Ol' Doc Trump

Headline in today's WaPo:   "Trump comments prompt doctors, and Lysol, to warn against injecting disinfectants"

  

 Ol' Doc Trump is on the case/prescribing with a bland straight face/willow bark and sassafras/stump water and lemon grass/polliwogs in pickled brine/needle tea from spruce or pine/Just a drop of Clorox may/go down smooth with beaujolais/Ev'ry patient can be cured/unless, of course, they're uninsured. 

Tork

Photo Essay: Postcards from my Kids. Volume Five.

I never understood, and was never told, why our oldest daughter Madelaine was sent to Denver to live with Amy's younger sister Julie when Madelaine was still in her teens. Julie had a serious drinking problem and was not active in the Church anymore. She needed a full-time babysitter so she could work, and apparently that's all Amy needed to know. Family always trumped everything else with Amy. Or seemed to. It was all so long ago. I doubt even Madelaine herself really even remembers why she had to get on a bus in Williston ND to go to Denver when she would rather have stayed and finished high school. I'm glad to say that she later got her G.E.D. and is now a very valuable accounting manager for a large medical clinic in Virginia. Like all our kids, she turned out pretty darn good -- despite my neglect and poor example. Bravo, Madel!
In these cards she mentions she has bought an exercise machine from a TV ad -- a pretty dicey venture which apparently turned out okay. And she has set her cap for someone named Carl -- I don't remember ever hearing anything more about him.
I notice one of the postmarks is for Detroit Lakes Minnesota. I worked there as the news director for radio station KRCQ -- which I nicknamed, not affectionately, crock. I was fired for making up news stories. I've detailed that incident elsewhere, so won't repeat it here. Suffice it to say that the station manager didn't care when I  used sound effects, like duck calls and slide whistles, to punctuate my newscasts. 
And, in case you didn't notice, Madel has the smallest handwriting of anyone I've ever known!

To ensure a righteous judgment

"To ensure a righteous judgment, the Savior’s atoning sacrifice will clear away the underbrush of ignorance and the painful thorns of hurt caused by others."

James R. Rasband

The thorny path of life we trod

is mostly given us by God

to bring us back to him fulfilled

with hearts and tears and sighs all stilled.

The Savior's sacrifice divine

will help us with our God align,

until the happy day appears

when all His children lose their fears.

Photo Essay: Zen Stones. Vol. 12 How is a stone like a seed?

How is a stone

like a seed?

It's completely grounded.

What is the fruit

of a stone?

Hard work.

What is a

net of stones?

A waste of a net.

What does a stone

need at midnight?

Not a clock.

Photo Essay: Postcards from my Kids. Volume Four

Sarah asks me to come visit them in Utah for Christmas. Stephen is all wrapped up in high school basketball.

Amy took the kids to live with her sister Kathy, who encouraged her to file for a divorce. Then her sister rented a farm for Amy and the kids to live on -- but took it away from Amy a year later, and they wound up living in a trashy house in the middle of a weedy derelict field. A single mother, jobless, with eight kids. When she told me she was going to change their last name back to Anderson I made her sign a notarized document absolving me from paying any child support before I would sign the divorce papers. Turns out my document had no legal standing.
I find that after all these years I'm still looking for villains to blame for those terrible events and melancholy years of alternating despair and rage. The only person I have a right to villify is me.
Poor Stephen. He wanted a basketball scholarship, but in his senior year he injured his ankle and it was never attended to properly, so he lost his chance at professional basketball. I think he still mourns for that lost opportunity. I often pray that he will find a better substitute -- just as I did when I couldn't do physical comedy anymore because of my arthritis, but was blessed instead to be able to make people laugh with my light verse. 

The price paid

"We should always remember the price Joseph and Hyrum Smith paid, along with so many other faithful men, women, and children, to establish the Church."

M. Russell Ballard

Heirs to comfort, blessings, peace;

members of this Church increase

in gratitude each passing day

to those who blazed a better way.

Though mountains frowned upon their schemes

and doubting men laughed at their dreams,

they persevered all God's commands

to carry out in obscure lands.

And should the day come I forget

that I owe Joseph Smith a debt,

and many others just as well,

as ingrate may my sorrows swell!

Photo Essay: Postcards to my President. Vol. 22

Hear Jesus Christ

"We are to seek, in every way we can, to hear Jesus Christ, who speaks to us through the power and ministering of the Holy Ghost."

President Russell M. Nelson

Seek by ev'ry means you may

Christ's clear voice to hear each day.

The Holy Ghost will guide your mind

all the Savior's love to find.

Still and soft, and sweet and true,

his voice will bring great peace to you --

and lead you to much better things

amidst the purl of living springs.

Flattening the Curve

A patriot was Jim Bob Jones; he never saw the flag

without a very stiff salute and loyal urge to brag.

He loved his President so much he had his name tattooed

someplace upon his body that would insult any prude.

He carried many guns with him, to church and to the store;

he thought abortions only fit for immigrant and whore.

He loved to wander this great land in his Gulfstream RV,

so when he heard of 'stay-at-home' his mood turned fiery.

He marched in demonstrations that were very cheek by jowl;

he wanted ev'ry store unclosed, and said so with a howl.

This so-called virus was a plot by liberal blackguards

to take away the Constitution's sanctified safeguards.

But then one day he caught a cold, at least that's what he said,

and soon was in the hospital -- and sadly soon was dead.

Some call him a hero and some thought he was a perv,

but either way he did his part in flattening the curve.

Photo Essay: Postcards from my Kids. Volume Three.

Several of my grandchildren were born out of wedlock. Which has always disturbed me. All of them now are legitimized by marriage, thank heavens. 
And somehow I've come to realize as the years have slipped into a blur that it's all Amy's fault. I'm making a conscious effort to reverse the Torkildson family history that blames me for all the wrongs and suffering. I'm overcompensating, sure, but there is truth in my exagerations. 
She always had, and still possesses, an animal magnetism when it comes to sexual attraction. She appears not to know how much she interests men. It's a sort of wanton innocence that I used to find appealing, but now find very troubling. When we lived in Minneapolis we both worked at Fingerhut Telemarketing. She told me one day, out of the blue, that when she went in to work she always took off her wedding band. At the time, I didn't think much about it. Why didn't I get mad at her? I should have. But at the time I was keeping so much anger and disappointment bottled up inside of me that one more insult to swallow didn't seem that big of a deal. You see, I was supposed to be a world famous comedian -- but instead I was a telemarketer. Of cheap trashy kitsch. 
I like to think that I have worked through most of my anger issues now, at the ripe old age of 66 -- but this afternoon, as I was ladling tomato sauce over angel hair pasta for the luncheon I serve people gratis here in my building during the quarantine, I spilled a bit on the floor, which I had just mopped. Instead of shrugging it off with an "Oh well," I went ballistic for twenty seconds -- dashing the wooden spoon into the sink, causing it to splinter, and swearing like a fiend while my hands literally shook with rage. What was that all about? For twenty uncontrollable seconds I was in such a homicidal rage over this trivial accident that if I could have split into two persons, I would have murdered myself. 
I don't get it. It makes me both sad and frightened. 
Despite the nice things the kids say on these postcards, I sometimes still wonder if I should have been allowed to ever become a father.