John Corson's Blog

for July 10, 2021


Last night I went to bed thinking that the cold front that was approaching from the west was going to come through by 6 or 7 this morning, drop that infernal dew point reading and then I could go out to the back yard, cut the grass and manicure the lawn without buckets of sweat falling off of me. That infernal cold front did not push through but stalled just outside of my city and will move back to the northwest as a warm front.

What does that mean? You ask. Well, that means HOT and HUMID! And that weather is supposed to stay with us for at least six or seven more days bringing consecutive days of heat indices over 100 degrees.

Well, knowing this, I went outside, cut the back yard, sweated off six pounds, trimmed around the trees, flower bed and Janice's garden then came inside to a very warm shower first, soaped up my old body, then rinsed the soap off and turned the water to tap cold. That was to close up my pores so as to not let in any more dirt that may be in the air and to keep me from sweating when I got out of the shower. The cold water didn't work. I am sitting here now, just fifteen minutes after coming out and drying off and still have my towel around my bare upper torso, wiping the sweat off, even with the A/C bearing down overhead!

I am hot natured. I inherited that from my dad who would go outside in 15 degree weather and bust wood with a 25lb mall and chisel with only a tee-shirt on and sweat like a hog. I've seen that man rake up leaves in mid winter, 15 to 20 MPH winds from the north coming through and he would still sweat. His average body temperature was 95.6. Mine is 96.7. It stands to reason (and I don't know why, nor the science of this branch of physiology) if your average body temperature is lower than normal, you sweat easily and hard.

This is why when I was young, I had to take salt pills. My sodium levels were always low. Every time Janice and I sit down to a meal and I have something that I want salted, she would read me the riot act and tell me that the sodium will stroke me out and kill me. I have to keep reminding her of my last blood tests that reveal my sodium levels are anywhere from 2 to 8 points too low! She gets jealous.

She is also jealous that my cholesterol levels are in normal range, despite the ice cream, potatoes and other starches and fats I eat. And she is jealous that my blood pressure is within normal limits almost always consistently. Ask about my blood sugar, I will tell you that ever since I was about nine years old, my sugar stayed consistently between 98 and 110. I have not been diagnosed as pre-diabetic and each doctor that I've had along the way has said that glucose levels that high and consistent is most likely the way I was built! OK! I'll take that.

So, I sweat a lot. I sweat while raking leaves in the winter. Give me fifteen minutes of raking leaves in 25 degree weather and I will have my shirt off, but maybe not sweating anymore. Keep in mind, my dad's body temperature was a degree lower than mine.

Changing the subject: I sad in yesterday's complaint section that I would probably write about going over my message for tomorrow and ponder the possibility that some of my regulars will be back in Church. I am optimistic that the attendance will be up a little. I also said that I hoped that I would be able to wear my happy face of good expectations about Sunday. Well, I don't know about the happy face, but I am feeling no negative vibes about tomorrow.

The negative vibes, or more realistically, the sad feelings I am having right now is over certain inevitable events that lie around the corner; more particularly the declining health of my little best friend Reggie.

Reggie is not feeling any pain and doesn't appear to be suffering in any way or form. But he is fifteen years and seven weeks old. Translated that means he is 106 years old in dog years. Back in October, we thought we were loosing him as he was very sick, wouldn't eat, couldn't drink water and just laid around, sometimes vomiting, and had diarrhea to such a degree that he was constantly wanting to go out to poop and nothing came out.

Looking back over those four days, I did a little arithmetic and discovered that Princess was 14 years, 120 days old when she passed. That made her just 3 days overs her 100th birthday in dog years. Back in October, when Reggie was ill, he was the exact age to the day on the third day of his illness. You can go back over to my blogs of October 6th, 7th, 8th and 9th to read of his travails and my worries over him. The blog on October 9th is more about some studying I did over the question of whether we will see our pets in heaven. Is there a heaven for them? Is it in a different place than ours? I, quite frankly, mused extensively over this considering what I had gone through those four days.

Well, back to this afternoon and my current concerns for Reggie. He sleeps almost all the time. There are a couple times a day that he will trot, a few more times that he will walk a short distance around in the back yard. He has gotten very picky over the foods he eats. Many of the things he loved, up until the last six weeks or so, he doesn't care for and lets them sit for the entire day. He is almost completely on a diet of "people food." He gets broiled chicken once every other day on average, portions of a pork loin, peanut butter crackers (my, how he loves those things), biscuits every now and then, some hamburger meat about twice a week, and other scraps off of the table. Sitting on the shelf underneath our microwave are twenty three cans of dog food (chicken and beef flavored with the meat chunks within) and he used to eat those, but now, he lets it sit for so long, that eventually my fat cat Whiskers (who usually stays upstairs all day) rears up her nose, smells it from downstairs and in the kitchen and then pulls herself up to go down and eat it. That is usually about 8 to 10 hours after it has sat in Reggie's bowl.

There was a time - only eight or nine months ago and going back years, that all I had to do is say to Reggie: "The cats are eating your food" and he would run down the hall to the kitchen growling ferociously and chase them away. Now, to mention it and he just doesn't do a thing. I realize it may mostly be because he is about 80 percent blind and can't actually see them infiltrating his bowl, and the fact that he can't get around as fast as he used to, but it breaks my heart to see him this way. He is old. It gets to me!

He is sleeping on my office floor now. He has been sleeping in here for the last three hours. He has moved around a couple of times, but he has slept through my grass cutting, my shower and the whole time I have been penning these words. Before cutting the grass I answered a couple of emails and paid a bill online and read a couple of opinion pieces online. He has just laid here.

I am going to get him up in a minute when I finish this rag and take him with me to Starbucks. I need a sweet black ice tea and I am sure he will want his Pup Cup. Yes, he still loves those and never backs off of licking the ship cream out of the cup. I love taking him with me to the church. He loves to go as well and doesn't mind meandering around the church rooms and sleeping in my office there while I work. He loves the trips to Starbucks and around the area when I am going places I don't have to leave him in the car.

I cherish the time I have with him. He is, in many ways, an inspiration - even in his old age. He just keeps puttering along. His hearing is very good and his sense of smell is tip-top as he uses that sense to get around more. He can still see shadows and images when they are in motion. That is how he knows when people are coming around. I try not to think about the inevitable. But life is not permanent - not here on earth anyway. And one day he will leave me. When he does, I have been told there will be no replacement. NO MORE DOGS!

Well, first of all, you can't replace Reggie. When Princess passed away, he merely took her place as my close companion. She had to have whispered - in doggy talk or by mental telepathy or osmosis - that she needed him to take care of me. If she really did that, he has done a very good, NO, an outstanding job of caring for me. She would be tremendously proud and happy. But he has no one to pass that along to. The two cats? Forget it. Cats are a different lot. To them, humans exist to care for them and allow us to live with them. Whiskers is a good companion and she is a talkative feline. Pixie totally belongs to Janice and only shows attention to me when it is time to eat a snack or to move things out of the way for her.

I love Reggie. My heart still aches over Princess leaving and it has been nearly five years. Every September 16 (the day of her passing) you can find me out by her resting place, talking, crying and wishing for the day I can see her again. Reggie will be buried next to her facing in the same direction which is toward the house. There will be space between the two for my ashes to be buried once I pass. I have asked that this wish be honored as silly as it may be.

Anyway, enough of the morbid and one to waking Reggie up. It's time for that ice tea and pup cup.

Blog for July 9 Blog for July 11


Blogs are about the blogger. It's as if he or she merely toots their own horns about the things they do, say and love.

My life is boring. I read, I watch Glenn Beck and Mark Levin. I listen to Andrew Wilkow. I engage in some conversation with those who are willing to listen (they being masochistic and enjoy killing themselves with my banter).

I plan on just laying out the things that bother me and the things I love. Nothing in-between. I hope you find whatever I put here amusing.