It' s A Crock

Well, I am going to devote my little blog today to shoes. Specifically crocs. Now, I love me some shoes. I would not want to even gestimate on how many pairs I've had over the years or how many I own at the moment. In my older years I can no longer wear heels but man, these new little flats just drive me wild. I can't seem to get enough of them.

Now comes the crocs. I am sure I don't have to describe them. I doubt there is one of you who doesn't know what they are. Several years ago while in Flordia, my son-in-law, Tom, just had to have a pair. They weren't cheap and if my memory serves me correctly, they started a small war when he bought them. My son hates crocs. Anyway, eventually later that same year the crocs started showing up in the north and more and more, they became popular. Now Tom wanted his for something easy to slip on to take the dog outside. They are sure good for that. I bought a pair to wear around the house for cleaning, etc. and they are sure good for that.

Then the nursing industry got involved. I think medical supply magazines always sold a similar washable clog to the doctors and nurses; but suddenly you could get these cheaper and more abundantly. They came in great colors. Knock-off's became popular and they are super comfortable. With nursing scrubs, they can look great to match an outfit. How good they are for being on your feet all day? That I wouldn't want to guess on but I wear mine all the time around the house and my feet feel great.

One of the things that became popular a couple years ago was charms you could buy to put into the holes of your crocs. Because they are rubber, there has to be vents, so there are holes. Now the picture above is deceiving because mine are cheap imitations so the holes are rather large.

I don't wear these anywhere in public. I do have one pair of "real" Crocs that I sport to the grocery store once in awhile, but that is the extent of my public display of them.

At the hospital where I work (and I won't mention any names for those of you who don't know me), the wearing of Crocs and knock-off crocs has become big. I think some people have a color to match every scrub. Money was invested. Suddenly we get a directive from HR saying that a new nursing policy is not going to allow any shoes with holes, specifically Crocs, even if you fill the holes with charms. They gave a time line so to "...allow ample time to change to other acceptable shoes in the event you currently only wear these shoes to work." Now there is the crock!!! They didn't offer to give you any money to replace these shoes ... just get rid of them. I supposed they are standing behind the supposition that the holes are unsanitary. But, Crocks can be washed rather easily and I'd rather see that than some of the dirty sneakers I've witnesses. Yeah, go ahead and clean the garage and mow the grass, and then wear your dirty shoes to work. Well then they should stop the girlie doctors from wearing flip flops all summer. What about the clerks and administrative people (even in HR) that show up in slides and strapy sandals? I don't care if you don't work in a clinical area, rules are rules, and eventually you will show up near a patient with your dogs sticking out. And are visitors going into patient rooms going to have to change??? They all wear flip flops or some show up in bedroom slippers, filthy ones at that.

This isn't a blog for clogs or Crocs. It isn't against Crocs. It is against being told what to wear when the rules don't fit everyone. That seems unfair to me. That is a crock!!!!

Walk Softly and Carry a Big Stick

What dog doesn't like sticks. From tiny rat terriers to big dobermans, I'm sure all dogs can be enticed by someone willing to throw a stick for them. Well, this is a tale of my Grand-dog, Chai. She loves sticks. Her favorite time (well one of her favorite's -- she has lots) is Sunday morning. Because she is a "shop dog", she is required to do work time five days a week at Pretentious Pooch in Baltimore. Like most of us, Chai HATES going to work. She knows that Sunday and Monday are non-work days and she has the routine down pretty pat.

Sunday morning you get the Daddies up early and if the weather is decent enough, you go to Druid Hill Park and play stick. Poor old Daddy Tom has a sore elbow and is going to the doctor because he threw too many sticks. That is just how Chai Dawg's are!!

Another thing Chai likes at the park is squirrels. She loves to tree a squirrel. They run and she runs but they always reach the tree first. She doesn't understand when she visits Grammie in Harrisburg and the squirrels run on the electrical wires. She has to look up high to see them. I tell her they are ghetto squirrels. One time, because my ceilings are very, very high; she was looking up in my living room for squirrels.

Now Monday is day care day so you get to go to Good Doggie Daycare and play with puppies. That is her second most favorite day of the week. She does get to go back on Thursday's too but that is because the Daddies need a "Chai break" in the middle of the week.

The next favorite day is Saturday because if the weather is nice, Chai gets to go to Oregon Ridge, Loch Raven or some other nearby park to go on a hike, and then maybe go for a swim. Of course those hikes always have lots of good sticks available, too. (and maybe sometimes squirrels)

Lately, I've learned that life is too short not to enjoy the simple things like squirrels and sticks. I think we should all take Chai's advice. Walk softly (so the squirrels don't hear you), and always carry a big stick!!!!

Real Friends Cry Together

Now I don't mean to be morbid, but once again I have to mention the funeral I was at over this past weekend for my friend Sherman. It was really a learning experience for me.

Since Sherman was only 43, a big majority of the people there were young......way too young to be saying goodbye to one of their peers. Most likely this was the first experience at death, or funerals for a lot of these young people.

We used to have a big group of friends. We partied hardy, drank, danced, and laughed together every weekend. We could make a party out of just about anything (My friend Maddie used to make drinks out of anything we could find in the fridge and call them simply "Maddies".) Anyway, we thought we had a great bond amongst us. And at that time maybe we did. But like everything else, good times come to an end. People in our group moved away, coupled up, or just grew up. No one was in their 20's anymore, 30's were getting used up and a slow approach to 40 was haunting more than a few. (Of course I was the old coot ... in my mid-40's when I started with this great bunch.) Some people just couldn't get along any more. No particular reason ... just different personalities, hurt feelings, and so forth.

Now on a one-to-one basis, I'm sure many of us cried some unhappy tears with each other over the years. But this past weekend there wasn't a dry eye among us ... and no one was ashamed to "let it out". We cried, hugged, stared into space, and then cried some more. Although this was a small sampling of the big group we used to have, it made one thing abundantly clear. Real friends cry together, hurt together, and for a small moment in time can forget all the hurts and pains of past misunderstandings and stand together to be one. I only wish we could keep that feeling going because as sure as rain, there will be more tears in our future.

I have a favorite poem called "I LOVE THE WORD IMPOSSIBLE". It has hung in my kitchen for more years that I can remember. It was written by Ann Kiemel. My hope is to one day have someone cross stitch and frame it for me. I'd like to share it with you because it surely says what is in my heart.

i love the word impossible...it's like joy after sorrow

people being friends after being enemies.

rainbows after drenching rain,

a wound healed,

sunsets on quiet evenings after hot, noisy days.

paralyzed, injured limbs learning to grow strong and useful again,

forgiveness after wrong

truth after fog,

new love-made babies.

birds, learning to fly and own the sky,

bitterness turned to mellowness

fresh, genuine hope ... once abandoned

people finding each other at right moments

in unexpected, obscure places ...

for God-ordained reasons.

i love the word impossible because my God believes in adventure

and extraordinary mountains,

and He dares to be alive in a world

crawling with terrible situations.

He promises to be bigger than any impossibility

because He is love ...

and love always finds a way through, in time.

----Ann Kiemel---

God bless all my friends, old and new.

The Good Die Young

One week ago today (September 13th) a good friend of mine, Sherman W. Lett, passed away. This young man was only 43 years of age; but had battled a long fight with multiple myeloma for 17 years. Oh, and what a fight it was. I knew Sherman for a long time before I knew he was sick. He was a very private person and kept his battle to himself...fought it alone with only the help of some family and very close friends.

For the better part of the time that I knew him, he was in remission. I do remember a time several years back when he was very ill and I was able to visit him at that time. He was undergoing treatment and in a great deal of pain; but he didn't complain and tried to live a normal life. Fortunately that time, he once again went into remission and had several good years. Many people did not realize Sherman was even sick or suffering. Sherman starting coming out of his remission early in 2009, and by late Spring he was incapacitated to the point where he stayed inside his home and only allowed family and very close friends in to see him. I am quite sure his death was quite a shock to a lot of people.

Let me pay tribute to Sherman. He was the life of the party. In the picture above we see Sherman dressed as a pimp at one of our annual Halloween parties. Oh how Sherman loved that role. He would bring a video camera and play the roving reporter and sneak up on everyone. Those videotapes were played hard over the years with many laughter and tears.

Sherman was a dancer. He could literally rip up the floor at our local dance club. You would be dancing with him and the next minute he would be at the other end of the dance floor. You couldn't keep up. He had this little hop that was his alone and was sort of his trade mark move. No one has ever been able to duplicate it. But you knew when Sherman hit the floor, a fun time was in store.

Sherman was a very considerate person. Someone said at the funeral that he never rose his voice. I had to think about that and it is true. I don't remember one time hearing him raise his voice. He wasn't one to go out looking for a fight or causing trouble. He had a mild manner, a smile and was just mischievous enough to know he was always up to something. The wheels were always turning.

Another thing Sherman was famous for was "taking in strays". Sherman always left a strange array of people stay at his house. I have heard through the rumor mill that he had strict rules and if you didn't abide by them, you were out. But he did give you a chance, which was more than most people would. If you could befriend Sherman, you would never be homeless.

Sherman sang in the Penn State Glee Club and travelled world-wide with them. Although I personally have never heard him sing, I know that music was his life. He loved playing it, singing it, dancing to it, listening to it. I am sure he is now singing with a choir of angels.

We will miss you, Sherman. NO ONE can ever fill your shoes. Harrisburg lost a good citizen and we lost a good friend. May you rest in peace. I know life won't be the same without you.