"Michelle, Another Medical Hero Sketch!"

Good "soggy" Wednesday Morning, all bodies.

Looks like we will skirt by with Hurricane Laura this afternoon... Time will tell.

I thought I'd add another nurse sketch for the collection. I jotted down some notes on this hero, but naturally, it is nowhere to be found in any of my sketchbooks. There's so much confusion going on... Can't blame the virus...

This is a Prismacolor black sketch done from a photo I took of Michelle. She's one of the head nurses that came by, from time to time, to check on Therese, clean up any loose ends and stay atop any med changes.

Michelle told me that she's been in the nursing business for over thirty years. We had some great conversations. Always fun to hear people talk about their lives and their professions. She is in her late thirties with two grown boys. I asked her if I could snap a shot of her in action and the iPad rattled off more than one. This shot was the better of the bunch and I believe this is the look she gave me when she asked about our son.

Like most of the nurses, she's very thorough and intense, but at the time, her eyes showed fatigue... at least, to me. The last time I saw her was two days before my wife was discharged. She complimented Therese on her ability to walk the hall, back and forth, dragging that IV tree behind her.

Though you couldn't see her smile, I could tell she felt satisfaction in looking after Therese and over seeing the many others handling her care.

First cup!

Copyright 2020/Ben Bensen III

One Of Many Hero Sketches...

 

Well, I hope we don't have to spend another week or so at any hospital for awhile. That being said I've decided to finish up the dozen or so of nurse sketches and post 'em throughout the week.

I originally posted this art as Big Mama Nurse. Since then, I learned her name was Henrietta. She's a NA who occasionally arrives to take and record vitals, pickup some spent medical stuff and generally keep things running smoothly with a smile...

Though smiles are kinda hard to see behind so many masks!

Copyright 2020/Ben BensenIII

"Waiting For The Vet To Call And The Thoughts Within!"

 

Well, I was told it would take about three hours and now it is one and a half hours passed that. But, I decided that I was gonna be politely lied too anyway, so I may as well make the best of it…

Which I did.

After a stint, a cup of coffee at Starbucks and a few voicemail conversations, I took myself under a grand oak tree to pay bills. I know, I know, what a way to waste time on Lakeshore Drive. While making some phone calls, I noticed this one woman gracefully negotiating the sea wall as she ran atop it. She passed by the car, twice as I negotiated a late fee with our disposal company.

I got the fee cancelled.

Finishing my bills, I took one more bite of the apple fritter and a last swig of the now cold coffee, then commenced to walk it all off… All of it!

I decided to walk closest to the water, but not atop the seawall. I figured my walk from Girod Street to the turnaround to be about a half mile or so. Before I got too far, I noticed that someone had scribbled on the sidewalk the inspirational words to ponder. It said, “You’ve Just Begun.” And, so I was.

It didn’t take long to figure out why that woman was running the 20”x20” seawall. Many of the four foot slabs of sidewalk along side of the wall were listing toward the lake. After a quarter mile, my back was letting me know hard it is to walk a crippled mile.

Somewhere between “Keep Moving Forward” and “Begin Anywhere, Anytime,” that same woman was working her way back to the marina, I guess. With her brown hair pulled back, her earphones plugged in and her blue mylar, “go to hell sunglasses” on, she glided pass me. Wearing a pair of gym shorts and a tank top with trim that matched her yellow ASICS, allowed her athleticism to show. She never lost a step skipping around the guard rails which lead to the concrete steps into the water. A brisk breeze from the south buffered the sun that glistened off her every part of her body that wasn’t covered. I was intrigued.

“She’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist, she don’t look back!”

When I got to the turnaround, for some reason I thought that I could continue on to the fishing pier which was about another 500 yards away. But, since the sidewalk dead ended into the driveway of someone’s home, I was no longer interested in pursuing that goal any further. Besides, I left my cellphone in the car, and I’m wondering if the vets had yet called. I sat down and sipped what was left of a bottle of Gatorade. I had a laugh reflecting on my running days.

Reminds me of a time when a friend of mine and I would run early in the morning at Hollywood High School’s quarter mile track. Both of us figured that it was the best time to get in some miles before the day’s crazies set in. As we were starting the day with some miles, some women were ending their day with a few miles. My friend was always suspicious about people who were a bit different, but I thought anyone who could run a good pace in makeup and a pink tutu had to have my respect.

There were, for the many times we’d run the track, four or five of the women would be there. If I got there early, I’d talk to them as they changed their stiletto healed weapons into a pair of brightly colored cross trainers. One of these days, I’ll pursue those thoughts in paint… One of these days!

As it always happens, after about a year, my friend and I had to adjust our running times and more often, then not, had to run when our school schedules worked for us. I don’t believe we ever returned to that track.

On the way back to the car, I noticed four preteen boys had parked their bikes along side of the sea wall brown bagging it. I wondered if their mothers made them their lunch, or if they took it upon themselves to do so. One of the boys had a toy fishing pole that he was planning to use. The other friends gave him a hard time about it.

Walking a bit further, I looked for more positive sidewalk statements that I might have missed on the way up. I also wondered about that female runner. What was she doing pushing herself so. Did she have the day off? Was she training for some competition, or was she sharpening her executive prowess by staying hungry? Was she an executive assistant? Was she in the arts… a dancer, a physical therapist? An advertising account exec?

That thought brings a chuckle to me. “Run Like Carol Baskin is chasing you with oil of sardines” it read on the concrete walkway. Well now, that’s pretty cosmic… Who the hell is Carol Baskin?

Advertising exec?

There was an ad exec at this agency that particularly pops in my head. Impeccably dressed with all the accoutrement befitting a woman of that status, she asked me to stay late after my work at the agency was completed. She seemed to wait until everyone was gone and then called me into her office.

“Bring a sketchpad,” she said.

When I arrived at her office door, she invited me to take a seat. As the exec was fumbling into her Gucci styled purse, looking for some noted concepts, I noticed a holster holding what seemed like a small snub nosed twenty two, fell out with her notes.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. I need my protection. Are you okay with that?”

A bit startled but playing it cool, I said,”Well, I’m not the one that feels threatened!”

There was a thoughtful pause on her part.

We spent about an hour working out the details of a few layouts. Although she appeared satisfied, I asked her if she wanted me to take these home to clean up, knowing quite well, that back then, it was really hip to have one’s ideas scribbled on cocktail napkins. It gives the client the feeling of one who is a 24/7 kinda person.

“No, this will do fine,” she whispered, as she paced rather elegantly around her desk.

“Well, um… Susan, will I bill the agency, you, or Paramount?”

“No, don’t send it to Paramount. That “dyke” will have a shit fit!”

“Bill me, okay?

I gathered up all the sketches and handed them over to her. I remember always enjoying working with strong, determined women… especially in advertising. I always felt that they had a hard time proving themselves to that male dominated institution. It felt good, usually.

“It’s rather late,” I said. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“No. Thanks, Ben… I’ll be fine!”

Although I occasionally worked for that agency, I never saw Susan again. Rumors had it that she left the agency to work at Paramount. I wondered if it was working for “that dyke” or replacing her?

Having overshot my parking spot, reminiscing, I headed for the van and found one more “pep talk” scribbled on the sidewalk slab. It read,” Carpe Diem.”

Indeed.

Hopping into the car, I grabbed a handful of napkins and as I wiped the sweat from my face, I could’ve sworn I saw that nimble, light-footed woman running atop the seawall gracefully taunting the precipice of a dream.

There was a thoughtful pause on my part.

Finally, the phone rang. It was the vet. It was now time to go. And, as I drove off, I looked at the half eaten apple fritter with such disgust, but I didn’t throw it away!

First cup…

Copyright 2020/Ben Bensen III

"Thoughts About A Kindly Old Sole"...

                               

I stopped running over ten years ago. I was told by my little brother, who's a doctor, that I needed to stop jogging on hard surfaces and if I was gonna insist on running... to do 30 yard wind sprints. That diagnosis was about thirty years ago when I was still living, and running in Los Angeles.

Four years ago, I jumped... yes, jumped off the second or third rung of a 12 foot ladder and compressed my spine's L3, L4 and L5 vertebrae. Though I no longer run, I was still wear running shoes.

I learned to enjoy running when I moved from New Orleans to Southern California though that process took some time. In high school, our football head coach made us run whenever we put in a poor practice performance or when we lost a game. 

And, we lost a lot.

Our record in my sophomore and junior years was 1 and 15. I saw running as punishment.

I ran three marathons in my youth though the first time I attempted the 26.5 mile race, I hit the wall just one and a quarter mile from the finish line. My entire body just locked up in the Scottsdale sun.

With shoes, the most important ingredient to the sport except for a glob of Vaseline for your nipples, I remember the anticipation of Runner's World October edition where all the markets shoes were critiqued, analyzed, dissected and brutalized to find "this year's best ten shoes!" I think the Brooks Shoe Company consistently was in the top five mainly because it was the best shoe for the money.

I tried them all and all kinds of countries were promoting their products. New Balance, Avia, Asics, Nike, Brooks, Converse, Reebok, Mizuno, Addidas, Saucony, Wilson... Puma, to name a few.

Of course, the marketing departments got a hold of this gold mine and started selling shoes by the kind of running one might do, scientifically designing each shoe for the excuses one makes for non performance. Gait, supinate, pronate, arch design, heel to toe ratios, cushioning, lateral movement, wear, etc.

The cost was getting more ridiculous with each October edition. But, I found one pair for my safe, soft, but stable, complete running nirvana. It was the "Easy Rider" from Puma. The title gives you an idea of when it was designed. I bought boxes of the shoe knowing full well that Nirvana has a nasty habit of slipping away...

And, it did with the Easy Rider II.

Within ten years, the German shoe company, riding on the shoe's underground, underdog success, started cutting quality, slowing changing the design to meet the bare top ten requirements for good running shoes.

Like a pair of old jeans, I finally sent the last of my running shoes to rest. In the best of those ten years, I wore them like dress shoes signifying that, even with a tie and a blazer, I still had some serious athleticism left in me. Eventually, they were my treadmill and workout shoes and, until about three years ago, was my go to walking the dog shoes.

About a week ago, I put on these old trusties in order to aerate all my other shoes. I heard a strange shuffling noise in the morning as I ran around attending to my kitchen duties. I just sluffed it off throughout the day until, later in the day,  I returned from gardening back into the house. By now, the right shoe's heal panel was dragging clumps of grass and dirt all around the place.

When I stopped to dislodge a rather large clump of terra firma, the heal panel came off with it. Sadly, it was time to say goodbye to my loyal, faithful, and hard driving, toe the line, shoe. But, before giving it a good burial in a double bagged Whole Foods paper bag, I took some photos and created this sketch... a homage of sorts.

With all the years we were together, I should have given that pair a name. It was with me through rain, sleet, snow, mud... hurricanes! It kept me more stress free than anything I can think of. It pounded the pavement, softened the pounding on treadmills, pedaled my mountain bike, raked the leaves, and performed through the many knots I created in my shoestrings till I purchased a new pair.  Oh, the horrible thought of kicking them off with performance disdain like a shortstop that looks at his glove for the error it made. And, I can't tell you how many times, though I knew better, I'd just jam my heal into the shoe effectively crushing the heal 'cuz I didn't want to untangle the shoestring mess I had created.

Oh mea culpa... three times!

Goodbye, old friend... God rest your sole!

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