The Curmudgeon Speaks

Thanks to all of you unselfish enough to stand in support of the Affordable Care Act. Today I can be assured that my wife and my daughters cannot be denied health insurance because of a preexisting condition. The women in my life have the BRCA gene predisposing them to several forms of cancer and my wife is already a two-times cancer survivor.

The notion of a preexisting condition is interesting to consider. You can be predisposed in different ways. Some individuals have physical abnormalities that predispose them to an early heart attack. Many medical conditions are genetically based and being unlucky in the genes you happen to draw may end up predisposing you to one problem or another. There have always been such conditions. What has changed is our awareness of some. Recognizing you are predisposed should be a good thing. Being predisposed does not mean the negative potential of your predisposition will be realized. It means you play the game of life with different odds than those who are luckier.

It is important to recognize that insurance is also a game of chance – you are willing to lose money in exchange for protection against a catastrophic loss. The reality is that some are excluded from the game because they have higher odds of winning (actually losing). In some cases we can identify those with different odds and in some cases this is not yet possible. Knowing that your odds are not as good should not be held against you.

Do people really not understand how these health care issues work? Those without insurance end up with inevitable illnesses or injuries and seek help in the emergency room. I have spent far too much time in such settings observing what went on around me. Sometimes the problems being treated were not really emergencies. Often, those who end up seeking care for what are not actually emergencies are simply unable to pay and take this approach because they are provided care. It would be far better economically if all had health insurance and could seek help in an appropriate setting.

We had insurance when both of my wife’s cancers were detected. My wife did not have to weigh whether a checkup would be a waste of money and her cancers were detected early enough to give her a fighting chance. Many are not so lucky. Some with limited means cannot afford health insurance and do not have the means to secure regular checkups. When they eventually end up in the medical system it is both expensive for the system and often too late.

So thanks to those unselfish enough to understand. Feel lucky you have not had to face the odds imposed by a preexisting condition and feel lucky if you have been able to afford insurance. Good luck is seldom something entirely earned. Good luck is so easy to take for granted.

I post to several blogs. Some of my posts involve considerable effort – perhaps several hours. Other posts are more whimsical and take only a couple of minutes.

I tend to spend more time on my blog posts that I do on the content I share via Google+. However a recent, contribution to Google+ generated a reaction from several individuals I do not know. I evidently offered something that caught the attention of several individuals. The topic? I posted a picture of a pink air compressor. No accounting for taste.

“You kids get off my lawn” is the phrase that seems to define curmudgeons. I cannot say I have ever used this statement, but I understand the sentiment and I have been tested.

My house is next to a house inhabited by a large number of college students. There are probably laws that apply to this situation, but the existence of statutes does not mean expectations are enforced. One issue concerns the number of vehicles associated with a household and where these vehicles are parked. My neighbors do not have enough room to park their cars AND park on the street rather than arrange their cars in the driveways. I would think the number of spaces is the responsibility of the landlord and the use of the available space the responsibility of the students.

The lawn? One of the issues that can result from parking on the street is on garbage day the garbage truck may not be able to get at your garbage container and will leave the garbage rather than get out of the truck and move the container. The solution evidently is to place the container in front of my house. This would be the shortest distance between the normal location for the garbage container and an open location along the street. Taking the shortest distance is easier than moving a car and easier than moving the garbage to the other end of the lot. The easiest way is good enough.

I suppose I could have moved the container back into an appropriate location and allowed the city employees to address the issue. I have no idea if that would happen. It seemed more fun to get a picture and finally be able to explain why the expression “get off my lawn” exists.

We were not back in the U.S. for more than a few hours than we found ourselves in trouble with the law. Our killer dog, Wriggly, was staying at a kennel. We always have our dog groomed when we kennel our dog for an extended period of time. It is just a convenient way to make certain that his hair is not too long and he is more comfortable on hot summer days.

I have included a picture of the dog (above) so you can judge the true danger he presents. Anyway, Wriggly is kind of arrogant and aloof and not one of those dogs who assumes his masters can do no wrong. He seems to think he is the master and the rest of us are around to amuse him. We were using a different, but very nice kennel because we were staying in Wisconsin before we left for a three-week trip to Russia. A very, very nice place (the kennel, not all of Russia). Their procedure for grooming begins with a bath – kind of a doggie spa approach. Evidently, Wriggle was not a fan of the soap and water treatment and freaked out. He bit the handler on the thumb. You can see just what kind of damage he might do.

My experiences with tick bites earlier in the summer seemed kind of similar. The bite on my foot seemed to lead to some inflammation so I checked with the doctor for a treatment. Evidently, dog bites, unlike tick bites, are a public health issue and doctors are required to report such injuries to the Department of Public Health. The department then sends a registered letter to the owner of the dog threatening jail time and euthanasia of the animal if the dog is not taken to a vet and cleared of rabies and other deadly diseases. Of course, we were initially out of the country and as it turned out, in peril of a six month stint in jail. Within 10 days, you must report to a vet three times with the last visit on the 10th day and have the vet certify that the dog is showing no sign of rabies. We will make two visits in Wisconsin and one in North Dakota. We walk in for our initial visit and the vet begins laughing. “Do you think I will be safe”, was his initial comment.

I understand the need to protect the public and the need to establish rules that apply to all, but this was not exactly a case in which a mad dog was roaming the neighborhood. Throw me into a soapy swimming pool without explanation and I might react too.

We have returned after spending three weeks traveling in Russia and I thought I would write a final piece based on our trip.

We saw a lot of the country and we spent our time with an unusual collection of Russian citizens. This was not a tour and living and traveling with these people offered experiences you would never have as part of a tour. Our experiences remind me of the advice given students taking advantage of a study abroad program not to go with other students they know. Live with the people you want to learn from.

One reason international travel is valuable is that it challenges stereotypes you may have had before your trip. What I know about Russia I had learned from CNN, a couple of books contrasting international models of education, and Tom Clancy novels.

Having said this, stereotypes persist because there is often a grain of truth here or there that one recognizes in actual situations. I have generated the following list that summarize some interesting experiences we had. I think with a little embellishment, some type of storyline, and a reordering of the events, I could fashion a credible “Clancy” novel of my own. All of the following experiences were real.

A roadside encounter with a gypsy. A man gesturing wildly runs into the road on the highway leading to Moscow. We stop and open the window. I am sitting in the front passenger seat. The man leans through the window and immediately places a large gold ring (I mean large) on my knee and begins pleading for assistance. Of course, I speak no Russian. Our friend, the driver, speaks to the man. The man assumes our friend is Muslim and calls him brother. All I recognize is the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and all I see is the two of them passing the gold ring back and forth and the man bowing to the driver. The man pleading for help keeps placing the ring on my knee. Our driver finally just begins slowly pulling away. The man is pleading for money to purchase gasoline. Our driver explains that he told the man, I am not Muslim and you have no way to purchase gas with any money I give you. He explains the ring is not gold but a nickel fake often sold to those who do not know better.

Boating on the Volga. One of the guys we met had just shipped in a boat from Florida and took us for a cruise on the Volga. We found a sand bar, beached the boat, and had lunch. Lots of opportunities for photos. This guy has a construction business and is building some of the structures for the olympics in Sochi.

We hang out in the dacha of a drug dealer. A dacha is a small area of land that is typically enclosed by a fence and grouped with many other similar parcels of land. A dacha gives city dwellers a chance to escape from their flats (small apartments) and get out into the country in order to have a small garden and a break from the crush of city life. Individual dachas are developed in very different ways depending on the resources, skill, and motivation of the residents. We actually saw this a lot in Russia – a space that looked generic and plain on the outside (of the fence in this case) and interesting and individualized on the inside. The “drug dealer”? – I noticed when we drove up to one dacha we spent time at that the walls of the dacha were topped with shards of glass – obviously an inexpensive defense against anyone who might want to scale the wall. I asked about this unusual defense and was told the owner I knew had purchased the dacha that had previously been owned by a drug dealer who used this location as part of his business and because of the opportunity to use a boat located on the river (a channel of the Volga) that backed the property as an escape route.

Vodka and caviar. Yes, we did have vodka and caviar. We had lots of great food. These folks (guys included) really liked to cook and we experienced many foods that were new to us. Cindy added several recipes to her collection.

I visit the American embassy and am detained at the gate. We have the connections we have in Russia because of Cindy’s work with technology applications in classrooms and the educators she has met on previous trips. Cindy and one of her Russian colleagues were invited to the embassy to discuss their work with technology and exchanges among technology using educators with embassy officials. I got to go along. The security was very impressive and I was not well prepared. I did not have my passport – I assumed I would be trusted. My North Dakota drivers license was eventually accepted as proof of my identity. Then there was that issue with the several shell casings and bullets in my camera bag. This may seem unusual (the embassy guards certainly thought so), but there was a very logical explanation. A son of one of the families we met in Volgograd had a metal detector and used it to find WWII relics. These relics were everywhere even this many years later. He presented me with the shell casings and an exploded mortar round as a present. These gifts ended up being a challenge to explain on several occasions (especially to Russian officials screening us for our plane trip home). These items are easy to see when your possessions go through a metal detector and immediately generate a great deal of interest. Try explaining why you are carrying such goods to someone who has a very limited command of English. A kid gave them to me! My possessions – my camera, my driver’s license, my shells, my fitbit (this was also novel so I just handed it over without trying to explain what it was) were left at the gate while we were inside. I have only pictures of the outside of the embassy.

We are given several large containers of mystery liquors and take them out of Russia in our bags. Homebrewing is becoming popular in the U.S.. The hobby seems to focus on beer and wine in our country. Russians prefer the hard stuff. We had vodka somehow made from honey and from traditional ingredients on many occasions. I trained for the drinking of vodka before I left and could pretty much keep up. On a different occasion a friend showed us two large jars (pickle jars) of mystery liquors and opened them in our honor. Before sampling, he tested the alcohol content of each liquid by lighting them on fire. He gave us large bottles of each to take home. I think these got through customs, but I am unsure because our bags have yet to arrive. We are still not sure what we have, but I have decided to call one brandy and another bourbon.

We take a road trip from Volgograd to Saint Petersburg avoiding interception by the police. The way most Russians drive is difficult to describe. Imagine a road packed with more trucks than you have ever encountered on an US interstate. Imagine many of these trucks are belching black smoke and seem unable to move at more than 40 mph (I am converting from the metic for you). Imagine the worst traffic jam you have ever experienced (Moscow on a Friday when everyone is heading to a dacha). Imagine crowding all of this into a two lane road with some of the deepest pot holes you have ever experienced. Now add Russian drivers. These guys (mostly guys it seemed) are insane and the rules that seem to govern their behavior beyond my understanding. They pull out to pass a dozen trucks in the face of oncoming traffic and assume that the vehicles in their lane will provide an opening to let them back in should it appear they cannot accomplish a pass. If passing in this fashion seems unlikely, they pull off onto the right shoulder and accelerate until they see an opening or encounter an obstacle (a sign, a bridge) that requires they try to get back on the road. They attempt to pull around vehicles stopped at stop signs. I never did understand some of this. The payoff for many of these moves seemed so small. Why attempt to pull around a vehicle or two at a stoplight? Many roads are not marked into lanes as you might expect. There is traffic going one way and traffic going the other, but all going one direction appear to be given great flexibility in deciding exactly how many lanes exist. The exertion required to drive like this for 5-6 hours must have been immense. Then there were the means to avoid the police. I rarely saw anyone stopped (you can be pulled over for what seemed to be random checks, but this did not happen to us). In Russia, you can be sent a ticket for speeding when your license plate is captured by a device that takes a picture of your car. This correspondence is referred to as a “letter of happiness”. Everyone seems to use radar detection equipment and the device in our cars were constantly beeping. We then searched for the hidden cameras and waved (just to amuse ourselves) when we passed. High speed was maintained until the radar warnings sounded.

We make purchases in the markets. Goods exchange hands in Russia in ways most of us rarely experience. The open air markets are an example. You can find pretty much whatever you want in the market – meat, vegetables, car parts, construction supplies. Bring money – no checks and no credit cards. We were told checks are very difficult to cash. I was searching for a certain type of glass for tea – a metal base with a separate glass container. I was told by my host not to speak because that would immediately greatly increase the price (this appeared to be the policy in many places including many official tourist sites that double the price of admission for foreign visitors). I mostly looked stern as the bargaining proceeded.

Military helicopters overhead. Along the road to Moscow there must be a training base for helicopter pilots. For a while, we could hear the chop, chop, chop overhead as we drove.

Is everyone here named Natasha or Dmitry? We probably spent time with a total of a 12 to 15 people. The variety of names seemed to be limited. Most of the women seemed to be named Natalia/Natasha and there were also several Dmitrys (Dima is the nickname).

I was in Moscow when Edward Snowdon was allowed to leave the Moscow airport and granted a one-year opportunity to live in Russia. No, I make no claim for meeting Mr. Snowdon.

We did meet a computer security expert and undercover agents. You will have to trust me on this – it would be inappropriate to share any more.

There you have it – the ingredients for my Russian novel. We met great and unbelievable giving people who live under very different circumstances. Ours was a very unique travel experience and our connections with these people will continue.

We are driving with our hosts from Volgograd to Lipesk to Moscow to Saint Petersburg. This is pretty much driving across the present Russia.

I have taken far longer trips – to, around and from Alaska – and we did this once before the Alcan highway was finished, but the present trip is a journey of a very different type.

It is difficult to describe the rigors of driving on Russian roads to those who have not had the experience. Imagine a two-lane blacktop road with many, many old and laboring trucks belching black diesel smoke and many cars. The trucks drive at speeds under 30 when going up hills and the cars want to drive 75-80. Vehicles pass each other constantly sometimes overtaking four or five trucks while staring down oncoming traffic. Once and a while when this was not possible we took to the shoulder and passed on the right. There are actually police and radar triggered cameras that take your picture if you are speeding, but every car I have ridden in so far has a radar detector. I do not drive, I could not drive under these conditions. We witnessed only one serious accident so far – a truck must have caught a tire off the side of the road and flipped.

You can pull off at many locations along the way to make purchases as local farmers bring produce to lure drivers from the highway.

My cultural education continues. Having a drink or two is common to socialization in many cultures, but today’s experience went a little further.

We were visiting the home of Andrew and Natasha. Andrew showed us two gallon jugs with dates of 2004 and 2008. These were gifts he had received from a skilled friend. He opened both for us.

Before drinking Andrew had to test the alcohol content (with a lighter). Both burned. From the color it was difficult to determine just what these liquors were. Attempting to understand Russian did not help. After the use of a translation dictionary and a thorough discussion of a wide variety of liquors, we finally decided one was brandy and one was scotch. I will go with both guesses. I am pretty certain about the brandy.

Andrew wanted to send a jug home with us. I am guessing this is not allowed, but I will have to convince him such gifts are not covered by duty free.

I did sample, but the amount offered was a little beyond my afternoon limit. Very good!

Just to be clear, the Russians take the role of designated driver very seriously. The driver never, never drinks.

Cheers!