Here’s guest blogger Dr. Barry Pascal, with the last installment in his personal “Death Triology,” in which he worries about how his son, Jonathan, will keep his memory alive after he’s gone–until he realizes his salvation has been assured by his personal reluctance to throw anything away.
Go POLSTal
Welcome back guest blogger Dr. Barry Pascal, with the second installment in his self-anointed “Death Triology”—his usual funny take on a serious subject: arranging for end of life care, proving yet again that your friendly neighborhood pharmacist–even if retired–is the most overlooked and undervalued resource in our health care system.
Dr. B.’s Last Words
Well–we’re coasting down toward Hallowe’en. While those still living with small people are pushed toward sweet, empty calories, we empty-nesters locked in a mortal stare-down with diabetes tend toward the maudlin. Here’s my pal and reluctant guest blogger, Dr. Barry Pascal, with his take on the best way to be remembered, in stone.
Dr. Barry–In the House
Here’s another offering from my pal, guest blogger Dr. Barry Pascal. It was originally published in the North Valley Community Connection in August.
Remembering Lisa & Stephen
Today, I remember my friend and colleague, Lisa J. Raines, and her husband, Stephen Push, who survives her.
Mayor Pascal’s Father’s Watch
Putting together last Friday’s post, I remembered that my pal, Dr. Barry Pascal, had written a touching and memorable remembrance of his father a while back.
Here we go again
Off hiatus, two-plus years later. Things aren’t perfect — but isn’t it wonderful that you don’t have to turn aside, squint, and grit your teeth when the Leader of the Free World opens his mouth?
Doctor King II
From last time: It’s September 1963…Three weeks later, Klan cowards counterpunched by immolating four defenseless girls at worship.
Doctor King I
I promised last week that I was going to post a piece about contemporary speech. It’s in the can but it’ll keep. It’s been 20 years now, so the day we’ve set aside to honor the memory of Martin Luther King, Jr., is just about as profanely mercantile as those already afforded the Great (Gay?) Emancipator and George “Who’s your Daddy?” Washington.