Snowbound (in a way)

"How strange it seems, with so much gone,

Of life and love, to still live on."

Beyond the battle, you have the best

That heaven itself could give you--rest.

Rest from all bitter thoughts and things.

And know that from us our blessings went

With you beneath that low green tent

Whose curtain never outward swings.

Personal question

I had an appointment at the opthalmologists' office today, where I've been going for about 50 years. Updating my info, pretty much all the same as last time, the assistant asked, "And how long have you been living alone?" When I said never, she said that was odd, because that was what was in my chart.

Must be because I go to all my appoinments by myself. "Poor thing!" Anyway, my vision was fine despite all my conditions, BUT You can't win 'em all; they offered that complimentary hearing test which I took only last year, and I missed 2 beeps in my left ear, so I'm eligible (!) for the extensive test. I'm asked to refer anyone else who might want a free hearing test; they don't even have to be a patient there. Do I know anyone with a hearing problem? Best af all, I saw a new associate doctor named Dr. Contractor. And even better, I got to drive home in the gently falling snow.

Spelling lesson

On the 4th grader's spelling list was the word "smokepipe." They are studying compound words. Now I know peacepipe and smokestack, but I have no recall of smokepipe. I'm so certain it's not in any of my dictionaries that I won't even look; maybe it's in the Urban Dictionary, or Wikipedia, but I doubt it. Another word on the list was bigboned: maybe that was hyphenated. A word, but odd for 4th grade. And I don't even want to know how the Urban Dictionary would define that one.

Disambiguation is me

I think I might need a Venn Diagram in order to understand the difference between unambiguous and disambiguous. I think someone just made the latter term up, so that people could interpret the word without delving too deeply into derivation and meaning. If you can't comprehend the meaning of a word in our vocabulary, simply coin a new word that will mean what you want it to, the pragmatic approach.

F.Y.I.

I've found a kindred spirit, in the vein of take what you can get. " FYI---Technically, I don't really have a hearing problem, but when everybody is talking at the same time and everything, and there's a lot of background noise and a lot going on, technically I can hear everything but I can't really understand and listen to it, so I don't really hear, but technically I 'm not really deaf or anything. FYI" That, FYI, is what happens when I see a Venn Diagram. There's a lot going on, in circles yet, all at the same time and technically I can see everything but everything swirls around so I just stop understanding what I read, but technically I'm not illiterate or anything. FYI

It's Nice

It's nice to have no expectations.

Then disappointment never cuts you down.

It's nice to be self sufficient.

Then no one needs to worry about you.

It's good not to ask of others.

Then they are released from obligation

And seek you out because they want to.

But it can be lukewarm there,

On the back burner.

Dinner was ready a long time ago.

OMG

I need to get out of the house: look what happens when I stay home.

Driving Memories

Way back when, as a passenger on long road trips,

After everyday conversation had ended,

My mind would, as it did and still does in church,

Seem to replay every event of my life,

Every thought I'd ever held.

At the end of my train of life thoughts and stories,

I'd ask the driver, silent for a time by then,

What he was thinking about.

The answer was always the same--nothing.

I was young enough then, I suppose,

To believe that everyone's mind

Worked pretty much the same way.

I didn't believe it was true--

That anyone's mind could hold no thoughts,

I could only think that some thoughts

Were too personal to share.

But we grow older, and life gets colder

And now I think of nothing too.

Venn Venting

I hate Venn Diagrams, at least when they are used in teaching writing strategies. To use the Venn Diagram to show all possible logical outcomes in simple set relationships or statistics is one thing. To use overlapping circles to show thought relationships or arguments in a thesis or to organize points in essay form is counterintuitive to the point of inhibiting the thought process. You have a paragraph of similarities, you have a paragraph of differences, in logical linear order. Then you're left with the contents of half circles swirling around in a formation that defies being translated into written form. I say keep statistics out of our written language. Prose is a beautiful thing!

The Dying Man

Six houses up the street a man lay dying. He had seemed like an ordinary man of that time, older, first-generation, working class, married with grown children, on the usual speaking terms with the other adults on the street. But now he lay on his deathbed, and all that had formerly served as his identity was now irrelevant. Death then was more or less a community event; to the child I was then it seemed a very lengthy process, but I suppose it may not have been a very long time at all, any more than my considering him a very old man, when he may have been only 60 or so. It was early enough that I hadn't yet started to fear my parents' deaths, and since the dying neighbor was a generation older, I still felt secure. At any rate, the village doctor would make his house calls, visiting more and more often as his patient weakened. The neighbor women would help, sitting watch with the patient's wife, and assisting the doctor when needed. I remember one of the neighbor women coming to report the man's daily status to my mother, who, busy caring for three young children, was not expected yet to tender bedside duty. I never paid much attention to what was said, until the day the man died. The woman told my mother that when he realized he was dying, he cursed all the living, and swore he wanted the world to end. Having eavesdropped on the conversation, I couldn't ask any questions, so I came to the conclusion that it was because he was so old, or because he'd come from another country. I never did find satisfactory answer, but I think I'm getting closer.

Stranger Danger

Shouldn't that ill-mannered child in the car commercial be told that it's not only rude but risky behavior to hang out near gas stations and ask strangers about using the bathroom. That ad seems so wrong on so many levels.

Sound Effect

If I scream as loud as I can, so loud it knocks over a tree in the forest behind my house, but no one is around to hear it fall, did it make any sound?

You did, huh/

I have joined a health -related site, for one of those rather rare conditions, syndromes, diseases, not usually diagnosed without extensive testing and labwork, and therefore the diagnosis pretty much belongs to the fully insured, educated well-off segment of our society. One of the oft-proclaimed mantras of the group is "Fire your doctor" if he or she does not live up to your expectations. One of the directors has fired his doctors for not fully answering his questions, or for the feeling he was slighted by insufficient examinations, or lack of referrals to a more experienced practitioner. Another board member did the same, thinking the doctor was not as informed as he should have been. That is the consensus of the group. Most of the aforementioned founding members of the group have relatives or spouses who are doctors or are hospital affiliated, and evidently have the financial ability to travel far and wide in search of the best medical care. And so they advise others to do the same. I fully agree that is the best policy. I have done the same many times, but in a slightly different manner. Instead of letting the doctor know in no uncertain terms he or she is fired, I have slunk out of the office mumbling to myself that I will never go back to that doctor. For example, I will never return to the dentist who sent a new member of the staff to respond to an ongoing problem relating to work he himself had done, I will never go back to the radiologist who shredded a critically important X-ray, or to a primary care doctor I'd seen for 4 years who, during my last 2 consecutive visits, asked if I'd ever seen her before, and then ignoring what would develop into life or death issues, asked me what I did for entertainment. I don't want to go back to the doctor who stood at least 6 feet away from me, once for a rash and once for a sore throat. I can't go back to the doctor who lost his license for improperly dispensing prescriptions, nor to the doctor, nearing retirement,who had none of the latest information. I wil never again go to the doctor who was chatting with an acquaintance in a room while I waited across the hall, and when she realized she'd forgotten my appointment, told the nurse I must have left the room. No, I don't plan to go back, but I can't say I fired them. First, none of them would ever know as they certainly don't think they work for me, and second, they would not in the least care if they ever knew I'd fired them. There are more than enough patients to go around. I hate a lot of things about most of the doctors I still do occasionally see. I think 7 to 10 warning signs on the walls are off-putting, even if they don't particularly apply. "Stand behind the line until you're called," reads one. And of course, no cell phones, bring in your Rx bottles, the penalty if you don't have your co-pay, another penalty if your check bounces, a charge if you forget to ask for your refill, and another charge if you don't give sufficient notice for a cancellation. And if you want test results, call, go to the proper extension, leave a message for a callback, (3 dfferent times, I never got called back). And this in a cardiologist's office. And this is one of the doctors I do still go to, I guess the best of the worst. But probably the biggest reason no to fire your doctor is that they almost all seem to work together. And now that even more of the hospitals are consolidating, what chance do we have of being choosy? Why would any doctor who owns a vacation home, works only 3 days a week, and drives to golf courses in a Mercedes care if a peon fires him? And if anyone has just cause to bring a lawsuit, that's what malpractice is for, and the resulting increases are built into payment received. So for those who believe firing your doctor is a viable option, a reality check is in order.

The Why Factor

I think Simon Cowell should have titled his new show "The Z Factor." As in "Zzzzz, I'm asleep. " How many times can we listen to ------"This would mean the world to me, This would mean everything to me, I wanna give momma her dream home, I was born for this, It's all I ever wanted, my kids need new shoes." Come on, we all have problems, entertain us--Sing, dammit.

And begging while trying to perform in their sponsors' Taj Mahal's is just downright grotesque.

Wrong Way

All too often we read about a deadly crash on the Northway involving a driver going the wrong way . How could this happen, we ask. The crash is usually explained by saying the driver must be intoxicated, elderly, inexperienced, or in some way otherwise impaired. Usually there are such contributing factors, but most new drivers, and elderly drivers, and those under the influence of some sort of drugs,do not enter a major highway in the wrong lane. I think there is another factor, and that is the placement of signs at the access ramps. Take, for example, (and this is not the only such in the area) the Northway ramps at Exit 9 in Clifton Park. There are 2 Southbound entry lanes right next to the 2 Northbound exit lanes. On the narrow median separating the entry lanes from the exit lanes is a big red sign reading Do Not Enter. When you head south into the entry lane, the sign is as close to you as it would be to the errant driver who might be thinking of mistakenly entering the exit lane to the north. So there are 4 lanes side by side and equally spaced and the Do Not Enter sign is smack in the center, seemingly warning drivers entering the left southbound lane not to do so. A few yards down the road is another red sign warning, "Wrong Lane, Go Back." Again this sign is right in the middle of the 4 lanes, and easily read by southbound drivers who are in their correct lane. Thus, we as drivers become accustomed to disregarding large warning signs. The signs look as if they apply to us, but we know they do not; they're meant for any potentially misguided drivers who might be one lane over from us. And becoming used to thinking warning signs right in our faces do not mean us is a recipe for disaster. We do all right in familiar and ordinary circumstances, but different locations, snowstorms, rainfall, driver fatigue, and yes, even the effects of drugs can be lethal when combined with an awareness that some signs do not always mean exactly what they say. Ambiguous appearing signs may not be the primary cause of wrong-way accidents, but should definitely be considered as a contributing factor.

Forget to read

Quite a few years ago, I listened on NPR to the interview of a man who was suffering from early Alzheimer's Disease. I think it was early in the medical awareness of the disease. At the time, people used to think that you would not know it if you were afflicted with the disease, because you would forget how you used to be. Reports also tried to reassure you that if you were worried about having it, you were okay, for the same reason as above. That of course turned out to be far from true. The NPR interview was the first time I'd ever heard a person with Alzheimer's talk about his journey into that land, and the man was very articulate, defining his limitations, and regretting how the diagnosis had impacted his life and how it would continue to do so. The man said he, once an avid booklover, could no longer read. The interviewer homed in on this statement, and several times during the interview, asked the man why: was he unable to read the words, or could he not understand what he read. For some reason, or reasons, the man being interviewed could not address the question, despite being very forthright about everything else. I too wondered what he'd meant when he said he could no longer read.

Some years later, I asked a doctor the same question: " Why could a person suffering from Alzheimer's be unable to read?" The doctor, an opthalmologist with a PhD., quickly responded that it was a simple case of their not remembering what they'd read in the preceding paragraph. I am not a doctor, and don't have a PhD, but I don't think the answer is that clear-cut, that what is read is too soon forgotten. I think the letters of the words don't assemble in the same configuration as before, and the words don't connect to the meaning. So reading words is not worth the effort.

I saw Glen Campbell on TV today acknowledging his disease. He hit all the right notes and played all the right chords, and is going on tour. I wonder if he can still read.

Measures

I own three sets of measuring cups now,

Twelve in all, plain aluminum everyday measuring cups.

The two sets are identical,

The cups a generation older differ only slightly.

My mother used to sing when she baked,

A reprieve from the daily task

Of putting basic staple meals on the table.

She'd bake cookies, oatmeal and molasses,

Apple pies and banana bread,

And once she even made eclairs.

She used measuring cups for those recipes.

For everything else, she used her own judgment.

My sister would have measured all her recipes,

Being a very detail oriented person.

In the more than forty years she owed the cups,

She did over her kitchens, and indeed her entire homes,

Several times: out with the old, in with the new.

But she kept in use her measuring cups.

Not being able to improve on their plain and homely function.

I have owned for four decades and more

Exactly the same set of measuring cups as she,

I never knew that though until just recently.

I suppose we discussed and compared almost everything

During all those years.

But not a set of plain old everyday measuring cups.

So now I own three sets of cups that my mother and sister and I

Used so often to carefully measure out sugar and flour and milk and water,

And, without being aware of it, time.

Irony of Ironies

Wouldn't it be a kick in the head if you went through all the trouble and pain of a sex change operation and then turned out to be gay?

Pumpkins and scars

Ben entered the Times Union Halloween Contest. I told him I liked the language he used. He waxed profound, saying "A scar is the living death of life." I asked him what that meant, but he was too busy watching cartoons to answer.

Burgled #1and Denial

It was in 1986, I think, and I had substituted at HVC that day in the high school. I left in the morning, taking Marilyn and Danny with me. David was still home, not yet ready, but Dave was to drop him off at school on his way to work. At the end of the subbing day, I picked Danny up at the Elementary School and drove him home. Marilyn and David would take the bus, both probably staying later, Marilyn for field hockey, and David maybe for computer or maybe going home. I parked in the driveway, and walking into the house noticed coins in the driveway. I figured Dave must have a hole in his pocket--car keys did that to suit pants. Then I saw that the front door was open. I thought Davis had probably been the last one out the door, late as usual, and had neglected to close the door. When I stepped inside, I saw the TV in the living room was gone, and the cords were dangling off the shelf. I told myself the TV must have conked out and Dave had brought it to Albany with him for repairs, and carrying it out the door, had left the front door ajar. Then I saw that the stereo speakers were also missing, as was our computer. I told Danny to go out and lock himself in the car. I guess I knew it may not have been smart to go inside, but I had to find out where David was. I was almost certain Marilyn was staying late at school, but I didn't know about David. He was about in 8th grade and quite a small kid at the time, and once I realized someone had broken into the house, I was afraid David might have taken the regular bus home, and been there and who knows, taken away or worse. I called the school, (Remember-no cell phones as yet) and after Sandy Malone told me both Marilyn and David were at school. I called the police, and went out and waited in the car with Danny. He didn't say much as I recall, but he was only about 8 or 9, and must have been scared, at least a little. I remember when the State Trooper arrived, I said I thought I'd heard noises inside. Later I realized that my ears were ringing from the stress. Also, he'd asked if anything, dog or such, was inside, and I told him our dog was tied outside. After he went in, with gun drawn, I remembered I'd forgotten to tell him our cat was inside and I thought he might shoot it if it jumped out at him. Nike was that kind if cat. I thought of going in to save my cat, but having seen the gun in shooting mode, I stayed outside.

What if?

If Steve Jobs had applied his genius to the field of medicine, he might have changed the world by implementing a cure for cancer. Now we might have to wait 500 years for another such intellect to

Mess with the IRS

If a Supreme Court Justice inadvertently does not correctly report family income because he does not understand the filing instructions, what hope do we have? I'm going to Times Square.

Cripes!

It's getting harder and harder to maintain my instrument.

Inflation

I just found out I can do the bobsled run at Mt. Von Hoevenberg for only $79.00. On February 15, 1964, I don't remember what the fee was, but I'm sure it has been adjusted for inflation. Whatever it cost at the time, it was worth it though

Who cares?

It's true: the honey badger really don't care

ONLY WORDS--SEMANTICALLY SPEAKING

Elementary students are being asked to identify "high-frequency words." I know the English language pretty well, but that term was a mystery to me. I guessed, and then researched, finding that high frequency words are the most frequently used words in the English language. Why not say that, then,instead of introducing quasi-scientific jargon into the language. I think of high-frequency words as ear-piercing sounds, or those audible only to dogs.

Rachel, please change

Rachel Ray, I know you think it's clever to squeeze the juice out of a lemon by holding it cut side down, so as to capture the seeds in your hand, but I wince every time I see you do it. Today, you squeezed the juice, through your bare fingers, over an already cooked steak. I realize your hands are clean, but still--why not squeeze the top uncut part of the lemon, and use a little strainer to catch the seeds. I'm not overly fastidious, but I couldn't bring myself to squeeze juice through my fingers even if I were the only one to eat it. Ickk.

Toxic Forwards

Obsessive compulsive behavior is present a little bit in each of us. We all have our little idiosyncrasies, such as being made slightly crazy by toothpaste caps being left off, toilet seats being left up, cupboard doors being left ajar. Only when a compulsion begins to interfere with the way we live our lives does a problem arise. If you need to go back inside the house to make sure you didn't leave the hairdryer on, or turn the burner off under the kettle, that isn't a problem. It affects only yourself, and causes no harm. If you go back inside 20 times to check the same thing, you probably have a problem because it consumes too much of your time, and thus would make you run late for appointments and such. Some people are so conscious of their repetitive behaviors that the awareness is more of a problem than the behaviors themselves. They label themselves as obsessive compulsive, and live by that diagnosis. Probably one of the worst things for them is to open any email that implores them to forward the message under penalties ranging from bad luck to death for recipients and their families if they fail to forward the attached treatise. Ironically, the emails are usually religious or inspirational in nature, with angels, beautiful flowers and rainbows, and adorable children and animals. Wonderful, and often specific, awards await them if they comply. But---failure to do as bid will result in equally wondrous punishments. Make no mistake about it; you will suffer if you don't obey. Talk about your "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." Vengeance will rain down upon those who doth not forward what is commanded, or requested via emailing forwards to 7 or more of your friends. Though difficult to figure out where the email originated, it's probably safe to assume it wasn't written by God. Greeting card sales are down somewhat, so perhaps those verse writers branched out into the internet. Imagine if your obsessive compulsion is triggered by the prospect of an unlocked front door, and you need to check to make sure no one breaks in while you're away and steals the family silver. Now imagine that your obsessiveness is aroused by believing you or your loved ones are going to hell if you don't forward an insipid email to your circle of friends. I would label those emails as hazardous to the health of an obsessive compulsive. I would advise them to compulsively press the delete button.

Better Left Undone

I'm glad I never wrote a fan letter to Andy Rooney.

Death by Chipmunk

Today I woke up to the smell of smoke. Dave was outside so I called to him before dialing 9-1-1. Oh, he said, I forgot to close the door, not to mention the bedroom window which still contains the air conditioner, and thus allows a stream of air, or toxic fumes, into the house. He had decided to oust a chipmunk, which evidently had flipped him off the day before. He had bought a smoke bomb of some sort, toxic in nature, and launched it into the chipmunk hole right near the front of our house. Or so he says. I'm sure the chipmunk just ran out his back entrance hole, but I was breathing in all the fumes. But at least I only have a headache, I'm not dead.

How I Spent My Vacation

This is my Blog, so I guess I can be as self-indulgent as I wish, without regard to being considered as bragging or anything. And all this happened so long ago, this is my way of affrirming its reality. Since our lives then were so routine and, let's face it, dull, anything out of the ordinary stands out as memorable, though now only by me, a la those Madison County Bridges.

When I was 25 years old, I resigned from teaching English at HVC. No one could understand why, because I'd been granted tenure, probably with the assumption I would remain at my old Alma Mater until retirement. The thought served to suffocate me, so I resigned from my job. I didn't even have another lined up, but that was not a big deal in those days. I needed to finish my Master's Degree, but instead of continuing at Albany State, I took the giant leap of enrolling at Oneonta. I'd never really gone anyplace by myself before, so it really was an adventure. During that summer, I reached many levels of understanding, of myself and others, that were completely new to me. I have vivid memories of that summer, but what I'm recalling now occurred after that summer ended.

I'd become friends with a girl named Dee, who lived in Watkins Glen. She was a teacher of course; I think all of the students enrolled that summer were teachers or prospective teachers. We vowed to continue our friendship, as so many college friends do, but Dee actually arranged a winter vacation during February break at Lake Placid. She had recruited four of her hometown friends, and I invited Barbara to go with me. (My sister was married by then.) My car was ailing, so I borrowed Dorothy's car, and B. and I drove to Lake Placid on a Friday night during a snowstorm. The roads then were rural, not like now, and we did a lot of slipping and sliding, but I don't think we minded. We were off on vacation! The 5 other girls were not able to arrive until the next day, because of the weather , so B. and I drove up to the hotel where Dee had made reservations. It was on a hill, and when we drove up to it in the dark and snow, we both had the instant impression of ---- Bates Motel. It loomed up in the darkness, unlighted and deserted-looking. We decided to look elsewhere for the night's lodging. Down the slippery slope we went, and in effect started knocking on doors. Motel after motel told us they had no vacancies, even though the signs said otherwise. Finally, a motel conceded to let us in for the night, but it had no heat. By then, we didn't care, anything but "Psycho."

The next morning the five from Watkins Glen arrived, and we all checked in at the gloomy hotel on the hill. The morning light and a group of seven allayed our fears, though it was a spooky-looking place. That day we all went to the Olympic training site on Mt. Von Hoevenburg. We had to leave our cars in a lot and pile into an open-backed truck for the trip to the top of the bobsled run. Three passengers snuggled onto each sled, behind the professional who steered and the one who was at the rudder, a tight fit, with everybody's legs wrapped around each others'. They put a helmet on each of our heads and took off. All I remember is being sideways, as the bobsled was on the icy wall of the run, and feeling the ice and snow kicked up by the runners. You could see nothing but ice and snow. It was exhilerating. I would never do it now. I think that may have been one of the last long runs offered, because Miss Rhiengold's sled had tipped over, injuring her, the weekend before, and they were about to modify the tourist run.

The seven of us were to decide on where to go for dinner, after our day of wagon rides, and hiking up and speeding down Mt. Whiteface. I must say here that the Watkins Glen contingent seemed to lag behind even Valley Falls in terms of coolness, or, in today's lingo, hotness. Not to say they weren't great people, but as far as style went, they were not there yet. They suggested some place like Flora's Tearoom, or such. ( I didn't have anything against tearooms exactly, but even today, The Whistling Kettle makes me shudder.) I spotted a brightly lit Steak House restaurant, and said why not go in as we are right here. Tht decision turned out to be a very positive one, at least for me and Barbara. (To be continued)