Not Playing That Game

     I read an editorial letter recently urging those of us who vote by mail to wait until the campaign is nearly over to cast our votes. In other words, he wants us to willingly participate in the political party game of saving some information dirty bomb they have been sitting on for months, so they can detonate it just before the election when it is too late to determine if it is fake news. The writer cited last year's night before the election dust up between Greg Gianforte and a British journalist. I hate to break this to him, but I was an election judge that year and the comments I heard from voters were 4 to 1 in favor of what Gianforte did. In Dave Barry's 2017 Year in Review, he wrote that this signified "that in much of the nation journalists enjoy the same level of popularity as head lice." Fortunately,  I have no personal experience with head lice, unfortunately, I have more respect for them than the press. I believe journalists are often guilty of trying to be the news instead of report the news. But this is not "much of the nation", this is Montana. Gianforte's opponents spent a lot of time and money pointing out that Greg was guilty of not being from Montana. His election eve body slam established for many of us native born that Greg is a Montanan at heart. Montana has a long standing tradition of election night fights.
    So Mr. Editorial writer, I am no more likely to wait until election day to fill out my ballot than I am to disable the spam filter on my computer. I do not rely on last ditch propaganda to make my decisions. If I want fake news, there's always Facebook. But to delay voting until the last morsel of mud has been slung--I'm not playing that game. 

La "Quaint"

     Because the room rate for the Hampton Inn we have been staying in for our previous Seattle trips had gone up over $40 per night, exceeding the $150 limit given by Reed's employers, I booked our latest stay at the Seatac La Quinta. Its summer rates were still affordable and it was literally across the street from the Hampton. Also desirable was that it provided breakfast. I have never stayed at a La Quinta, but was willing to give it a shot. I knew it was an older hotel but it has, for the most part, been updated and kept in good repair. I don't really know how to describe why I didn't like it. It didn't help that there was a construction barrier in the lobby because one of the elevators is broken, that the narrow hallways had chipped paint and doors, that the room was small and looked out on a parking tower. I'm afraid the main reason I didn't like it is because I've become a hotel prima dona over the years. It was way nicer than the motels my family stayed in when I was a child. And not that many years ago, I would have been happy to stay there. La Quinta is the Spanish equivalent of a country villa. The word quinta means fifth, not as in "a good place to drink a fifth", but because such farm villas paid a fifth of their income in taxes. Sadly, that has not changed much. But to me Quinta is an anagram for Quaint. Somehow, in spite of being fairly clean and updated, it still seemed shabby underneath.
     Reed was watching me for signs of "aah factor" the shoulders relaxed, deep breathing sensation I get at most of the places we stay. There was not going to be any aah factor at the La Quinta, and we, mostly me, were going to be there for eight days. So that evening we walked to the Hampton to see if  looking pathetic in person made a difference in the room rate. Alas, no. It was Tulip Festival, the cruise season has started. As I knew from checking rates before we came, Seattle is in summer mode. But helpful Monte at the front counter called his counterpart at the Aloft Hotel next door and said to try there. Sammie managed to give us the rate they give airline employees, a price which does not go up in tourist season. Not only that, but she upgraded us to a large, corner room with a similarly large bathroom.
     Aside from feeling we are too old for the vibe of this hotel, I am aah-fully content here. It is brand new, everything high efficiency, so high efficiency they are already having to redo wiring, but  somehow I don't mind the construction here, even when it is right outside my door. The sparse, furnishings are minimalist, some look like oversized Lego pieces. As in Europe, your key card controls the electricity so the lights go out when you do. You have to pay for your food and most of it is disgusting healthy. But if you choose not to have daily maid service, you get a $5 per day "green voucher" to use as you wish. In case you actually want to eat organic quinoa or, ironically, get a drink at the bar. I do not, but I am cheap and will use the money for food that is minimally healthy. There are only two drawers in which to unpack, but I am actually storing some of the things I would normally put in a nightstand in our in-room safe. I don't think there is a laundry room here. This hotel is for hip young business travelers who have enough energy to do more than watch TV after work--but apparently not do laundry. There is a pool table, a bar and music in the lobby. Or so I've noticed when we return from dinner to go watch TV in our room. Actually, we are mostly reading, not only reading, but reading digital media. That is about as close to young hipsters as we get. We would still prefer the homey Hampton to the green Aloft, but at least it ain't "Quaint".
   

Holding On

     I've been pondering why I walk so much better when holding my husband's hand. It was necessary to hold his arm after my knee replacements because my knees know a trick most others don't--When in doubt, give out.  My surgeon said it was an uncommon brain stem reaction. Interesting, but not very helpful since, like most people, I have little control over my own brain stem. My knees also had ADD. Any distraction from the task of walking would cause them to give out. To this day, my left knee does not remember how to pivot. So for a long time I had to hold Reed's arm to make up in husband what I lacked in stability. (I'm sure Reed would like to expand upon this point.) But now, years later, I still find I walk better when I hold his hand. Perhaps the minor focus of that touch keeps my knees from being distracted by other things. When I am shopping in crowded stores, I've noticed barely touching the racks helps me walk better. I'm considering an experiment of walking with my thumb pressing on one of my fingers like my chiropractor did for muscle testing. That way I could, in effect, hold my own hand.
    Similarly, some of the medications they now use for MS serve in that decoy capacity. In order to keep the patient's body from attacking its own myelin sheathing over the nerves, these drugs essentially say, "Look over here! Focus on me! These are not the droids you're looking for." Maybe that is what the unconscious pressure of holding hubby's hand does for my knees, perhaps they return to muscle memory mode. Or perhaps it's just the knowledge that if I start to stumble, I can count on him to hold me up. Either way it is a wonderful allegory for the Christian walk. We all stumble but we won't, ultimately, fall.  Even in those times when we don't want to hold our Savior's hand, He is holding ours.

Human Petrie Dish

    As I mentioned on Facebook recently, I have been in a vicious antibiotics cycle. Ever since I got artificial knees six years ago, I had to take amoxicillin before my twice yearly dental cleanings. Because of that frequency, I developed an allergic reaction to amoxicillin. Because of that allergy, for my recent wisdom tooth extraction I was given clyndamicin. I did not have an allergic reaction to that, I got C-Dif, which is what happens when antibiotics kill off the good bacteria in your intestines and leave the thugs to proliferate. Colons are unhappy with the thugs and attempt to "eliminate" them. My colon was so bent on elimination, I could not go anywhere a bathroom wasn't handy. Because of the C-Dif, they gave me--you guessed it--antibiotics. Big gun antibiotics that aim specifically for the intestines--vancomycin. One of the potential side effects of vancomycin is hearing loss, and I know people this has happened to. It is permanent. And it's really important to finish the entire vancomycin prescription or you can wind up with the brain-eating zombie version of intestinal bacteria.
     The (probably overcautious) reason for giving dental patients antibiotics before having their teeth cleaned, is the (probably exaggerated) fear that bacteria from the gums will enter the bloodstream and infect the artificial joint. I can just picture two newly freed germs discussing this:

   First germ, "So, where do you want to go now?"
   Second germ, "I know this new joint where we can hang out."

    At a time when unnecessary (which used to be considered medically necessary) antibiotic use is being discouraged by physicians, it is encouraged in dentistry even though there is very little data to  justify it. Even in those rare occurrences of infection, it appears to be related to diabetes, bleeding disorders or poor oral hygiene, not gum disturbance by itself. In a few years, I expect they will reverse the recommendation because the danger of antibiotic resistance far outweighs the odds of artificial joint infection.
    That is what happened to my husband. He went through his entire childhood dental visits without prophylactic antibiotics. When we moved to Kalispell, he was told he had to have them because he had rheumatic fever as a child. After about 25 years of taking pre-meds, his dentist said they were not necessary. Oopsy! Antibiotics can be discontinued but the bitter pill to swallow is there is no "undo" function on a prescription bottle. So I have no intention of taking premeds before my upcoming teeth cleaning and probably for any after that. I will gladly sign a waiver but, unless they can show me hard data linking teeth cleaning to artificial joint infection in a healthy person whose surgery healed years ago, I will not waver. I have no interest in being the human petrie dish for a study on the lifecycles of bacteria.

The Changing of the Guard

        The Changing of the Guard

At dusk we see the changing of the guard

as sun gives way to moon and stars.

Horizon flaunts a robe of purple hue,

tree branches reach toward skies of twilight blue.

Leave to the stars and moon to keep

their careful watch while we’re asleep.

And when their duty’s duly done,

in radiant garments comes the sun.

So has it been since time began

the Sovereign’s colors shown to man,

each dusk and dawn heaven’s curtains part

for the changing of the guard.