News for today's 2018

Providing better care for seniors in Ontario - caregiverexchange.ca

12:49 PM Tukiyooo 0

<base href="data:"><div style="color: black; text-align: left; "><div style="color: black; text-align: left; "><table class="blogTable" style="width: 428px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; position: static; z-index: auto; "><tbody><tr><td colspan="2">Keeping <a target="_blank" href="http://www.thehealthline.ca/listCategories.aspx?id=10019" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">seniors</a> living healthy and happy at home takes hard work, initiative and support, especially for those who are caregivers. How can we better care and choices for Ontario'aging population, as well as keep them active and engaged in their communities? The Ontario government recently addressed these issues with the "<a target="_blank" temp_href="Dr. Sinha's recommendations from Living Longer, Living Well" href="http://www.caregiverexchange.ca/Dr.%20Sinha%E2%80%99s%20recommendations%20from%20Living%20Longer,%20Living%20Well" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">Living Longer, Living Well</a>" report as part of Ontario's "<a target="_blank" temp_href="Ontario's Action Plan for Seniors" href="http://www.caregiverexchange.ca/Ontario's%20Action%20Plan%20for%20Seniors" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">Action Plan for Seniors</a>." The report looked at how to provide seniors with better access to health care, resources and safety, including matching them with primary care providers. <a target="_blank" href="http://www.thehealthline.ca/displayArticle.aspx?id=21331" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">Dr. Samir Sinha</a>, director of geriatrics at Mount Sinai Hospital and the University Health Network Hospitals, presented the report on January 15, 2013--the result of research in 19 Ontario communities with more than 5,000 seniors and 2,500 care providers. Keeping Ontario seniors at home: The report recommended providing more home care services by expanding personal support worker services through community support agencies, creating and promoting more information and resources for seniors, enhancing elder abuse prevention training and implementing a wandering prevention program for those living with Alzheimer's and dementia.  "This report summarizes what I heard from thousands of Ontarians on how we can provide better care for our elders," said Sinha "...and make Ontario the best place to grow up and grow old." (Click <a target="_blank" href="http://www.thehealthline.ca/listCategories.aspx?id=10012" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">here</a> for information about home care and assisted living services available in the South West.)  Providing support for caregivers: According to the report, Ontario residents are living longer and with less chronic illnesses or disabilities, but a lot of in-home care is still provided by unpaid caregivers, which can also take a toll on caregiver's health. Seniors, caregivers and families said they want more access to information and services, as well as support.  The report states: "All Ontarians stand to benefit when caregivers can be supported with information and access to a range of supports which will allow them to continue assisting those they care about." (Click <a target="_blank" href="http://www.thehealthline.ca/listServices.aspx?id=10164" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">here</a> to learn about Care for the Caregiver resources available in the South West.) Facts on Ontario's aging population: •    Ontario's 1.9 million seniors make up 14.6 per cent of Ontario's population and account for nearly half of its current health care spending. •    The number of Ontarians age 65 and older is expected to double over the next 20 years. •    In 2011, there were 1,878,325 Ontario residents aged 65 years and older, representing 14.6 per cent of the province's overall population •    By 2017, Ontario will be home to more people over 65 than children under 15. More information: <ul><li><a target="_blank" href="http://news.ontario.ca/oss/en/2013/01/ontarios-action-plan-for-seniors.html" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">Ontario's Action Plan for Seniors</a></li><li><a target="_blank" href="http://www.health.gov.on.ca/en/ms/ecfa/healthy_change/docs/rep_healthychange.pdf" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">Read Ontario's Action Plan for Health Care</a></li><li><a target="_blank" href="http://www.health.gov.on.ca/en/common/ministry/publications/reports/seniors_strategy/docs/seniors_strategy.pdf" style="color: rgb(15, 93, 169); text-decoration: underline; ">Dr. Sinha's recommendations from Living Longer, Living Well</a></li></ul></td></tr></tbody></table><div> </div></div><a href="http://www.caregiverexchange.ca/blog_comments.aspx?id=524">http://www.caregiverexchange.ca/blog_comments.aspx?id=524</a></div><div> </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; color: black; text-align: left; "></div>

Providing better care for seniors in Ontario - caregiverexchange.ca

Keeping seniors living healthy and happy at home takes hard work, initiative and support, especially for those who are caregivers. How can...

Ontario's Senior Strategy - The Agenda with Steve Paikin (Audio) - CastRoller

12:49 PM Tukiyooo 0

Ontario's Senior Strategy - The Agenda with Steve Paikin (Audio) - CastRoller

After extensive consultations with 5,000 Ontario seniors, 2,500 stakeholders and more than 1,000 caregivers, the Ministry of Health and Long...

What Is Life Like After a Cochlear Implant for a Person Born Deaf? - Slate

11:31 AM Tukiyooo 0

<base href="data:"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; color: black; text-align: left; "><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; "><a href="https://www.quora.com/What-is-life-like-after-a-cochlear-implant-bionic-ear-for-a-person-born-deaf/" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 153); text-decoration: underline; outline: none; ">This question</a> originally appeared on <a href="http://www.quora.com/" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 153); text-decoration: none; ">Quora</a>. Answer by <a href="https://www.quora.com/Cristina-Hartmann" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 153); text-decoration: none; ">Cristina Hartmann</a>, writer:</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">Well, this is a tough question for me since I've lived far more years with a cochlear implant (CI) than without.</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">In 1991, I was one of the first 500 children to get a CI after FDA approval of pediatric CIs. I was 6 years old.</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">A few months prior, my mother had asked me if I wanted to hear. I said yes at once since I wanted to know what the fuss was all about. As my mom explained the operation to me, I got this sense that it'd be magic. (OK, I wasn't a bright 6-year-old.)</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">Well, the magic consisted of me being wheeled into an overbright operating room, chilly from only wearing a thin gown. A few moments later, someone put a mask up to my face. The sour, musky gas put me to sleep almost immediately.</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">I woke up a few hours later with a huge bandage around my head. I stayed in a hospital in New York City (my family was in upstate New York) having a great time with other patients. I stayed home for more than a month, since back then, the incisions were rather large and kept bleeding. When I turned on the implant about a month and half after surgery, I ran down the hall, screaming. I expected that I would be able to hear instantaneously. That proved not to be the case. You see, if you never heard before, any unfamiliar sensation feels like pain. I stood at the end of the hallway, half-aghast, half-sobbing since all I felt was pain, and I didn't hear anything. A few hours later, I heard my first sound—at least what I thought was sound—a motorcycle starting on the street outside of the hospital. I was not impressed. It took me two years of speech therapy to follow a simple spoken sentence. It took me another two or three years to speak intelligibly. Another few years passed before I was confident enough to speak in public. Altogether, I underwent 10 years of speech therapy (daily sessions for the first few years, and then it petered out to weekly sessions once I was 13). If a child gets an implant quite young, such as at age 1, the process is far easier than it was for me. I remember the first thing I ordered just using my voice. It was a soft-serve ice cream cone at Wendy's at a mall near my house. I was so proud of myself, seeing my hard work pay off (an added bonus was that I paid for the ice cream with my own money). I was around 9 and that, to this day, was the best ice cream cone that I've ever had. Today, 22 years later, I use spoken English as my primary mode of communication in everyday things. I still use ASL whenever I chance upon a deaf person. I have, however, stayed mostly within the hearing world in the last few years. Sometimes, I think back to one of the questions that I asked my mom before I got my CI. I asked her if I would be deaf or hearing. She told me that I'd be both. I don't think that's true. I'm neither deaf nor hearing. I don't sign as often anymore, but I don't speak or hear well enough to be like hearing people. Getting a CI changed the course of my life. Before I had the CI, I was well on my way on becoming an integral, perhaps a little isolationist, member of the deaf community. I used only ASL and didn't speak a word. Left to my own devices, I probably would've gone to a deaf college, not a hearing college. Who knows where I would be today?</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">Not much changed immediately after my CI surgery. I still went to the deaf program in my district. I still used ASL every day. Over the years, things changed. my deaf friends, who were my closest friends, started to make fun of me and my CI, calling me a "robot" and "freak." All of this took place during the height of deaf opposition to CIs in children. Even though today, I get very few comments, I still remember how lonely these taunts made me feel. From the age of 8, I felt very much alone. Fortunately, this doesn't happen as often within the deaf community anymore, but I got some of the worst of the backlash.</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">Sometimes, despite myself, I miss these silent years. I'll spend a day (a day when I don't really need to interact with anyone hearing) with my CI off and luxuriate in the silence. After a while, the real world intervenes and I turn my CI back on.</div><div class="text parbase section" style="margin: 1.5em 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 18px; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; ">So, to answer your question, getting a CI changed my life for the better and for the worse. Worlds of opportunities opened up for me, but I lost an identity.</div></div><a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/quora/2013/02/19/what_is_life_like_after_a_cochlear_implant_for_a_person_born_deaf.html?wpisrc=newsletter_jcr:content">http://www.slate.com/blogs/quora/2013/02/19/what_is_life_like_after_a_cochlear_implant_for_a_person_born_deaf.html?wpisrc=newsletter_jcr:content</a><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; color: black; text-align: left; "> </div>

What Is Life Like After a Cochlear Implant for a Person Born Deaf? - Slate

This question originally appeared on Quora . Answer by Cristina Hartmann , writer: Well, this is a tough question for me since I've l...

Children’s Librarian - Henry Carter Hull Library, Clinton

9:15 AM Anonymous 0

Children’s Librarian - Henry Carter Hull Library, Clinton. Full Time. Are you ready to take library service to children and their families to its most creative levels? The nationally-ranked Henry Carter Hull Library is seeking you, an innovative, energetic Children’s Librarian to manage its award-winning Children’s Department. Your understanding of child development allows you to engage with children easily and meaningfully. Your warmth makes kids and their caregivers regard the library as their second home. Your knowledge of children’s literature is vast. You can develop and maintain a collection that excites kids of varying abilities and interests. You take pride in your ability to match a child’s needs to exactly the right book and can’t wait for the discussion that follows. You thrive in planning programs and learning opportunities for infants to tweens. As a life-long learner yourself, you actively seek ways to introduce youngsters to unique and valuable knowledge and skills. You adore new technologies, and as a natural teacher, you eagerly share all the new innovations. You are a marketing genius at promoting library programs; your outreach brings in new users daily. You value open communication, collaboration and team-work. You are famous for how clearly you keep everyone “in the loop”, for making the first call to a potential town partner, and the smooth interaction you have with your co-workers. And it won’t take you long to realize that the 6 staff members in the Children’s Room are the most hardworking and delightful people you’ve ever met and the Director supports unequivocally your ideas and willingness to take risks. In fact, the entire staff at HCH Library shares the core values you treasure: a passion for library service, the power of a positive attitude and compassion for our patrons. Qualifications: You have a Master's Degree in Library Science from an accredited college or university plus three years experience in children’s library service, including one year as a supervisor. Compensation: Your salary will be dependent on your qualifications and includes full benefits. Submit a letter of interest, resume, and three professional references with contact information via email attachment to <a _fcksavedurl="mailto:maribeth@hchlibrary.org" href="mailto:maribeth@hchlibrary.org">maribeth@hchlibrary.org</a>. The position has an intended start date of mid-April, 2013.

Children’s Librarian - Henry Carter Hull Library, Clinton

Children’s Librarian - Henry Carter Hull Library , Clinton. Full Time. Are you ready to take library service to children and their familie...

This Is How You Healthcare: American Death In London - Not Safe For Work Corporation

8:03 AM Tukiyooo 0

LONDON, UK: It's just after 9.30pm on a Tuesday in the intensive care unit of a hospital in south-west London. A vast spaceship dashboard of drug delivery systems is silent, monitors displaying the word 'Privacy'. I sit by the foot of the bed while the other four crowd around the top. An empty bottle of scotch is propped in the sheets that cover the stricken, thin form of my father, along with a crucifix on a chain and a Dr Seuss book. I gradually become aware that he has died. My father's de facto nephew Charlie, a boisterous Irish lad in his mid-twenties, starts up a Hail Mary over the body of an atheist of Jewish extraction as if it might push life back into him. My aunt weeps. My half-sister in a red woolly hat, herself on six different types of medication, is on the phone to her mother, brightly telling her what she had for dinner. (It was stuffed aubergine.) Charlie's younger brother Tommy, a sweet skinny boy of 20 who I last saw when he was an six-year-old potential serial killer, dissolves into my arms, sobbing. Positively radiating serenity, I stroke his head and let his grief wash over me. I have a headache from the scotch we've all been sneaking around the bed. I hate scotch. It was Bill's drink. It was Charlie's idea. I look at my father's body. He looks very dead, but then he has looked dead to me this last week, from the first time I saw him crumpled in the sheets, plastic tendrils curling from his head, one green eye stuck half-open. I am quite aware as this is happening that it probably represents the single biggest headfuck and heartfuck of my life, and also that if it were happening in the US, the place of my father's birth, it would probably be considerably worse. In the UK, we treat any old fucker for free. This is why that is important. * * * * The place of Bill's death is a foundation hospital, not directed by the government. It's a beautiful building, with open corridors around a vast central atrium filled with natural light and dotted with sculptures and fish tanks. You can't get lost in it, nor can you feel that antiseptic claustrophobia you get in hospitals. The tax-funded UK National Health Service is now 65 years old. Foreign nationals get free treatment when they've been here for a year or otherwise have legal residency. A San Francisco native, Bill rocked up and made a home for himself in London in 1976. Since then he's had three (count 'em) artificial hips and been treated for cancer of the larynx, and is now spending his final week in intensive care. When I saw him last year for the first time in ten years, to interview him about the election for NSFWCORP, he mused on how much this country has shelled out to keep him upright: "Oh man, if you were to add up what the NHS has spent on me, it's phenomenal." He was a charming, damaged, charismatic, fiercely intelligent, dissolute individual, who lived entirely on his own terms. As a professional gambler, it is unlikely he paid much if any tax in 37 years. He had no will, no funeral plan. He never did fill out the forms necessary to vote in the last election, or the one before that, as I discovered. He just hated forms. I could sympathise. Had he stayed in the US, it is – how you say – dollars to doughnuts he wouldn't have got it together to fill out the forms, and would have had no health insurance. He considered the US system "absolutely unmanageable". * * * * Bill goes into hospital on Tuesday complaining of dizziness and disorientation. We talk briefly on the phone and he sounds chipper as a chip. Some little heart arrhythmia thing, chest infection, in overnight for observation, no biggie. By Thursday he has plummeted into the subterranean limbo of the gravely ill, having most likely suffered a heart attack. He is being hauled from acute assessment up to the ICU. Thursday afternoon I sit by his bed. Talk to him, say the nurses, he can probably hear you. With this type of sedation, the hearing is the last thing to go and the first to come back. I try. Hi, Bill. An inveterate gasbag, I find I've got nothing. I am accustomed to showers of aphorisms and miles of monologue from him. There's nothing to respond to. An hour by a bed in the ICU is long. I bring some Vonnegut to read to him – I figure it's the sort of thing he might go for. I don't even open it. I just sit. Late in the evening the doctor comes to talk to me. I'm the only one here so far. The friend who brought him in has yet to return, my aunt is on her way from Washington. Bill's heart is fucked, hammering away at 150, 160, and it's fucked everything else. The kidneys are fucked. The liver is fucked. This could go on for days or weeks, the doctor says: "But my feeling is that he will pass away tonight." So this is how it ends. I had always figured this fighty bastard – whose own father died two months ago almost to the day, aged 96 – was impervious to the usual quotidian sources of bodily doom. He beat cancer, shrugged off booze, swore that "when they come for me, which they will, I'll get 'em with my stick". When he goes, of course he's going down a manhole, under a Mercedes driven by a coked-up supermodel, into the belly of an escaped jaguar. I'm prepared for this. I am sad, but ready. The distance from absence to departure doesn't seem so far, and it sucks, but it's OK. I go to bed in the small, snug visitors' room – the existence of which amazes me – in assurance they will wake me when it's time. Next morning he's still there. He will cling on for five more days. The notices will say 'a short illness', but they don't give any sense of how long and hard that can be. * * * * So after I thought it would end, it starts. There are many phone calls. There is sitting about. There is eating. There is talking and sleeping and a lot of drinking. There is comfort and joy. There is wartime intimacy with people I have met perhaps twice or haven't seen in 20 years. There is a sudden, completely different way of being. Occasionally I sit by Bill's bed. I don't do small talk even when people are awake, and wittering away to an unconscious form seems too much like praying – addressing a presence you can be almost certain is not there. The return signal, the connection which was only ever faint and intermittent, is offline. There are only the formal, idiot bips of the monitors. I'm not about to do any big talk either. I'm not going to say things I don't mean. He would not hold with any sentimental bullshit, and nothing remains unresolved. I told him ten years ago that he hadn't been the best parent, and his eyes flashed with momentary outrage, and then he nodded meekly. This tiny gesture represented a huge leap of humility and contrition for him, and I appreciated it as such, and always will. This, and the fact that he taught me to catch ice-cream drips when I was four, and that he was a lonely old man who was overjoyed to see me a few months ago, who left a string of witty and sweetly anxious voice messages when I flew back from New York just after November's storm ("I'm a little concerned – how are you where are you when are you? Do I have to send the boy scouts out after you?"): these things have brought me here and kept me here. A sense of duty and basic humanity, some fondness and respect, and the desire not to brutally ditch vulnerable friends and relatives and have to live with the idea of myself as a cold-hearted cunt – I mean, I'm not, and I wouldn't – are what will keep me here after today. But it will be hard. Processing what is going on, what has gone on, what could happen, and adopting this role and living up to it – that's going to take everything and possibly more. I can see it. There's nothing to say, so I say nothing. I put my hand over his hand for a bit. The skin is cool. It feels like a small lamb joint. I feel ridiculous. I feel ridiculous. * * * * This is life in hospital. Within 24 hours, it seems like all there is. You detach and float away from yourself. You start to alter. You start drinking coffee for the first time in years. You can't think. Exhaustion makes a moron of you. It is a place where intelligent adults sit around trying to figure out the simplest things – dinner plans, medical minutiae that don't really mean anything and that you can't control anyway, how to use a mobile phone – and if you wait a few minutes, the original unanswered stupid question that kicked off the whole sorry bollocks will carousel around again, grinning like a peeling painted horse. You experience periods of blissful calm, explosions of fury and anxiety, tremendous impulses to behave badly in the face of disgusting boredom. You max out, faster than you thought you could. You feel useless to yourself and everyone else, except for when you feel so exactingly in control you could fly a plane. You can't tie your shoes. You can't spell 'shoe'. You can't fill out forms. You can't think. You don't know what money is. You can't. * * * * One of the registrars presents with a comedic instance of medical nominative determinism. He might as well be called Andrew Bedpan. He is the kind of hearty-cute that makes me want to get to know him under other circumstances. For now, I just grin. I grin helplessly when I try to look at him. He tells me terrible things about Bill's condition – hovering between grievous and hopeless – in a sympathetic tone. I grin. I apologise for grinning. Bedpan is cool. He probably gets it a lot. * * * * The nurses, all casually wonderful, call him William. Everyone else calls him Billy. The doctors are amazing. They are frank, they are kind, they are judicious. They negotiate the treatment of an almost-lost cause deftly and delicately, endlessly tweaking dosages, consulting, tweaking, considering. They operate within uneven medical and ethical restrictions, balancing responsibilities, managing expectations. They respect life and death equally, and they allow death to take over the second they see that inducing life to continue would be abominable. He is obviously very tough, says the doctor. At this point Bill's heart is only functioning at 10 percent. They are going to step down the drugs – adrenaline, noradrenaline, and something they rarely use that sounds like 'leaveusaminute', much to my amusement – and see if he responds. See if he rises to the challenge of continuing to exist. If he doesn't, "we're not going to jump up and down on his chest". Bill's older daughter is here. She asks the doctor if Bill can dream. A great question. The doctor says most likely yes. I dream, myself, about a blue whale in a vast tank. It is the biggest thing there has ever been. * * * * The main things that keep me sane are the airy beauty and peacefulness of the hospital building, messages from friends and family far away on earth, the mundane magnificence of the staff: and the knowledge that all of this is free and taken care of and I do not have to fill in a single fuckforsaken form or bust one precious braincell worrying about how I might have to find money to pay for the futile care of my dying deadbeat dad. I return to this miraculous fact many times a day, in exactly the same way that I return often to the little visitors' bedroom, lock the door and curl up on the bed. The knowledge soothes me like clean sheets and heat. Imagine, I think in the middle of the night. Imagine if I had to worry about that stuff. With what, exactly, would I worry about it? * * * * Day whatever in the ICU. Things change minutely. The position of tubes. Numbers and percentages. The shimmying dots of moisture in the breathing tube. The delicate dance of side-effects and counter-effects. Blood swirls precisely around the dialysis machine. Bags of fluid hang like inert jellyfish. The green numbers show 167, 168. You look tired, says the nurse. I do. I am. Have some toast. I decline politely. She badgers me. Go on, just one slice. Tea appears. Sorry, it's NHS tea, it's awful. Get out from here, it is delicious. Two slices of toast follow. Little airline pods of butter, and jam. AND JAM. Bedpan materialises. Hey, Bedpan. Those scrubs really bring out your eyes. He asks me how I am. I am drunk on jam, is how I am. I beam at him over the artificially inflating ribcage of the man who gave me life and then mostly left me to it, and then I swig tea. "They ask how I am," said Bill that one time, "and they give me the jam." He was very funny. Bill coughs once. His whole torso seems to lurch. For a moment I think he is going to spring off the bed and ask all assembled what the fuck. * * * * This is how you healthcare. It's care of those clinging to life and care of those spinning and reeling in their orbit, struggling to adapt to life in a new airless atmosphere, a place with its own physics. There's no division. At one end, there is a malfunctioning heart, so you give it the right dose of the right drugs. At the other end is an exhausted relative, so you give her toast. By now I am convinced that the NHS – and I hyperbolise, but only slightly – is the greatest achievement of humankind, the nearest we get to a benevolent deity, a goddamn superhero. It is an imperfect manifestation of a beautiful ideal – free care based on need, free care for all, without judgement, without reservation. However long this goes on for, they'll continue throwing resources at this individual and never show a single sheet of figures to any of his relatives. Not because they'll get anything back, but because this is what the NHS does. It's free care for throat cancer sufferers who only gave up smoking four years afterwards, for drinkers who were told 35 years ago that if they didn't quit drinking they'd die. Free care for American immigrants, for jerks and gents. Free care for parents whether they showed up or not. Free care for guys who tried to try. Free care for the only father I will ever have. * * * * With 21 hours of Bill's life left, though as far as we know he might still be here in March, I get home at midnight to find my dog staggering as if drunk, getting up and crashing to the floor again, one eye twitching madly. At first it appears that the dog has swallowed some meds that fell out of Bill's overnight bag, which I'd brought home (no PJs in the ICU). My absentee father's final gift to me is to kill my dog from his own deathbed. I have hardly spent a week without my dog in nearly a decade. I have probably spent no more than a month in the conscious presence of my dad in my entire life (I don't think my first year or this last week count). This is when I lose my shit completely. It transpires the dog has had a kind of canine stroke, a complete coincidence. The dog has health insurance, making him better off than 15.7 percent of Americans at last count. His own hospital stay is covered. This enables me to recoup just enough of my shit to stay in the game and not just tell everything to go fuck itself because fuck it. As soon as the vet rings off, my aunt calls. They are withdrawing the drugs at last because there is nowhere else to go. It is time to say bye bye to Bill. * * * * Bill's breathing, aided by ventilator, quickens after I arrive. It may be because he wants to say something, says a new nurse. Tell him you're going to be OK. I literally cannot comprehend what she has just said to me. I say nothing. Everyone gathers. Paraphernalia accumulates. Drink is taken. For a time it's just me and Bill and the boys. Charlie sighs and I hear hope bolt through his mouth like a greyhound out of a trap. "Come on, wake up, Billy," he says, tearfully. He must be saying this to himself, but if Bill really can hear I don't want him to worry that anything is expected of him. I lean towards the bed. "Bill," I say, "don't listen to these boys. You do what you have to do." There's a slightly shocked silence, some of it my own, but they defer to me. I'm the next of goddamn kin for chrissakes. I'm kind of a big deal around this bed. Surely the old sod would be proud. * * * * Bill dies of heart failure, his skin the colour of sand, his mouth open. One of his tear ducts leaks, because none of this is dramatic or absurd or unbelievable enough. Tommy cries and cries onto my shoulder. "That's your old man," he bawls. Yes, it is. The nurses start gently removing tubes. Charlie babbles about making him look nice please, starts trying to get Bill's mouth closed. The monitors display 'Standby'. Standby. I feel nothing. I feel something. * * * * Whatever Bill meant to me as a person – and I still don't quite know how that tune goes – I was overwhelmed with awe and gratitude at the infinite care and gentleness shown him (as well as us) as a human being by the health care system of this country. It is nothing less than life-affirming. I cannot imagine how any civilised country could do better. I cannot see how any country can be truly civilised without it. If my family and I had had to deal with the vagaries of insurance, forms, debt, extra disaster or extra anything, I suspect we would have proceeded directly to becoming burdens on the system ourselves. <a href="https://www.nsfwcorp.com/dispatch/this-is-how-you-healthcare">https://www.nsfwcorp.com/dispatch/this-is-how-you-healthcare</a>

This Is How You Healthcare: American Death In London - Not Safe For Work Corporation

LONDON, UK: It's just after 9.30pm on a Tuesday in the intensive care unit of a hospital in south-west London. A vast spaceship dashboar...

Putting My Career Transition on Hold

5:00 AM Tukiyooo 0

The other part of my not wanting children surrounds my career.  I'm pursuing a new field of work, and the time it's going to take me to accomplish this goal is unknown at this point.  What I do know is that it would've been a whole lot easier doing this without a child in the picture.  Now, I just worry that I'll ever be able to finish at all! Since 2010, I have been pursuing a second degree to become a nurse.   I've already covered a lot of ground in this area, but I have a lot more left to go.  I was excited to start at a new school in Fall 2012 and was highly motivated about getting my remaining courses knocked out.  Then about 2 months into the semester I not only found out about being pregnant, but I was dealing with all day sickness.  It was so hard to concentrate on school and devote the same level of time to studying that I was previously used to.  I even failed an exam, which I had never done in all of my college career.  I was able to finish the semester and pass my class, but I decided against signing up for the Spring.  I was so stressed out last semester, I knew there was no way I could combat another one, especially not knowing if/when the sickness would end.  I am honestly happy I've taken this semester off, but it was still a tough decision knowing I'd be setting my career dreams off even longer. I know that plenty of parents out there are pursuing degrees and making it work.  Still, my thoughts have always been why stress yourself out anymore than necessary?  I am very desperate to make a career change because I hate my job so much right now.  Thinking about having to stay in this field any longer depresses me.  Still, I will now have another life I'm responsible for and I know I will have to do what it takes to provide for this child. Some of my other reasons for not wanting to having children include the financial burdens and constraints, not wanting to give up my freedom, losing "Joel and me" time, fear of being a bad parent, fear of bringing a human into this world that seems less than ideal right now, etc etc.   There are others but that is the gist.

Baby Busbee Putting My Career Transition on Hold

The other part of my not wanting children surrounds my career. I'm pursuing a new field of work, and the time it's going to take me...

CMBA Blogathon: Nightmare Alley (1947)

5:00 AM Tukiyooo 0

<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRAU20qRuGZwutS5FuY9g4kA_SquIIeT6uIBcZcONQInSblh9FI5JLppIBwuBx25Dk59_IjHzyFSEEYSQOVidjaIP-aY1Sxu3rIzwvdxLBhkNEXLrKYxrs91RFSasSmS7EnPjeONQHvg/s1600/Guy+Budziak+woodcut_opt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRAU20qRuGZwutS5FuY9g4kA_SquIIeT6uIBcZcONQInSblh9FI5JLppIBwuBx25Dk59_IjHzyFSEEYSQOVidjaIP-aY1Sxu3rIzwvdxLBhkNEXLrKYxrs91RFSasSmS7EnPjeONQHvg/s1600/Guy+Budziak+woodcut_opt.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woodcut print by <a href="http://www.filmnoirwoodcuts.com/index.html">Guy Budziak</a></td></tr></tbody></table>Coney Island's first so-called "freak show" opened in 1880, but the heyday of its sideshow attractions began nearly 25 years later when Samuel W. Gumpertz opened "Lilliputia" at Dreamland, one of the site's three major amusement parks. Wildly popular with tourists, "Lilliputia" was a miniature city scaled to accommodate its 300 midget and dwarf residents. When Dreamland burned in 1911, Gumpertz built the Dreamland Circus Sideshow and traveled the world constantly seeking "freaks" (usually those with congenital anomalies) and people from exotic lands (Filipino blowgun shooters, actual "wild men" from Borneo, Ubangi women with plated lips) for his shows. In no time Gumpertz would have competition from The World Circus Freak Show, Wonderland Circus Sideshow and other copy-cat venues large and small. <a name='more'></a> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHrjXMQxO0M92HdGVUcl-yJv5upb4M5TO8BkFwJmmzG4mClO9xLDC6hqQUIsVjGjtIOoxf2wxDUfa5AMFEM2YsU1vSADWwrKZqFvDTlWKw6oMYEj9NNkdMU4u2_KYtvJegGjFzUK5DTs/s1600/geek+show_opt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHrjXMQxO0M92HdGVUcl-yJv5upb4M5TO8BkFwJmmzG4mClO9xLDC6hqQUIsVjGjtIOoxf2wxDUfa5AMFEM2YsU1vSADWwrKZqFvDTlWKw6oMYEj9NNkdMU4u2_KYtvJegGjFzUK5DTs/s320/geek+show_opt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geek show, Nightmare Alley</td></tr></tbody></table>During Coney Island's peak, its bizarre sideshow attractions drew great crowds. Naturally, young people were especially awed by the incredible "human oddities" on display. One boy, whose family had recently moved to Brooklyn, became enthralled with these freak attractions. He haunted the sideshows and reportedly held a job on the midway for a while. His name was William Lindsay Gresham and he was born in Baltimore in 1909. His family had moved from Baltimore to Massachusetts in 1916 before coming to New York and, for most of his life, Gresham would live in New York. He worked as a reporter after high school and for a time made a living in Greenwich Village as a folk singer. In the late '30s he served in the Spanish Civil War, fighting the good fight against Franco. While in Spain he met a fellow American who regaled him with memories of life on the carnival circuit. It was through this man, 'Doc' Halliday, that William Lindsay Gresham learned all about 'carny culture' and first heard of the sideshow act known as 'the geek.' Halliday's description of this creature, a man who crawled around in filth and bit the heads from live chickens and snakes for booze money, revolted and intrigued Gresham. He could not get the image out of his head and later said, "to get rid of it, I had to write it out."   <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cdvLuQufjLrZ7AigJMCjmCoM-vYUt54ub2hO305PONMNwcjZfUvLXzQk12sJ1pdpKiCdAjQfeLtNvfNFcWR8yKKtPQAAlAdsLHW1R8Qu84W9EmHR_i46IBXfoOT1Qjzl40BqbleEDeI/s1600/William-Lindsay-Gresham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8cdvLuQufjLrZ7AigJMCjmCoM-vYUt54ub2hO305PONMNwcjZfUvLXzQk12sJ1pdpKiCdAjQfeLtNvfNFcWR8yKKtPQAAlAdsLHW1R8Qu84W9EmHR_i46IBXfoOT1Qjzl40BqbleEDeI/s1600/William-Lindsay-Gresham.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William Lindsay Gresham</td></tr></tbody></table>After he returned to the states, Gresham found employment editing and contributing to pulp magazines. With a steady income providing some financial stability, he was able to begin work on his first novel. Nightmare Alley appeared in 1946. The novel was a soul blistering tour of third-rate Depression-era carnival life and the "spook racket." 'Protagonist' Stan Carlisle is a handsome young man in a low-level carny job who is driven at first by lust and then by the burning ambition to make it big. Coolly conning nearly everyone who crosses his path, Stan makes his way up, up, up as a bogus clairvoyant and on to the heights as a religious charlatan. But he meets his match in a high-end grifter even more cold-blooded than he is. Stan's fall is fast and far and horrific. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcFfz_0RRp-7w6SM85JyjhysPgyYMhCmFxlCS7SBXMVbGrUtM0uW8hVUu8A2fXEjT4Q5V7ioTA116Zs7lBhE8z_9qB0ofgedizRhCsz9V6SIwCKgLoCUPgDEZlcX3mdBFFX9zAY-Vv9Q/s1600/hanged+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBcFfz_0RRp-7w6SM85JyjhysPgyYMhCmFxlCS7SBXMVbGrUtM0uW8hVUu8A2fXEjT4Q5V7ioTA116Zs7lBhE8z_9qB0ofgedizRhCsz9V6SIwCKgLoCUPgDEZlcX3mdBFFX9zAY-Vv9Q/s200/hanged+man.jpg" width="116" /></a></div>Author Gresham, a tormented man in search of peace of mind, had, by the time he was writing Nightmare Alley, already dabbled in Marxism and psychoanalysis and was now studying the Tarot (each chapter of the book is named for a Major Arcana card). He would go on to delve into and abandon Christianity, Zen Buddhism and Alcoholics Anonymous. None of these pursuits would alleviate his struggle with personal demons. The expanse of Gresham's own sense of desperation was revealed in his all-too-real depiction of human despair in Nightmare Alley; later in life he would claim in a letter, "Stan is the author." Nightmare Alley was a success and the film rights were quickly snapped up by Tyrone Power, who'd read the book and saw in Stan Carlisle the role of a lifetime. He pressed his boss, 20th Century Fox head Darryl F. Zanuck, to produce the adaptation and allow him to star. The film Power badgered Zanuck to make would be directed by <a href="http://www.silentsaregolden.com/articles/edmundgouldingarticle.html">Edmund </a><a href="http://www.silentsaregolden.com/articles/edmundgouldingarticle.html">Goulding</a> and co-star Joan Blondell, <a href="http://www.briansdriveintheater.com/helenwalker.html">Helen Wal</a><a href="http://www.briansdriveintheater.com/helenwalker.html">ker </a>and Coleen Gray. It was released in 1947. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sYVyT6WueaxQ4xHVr9cdzcosND5cnXhclP6RPZszyDOoZ9Iw-OwpAIPfUyE6YzwpgmqhX-VNiBIL91d7ODEFtkLkIXi39QAM1kGidQ8c2Fgs6Eb-dc1W86xntooCcZs8bV-srgE401U/s1600/ty+power+make+up+test_opt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sYVyT6WueaxQ4xHVr9cdzcosND5cnXhclP6RPZszyDOoZ9Iw-OwpAIPfUyE6YzwpgmqhX-VNiBIL91d7ODEFtkLkIXi39QAM1kGidQ8c2Fgs6Eb-dc1W86xntooCcZs8bV-srgE401U/s320/ty+power+make+up+test_opt.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tyrone Power makeup test for Nightmare Alley</td></tr></tbody></table> If William Lindsay Gresham was a troubled misfit, Tyrone Power would seem his very opposite. Born into a legendary theatrical family and graced with good looks, onscreen charisma and talent, Power was a movie star by age 22 - a decade or more younger than most leading men of the late '30s. But, as the years passed, Power became frustrated with the too-often shallow roles Fox offered him and had begun to have misgivings about his career. He told a girlfriend, "Someday I'll show the @!&%!*s who say I was a success just because of my pretty face..." and famously commented on charismatic appeal, "The secret of charm is bullshit." By the time Nightmare Alley came along, Tyrone Power was ready to play Stan Carlisle. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQwpD5-X2_cgE5ZAp9bYaGzTA9S7CeqEepWuNLKE7RMxKU_ZHFSUu3fQU0VNBBwNLRDKAGzyy9okpf-bZ6wimWhbSTdvkxKKPYRQ0-kY2L5T1-Qhu7q4GiqzNJT6TPBgZ-4Eu3mA_574/s1600/helen+walker_opt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQwpD5-X2_cgE5ZAp9bYaGzTA9S7CeqEepWuNLKE7RMxKU_ZHFSUu3fQU0VNBBwNLRDKAGzyy9okpf-bZ6wimWhbSTdvkxKKPYRQ0-kY2L5T1-Qhu7q4GiqzNJT6TPBgZ-4Eu3mA_574/s200/helen+walker_opt.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helen Walker as Dr. Lilith Ritter</td></tr></tbody></table>A 1947 film adaptation of Nightmare Alley could never have been entirely faithful to the novel - the book was just too raw, sexual and disturbing. So the story was streamlined and cleaned up. Noir veteran <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0299154/">Jules Furthman</a>'s screenplay could only imply or allude to what was far more perverse and explicit in the novel. Furthman did manage to incorporate a good dose of Gresham's rich and authentic huckster jargon into the script and Goulding evokes, as much as he was allowed, the novel's underlying savagery. An A-budget noir, Nightmare Alley's ink-black look came courtesy of <a href="http://www.cinematographers.nl/GreatDoPh/garmes.htm">Lee Garmes</a>, one of the developers of "Rembrandt lighting," with art direction by <a href="http://eves-reel-life.blogspot.com/2011/07/lyle-wheeler-setting-scene.html">Lyle Wheeler</a>, effects by Fred Sersen and makeup by Ben Nye. Joan Blondell is a natural cast as blowzy, pillowy Zeena, the mentalist, and Helen Walker as Dr. Lilith Ritter is razor-blade deadly. But it is Tyrone Power's portrayal of Stan Carlisle that is the eye-opener. Power's Stan evolves from opportunistic naif to oily hustler, slick headliner, relentless schemer, jumpy man-on-the-run and, finally, vulnerable rum-dum. The transformation is shattering. It's no secret that Darryl Zanuck disliked Nightmare Alley. Power was his box office bonanza of a leading man and Zanuck hadn't wanted to risk casting him in so dark a film. But was it a risk? The post-war era brought stars like Joan Crawford (Mildred Pierce), Ray Milland (The Lost Weekend), Lana Turner (The Postman Always Rings Twice), Ronald Coleman (A Double Life) and others new success - and sometimes an Oscar - for less than sympathetic character portrayals in downbeat films. On release, Nightmare Alley received mixed reviews (a New York Times reviewer complained, "this film traverses distasteful dramatic ground") but Power's performance was widely acclaimed. That was not enough to reassure an already nervous studio and the film's run in theaters was brief. It was a commercial failure. <div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GNOx4U49Rj4" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Pete (Ian Keith) reads Stan (Tyrone Power)</div> Zanuck's reluctance to back Nightmare Alley is often blamed for its failure. But his caution makes sense given the times and his understanding of Tyrone Power's place in movie goers' hearts. Audiences could handle the handsome star as a skirt-chasing carnival Lothario sporting a cocky attitude and a tight tee-shirt. But once Stan's seamy nature begins to creep to the surface - a wad of chewing gum always in his cheek, a cigarette behind his ear, a spiel ever on his lips - the audience might start to get jittery. When he slips a bottle of hooch to Pete (Ian Keith), a carny alcoholic who is an obstacle to his dreams, there's no denying Stan's ruthlessness. It becomes clear soon enough that Stan is a nastier more cynical sort than Dion O'Leary, a romanticized Jesse James or Clive Briggs. By film's end, when an unhinged Stan runs through the midway, wild-eyed and vacant, swinging a club at anyone who comes near, Power's multitude of fans might well have stared in disbelief. How could Tyrone Power (Zorro, that Yank who joined the RAF, Jamie Waring!?!) possibly be the pathetic, disfigured wretch on the screen? They may not have realized or cared that they had just witnessed the performance of his career. Darryl Zanuck must have breathed a deep sigh of relief when Captain from Castile, a Technicolor swashbuckler Power finished just before Nightmare Alley, was released a few months later to blockbuster business. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5OYkMOWLbkP_X4FBhQ3Y_lX3x8ac3HRu6wxm6RJlKDu4s2dioPJWJVZ92VOyp80DBatF9jNLwDmtJVUMdRz6QnCOnE5oLn2QQjN-xLQrvbYeSkeK1x05OqHhPXwg8HvRBsIeJZF53z0/s1600/Ty+as+Stan+climax_opt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5OYkMOWLbkP_X4FBhQ3Y_lX3x8ac3HRu6wxm6RJlKDu4s2dioPJWJVZ92VOyp80DBatF9jNLwDmtJVUMdRz6QnCOnE5oLn2QQjN-xLQrvbYeSkeK1x05OqHhPXwg8HvRBsIeJZF53z0/s320/Ty+as+Stan+climax_opt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tyrone Power as Stan Carlisle</td></tr></tbody></table>The publication and reception of Nightmare Alley was the one great success of William Lindsay Gresham's career. His second and final novel was a commercial flop. He went back to writing for pulp magazines and published only three more books, all non-fiction. With his health failing and low on cash, Gresham took his own life in a cheap New York hotel in September 1962. He is best remembered by some as a footnote in the life of C.S. Lewis; Gresham's second wife, Joy Davidman, married Lewis after her split from Gresham. Shadowlands, a TV movie, play and film, was based on the Lewis/Davidman relationship.  Others place Gresham in the pantheon of writers like Nathaniel West, James M. Cain and Jim Thompson. Nightmare Alley's reputation has grown steadily through the years and in 2010 New York Review Books published a new, uncensored edition. This publication boasts an introduction by Nick Tosches, who is at work on a Gresham biography. The NYRB edition of Nightmare Alley was hailed by critics; reviews were filled with glowing adjectives - and one constant noun: masterpiece. <a href="http://eves-reel-life.blogspot.com/2012/08/remembering-tyrone-power.html">Tyrone Power</a> would never have another film role quite equal to Stan Carlisle, but his last onscreen performance, in Billy Wilder's Witness for the Prosecution (1957), was as a character not unlike Stan. Once more he received critical praise, something he'd nearly given up on ("They still don't take me seriously," he complained a year or so earlier). Power had spent the intervening years making movies of varying quality, working successfully in the theater, traveling the world - and going through a succession of women and a lot of money. His death at age 44 occurred in Spain where he was filming Solomon and Sheba. Perhaps fate thought it better to spare him that biblical swashbuckler. Of all the films he made, Nightmare Alley would remain Power's favorite, the one he screened at home for friends. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJsxtGCDBz0627bqw6X5FWIQ6m3d01vl6JqXnTJO1mBtFifS1dFpevn-WiS01-QDHIusNjHPA8cNGWx4TslR2R58F5hgwhWqHBTWGYhS6gv040mU7IylaVgW3txB-8KNyMx4cr_sari3M/s1600/nightmare_alley+dvd_opt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJsxtGCDBz0627bqw6X5FWIQ6m3d01vl6JqXnTJO1mBtFifS1dFpevn-WiS01-QDHIusNjHPA8cNGWx4TslR2R58F5hgwhWqHBTWGYhS6gv040mU7IylaVgW3txB-8KNyMx4cr_sari3M/s320/nightmare_alley+dvd_opt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Nightmare Alley developed a cult following that continued to grow over the decades. Because of legal wrangling between the estate of its producer, George Jessel, and 20th Century Fox, it was kept out of the home video market for years. Finally released on DVD in 2005, the film was greeted with a new wave of enthusiasm from critics, film buffs and film noir fans. Once overlooked and undervalued, Nightmare Alley is now considered a noir classic, one of the bleakest films in a bleak genre, singular for its carny setting and absence of thugs-with-guns and outright murder. This piece is my contribution to the Classic Movie Blog Association's Fabulous Films of the 1940s Blogathon. <a href="http://clamba.blogspot.com/2013/01/fabulous-films-of-1940s-blogathon.html">Click here</a> for links to all participating blogs. Notes: Nightmare Alley by William Lindsay Gresham, Introduction by Nick Tosches, New York Review Books (2010) Noir Fiction: Dark Highways by Paul Duncan, Oldcastle Books (2000) Dark City: The Lost World of Film Noir by Eddie Muller, St. Martin's Press (1998) All Those Tomorrows by Mai Zetterling, Grove Press (1985) The Films of Tyrone Power by Dennis Belafonte with Alvin H. Marill, Citadel Press (1979) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_Epulw8FrW3N7eSBVBWF8m_IsH8A0JD77ePqSRi5_OjO0qXIGQqWsr0ZEhW1h1fb8ETmyfgM7eU2OrJcKpjoxkHQKgEdf19HyybcNGiMImx9SBoEFaCm5L5oC0BBTdZv_TFmWxVxPs8/s1600/1940s+Blogathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd_Epulw8FrW3N7eSBVBWF8m_IsH8A0JD77ePqSRi5_OjO0qXIGQqWsr0ZEhW1h1fb8ETmyfgM7eU2OrJcKpjoxkHQKgEdf19HyybcNGiMImx9SBoEFaCm5L5oC0BBTdZv_TFmWxVxPs8/s1600/1940s+Blogathon.jpg" /></a></div>

Woodcut print by Guy Budziak Coney Island's first so-called "freak show" opened in 1880, but the heyday of its sideshow attrac...

Some Refreshing Words for the Weary Church Member: Jesus is Your Rest

4:31 AM Tukiyooo 0

<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtun_yExZtS4hKZ6jjL1C6PFdbsS9tapPez5oJRIo9fH6vbx0Bjt4JiZzLloEG3O9-HMzvnPgPM84-4stvV9GUfNYkEH2idL3r4ZcISoRCEDIyvx9xWw0t7z5ENYOqKipAjUiONCDzf8He/s1600/JesusRest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtun_yExZtS4hKZ6jjL1C6PFdbsS9tapPez5oJRIo9fH6vbx0Bjt4JiZzLloEG3O9-HMzvnPgPM84-4stvV9GUfNYkEH2idL3r4ZcISoRCEDIyvx9xWw0t7z5ENYOqKipAjUiONCDzf8He/s320/JesusRest.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>Readers - I rarely go back and repost previous WD blog posts, but I feel I need to cover a few significant posts from 2011 that will be very helpful to WD readers - and thanks to longtime WD reader and commenter "Thy Peace" <a href="http://thewartburgwatch.com/2013/02/19/one-year-ago-echurch-launched-into-cyberspace/#comment-83108" target="_blank">whose comment over at the Wartburg Watch</a> prompted me to move in this direction! I know what it is to struggle to find a church home, to find a place where you can take your family to worship God and hear a sermon that encourages you in your faith from the heart of a person who truly wants to help you and your family.  Over the past few years we've actually been blessed to be in several churches in our city where we HAVE found this - and where believers are not hung up on worshiping their pastor and their institution. But to make a transition is especially difficult when your family has had to leave a long-time church when the preacher has stomped on your faith with unloving, legalistic teachings and you've had to bolt. It is not easy to find a new church home as preachers are under tremendous pressure to preach sermons to keep the revenue flowing to prop up their institutions. And so many church members I've heard from are just plain weary from the heavy burdens placed on them by their pastor, as the pastor has put forth a religious system of performance - you do this, and God will do this. You give this, God will bless you this way. If you don't give this percentage, or serve this way, or evangelize this many times, or attend church these days, God will only bless you in proportion to your obedience is the message of the day. And not only that, God will purposely hold back blessings and bring harm in proportion to your lack of commitment. This all is anti-Christian, yet it IS the overall message of the day in most churches. If that is you, I offer you some excerpts from a Wade Burleson sermon that I featured on this blog back in 2011. What you will hear from Wade will actually shock you - because it is what you likely have never heard from any preacher before, and you will probably never hear it stated so honestly and emphatically from any preacher. But when you hear what Wade says, you will know that it is precisely the truth and lines up with what you have read in your bible. Wade says what you know to be true from your bible, but what your preacher will not ever freely admit. Below is the first post on this Wade Burleson January 2011 sermon, and I will repost the others in the next few days. Enjoy. <div style="text-align: center;">------------------------------------------ <a href="http://fbcjaxwatchdog.blogspot.com/2011/07/christian-jesus-is-your-jubilee-and-you.html" target="_blank">"Christian, Jesus is Your Jubilee, and You Can Rest - Part 1"</a>  FBC Jax Watchdog Post 7/21/11</div> <div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="263" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/26722303?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="351"></iframe> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> "You will have preachers tell you that this year should be the time that you commit more TO God, that you promise to do more FOR God, that you work the fields DOUBLE. And what the preachers will say to you is 'God will be very pleased with you if you do that.' Do you not see that they have missed the Christian message?" </div><div style="text-align: center;">-----------------------</div>Readers - over the next several days I want to share with you several excerpts from a sermon preached by Wade Burleson the first Sunday of January 2011. The short 2-minute video above is the first of about 4 clips I will show here on the blog. On this blog we have looked at a number of mega church pastors over the past year or so that are really beating up the sheep during these tough economic times. Most of these mega church pastors are models for other pastors, their methods are emulated by other pastors who look up to them. These pastors load rules and regulations on the backs of their people. They use tactics of scare and guilt and shame, even ridicule and mocking, to get their sheep to bend to their will in the matters of service and financial contributions. So it is time to take a step back and look at how simple the gospel really is that these men have complicated, and outright misrepresented. In this brief sermon by Wade he explains how when you come to Christ, you can REST in your efforts to produce for God. You don't have to produce FOR God. You are not a slave to God. You are a "son" or "daughter" of God, and you can rest. When it comes to giving - you give generously as the spirit leads you. That is it. No need to have a man scare you, or pronounce curses on you and your family, or tell you that God collects it anyways through calamity. The truth is we are free in Christ. Christ is our "Jubilee" as Wade preaches. Christians under the New Covenant are free, and are led by the Spirit. While Pastors use the Bible to create a holy sense of duty that Christians have to perform for God - and their pastor - to receive the blessings and favor of God, the truth is we can rest from our efforts to produce for God. Pastors are trying to say you "owe" God a tithe, that you have a debt that MUST be paid, else he will collect it by force and withhold blessings. People, Jesus paid that debt, no matter how much the pastors point and stomp and yell to convince you otherwise. I know many of those of you who regularly read this blog have endured much over the past few years from preachers who have spiritually beat you up and raked you over the coals. Some of you have had to leave your church, others have dealt with the conflict of leaving your church vs. staying and waiting. You feel tired and abused. You've had the bible used to beat you up over the head - that you aren't giving enough, you aren't serving enough, you're not faithful enough and that you will pay a price for your slackness. You've had pastors question your salvation, you men have had pastors question your manhood and your commitment to the Lord. You've given all you can but you've been made to feel it isn't enough, that still you can't enjoy the full blessings of God until you get to a certain level of giving. You've been yelled at, pointed at, lied to, and even mocked by the man in the pulpit. And although I do focus on the mega churches on this blog because of their wide audience and influence of other ministers - these same antics happen in smaller churches. I know of one in particular in Jacksonville that is going through some upheaval and a church split over these same issues. It is so sad. So enjoy these excerpts over the next several days from Wade Burleson. You will find them refreshing as you see a preacher who speaks the truth to the sheep about their position in Christ. He speaks the truth that so many pastors are afraid to preach these days, for fear that they won't get the results they need from their flock to keep the family business going. If you want to see Wade's sermon in its entirety, go to his church's website <a href="http://www.emmanuelenid.org/">here</a>, click on the "Watch Live" button in the upper right hand corner, register for a login account, then go to his January 2, 2011 sermon entitled "Your Year of Jubilee". Enjoy....more to come.

Some Refreshing Words for the Weary Church Member: Jesus is Your Rest

Readers - I rarely go back and repost previous WD blog posts, but I feel I need to cover a few significant posts from 2011 that will be very...

Ask Well: Coaxing Parents to Take Better Care of Themselves - NYTimes.com

3:47 AM Tukiyooo 0

<base href="data:"><div style="font-family: Helvetica; color: black; text-align: left; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); display: inline !important; float: none; ">Ask Well</div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; color: black; text-align: left; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); display: inline !important; float: none; "> </div><div style="font-family: Helvetica; color: black; text-align: left; "><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); display: inline !important; float: none; ">My parents are in their mid-60s and don't eat well or exercise. They are poorly informed about good nutrition and the benefits of moderate exercise, or even what constitutes moderate exercise. Is there a book that gives accurate, commonsense information without the patronizing tone that I would almost inevitably use? I'm trying to be patient, but it's hard to deal with aging parents who aren't taking care of themselves.</div><div style="color: black; text-align: left; "> <div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); position: static; z-index: auto; ">Dear Reader,</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Your dilemma of wanting to get your parents to change their ways to eat better and exercise reminds me of an old joke: </div><blockquote style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: Only one, but the light bulb has to really want to change.</blockquote><p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Sounds like your parents may be about as motivated as the light bulb right now. Still, there are things you can do to encourage them to move in a healthier direction. But the first step should not be to hand them a book. Unless you lay some prior groundwork, that gesture may seem almost as patronizing as an impatient tone of voice - and probably as likely to backfire.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Instead, start a conversation in a caring, nonjudgmental way. Ask, don't tell. "Say, 'You know, I might not know what I am talking about, but I am really concerned about you," suggested Kevin Leman, a psychologist in Tucson, Ariz., and author of 42 books on changing behavior in families and relationships. Ask simply if there is anything you can do to help.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Leading by example is also more effective than lecturing. "The son can role-model health by inviting his parents to dinner and serving healthful items that he is fairly certain they will find acceptable, or ask them if they are interested in going out dancing with him and his wife," suggested Ann Constance, director of the Upper Peninsula Diabetes Outreach Network in Michigan.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Pleasure is a better motivator for change than pain or threats. Use the grandchildren as bait. Ask if they want to take the grandchildren to the zoo or a park that would require a good bit of walking around for everyone. Or the grandchildren could ask them to come along on one of those 2K fund-raiser-walks that many schools hold. After all, a day with the grandchildren is always a pleasure in itself. (O.K., usually a pleasure.)</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Tempted to give them the gift of a health club membership? "Save your money," Dr. Leman said. Try a more indirect (and cheaper) approach. Create a mixed-tape of up-tempo music from their era. ("Songs they listened to from the ages of 12-to-17, which is what we all listen to for the rest of our lives," said Dr. Leman) They will enjoy it any time - maybe even while walking.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">If you really want someone you love to make a change, the key is to ask them to do something small and easy first because that increases the chances they will do something larger later. Psychologists call that "the foot in the door technique," said Adam Davey, associate professor of public health at Temple University in Philadelphia, referring to a classic 1966 experiment called<a href="http://psycnet.apa.org/index.cfm?fa=buy.optionToBuy&id=1966-10825-001" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); text-decoration: none; ">"Compliance Without Pressure."</a> In the study, which has been duplicated by others in many forms, researchers asked people to sign a petition or place a small card in a window in their home or car about keeping California beautiful or supporting safe driving. About two weeks later, the same people were asked to put a huge sign that practically covered their entire front lawn advocating the same cause.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">"A surprisingly large number of those who agreed to the small sign agreed to the billboard," because agreeing to the first small task built a bond between asker and askee "that increases the likelihood of complying with a subsequent larger request," Dr. Davey explained.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Any plan for behavioral change is most likely to succeed if it is very specific, measurable and achievable, according to Ms.Constance.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">And the new behavior should also be integrated into daily life -- and repeated until it becomes a habit. For example, if you want to walk more, start with a 10-minute walk after dinner on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Ms. Constance suggested. The next week, bump it up to 12 minutes.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Don't give up, even if you meet initial resistance -- it is never too late for your parents or you or any of us to change. "Taking up an exercise program into one's 80s and 90s to build strength and flexibility can result in very tangible and enduring benefits in a surprisingly short time," insisted Dr Davey.</div><div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 1.375em; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); position: static; z-index: auto; ">As for instructive reading, Dr. Leman is partial to one of his own books, <a href="http://bakerpublishinggroup.com/books/have-a-new-you-by-friday/321071" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); text-decoration: none; ">"Have a New You by Friday,"</a> and Dr. Davey recommends "Biomarkers: The 10 Keys to Prolonging Vitality," by William Evans. Ms. Constance recommends the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's Web site on <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/physicalactivity/everyone/guidelines/olderadults.html" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); text-decoration: none; ">physical activity and exercise tips for the elderly</a>, as well as the National Institute of Health's <a href="http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health/health-topics/topics/dash/" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); text-decoration: none; ">site on the DASH diet</a>.</div></div><a href="http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/02/19/ask-well-getting-your-parents-to-take-better-care-of-themselves/?">http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/02/19/ask-well-getting-your-parents-to-take-better-care-of-themselves/?</a><div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px; color: black; text-align: left; "> </div>

Ask Well: Coaxing Parents to Take Better Care of Themselves - NYTimes.com

Ask Well My parents are in their mid-60s and don't eat well or exercise. They are poorly informed about good nutrition and the benefits ...