The Repugnant Hate Of The Left NEVER Diminishes

SIMI VALLEY, UNITED STATES: Former first lady Nancy Reagan, along with his children Patti Davis, Ron Reagan, Jr. and Michael stand over the casket of former President Ronald Reagan during the interment ceremony at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library 11 June 2004 in Simi Valley, California. Reagan died of pneumonia due to complications with Alzheimer's at age 93 at his home in California. (Kevork Djansezian - POOL/AFP/Getty Images) 

The children of Ronald Reagan have voiced their outrage after it emerged that Will Ferrell would star and produce Reagan, a Black List script from writer Mike Rosolio about the actor turned president's second term and his battle with Alzheimer’s disease.

A description of the film when it was named to the Black List said; “When Ronald Reagan falls into dementia at the start of his second term, an ambitious intern is tasked with convincing the Commander-In-Chief that he is an actor playing the President in a movie.”

Reagan’s children, Patti Davis and Michael Reagan, both lashed out at Ferrell with Michael writing on Twitter; “What an Outrage....Alzheimer’s is not joke...It kills…You should be ashamed all of you.”

Patti penned a letter to Ferrell:

Dear Mr. Ferrell, 

“I saw the news bulletin—as did everyone—that you intend to portray my father in the throes of Alzheimer’s for a comedy that you are also producing. Perhaps you have managed to retain some ignorance about Alzheimer’s and other versions of dementia. Perhaps if you knew more, you would not find the subject humorous. 

Alzheimer’s doesn’t care if you are President of the United States or a dockworker. It steals what is most precious to a human being—memories, connections, the familiar landmarks of a lifetime that we all come to rely on to hold our place secure in this world and keep us linked to those we have come to know and love.  

I watched as fear invaded my father’s eyes—this man who was never afraid of anything. I heard his voice tremble as he stood in the living room and said, “I don’t know where I am.” I watched helplessly as he reached for memories, for words, that were suddenly out of reach and moving farther away.  

For ten long years he drifted—past the memories that marked his life, past all that was familiar…and mercifully, finally past the fear. 

There was laughter in those years, but there was never humor. 

Alzheimer’s is the ultimate pirate, pillaging a person’s life and leaving an empty landscape behind. It sweeps up entire families, forcing everyone to claw their way through overwhelming grief, confusion, helplessness, and anger.  

Perhaps for your comedy you would like to visit some dementia facilities. I have—I didn’t find anything comedic there, and my hope would be that if you’re a decent human being, you wouldn’t either. 

Twice a week I run a support group called Beyond Alzheimer’s for caregivers and family members of those with Alzheimer’s and dementia. I look into haunted eyes that remind me of my own when my father was ill. I listen to stories of helplessness and loss and am continually moved by the bravery of those who wake up every morning not knowing who their loved one will be that day, or what will be lost.  

The only certainty with Alzheimer’s is that more will be lost and the disease will always win in the end. 

Perhaps you would like to explain to them how this disease is suitable material for a comedy.”

I remember well when Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, eulogized her political soul mate:

We have lost a great president, a great American, and a great man. And I have lost a dear friend. 

In his lifetime Ronald Reagan was such a cheerful and invigorating presence that it was easy to forget what daunting historic tasks he set himself. He sought to mend America's wounded spirit, to restore the strength of the free world, and to free the slaves of communism. These were causes hard to accomplish and heavy with risk.

Yet they were pursued with almost a lightness of spirit. For Ronald Reagan also embodied another great cause—what Arnold Bennett once called `the great cause of cheering us all up'. His politics had a freshness and optimism that won converts from every class and every nation—and ultimately from the very heart of the evil empire. 

Yet his humor often had a purpose beyond humor. In the terrible hours after the attempt on his life, his easy jokes gave reassurance to an anxious world. They were evidence that in the aftermath of terror and in the midst of hysteria, one great heart at least remained sane and jocular.  They were truly grace under pressure. 

And perhaps they signified grace of a deeper kind. Ronnie himself certainly believed that he had been given back his life for a purpose. As he told a priest after his recovery, “Whatever time I’ve got left now belongs to the Big Fella Upstairs.” 

And surely it is hard to deny that Ronald Reagan's life was providential, when we look at what he achieved in the eight years that followed. 

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And when his enemies tested American resolve, they soon discovered that his resolve was firm and unyielding. 

Ronald Reagan carried the American people with him in his great endeavors because there was perfect sympathy between them. He and they loved America and what it stands for—freedom and opportunity for ordinary people. 

As an actor in Hollywood's golden age, he helped to make the American dream live for millions all over the globe. His own life was a fulfillment of that dream. He never succumbed to the embarrassment some people feel about an honest expression of love of country. 

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Ronald Reagan's life was rich not only in public achievement, but also in private happiness. Indeed, his public achievements were rooted in his private happiness. The great turning point of his life was his meeting and marriage with Nancy. 

On that we have the plain testimony of a loving and grateful husband: `Nancy came along and saved my soul'. We share her grief today. But we also share her pride—and the grief and pride of Ronnie’s children. 

For the final years of his life, Ronnie's mind was clouded by illness. That cloud has now lifted. He is himself again—more himself than at any time on this earth. For we may be sure that the Big Fella Upstairs never forgets those who remember Him. And as the last journey of this faithful pilgrim took him beyond the sunset, and as heaven's morning broke, I like to think—in the words of Bunyan—that `all the trumpets sounded on the other side.’

We here still move in twilight. But we have one beacon to guide us that Ronald Reagan never had. We have his example. Let us give thanks today for a life that achieved so much for all of God's children."

I bear no shame in confessing her words bring tears to my eyes even today twelve years after his passing.

I miss the great statesman deeply.  The loss, for me, has been devastating.  The America Reagan loved and defended mightily has coarsened and filled with hate. 

In 1965, legendary radio broadcaster Paul Harvey, warned of America’s decline through permissiveness and liberalism in his famous broadcast, “If I Were the Devil”.

“If I were the devil, I would caution them not to be extreme in religion, in patriotism, in moral conduct. And the old, I would teach to pray. I would teach them to say after me: “Our Father, which art in Washington…”

Will Ferrell and all who are associated with the production of Reagan are gutless vultures—part of a cesspool of human garbage where the Left is venerated and the Right eviscerated. 

The Further Adventures Of Curmudgeon

Photo credit:  DKCorner.blogspot.com

I have chronicled since January of last year the saga of I-Don’t-Feel-So-Pretty-Good from the diagnosis of restrictive lung disease and COPD to the alarming diagnosis of diastolic heart failure.

My lung doctor set up pulmonary rehabilitation for me and my cardiologist ordered a polysomnogram (sleep study test).  I went to the orientation for pulmonary rehabilitation on January 6^th and was disappointed that I would be put on a waiting list for the location nearest my home.  I was offered another location that was too far from home to even consider and a third location in the downtown area near where I live but the hours of operation were 10:30 AM to 11:30 AM on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  This is not doable for me since I have to report to work at 12:00 PM.  So by October, when I have retired, I will begin the rehab.

Yesterday I was scheduled for a sleep study test.  I reported to the Hampton Inn at 7:30 PM.  I knocked on the door marked Sleep Study Center.  “Rita” answered the door.  I gave her my name and she handed me a clipboard with three sheets of paper for me to fill in the data required.

We entered the room next door and I was instructed to watch two videos that were already cued up.  I finished filling out the paperwork and obligingly watched the videos.  I jumped into my PJs and Rita returned with a cart loaded with equipment and lots and lots a wires.

Rita placed a small cup like the ones they dispense pills in at the hospital on the coffee table.  It contained a gooey green substance and there was a long stick with a cotton swab on the end stuck in it.  I was informed that the goo was an exfoliant.

Rita began unwrapping a series of wires with electrodes and handed it to me instructing me to slip it down my T-shirt and then down my PJ bottoms.  Once I did that she began to use the exfoliant to “clean” two areas on my left leg.  Then she attached two electrodes to my left leg.  We repeated that process on the right side.

Rita placed some kind of a strap that was placed under my arms above my breasts and another around my waist.

Rita then asked that I sit in the chair beside the desk in the room.  She began to apply the green goo to six spots on my head.  She wiped off the excess and then applied something akin to epoxy just like she had on my legs.  The difference was this shit was going into my hair.

Then I was asked to move to the bed’s edge and have a seat while she went through the same process to place electrodes near my eyes, on my chin and cheeks.  Then came the cannula that went into my nostrils.  Attached to this was a plastic hook-like dealie that rested on my upper lip.

We made sure the TV’s remote control was within reach and then I laid down on the bed.  Before doing so, Rita gathered up all the wiring and laid them on my left side.  She immediately began inserting the ends of the electrodes into a circuitry box called a Patient Removable Link.  Finally, she placed an Oximeter on the middle finger of my left hand.  She taped it in place.  It had a red light on it that remained constantly lit.  It reminded me of ET’s finger from the movie E.T. The Extraterrestrial when he touched Elliott’s face and told him, “I’ll be right here.”

Anyway, Rita said that if I needed anything to just call.  She said, “There’s no button to push.  I’ll be able to hear you call.  There’s a speaker beside your bed.”  She asked if I needed anything.  “No,” I said and off she went.

There was no clock in the room and I couldn’t wear a watch so I was guessing it was some time after 9:00 PM when Rita closed the door.

I clicked through the limited number of channels on the TV.  As usual, there wasn’t shit on so I settled on Fox News.  I thought at least I’ll be able to track the time.

Now you know the Hampton Inns have The Heavenly Bed™ and you would have thought I would be comfy.  Uh uh.

For one thing, I didn’t have my furkid Sophie to snuggle with and for another there was that damned camera peering down on my every movement.

If I had to float an air biscuit would Rita hear it?  I figured she would.  If I had an itch in a place you don’t dare scratch in public would I dare go after it on camera?  Nope.  So there I was trapped like Gulliver by the Lilliputians.

I sleep on my side 99.99% of the time.  Rita said I could start out that way but wanted me spend some time on my back.  I tried to obey.

I remember listening to Megyn Kelly and drifting off.  Near midnight I figure, I had to pee.  I called to Rita and she came in and unhooked the Patient Remote Link and slung it around my neck.  She wrapped the cable for the Oximeter around my wrist and I was freed to go pee.  The light was deliberately left on in the bathroom so I walked right in and took a seat.

When I looked in the mirror as I pulled up my PJ bottom I was terrified.  I looked like some demented science experiment and my hair looked like a fright wig.  The goo and glue had nearly every strand of hair standing on end.  The tape, the electrodes and the wires attached to my face were like an interstate spaghetti junction.  Holy shit!

I went back to the bed and Rita reconnected everything.  She asked if I always sleep with the TV on.  I said that I do.  I informed her that the TV would remain on or we could conclude the test.

After Rita left I tried to get back to sleep but I was getting pissed.  Time was dragging on in super slow motion.

Maybe an hour or so later, I managed to drift off again.  Then I heard Fox & Friends First come on and I knew it was 5 o’clock.  I called for Rita and asked if we could make this end.

Rita asked me to hold on.  Apparently she had to confer with the doctor in the Sleep Center.  Moments later she answered that they had gathered enough information and she would be in in a moment.  I asked her to come fairly soon since I had to pee again.

She disconnected everything from the remote link and I took care of business.  When I reentered the room, Rita began to unplug all the electrodes.  Once she had done that she began to apply some sort of solution to dissolve the glue that was left behind.  She said that she would try to remove as much as she could but I would need to use the hottest water I could stand to remove it all.

As she did this I asked if I had obstructive sleep apnea.  She said she was not allowed to discuss the results with me.  She said the doctors “like to do that..” Then she changed the subject by telling me the hotel would have breakfast ready at 6:00 AM.

Apparently she thought I was going to shower in the room.  No ma’am.  My ass was headed home.  I tried to rake through my hair but it was all glomed together.  Brushing it only made me pull my hair out in little tee-niny clumps.

I threw on my clothes and bolted out of there. 

When I walked in my door at home, little Sophie took one look at me and wondered “What the hell?”

I sat on the sofa and she sniffed my arms and jumped in my lap and then started furiously sniffing my hair.  I promised her everything was alright.

I decided to go ahead and shoot up my insulin and take my other meds and fix some honest-to-God breakfast, not some Continental breakfast shit.

Sophie loves her some grits and scrambled eggs so I cooked enough for both of us.  I cleaned up the kitchen and headed for the shower.

I had to wash my hair four times.  Four times—just to get the majority of the goop out.  I took a brush to my hair and tried to work the rest out but decided to wash my hair in the sink one more time for good measure.

Then I laid down to take a power nap before I had to get ready to go to work.  All day long I was tired and aggravated.

When I got home from work I slept like a baby.  It’s true what they say—there’s no place like home. 

Now I’m just waiting for the results.  They say that 1 in 20 people have obstructive sleep apnea and that 50% never get tested.  You should check out the Sleep Study Questionnaire to see if you have the classic symptoms and get checked out.

My story may discourage you, but I want to be able to get a full night’s rest.  That is something I haven’t been able to achieve for a long, long time—perhaps years.  A new study has shown that sleep-disordered breathing is a marker for the risk of Alzheimer’s disease.  Sleep apnea can lead to a fatal heart attack, it raises blood pressure and lowers the oxygen supply to every organ in the body and the disruptive sleep pattern puts pressure on the nervous system.  It is said that the brain and heart never enjoy full repair and rejuvenation as long as sleep apnea goes untreated.  So I would encourage anyone who reviewed the questionnaire at the link that feels they may be suffering from SDB to get checked out.  The test is truly a pain in the ass but having a chance to end the vicious cycle of trying to get a good night’s sleep and never achieving it is worth it.