Best health scare ever

    The nurses at dialysis were concerned about dark places between Dad's toes, since diabetics often have problems with their feet. So they recommended very strongly that he see a podiatrist, and he did. It turned out to be just dirt. He said he never washed between his toes. Dad and especially Margaret thought it was very funny; I have to agree. But it certainly was nice to have a health question resolved so simply.
    You may be asking why if the dialysis nurses were so concerned, why didn't they just investigate and find out it was just dirt? That's a good question.

Probably not the finest blog entry ever

    Got up at 5 this morning. Picked up Paul by 6, and headed down the road. Made it to the ferry landing in plenty of time, ignoring the sprinkles of rain we hit here and there. Bull Island was very nice under the clouds, and very soon even nicer without them. It was one of the truly glorious days ever. We just walked up up up the beach, and then down it a while, too. Pictures were tooken in great profusion. I prevailed on Paul to buy and use sunblock, but didn't have the sense to use it myself. I thought I could rely on the hat; was mistaken. Nose, neck, hands are burnt; nothing too bad, though. We went to Whole Foods for supper, because I wanted to get their gluten-free cookies. They changed the recipe, though, adding dairy. So I couldn't get them. But the red curry chicken was stupendous, so I wasn't too disappointed.
    Sorry this wasn't more fluent, but I'm cooked well-done and seriously exhausted. Fun fun fun, though for sure!

Ford Granada

    Back in the '70s, Ford introduced a new car, the Granada, with an ad campaign to the effect that valet parkers and such couldn't distinguish it from a Mercedes-Benz. This struck me at least as wildly funny because the car didn't look anything at all like a Mercedes from any angle. I liked them, mind you, but they didn't have the advertised resemblance at all. Then I went to France and saw the European car called the Ford Granada. Which looked exactly like a Mercedes-Benz. So I can only assume that there had been a plan to market the European model in the States, it fell through, but they stuck with the ad campaign anyway. It was only a few years later when they started the World Car program with the Escort. Maybe the Granada would have been a trial run. I could look it up of course, but my only point was how weird that ad campaign was, and how ironic that it could have just as easily been totally accurate.

Rock n roll music

    A million years ago, John Lennon put out an album called "Rock n Roll Music." A few years later, friends of mine at Penn put a song from it on a tape for me. "Sweet Little Sixteen" was the song. I liked it OK, but it always struck me as too slow. John was an incredible rock singer, maybe the best. Just think of what he did on "Twist and Shout." So yesterday, I thought of that album again and how good it might be if he captured half of that early Beatles energy. I looked up tunes on YouTube, but all I could find was him doing "Peggy Sue." While it was fun and interesting to hear John sing like Buddy Holly, it would have been even more fun and interesting to hear him do it as John Lennon. So still a disappointment.
    Anyway, I looked up some reviews (which were retroactively enthusiastic) and got the story on the record. Apparently, Chuck Berry's management felt that "Come Together" was too close a copy of a Chuck Berry song, and John agreed. So he further agreed to make an album with a bunch of Chuck Berry songs on it. (There are some cool side angles involving Phil Spector and Berry's management putting out an early version of the Lennon record via TV ads; you could look it up.) But what made me laugh was what got me there in the first place: "Sweet Little Sixteen" the song that the Beach Boys ripped off to make "Surfing USA" and which Chuck had to sue over to get writing credit on (and royalties from). I suspect John put it on the record for that reason, but what do I know?

No lectures

    Or anyway, no lectures while I was there. Nobody at dialysis had anything to say about Daddy missing Saturday's session, and my worries that we'd have to sit there for hours enduring the silent treatment were completely unfounded. The technician took him back immediately, even saying that she had been waiting for him, which was peculiar inasmuch as we were in fact early. But I am certainly in no way complaining. Totally thrilled more describes how I feel about it.
    Dad seems none the worse for his fall yesterday, and if anything only very slightly weaker for having missed dialysis. So it was a lovely wedding and everything turned out well. I've got to learn to avoid worrying until AFTER bad stuff happens.

Not the best idea ever

    So I've been reacquainting myself with longer distance hiking, taking advantage of the mild Spring weather. I especially wanted to cover as much ground as possible at Congaree National Park, partly because of the coming intense heat, but mostly because of the hatching intense flies. So today I took on the River Trail, one of the longest. Being a genius in my own right, I brought along: one 0.5 litre bottle of water. (Note from your friendly old neighborhood old hiking book author (who is old): don't do this.)
    I also brought along two cell phones, neither of which were a lot of help as Congaree NP is a dead area for cell service. This comes up because when I finally hit the river, one of them came alive. I had three voicemail messages. My dad fell down this morning and Margaret couldn't get him up, nor could she reach me or brother William. Fortunately, the last message was to the effect that she got him up and he was fine. If not, I would have been in a fine kettle of fish, more than an hour's walk and a half-hour's drive away. I phoned and she assured me that everything was fine, so I was a little bit relieved.
    So I continued taking the long way around, rather than the short way back. It was another situation where it's a good thing that I really, really, really like hiking in the woods, because the trail isn't outstandingly scenic. There are two spur trails to the river, and those offer nice views. Also, I had the iPod playing really outstanding old time radio shows. Not just everybody gets to listen to a show about werewolves in lonely dark woods while walking through lonely dark woods. BOO! Exactly. Also Orson Welles' "War of the Worlds." Personally, I still can't believe they pre-empted Ramon Raquello and his orchestra for that crap.:)
    There was one section that was insanely beautiful, but it just wouldn't photograph that well. Butterflies were legion and gorgeous, but they, too, declined to pose. The herd of feral hogs that I met early in the hike ran away from me, which was very much OK with me. Lizards were also very numerous, but equally camera-shy. And the kayakers I saw in a creek looked like they were having enough trouble with snags without having somebody take a picture of them, so I left them alone, too.
    In the end I was out hiking for three and a half hours. If I hadn't started in the morning, I probably would have been in all kind of trouble. As it was, I got a bit dehydrated and didn't get lunch until almost two hours late. But I think I'll live. Will I go back? Sure! This Fall.

I'd like to talk with you

    I am generally sympathetic to panhandlers, and have a history of being generous to them. So I was surprised myself how annoyed I got with the one who tried the "Excuse me, sir, I'd like to talk to you" approach on me yesterday. (Annoyed, but not belligerent; I replied, as politely as I could, "I'm just taking a walk.") I think it's the dishonesty. No, you don't want to talk to me; you want to ask me for money. I think I would advise them just to cut to the chase. Nine out of ten people would turn them down, but I seriously doubt that "I'd like to talk to you" is getting them a better result. Also, if a person has earbuds in, there is very, very little probability that he wants to talk to anybody. Nothing personal.
    Of course, they might wonder why I would expect common sense or polite behavior from someone who has had it beaten out of them by life. As have I. As have I.