Saturday, January 20, 2024

The Detritus of Desperation



Right now I’m camping at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It’s  on the border of Arizona and Mexico. From my campsite I have an unobstructed view of Trump’s Wall as it convulses its way along a line created by the 1853 Gadsden Purchase.

This is my third consecutive winter getaway to this cactus wonderland. Being curious by nature, I always take a drive along an eleven-mile stretch of road parallel to the metal eyesore and environmental disaster. (Just ask the native wildlife (Sonoran  pronghorn, mule deer, javalinas, coyotes, mountain lions, bighorn sheep and bobcats) whose range is now confined to one side or the other. No Bueno for them. 

This year my investigation was different and not in a good way. First off the National Park Service didn’t recommend going. When I pressed a timid Ranger on the issue of why? His answer, “The Border Patrol are conducting Homeland Security surveillance out there,”



My answer, “The Border Patrol are always conducting surveillance out there.” In my mind either a road is open or closed. Sort of along the concept of not being a “little pregnant.” 

If you’ve been following the news, there’s been a surge of asylum seekers trying to gain access to  the Promised Land of America.

This human tide was so large, the US powers to be shuttered the Lukeville/Sonoyta Border crossing for about a month. The lockdown caused economic hardships on both sides of the Wall. The border towns of Ajo, Why and Lukeville lost the potential revenue from the steady stream of Gringos en route to Puerto Penasco, Mexico. (Rocky Point in Gringo-speak).  Daily workers from Mexico couldn’t commute to their jobs on the US side. No Bueno II. 



Still the asylum seekers came.

The immigration issue is like climate change. Everybody talks about it, but no one does anything about it. 

Go back in American History to 1844 and the founding of the “Native American” political party. Better known today as the “Know Nothings” whose platform was all about immigration. They particularly had it out for Irish Catholics, many of whom were escaping the Great (Potato) Famine of 1845-1852. The Know Nothings whined and whined, yet those Guinness guzzling Irish Catholics still came. The English speaking newbies became part of the American fabric handing us Saint Paddy’s Day and two US Presidents. JFK and Joe Biden. Stretch the Irish name a bit and maybe O’bama. In the long run the Irish-Americans found a second homeland.



In 1882, the Chinese Exclusion Act was passed. Like the name suggests, those Asians weren’t allowed entry to the US for the simple crime of being born in China. It wasn’t until 1943 when this racist abomination was repealed. By then, China was a WW II Allie of the US. (Probably a political “Sorry about that! was issued to the Chinese government.) Now we thank Chinese-Americans for their industrious ways and providing Jews a place to eat on Christmas Eve and Christmas.



The Immigration Act of 1924, worked on a quota system based on percentages of hyphenated Americans already here. The rules heavily favored western and northern Europeans as well as those from the British Isles. This act was far from all-inclusive. I suppose those White guys in power were concerned about the possibility of the “poisoning the blood of our country.” (No the quote wasn’t from Hitler, but from Trump in New Hampshire on December 17, 2023.) 




Forty-One years later, LBJ under the shadow of the Statue of Liberty signed the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. Therefore negating the quota system. ( good riddance to that.) For a Good Ol’ Boy Texan, Johnson displayed great empathy for the plight of the underdog. During his administration Medicare, Medicaid, SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) Head Start and the Voting Rights Act were passed. PLUS! The Wilderness Act of 1964. 



Ahhh. The Yin/Yang of American politics. In January 2017, the Orange Disruptor in Chief enacted Executive Order 13769. It came with a  catchy title. “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States.” The nickname was better. “Trump’s Muslim Ban.” Essentially the ban included seven predominantly Muslim countries.  Thereby stereotyping 1.8 billion adherents of Islam as international “Bad Guys.” As par with 45’s administration the order created confusion, chaos and a BIGLY amount of lawsuits. Lawyers must love Trump for all the lawsuits he generates.

Notably missing from the list was Saudi Arabia, the country of origin for fifteen of the nineteen 911 hijackers and its mastermind  Osama bin Ladin. The US has business and military interests in SA which might have influenced Trump’s omission. (Just saying’)

For a great read on America’s worldly military presence, check out “How to Hide an Empire.” Who knew!



That was the Reader’s Digest version of US Immigration Policy 101. 

Back to the present. So there I was driving parallel to the Wall that Mexico was supposed to pay for but that was another Trump fib. American taxpayers shelled out the multi-billions of dollars (not pesos) of dinero. (Money in Gringo-speak) Gee! What a surprise! 

Yep, since the surge the borderland has changed since last year. About one mile west of Highway 85 an apparent asylum seeker processing center stood out. The half-acre parcel contained porta-potties, tents and stadium lights. That was new to me and disturbing especially since the land is within a National Monument. But most distressing of all was the debris field adjacent to the road.  A vast multi-mile stretch of discarded clothes items, thousands of pitched plastic water bottles, spent juice cartons, empty soda cans and an improbable container of hair conditioner. But just like that, the trash subsided. The newly arrived litterbugs were crammed near Highway 85. They weren’t trying to evade capture. They were seeking a better life through asylum. 

Sure, I found the trash to be distressing, but more than likely so was the life the migrants left behind. Anyone desperate enough to negotiate the Darien Gap, (sometimes with children) must have had a reason to risk it all. 

As a first generation American, I can relate to the “Push/Pull” concept behind immigration. For Sid and Clara the push was the first fits and starts of the Holocaust. Simply put, their choice was to flee or be murdered. The pull to NYC was simple too. Get to live another day and eventually make me!



Americans have an uncanny knack in believing “tsrus” (troubles) only occur here. WRONG! Immigration (like inflation) is a Worldwide dilemma. 
 
Worldwide inflation: Source World Bank.

Worldwide immigration: Source Springer-link

  Currently, there’s 16 out of the 54 countries in Africa in the midst of a Civil War. In South America unstable governments unfortunately seem to be the rule instead of the exception. 

Source: The Global Economy.com 


These are some of the “pushes” on the worldwide scene. The “pulls” are any country possibly offering folks stability, safety and security. Yes. The US is one of those countries.

Readers, I won’t BS you and say I have the answers to a multi-generational international quandary. 

But I do know humanity is going over the top on Genesis 1:28. That’s the “be fruitful and multiply” notion. (In my lifetime alone, Homo Sapiens expanded from 2.7 billion to over 8 billion). 

Another thing I know, it’s going to take a “village” of cooperating Nations to come up with viable solutions. (Just like dealing with climate change).

Walls aren’t the answer despite what Senator Robert Rice Reynolds said on June 5th, 1941. 

I’m down at the Border,
Jeff

The Detritus of Desperation 

Right now I’m camping at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It’s  on the border of Arizona and Mexico. From my campsite I have an unobstructed view of Trump’s Wall as it convulses its way along a line created by the 1853 Gadsden Purchase.

This is my third consecutive winter getaway to this cactus wonderland. Being curious by nature, I always take a drive along an eleven-mile stretch of road parallel to the metal eyesore and environmental disaster. (Just ask the native wildlife (Sonoran  pronghorn, mule deer, javalinas, coyotes, mountain lions, bighorn sheep and bobcats) whose range is now confined to one side or the other. No Bueno for them. 

This year my investigation was different and not in a good way. First off the National Park Service didn’t recommend going. When I pressed a timid Ranger on the issue of why? His answer, “The Border Patrol are conducting Homeland Security surveillance out there,”

My answer, “The Border Patrol are always conducting surveillance out there.” In my mind either a road is open or closed. Sort of along the concept of not being a “little pregnant.” 

If you’ve been following the news, there’s been a surge of asylum seekers trying to gain access to  the Promised Land of America.

This human tide was so large, the US powers to be shuttered the Lukeville/Sonoyta Border crossing for about a month. The lockdown caused economic hardships on both sides of the Wall. The border towns of Ajo, Why and Lukeville lost the potential revenue from the steady stream of Gringos en route to Puerto Penasco, Mexico. (Rocky Point in Gringo-speak).  Daily workers from Mexico couldn’t commute to their jobs on the US side. No Bueno II. 

Still the asylum seekers came.

The immigration issue is like climate change. Everybody talks about it, but no one does anything about it. 

Go back in American History to 1844 and the founding of the “Native American” political party. Better known today as the “Know Nothings” whose platform was all about immigration. They particularly had it out for Irish Catholics, many of whom were escaping the Great (Potato) Famine of 1845-1852. The Know Nothings whined and whined, yet those Guinness drinking Irish Catholics still came. The English speaking newbies became part of the American fabric handing us Saint Paddy’s Day and two US Presidents. JFK and Joe Biden. Stretch the Irish name a bit and maybe O’bama. In the long run the Irish-Americans found a second homeland.

In 1882, the Chinese Exclusion Act was passed. Like the name suggests, those Asians weren’t allowed entry to the US for the simple crime of being born in China. It wasn’t until 1943 when this racist abomination was repealed. By then, China was a WW II Allie of the US. (Probably a political “Sorry about that! was issued to the Chinese government.) Now we thank Chinese-Americans for their industrious ways and providing Jews a place to eat on Christmas Eve and Christmas.

The Immigration Act of 1924, worked on a quota system based on percentages of hyphenated Americans already here. The rules heavily favored western and northern Europeans as well as those from the British Isles. This act was far from all-inclusive. I suppose those White guys in power were concerned about the possibility of the “poisoning the blood of our country.” (No the quote wasn’t from Hitler, but from Trump in New Hampshire on December 17, 2023.) 

Forty-One years later, LBJ under the shadow of the Statue of Liberty signed the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. Therefore negating the quota system. ( good riddance to that.) For a Good Ol’ Boy Texan, Johnson displayed great empathy for the plight of the underdog. During his administration Medicare, Medicaid, SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) Head Start and the Voting Rights Act were passed. PLUS! The Wilderness Act of 1964. 

Ahhh. The Yin/Yang of American politics. In January 2017, the Orange Disruptor in Chief enacted Executive Order 13769. It came with a  catchy title. “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States.” The nickname was better. “Trump’s Muslim Ban.” Essentially the ban included seven predominantly Muslim countries.  Thereby stereotyping 1.8 billion adherents of Islam as international “Bad Guys.” As par with 45’s administration the order created confusion, chaos and a BIGLY amount of lawsuits. Lawyers must love Trump for all the lawsuits he generates.

Notably missing from the list was Saudi Arabia, the country of origin for fifteen of the nineteen 911 hijackers and its mastermind  Osama bin Ladin. The US has business and military interests in SA which might have influenced Trump’s omission. (Just saying’)

For a great read on America’s worldly military presence, check out “How to Hide an Empire.” Who knew!

That was the Reader’s Digest version of US Immigration Policy 101. 

Back to the present. So there I was driving parallel to the Wall that Mexico was supposed to pay for but that was another Trump fib. American taxpayers shelled out the multi-billions of dollars of dinero. (Money in Gringo-speak) Gee! What a surprise! 

Yep, since the surge the borderland has changed since last year. About one mile west of Highway 85 an apparent asylum seeker processing center stood out. The half-acre parcel contained porta-potties, tents and stadium lights. That was new to me and disturbing especially since the land is within a National Monument. But most distressing of all was the debris field adjacent to the road.  A vast multi-mile stretch of discarded clothes items, thousands of pitched plastic water bottles, spent juice cartons, empty soda cans and an improbable container of hair conditioner. But just like that, the trash subsided. The newly arrived litterbugs were crammed near Highway 85. They weren’t trying to evade capture. They were seeking a better life through asylum. 

Sure, I found the trash to be distressing, but more than likely so was the life the migrants left behind. Anyone desperate enough to negotiate the Darien Gap, (sometimes with children) must have had a reason to risk it all. 

As a first generation American, I can relate to the “Push/Pull” concept behind immigration. For Sid and Clara the push was the first fits and starts of the Holocaust. Simply put, their choice was to flee or die. The pull to NYC was simple too. Get to live another day and eventually make me!




Americans have an uncanny knack in believing “tsrus” (troubles) only occur here. WRONG! Immigration (like inflation) is a Worldwide dilemma. 
 
Worldwide inflation: Source World Bank.

Worldwide immigration: Source Springer-link

  Currently, there’s 16 out of the 54 countries in Africa in the midst of a Civil War. In South America unstable governments unfortunately seem to be the rule instead of the exception. 

Source: The Global Economy.com 


These are some of the “pushes” on the worldwide scene. The “pulls” are any country possibly offering folks stability, safety and security. Yes. The US is one of those countries.

Readers, I won’t BS you and say I have the answers to a multi-generational international quandary. 

But I do know humanity is going over the top on Genesis 1:28. That’s the “be fruitful and multiply” notion. (In my lifetime alone, Homo Sapiens expanded from 2.7 billion to over 8 billion). 

Another thing I know, it’s going to take a “village” of cooperating Nations to come up with viable solutions. (Just like dealing with climate change).

Walls aren’t the answer despite what Senator Robert Rice Reynolds said on June 5th, 1941. 

For further readings:

I’m down at the Border,
Jeff





For one last look at the humanitarian side of the immigration dilemma.
Please read this great article from the New York Times 

Tuesday, December 26, 2023

“Health is our greatest wealth…

(Warning: This is a post about Aging. Bodily functions are mentioned and described. For these reasons and others this Blog has been banned in Florida and Texas.)

Is a cliche often heard whenever “Alte Kakers” (pleasantly translated from Yiddish to mean Old Timers. Unpleasantly translated to mean  Old S—ters) are gathered. The phrase is self evident. Consider Steve Jobs the founder of Apple Inc, a victim of pancreatic cancer at the age of 56. His net worth of 10.2 billion couldn’t save him from the ashes to ashes, dust to dust route.

 Being and staying healthy is truly what matters.



Up to a few months ago, if asked, I rated my health as above average. (At least the physical aspect). Sure, I have aches, pains and muscle soreness. That’s all easily treatable with massive doses of aspirin, IPAs and some reading/rest time. I lead a consistently consistent lifestyle centered around hiking, outdoor time (in warm places), eating a mostly plant based diet, drinking plenty of fluids, (the trifecta of coffee, a gallon plus of water and IPAs.) . At bedtime, I hope for a decent night’s rest minus the nightmares.

Health wise I was rolling along until July 3rd. That’s when the glitches began. I was hustling up a steep trail near Durango while schvitzing (sweating) profusely. The forecast was for heat followed by more heat. I was having no issues on the ascent. Not so much on the downhill return. Three miles from the trailhead, I felt my heartbeat go into tachycardia (too many thump! thump! thumps/minute). Mayday! Mayday! Sambini One is going down! In other words I was about to faint. I voluntarily hit the deck and propped my legs above my head. I drank water and nibbled on a Clif Bar. Eventually I stood up and stumbled down to my Subaru. All while doing my best to stave off a strong desire to pass out.



The above scenario occurred two more times within three months. I ended up seeing a just- graduated from Med School cardiologist. Jeffy! How recently did the Doctor graduate from Med School? Let’s put it this way, when I accidentally brushed by his medical diploma, I smudged the ink. Needless to say, the thought of him performing open heart surgery on me was off the operating table.



Here was my  ❤️ solution. After Googling aging, dehydration, heat, fainting and tachycardia. I chose to drink more water and  ignore the former almost horizontal episodes while hoping it won’t happen again.



I began guzzling more water which of course led to an increase of potty breaks. However the overall liquid output seemed to be a Great Lake more than the input. Plus the frequency became similar to my breaths per minute. Things were getting out of hand. Once again, I went to the source of all knowledge. Google.



Here’s what I found. As we age our noses and ears continue to grow. (As if my nose isn’t large enough to begin with.)  For senior men, our prostates continue to grow as well. Which impacts men’s  bladder function and retention in a bad way.



During my research I learned about some outpatient procedures that might alleviate my fluid condition. I called the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix and miraculously scored an appointment for an evaluation at their urology department.

There I was met by a stunningly beautiful (think Miss Universe minus the sash) Nurse Practitioner. This being the Mayo Clinic she quickly got down to business in a professional no nonsense manner. She asked many private questions concerning my “privates.” I assured her that “ALL MY PARTS WORK FINE.” She made a note of that. 

She went on to explain the tests required to fully assess which medical course of action to take. With each vivid description of what each test would entail, I instinctively crossed my  legs and squeezed down harder. My face contorted into a look somewhere between revulsion and nausea. 

After she was done she asked, “Any questions?” 

“Yeah! Can’t you just toss me into an MRI to figure this out?”

“Sorry. No!”

“Well in that case, I think you left out “water boarding” as the final test.”

She gave me a few pamphlets which described the torture regime. I thanked her for her time and patience. When I returned to my Snobsdale rental, I pitched the offending publications into a corner of a closet, never to be looked at again. 



My solution: Drink less fluids, but not to the extent of causing possible dehydration leading to fainting spells. I’m now taking saw palmetto and lycopene supplements in an attempt to reduce the size of my prostate naturally. Once again, I’m avoiding and ignoring the underlying problems.

But the aging hits kept right on coming. While shlepping two water containers to my condo, I rolled my knee. Of course it was the arthritic already damaged one. Instant swelling and dull pain. I began making  phones calls to the billions of orthopedic dudes in Snobsdale. Purpose? To secure a shot of my favorite steroid AKA cortisone.



Cortisone and me. I estimate I’ve been jabbed with that magic elixir more times than most professional baseball players. You can say I’m a cortisone connoisseur. I know instantly when the Doc nails it. Like the time I was stuck in my lower back and an hour later was off on a 70 mile bicycle ride. Or when I was jabbed in my knee and two days later backpacked into the Grand Canyon. Yeah, the stuff is that good.  I reckon getting steroid injections is the price I pay for trying to be an athlete with a body that was bred to be a merchant or accountant.

I scored an appointment for the needle. The Doc missed the sweet spot. I believe it was wide right. I had a bad feeling about his aim when he refused to drain my swollen knee prior to the poke. At the time of my appointment my knee was so bloated it required it’s very own bar stool. 
That’s BIGLY!



But the really awful news was the X Ray displaying an almost bone on bone knee joint. Then the Doc (who missed the field goal) mentioned the two words I never wanted to hear. Knee Replacement.

The inability to be mobile is not something I can ignore or avoid. Hiking makes me happy! As a wise Catalan woman once told me on my first Camino de Santiago, “The secret to life is the motion.”



Which brings me to the point of this long post. By now you’re picking up my “look the other way” approach to personal health care. 

Why is that Jeffy?

Because aging is hard enough. Going it alone is far worse. 

The New York Times recently ran an article about solo seniors who blew off medical exams and procedures. The reason? They have no one they can count on to take them to the hospital if need be. Let alone someone who will help them through the convalescent and rehabilitation stages. This is something I can sadly relate to.  (My brother Mike and sister-in-law Robin stepped up to babysit me in case I need a knee surgery). 

But this is not how I envisioned my life to be. I figured by now, I’d have a girlfriend/wife in a loving quid pro quo relationship. As in “Hi Bubalah, could you please keep an eye on me as I heal ASAP and I’ll do the same for you if the need arises?” (Since I’m a Jewish Mother in a man’s body, it would be a  good deal for this mystery woman. Coffee in bed included.)  

Like so many other Alte Kakers I live in a perpetual state of medical denial. I fear slipping on that figurative and literal patch of black ice in which there might be no one nearby to pick me up. So we disregard the glitches and do our best to avoid the ice. 

This is why health is our greatest wealth.

For a poignant New York Times look at loneliness through the ages:


I wish all my readers a happy and healthy New Year. 
Cheers/L’Chaim
Jeff





















Wednesday, October 11, 2023

“I know that a man ain’t supposed to cry…”



Lyrics from “I Heard it Through the Grapevine” by Whitfield and Strong

My last verklempt moment occurred at a Sambur family gathering in Boulder, CO. We were hovering around the kitchen counter pre-Happy Hour time when my nephew Keith innocently asked, “So UJ (Uncle Jeff) how’s it going in Durango?.” 

Like a shaken, not stirred IPA my thoughts and emotions gushed out. “Well, it’s been over four years since I settled there. I really like the town. It’s progressive with a liberal vibe. There’s always community minded events going on. Most of them have been a lot of fun to attend. 



I’m still in awe of the interesting and beautiful places within the Four Corners region. It’s really superseded all my  wild lands expectations. It’s the most incredible  area I’ve ever seen or lived in. I love the campouts, hikes and my exploratory trips. Best of all, Durango is at the epicenter.” 



I sighed and continued with the glum part, “Socially it’s been a bust! Sure, I know a few dozen “Hi, how’s it going? Nice day if it don’t rain” acquaintances, but no real consistent Happy Hour/Dinner or hiking buddies. I spend most of my time alone and feeling lonely. I’m not happy about this. In fact I get depressed!” 



With that, I started to weep. Apparently, I looked so pathetic my nephew’s  daughters lined up to give me reassuring hugs.



On my long drive back home to Durango, I relived that sad moment. It was time for me to go introspective. 

“Face it Jeff! In Durango I’m an outlier. A harmless misfit. 



I’m one of the handful of residents without a dog/fur baby. (Or as I say, Durango is a  city of 19,582 people with 23,174 canines) Below is my dog Fido.



I hike instead of mountain bike. (Less chance of injury)



I’m  a small man with BIGLY opinions which I’m not shy about expressing. I ask a lot of questions too. Do you know what you get in a room of ten Jews? Eleven opinions. 

 In a laid back mountain town like Durango, where I’ve overheard, “I don’t give a shit about anything!” (Said while they were vaping from a product purchased at one of the over dozen dispensaries) I could come across as being a bit of a pushy New York Jew.. 



I’m  not a joiner or follower  in a “the more the merrier” type of town. I have a tendency to slide to the side, the bigger the crowd gets. 

I don’t possess a Polly-Anna or Pauly-Andy personality.. Unfortunately I’m too aware that bad things can happen for no apparent reasons or at anytime. Although I’m also aware that the same can be said about good things.



Throughout all this somehow I maintain a steady smile though.”



For whatever the reasons are, despite my volunteering gigs, helping to organize neighborhood get togethers (Like Durango’s first Kwanhanumas party) and holiday food drives,  being seen at festivals, fundraisers, concerts, movies, brewpubs, local hiking trails and coffee houses, I’m not meeting potential buddies or significant others. 

This was getting to me in a bad way. I felt depressed about my social situation. 

Sure, I’ve read the studies about senior loneliness. That spending this much time alone is poison  for my physical health (I just had a heart monitor glued to my chest for two weeks) and well being. But this much I know. Being depressed/unhappy about it is far worse.



I knew about the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I had been unhappy about the my social scene for awhile. It’s  time for me to move on.

So I took a deep Zen-like breath, and I decided to accept my fate. I’ll cease stressing about my lack of Durango human interaction. I’ll stop forcing the issue of trying to meet people and allow situations to develop  organically. All the while continuing to pursue scenery in the Four Corners region while utilizing Durango as a basecamp. 



I’ll run this chapter of my life as long as my Mojo, muscles and innate wanderlust allows me to. 

Then who knows? Maybe by then, I’ll meet a few people to hang with. If not I’ll move to Boulder where there’s heaps of Outliers and weird people. 

All the photos were taken within a long days drive of Durango. 

See why I live here? 

Cheers,
Jeff

For extra credit readings on senior aging, please check out: