Years ago, one of the formerly big three channels aired some kinda drama about a meteor shower or maybe enormous forest fires, I don’t remember for sure, burning up a wide swath of the western United States. Specifically, California, if I recall correctly.

I know, I know, but we can dream, can’t we?

Anyway, the format of the program was as if news agencies were reporting the events. My parents had finally gotten cable TV, and it was my father’s habit to turn on CNN and let it drone away for hours, until Mother would get sick of it and disarm him of the television remote. We shall see the correlation of this annoying habit to the program in question shortly.

Now this was not the sort of program to interest me, but I was vaguely aware of its existence. At that time, I was living out of state and by chance the program aired during the customary time for my weekly call home to check in with the folks. Mother and I were chatting, and she said, isn’t it awful about all those people getting burned up?

What people, Mother?

All those people getting burned up in California. It’s all they’re showing on the news, haven’t you heard? It’s horrible.

I was not sure how to process this, because Mother always took being wrong quite personally. But finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and as innocently as possible asked her if she’d ever heard of Orson Wells, knowing full well that as a young ‘un, she’d heard his famous Martian invasion broadcast on the radio.

Yeah, she said, War of the Worlds, what of it? Then maybe a five-count pause, during which I knew better than to say a word.

No, she said. Then maybe another five-count pause.

Dammit, she said. Then yet another long pause.

Click, the phone said.

I thought it best to not bring up the subject the next time I called home. So, I didn’t.

… this article at A Midwestern Doctor regarding the benefits of DMSO therapy

BurningPlatform Headline:
“From Sharper Night Vision to Curing Lifelong Blindness — How DMSO Heals Each Level of Vision Loss“

DMSO (Dimethyl Sulfoxide ~$8/oz OTC)
Interesting that “Low Oder” is specified.

jd highly praises “A Midwestern Doctor” as a regular read.

I recall hearing about DMSO in the late 70s – I believe legality-to-purchase was the issue. As I understand it (and worth every penny you paid for my opinion), DMSO is actually a carrier – absorbed through the skin, it carries the desired medication directly to the location needed. That was long ago but luckily my memory is still as sharp as a baseball

As jd suggests:
“That’s why I’m sending to you. Look into it, for your own sake. You must have something physically wrong somewhere. Then do with it what you like.“

Worth looking into …

First published by Jean Mar 3, 2012

spending too much time
trying to make sense
when there doesn’t seem to be
much sense to make.
spending too much time
holding my breath
waiting for the answers
turns me blue.
too old to waste time
turning blue
being dizzy
staying confused.
hurting.
pretending my name is
Vincent or Emily or Ansel or Georgia or Marjorie K
is time better spent.
I know none of those
names are mine. And
I figured that out
all by myself.

The morning after …

It may be that I’m “camping” right about here as you read this. Probably not – but maybe …
First time back in these parts in at least a decade.

I grew up in lake country … or maybe it was better described as patches of high ground in a big swamp. Warm ice filled depressions left behind after Global Warming melted all the glaciers hereabouts.

This was one of those lakes. Lots of them around here.
Had a name but who knew it? Who cared? It was the place …
“… out where the road tees off by Grass Lake. Turn right, take the next left – about ½ mile down on the right“

One of the places where the ghosts of my past make themselves known. Parties on the “beach” – beach being where the undergrowth along the shore had been trampled down to sand. Someone may have brought a keg. Or two. Someone’s field got raided again for fresh sweet corn. Hand-rolled somethings by the campfire – bottle being passed around. Maybe a game of poker played on a stump. Skinny-dipping in the midnight waters.

Giggles in the night.

Must have built immunity up from the mosquitoes …

Then it was getting light again …

17 was a good age …

published by Jean July 9, 2026

summer swelter is 
heavy on the leaves, almost
as if raindrops fell.

sweet peonies fill
my eyes with beautiful pink 
feathers of petals.

the sun is shining
somewhere every day. Be glad
when it blesses you.

I was ready to make a career out of the army before I got home from Viet Nam and saw the peace-time army start ginning up.  They were throwing out NCO’s left and right who were good enough to get shot at and shot up, but who also had a hiccup here and there on their record and so weren’t judged good enough for the “new” army. 

One example was my platoon sergeant. He’d done three tours in Viet Nam, got shot up several times, had spent months in the hospital recuperating, and was Ranger, Pathfinder and a Master Parachutist and wore the Combat Infantryman’s Badge with one star because before Viet Nam, he had been to the Dominican Republic and got shot at there as well. God knows what all other awards, in addition to being the best troop leader I knew in the service. But he and another young paratrooper had gotten in trouble for fighting in 1960, and despite all that blood and good work afterwards, did not make the cut to be retained in the post-Viet Nam army. His replacement couldn’t lead a hamburger into a paper bag.

I was young and dumb and had made sergeant before my nineteenth birthday, and took all this personally, and decided I wasn’t gonna invest another ten or fifteen years of my life only to get tossed out with all retirement benefits cancelled, like his were. So, I got out and never really looked back, or so I thought. I was proud to have served but wanted no more of it. Fini Veet Nom, fini army, and good riddance, as far as I was concerned. 

Then one day in October 1983, I got home from work, popped open a beer, flopped down on the couch, turned on the TV and started clicking through the channels.  CNN came up and was going berserk because Regan had invaded Grenada.  I leapt up off the couch and screamed “I’VE BEEN LEFT BEHIND!”

Where in the hell did THAT come from? 

I have no idea.

Illinois Beekeeper sent this photo in of the same name.

Even somewhere is the middle of nowhere out in that part of Utah.