Dateline: Parkinsaw, MI
A View from the Lighter Side
June 13, 1999

Welcome to the imaginary community for Parkinsonians situated in
Michigan's Upper Peninsula.  We're a friendly town, love to have
visitors, and stay busy with a variety of activities.  We have a
world-class Parkinson's Disease medical facility, great restaurants,
entertainment, fishing, hunting camping and more.  Our Chamber of
Commerce is delighted you are paying us a visit.  So, come on in
stranger, pull up a barstool and let's get acquainted.

Heat Wave in Early June?

I don't know about where you live but here in the Upper Peninsula it's
supposed to be relatively mild this early in the year.  Thanks to that
La Nina weather condition, however, it's been near 90 degrees all week,
and its still spring.  Is there any chance of the icebergs melting up in
the Arctic?  Weather patterns are changing that much is clear.  Maybe
I'll go down to Miami for the Fourth of July.  It would be a shame to
miss the Park-A-Thon, though.  They've added a "Rolling Over in Bed"
competition which should be fun to watch.

Another Invention from Parkinsaw Entrepreneurs

The other day over at the Northern Lights microbrewery I met with Bobby
Benson, a long-time resident of Parkinsaw, about his new business
opportunity.  Bobby is 65, a true mountain of a man, with hands like
they could rip the head right off your shoulders.   He is  full-bearded,
with a booming baritone voice.  He described his invention as if he were
referring to a secret lover.  "John," he said, "there is nothing on the
market to rival this new product.  We're completely confident you'll
decide to join us once you realize the awesome potential here."  "Bobby,
I'm due at the golf course in 30 minutes.  Tell me what this thing is,
how much it costs, and why I would want one."

 Bobby Benson took a deep breath, and started in:  "John, have you ever
gotten up in the middle of the night, half asleep, and had to use the
bathroom?"  Since I grew up here on earth I confessed that I had.  "Have
you ever had to use the commode during one of these situations?" Again,
I revealed that I had, but I was confused as to where he was going with
this.  "Well, what would have happened if you had tried to sit on the
commode, but the seat was up and you didn't notice it.  Come on now,
what would have happened?"  Suddenly, the light bulb went off above my
head just like in a cartoon.  I had heard of this problem where if you
live with a significant other, you'd die of embarrassment, or if you
live alone, well, most of us don't ever even contemplate the horror of
enduring that experience.  My throat went dry, and my tremor started up
right on cue as I immediately realized the pervasiveness of the problem
area, and the attractiveness of a product that could resolve it.
Product?  What was the product!  What was he selling?

 I told Bobby that I got the picture, but what was the product he had
invented?  "Listen to me John.  I've developed a device that
automatically sounds an alarm if you attempt to sit on the commode if
the seat is not in place.  Did you hear what I said?  You and millions
more will never have to worry about 'Accidental Commode Entrapment
Syndrome' again!  And John, listen to me now.  This is the perfect
product for Parkinsaw and for Parkinsonians!  Why we're always
forgetting to put the toilet seat down where it belongs.  It's a product
that will be purchased by every individual suffering from this
devastating disease.  Alzheimer's  patients too!  They need this product
even more than we Parkinsonians do.  And, the clincher, my friend, is
that women are always complaining about the man leaving the seat up.
Well, this little baby can be set to sound an alarm right after use.  If
the seat is not immediately lowered into place, a pleasant bell-tone
sounds reminding the person to lower the seat into place."  "Bobby," I
said, "In my humble opinion, you've got a winner.  Get me the
particulars, and I'm sure I'll want in.  It's a great idea.
Incidentally, what do you call the product?"  Bobby said:  "I call it
the "Seat-B-Down.  And I've already thought up our slogan:  'You'll
Never Frown with Seat-B-Down'."  We shook hands, and I went off for my
golf match with that catchy refrain ringing in my head.  What a country!

The Golf Outing

I read somewhere that golf is the ideal game for Parkinsonians.  The
game demands astounding hand-eye coordination, strength, it uses many of
the major muscle groups, it's great exercise, and it gets you outside.
So, what's not to like?  Well, the benefit of the game of golf to a
particular individual depends to a great extent on the person's
emotional make-up.  If you're frustrated easily, get angry at stupid
mistakes you make, go totally ballistic when you miss a putt that would
have given you the lowest score you've ever had, and become depressed
and upset when you cannot for the life of you remember from one day to
the next how to hit the stupid ball, and you're a Parkie, you're in for
some long, very unpleasant afternoons.  Here's a true story of one such
occasion:

Arnie Bergman practiced all week on the hitting range so as not to make
a fool of himself when teeing off at the annual Parkinson's Disease
Outing.  His practice drives off the tee have been awesome, long and
straight, beauties to behold.  Sunday arrives, and he joins his foursome
at the Club.  The other three players tee off, knocking the ball out of
sight right down the middle of the fairway.  They all watch him as he
steps up to the tee.  Arnie begins his ritual of addressing the ball,
when he feels the first tickle of his tremor kicking in.  How could this
happen, he wonders, he took his pills on time!  The club is shaking now,
as he tries to line-up the ball.  Suddenly, he's completely forgotten
every single lesson, article, or insight he's ever-learned about golf
and teeing off.  He's rigid and tight, and as he looks down at that
little white ball, he realizes he has about the same chance of hitting
it like his buddies as walking on water.

Arnie Bergman decides just to swing and not worry about it, before the
tremor gets worse. He swings.   Strike one.  The ball didn't even move.
He goes through the ritual again, the tremor increases, as his partners
get nervous.  He swings again.  Strike two, as he hits the ground six
inches behind the ball, sending a shower of sod and grass all over the
tee.  Now the emotional vectors are changing.  He's not only nervous
now, he's in a white rage, which exacerbates his tremor.  He's coming
apart and he knows it shows.  He grips the club like a war axe, and in a
crazed, lurching action, swings like a mad man, hitting the ball
straight up into the air, about 10 feet from the tee.  He's so enraged
now, he's babbling incoherently to himself.  He tees up another ball.
Exhausted, he somehow remembers a lesson where he was taught to relax
when teeing off.  His tremor is now world-class, so a complete swing is
out of the question.  He stiffly addresses the ball, and takes a
half-swing, making contact with the ball as is sails straight ahead
about ten yards, rolling short of the ladies tee.

But, wait a minute here.  It's a nice day, the beer is cold, and maybe
if he relaxes a bit he'll be able to recover.  Maybe his drugs were
delayed by that Egg-McMuffin he had for breakfast, and haven't kicked in
yet.  And, after all, there are still 17 more chances to show everyone
how good he is, and how all that practice paid off.  That's the ticket!
Arnie suddenly senses a rush of confidence as he feels the tremor ease
away now.  He pictures his next ball soaring down range about 200
yards.  But what if I shank it? What if I miss-hit the ball again?  As
he approaches the ladies tee, looking for his last ball, the worry and
anxiety start up again, and he feels strangely alone and vulnerable.  He
wishes now he had bought that new set of clubs.  "C'mon Arnie," Tom
Shelton shouts, "Hit the thing and let's get moving.  You're holding
things up.” Returning to the men's tee, he lines up the ball, and
somehow executes a near-perfect swing, sending the ball down the fairway
a respectable 180 yards.  "Good one, Arnie, that'll play."  He smiles
with pride, knowing all along it was just a temporary bout of anxiety.
It's a great day!  What a great game!  "Get behind me, you stupid
disease," he mutters to himself, I won't be seeing you anymore today!"
Well, at least not until then next shot, he worries, as he climbs into
the golf cart and disappears over the hill to look for his ball.

So, that's it for this week my friends.  Dusk is settling in up here,
the deer are stirring, and the mosquitoes are remarkably  plentiful
given the low water levels and lack of rain.  So, I'm off to the
Northern Lights for a couple of Levolagers, and a meeting with Dudley
Doowrong.  Incidentally, I shot a 96 for nine today.  I should stay with
shooting baskets.  Golf!  As has been said, golf is a good walk
spoiled.  Now, don't forget :  Don't let nasty old PD rob you of your
smile, laughter and sense of humor granted to you by God.  These
qualities belong to us.  Let's fight together to keep them.

John Bjork
Parkinsaw, MI
"We May be Slow, But We're Not Too Sure"