You're on file

     A message on my machine requested information from David S. so I called the number back.  A woman identified herself as Sandy, calling about recent transport by the Hoosic Valley Rescue Squad, She was not from Hoosic Valley, but calling from a centralized billing center for rescue squads.  She asked if a claim had been filed against the store where the fall had occurred.  I said no claim was filed.  She said okay, they would bill Medicare.  I said the transported one said he had not given any information relating to his Medicare.  She said that was correct, he had not.  She said any health concerned agency can access all the information relating to a person's health status.  I added that we have additional insurance, and she said yes, they have it as Excellus Blue Cross.
     HIPAA is such an exercise in futility.

Maudlin is Me

       I can tell I'm really drawn to the past. It doesn't take much to remind me of the glory days, a modest enough claim to a time when everything that happened didn't bear the stigma of age.  Today it was a tiny yellow price tag that had fallen off one of the items I'm clearing out.  I'm not sure if it came off a pair of candles or an old unused notebook.  The item had been bought at Fay's for a price of $3.49.  I certainly don't remember buying whatever article it was but the Fay's, a drugstore, was just down the road from Charming Lane, on Osborne maybe.  Dorothy and I used to shop there frequently.  There were a lot of sale items.  They never seemed to clear the inventory, and there was plenty of shelf space.  I don't think either of us ever left the store without buying something, and I know I never thought I'd feel nostalgic about shopping there.  But that's what life does to us.

Books in Review

   When I was a little kid, I loved to read books, books about animals. Not fantasy, cartoonish animals, but real animals, dogs and horses mostly...Black Beauty, Lassie Come Home, Beautiful Joe, Smoky the Cowhorse...I didn't care who the author was at the time; I just wanted to read the story. When I got a little older, I read a book called The Black Stallion, and when I found out there were more stories about that horse, I wanted to know where to look, so I cared about the author.  But I only wanted to know Walter Farley's name, so as to find the books.   I wasn't interested in knowing anything about him as a person.  I just appreciated what he had written.
   I still feel that way, kind of.  I thought I understood why Salinger never wanted to revel in his fame, was rather glad that he hadn't caved.  A movie about him made after his death sort of dissipated the satisfaction though;  I'd rather have just appreciated what he had written without delving into his rather tormented life.
    I'm currently reading The Mockingbird Next Door.  I think it would be classified as an authorized biography.  It is intended to open up some of the mystery about the reclusive Harper Lee.  She seldom granted interviews until she met this writer, and has agreed to talk to her about some, though not all, of her life and life's decisions.  I enjoyed the book and its message when I read it, and also the film.  But I never wanted to know about the person who wrote it. For many years it was her sole novel; she only recently released another.  Any worthy work should stand on its own, as an entity, not as an outpouring of some internal subliminal message.
    About halfway through the book, I find the author, Marja Mills, has concentrated on what the elderly author has allowed about her personal life.  She is so old now, and times have changed so much, that she has exposed details of her life that reveal what may possibly have, back in her youth at the time of her fame, been radical and unthinkable.  A lesbian?  Oh, the innuendo. Harper Lee is tall, not delicate, dare we say mannish, did not date, never married, was interested in women's rights, was and is fiercely independent, successfully entered into a man's world.  Was she gay?  Even if she didn't act on it?  Was her characterization of the tomboy Scout her doppelganger?  When I read the book and saw the movie, I never once thought about what type of person Harper Lee was.
     Possibly Lee consented to this quasi and controlled interviewing because of her age;  maybe she realizes that the only path beyond submitting to the vagaries of aging is to reclaim just a touch of her former identity.  She and her 2 sisters are now firmly ensconced in that other country, where everything has to do with the inevitable.

Exile

Another country, another world.  Wherever it is, we're assigned to it.

Gone

     The reporter was interviewing people who formed a segment of our society labeled, "the very old," aged 92 and up I think the age bracket was.  "And to what do you attribute your longevity?" she asked.  "Well," answered the woman from her vantage point of 99 years of age, "I had a lot of friends and we used to play bridge on  a regular basis."   "And they're mostly gone now?" asked the reporter.  The woman replied, "No,  not mostly gone. Every one of them."

Shoes

  I can't figure out how I came to own 3 pairs of green shoes.

Fulbright Be Damned

    Just because I'm super intelligent does not mean I don't have sex appeal, and here are the legs to prove my point.  The hemline of my shorts may look a little uneven due to the pull of one butt cheek because of the way I'm standing, but the picture should show that I'm not just a bookworm.  You can read between the lines of my quotes in today's newspaper article:  "I loved being EXPOSED to so much diversity on campus."   and "While abroad, ....hopes to EXPOSE herself more to the unique aspects of Korean culture."  No one can expect me to be a role model that would pass inspection by old prudes.

Suspicion

Finally, some "analyst" has now come around to my theory that the escapees never intended to take off with the woman who helped them escape, and that they'd arranged for someone else to pick them up.  Moreover, I think it more than likely that clueless Joyce may have gone to the pickup site to find them already gone, and THEN checked herself into the hospital. The chest does hurt when the heart is broken.  And besides, she knew they were open to murdering anyone who could block their plans. Oh, the pain!

Strawberries

   Tangled in with the few irises that came from her garden was a lone strawberry plant.  It was planted with them in front of my house, and forgotten for that first year.  Last year I noticed it and looked for berries, but found none.  This year the plant grew strong and healthy and I saw it had 5 berries, green when I noticed them, but looking promising.  Last week, I saw that 2 of the larger berries were nearly ripe but when I looked a day or so later, the 2 were gone.  Three were left, still green, so I placed an oak leaf underneath them to protect them from the rain and dirt.  The last I saw them they were one day away from ripeness: I checked the next day and they were gone, with a chipmunk leaving the area.  The conclusion drawn is that chipmunks prefer their strawberries one day less ripe than humans do.  Or else, they just outwit us.  Tomorrow, I think I'll drive up to Strawberry Acres;  I saw their sign today by the roadside.  Maybe I'll be able to drive over a few chipmunks along the way.

Little Miss Puffy Tail

     I just bought a package of Quilted Northern toilet tissue.  I don't know where they think they're going with their "subtle approach" to everyday bodily functions. Some think the ad is clever and original:  that the ceramic rabbit wants to die after having been in a position to witness so many people pooping.  But those who use Quilted Northern are able to totally forget the experience due to the comfort and effectiveness of the product.
   But that is not the association that comes to me.  The term Little Miss Puffy Tail reminds me of my cat, who is a she and does indeed have a puffy tail.  And sometimes the puffy area is not as clean and puffy as it should be.  Connecting the issue of a puffy tail with the location in  a bathroom and the product being toilet paper reminds me of things I'd rather forget.

Cat

     I just found out there is a new, well, fairly new, Everything Pets, in Mechanicville.  I called to see if they groomed cats there.  Many places will not, and I fully understand why. The receptionist assured me they did, even after I told her of my misgivings about bringing in my animal.  She said the groomer was very good, with lots of experience, including having previously worked in a veterinarian's office.  I brought Maybe over for a 6:00 p.m. appointment, and went back over at 7:00 to pick her up, as arranged.  The receptionist at the front desk told me she was almost, though not quite, ready.  I waited a while, looking at the fish and other creatures, and then the groomer emerged. She asked the girl at the desk if anyone was available to help her. She was holding out her arms, both with bloodied scratches.  I had tried to warn her; I knew what was going to happen.
   I had paid my bill while I was waiting.  They wanted to refund my money, as the job, a cut and a bath, was not completed.  I insisted they keep the money, and said I didn't want the offered  gift certificate either.  I apologized for the bad behavior of my cat, who, by the way, will have her 10th birthday this Wednesday.  There is a reason why she has the name, Maybe, and it's all coming back to me now.
 

Growing up

     He received a commendation, a Teacher's Choice Award, which said, in part, that he "has a mature mind set, socially and academically."  This comes as no surprise.  Some years ago, I had introduced him to the term palindrome, and asked if he could think of an example.  Almost instantly, he answered,  "poop."

Woman-Shaming

  More power to Bruce, I say, as long as he has the desire and the cash to carry out desires.  But it's a disservice to act as if it's the fulfillment of womanhood.  There is nothing wrong with being an exhibitionist or attention-seeker, but let's not confuse that with the desire to be a woman.  No natural woman would let her thighs, airbrushed or not, be exposed if they looked like those on the cover of Vanity Fair.