THE WAR

 Some of the earliest memories in my life were of war. Even though I was very young, I remember being terrified at the sound of airplanes, especially at night.  Even more frightening were the mandated blackouts.  Sirens would wail, and all lights were to  be turned off. My parents took it very seriously and our house would be plunged into darkness. At times, my father would serve as warden, I  think the term was, and would have to drive around a certain perimeter to make sure all lights were extinguished. He would insert a piece of folded cardboard over his car's headlights while he made the rounds, low beams deflected downward.   

 There were other signs of war: ration stamp booklets, the unavailability of food and other products, and my parents' reading the daily newspaper for the accounts of the war and the death counts. 

After Pearl Harbor, the country lived in constant fear of other attacks, of more bombs exploding on our soil. But that will never happen here, right?

Batten the hatches.

 Lock your doors for safety. I always do, at least at night, and often more times than that.  If about 365 days in a year is multiplied by 55 years, that would be about 20, 075 daily lock-downs, if the math is mathed right.My house was broken into twice, 10 years apart. The door was locked; the robbers kicked it in. Fortunately nobody was home. I don't think there were any other attempts that were thwarted by the door being locked. So it seems all 20,000 plus times the door was locked did not matter. 

   Of course, now I have alarms,  security cameras, and deadbolts  and I will  continue to lock the  doors. 

Socks

 I wear socks when my feet are cold. I  wear them to bed sometimes when my feet are cold.  But I can not sleep with socks on my feet. After I'm in bed for a while, and my feet warm up, I have to take the socks off. Of course I don't want to get out of bed to remove my socks, so I slide them off using the opposite foot. Sometimes to do do is  easier than other times, but usually success is achieved without a struggle. Last night is the last time I will wear the blue socks, one of which is pictured above. They have to be the tightest socks I have ever attempted to remove from a prone position. I tried the usual strategy, which has always before worked. But not last night; the socks defied every ordinary attempt. Determined not to get out of bed, I had to contort myself into a position where I could reach my feet with my hands in order to strip the socks off my feet. My struggle to do so was way more time consuming and difficult than that of the handcuffed woman in Michigan who slipped through the window of a police car. I don't admire her for whatever crime she committed, but she landed on her feet and was able to take off running. Kudos for that.

4-Carrot Dream

 I've written. O Blog, before, about how having dreams affected me, but I was surprised to have come across a purportedly scholarly article about "How to Remember  Your  Dream" and cited  the findings of studies which showed exactly how long it takes for a dream to slip away into oblivion before it is lost forever. I have found that to be true, except for the times dream "scenes" pop into my consciousness. I've found writing them down helps to calm them down. 

  I can recall last night's dream only by the single word---red. That stirs up a dream where I am in the parking lot of a store, very like that in Schaghticoke, when a woman drives her car, loses  control of it, narrowly misses hitting my car, but seemingly does not consider herself at fault. I wait patiently in my car for her to leave but as she heads toward the exit, she strikes a red car. This time attention must be paid. I want to avoid being a witness, so I drive away, to the home of one of my children. No one is home but I go into the house and when they arrive home, I explain why I am there, a rather awkward and feeble explanation, as I recall.

But wait, there's more. I went back to sleep, to what seemed like a non-dream. 

     When I cooked the St. Patrick's Day dinner, I bought new carrots. Those in the vegetable drawer of my refrigerator had been there a while, and were starting to look their age, with those little white rootlets starting to form. There were 4 such shriveled carrots, so I opened the kitchen window and started to throw them out. Maybe a hungry little rabbit might want to nibble on them. One, two, three--out they went. But I held one back. 

 For some reason, I remembered an old friend from my days as a telephone representative in Troy. Ann  lived in a downstairs apartment in Lansingburgh, then a peaceful and reputable neighborhood.  I used to drive her home when her boyfriend had her car, and Ann and I attended events here and there and I always drove. Her home was very well kept; she had a cat and a dog and many well tended houseplants. I particularly recall a carrot plant that trailed around the windows of her living room, a remarkable sight to see such a  green and flowing carrot plant.

 So I decided to keep carrot number 4, even though it looked dry and dormant. There was a plastic bottle in my sink, so I filled it with water and stuck the slender carrot inside it. A few days later the carrot started to grow its foliage on top, and in a few more days, it looked rather nice, so I kept it on the windowsill and refilled the water as needed.

I try to restrict my mundane, yes, boring, activities to my own personage, but one day when my daughter was here, I decided to show her my thriving little carrot. I went to the kitchen to get it, but to my dismay the once green growth was now brown, dead and dessicated. So I said nothing, and after my daughter left, I eventually went to bed. 

  The next morning, I went to the kitchen to throw #4 Carrot out the window to join its tossed out kin, but there was the plant, green and thriving, as it still is. 

So maybe a dream? Or maybe a Vegetable Resurrection?

 

  

Victory Is Mine (small though it may be)

 Since I have nothing important to do, I can indulge myself in trivial pursuits. Justice was done, finally.

Epilogue (sorta):

 I had a dream last night. I was driving my car  with my daughter and grandson as passengers. M. had some type of appointment in Troy, interview, audition or something. She depended on me to drive her there. Her son was apparently just along to keep her company, as he was meeting someone else after her meeting. I knew the way to where we were headed, as I'd been on that route before. But somehow, instead of driving straight ahead to her destination, I forgot and made a right turn as if I were going to Albany. I realized I had made a wrong turn and tried to correct my course. In so doing, I drove through every brick that had ever been placed in a building in the city of Troy. City block after city block, back streets, buildings after buildings, some familiar and some I'd never before seen.  

  Somewhere along the way, her son said something like, Hey, Did you hear Mom broke her teeth? I was horrified at the thought of her missing teeth, and asked what happened. Instead of answering, she embarked upon another subject, on a rather  innocuous topic. I was anxious to find out about the teeth, so I said, "That doesn't matter." Well, she said. it matters to me, and she opened her mouth to show a chipped back molar. I was relieved and asked how it happened, but she was angry at my perceived lack of concern, and did not answer. And she also told me that she would be riding home with a friend, not me. I was worried that I would be unable to find my way back,  certainly not by the long and adruous journey by which we got there.

But that concern was to pale in comparison with what was to come. After I parked the car, we had to walk to the designated building. That journey was even more complicated and exhausting, at least to me. It seemed it was all uphill.  And it was getting dark and it started to rain.My feet were getting wet.  I was afraid I might not make it, but after  another  long and complicated journey, this time on foot, we arrived at the building. 

One might think that would be the end of the tale, but that would not be correct. This was the largest building I'd ever been in, in terms of long and tortuous hallways and foreboding-looking doorways, but we finally got to her appointment. 

  From what I gathered, the visit accomplished for her what was intended, but the rest of the adventure faded into oblivion. My dreams never seem to have a beginning and an end. So far anyway. 

Sorry Tale

 Grab your kleenex, O Blog, and sympathy card.

Friday,  February 27, 2026:  The bitter cold weather broke, and I had several places I really needed to be, or at least I thought so. I gathered my belongings and went to my car, but the battery was dead---again.       

Previous jumpstarts  were needed several weeks before.  Granted, I don't drive a lot but the battery was installed in 2025, and the driver from Roadside Assistance remarked on it. Then, during the bitter cold spell, the battery died again. Ben jumped the battery with his car. I'd heard that batteries can be weakened after several jumpstarts, so I called Valley Auto and ordered a new battery, and was told I'd receive a callback when it arrived. 

  The car ran well until it no longer started on that fateful Friday afternoon of February 27.  First Greg arrived to attempt a jump start, but couldn't do so.  Joe arrived later with his charger, which brought the engine alive, but it would cut off, not starting. He thought it must be another matter.

I attempted to call  V.A. to see if the new battery had arrived, but she could not hear me, telephone issues. I called back, but V.A, was closed for the weekend,  and left a message, and then after Joe suspected an issue other than the battery, I called back and left another message.

Monday, March 2, I waited until 11, and called V.A. back.  I was told she was just about to  call me back. I  apprised her of the situation, and she said their schedule was already filled until Thursday or Friday, but if time allowed they would look at it earlier in the week. 

 Roadside Assistance towed the car to Valley Auto March 2, 2026 at 3:30 p.m.  

Friday, March 6, at 2:45 p.m. V.A. called and said they could not do the repairs and it had to go to the dealership. That's where the fun part begins.

 I called Roadside Assistance (Allstate) through AARP), and arranged a tow for Saturday, March 7. I'd called Honda Repair to confirm and they said they might be able to look at it Saturday, but set my appointment for Monday, March 9 at 10:00 p.m. Several other calls to advise of this to Valley Auto, that the car would be towed from their shop on Saturday. PHEW!  

 I called back Roadside Ass. and learned that they were NOT able to tow the car on Saturday but could on Monday morning. They said they couldn't find any tow truck availability. I told them appt was at 10. They'd be there early enough, he said. Honda Repair said  they'd notify me when the car arrived. I'd heard nothing  this morning.  So  I called R.A at 9:a.m. this morning and "Chris" said   the towtruck would arrive today  between 10:15 and 11:15a.m.  

If my car has been towed, I don't know anything about it. Chris might be doing his job to the best of his ability, but he is most likely in another country, and admittedly does not know from what area or garage help may come in the way of a tow. 

 I have not had a car since February 26, so I guess it doesn't matter to me that gasoline prices are soaring. 

I can handle these issues as well as I  need to. I'm not angered or even frustrated: I understand the shortcomings of others.  What is most annoying is that NOW, the assumption is that I am the one confused or befuddled.  Karma, do your job!

3:00 p.m. Update:  I heard nothing, so I called R.A. and am told my vehicle has been towed to Troy at 11.   Now we wait...

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