My surgeon writes down everything. Actually, he records everything and somebody else writes it down.

When I was in his office for diagnosis and planning, we discussed everything. Then while I was still there, he orally recorded everything we had said. He then asked if I wanted to make any changes or additions. He then altered his report accordingly.

I have not seen him since except for a couple of minutes when he greeted me in pre-op and we both wrote our initials on the appropriate knee.

Actually, I am glad that surgeons spend every minute they can doing surgery and hire other people to do other stuff. I have always observed that anesthesiologists have the best bedside manner.

Today, I had my post-op appointment with the PA. I can see from the very comprehensive report I was given that my surgeon did, in fact, show up shortly after I had counted back from 100 by 7 a few times, and I’m really grateful that I slept through the whole thing.

I wasn’t awake to go over this with Dr. Coen when he recorded it. I’m trusting that it is accurate. The PA went over the entire thing with me and had me look at the photo album that was created during the procedure.

TMI

Cognitive test for the elderly? POTUS reports that he recently aced one.

I believe everyone on Medicare is required to respond to a little quiz when going in for annual checkups after the age of 75. This year, I was asked to tell the PA where I was and what the date was. I am a smart ass and said, “The 45th parallel north.” Thank god, he didn’t ask for the day of the week. No one has a clue about that these days. Name as many animals as I could in 15 seconds. Remember five or six things the tester said which we came back to later. Count backwards from 100 by 7’s. Oh, actually, that last might have been what the anesthesiologist asked me to do last week before a little surgery. I forget.

POTUS has managed to conceal all his report cards, which I actually think is okay. Big confession here: I once made a C in college on a required course, Texas History. I re-took that class to get that embarrassing mark expunged from my record. Interesting question which didn’t occur to me at the time: Why was Texas History a required class?

POTUS has referred to himself as a “stable genius.”

To me that sounds like a really smart horse.

He has also alluded to a having a really high IQ.

It used to be a standard procedure, for some unknown reason, to administer IQ tests at certain points during one’s educational career. When I was teaching I made it a point never to look at my students’ IQ scores. That information can really color a teacher’s expectations.

The last time I took an IQ test was in graduate school. I think at that point it was an optional freebie and I was curious. I never thought of myself as particularly clever, but for some reason, I tended to do really well on standardized tests. Let me just say, shortly after that, I was invited to join Mensa. Shocking! I declined. I mean, what’s the point in life of scoring well on a standardized test or joining a club of others who also did.

On the other hand, being “stable” seems huge to me. I think there are tests for that. I’ve never taken one. I do think “personality quizzes” are fun. You know, like Myers-Briggs.

I really wish candidates for high office were required to take some mental health tests.

So much more important than self-proclaimed genius or stability would be a diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder.

Today, Dave headed out for his next best adventure. 3000 miles with two kayaks, a motorcycle, and a cat. He is undoubtedly the dearest, sweetest, kindest man I have ever met and possibly my best friend ever.

We met about fifteen years ago when I spotted a notice he posted on a local kayakers site. He was graduating from whitewater paddling with the big boys to runs more age appropriate. I took him up on that plan immediately and met up with him at the put-in at Wallace Marine Park on the Willamette in West Salem.

If I tried to recall all our paddles, I imagine there would be over 100 in the past fifteen years. Every suitable waterway appropriate for our boats and skills and clearly some that were not. Those were possibly the most fun.

He didn’t love the Willamette, preferring faster rivers and secluded lakes where that former science teacher could look for obscure fauna. Salamanders were a particular find. He showed me things I never would have seen without him. And a Mexican restaurant in Molalla.

He taught middle-school science in Molalla for most of his career, commuting daily from Salem on all the country roads between here and there. His students were very lucky.

As for the Willamette, he humored me and supported my goal to paddle every bit of it from the source at the MacKenzie all the way into the Columbia, bit by bit.

We explored fast and sleepy places, always driving there on country roads which were Dave’s preference.

He knew about places I’d never even heard of. And now I am wondering whether there are places one might paddle in Ohio. I do love a good road trip.

A devoted husband and the world’s most generous and loving grandfather, Dave’s beloved Diana died last year, so he has packed up to move nearer his children and grand children. I hope they know how lucky they are.

He called late yesterday to say goodbye. The last thing he said was that he hoped I’d find another paddling buddy. I will. But every time I put-in, I will smile remembering Dave.

Looks like the only pictures I have are of quiet moments. You just can’t snap pictures when you’re splashing through rapids!

After watching church online this morning, I decided, as is my custom, to check out the outdoor Christmas lights. So much more fun to do it on a sunny July day than on a rainy November one.

When I went into the attic to get the lights, I lost my train of thought when I once again stumbled over a banker’s box that had been sitting there unopened for many years: the files of my divorce.

I was always a scrupulous record-keeper, so this was a heavy box of carefully-labelled files. I still am scrupulous, but I no longer rely on hard copy as I did in those days. And I definitely choose to live in the present. I scan and toss, both literally and metaphorically.

My plan was to drop that corrugated box unopened into the recycling bin; however, I decided to take a quick look to see whether anything should be scanned.

I decided on two items:

And this, just because it left me laughing. I think it must have been pinned to something when Jim departed 1880 for the last time.

Now, where are those Christmas lights?

This is creepy on so many levels, and probably illegal on at least one.

I guess the creepiest thing is that we can now see this daughter is willing to do anything to support her daddy, no matter how demeaning and embarrassing it might be. Can you imagine, in your wildest dreams, that she, while dressed in pure white, would open a can of black beans roll them up in a tortilla, and serve them to her children for almuerzo?