I had finished working a solid day of talking -- four high school basketball games. So when I headed home after stopping for a burger and a couple of drinks, I thought nothing of the fact that I felt a little tired and a little sore.
Turned out there was more than fatigue involved.
A lot more.
Within an hour of getting home, I was en route to St. Joe's Hospital. My wife had called paramedics I told her I was "feeling very uncomfortable."
Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled into an ER ward. A doctor quickly looked at me and said I had suffered an "incident."
I was feeling better and wanted to go home but knew this wasn't going to happen. In a short order, I underwent a battery of tests and suddenly found myself in Room 4012 with little idea how I got there.
If your head is whirling trying to digest all this, imagine how I felt.
From there, things got more complicated. There were EKGs and blood tests. Needles were placed at various strategic angles. Every couple hours, a nurse took my blood pressure and wrote the results down with a grave face. I am no expert on these things but 165 over 109 works better as a stock quote than your blood pressure figure.
A severe looking doctor named Schuchard came in to tell me I had two basic choices: take a stress test and possible find out what the hell was wrong with me or undergo an angiogram and find out for sure. I liked the first idea because I might get out of the hospital in one day. However, my wife and my sister-in-law (who suffered a heart attack a decade ago) quietly joined the doctor in suggesting to take the other route.
Turned out to be the best idea of the year.
The angiogram showed a 95 percent blockage in one artery and 75 percent in another. The severe-looking doctor performed his magic, inserted two new stents and, 36 hours after this adventure started, I was headed back home.
A day later, it still seems a bit surreal. But it makes a fellow grateful to be able to welcome in the new year in a couple of hours.
I have some new suggestions about diet, a bevy of medications and some simple rules I must follow. If I take care of those items, the new year (which starts 150 minutes from now as I type this) should be a good one.
Accordingly, I have this wish for everyone for 2010: may it be quieter and more peaceful for you than this week has been.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Quiet holidays are okay, too
It was a very different Christmas this year. Lynne, Pete and I spent Christmas Eve and over half of Christmas Day at her sister Kathy's house in the northern suburbs.
There was no massive tearing apart of gifts. Instead, at the suggestion of sister Shari, we went outside, sitting and standing around an excellent fire ... as a heavy snowstorm swirled around us.
It was surreal in a way -- having quiet, adult-like conversations outside at 7 p.m. In another way, however, it was wonderfully peaceful and pleasant. The drinks flowed as freely as desired. Kathy is an amazingly good chef who concocted a meal the likes of which I could only imagine seeing at the Ritz in New York City.
There we sat for hours discussing serious (and not so serious) topics and laughing over past foibles.
We went to bed when we wanted to and got up when we were awake. There was some terrific coffee and, later, a stupendous breakfast consisting of an egg dish, hungarian bacon and half a Cinnabon and more conversation.
In reflecting upon the 24 hours, it was probably the quietest Christmas holiday I have ever experienced.
It was also one of the best ever - adults enjoying each other's company and conversation. It seemed exactly the tonic all of us after a hectic (and, at times, traumatic) year. As a kid, I would never have imagined spending such a day. As an adult, I cherished every moment of it.
So my hope for you this holiday season is you find whatever it is you think you need the most of. The holiday we spent isn't for everybody. But it fit our needs perfectly ... even if most of us didn't know it in advance.
Next year at this time, I may find myself on a beach in the Bahamas, a casino in Las Vegas or perhaps in front of that fire again at Kathy's house. I won't know that for some time.
Christmas 2009 was a reminder that it is a holiday where one must end up with something that makes you happy. When I was 10, that would have been a baseball glove or maybe a train set. At 56, it was simply being with people I love and cherish dearly. All in all, it was one of the better Christmas gifts I have ever received.
There was no massive tearing apart of gifts. Instead, at the suggestion of sister Shari, we went outside, sitting and standing around an excellent fire ... as a heavy snowstorm swirled around us.
It was surreal in a way -- having quiet, adult-like conversations outside at 7 p.m. In another way, however, it was wonderfully peaceful and pleasant. The drinks flowed as freely as desired. Kathy is an amazingly good chef who concocted a meal the likes of which I could only imagine seeing at the Ritz in New York City.
There we sat for hours discussing serious (and not so serious) topics and laughing over past foibles.
We went to bed when we wanted to and got up when we were awake. There was some terrific coffee and, later, a stupendous breakfast consisting of an egg dish, hungarian bacon and half a Cinnabon and more conversation.
In reflecting upon the 24 hours, it was probably the quietest Christmas holiday I have ever experienced.
It was also one of the best ever - adults enjoying each other's company and conversation. It seemed exactly the tonic all of us after a hectic (and, at times, traumatic) year. As a kid, I would never have imagined spending such a day. As an adult, I cherished every moment of it.
So my hope for you this holiday season is you find whatever it is you think you need the most of. The holiday we spent isn't for everybody. But it fit our needs perfectly ... even if most of us didn't know it in advance.
Next year at this time, I may find myself on a beach in the Bahamas, a casino in Las Vegas or perhaps in front of that fire again at Kathy's house. I won't know that for some time.
Christmas 2009 was a reminder that it is a holiday where one must end up with something that makes you happy. When I was 10, that would have been a baseball glove or maybe a train set. At 56, it was simply being with people I love and cherish dearly. All in all, it was one of the better Christmas gifts I have ever received.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Farewell to a St. Paul landmark
Although we all knew the end was near, it was still a sad piece of news. Such is the way it is when the news comes that an old friend is gone.
I cannot count the hours the spent at Lendways, an oasis among the battleground that is the Frogtown area of St. Paul. But I can say for certain that just about every one of them were joyful ones
Although it was hardly known for this sort of thing, I met both my wife and ex-wife there. They were among the legions of folks who came in for simple but good food and simple but good drinks.
It was a place where folks like Calvin Griffith, the ex-owner of the Minnesota Twins, could come in with friends and have dinner without being disturbed. I remember walking in one night and seeing the man at the round table near the back. People walked by, waved hello at the man who brought major baseball to Minnesota and went on their way. Can you imagine that happening anywhere else in the country?
Calvin knew the owner of the place, the loquacious Ignatius Theisen. Iggy was an old friend of Jim Rantz, the Twins' longtime farm director who still works for the team to this day. Partially as a result of that friendship, a bevy of media types used to come in for hours of uninterrupted socialization.
For years, Lendways was next to a strip club. The dancers thought nothing of coming in to get meals to go before they would be due up for their number. The regulars thought nothing of it, either and never bothered them.
Later, when the morals police took over the area, the strip club became a police station. Such was the respect for the way Iggy and his son David ran the place that the cops often caught people who shouldn't be behind the wheel and returned them to the bar. The warning would always be the same. "I know where your car is and I better not see you behind the wheel for 24 hours. Now call somebody and get a ride home," the cop would say. If nobody was at home, a person who was sober was designated the driver for the miscreant. Kevin Kelly, a longtime bartender there, or David would assure the driver his drink would be waiting for him when he came back.
It probably couldn't happen today. And I am fairly sure MADD would not approve. But nobody got hurt.
When the Capitol was in session, Lendways became the local answer to Switzerland. Many a political deal was crafted in the back room over lunch. Some lawmakers stayed in the small apartments over the bar during the session. It was understood they could come and go without being harassed over the day's activities down the street.
Again, that is something that could probably not happen today. And I often wonder if we are the better for that fact.
This was one of the very sports bars around town, running busses out to the old Met Stadium and then to the Metrodome for Twins and Vikings' games. For years, Iggy always took Sundays off. Then a few of his regulars suggested it would be a good idea to have a place the boys could go to watch a Vikings' game. Sharon Kelly, a longtime worker there, offered to run the bar. Fairly soon, the Sunday afternoon business began to boom. It was never advertised but it didn't have to be. Good news often travels fast.
Like all good things, however, it had to come to an end. Iggy saw the trend in the area and figured the time had come to get out. Five years ago, he decided it was time to pull the plug. The place's last official night at a bar was a gala affair. My best memory of it is coming out of the bar into the parking lot to see my wife and ex-wife engaged in pleasant conversation. As I approached with drinks for both of them, I heard one say to the other, "Oh, I hate it when he does that." To this day, I have never found out what "that" was. It was one of the many secrets told in the old place.
Lendways gave way to a rib restaurant that was only open a day or two a week. I am told the ribs were quite good. But I could never bring myself to go in there. It just wouldn't have seemed right.
Then the word came the city wanted the land for itself. The cop shop closed a while back. The rib place closed down a month ago. Several of us drove by a few times shaking our heads in dismay. None of us who spent time there wanted to see the final blows fall. We had lost our place years ago.
The regulars have long split up, found new homes and made new friends. But every now and then, a story comes up and somebody would say, "Remember the time at Lendways ..."
A bulldozer can't take away that memory.
I cannot count the hours the spent at Lendways, an oasis among the battleground that is the Frogtown area of St. Paul. But I can say for certain that just about every one of them were joyful ones
Although it was hardly known for this sort of thing, I met both my wife and ex-wife there. They were among the legions of folks who came in for simple but good food and simple but good drinks.
It was a place where folks like Calvin Griffith, the ex-owner of the Minnesota Twins, could come in with friends and have dinner without being disturbed. I remember walking in one night and seeing the man at the round table near the back. People walked by, waved hello at the man who brought major baseball to Minnesota and went on their way. Can you imagine that happening anywhere else in the country?
Calvin knew the owner of the place, the loquacious Ignatius Theisen. Iggy was an old friend of Jim Rantz, the Twins' longtime farm director who still works for the team to this day. Partially as a result of that friendship, a bevy of media types used to come in for hours of uninterrupted socialization.
For years, Lendways was next to a strip club. The dancers thought nothing of coming in to get meals to go before they would be due up for their number. The regulars thought nothing of it, either and never bothered them.
Later, when the morals police took over the area, the strip club became a police station. Such was the respect for the way Iggy and his son David ran the place that the cops often caught people who shouldn't be behind the wheel and returned them to the bar. The warning would always be the same. "I know where your car is and I better not see you behind the wheel for 24 hours. Now call somebody and get a ride home," the cop would say. If nobody was at home, a person who was sober was designated the driver for the miscreant. Kevin Kelly, a longtime bartender there, or David would assure the driver his drink would be waiting for him when he came back.
It probably couldn't happen today. And I am fairly sure MADD would not approve. But nobody got hurt.
When the Capitol was in session, Lendways became the local answer to Switzerland. Many a political deal was crafted in the back room over lunch. Some lawmakers stayed in the small apartments over the bar during the session. It was understood they could come and go without being harassed over the day's activities down the street.
Again, that is something that could probably not happen today. And I often wonder if we are the better for that fact.
This was one of the very sports bars around town, running busses out to the old Met Stadium and then to the Metrodome for Twins and Vikings' games. For years, Iggy always took Sundays off. Then a few of his regulars suggested it would be a good idea to have a place the boys could go to watch a Vikings' game. Sharon Kelly, a longtime worker there, offered to run the bar. Fairly soon, the Sunday afternoon business began to boom. It was never advertised but it didn't have to be. Good news often travels fast.
Like all good things, however, it had to come to an end. Iggy saw the trend in the area and figured the time had come to get out. Five years ago, he decided it was time to pull the plug. The place's last official night at a bar was a gala affair. My best memory of it is coming out of the bar into the parking lot to see my wife and ex-wife engaged in pleasant conversation. As I approached with drinks for both of them, I heard one say to the other, "Oh, I hate it when he does that." To this day, I have never found out what "that" was. It was one of the many secrets told in the old place.
Lendways gave way to a rib restaurant that was only open a day or two a week. I am told the ribs were quite good. But I could never bring myself to go in there. It just wouldn't have seemed right.
Then the word came the city wanted the land for itself. The cop shop closed a while back. The rib place closed down a month ago. Several of us drove by a few times shaking our heads in dismay. None of us who spent time there wanted to see the final blows fall. We had lost our place years ago.
The regulars have long split up, found new homes and made new friends. But every now and then, a story comes up and somebody would say, "Remember the time at Lendways ..."
A bulldozer can't take away that memory.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Gene Barry will always be cool!
There was an item in the paper today that Gene Barry passed away at ago 90. For those who don't remember, he was Bat Masterson and, later Amos Burke in the series "Burke's Law." There never was anybody cooler or more suave than those two characters. The article said he suffered from Alzheimer's in later years. If so, I am glad thje last picture I saw of him was over a decade ago.
I understand we all go some day. And if we live to age 90, our looks are going to undergo a serious change. But it pains me to think of somebody that sharp not being able to keep up with the world anymore.
So I will comfort myself that, in his heyday, Gene Barry was about the coolest cat around. One hopes he rode in through the front gates in a fancy stagecoach or a limo. He should come into his next gig the way he did in the past.
I understand we all go some day. And if we live to age 90, our looks are going to undergo a serious change. But it pains me to think of somebody that sharp not being able to keep up with the world anymore.
So I will comfort myself that, in his heyday, Gene Barry was about the coolest cat around. One hopes he rode in through the front gates in a fancy stagecoach or a limo. He should come into his next gig the way he did in the past.
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