91 year difference

 July 1, 1867. July 4, 1776. A difference of 91 years. The last province joined Confederation in 1949. The last states joined the Union in 1959. Canada was born later but fully formed earlier. Just a few factoids on this July 4th. Reading a grotesque romp called "Quackery". All kinds of fun stuff like Radithor, bloodletting, and of course; the labotomy. Among other things.

 Did you know that Spanish fly, besides being a legendary aid for sexytime, was also used to raise blisters on the skin? Blisters supposedly drew out the infection. All kinds of lovely stomach-twisting shenanigans. I had to take a break from reading about antimony because the emetophobe in me started shrieking.

 Halfway through this fantastic account of some very dangerous stuff that we thought could help. Oh, and heroin was once used to stop morphine addiction. Ya learn summat new every day, don't you? Relaxing and test-driving vehicles. Buy or lease? So much to consider. So that's what's going on with me. Hope my few but fabulous are having a good day.

BYE.

On Xmas Eve

 So I'm sitting in an IHOP because I'm hungry and Subway doesn't open until 8:30. Done my shopping. Yeah, I'm lazy; what of it? I don't call it procrastination; I call it sheer laziness. Been battling a cold but besides this maddening cough, I'm okay now. Maddening tickle in the throat. It's like "the Exorcist" when a hack attack threatens.

 Anyway, all the shopping is done. Stocking stuffers and gift bags bought. Better late than too late, right? Got it done right at 7 before the parking lots got wild. Not going anywhere today but stuff's going on tomorrow and Boxing Day. Feeling all right despite the tickle. I hope my few followers are doing well and keeping warm.

 Happy holidays and hope for nowt but the best in 2026.

BYE.

Just following orders?

Put these three words together and let the sadistic madness begin! It was the Nazis who first used this excuse to torture and kill millions of people they considered beneath their Aryan pride and noblility. The Allied countries breathed a sigh of relief when Churchill and Stalin joined up with the Americans to drive the Nazis back and bring as many of them as possible to justice. That's when Humanity first heard this plaintive cry, whined by so many folk who normally probably would've never dreamed of committing such horrible acts on so many people. Perhaps they were just following orders, knowing what would happen to them or to their families if they didn't follow orders. At the end of the day, however, the choices we make now make all the difference in the days to come. Those who were raised Hitler Youth went through an incredible period of disillusionment when they were forced to realized Hitler and his cronies were wrong and that they would have to live with their choices for the rest of their lives - those who survived World War II, anyway.
I'm not limiting this spiel to just the Nazis, however. Stalin was hiding his dark secrets from Churchill and the world in those heroic and tragic days. Churchill had no real love for 'those Bolsheviks', but he needed help from the Soviets to drive the Nazis back. Then Humanity greeted the Cold War with fear and trembling from the 50's to the late 80's (please correct me if I've made an error with the history). These dark secrets, known only to Russia and its Soviet satellites, rose with the coming of the NKVD (which changed its name several times through history), have only come to light since the 80's and 90's. The gulags, the Stasi Files, and KGB minions being found out and brought into the light of day; all these have contributed their elements to paint a terrifying picture of the Soviet Union. While the Nazis had some cunning and plenty of cruelty, the KGB had just as much cruelty and much more cunning.
"The perversion of knowledge' by Vadim Birstein shines a light on how the Soviets worked with their scientists and how they conducted their 'experiements' on hundreds of thousands of people. Their skill in rewriting history and forcing their people to choke it down is horrifying. Persuasion and manipulation par excellence! They didn't need death camps to get rid of people they didn't like - they just sent them to the 'scientists' to try out this or that new poisonous compound or weapon. It quakes the heart to read about these 'test subjects' and what happened to them. And these scientists were usually not the educated intelligensia, for they usually protested or refused to comply with Stalin and his ilk and were bundled off to the gulags and themselves turned into prisoners who 'died of unknown causes' or 'heart attacks'.
All in the name of putting away those who stood in the way of the KGB, and when these folk were brought to justice, guess what most of them used as their excuse? There's a bigger issue here, one of personal responsibility and accountability - enough of this 'It's not my fault' mentality - but for now, I'm going to read more of Birstein's book and cringe with my quaking heart. BYE.

Sickbed diaries

I've kept a pretty regular diary on the progression of my duel with the common cold. Most of my entries were written in the dead of night, which is when most of my ensuing frustration occured. Anyone who has followed this blog knows that frustation is one of my big flaws. I admit frankly that I succumb easily to it. Meanwhile, my adventures in being sick started on the 22nd when I came home early from work. I've already mentioned that part of the adventure in a previous post, so I'll just pick up from where I left off, as most of the excitement started then. Not that coughing and moaning about being sick can be considered very exciting, but my social life is extremely limited and I take my excitement where I can.
For starters, things started off as an 18-hour flu and then changed into a cold. The battlefield, for the most part, has been in my throat, and the battle between the urge to cough up and the urge to swallow has been severe. This ongoing debate between these automatic reflexes has been the main topic of a couple of my journal entries. These two forces are inevitably going to work at cross-purposes where a cold is concerned. Crap comes up and then gets swallowed back down. Ugh. This has also been the source of much of my frustration, especially when it happened at night when I was trying to sleep.
Suspecting I was running out of sick time, I went to work for three days straight. Maybe not the best route to take, considering every teacher I ran into said I should be at home. It was the relentless coughing that tipped them off, I imagine. I mentioned in my last post about my Dad and how helpless he was feeling, but then Mom and my sister came home from Florida. Well, my throat was still too sore for me to eat much or talk, so she got it firmly in mind that I should be on some sort of prescribed meds. Then came the night of the 28th, when I tried 'Buckley's Mixture' and spent one of the worst nights I've spent in a very long time. It's like drinking 'Vick's Vapo-Rub', and then gagging everything but the kitchen sink out.
By the end of it, my throat and tongue hurt abominably and I was awash in despair. I had only gotten a couple of seconds' worth of sleep as well. Anyway, the next morning I went back to the walk-in and another doctor looked at me. Throat infection and developing chest infection. Time for some good, solid amoxicillin! That and stuff to clear up my infected sinuses (yeah, they're infected too). To make a long story short, it's better to get a second opinion. Sleep is still more elusive than I would like, but I am sleeping better, coughing less, and my throat is much improved. I think I've written enough about my disgusting forays into being sick for now. I may return to this topic a third time next week. Depends on how the amoxicillin is working. BYE.

Two in one

That's right: two topics in one post! I don't think I've done anything like that yet. Let me start with the disgusting part. Saturday night my sister and I went for supper. I ordered the enchilada, which I haven't done in a while. I was fine for the rest of the evening, although I had what I thought was just a gas attack toward midnight. I went to bed around midnight and slept until 2, which is when the madness started. There's a comic out there (his name escapes me) who suggests that the stomach is the body bouncer. White blood cells kill the unwelcome, but the stomach kicks them out, one way or another. My built-in bouncer decided the chicken in the enchilada had to be dealt with. As a result, I was up all night and into Sunday morning. I spent all day Sunday sitting or lying around, staying close to the bathroom. Here we are, Monday in all its glory... and I didn't go to work.
I woke up this morning not totally 100%, so I decided to call in sick this morning. 1st off, I work with kids, and I didn't want to (it could happen!) accidentally transmit whatever bug I picked up from the chicken. Also, it would not've looked good for me to be running to the girls' room in the middle of Story time with the kids (again, it could happen!). The staff washrooms are on the main floor while the library is on the second floor, and I might've ended up being sent home anyway. Perform damage control and have one more day to recuperate. I alerted the teachers and secretary as to my situation and hopefully all goes well for them. It's back to work tomorrow, as I'm feeling a little better now. My stomach is accepting food again. My stomach muscles hurt every time I cough or laugh, but that too shall pass.
The second part of my post concerns an author I just cannot seem to shake. Anthony Trollope strikes again! It doesn't help that I'm reading one of his series. A question: is there a plural of 'series'? I would love to know the answer. I finished reading a series of essays he wrote (character studies, more like it) on various types of clergymen. Stuff that would make most people snore, I imagine, but every experience has worth. If these character studies helped him out any, there's a chance they will help others. In his Barchester series, he never strays far from the bishops, vicars, wardens, and other titles in the Church of England. Catholicism doesn't have vicars, prebendaries, or wardens; at least, I don't think we've got'em. It's the Anglican church that has all these figures. I know the Catholic church doesn't have prebendaries.
Thankfully, I did not come across one fox-hunt scene among those essays. That would've been a cause for throwing the book across the room.
There will be more Trollope in the weeks to come. Rest assured, I am not done with him yet! BYE.