This blog was intended to be about travel.
But lately my travel has consisted of the 54-mile round trip to Hollywood, with the exception of one trip to Sandy Eggo to see a friend just after I got axed, and lately a bunch of trips to Bakersfield.
Don't groan too loud about travel to Bakersfield. It
is the hometown.
This blog was intended to be about travel.
But lately my trtavel has consisted solely of the 54 mile round tript to Hollywood, with the exception of one trip to Sandy Eggo to see a friend just after I got axed, and lately a bunch of trips to Bakersfield.
Don't let me catch you groaning about going to Bakersfield. It is the hometown.
But I'm not happy about the reason for going there.
It's been a while since I've posted, so let's recap, shall we?
And before you read on, please know that until November, my life was pretty drama-free.
It feels like God just keeps pooping on my head. To review: dumped by CNN, and two weeks later I spun my Mu$tang -- fre$h rain + oil + curb X Amer'can Muscle, Hor$epower and Torque (can you hear me grunting?) = a bu$ted rim, bad alignment, a bent axel and a bent brake rotor... and $1700 on my credit card. And while I 'm glad to collect a check, freelancing at KTLA is not the most fun I've ever had at work. The people are incredibly nice, but there is an attitude of "we're just filling the gaps between the commercials. " You've probably figured out by now that I can't work that way. I care way too much and take way too much pride in my work to play that game. The reporters I'm working with sure appreciate my work ethic, though, and I think that's why they keep putting me on the schedule five days a week. I do work that many other shooters/editors are willing to do.
And now for the latest storm cloud: just after New Year's Day my dad went to the hospital. Didn't know it at the time, but he had a mild heart attack. But his health was bad to begin with -- he smoked for 46 years, drank too much for too long, had diabetes from contact with Agent Orange (I didn't even know that you could get diabetes that way until reading over his Vet's Administration paper work a few days ago), and the blocked artery was just the first slip down a slick slope.
After almost two weeks, his condition started to stabilize, but just as I was making plans for him to be moved from the hospital to a care facility, his condition crashed, and he had to be put on a ventilator. He spent almost ten days in a near-coma until his body just could not take the ventilator any more. Knowing my Dad's personality, I know he would not be happy with what was even his best, highly unlikely prognosis. So I gave him a fighting chance and time to pull through, but ultimately, as my sister said, I let the decision be between him and God. I'm not a terribly religious person -- I believe but really have no place for organized religion -- but my sister was right. I made the decision to not connect him to any more tubes and machines.
My Old Man tried to be a cat, and he successfully punched out nine times; Here's the count: two combat injuries in Viet Nam (yes, that makes him a double Purple Heart recipient and a bona-fide American hero), one case of Malaria contracted in Viet Nam, Three major motorcycle accidents (really, couldn't he have learned from the first two?) one trip to a Vegas hospital last year for a 10-day stay for various medical problems and one more week-long stint at the Los Angeles VA hospital for another very serious diabetes problem. That's eight, and life number nine came to a quit close at 11:04 Sunday night.
Kenneth Jackson Hart was only 65. But like Indiana Jones once said, "It's not the years, it's the milage."
My sister and one of my dad's close friends were with him just after he was removed from the ventilator. He hung on for almost six hours, until my sister finally said "You know my dad. He doesn't want us to be here when he goes. He's waiting for us to leave." So they left.
And he passed 15 minutes later.
A few years ago he gave me with verbal instructions that upon his demise he was to have all the customary rites that vets are given: burial at a national cemetery with the full military service and a headstone and plot that the government provides. But the rest of his affairs were not in order, so I have been dealing with that. While I wish he had taken better care of his records and papers, I am not complaining. It's the least I can do, and I am proud to be able to do it.
I had not planned on discussing this here. I'm not a big fan of airing my personal issues in public. But I asked you to drop by once in a while and then I quit posting. You deserve an explanation.
And although I have not been on the road, I still have plenaty of stories. And although I know life will never be exactly like it was pre-November 2010. it will improve. I will find more fulfilling work where the stories are not rain-puddle shallow, and where my news judgment is valued, and puts me back on the road on a regular basis. (How much do I miss traveling? I'm even missing the TSA!) I know I need to keep looking, which is easy. The hard part is being patient. But believing that things will turn around keeps me going.
So pop back in soon. Fresh posts are coming, I promise
