Tennessee Waltz Anomaly

   I can hear my father's voice.  The radio is playing the top ten hits, and one of our favorites is playing in the background.  "I was dancin' with my darlin' to the Tennessee Waltz, and an old friend I happened to see..." sings Patti Page.     My father says, " I wonder what the Tennessee Waltz sounds like, the song they were dancing to: they never seem to play that song on the radio."

Sob, Sob...

Television is so phony that I'm hardly ever  moved by any of the human interest stories it presents.  Except for this morning! A service dog was re-united with the woman who had trained it.  They hadn't seen each other for a full  year, and the dog's reaction was exactly the same as when Cosmo would greet David and Danny when they came home from college and such, except Cos would "talk" as he tried to climb into their laps.  I miss having a dog in my house.....

Contact the NSA!

Beware!  This morning Liz Bishop's Perp Patrol included a woman wanted for "falsifying $12,000 worth of dental claims."  What the heck, I don't even know what that means.  Or how anyone could go about it.  We've had almost that amount of dental fees for the treatment of a single tooth.  I guess since we don't have dental insurance, there would be no way to submit an invalid claim.  But who did she allegedly rip off?  An insurance company? Maybe Perp Patrol should isue an alert on dentists; $12,000 could be for only a few visits.   Did she forego treatment and submit the bill anyway? How?  Did she deliberately knock out a tooth so she could get a new and better one? Is she a threat to society?  Are we supposed to report her if we see her based on such flimsy evidence?  Is there a lack of serious crime in the area?  Are we being turned into a nation of stool pigeons?  See something, say something is a catchy motto; smile so I can see if you're hiding anything in your teeth.

That 70's Show

    Not the 1970's, but the age group.   Everyone who was a contemporary is in that bracket now, those of us who have survived, and I don't know of a single one whose health hasn't been significantly compromised in one way, another way, or multiple ways.    I was 27 years old when my father died at the age of 71, and I thought of him as old.  My sister died at the same age as he, and I thought that was far too young.  He died instantly and she did not, he having had very few health interventions and she way more than anyone should have had to undergo.  I was 45 years old when my mother died at the age of 78, and I had become frozen in terror at the awareness she had grown old.  She died suddenly also, with only a modicum of medical care.  When I was young, I lived with the illusion that old people had always been old; I remember visiting elderly relatives; they seemed to have been permanently old.  Even the board game that bequeathed you an inheritance from an eighty-year-old aunt left you with no thought of sorrow for anyone of that age.    Now we try to tell ourselves that 80 is still young, but the hard truth is that it is not.

Garbage in = Garbage out

      I have an appointment in a few hours that I don't want to keep.  I have the feeling it may not go well, for a variety of reasons, so I am blogging to empty out my mind so I will not be tempted to say that which may probably better be left unsaid.  This is helpful to some degree, because when I read what I've written, it makes sense ,on some level, and if it fails in that respect, I just delete.  "Nobody knows,  Nobody sees," and nobody cares but me.

Contempt for the Hoi Polloi

   "Yes, you have, " I answer.  This in reply to yet another doctor asking if he/she has seen me before.  A respectful answer, I think, from an unassuming patient, and an answer not expected to make my presence any more memorable for the next time around.  But that is what I say.  Instead of something light and convivial, like "Gee, Doc, I remember you well. How could you forget me?"  But of course I don't say that, not that I really want to  use that choice of words anyway. More to my preference would be, "I don't expect you to remember my visit after all these weeks.  I know you're far too busy for that, but are you too damn lazy to just look at the chart that's right there in front of you.  Take a few seconds before asking the stupid question."

Doctor-Patient Relationship

  The patient steps off the scale, and the doctor tells him he is fat.  The patient, taken somewhat aback, says," Doctor, I would like a second opinion."  The doctor replies, "OK, you're also ugly."   It's an old joke, and not that funny, but now it's even less funny than it used to be.

Papal Consideration

  I read that the Pope, though supporting celibacy for priests, has said the issue could be open to consideration.  Other social issues are also open to consideration, if I understand correctly, all, that is, except the ordination of women priests.  All due to that serpent in the Garden of Eden?

O Sole Meow

   Animals do not have souls.  They do not.  Yet a woman risks her life, and causes others to respond to save her, in a vain attempt to save a doomed deer.  The media has become preoccupied with animal welfare stories.  A noted TV personality kisses animals he's just met and lavishes terms of endearment upon them.  On a  recent road trip, we  narrowly avoided a major pile-up when a self-styled animal rescuer stopped her vehicle on the thruway to administer to a raccoon that had been hit by a car.  There should be a distinction between condemnation of animal abuse  and the adulation of animals.  

Circle of Life

In the  beginning, the  life of the human organism centers on eating, eliminating and crying.  The end is much the same.

Grumble, Grouse and Grrr.

  I  can't stand it when someone, and those someones exist in increasing numbers, uses the term that a person is "bored of"  something.  Conventional usage dictates that you become "bored with' something, or else "bored at' the idea of something.  The first time I ever heard a person say she was bored of something was the time when my mother took 2 young girls into foster care, and the elder said she was "bored of " playing a game with another child. I excused her usage because she was labeled as a retarded child, and I figured this was just a manifestation of her condition.  Since then, however, I continue to hear increased use of the term by those in the media, supposedly educated.  Really, being bored of something makes no sense, does it? 
   Today on TV, I heard (and not or the first time) an ad for denture cleaner in which a purported dentist advises against the use of toothpaste because "dentures are different to your real teeth."  What hope do we have, considering the English language develops from usage, and those using it are idiots.  I can't even imagine what my college professor of English, Dr. Knotts, would think, but I know what grade he would give if anyone turned in a paper with language like that. 
   We were steeped in writing courses too, and objective writing had definitive rules; one did not say what they "felt" or use emotion, or biased language in the wording of an objective report.   Again tonight, television news updated the story of the "six-month-old puppy" that had to be euthanized due to probable abuse.  Never mind that the picture of the animal showed a fully grown dog; at six months most canines are capable of procreating.  They are not puppies except for the emotional impact.  The same goes for "the little eight-year-old girl"  reported on a few weeks ago.  Reporting and editorializing are two distinct entities, or should be, unless we don't want to draw any conclusions for ourselves.  Just wait for someone to tell us how and what to think. 

The Dark of the Dark Side

    I probably should avoid late night reading at this point in my life.  It conjures up the deeply buried angst from all the metaphysical delvings wrought by the years of studying the masters of insight into the human mind.
    Most of the time, in today's world, the term "dark side" is used in a comic sense, though the derivation of the phrase referred to the light and dark side of God.  The Dark Side being the evil and malevolent side of human personality or society.  Early psychiatry sought to detach man from his shadow, the unconscious, and then one can see much of what gleams out from the collective unconscious. 
     One of Edgar Allen Poe's early and more obscure tales centers on a character who early in his youth is confronted by another youth with  the same name and birthdate who, over the years, becomes his antagonist, and eventually his nemesis.  The stress and duress results, inevitably, in the only possible conclusion:  the character battles his tormentor and kills him but is haunted by the words that he has thus murdered himself. 
   We all are familiar with "Each man kills the thing he loves,"  and a thousand different applications of why a person engages in murderous behavior. Let us forget all that for the moment and contemplate this:   Aging is a kind of death, subtle at its onset, but inevitably a  ferocious and evil process.  And, we all engage in it voluntarily, to a degree we think of  at first as humorously conciliatory, but which festers and degrades into a deadly dance.  (To be continued---or not)
      TUESDAY, 4:00 A.M.                              The death of life may seem to be a gradual process, but it is really quite abrupt, considering the span of years.  The definitive marker is the realization that you have separated who you are from who you once were.  No longer does life course on in a flow of events with the past an active player in molding your development.  A barrier is set up, or sets itself up, depending on your outlook.  You become separated from the present by the events of the past.  Isolation reigns, in the sense that current happenings exclude yourself.  Because no one exists who remembers your entrance into the world, or the days of  your wine and roses, that part of your life is on the other side of the barrier.  The doppelganger vision of good and evil transmutes into youth and age----life and impending death.  Every aspect of existence is qualified by the taint of transience.  Any investment in your future comes to a halt, with only sporadic tribute being tossed across the barrier.  A comedian (from the past) used to comment that he no longer bought bananas by the bunch, but singly.  He was killing himself with that line, in acknowledgment of  the great divide.  (It is late.  I mean early, 5:00 a.m., and time to start the day.  I'm going back to bed.)

Movie Notes

I saw the "Million Dollar Arm" today.  It was a pretty good movie, though if, say, Ben Stiller were in the title role instead of Jon Hamm, I would have had a hard time sitting through it.

Step Forth, Old Man and Woman

Who are they?  That 92-year-old man and the 91-year-old woman are who.  Where they are I don't know, but they have a place in medical history.  The 91-year-old woman had outlived her Stage 4 cancer diagnosis for 22 years, and the 92-year-old-man more recently underwent a successful total knee transplant.  I think younger patients would probably be hearing of successful treatment of patients in their 50's and 60's, but when you get to be OUR age, success stories must be appropriately advanced. 

Inexplicable

   Probably because there is not a lot of traffic, at any given time, but so far the traffic pattern on Route 67 to make a left turn on to State Street is merely a disaster waiting to happen instead of an invitation to imminent disaster.  I don't think there have been a great number of accidents there, and that's a good thing, but it must be due to the grace of God or just plain luck. Or maybe it's because not a lot of  drivers are turning left to go up State Street, and those who do so have learned to exercise extreme caution.
   First, the average sized driver of a passenger car cannot see an  approaching vehicle which is continuing on Rte. 67 and staying  left as it leaves the bridge until the two vehicles are very close.  The vehicle turning left to go north is directly in the cross-path of the east-bound vehicle. If  drivers coming over the bridge are proceeding at even a slightly high rate of speed, they are not visible to the drivers trying to turn left on State Street until they are almost on top of them.  I may add that the latter drivers very frequently stop in the midst of their turn to allow the bridge-crossing vehicle to pass by.  But I have not known  a single time when one of those east-bound drivers has slowed or stopped to allow passage. 
   Second, I believe that the drivers crossing the bridge assume they have the right of way and maybe they do: even though they are turning left, they are on a State Route.  But the other drivers, heading south, do not have a stop sign, a yield sign or any other cautionary device except the common sense that tells them to beware of  something coming around what is essentially a blind curve. 
   I have commented on the above situation before, but my apprehension was increased today because as I was trying to turn left to go up State Street, I had to stop not just once, but FIVE separate times in the process.  The vehicles crossing the bridge were in sequence, but not that close together.  Each time I moved forward a little only to see another car coming.  Not only did none of those vehicles slow down, the  drivers all  glared as if I were offending them.  There was a car behind me at the time waiting to turn right onto the bridge, and he waited patiently, seeing there was no other recourse.
   As long ago as when we moved to Valley Falls, when there was much less traffic, there had always been some sort of traffic device at what used to be a normally constructed intersection.  Earlier, there had been a light in the middle of the intersection, and later a stop sign on Rte. 67 before the bridge.  And in those days, before they "re-did" the bridge, visibility was much clearer.  You could see across the bridge, and up the main street.  The latest bridge design must have been the product of someone with a major defect in the part of the brain that designs highways.  I can't believe that anyone would sign off on the traffic pattern carrying traffic across the bridge to make a right turn toward the ball park.  It defies any sense of reasonableness.  There were a number of accidents at the "intersection" at first, but the low speeds only resulted in fender-benders so that avoided any major disclosure of idiotic highway design.  I guess even engineering colleges have someone at the bottom of the class, and who better to head a project in Valley Falls. 
  
 

  
  

Generation Gap Connect

  Gen.#1   He returned from his visit to the VA Center where he had gone to get information on eligibility. I asked him what they said.  He said they are going to refer him to some doctor in Troy, whose office had not answered the call when they tried to make the referral, so they will call back when they make the connection.  I asked who the doctor was.  He said he didn't know, only that it was in Troy.  I googled VA referrals and found they have a medical clinic on River Street in Troy, so I relayed the information to him.  "Yes, I know,"  he said, and repeating what I'd just said,  "It's a clinic on River Street." 
  Gen.#3   I had been at his house that afternoon, and had observed a robin building or tending a nest in a shrub near his doorway.  I drove him home later that day and as we were walking down the driveway, I told him I had seen a bird's nest in his yard.  "Yes, I know," he said, running across  the yard to another, nest-less location, "it's over here.  Somewhere."  

3+1=loss

   There was talk.  There was always talking going on among the "big people" back in 1942, but this time the talk caught my attention.  In the dim recesses of my undeveloped mind, I sensed it would affect me, and for the worse.  The talk was that Dorothy was about to have a birthday---she would turn 3.  I felt dejected.  Though I knew I was 4 years old, I remembered being 3, and I didn't realize I had to lose that distinction.  The fact that I had to pass what had been mine on to someone else made me feel sad and disappointed. I felt destined to lose one of the few things I could lay claim to.   Was nothing sacred?

To Pharrell

 I do not like the song "Happy" either melody or lyrics, and I think your hat looks stupid.

Cat, dog and Fishy

   I don't exaggerate when I say I've seen or heard the story at least a dozen times today about the heroic cat chasing off the dog who bit the little boy.  Something about the story submitted, allegedly, by the child's mother seems so wrong.   The camera is on the boy on his bike, then on the other side of the driveway focusing on the dog stalking the boy and eventually attacking him.  There must be more than one camera, which must be stationary cameras, for security maybe.  If the mom was watching the cameras, she could have headed off the dog, and if the boy were hurt which she would have seen when she ran over to him, why then did she run toward the porch, with her panic-filled child getting up by himself, and running after her.  People act in such awful ways that it's hard to believe anything.  The media, in its fawning pursuit of a good old human interest story, glorifies and editorializes to feed its own inflated corporate ego.  In the same vein, another of today's promoted stories was about the child who delivered her own brother at home.  Remarkable for sure, but it's not enough that the girl delivering the baby is 8 years old.  She is in media-ese reported to be "a little 8-year-old girl."   As opposed to a big 8-year-old girl?

Out of the Closet

  Since last fall,  I've been attempting with limited, very limited, success to clean out my closet, and indeed the areas surrounding the actual closet, since my closet is not much larger than a plus-sized filing cabinet.  So today I stayed on the channel where Katie Couric was cleaning out her closet.  I think the show may have been a repeat since her show is to be canceled, and the cleaning-out itself process seemed vaguely familiar.  And the familiarity part did not come from any comparison between her closet and mine.  Her closet contained more clothing than I have ever owned in my entire lifetime, and her closet had more square footage than does my house.  Naturally, she was not cleaning the closet herself, but observed while a closet coordinator did it for her.  Who this segment was supposed to appeal to is a mystery because I would think that only a handful of people could relate to her circumstances.  The focus seems more on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous than it does on the image of Katie as the girl next door.  Pulled out for review was a trendy little leather jacket that she'd forgotten she owned, and a likewise forgotten  red purse that was a gift from Al Roker. 
      The closet organizer told her to have all her winterwear professionally dry cleaned, and then to put all her cleaned sweaters in plastic bags before storing them for the summer in plastic containers.  Leather items, such as jackets and belts, are also to be professionally dry cleaned but to be stored not in plastic, but in cloth garment bags, so the leather can breathe.  Several  leather jackets were bequeathed to me a few years ago.  I had one of them dry cleaned, at a cost of $55 because it had to be sent to Canada for cleaning.  I donated the rest of the jackets.   I believe it took only part of a day for Katie's closet catharsis, while I'm still plodding on 9 months into the project.  I can't wait for summer to come; maybe it'll be easier then.

Magic Tree House Revisited

"The wind started to blow.
  The tree house started to spin.
  It spun faster and faster.
  Then everything was still.
  Absolutely still."

  I can't help but wonder if those little kids in the Bounce House in Glens Falls were familiar with the Magic Tree House books, and this refrain.  It must have been a terrifying real life experience, and I hope they soon make a complete recovery.
   

No way out

   He has to kill himself; he can't possibly live with the fallout.  There is absolutely no way a Congressman, or anybody else, can rationalize why, during a public hearing of some sort, he stuck his finger into his ear, pulled out a plug of earwax, examined it, and then ATE it.

Regrets---a few

   If I ever do something wrong, I can not apologize.  That venue has been destroyed.  And if I'm ever murdered, I do not want the killer saying he's sorry in the courtroom.  Let him keep his regrets to himself.

SERIOUSLY?

A police dog used by the New York State Police is called a "canine officer."  

Dead dog

  A dog dies.  That is so wrong. Somebody must have killed it, or at least did not prevent its death.   Let's bottle our grief, and go find the person responsible.   He should be punished severely.  He should never be allowed to own another dog, or even be near one.  He's most likely killed other dogs too, at an earlier time, and chances are he will go on to kill humans, especially helpless little children, babies even.  Before he is given the severe punishment he deserves though, he  should apologize.  Just don't believe anything he says.  He's s just trying to save his own skin.  Dead dogs are bad;  dog killers are even worse.  I hate dog killers, am outraged by them.  The more heinous the dog death, the more outraged I become.  I, in my goodness, believe it is so wrong to kick a puppy, or slap a baby.

Thought Crime

    Just because you say you're sorry doesn't mean you are.  Yet our society demands the apology.  When  wrongdoing occurs, real or perceived or even suspected, the cry goes out for the apology.  Even before issued,  the apology is deemed to be too late, too superficial, or, most damaging of all, too insincere.  The charges are made that the issuer of the apology is sorry only that he got caught, not for the wrongdoing.  If we believe we are in a position to determine that the apologizer is in effect lying for his own self-interest, how can we overlook the fact that those making the charges are not doing the same, and thus are not to be believed either.  A person who robs a bank may lie and say he didn't do it, and can be proven wrong, and then suffer the penalty.  A person who says he is sorry he robbed a bank can not be proven wrong, no matter his motivation for saying so.  Thought crimes are  not part of our judicial system yet, or are they?
     Victim impact statements feed into the category of the apologia, and should also be irrelevant.  Who know what goes on in the minds of men?   The answer----the media of course, those paid to pimp their own interests.     (Methinks I shouldn't be blogging at 4 o'clock in the morning, but that's what delete keys are for...

And the doctor says.....

   I don't know what to think when I hear about these doctors who predict how long a person has to live, what the outcome of surgery will be, and what procedures their patients should definitely follow.  It may just be me, but I've rarely if ever known a doctor to be definite about anything.  I'm familiar with, "This may be of benefit,"  "You'll most likely be better off afterwards,"  or "We can try this,"  "There are no guarantees,"  and "It's up to you."   Emergency visits may be the exception, especially when children are the patients, at least when the issue is to stop the bleeding.  Otherwise, even in the face of mortal suffering, I've heard only "Maybe it's time to...,You might want to..., You could have only....It will probably.....".    So I can't help but be skeptical when, for example, parents say the doctors told them not to take their baby home but to institutionalize it, or when it's related that the doctors said the patient would never walk again, especially now when even amputees are able to regain mobility.  I'm not complaining; I never thought that doctors are omniscient, or ever wanted someone to dictate what my future might be.  I tend to think that the media fashions its own stories, with interviews as told to reporters much in the fashion of ghostwriters.

Sounds like......

Whenever I hear about the evil Boko Haram, I half expect to hear the refrain of "Whiter Shade of Pale " playing in the background.  Or would that be his brother Procol....

Why (do) People Have Kids (?)

   I came across a card today, addressed to Mom and Dad, probably written about 1987.  It contained an original poem, which  reads:

           Ranger Rick Poem
   "Forests are more than trees.
    There's animals the size of elks to fleas.
    There's mammals galore,
    Birds and much, much more.

   There is fast animals like rabbit and deer,
   And sparrows so filled with cheer.
   There's bushes of wild berries
   Which look so very, very merry.

  How can people be so unkind?
  Building condos on former forests
  Shouldn't even be in mind."

     I have the feeling there must have been a measure of duress under which the poem was composed because, turning the card over, I read,
     "Thanks, Mom, I'm done with my poem, so   GET OFF MY BACK!!!"

      

Rage

   I've seen the story, at least a dozen times, of the dog  hobbling along in its struggle to walk.  It's a nice looking dog, alert and gentle appearing, but it is in bad shape, and as the story unfolds is doomed.    The story is the dog was found in a ditch along a roadside, with  broken limbs and a shattered jaw.  The search is on for whoever did this to the poor animal.  The public outcry is fostered by the media, with insistence that those responsible be brought to justice.  Public comments range from more stringent prosecution to inflicting the same injuries as the dog suffered.  I agree that animal abuse is a heinous crime and those who are guilty of such deserve punishment, but I wonder about the pent-up rage that triggers such a  rush to judgment.  I don't know all the facts, but wouldn't it seem plausible that a dog found injured in a roadside ditch might likely have been struck by a car, and since the dog was apparently not run over, but possibly sideswiped, that the driver may have been unaware.  Couldn't the dog have been lost, wandered away from home, or maybe even have gotten loose at a rest stop somewhere?  He looked and acted like a well cared for animal.  That scenario is sad enough.  But it seems many people, incited by the repeated visuals, want to believe that somebody---out there somewhere---beat the dog mercilessly and then threw it in a ditch like a piece of trash.  The beat goes on  to find that somebody and make sure he or she or they pay the price.  It may be true that a vicious animal abuser needs to be brought to justice in this case, but reason dictates that, as the saying goes, when you hear hoofbeats on  a ranch, think horses, not camels.

Dementia Dilemma Drama

   Be forewarned:   Just because you have dementia does not mean you can break the laws of our society.  And if you do so  misbehave and are caught, do not use your affliction as an excuse.  A Michigan man was convicted of illegally transporting a ton of opium, and on his 90th birthday  was sentenced to jail, despite his lawyer's plea for no prison time because of his client's military heroism and his advanced age.  The judge ruled that letting him off because of dementia would be an insult to all the people who have dementia and don't get involved in illegal activity. I can't help but think that many would feel not insulted, but empowered, by the idea of someone who suffers from their affliction being paid a million dollars to drive a load of cocaine across state lines.  Of course it's breaking the law, but lines blur when you're not in your right mind.

..."The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley."

"Tell me again about the rabbits, George."

Five and Ten

   When did reporters. of weather, sports and such, start to use the term, "double nickel," and, please lord, when are they going to stop?
   Of course, of course,---the speed limit, AARP eligibility, Rte. 55 and accompanying drug references, as well as rating on the attractiveness scale, but I've yet to hear ANYONE use the term without sounding self-consciously hip and oh so cool.