Friday, November 12, 2010

Health Care: There's Something to be Said for Keeping it Simple

KISS is one of my favorite acronyms.  Keep it Simple (some might add Stupid -- I do not) has become, for me, a lifestyle.  While it is not often reflected in my writings, which I am told are full of (on any other day I would likely have used fraught instead of full of) archaic expressions, I tend to favor keeping it simple in most other areas, like

-- a regular diet of fresh fruits and vegetables, and a little protein and intentional fat [confessing here the tendency to favor my own recipe for wheat buds, which has everything to do with dark chocolate folded into some less-decadent ingredients like oatmeal and whole wheat flour], rather than larger-than-life servings of battered, dipped and fried messes of stuff, or breakfast breads elaborately adorned with a year's supply of sugary additives,

OR

-- a simple mode of dress which has little to do with the latest trends (have you seen some of the shoes women are supposed to wear? --- definitely not made for walking!

OR

-- settling for the wheels that came with the vehicle purchased as opposed to the four-figure ($) things I was asked to purchase, purely for aesthetic reasons,

OR

-- in my own mind, as I draft a petition alleging unjust enrichment or misappropriation of funds, thinking theft is theft no matter how you dress it up.

I just find KISS is a lot less stressful and an easier way to function.  It is unfortunate that the KISS principle has not made its way into the area of health care.  In fact, it appears that every year, both in public and private sectors, the issue of health care gets more complicated, and the burden of finding the right health care plan becomes more onerous and tedious.   Regulations that are made to protect those seeking information often make that information difficult to find.  Despite rules and ethics, folks may be misinformed and locked into a health care plan that is not right for them.  As we move toward the end of this year, one remedy is to get information from someone who has no loyalty to any one company or plan, and who will share sufficient information to assist with choosing the plan than is right for the individual, not the company's bottom line.  This is not to negate the significance of a private company's or plan's bottom line, which lends itself to discussion profit margins, returns on investment, job losses or gains, and so forth.  This is however, to make the point that no one is served fairly if the seekers of health care services do not get what they need.  In that regard, where services are not delivered, everyone loses.

It is important to make a well-informed decision when choosing a health care plan.  An interactive website may not address all of your health care plan concerns or answer all of your questions in that regard.  Be encouraged, especially if you are a senior or have been declared totally disabled, to contact someone who will help to simplify your issues and assist you in making that decision.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Random Thoughts of My Father on His Birthday

Having lived three times as long as I had his physical presence in my life, I am still awestruck by how much he gave me in the 14 years we had before his body ceased to function.  Even today, for me, Lewis Hoxie is very much alive.  He is always with me.  My words are often his words. My thoughts, attitudes and opinions are so much like his.  Some folks who know me may not think those are such good things; how very short-sighted they are!

When I was a toddler he added a handle to the screen door leading to our front porch, positioned to be within my grasp, giving me freedom to go from the house to the porch in my own time and way.

He allowed me sips of Mogen David Concord Grape wine with my Oreo cookie (in retrospect, that combination grosses me out, but back then . . .).

He removed the seeds from my melons, diced and speared them with toothpicks and served them to me so that I could pretend the fruity cubes were hors d' oveures.

I stood on his feet and walked with him.

I met him at the kitchen door when he arrived home from work.

I gave him exclusive rights to kiss the dimple in the middle of my forehead and he gladly accepted.

No one in the neighborhood bothered me because they knew I belonged to him.  If some poor soul had a lapse of memory, a simple "I'm going to tell my daddy" was sufficient to make all scatter.

He let me drive from the front gate to the garage opening.  Okay, it was less than 100 feet, but still . . . .


He took our family to church every Sunday.  I sometimes sat with him in the seating reserved for deacons during worship.  No one ever asked me to move.

He only had to make me go outside and cut a switch just a couple of times.  I thank God for the switch -- and the strap; I figure they were a lot easier to take then than being behind bars would be now.  

As long as I didn't have a fever or some childhood ailment -- or my toe wasn't tagged -- we all went to church on Sundays, first for Sunday School, then worship, then back in the evening for Training Union.  I thank God for Training Union.  I can find scriptures in the Bible without looking at the table of contents, and many I know now because my father and mother taught us decades ago.  I can speak, sing or play piano in the presence of a few or a few thousand.  All because my daddy took -- not sent -- his family to church.

My brother is smart, solid, strong, dutiful, responsible, supportive and loving.  In other words, he is what a man should be.   My brother is one of the most upright men I know.  When I look at Brer, or think of Brer, I also see or think of my father. 

Daddy did not have a lot of money.  He worked hard and provided for his family.  The house he built 60 years ago has weathered every Houston storm without damage and still stands solidly today.  We were always well fed, well clothed, well nurtured and well loved.  While money can buy the food and clothing, no currency is sufficient to purchase the care and love my father bestowed upon his family.  In that regard, we were -- and are -- wealthier than most.  

My father tolerated little nonsense from people.  I am very much like him in that way and don't mind it -- not one bit.  

That is enough for now.  There is no grand ending because Daddy's story continues.  As long as there is a Hoxie limb from his branch of the tree, or a twig from a limb of his branch, or a fruit that fell from a twig from a limb of his branch of that tree, my daddy will be around.  It would be nice, though, if he could kiss my third dimple just once more.

Happy birthday, Daddy.



Monday, November 1, 2010

Elitism Everywhere

One has not begun to appreciate the choral repertoire until one is familiar with Palestrina.


This smug little response was made to the question "What are your favorite choral works to sing" posted on Facebook questions.  The response is elitist, exclusive, divisive, and just downright snotty -- reeking of a strong implication that the appreciation of choral music which excludes certain choral works could not possibly be "appreciation."   


Being one whose musical style has been described as "too white for black" and "too black for white," this writer is content to straddle the fence and land on either side in comfort.   Sometime ago, many evenings were spent jumping from one side of the fence to the other:  first to Sleepy Hollow, a restaurant/piano bar in Town & Country Village in Houston, sitting in for Russ White, the consummate all-around pianist.  When Russ took his breaks, Andrea would play and sometimes sing old standards like I Left My Heart in San Francisco and My Funny Valentine.  Then she would zip across town to the Wunderbar on Southmore in the Third Ward area and end the night listening to Iola Broussard belt out jazz and blues standards.   Other evenings were spent, spellbound, at the opera or symphony.  And then -- on Sunday morning -- generally multiple worship services incorporating all genres of religious music, from songs based on African melodies (the harmonies for which were nonexistent -- and damn the musician who would tried to create them!), to incredible hymns, the compositions of which were paid for with life's experiences, to soul-stirring gospel, to centuries old anthems that made one's heart soar to the heavens.  With such musical wealth, how can one have "A" favorite?  Is there one and only one way to touch one's heart?  If so, what a tiny heart one must have!  


So, what has this to do with elitism everywhere?  Simply this:  a narrow scope of any one area can be indicative of a narrow scope of the big picture.  True, everyone is entitled to one's own opinions and preferences.  Still, how far does one go with that?  


Try this:  One has only begun to appreciate automobiles until one is familiar with the Koeniggsegg Trevita, which, at $2.21 million (according to Forbes) is the world's most expensive car.  


Just curious:  What about the automobile that is right for you?   That you can afford?  That serves you well?  


Or, try this:  One has only begun to appreciate flowers until one is familiar with Cannas or Calla Lilys.


Just curious:  What about those daisies your child or spouse picked out of the front yard and brought to you in a mason jar?


Or, try this:  One has only begun to appreciate beauty until one is familiar with Julia Roberts, Kim Kardashian, Katy Perry, . . . ????


Just curious:   Who is truly beautiful to you?  Is he/she someone with the right look on the outside? Is that all that matters?  If so, what happens when the look fades?  What about the person behind the look?


Now, try this:  One has only begun to appreciate -- freedom -- education -- others -- until one is familiar with --- ????


So, what does it for you?   Is your appreciation of freedom based on your having rights that others do not enjoy?  Is your appreciation of education exclusive to you and yours, or something to which all should have access?  Is your appreciation of others based on whether or not they look, act, speak and think like you?  


Or can you appreciate that while we may be 99% alike, the 1% that makes us different from each other is the special something that God put in each us for the sake of variety and diversity -- to expound on the miracle of His creation?  Is there but one type of fruit?  Flower?   Dog?   Bird?   Man?   Woman?  Culture?  Absolutely not!


The differences in all of us make elitism in any realm a smear on the big picture of creation, and an absolute slap in the face of the Creator.


How dare any of us -- what right have any of us -- to slap the face of the Creator?