So long as little children are allowed to suffer,
there is no true love in this world.
- Isadore Duncan
When I appeared to jump ship last April, what happened was I was struck down by emphysema. For a couple months there I struggled, all day and all night – to breathe. It was like relentless days and nights gasping for lilfe’s oxygen, like, I imagine, waterboarding. My son took me to the VA hospital’s ER in Palo Alto, and got me on my feet again. This disease adds to my list of battles with diabetes, congestive heart failure, and cancer.
Am I complaining? Hell, no. Grateful Norm passed his allotted "three-score years and ten" way back thirteen years ago. According to insurance, life expectancy – 74,4 years - my "death day" was July 25, 2003. So for nine years every day since then has been gravy.
More Cheerful News
There were during those months, numbers of emails inquiring about my health and urging me to pick up again on The Norm Report. To my surprise, the counter added over three thousand visits to my website during my absence. That fact, more than any other, brings me back to this keyboard.
Visitors to my website, found that over 100 Norm Reports offer plenty to consider about civil ways to treat children, showing the difference between decent parenting and junk parenting. None go out of date. Many of those reports can be found by clicking The Norm Report Archive.
This offers an opportunity to make certain changes I think we’re ready for.
Moving forward, I plan to widen the subject matter here to include more issues that are vital to our lives, altho we all know that everything we do and view relates to our relationship with the next generation. My thinking now is that it may be a good idea to urge you good people to provide feedback to share. Altho I’m accustomed to the regular column format, why not try a two-way discussion? What do you think about that?
This is Getting Old
Two years before my birth "Lucky" Charles Lindberg flew solo across the Atlantic, and landed at night outside Paris as dozens of excited Parisians shined their auto headlights on the landing field. On his return to New York he was even more surprised by the massive ticker tape parade the City gave him.
Two weeks before my birth Chicago gangster Al Capone, having a dislike for the rival gang’s horning in on his booze racket, tricked them into a "peace meeting". Leave your weapons home, he asked them, as this is a friendly chat. Then he lined them up in a neat row and machine-gunned down the lot of them. Moral: Never trust a gangster.
On the day I was born, gas lighting in the front room and kerosene or wood stoves in the kitchen were common. And Henry Ford’s Model T’s, soon to be replaced with Model A’s, were scaring horses on ubiquitous and muddy dirt roads.
Six months after my birth, the Wall Street’s stock market crashed, beginning ten years of The Great Depression. And that was the easy part of my earliest years.
But enuf of this. Time to plant food garden again. Click Archive and scroll down to Norm Report Month 108, March ’11 for info on spring planting. - Norm