Letter To Jordan:

As part of Jordan's Birthright trip to Israel the parents were asked to write their child a letter. This letter was to be delivered to the kids and read aloud atop Mount Masada. This is  Jordan's letter. He read it aloud in front of 40 young adults.

Shalom mein kinderlich Jordan,

There is a very famous statement that kept us alive during the hard times, "Arbeit Macht Frie". It means “The work will set you free”. Upon your return your mother and I have decided to sell you into slavery. We feel it is the best path for all of us. You will have a choice as to which servitude you shall embark upon. You can go with a sweat shop that produces enema bags where you will work as a product tester or you can work as a girly boy in the Philippines. Either path is OK with your Mom and I because to us the payment is the same. FYI the work will set you free in 7 years if you do not eat too much. They charge back for meals in the form of additional time.

We hope you are having a wonderful time doing jewie things. Did you meet a nice girl? There’s nothing like a handy from a nice Jewish girl. They have such nice hands. Don’t you think so? Your Mom and I think so. Did I ever tell you how soft your Mom’s hands are?  

We cannot believe that you were able to get on that plane. We know you are afraid of vehicles with public restrooms on board. Keep facing your fears.

Now that you are standing atop Masada we want you to take a walk with us. Start making your way over to the Public Immersion Pool.  You will find it between the 2 small palaces and the residential area. As you stand here look about. Take it all in. This is where, on your Bar Mitzvah trip, your Mom and I tried to give you a little brother, Frazao. Unfortunately it did not take. It probably had something to do with my vasectomy. You would think that in a place like this miracles would happen with regular occurrence. So to make up for it when you get back you will get to meet Wang. He’s your new brother, newly imported from North China. He is 17, we think. He cooks, cleans and fixes everything although we have to replace the TV since he smashed it. Apparently he had never seen a magic box that trapped people. We gave him your old room.

In all seriousness, this trip to Israel is life changing. Your Mom and I hope that you come away from this trip with an even greater appreciation of where you come from than we know already exists. As a Jewish young man you are different than the rest of the world. You carry with you the responsibility of being one of the chosen people. With great power comes great responsibility. Yes this is a Spiderman quote but it fits. We are leaders, teachers, problem solvers and protectors of people less fortunate than us. Think about how you got where you are standing right now. Jews other than Mom and I felt it was important enough to bring you here. Why is this important? Why is it so dearly important that you identify with a people and a place? What are you going to do with this experience that has been so selflessly given to you? We hope that this trip makes all the wonderful things that we already know to be true about you shine even brighter.

As you walk down Masada to the base of the mount to the right is a fresh juice vendor. When we were there last he sold me an orange Juice but I had run out of Shekels. He said I could pay him next time I came through. Please give him the Shekels for me. He has been waiting 7 years. Hopefully he won’t charge interest.

Your Mom and I love you and can’t wait to see the man that you are going to be. Come home safe and happy and enjoy Phish.

Love you always,

Dad

In Search of the CHARANGO

My journey began in Ira’s Raleigh, NC backyard. Will Kimbrough was playing his guitar, singing his songs and entertaining the crowd but something was missing. We were entertained, we were moved, we were drunk. Will played so hard and with such enthusiasm that he eventually had to take a break. This is when I asked him, “Will, what is missing in your life? What do you need that will fill that hole?” His answer…..”If I only had a Charango.” What in the world is a Charango? Does it grow on trees? Does it crawl on the ground? Does it fly like a bird? Does it sing? Can it keep you warm? The questions kept on coming.

Will simply replied, “It is an instrument. It is much like a Ukulele but better.

It is better because it has more strings, it comes from Bolivia or Peru and it makes a sound like nothing you have ever heard.” But Will couldn’t find one because he was in Raleigh and the Charango and a piece of his heart was in Peru or Bolivia in a Charango maker’s shop. So I said to him, “Will my friend, I can help you fill the emptiness you are feeling. It just so happens that I am going to Peru. I will get that Charango and bring it back to you because I see that it will make you happy.”

Peru is a long way from Raleigh and it is even farther if you are looking for a Charango in Mexico which is the route I took. My trek took me from Raleigh to Atlanta, Atlanta to Mexico City, Mexico City to Lazaro Cardenas then back to Mexico City. I went to the bodegas looking for the elusive Charango. No one had any idea what I was talking about. I would ask for a Charango and they would hand me a mango. I hand the mango back and say again slowly, ”Charango” because when you speak slowly and loudly to a non-english speaking person they somehow miraculously understand. Then the shopkeeper shook his head and says, “Si, Si SeÑor, Fandango and begins to dance.” 3,000 miles and no Charango. I left.

On to Lima Peru to take up the search only 2,642 miles away. Once in Lima my friend Alex del Azar joined the hunt. If anyone could find what I was looking for he could. Alex speaks Spanish. This is important because I only know how to ask for the baÑo and hope and pray that the person I am asking is willing to take their hands out of their pockets and point. Otherwise I still have a problem. I questioned Alex as to where we could find the elusive Charango. He said, ”Let’s go. I know a guy who knows a guy. That guy will know where to find one.” We walked, we took cabs, we rode the bus. No Charango.  No guy either but we did find his cousin. The guy’s cousin told us that there were no Charangos here but he knew where we could find one. It is not just any Charango but the best Charango and at the best price. He said you must go south to Nazca some 350 miles away. There you will find a man sitting under a tree in the town square next to a statue of the Mother Mary. He will take you to the Charango. Alex said, "We gonna need some help. I gonna call Arturo. He has a Truck. " So Arturo joined in as well.

It took eight hours in a truck to go those 350 miles but we found him. He was right where the guy said he would be. He was asleep. We woke him and told him of our mission. He said, ”I know of what you seek, I have been waiting for you to arrive. I will tell you where to find the Charango but first you must do something for me. South of here about 4 hours drive is a dirt road marked by a blue rock.
Turn down this road and follow it to the sea. When you get there you will find a man he has something very important for me. Get it and bring it back and I will tell you where you can find the Charango.” Off we went to find the blue rock. We took the dirt road and we found the old man. We took from him the object he had for the other man and back we went to Nazca. We delivered the package. “Sir, we did as you asked. Please tell us where we can find this Charango.” In perfect English he said, ”Go back to Lima, go to Miguel’s Music Store. He has plenty of them.” 10 minutes in Miguel’s Music Store and I had a Charango, an instrument bag and an extra set of strings with just enough time to catch my flight home.

The trip is real. Alex is real. The Charango is real. The rest you decide. FYI the trip covered over 10,000 miles.  

This is will with his new Charango. You can hear him play his new Charango at http://www.youtube.com/user/willkimbrough?feature= 

Please enjoy. I do and you will to. 

Flying Coach is Fabulous

Guess which story is true:

Flying Coach

I fly a lot. I fly enough for the flight attendants to be put on notice that I will be on the plane. Wherever I am sitting they come find me and make sure I have whatever I need. If I end up in coach they find me and apologize for the inconvenience. Quite often when I make a last minute booking and I get what’s left and I end up in coach. Here are three coach flight stories. Guess which one really happened.

Flight #1:

I am trying to catch flight back home from DC and I am running late. Being late for a flight is not unusual. I have lost count of the number of times that I have had to run down the breezeway, step aboard the plane and have the flight attendants close the door and announce, “You know that you just made the flight.” This is obvious to me because I am on the good side of the closed door. Anyhow I am on the plane headed for my seat. It is towards the middle of the plane in coach. It’s the last seat on the plane and it’s a middle seat. In the window seat is an average size person but sitting in the aisle seat is a guy so large that he needs not one but two seat belt extenders to be able to latch his belt. I start looking for another seat. Unfortunately there isn’t one so I ask Jaba the Hut if he wouldn’t mind standing up so I can get to my seat. The guy the sighs like I am inconveniencing him. So I sit down and put the armrest down. I do this to better define the boundary between my coach seat and his. Then the unusually large man reaches in and lifts the armrest and quickly sits down. Now for a large person this guy was fast, like NFL football player fast. But I am faster and I flip the armrest back down. The guy lands on the armrest with all of his weight and it hurts. I know it hurts because he begins to scream. He’s not just screaming in pain, he is yelling that I hurt him. This gets the attention of the flight attendant who comes racing down the aisle. The ensuing conversation goes like this:

Flight Attendant: Sir, you are delaying the departure of this flight.

Me: I’m sorry but I’m in my seat with my seat belt on and I am ready to depart.

Flight Attendant: I am not going to tell you again but you are delaying the departure of this flight by not allowing the gentleman to take his seat.

Me: Excuse me but I am not keeping Gigantor from taking his seat. I am keeping him from taking my seat. My seat is right here between these armrests. His seat is between those armrests and if he can’t fit between those armrests maybe he should sit somewhere else.

Flight attendant: This is the last seat on the plane there is nowhere else for him to sit.

Me: Maybe he should get off the plane.

Flight Attendant: Sir if you continue to delay the departure of this flight we will have to remove you from the plane.

This is when I started to get upset.

Me: Now wait a minute. I paid for this seat, the whole seat and I happen to know for a fact that "The Incredible Bulk" didn’t pay for a seat and a half. How do I know? It’s simple. There is no such thing as a seat and a half fare class.

At this point a very nice lady joins in and offers to let her three-year-old sit next to the blue whale and let me take the kids seat. I can’t leave well enough alone and respond, ”Aren’t you afraid that Shrek here will mistake your child for a gingerbread cookie and eat her?”

Seating arrangements were corrected and we left two minutes later.

Flight #2:

I am on an early morning flight headed home. It’s a 6:00 AM departure and I am in coach. This time I have an aisle seat. It’s an aisle seat in the emergency exit row. Extra legroom and these seats recline.

About thirty minutes into the flight the person sitting directly behind me begins to kick the back of my seat. Usually it’s a fidgeting child whose parents are totally oblivious to the behavior of their child. Not this time. This time it’s an adult that’s kicking my chair so I turn around to tell the passenger to knock it off. As soon as I get a look at her I realize that the kicking is not intentional. This woman is in the middle of a seizure. The woman sitting next to the lady in the middle of the convulsions looks like she might be her sister and the this exchange begins:

Me: Does she have epilepsy?

Sister: (Yelling) - No, she got the shugga!

Me: Did she have breakfast this morning?

Sister: No, we was runnin late.

Me: Did she take her insulin?

Sister: I think she did.

At this point the convulsing woman falls into the aisle with her head next to my feet and the flight attendants come running. One attendant is telling the other to go tell the pilot that we have an in air emergency. I tell them to get some sugar in the woman’s mouth. The attendant starts arguing with me that they have to inform the captain that they have an inflight emergency and I am insisting that they get some sugar. Then I grab the message carrying attendants arm and say:

Me: There’s no emergency.

Errand Boy: Sir I have to inform the Captain that we have an inflight emergency.

Me: Listen to me please, the emergency has passed.

Errand Boy: (With a confused look on his face) She’s going to be OK now?

Me: Nothing can hurt her now. She’s gone.

When the convulsions stopped, the person stoped foaming at the mouth and her pupils got as big as quarters, it was game over. That’s right she died right there. I had to spend the balance of the flight with a deceased person lying on the floor next to me with a cloth napkin from first class draped over her face. No bonus miles were awarded.

Flight #3:

My wife, my daughter and I are returning from a skiing trip. I get upgraded regularly so on the first leg I let my daughter have the first class seat and I sit in coach with my wife. No issues in coach other than a small child kicking the back of my wife’s seat. On the second leg my wife takes the first class upgrade and I sit in coach with my daughter. This is where it starts to go south.

The flight is overbooked and I hold a window and an aisle seat. The middle seat is empty. Every seat in the plane is full except for this one middle seat. That’s when I see her. The EMT’s are bringing an elderly lady onto the plane in a wheelchair. They get to my aisle and the EMT’s politely ask me to move over and let the woman have the aisle seat. The woman isn’t just elderly she’s obviously suffered a stroke because she is paralyzed on the left half of her body. To make things worse she doesn’t speak any English. She only speaks Spanish. I am a decent person so I move over and the EMT’s put the woman in the aisle seat. As soon as we take off it hits me. The old lady has shit herself. I have to spend the next fifty minutes trapped in my seat next to a non-English speaking stroke victim that has just shat herself.

We get to the gate and the plane starts to unload the passengers. My daughter and I are sitting in row six which is 3 rows behind first class. We are trapped behind stroke lady and have to wait for the entire plane to unload and the EMT’s to come get stroke lady. Just then my wife calls on the cell. She wants to know if we are coming and I say, “I am going to stay a little longer, I like it here, please go get the luggage.” Then I hang up.

Which story do you think is true? Would you believe that all three happened and these accounts are no exaggeration? Coach sucks, fly first class at any cost.

A Day to a Rock

I asked a rock, “What does a day mean to you?” He replied,”A day to me is but the blink of an eye to you.”

Assume you are the rock. Your life span is millions of years. You spend your eons lying around while events unfold around you. You might be a lucky rock and happen to be in the right spot to witness Paul Revere ride by proclaiming, “The British are coming!” This may be the one and only event you witness over your entire life span. You are a special rock.

Now assume that you are a rock in a desert and you happen to be next to another rock. Your conversation might be, “Hey rock do you think it’s going to rain this century?” the other rock responds, “Probably.” That’s it, no more discussion for a thousand years. But this doesn’t matter because your life span is millions.

Now assume that you are human. Today the average life span of a U.S. citizen is 78.3 years. This is not very long compared to a rock. As people we spend our time in many pursuits. First we develop the capacity to learn from birth to 5 years old. Then we spend the next 13 to 21 years studying to become an expert with a marketable skill in whatever it is that interests us most. The next 52.3 years is filled with marriage(s), children, grandchildren, work accomplishments, any other endeavor that we choose and finally death.

Recently I found out that someone close to me was told by his doctor that they had a very limited time left to live, 2 months plus or minus. Along with the prognosis they were told they could no longer drive, they could no longer work and they should begin going through all the myriad of things to prepare for death. No healthy person can put themselves in the shoes of a person that is dying. But what we can do is try to understand and find the compassion to respect that their time is so very limited. People in this situation rely on family, friends, healthcare providers and anyone else to help them perform normally simple tasks. “I want to go to the store.” You cannot drive therefore someone has to take you. The person providing the ride says they can do it in an hour. The hour becomes 2 because of personal priorities. Now put yourself in the shoes of the dying person. The trip to the store may not seem important to you but now they have squandered 2 hours of a life that is so finitely defined and limited.

We spend the first parts of our lives concerned only with ourselves, like the 2 year old that stands in front of the TV totally oblivious to the people behind them that now cannot see the TV. Then the next part is spent putting the needs of our spouses and children first. When it comes to the dying how hard would it be, for a very short while, to put all of their needs first any time of the day or night. What does it say to our children, friends and acquaintances when we put the needs of someone who is so totally dependent on our help at the very bottom of our priority list? Watching someone we care about die is hard. As a dying person being made to wait or being ignored by the people they depend on is harder.

How valuable is a year, a day, an hour, a minute or a second?

Pet Tigers

Mornings for most people are full of basic routines, the three esses (SSS) of basic hygiene, dressing for the day and breakfast. These activities are common to most adults. I say most since part of these may be omitted when you are short for time or you are just a slob. Then we add children to the mix. Little kids need help. They are so cute when they try to do things themselves while creating a disaster area in their wake. They get better at their morning routines and the wreckage left in their wakes become smaller and smaller.

Fast forward to early teens, when my boys turned twelve they began to smell. This was not the smell of kids that had been playing outside where they had been rolling in the dirt or climbing trees. This smell was definitely a more grown up funky man kind of smell. It was the beginning of puberty. Along with the smell comes all kinds of other changes. Their bodies become awkward. They begin to grow hair in places where hair had never grown before. Their voices change. None of this is surprising or odd, it’s all normal and generally easy to deal with. Then there are the fits of raging emotion. Boys get angry, uncontrollably angry and they do not know why. There is no specific reason that they can point out. My solution was to throw them out of the house and order them to run five miles. This was very effective for the boys. I figured since there was no concrete basis for their rage that it must hormone induced. The most likely culprit was testosterone. Testosterone turns boys into men. This hormone is the trigger for all of the physiological changes they are experiencing. It also was very likely the reason for their bad behavior. I found that vigorous exercise calmed them down. This was a simple solution to a normal part of growing up.

Then we come to my daughter. Apparently, girls are different from boys. I know, physically, they are different, they have different plumbing, they are soft, and like pretty things. More importantly, my wife had to explain to me that I cannot speak to my daughter the way I speak to the boys. Speaking to teenage boys is not unlike talking to the family dog. They respond well to short instructions such as sit, stay, eat your dinner, take a run, and go to bed. More than three word commands and you have lost them. Girls are different. They are really different. Use a three-word command on a prepubescent girl and the tears start flowing. I might as well have called her the c word. I am evil. I am a DICK.

Lately a normal morning includes my saying good morning to my little girl and although I might expect a normal response of “Good morning Daddy” I can be quite surprised. Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are gonna get.” It’s pretty much the same thing with a hormonally deranged twelve-year-old. Her response can be a pleasant, ”Hello Daddy”, a glare that could burn your eyes out, a shrieking tirade with statements like, ”I can’t believe you just said that to me, you are such a @$$&)(#. “ There are also tears. Lots and lots of tears. Why are there tears? I don’t know. I have asked my wife these very questions. She just stares at me and laughs. She thinks this is funny. I don’t find any of this funny, I want to fix it. I am seriously thinking about camping out in the backyard for the next two to six years.

I asked some of my friends who have daughters the same age as mine and amazingly enough they have experienced the exact same behaviors. I have discovered a pattern. I have always been good at problem solving so I approached my daughter’s psychotic behavior as something that was broken and needed fixing. This was mistake.

First, I tried keeping quiet in the morning, behaving as though she had a really nasty hangover and couldn’t tolerate the noise. This only caused her to cry because Daddy wasn’t talking to her. Second, I tried speaking very softly and ever so gently asking her if there was anything I could do to make her mornings more pleasant. This time her response was to scream and yell at me, “You are mocking me! Stop doing that at once and just grow up, @$$&)(#!.” Attempt number three was a little more subtle. I did not speak, I made her breakfast and packed her lunch for her. This time the morning was calm. I thought I was on the right path. Since this worked once I tried it again which resulted in my daughter going into a screaming teary eyed fit over eggs and toast.

Basically, I have no idea what to do and neither do any of my friends. So I have decided that the best thing to do is stand back, take a deep breath, keep very quiet and stay very still and behave as though I am at the zoo and a tiger has escaped from its enclosure.

Care Theory

I have a theory. I believe that more people die in hospitals than anywhere else. Sounds obvious, right? The sick, injured and old go to hospitals for help and many times the help they receive, however heroic, is too little too late. But this is not what I am talking about. How often do patients suffer additional injury, are maimed or die due to simple human error.

We assume that our doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, dieticians and the rest of the myriad of hospital staff are highly trained competent practitioners. This tenet is false and is severely limited by each individual’s area of expertise and the specific information that they have regarding each patient. In my wife’s and my recent experience there were several instances of what I am talking about. The first instance in question occurred in post op recovery. Our son Jordan had just received a spinal fusion with implementation and was in post op recovery when we first got to see him. He looked OK but his breathing didn’t seem right to us. We questioned the post op nurse about his breathing when we should expect him to wake up. Her answer was, “We like it when they sleep.” The truth is that in post op patients are supposed t wake up, after all that’s why they go there. Anesthesiologists use a complex set of calculations and intuition to maintain a level of sedation that is deep enough so the patient never feels any operative pain and yet doesn’t kill them. So when they get to post op the anesthesiologist should have a pretty good idea of when the patient should begin to wake. At some point the anesthesiologist came in and quickly realized that Jordan had been out to long. In my opinion this is something that the post op nurse should have identified. After all what else does she have to do? In post op it’s one nurse, one patient. This was mistake number one. It was an observational error on her part and a parental advocate error on our part. Basically what I am saying is ask questions and if the answer you get is flip, incomplete or an obvious blow off then ask again but don’t be so nice about it. The result was that Jordan wasn’t waking properly and required narcan, a drug that kills the effects of anesthesia.

Once awake he was moved to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, PICU, where he is turned over to the PICU staff. Their immediate task was to get Jordan’s postoperative pain under control. In Jordan’s case this became a balancing act. Because Jordan had narcan in his system the amount of morphine necessary to control is pain also caused him to become apnic. Basically, for the next 5-6 hours every time he fell asleep he would stop breathing. The farther he got away from his surgery the worse the problem got. The explanation from the PICU Dr. was that as he metabolized the narcan then the effectiveness of the morphine increased. The solution was to reduce the dosage of the morphine. He had a pump that gave him a continuous dosage while allowing him to selfadminister an extra dose every 8 minutes if needed. The apnic episodes were still there but were now minor and not of great concern. Then came shift change. This brings a totally new staff. One of the protocols with a shift change is to review the patients med orders. This is when the nurse noticed that his morphine dosage was half of what was in his orders. She was talking out while checking and she said, “His morphine dosage is incorrect I have to reset it.” This was mistake number 2. Hearing this we immediately let her know that the orders were wrong and that the dosage was supposed to be half of what was written. It turned out that the Dr. had not noted the dosage change. Had she simply changed the dosage to match the orders she could have accidently overdosed him. Now in her defense I believe she was talking out loud because she was questioning the dosage orders.

Following this there were 2 other mistakes. Number 3 was the dietician allowed Jordan to order a baked potato with his lunch. Potatoes cause gas when digested and gas is a very bad thing following surgery. Narcotics cause your intestines to slow way down and if they are barely moving you get terribly bloated. Bloating can be far more painful than the surgical wound. The dietician should know better so either he didn’t or he didn’t care. The 4^th was an X-Ray tech. She came in to perform an abdominal x-ray to make sure he didn’t have an obstruction. The problem was that she had no idea what kind of surgery had been performed and then began to handle him roughly and incorrectly. These instances were not life threatening but could potentially cause unnecessary discomfort for the patient.

Basically, anyone entering the hospital for any procedure needs an advocate not a yes man. The advocate needs to pay attention, ask questions and previous to the surgery do some research. What is routine to hospital staff in most cases is brand new to you. If something doesn’t seem right ask a question. If you don’t like the answer ask another. If you hear something that doesn’t sound right ask them to stop. For the most part hospital personnel are pleasant, cooperative and don’t mind answering questions. In the end the patient is your child, spouse or parent. The hospital staff is only there for one shift and you may never see any staff member more than the one shift. As a patient advocate you can provide continuity of care and you might just be the difference between a good outcome and a bad one.

Waiting

Everybody handles the stress of waiting differently. Some people read, some pace, some eat, some pray, others pace back and forth from their chair to the information desk asking for updates every 2.375 minutes. I am a fidgeter. I do not sit still. I will try 17 different identical chairs all the while complaining about each and every one of them. They are identical and I should be able to figure out that they suck after the first 2 or 3 but not me I keep searching holding out for the slim possibility that mass produced Chinese manufactured chairs might somehow be hiding a unicorn. This time to add to other people's level of irritation, compliments of me, I carried a ukelele. At a party it's a great prop, at a surgical waiting room I am not so sure. I don't actually play songs yet but I can string together chords and do some interesting roll patterns. My philosophy is every person has to manage their own stress in a way that best suits them and if that happens to be running around naked in heals with a feather duster stuck in your butt squawking like chicken and as long as it doesn't physically hurt anyone so be it. Now irritating people to the point of an impromptu UFC match breaking out is always a possibility and from what I understand a really great stress reliever. One other point is that if your stress relief behavior actually turns into a battle royal what, better place for this to happen. The whole place is full of degreed corner men.

At some point the expected waiting time is exceeded. The Doc said 3 hours, not 3 hours and 15 minutes. 15 extra minutes doesn't sound like much but waiting for news from an operating room is miserable. Minutes feel like hours. It's like the movie scene where the kid is waiting for the class bell to ring and he's staring at the clock and the minute hand moves in the wrong direction.Then all of a sudden, from out of nowhere, the Doctor is standing there, ready to talk. The Doc give the basic run down of how the surgery went and what we can expect when we finally get to go back and see our loved one in recovery.

Then we get to wait some more.

Waking up at 4:30 AM

Waking up at 4:30 AM to go off shore fishing can be pretty exciting, getting up at 4:30 AM to take one of your children to the hospital for scheduled major back surgery is also exciting and will definitely send your anxiety level into orbit. On the other hand, My 17 year old son Jordan, was ready to go. He was bouncing off the walls and at one point announces” Come on let’s do this thing.”

July 12, 2010 at 4:30 AM my wife and I woke our 17 year old son, Jordan, to take him to a 5:30 AM check in at Wake Med hospital in Raleigh, NC. He was scheduled for a spinal fusion with implementation that was expected to last 2 ½ hours. This procedure was necessary because Jordan has severe scoliosis. Scoliosis is an abnormal curvature of the spine. In most cases children are treated with physical therapy and a sleeping brace. In Jordan’s case his curve progressed to 60 degrees with a rotation. Surgery isn’t even considered until 40 degrees of curvature. Because Jordan had both the curvature and the rotation he experienced chronic back pain and little to no lung capacity in his left lung. Often times with severe curves internal organs are affected.

Once signed in they took us back into the pre-op area pretty quickly. Jordan got a fashionable backless gown, a gurney and an IV. His Mom and I got chairs. The set up nurse asked several basic questions. When was the last time you ate? Are you allergic to any medications? Do you know what you are here for? At 6:00 AM Jordan got a surprise, his girl friend, Jesse, joined us. Now instead of talking our ears off there was a lot of kissing. Jordan ad Jesse not Jordan and his parents. Then the anesthesiologist came in to speak with us. He asked several basic questions. When was the last time you ate? Are you allergic to any medications? Do you know what you are here for? Then he asked if we had any questions and he was off. Then the scrub nurse came in and she too had some questions. When was the last time you ate? Are you allergic to any medications? Do you know what you are here for? There was a pattern developing. Then Dr. Mankin came in. He is Jordan’s surgeon, he too had questions. When was the last time you ate? Are you allergic to any medications? Do you know what you are here for? One begins to wonder if these people ever speak to each other. Dr. Mankin went over the procedure one more time and said basically 30 minutes to prep him and 2 ½ hours maybe 3 for the procedure, 3 to 3 ½ hours total and then off to recovery. 5 minutes later they took Jordan away and we went to the waiting area. Nothing left to do but play the ukulele.

Munich to Dachau

Munich is a city with an amazing history. Eileen and I had the pleasure of spending three days there at the end of our Prague trip. When anyone visits a place like Munich, aside from the beer, there are innumerable opportunities to stand in places where significant historical events occurred.

I took the opportunity to take Jordan and Isabella to visit the infamous concentration camp, Dachau. For most people this would not be their first choice of things to do and places to see but I felt that being only 20 minutes away by train that a tour was not only appropriate but also necessary. In my opinion, however distasteful this place might be Dachau is a part of history that should never be ignored or forgotten.

Upon arrival, we noticed that the entry pathway landscaping looked as though one was entering a park. This pathway led up to the entry gate to the camp and on the gate was the sign “Arbeit Macht Frei” which means “Work Makes Free”. All of the Nazi camps had this emblazoned on their gates. It was the first of many lies that were told to anyone whom entered the camps as a prisoner. Once through the gates the first thing we noticed was how clean and sanitized the grounds appeared to be. Everything is white. The buildings are white, the ground cover is white, it is as if someone had tried to wash away the distastefulness of this place.

The main building is now a museum and a movie theater. There are historical photos and plaques on display and at the exit of the museum is a movie theater. Visitors are ushered into the theater in large groups to view the movie. The film is graphic and for many can be very unsettling. After the movie, we toured the balance of the grounds. We saw a reconstructed barracks where prisoners stayed. The original buildings have long since deteriorated and a replacement built. All together, there were 36 barracks. Remaining now are low stone walls marking the outlines of the structure and large numbered stones as evidence that anything was ever there. Beyond the barracks, there are 3 religious structures, a Jewish memorial and 2 churches. Beyond them, you pass through a gate to the gas chamber and crematorium.

During our tour, the guide mentioned that 2 years ago 800 former prisoners of Dachau had returned for a reunion. A young woman asked, “How could anyone that had survived this place ever step foot there again?” Our guide only said that personally he did not know but that the survivors must have had some very strong feelings about the place.

I took Jordan and Isabella into the crematorium. It is a building with several ovens in it. It is clean and there are plaques explaining their use. Then we entered the gas chamber. The room had wooden floors and false showerheads to create the illusion of a shower. Isabella noticed that there were scratches in the low ceiling. She could only imagine that the scratches had been made with the fingernails of the chamber’s victims. Outside and behind the chamber is a memorial garden. One is Jewish, one is catholic, and one is for the unknown dead. They all are there to help the living remember the dead. At this point, I took the opportunity to answer the young woman’s question, “How could anyone who survived this place ever return?” I told her that the answer was on the Jewish memorial. It says,”DO NOT FORGET”. For if, we forget then this may happen again. Then Isabella recited a poem.

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out-- because I was not a communist;

Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out--because I was not a socialist;

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out--because I was not a trade unionist;

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out--because I was not a Jew;

Then they came for me--
and there was no one left to speak out for me.

Martin Niemoeller

I told them again,”DO NOT FORGET”.

Pivo (Beer)

Bier, Birrë, Գարեջուր, بيرة, Pivə, Піва, Бира, Cervesa, 啤酒,Øl, Õlu, Serbesa, Olut, Bière, Cervexa, ლუდი, Μπίρα, Byè, בירה, बियर, Sör, Bjór, Bir, Beoir, Birra, ビール, 맥주, Alus, Пиво, آبجو, Piwo, Cerveja, Bere, Пиво, Cerveza, Bia, بیر, Cwrw, ביר, Pivo

No matter how you say it “Beer” appears to be a universally understood word. It doesn’t matter what country you are in, including the one’s that prohibit alcohol they all claim to have the best beer in the world. Recently, I had the pleasure of sampling beers, 1 liter at a time, that can’t be found at home in the good old USA.

What I found is that different countries have different tastes. American beer tends to be thin, light in color, heavy on bubbles and served ice cold, like Budwiser. As far as I am concerned American beer is like sex on the beach….they are both close to water. English beer tends to be dark, thick heavy and generally served warm. German beer is golden, has a head, is served cool and has a very high alcohol content, some as high as 14%. Then there is Czech beer. Many Czech beers are pilsners. They are heavy, light on bubbles, have a large head and a high alcohol content, 12 to 14% and can be found from a golden color to outright black.

I, like most men, like beer. I also like single malt scotch, grappa, and dry red wine and beer. Over the years my tastes for drink have changed but one thing has always held true and that is that my wife, Eileen, hates the taste of beer. I have tried time and again over the past 29 years to get her to drink beer. I have failed at every attempt. I tried light beer, regular beer, flavored beer, specialty beer, micro brewed beer. I have tried just about every beer that can be had in the US, Canada, Mexico and the Caribbean and failed at every attempt.

So now we find ourselves in Eastern Europe. In Europe beer costs less than soda and water Tis is why I believe the drinking age in most European countries is either 16 or none at all. It’s like I told Isabella, 12, and Jordan, 17, “Soda is $4.00 FOR 500 ml, water is $3.00 for 500 ml and beer is 50 cents for 500 ml, I guess you guys better get used to beer.” Anyhow when Eileen ordered red wine instead of beer the server would look at her funny. The look was a cross between disbelief and holding back vomit. Now these people don’t know my wife and at first I was somewhat offended by their behavior but after all we were in their country and when you are in another country part of the fun is eating what they eat and very definitely drinking what they drink. Jordan had no argument with this concept and when we sat down for our first Czech meal he promptly ordered a Pilsner. His mom looked at me and asked if I was going to allow this when Jordan cut me off and said, “Mom it’s OK here, they have different rules and we are not in Raleigh, North Carolina anymore.” How do you argue with logic like this so Jordan had 2 beers with dinner.

Over the next 2 weeks I was able to get Eileen to at least taste my beer. She even agreed that some of them tasted really good but they were so heavy she couldn’t see herself drinking a whole one and was content with tasting mine. Then we got to Germany. In Germany they have a thing called a Radler. Radler is a lemon beer. Jordan said at home it’s called a Porch Monkey. Not terribly nice and not terribly popular because, frankly, it doesn’t taste very

good. I had planned to discuss with him how he knew but I figured at the time the subject was better left alone. Well Eileen tried the Radler and like Green Eggs and Ham she really liked it. She liked it so much she had an entire liter. Yes, beer is good.

Cold, Wet and Miserable

Cold is easy to deal with, rain is also easy but cold and rainy just sucks. Weather in Prague this time of year can be unpredictable. I believe the daily weather reports are designed to keep the tourists optimistic and out and about and spending money. Maybe this is a little on the cynical side but how can the weather reporting agency be that wrong all the time.

The sun rises at 04:00 this time of year. So unless you put towels or blankets over the windows sleeping in is difficult. I guess you could always use a sleeping mask but for those of us that already sleep with a CPAP machine additional stuff on your face just isn’t going to happen. Anyhow, I like to check the weather report early to modify an already planned day. First thing is temperature. Now in Europe temperature is reported in Celsius and converting to Fahrenheit can be a real pain. Temperature usually dictates if my 12-year-old gets to wear shorts and flip flops or jeans, sneakers and a jacket, which she hates. Then you also have to take into account the temperature swing. What’s good in the morning may be miserable in the afternoon. Then there’s the rain. Rain can come at any time and rain here is cold, bone chilling cold.

Yesterday we decided to go o the gallery at Vicerod Castle. To get there we had to take a subway. BTW the mass transit system in Prague is fabulous. Even the directionally challenged can find their way around, just ask my son Jordan who can get lost using a GPS. Anyhow, it started out OK. I suggested that we dress warm because it was greyer than usual and there was a very light rain. Isabella decides to wear shorts and flip flops. Keep in mind I said dress warm but I am used to talking to walls so out we go. The outing wasn’t that bad until we got to the subway stop where we had to walk to the castle. That’s when the rain and wind picked up. So we decided to have lunch and sit out the rain. We ate at a Thai place called Tam Tam. The food was great. I would recommend this place to anyone.

After we ate we decided to give the castle a try. After all how bad could it be, the castle was only a short walk away. It’s raining, it’s cold and the wind is blowing, really hard. Ever seen five umbrellas turn inside out at the same time? It would have been pretty funny if it wasn’t so cold and wet and windy. Now this excursion has become a mission. We are going to get to the castle gallery if we die trying. The point being that once we get inside the gallery it will be warm, dry and out of the wind. So we follow the signs and enter the castle property, on the property we follow the signs to the gallery. Earlier I had mentioned how Isabella was dressed, well by now she is unhappy, with wet legs, blue lips and a pretty nasty attitude. Finally we get to the gallery. It’s not inside. The gallery is a garden alongside and atop the exterior castle wall. Yes that’s right, it’s the shooting gallery.

At this point I put Isabella in my jacket and we all decide to hump it out of there back to the flat to get hot showers and thaw out. The bright side is that without this little life harrowing experience we would not have had a great lunch.

Honest to God Man Cave

Over the weekend we had the pleasure of an excursion to Cesky Krumlov. Krumlov is a short 3 hour bus ride from Prague. The round trip cost, 360 Czech Crowns ($18.00). Included in the cost were a movie with complimentary headphones and cappucino or some other refreshment of you choice.

Cesky Krumlov is a beautiful little town with a castle, a river for rafting, mountain biking, fabulous restaurants, shopping, gorgeous 4-500 year old hotels and hostels. We had the pleasure of stayling at the Hostel Postel ( www.hostelpostel.cz )The people that run the place are 2 of the nicest people that I have ever had the pleasure to meet. The building belonged to the husband's grandparents and 10 years ago Marion and his wife purchased it from them. Marion did all of the remodeling work. The structure is 300 years old and after his renovations has a complete kitchen, sleeps up to 17, has a gorgeous deck and best of all a man cave.

Many of us have rooms over our garages, finished attics, finished basements and even detached buildings that we fondly refer to as our man caves. We have dedicated beer refrigerators, card tables, pool tables and big screen televisions. But Marion has a real man cave. Not like anything any of us owns. This place is a real cave. Czech bears may have hibernated in there at one time. He has upgraded the cave to include a fully stocked bar complete with beer tap, tables and chairs, music system and a wine cellar. The wine cellar naturally maintains 10 degrees celsius (47 F) year round without the aide of artificial means. I guarantee anyone who reads this has never been in or seen a man cave built from a real cave.

Anyhow, Eileen and I basically rented the entire place for 2 nights for 12 people. The total cost of the stay, 6,960 Czech Crowns ($335.00) which is $14.00 per night per person. So as a treat I asked if we could use their grill for a bar-b-cue. One problem when you travel by bus is that you don't have wheels so Marion's wife took us to the Tesco for supplies. I cooked chicken, klobasy sausage, garlic herbed potatoes, and fresh breads for 12 people for $32.00.

After dinner Marion brought out a bottle of schnapps. He said this schnapps only comes out on special occasions and since we were fast becoming friends this was definitely a special occasion. The first thing I noticed was that the bottle had no label. Apparently this bottle of schnapps is made locally by one of Marion's friends. It was distilled from beer and apples. It was about 110 proof and as Marion says, "It is velvet". It definitely was velvet smooth. Just ask Eileen, she had a shot. Marion and I finished the bottle around 2:30 AM.

I can't wait to go back.

Great Coffee in Prague

Prague is one of those cities in the world that has a huge tourist industry. In certain parts of the city the streets are lined with suveniry (souvenier shops). It takes about 5 minutes to learn to ignore them. Then there are the restaurants. You can find any style, flavor, gimicky or cultural food one could desire. Pricing ranges from 25 Czech Crown ($1.25) Hot dogs that are nothing like you have ever seen in the United States, they are fantastic, to ungodly expensive French cuisine that can be found in a part of old town that looks like Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles. Prada, DG, Louis Vuiton and the like all have stores here and parked along the streets here are Bentleys, Porches, Ferraris and Bugattis.

Then there's the coffee. All of the sit down restaurants serve coffee. Usually,the menus offer esspresso or cappucino. Occasionally, you will find Ameriky (American) on the list. Don't order it. It's the local version of what they think American coffee should taste like and it comes out grainy and watery. In this case I think Starbucks is far superior and Starbucks makes me gag. Now if you are into coffee Then esspresso or cappucino is definitely the way to go. There are presses and steamers everywhere.

So what draws me to a particular coffee house? It's usually the aroma. Good coffee smells good but great coffee can be smelled for several blocks and all I need to do is follow my nose. This is how I ended up in the Grand Orient Cafe. The Grand sits atop the Balck Madonna Cubist Museum. The building is rather young for Prague having been built in 1909. The Grand originally opened in 1912 and operated into the early 1920s when it closed and then was reopened in 2000. The Grand is a full service restaurant but I went there for the coffee and dessert.

Eileen, Jordan and Isabella joined me for my first visit. Eileen and I had Cappucino Isabella had cocoa and as a side we spilt vanilla ice cream with caramel and whipped cream. Really good cappucino is bitter without biting. Add a little sugar and it transforms into a smooth yet rich dessert. Then there's the ice cream. Vanilla with fresh caramel made right there and topped with whipped cream. The whipped cream is not sweet which for Isabella came as a little bit of a surprise.

The coffee was so good that I had to go back. This time my extra daughter from Israel, Tamar, joined us. She flew in from Tel Aviv to visit with us for a few days. Tamar is my coffe drinking buddy. She is pickier than I am when it comes to coffee. This time we had cappucino, cocoa, steamed milk with honey and rum, an apple strudel and cocolada (chocolate) fondue with fruit. The cost of all of tis was 440 Czeck crowns about $22.00. The Grand just keeps getting better and better.

If you are ever in Prague make sure this stop is near the top of your list of palces to go.

Places of Worship II

In 1930 the population of Prague had grown to approximately 850,000. The Jewish portion of the population was 130,000, roughly 15%. The Jewish people were a robust part of the culture and economy. They were the doctors, lawyers, accountants and artisans. In 1939 Hitler invaded and by 1941, for all intents and purposes, there were no Jews left in Prague. The young were relocated to Terazin and the rest were shipped off to extermination camps.

On May 7, 1945 the Soviets took control of the government and set up communist control. Under communism, religious practices were banned. For the next 44 years this country had no organized religion. Couple a lack of Jewish Religious leaders with 40+ years of communist rule and you have a recipe that completes what Hitler set out to do in the first place, which was eliminate the Jews. Today there are about 6,000 jews in all of the Czech Republic.

The people that lived through the communist rule, at the very least, had respect for their national treasures. Included in those treasures were churches and synogogues. They were not luted and destroyed. For the most part religious artifacts were warehoused for safe keeping the structures were maintained by reassigning the structures to other purposes. The monastery that I wrote about in an earlier post was used as a police station. After communism collapsed in 1989 there was an influx of outside investment and places of worship have been slowly converted back to their original purpose.

Television

The Discovery Channel program "Orange County Choppers" is very popular in the Czeck Republic. So far I have found it broadcast in 6 different languages. And for the discerning TV viewer there's also 40 porn channels.

Places of Worship

In a city of 2 million people how do you bump into the same monk twice? Granted we are staying in the same general area and the first time we met the Padre was in his church but the second time was a good 25 minute walk from the church and across the river. Usually in metropolitan areas where there are a lot of churches, and Prague has a lot of churches, you see clergy everywhere. That doesn’t seem to be the case here. It seems as though you have to search for clergy people. Even inside the churches you don’t find any clergy people standing around doing clergy type things. What you do find are ushers.

Places of worship are treated more like museums. The buildings are beautifully decorated. There are altars that reach 30, 40, even 60 feet into the air space. These structures are enormous and ornately decorated. The stone work is some of the most intricate I have ever seen. The ceilings are covered with Frescoes and the walls have oil paintings hung on them. Pipe organs are commonplace and the windows are stained glass. The floors are patterned stone work and the list goes on and on. And … there are ushers.

At least most of the churches are open and free to the public. The synagogues are a different story. You must pay an admission fee to enter so we purchased a walking tour and visited three. For 300 Czech Crowns, about $15.00, you get admission to 3 synagogues and a cemetery. None of these synagogues are working places of worship. The first is a very old synagogue that has been converted to a memorial for the Jews that used to live in Prague. In the background recorded Hebrew prayer plays over a stereo system. The walls of the main hall are adorned with the some 80,000 names of the Prague Jews that disappeared during the Holocaust. It is both moving and disturbing. There are no Jews caring for this building. There are no Rabbis, no Cantors, no one, just ushers that have no ability to answer any questions. The second room of the building has display cases of artwork from Jewish children that were held at the ghetto in Terezin http://www.pamatnik-terezin.cz/showdoc.do?docid=4 . Outside is a cemetery on the synagogue grounds. Ropes are set up to guide you around the headstones like you were in a fun house. Granted, some of these headstones are old and they need to be preserved but the ropes are a little tacky. Last room is a small detached chapel. It is a museum containing Jewish religious items. The display cases have minimal descriptions, if any at all, of the contents.

The second and third synagogues were no more than museums of Jewish religious items. While I was in one there were a couple of young women from Italy looking into a case and pointing and laughing. The case had a collection of yads, pointers. The women were laughing at one in particular because it used the thumb to point instead of the pointer finger. In their culture pointing with the thumb is an insult. But what bothered me more than their behavior was that they had no idea what they were looking at. I explained the items to them and then another lady who had been listening started asking other questions.

How strange these items must be to people that have no idea what they are or what they are for. Nearly everyone knows what a bible is but how many people recognize a Torah, Megilah, Yad, or Tzedakah boxes. How does a once vibrant synagogue come to this. At the very least the Czech people realize that these artifacts are important and worth preserving. But you can’t help but wonder why they aren’t cared for by Jews.

Lunch Isn't Just Lunch

When you are traveling there seems to be one common theme. Where is the next meal coming from. Any time we are on a driving trip the usual suspects always come up. There's McDonald's, Burger King, DQ, Pizza Hut and any number of regional fast food joints, each one worse than the last. Ask any of my kids. They rather go hungry than eat at these places. In fact, I have been on hockey weekends with Jordan and another parent and his kid and had arguments over what is acceptable to Jordan. Usually, we settle on Subway.

This time we are in Prague. The first place we see that is familiar is in the airport. It's KFC. Good old Kentucky Fried Chicken. Isabella is laughing and says, "I don't think we'll be eating there." On to town we go. We are staying in Old Town. The choices for dining in town are nearly limitless. Seriously, there is traditional Czeck, Italian, German, Polish, Americi (American), Greek and so on. So with so many choices how do you choose. First you try to follow your nose. Then you whittle the list down by price. Some of the restaurants probably survive on unsuspecting tourists that haven't quite figured out how to quickly perform currency conversion calculations. Then when all else fails and the people in your group start getting bitchy cause they are hungry and tired you duck into the next place that smells good and spend $150.00 on a meal for 4.

The meal is great but sitting there paying the tab you are trying to figure out what the hell went wrong. Get over it, it doesn't matter, you are going to be here a while. The next day gets better. You've had a little rest, you start to go exploring and then you find out that you can have a great lunch for about $3.50 per person. If we eat like this for several days I figure I can bring the average daily meal cost down to less than $15.00 per day per person. Sounds good but not real practical because we are out and about and Eileen decides to have lunch at a monastery because of the view. Don't get me wrong the food was fantastic but the view made it even better. If you ever find yourself in Prague go to the Strahov Monastery and have lunch on the terrace overlooking Prague. With drinks it cost about $65.00 for Eileen, Isabella and myself. But the view is something you will find nowhere else in the world.

Franciscan Monks are Really Cool

One of the advantages of coming to Prague is that I get to be very close to some of the people that I do business with and therefore a face to face visit is both easy and relatively inexpensive. So on Wednesday while I was in Hamburg Eileen, Jordan and Isabella were left to their own.

So far we have been warned to always be on the lookout for pick pockets, beggars, drunks, the money exchange windows and restaurants that don't post prices on their menus. That's right I left them, abandoned my family, left my post and very likely exposed them the the very real threat of Serbian flesh peddlers. Although we haven't been warned of this I have seen movies about European countries and this stuff happens. If it didn't why would Hollywood make movies with these themes.

Eileen and the kids venture off without me and this is where they met their first genuine, bonifide and certified Franciscan Monk. They recognized him right away. It was the uniform, the brown sacloth that everyone has seen Friar Tuck wear in any of the Robin Hood movies. The kids said you could spot him a mile away. After a quick hello and pleasant introduction the monk, who we shall call Padre cause that's what you call a Franciscan Monk, invites them back to his monastery. Once they arrive at the monastery they realize that Monks are not poor. This place is unbelievably beautiful. It is decorated with Frescoes, granite and marble carvings and statues, ornate woodwork and paintings.

This is when Padre offers to show them his library. The library is up a flight of stairs and behind not one but two locked doors. One of the things about this was not the locked doors but where Padre kept his keys. He reached into his sleeve through a slit at the shoulder. First his left sleeve, there was much jingling of keys and an abrupt "No" from Padre and then he went right to his other sleeve where there was more jingling. Then keys. A lot of keys. Anyhow they go through two locked doors and into a library full of old books.

In my opinion these books weren't just old they were positively ancient. Many of them dated back to the early 14th century. That's right the year of our lord 1,300. Many of these books were close to 700 years old. Best of all Padre let the kids touch them. Why did Padre allow them to be touched, he did so because books are to be read and studied not kept behind a locked door where no one can get to them. This seems odd since these books were, in fact, behind a locked door where very few people could get to them. BTW, I forgot to mention that a college student tagged along. His name is David. He's in the photo with the Padre. The book in the photo is an early 14th century song book. It is written on donkey skin. For any of you who are wondering, David wanted to know if things like this happen to us all the time. Actually, they do.

Jordan has a Beer

We are in Europe and when in Rome or in Europe do as the Europeans do. There is an area in Prague known as Old Town Square. In the square there ia an astonomical clock. Every hour a large crowd gathers to watch the clock. There are warnings to watch for pick pockets. We have not met any so far.

Anyhow, also in the square are various food vendors. There is a stand that makes crepes. One crêpe with strawberry, blueberry, chocolate or various other fillings costs 50 Czeck Crowns. This is about $ 2.50. When rolled up the crêpe is about 18 inches long. This thing smells great, tastes even better and is an entire meal. About fifty feet away there is another stand where they are cooking sausages. These things are more tan a foot long, smell fantastic and are served on a warm baggette with mild but tastey mustard. This also costs 50 Czeck Crowns. Now when in Prague what do you wash your food down with? Well, there's bottled water, 70 Czeck Crowns, there's Coke, 50 Czeck Crowns, then there's beer, 35 Czeck Crowns. Amazing, beer costs less than water. I am beginning to really like this place. Not only is the beer the least expensive beverage on the menu there are more kinds to choose from than I can count. There is a beer for every palate.

So here we are. Me, Jordan and Isabella, she has a crêpe and a soda, I have a sausage and a beer, I give Jordan his sausage and that's when I figure, "What the hell, we are in Prague and the after all beer is cheaper than soda or water "so Jordan gets a beer to wash down his sausage. I know he's only 17 but like I mentioned before when in Europe.

Later Jordan gets to go clubbing with a bunch of college kids.

Airports

Traveling tends to be really stressful for some people. Personally, I'm a a pretty easy traveler. Give me an overnight bag, a cell phone and a laptop and I'm as happy as a pig in shit. So to make things go smoothly I actually got my wife and children to the airport Sunday afternoon two and a half hours ahead of departure time. Since we were scheduled for an International flight they need a little more time and since you can't check in online off to the airport ticket counter we go. American is now using self check-in at the airport. I put in the reservation code and I get a message in big block letters, "SEE TICKETING FOR CHECK-IN". I'm thinking WTF. I get here early, I am following instructions, which is unusual for me, and now my wife is starting to climb the walls because I have obviously screwed up the self check in kiosk. Well, it takes ticketing 10 minutes to check us in and they have no idea what went wrong. They did offer that maybe one of the names on the passports was not spelled exactly the same as in the reservation. More bullshit. Doesn't really matter cause we are checked in and now on the way to security. BTW, ticketing checked our bags all the way through to Prague. This is cool, I think.

Security was easy. No surprises. Jordan, my 17 year-old son, wasn't even carrying a weapon in his luggage this time. Yes, my son actually tried to carry my 22 year-old dive knife onto a plane when we went to Jamaica. Security took it while Jordan announced, "But it's not a weapon, it's a dive knife. It's for cutting fishing line when your scuba diving, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." Explaining to Jordan that a nine inch dive knife is still a weapon no matter your intended use was pointless. Any how my favorite knife is gone for good but Jordan still got to go diving. Returning back to Sunday, no weapons, no liquids or gels in bottles over 3.5 ounces, no problems at all. This is cool.

So we get to the gate and the American Airlines announces that there will be a three hour departure delay, maybe. I am thinking, mechanical problem, maybe an ill pilot, gate crowding at Heathrow in London, all wrong. There is a volcano fowling the air space approaching Heathrow and the airport is closed until 7 AM London time tomorrow and Air Traffic Control doesn't know if they are going to allow American Flight 174 to lift off. The airport might be closed. Delayed flights suck. Delayed flights that might be canceled suck more.

Then the crowd complaints start. One in particular comes from this grumpy old bastard in his sixties. He actually said out loud, "What kind of an airline schedules a flight when there is an active volcano around." Maybe I'm a little slow, but I think that since this is a daily flight and has been so for well over two years I think the airline should be upset with the volcano since the airline was there first. Technically the volcano was there first but it has been quiet for a really long time and it didn't actually ask permission to belch smoke and ash. As far as volcanoes go this one is pretty rude. So here is this guy bitching up a storm about this volcano, the ATC and American and how they are all incompetent and he finally announces that he's going to Washington DC where they have properly run airports.

American then announces that we are going to board the plane at 8 PM. We won't have clearance to fly but if we get it we will already be on the plane and ready to fly if ATC gives the go ahead. This is a good plan one might think. So we get on the plane. Seated right behind me is grumpy old asshole guy. Turns out he has a PhD in physics which means he has one less personality trait than an engineer. Engineers have two. Normal people have seven personality traits. While I'm writing this my daughter is reading over my shoulder and asks,"So which personality trait does he have?" I say,"Dickhead, 100% dickhead." So Dr. Dickhead gets into an argument with my son Jordan about whether or not Jordan has any real knowledge of math. Jordan just finished BC Calculus as a Junior in high school. This is the same math that most 2nd semester Engineering Majors take in college. I am pretty impressed with the kid but Dr. Dickhead continues to tell him how little math he really knows. This eight and a half hour flight just got longer. Then we took off.

Getting Away Clean

Every parent has asked themselves at one time or another, "Why did I have children?". Today I am traveling to Prague with my wife and 2 of my children and at 3:35 AM my 12-year-old daughter, Isabella, wakes me up. She had a sore throat and was running a nasty fever. This is the last thing a parent wants to deal with on the day you are to be boarding an international flight. So here's my kid, she's crying, it's 3:35 AM and I ask her, "Do you really feel that bad? Are you sure you weren't just sleeping under to many covers? At that she began to cry louder. So my wife gets up and gives her a throat lozenge and the kid begins to gag on it. Then we toss her in the shower. So while she's in the shower Eileen, my wife, go to the internet to find a 24 hour clinic. To our amazement, there are none. We live in Raleigh, North Carolina. Nice place to live but a little short on services. So what do you do? You go to the emergency room. On the way out the door Eileen says, "Well if it she can't fly you can just follow in a couple of days." I didn't even dignify that one with a response. Going through my head were thoughts like, "Are you out of your effin mind? The kid can just stay with the dogs, she's 12, she knows how to make grilled cheese. I'll leave her with a credit card. Hell, we'll only be gone three weeks. What could happen to the kid in three weeks. After all she is pretty smart and when kids get really hungry they can get pretty resourceful."

Kids can be pretty selfish and coming down with Swine Flu or Strep Throat when I am supposed to board a plane ranks right up there on my bad child behavior list. OK, so the kid didn't really plan this, but she could have toughed it out and kept her misery to herself at least until we got to London. I still have last minute packing to do.

Well her mother returned in about 45 minutes. No Strep or Swine Flu. They gave her Motrin and told us to keep her hydrated. Water and Motrin that's the cure. One last thought, The ER visit probably cost fifteen hundred bucks.