now know to be another name for spotted dog, a type of steamed pudding.

You may dimly recall the Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme riddle about Plum Pudding, though you probably never realized that's what it was about, but it is clear that it contains the rudiments of the recipe for a plum pudding:

(formatted by Virginia Curry)

FDR served Plum Pudding with hard sauce to Winston Churchill at the White House, for Christmas dinner in 1941.

My brother, Donald, took up the pudding boiling mantle (or other cloth) laid down by our late mother Edith, who in turn got it from our Dad's mother, Hannah MacDougall (nee Hirst), from Huddersfield, England, though I was never sure if it was from her English origin, or my Grandfather's Scottish beginnings. Perhaps both.  Don filled in as the family pudding maker for a number of  years.  Alas, Don, and his puddings remain in California, but I trust Lyn to fill the breach, as she has. The top photo, from Christmas 2010, was Lyn's pudding.

Here is Lyn's recipe card, written for her by my mother, for the MacDougall family Plum Pudding, handed down through at least two generations of MacDougall daughters in law. My thanks to Lyn for allowing me to share this here.  It is really her's to share, not mine.

Notice that it has neither plums nor figs.  As explained in the Lobscouse and Spotted Dog excerpt, those are really regional terms for raisins and currants. No "plums" in plum pudding.  Raisins and currants, are what are usually used, along with other candied fruit.  The hard bread crumbs need no marlin spike.

Some of the ingredients are getting hard to find.   Candied fruit is becoming a specialty item.  Suet, the fat around the kidneys, isn't in big demand  Most butchers don't save it.  You have to ask for it.
Suet is underappreciated as a cooking fat, not much different than butter, but with a higher melting point vital for steaming. Suffers from faddish aversion to fat, which is an essential nutrient. Certainly far, far better than the "Crisco" commonly used in pastries   .https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suet

I suppose Donald has my mother's original recipe, probably conveyed orally from Grandma MacDougall, as well as the steaming mold my mother used to use.

"Hard Sauce" may be equally mysterious to many of you. A seeming contradiction in words.  How can a "sauce" be hard?  Hard Sauce is just the totally decadent mixture of sugar and butter.  Take a stick of butter, a bowl and wooden spoon, and add sugar.  You keep adding sugar until it is about as hard as you can get it and still be able to mix it..  Some people use powdered sugar, as we used to when I was a boy.  Now we used granulated sugar, which may be more traditional, and which I prefer.  A "little" vanilla, or rum, if you so choose.  Then, you put the bowl in the refrigerator to harden some more before serving.  When served, you chip out chunks of the hard sauce and mix it in with the plum pudding, where it melts into the whole gooey pudding.

The full photo also shows the bowl of Hard Sauce

So, English pudding is not the gelatin that Americans call pudding, but a far firmer substance, and   the "hard sauce" that goes with it is also harder than you usually think of a "sauce."  Hard pudding:  Hard sauce.

Ruth's family (Canadian - English) used "Bird's Custard" instead of hard sauce.  Bird's Custard is an old commercial eggless custard, developed in 1837, and has become traditional as a pudding topping in many British families.  It comes as a powder that you mix with milk over the stove to make a custard.

You could also use a rum sauce, or even, pour some rum over the pudding.  Or, flame it with brandy, as Mrs. Cratchit did.

Don added this lexicographic note:

"Looking in the mother of all dictionaries, that is to say the Oxford English Dictionary, regarding the word "pudding" I found that there are perhaps two large pages or more of very fine print on the subject. Attempting to summarize a bit, it seems like long ago the word applied to most anything that was boiled in a cloth or a bag or an animals intestine, which would have been fairly common ways for common folk to cook things in the British isles. The word later came to be applied to similar sorts of foods baked in an oven. Fairly recently it has, in England and Scotland at least, come to be a synonym for what we in the USA would call dessert, that is to say, something sweet eaten at the end of a meal. All this accounts for Plum/Christmas/Figgie puddings etc, but fails to explain Yorkshire pudding, which is a rather bland flour and egg batter, poured into a pan of hot fat and baked in an oven which is served with gravy as a sort of appetizer course before the roast beef, potatoes and vegetables come from the kitchen."

"Lobscouse and Spotted Dog" quotes Burns as calling Haggis the "great chieftain of the pudding race." It also opines that "pudding started out on a parallel course with sausage, then veered off in a more farinaceous direction with the addition of grains or porridge, and finally shed its guts altogether in favor of basins and cloths."

I wonder if Yorkshire Pudding may be a snide Norman joke at the expense of the Yorkies: i.e., "what passes for pudding among those Yorkshire yokels."

And speaking of Yorkshire Pudding, that too is a MacDougall family tradition, though Yorkshire Pudding is not a dessert, but is served as a main course accompaniment to roast beef, or just before the beef, as a sort of appetizer (some have suggested, as a way of filling up young stomachs more cheaply than with beef)  but it reminds me of the other Mother Goose nursery rhyme that contains the recipe for Yorkshire Pudding:

Girls and boys, come out to play,

The moon doth shine as bright as day;

Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,

And come with your playfellows into the street.

Come with a whoop, come with a call,

Come with a good will or not at all.

Up the ladder and down the wall,

A halfpenny roll will serve us all.

You find milk, and I'll find flour,

And we'll have a pudding in half an hour.

According to this linked article in Wikipedia , there's even the tune to go with it.

An old English dictum says: "The proof of the pudding is in the eating"  (sometimes stated more briefly as, "The proof is in the pudding"). This has reference perhaps to some form of pudding like plum or "figgy" or perhaps to the precursor sausage from which pudding evolved.  The word "proof is in the sense of "Test.  The test of a pudding is to eat it and see. Indeed.  You just have to try it.

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I originally posted much of this material as a series of annual Christmas season posts on Facebook.  Additional points were added in comments, by me and others.  This blog is a "pudding" of all of that material, tied up, and boiled together.

Armistice Day

One century ago, November 11th, 1918, 11 a.m., the guns of "The Great War" fell silent in Europe, ending those four years of war in which some 14 million died.

The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month has been celebrated since as Armistice Day, a cross-national celebration of peace.

The US recognized and observed Armistice Day until 1954, when it was changed to Veterans Day.  British Commonwealth nations now call the day Remembrance Day.

I was 5 years old in 1954, and not really into world or national news or events, but I do remember when it was called Armistice Day, and that name lingered in general use for several years after that as well.

It was probably appropriate after WWII to broaden the occasion from just WWI, and perhaps to recognize that the Armistice originally celebrated did not last:  A resigned, Cold War recognition that "The War to end all wars," had failed to accomplish that.

The change from Armistice Day to Veterans Day was a subtle change, perhaps, but it changed the emphasis from a celebration of peace, to a remembrance of war.  It also tended to isolate the US from the essentially international nature of peace: That peace depends on many nations, not just one.

Since Pearl Harbor, the US has been essentially in a perpetual state of war.

• Cold War, NATO, European and Asian bases
• Berlin airlift 1948-49
• Korean War 1950-53
• Cuba Bay of Pigs invasion, 1961
• Vietnam War 1961-73
• Dominican Republic, Haiti, Grenada, Panama
• Lebanon 1982
• Gulf War 1991
• Somalia 1993 ("Blackhawk Down")
• Balkans: Bosnia 1994-5 & Kosovo 1999
• Afghanistan 2001 - ?
• Iraq 2003 -?
• Syria missiles

Of course, the world has seen many other wars in that period, in which the US did not directly participate.  Some of them, the US was involved indirectly, with arms or support of various kinds.  Others, perhaps with no US involvement.

War seems to be a natural state of human affairs, with peace being the rare exception.

Peace seems indeed something to celebrate.

An act of Congress approved May 13, 1938, made November 11 in each year a legal holiday: "a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as 'Armistice Day'."
Knowing the conditions in 1938, that was so optimistic, it seems almost sarcastic. 
Perhaps the change to Veterans Day in 1954 was an abandonment of peace as a credible goal.

We have many US holidays that remember war:

• Memorial Day
• Veterans Day
• Armed Forces Day
• Independence Day

I certainly do not in any way begrudge veterans the recognition they so deserve for their service.  I respect their dedication, courage, and sacrifice. I hope nothing I muse about here will be taken as in any way critical of those observances. But I do pray for the day when the sacrifice of young men on the battlefield will no longer be necessary; For the day to come soon when "they will study war no more."

Some claim that peace must be fought for;  That it is best achieved by military might;  That we should thank soldiers for giving us peace.

Others claim that violence cannot be overcome violence;  That love and non-violence are the way to peace.

Some say human nature is simply incapable of peace, and peace can only come with divine intervention.

I have not just one, but many opinions and beliefs on peace.  No doubt, you do too.

I could not help being moved by French President Macron's speech yesterday

A cozy and peaceful group?

in which he said:

 "Patriotism is the exact opposite of nationalism, Nationalism is a betrayal of patriotism. In saying ‘Our interests first, whatever happens to the others,’ you erase the most precious thing a nation can have, that which makes it live, that which causes it to be great and that which is most important: Its moral values. I know there are old demons which are coming back to the surface, They are ready to wreak chaos and death. History sometimes threatens to take its sinister course once again."

You may disagree.  You may think that strong nations further the course of peace, and that "good fences make good neighbors." You may view with suspicion or even hostility such globalist one-world views.  I can sympathize.  There are many dangers in this world.

Whatever your view, most people seem to think peace would be nice.

Perhaps, one day a year, to think about peace, would be a good idea?

Just one day each year - to think about, plan for, wish for, hope for, fantasize about, even pray for, Peace.  Is that too much to ask?

The Beatles sang: "Give peace a chance."  Idealistic, unrealistic, simplistic, sure.  Just a song.  Liberal, humanist, BS.  Don't expect great truths from Rock N Roll.  Get real.

But still, just one single day, to just think about Peace.

Lots of holidays now involve fantasizing. We just had Halloween, all fantasy. There's the Easter Bunny. Leprechauns on Saint Patrick's Day.

Valentines Day is devoted to fantasizing about idealized, unrealistic,  romanticized love (and sex).  Can't they do the same for peace?  Hallmark could make a killing, er, fortune.

Next up, Santa Claus.

Speaking of Santa Claus:

We are about to enter the Christmas season, celebrating the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, who Christians call "The Prince of Peace," and whose birth was heralded by angels proclaiming "Peace on Earth. Good will to men," a goal, 2000 years on, still awaiting fulfillment.   Perhaps Christmas could be that day to think about peace? 

But, don't just think about peace.   Just Do It!

Jesus didn't just promise peace in a future Paradise.  He offers peace today. He calls us to peace now.  Just accept his peace, and practice it, now.

Waiting for divine intervention is a cop-out.  Don't wait for God to do it for you. God has already intervened.  Don't wait for someone else to be first.  Jesus was already first.  Now, it's our turn.

He said to treat others as we want to be treated, not as we are treated. Do you want killing to stop? Then stop killing.  Just stop.

You say you are "Pro-Life?"  Great!  Then stop killing people. Set the example of not killing the unborn by not killing the already born.

Jesus is not called the Prince of Peace just because of a promised future, but because of what he already did.  He reconciled us to God, and he calls us to reconcile with each other, even if that requires self-sacrifice.

Soldiers who die in battle are said to give "the ultimate sacrifice."  But Jesus died in peace, an even greater sacrifice.  He set the example that he asks us to follow.  Put down the battlefield crosses, and take up the cross of Jesus.

Cease fire. Declare your own Armistice.

As the song says: "Let there be peace on Earth,

                            and let it begin with me."

Peace

Clinical Trial Progress

Rush Medical Center Professional Building

For those of you who may be in suspense, worrying about how my immunotherapy treatment clinical trial is going (Yeah, unlikely, I know, but just in case)  Here's the news:

(or, if you missed my previous blog about PSP and this experimental treatment, you can catch up there: Previous "Progress" blog)

October 2nd, I had my first ABBVie Arise clinical trial immunotherapy infusion.

Last Wednesday, Halloween, I had my third infusion.  I thought about a zombie costume for the occasion, but thought maybe they'd take it seriously. This was the end of having to go in bi-weekly.  From now on, the rest of the infusions will be at monthly intervals.

So far, pretty uneventful.  No noticeable adverse effects, other than lots and lots of needle sticks.

Nothing like the drama of the spinal tap they did to screen me into the trial before I started getting treatments

I get the treatments in the building above, on the Rush Medical Center campus, on Harrison Blvd, about 2-1/4 miles west of the downtown Chicago "Loop."

Each infusion lasts 3 hours, followed by a 20 minute "flush" infusion, so I sit there for about 3-1/2 hours with an IV needle in my arm.

Unlike chemotherapy for cancer, it doesn't hurt (other than the needle stick). No burning, really no feeling at all.

The tests they do with each infusion vary a bit:

• Last week, they only took one blood sample.  
• The previous time,  they took blood samples THREE TIMES, once before the infusion, one after, and another an hour later. I came out with three bandaids:, two on one arm; and one on the other covering two needle sticks, total 4 sticks including the infusion (shoulda got a photo of my arms).
• This time they did an EKG (no extra charge for the chest hair spot removal)
• The first infusion required a urine sample.
• In December, I get a repeat Brain MRI, to see if my brain is shrinking.
• Every time, they do a neurological exam (eyes, reflexes etc)  and cognitive, psych and memory tests (you know, remembering three words). (* See note below) 

I get the infusions in a 10' X  10' windowless exam room, where we spend most of the day.  People come in and out to do the various tests and exams, and check on us.  The staff are all very nice, friendly and helpful.  And, I see my doctor each time, which is helpful, as I can ask about other issues at the same time.

We have to leave our house about 6:30 in the morning to get to Rush through Chicago rush hour traffic by 8:00, so Lyn packs something for me to eat for breakfast after I get there, to save time getting ready to leave in the morning.  We usually have lunch while I'm getting the infusion.

So far, I haven't noticed any changes, but really I'm not supposed to.  If the treatment is working it will slow the progress of the disease, which, in the month since the first treatment, would not be perceptible anyway.  So, it's impossible for me to tell if it's having any effect.  Over the next year, in comparison to other patients, they'll see. Oddly, I guess, the best, most hoped for, outcome of the treatment would be if there was no change at all.

It was also nice to hear Sunday that my friend Mary from our little church in Kouts, IN, who also by coincidence has PSP, got into the same clinical trial, in Houston, nearer where she recently moved. What are the odds of actually knowing someone else who has the same, very rare, disorder?

Rush also just happens to be 3 miles west of a Trader Joe's, on Roosevelt, where we usually go afterwards on the way home, to get our fix of old familiar Southern California food.

Trader Joe's has not yet made it across the border to Northwest Indiana, so it's otherwise a very long drive.  Ice cream does not last well on the drive home in the summer.  But 3-buck Chuck (it's a tad more expensive than in California) transports legally across the state line.  It's pretty convenient to stop by on the way home, and makes for a scenic drive along Lakeshore Drive afterwards, going home.

Rush to Trader Joe's for Pasadena Salad

You may just be able to see that the CTA Pink Line goes right next to the building at Rush, from the Loop.  In theory, we could take the South Shore Line commuter train from Dune Acres to Millenium Park (you can see Millenium Park, and the RR tracks, at the right in the photo above) in Chicago, wheelchair two blocks to the Wabash CTA station, and take the pink line to Rush, where the station is a block south of my building.  We could, if we wanted to leave the house at 5:30 to catch the 5:53 train, to get to Rush by 8:00.

So far, Lyn has been willing to drive, and that way, she has the car to take to Trader Joe's.  We dropped Matt and Jenni off at Rush two weeks ago at the end of their visit, before their Eagle's concert in Chicago, and they got to experience the commute with us.

So, that's our "Trial" so far.  Not too grueling.  A bit of an adventure, and hopefully, most of all, progress in the science of treating degenerative brain disorders.

* Note about those cognitive, psych, and memory tests:  So far, I'm probably no more demented than most of you.  Maybe less, in some of your cases.  I just get tested more frequently.

Here are the links to learn more:

About Progressive Supranuclear Palsy:  About PSP

Clinical Trials website:  ABBVie Arise Clinical Trial

ABBVie's website:  ABBVie

If you would like to donate to brain disorder research: Cure PSP

A Nation Shares A Meal

Thanksgiving at the MacDougall's  house - 1989

I like Thanksgiving.

Not to criticize any other holidays, but it seems like the perfect combination of the holy and the secular.

It's not at all a Biblically ordained day, not sponsored by any particular church, not limited to any religion, yet is perhaps one of the more truly Godly of holidays.

It's not overtly patriotic, nor entirely unique to America, yet is perhaps the most truly American of celebrations.

Sure, like any other occasion it gets commercialized to some extent.  Sure, it sometimes gets inverted into a celebration of over-consumption.  But those are quibbles, nit-picks really.

Unlike many other holidays, it doesn't turn out to be just an excuse for a three day weekend - it actually gets observed, celebrated, participated in. Most of us actually do give thanks that day.

We may not decorate graves on Memorial Day or go Trick-or-Treating on Halloween, or light fireworks on the 4th of July, or go into labor on Labor Day (or whatever one is supposed to do on Labor Day), or hunt eggs on Easter.  But on Thanksgiving, most of us do have a family gathering and make an occasion of it.

What seems most amazing, aside from the fact that most of us do actually pay attention to it, is that the entire nation engages in a form of fellowship around a shared meal.  That is, the whole country, all of America, sits down to share a meal.  We don't all quite fit at the same table, or in the same room, but most of us sit down the same afternoon to about the same food, gathering in similar ways in the common tradition.

From Grandmother's House ("over the river, and through the woods"), to urban apartments, to skid row soup kitchens, to military mess tents overseas, to the fanciest estates of the wealthy, to suburbia, Americans, wherever they are, share this meal.

The recipes may differ a little; different kinds of stuffing, perhaps; but the menu is mostly pretty similar.

Oh, sure, there may be various ethnic family dishes served as well, Nana's tamales, or sauerkraut, or kimchee, or gefiltefish, or dim sum, and those family touches are a shared tradition too.

The pies may differ a bit: The ubiquitous (so!) pumpkin and apple of course.  Maybe Southern pecan, Northern Blueberry, Anaheim Boysenberry, English Mincemeat, my mother's lemon meringue, Indiana Hoosier pie, your auntie's specialty.

But for most of us, the basic menu is pretty standard.  You can get it anywhere:  Turkey, stuffing, yams (with or without marshmallows), mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, roll, a vegetable if you must, and pie, pie, pie.

For those who may remember Van de Kamps in Southern California

No matter what we may believe or not believe, regardless of religion or politics, whoever or whatever we thank, we join together as one people in a shared traditional dinner, counting our blessings, the biggest shared meal in the world, perhaps.  It is a truly grand tradition. We try to find others to gather with, to share the occasion with as many as possible, but regardless how many or few are physically with us, the whole nation shares this meal.

It is an occasion to be thankful for what we share, and to share what we have.  Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

---------------------------

2020 Added thoughts:

I usually share this blog annually without comment, but this exceptional year, 2020, requires additional thoughts.  I think this year should make us all the more conscious of just how blessed we truly are, and all the more thankful for those blessings.  Despite all the troubles of this year, this remains absolutely the greatest time ever to be alive, and America, despite obvious problems, remains a great place to live.  I do understand that so many families are suffering from the effects of the pandemic, the resultant economic problems, grief at the loss of loved ones, and so many other causes.  We are ever aware of the suffering that abounds in this mortal world, and look forward to a better one in the future.  But this week we set aside a day to be grateful for all that we have been given.  And ALL of us in this nation have been given so much.

It is too easy to think of what we used to have, and to bemoan the loss of things we used to enjoy.  I can certainly do that any time, as well as anyone.  If you still have control of your limbs, you have way more than me.  I certainly don't want to get into a "who has it worst" battle, or make a "smile, things could be worse" argument.  It's far simpler than that.  I could look at that photo above from 1989 and grieve the people that have since died, and miss the people now far away (or the hair I used to have).  Instead, I smile at the memory.  I'm thankful for my family.  

Sure, many of us will sit down at a smaller table this year, with fewer family physically with us.  Though we do miss the family gathering, we can be all the more thankful for the family we miss.  We can be thankful for technology (like this) that brings us together even though separated by miles, or even around the world.  The whole point of my blog is that we share this Thanksgiving meal with the whole nation, wherever we are and whoever we are with.  That should be all the more evident this year of social distancing.

Things we may be missing this year should make us all the more grateful for all that we still do share.

Watching for Suspicious Packages

Lately, we are being advised to be on watch for suspicious packages.  I've been keeping an eye out, and have a lot that look highly suspect to me.

The UPS and FedEx guys are here almost every day.  That alone seems suspicious.  We're just a house, not a warehouse.  How can they keep delivering that much stuff?  And where does it all go?

The crazy neighbor we used to have back in La Crescenta was a horder, who always got daily deliveries.  Too much QVC and Home Shopping Network, we assumed.  Now, we are those crazy neighbors.

The UPS and FedEX guys always ring the doorbell fast, run back and jump in their trucks, and hightail it out the driveway, often before I can even get to the window.  They seem really eager to get far away from our packages as fast as possible.  They seem to suspect our packages too.  

When I was a boy, that "ring and run" thing was not just "suspicious."  It was a sure sign of mischief.  Only a fool would open a package left on their doorstep that way.

I'm no fool.  I let someone else bring in packages and open them.

Tuesday, I'd just gotten back from a trike ride (with Dennis, who was visiting from California) when the UPS van backed up to the open garage door while I was sitting in the garage changing out of my bike shoes. Probably the same guy in the doorbell-cam photo, above.  The driver didn't get out.  We heard thumping, banging, crashing sounds from inside the back of the van.  I remarked to Dennis that it sounded like the UPS guy was losing the fight.  Finally, after about five minutes of that, Dennis walked around to the side of the van, to see if the driver was OK.   UPS guy said he couldn't find a package.  He was supposed to have something for Sarah, but couldn't find it.  Would have to come back later.  Sounded suspicious to me.  True story.  Ask Dennis.

On Sundays, the US Postal Service "mailman" brings packages.  US Mail?  On Sundays?  I thought they were talking about cutting back to five days per week.  Instead, they went to seven?  Highly suspicious, if you ask me (but no one asks me).

We get cases of wine dropped off on our doorstep, too!  That's suspect for a lot of reasons.  Mail order wine is about as suspect as that wine in a box from the supermarket.  If we had any neighbors, they would certainly wonder about us (or steal if off our doorstep, if we had a doorstep, especially that crazy neighbor back in La Crescenta).  The wine delivery man is supposed to get an adult signature, but last time, he just did the UPS ring and run or drop and dash.  He may be getting suspicious about that wine, too.

Wine deliveries are particularly suspicious here in Indiana, where folks are only slowly and reluctantly letting go of Prohibition. Sunday alcohol sales just became legal this year, still only for limited hours.  A friend from California tried to send Lyn some wine for her birthday, but was told they couldn't ship it to Indiana.  Not entirely sure our deliveries are legal.  Suspicious?  Try sending us some anyway, just to test it.  

Lyn gets boxes of flowers delivered monthly.  And they're not from me.  Should I be suspicious?  She claims they're from our daughter.  Does that sound credible to you?  Any of you getting flowers from your daughters?  No, I didn't think so.  Mighty suspicious.

The other day, I was expecting a package, and the tracker said it should have been delivered.  But Lyn saw the package and said it was just a bra for her.

Today, the wife got chocolates in the mail.  Said she'd ordered them for herself.  I didn't actually see the package they came in.  Like I said, I leave that package retrieval to others less paranoid than I. What do you think?  Sound suspicious?

First flowers; then lingerie; now chocolates?  Suspicious?

Then there's all the packages where my wife says (opening something she seems to have ordered and forgotten)  "I wonder what this is?"  When I order something, I'm waiting for it, tracking it, looking for it, expecting it, and know what it will be.  Is it suspicious when she can't recall ordering it?

The dog also gets food and treats delivered.  I mean, I knew the dog had his own Instagram account, but I'm not too sure about him having his own PetSmart account.  May be a little too "smart."  See what I mean?  Very suspicious.  Makes me wonder what they've given him to keep him occupied in that crate downstairs.  The cats get treats delivered, too, but cats were always suspect.

Cat, plotting next order

Then there's the stuff I order.  Highly suspect, too:

There's the things I order from eBay, that sound innocent, but end up coming from China three weeks later by First Class Mail (free shipping) in strange envelopes.  How can it possibly be profitable to send something from China for $7.95, with free shipping?  I hear even the President is suspicious about that.  

Then there's all the stuff I order with wires, cable, gadgets and gizmos that even I should be suspicious about.  I long ago gave up trying to explain what they are for.  Lyn just eyes them suspiciously and asks, rhetorically, "More cables?"  If I try to explain it, I just sound crazier.  It's HDMI, or USB2, or Ethernet Cat5E.  If the FBI and the NSA don't wonder about me, they're just not paying attention.  I mean. wouldn't you be suspicious of this thing? 

Please don't ask.  It's too hard to explain.  Trust me, you really aren't that interested. I'm an electrical engineer (among other things).  Let's leave it at that. But notice that there is no blue wire, so you need not be worried about cutting it.

Now, we've signed up for this new Medicare supplement insurance through AARP, which meant we actually had to join AARP.  After 20 years of junk mail from AARP, some of it might actually be important.  The stuff it used to be safe to recycle automatically might be our new insurance cards.  I tell you:  No telling what to be suspicious about.