Jimmy Carter and Lorin Duckman

Once, a long time ago, when I was someone worth talking to, Jimmy and I had a conversation. He was no longer the President and was making the rounds, here New York Law School, to talk about human rights.

On 14 January 1980, the Administration of President Jimmy Carter joined Andrei Sakharov’s appeal to boycott the Olympics and set a deadline by which the Soviet Union had to pull out of Afghanistan or “face the consequences”, including an international boycott of the games. Carter convinced several countries to not compete when Russia didn’t leave. 9 years later, the Russians left, their attempts to support a pro-communist government faileding disastrously.

After the lecture, I told President Carter that his actions made me happy. He misunderstood me, as many have over the years, and said that he didn’t want me to be happy that he made the decision. Humbly, I replied, that his principled decision is what made me happy and that I felt for all the athletes denied the opportunity to compete.

He smiled, shook my hand.

Years later, I mailed him the picture. He signed it.

Born To Live

Well, I am putting on some weight and building muscle. Not much cooperation from my body which has sprung a hernia (operation scheduled for January 13, 2025). Lots of doctors still on the list and not a lot of options. Have adjusted to the new cancer meds and my blood has been storing oxygen. Go Hemo, Go!


So, I keep walking and talking. Put here to live and then die. Walk and talk. No need to worry about what the future holds. The sands on the hour glass trickle at an excruciating rate, which, for me, is just fine. More time to do what I do and more time to play with Sharon.

Ron at 90

Ron lives around the corner. 90 years old. He rides his bike, attired in stretch bicycle wear and a helmet. “Nothing I cannot do that I want to do he says.

Valencia Reserve where I live had a Christmas car show. Ron brought his Audi, appropriately shined up for the occasion. He used to drive a Jaguar which he gave up, because it was in the shop too often. I rejected the offer to see the invoices.

I was going to get my face painted, but was deterred by the lines filled with grandchildren. No way to go to the pool, either. Cannot deal with the caterwauling of young kids who want to be congratulated for jumping in the pool and not drawing.

Morikami Gardens Return

Art Jacoby, my photo buddy, and I returned to Morikami for a walk which we had not taken together since I got sick in March. I got some of my usual shots, as did he. And I made it around.

There is always a group that wants a picture. They asked Art, because, as one said, he has the bigger camera. I love group shots. Set up my own shot, shot and gave the group leader a card. We will see if he contacts me.

The gardens are not in full bloom, because even Florida has winter, leaving fewer places to hide. Paredeolia runs rampant in that place.

Just enough places to take a brief nap, though, amidst the trees and falls.

 

 

Valencia Reserve Renovates

They are closing our clubhouse to renovate. A hazard of living in South Florida. Condo dues up. Car and home owner insurance up. Health care up.  Food up. No services for a year. Costs a lot to live here and the risks of being killed in an auto accident are great. At least the building won’t collapse, we hope.

There is an auction to sell the innards. People talk with outsiders, while wives clutch their number.

I voted against the plan, even though it may not have been in my best interest. I felt a renovation, a new look, would help to maintain the value of my home. I still have an interest in contemporary comfort in my home gathering  hole. But alas, the new look, Late South FL Funereal will change little. No place to go. Nowhere to hide.

Blast From Past

Sharon was cleaning out her closet and found a blue jean jacket I had grown out of. Err, it shrunk and I expanded. The sleeves were rolled up girly style, like Sharon is prone to do and there was a tissue in the pocket (I use the sleeve for drips).

In years past, I wore this jacket. Oh, yes, how the years pass. Went from rebel to pariah. Saw things differently from many. Not always right. Seldom totally wrong.

Some years,  not so painless. Used pot to ease the pain, all bought illegally until recently.  And the last years, the ones to come, will be no different, pain wise, though more peaceful. ☺️  I will use the same remedy with my chemo pills and the blood transfusions.

The jacket I turned over to Sharon had been personalized. The one I got back had no decorations. Kowing what they meant to me, Sharon had saved them.

On the sleeve was a “Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers” patch. Do you even know what I’m talking about or does it make you wish you were high? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fabulous_Furry_Freak_Brothers

On the back was an American Flag, upside down, a sign of distress or extreme danger for the country or for the person flying it. Today, however, people have begun using this old war cry in response to political uncertainty or as a way to show their unhappiness with the direction the country is heading.

Also on the back, somewhere, was a Liberate Marijuana patch. Now, who would know now that one day in the not to distant past great penalties were exacted from people suspected of using marijuana. Oh my, stop and frisk, Reefer Madness, teen pregnancy (sic), Paul Sinclair, people sentenced to jail or forced to do community service. Worse than that, people rejected people who smoked or ate the drug and talked the talk or those who had seen the stars (and lived on them). Now, many states have made marijuana legal or available with a script from a doctor.

Debating whether to buy another jacket, one that fits. Florida whether makes it inutile. And who can predict the size I’ll be or whether I will be alive long enough to wear it, wash it, or decorate it?

Alice’s Restaurant Massacree

You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant, except Alice. We all got something there. Some of us even got to sit on the group W bench. Now there is no restaurant. And, with Alice’s death there is no Alice.

Through Arlo, a story of Thanksgiving, the draft and social justice is told. As Arlo described it, “(t)his song is called Alice’s Restaurant, and it’s about Alice, and the restaurant, but Alice’s restaurant is not the name of the restaurant, that’s just the name of the song and that’s why I called the song Alice’s Restaurant.”

words to alice’s restaurant

“Small Things” – Blah Day

So, I started out at a 10:00 movie which turned out to be Blah movie. Couldn’t hear most of the dialogue. Story did not live up to the reviews. Small Things…. Oh, look what I brought you for Christmas, a new family member. I wondered more about the town’s reaction to the last scene more than the movie itself, which was blah. So, the church takes in girls and works them in a laundry. A girl has become pregnant and is forced to sleep in the coal shed that the main character delivers coal to. He gets bribed to keep the story silent with a cash payment and semi promise that his daughters will be admitted to the Catholic school. In the meantime, he finds out he was raised by a protestant after his mother died unexpectedly. Blah. Blah. And he washed his hands a lot.

Movie give something to think about, but since I couldn’t hear all the dialogue, accents and bad sound, I had to fill in the blanks. Movie has great acting and good cinematography, but was not as suspenseful or exciting as I had hoped.

Then when I could not figure out what I wanted for lunch. Settled for Blah pizza.

Then I went to Doris. Got into a stupid argument with the owner over a $6.95 return of green olives. Picked up a lobster, drank complimentary sparkling and came home to get over the blahs.