In Reverse

    I hate backing my car up.  Even when there is no apparent obstruction anywhere in sight, I still half expect to hear, and feel, that fateful impact.  I have not backed into anything in years, but the thought is always there.  A long time ago, I backed into a tree in front of a friend's house.  I wasn't driving fast, but I remember feeling my teeth gnash together.  I have a memory of backing into some huge concrete barrier at the edge of the parking lot of the old J.M. Fields store in Lansingburgh, also a teeth rattler, but no reportable damage of any kind. Not too many years ago, I backed into the bumper of a truck that had pulled in behind me in the front of the Clifton Park Pizza Hut.  He wasn't there, and then he was.  It was just a gentle tap, but the driver glared at me.
   Probably the worst backing up event was a near miss.  I almost backed up into a passenger who had just gotten out of my car to retrieve her belongings from the trunk of my car to place them in hers.  She was rather annoying and I was in kind of a rush to be done with her and get on home, though I didn't wish her dead or anything.  In my defense, I'll say that I didn't know she was going to make two trips.  And do you know how hard it is to  see when the trunk of your car is raised?  It blocks out the light, and you see just emptiness, as if no one is there. Anyway, she was fine.
     When I bought the car I have now, the salesman wanted me to test drive their latest model, the one with all the bells and whistles, including the then highly touted back-up camera. When we returned from the test drive, he insisted that I  back up to the front of the display window of the business, so I could see how efficient the back-up camera was, giving me a clear picture of the path I was taking.  With much trepidation, disguised as well as possible, I did as he directed, thinking all the time that he wouldn't be so blase about it if he knew the reality of the situation.  The reality being that my depth perception is somewhat compromised by a congenital corneal condition.  I have pretty much learned to accommodate to the dysfunction, but not when it involves mirrors or backing.I stopped in time, right in front of the plate glass window, and he never suspected a thing.  I didn't buy a car with that feature though.
    Today, I drove into the crowded parking lot of a busy restaurant in Mechanicville, the kind of lot where vehicles are parked at asymmetric angles. I parked in the only spot available, but when I went to leave, one of those large black monster vehicles was parked behind me, and I couldn't turn either right or left to drive out frontwards.  I had to back all the way out, trying to see around the massive black vehicle, and not sure when I could turn the wheel.  I was gingerly doing my best when the kindest gentleman in the world stopped on his way into the restaurant to tell me that he was going to help me back out.  He did so, and I instantly fell in love with him, and his curly-headed grandson too.
 
   

Also Gone

    I hauled some metal onto my front lawn earlier today;  A full to queen size metal bed frame, an old lawn recliner, some aluminum strips from our former windows, an old-style louvered window insert, some old metal paint rollers, and probably a few miscellaneous items that I don't recall, and  added a sign  that said also a dryer and an air conditioner.  A few hours later, at 4:30 a man stopped his truck and he and companion took everything, this time for free.  Now to get back to my e-bay listings, if only they'd provide more freebie listings.

Outta My House

Gone, as of yesterday:  3 old pieces, very old, probably early 20th century, dresser/wardrobe/chest, a large heavy beveled mirror which unfortunately had a broken edge, a twin headboard, and several large sheets of plywood.  The drawers of all the furniture were swollen shut, hadn't been opened in years, so I have no idea what they might have contained, but I'll try to get along without it.  A Honus Wagner card, maybe?

Kids in Jeopardy

  As I was leaving the house yesterday to get some groceries, I asked the 3 visiting grandchildren if they wanted anything. One said last time I had gotten them gum, so I picked up three of those extended packs in the grocery aisle, recognizing only Juicy Fruit, one of the brands from the old days.  I can remember there being maybe 6 or 7 different kinds of gum sold then, and always in the pack of 5 sticks, except for Chiclets which came  in a box.  Now there are dozens of different types of gum, and I don't think any are in sticks any more , but packaged individually like capsules in  little blister packs.
     When I got home, I put the 3 multi-packages of gum on the counter, and invited the boys to help themselves.  Now, as then, it is not unusual for a chewer to pop all the gum in the pack  into their mouths, ever seeking to refresh the flavor.  That's fine with me; let them savor chewing gum before the orthodontist nixes it. Most of the gum was chewed in short order.
   Today when I returned home from an errand, Dave said he found a piece of nicotine gum on the living room floor.  I thought he was mistaken at first, seeing regular chewing gum packaged in the small rectangular form.  But when I examined the piece he handed me, I saw it was clearly marked "Nicotine Gum."  A chill went through me: had I inadvertently provided my grandchildren with nicotine gum?  The same kids who may well have chewed an entire pack of a regulated substance?  But wait a second, nicotine gum wouldn't just be on the shelf with other chewing gum, would it?  Unless by mistake?  So I scrabbled through the torn-open packages of the gum and, in addition to the Juicy Fruit,  I had bought Eclipse Sugarless Gum and Dentyne Ice, all of the gum packaged in little cubes, the same as the piece of Nicotine Gum found on my living room floor.  Some things have no apparent explanation.

"Time to go..."

   I have not even seen a copy of "Lassie Come Home" since I read it in about the third or fourth grade,  but I still remember the unrest I felt when the country-traversing Lassie, seemingly comfortably adopted along the way into a new home, would feel the pull of devotion.  Every evening at 4:00 o'clock, she would grow restless and need to get underway in her journey. The boy would get out of school at that time, and she, ever faithful, would meet him there to walk him home.  "Time to go, time to go for the boy"  would urge her to leave her newly found comfort and get her back on the road to find the home and child she had been cruelly taken from.
    For the last few years of my childhood, all of my teen aged years, and several years into my twenties, I would feel that same pull of having to be in a certain spot. at a designated time.  In my case, it was Sara's store, across the porch from where I lived.  The time was 10 minutes to 6, every evening, 7 days a week.  Ever since Jack died, Sara had to have someone man the store while she went home to eat, and for most of that time, the someone was me.  The store was open from 10:00 A.M to 10:00 P.M. seven days a week, and was never closed for vacation.  I worked there afternoons also, on weekends and during the days when school was out, at 1:00 P.M., so the pull of time was not quite so strong as at 10 of 6.
    Even now, all those years later, as evening closes in, I still get a vague feeling of  having forgotten something, of something left undone,

Slice of Life

   She came into the waiting room of the physical therapy facility, asking to verify her appointment.  Turned out she was half an hour early.  "I've always been a bit ditzy,' she said, "so I thought I'd better check."  While she was waiting, she said to me that she had bought oranges at the market, but when she got home, discovered they were grapefruit, orange ones.  I suggested she return them, but she said she'd already opened them. When I said that some people can't eat grapefruit because of  drug interactions, she remembered that she was not supposed to eat them.
     The therapist told her that she could start on the machines while she waited for her appointment time, but she said she'd wait, because she was having issues--with her tailbone. She'd slipped getting out of her hot tub, and fallen on her back, bouncing her head on the tub as she fell, and suffered a concussion, as well as a hurt back.  I asked if she remembered falling, and she said she remembered the fall, but did not remember going upstairs to her bedroom and getting into a nightgown.  In the afternoon.
     It was important, she went on, to get herself completely checked out, because she was attending a wedding in Italy the end of August.  She was to be traveling alone, had bought a one-way ticket, planning to visit several other countries on the visit. She had several cousins in several countries, she said.  She'd traveled a lot in the past.
    I asked if she had to plan for pets or plants.  She said she had made provisions for her pets, but had completely forgotten her plants, which are on her back porch.  She plans to return some time in October.  She thanked me for reminding her of her plants.
   Some people just sit and wait for the grim reaper, while others set off in pursuit of an adventure.  She was not young, probably in her mid to late sixties, maybe even a bit older.  She had vitality, and I wish her well, ditziness and all.

Diners and Dentists

   Not too long ago, I brought a woman to the dentist, as part of my job as advocate.  Her child, almost two years old, started to wail as soon as she was out of sight.  No one besides the patient was allowed into the treatment room.  She had asked because she knew he would cry.  There was no room, she was told; it was against their rules.  After the child had cried for some minutes, dismissing all efforts to appease him by the dental assistant and me, the dentist emerged, into the waiting room, and said to me, "Would you take that child outside; my patients are getting upset."  He wasn't my child.  I was only helping his patient get there,and we had to bring her child.  But I took him outside anyway.  It was winter, but not too cold, and the ducks weren't on the pond, but we walked around the building, and around the building, and around...,.   And I didn't even alert the media.

Lost Connections

     In the morning I received a bill from a hospital with charges that should have been covered beyond the Medicare payment.  I called the billing number of the hospital to ask if they had submitted the bill to my secondary insurance.  The rep said no, they had no record of any other insurance.  I gave her the ID number and she said she would bill it out.  I simply said thank you, but I know the hospital had that information.
   Later in the day, the telephone rang with a call from our oil company, John Ray.  She wanted to verify our address because a mailing to us had been returned to them as undeliverable.  The address checked out and she wondered why that happened; she was looking at the envelope. She asked if we'd been receiving their other mailings, and I answered well, some, but I wouldn't know of any I hadn't received.  I asked her if the envelope was stamped, and she said yes it was.  She then abruptly terminated the call, saying she'd just wanted to let us know.
    It could be that the shroud of invisibility is descending on us ever more heavily.  Actually, though, I think both callers were covering their mistakes.
     

Didjya ever...

......go to deadhead a spent flower and latch onto a Japanese Beetle instead?  Yecchh.

Item Inventory

     In my minimally sized house are 4 walkers and 5 lawn sprinklers.
     The first walker moved in with us some years ago when Dave's back went out and he was driven to the ER of Mary McClellan Hospital in Cambridge.  They sent him home with a walker and told him not to bother returning it because they were closing their doors; I believe he was the last patient treated in their ER.  That walker, the barebones type, has been in our basement for a while.
   Walker number 2 was issued to me in 2013 when I had knee replacement surgery.  The cost was covered by Medicare as I recall, and the item served double duty when I had my second TKR in 2014.  It is presently serving as a garment rack in the bedroom.
     Dave received a walker from the VA, a step up from my semi-basic model.  It folds up easily and has been in the back seat of his car for some time now.  He may have had to pay a small fee for it; I don't remember.
    The Cadillac of walkers was a gift.  It is candy-apple red, has a seat, is outfitted with brakes and luxury wheels.  It arrived by express and came with a sheet of Boston Red Sox stickers, which nicely enhance the color scheme.  Presently the walker is at the front door, facilitating a walking regimen on the blacktop driveway.
  In our house are 5 lawn sprinklers, different types and colors, with various spinning and oscillating features.  They've been in the basement forever.  I don't know how or why they got here.

Chicken Dinner

    Too hot to turn the oven on, so I roasted  a chicken in our electric frying pan, a wedding gift, so the pan has some age on it, 47 years worth.  It works fine, looks a little shabby but we don't care.  Dave asked who gave it to us, and I had to say I don't remember.  I can look it up though.  The name of the maker is no longer visible, though the Sunbeam brand comes to mind.  I don't even know what temperature is being used to cook, as all the lettering has long since worn off.   Still cooking, after all these years.

Oops, I did it again.

  On the lighter side:
     I was shopping at Price Chopper Sat. because of the Country Fest Road Jam.  I walked by the usual BOGO display and picked up 2 packs of Thomas' English Muffins.  That would be the end of it if the clerk hadn't handed me 3 of those Quasi-Racing Cards, which I thought were phased out in the 80's.  So I happened to retrieve my cash register receipt, and saw that I had 2  charges of  $4.39 for the muffins, with no credit for a free pack. I looked at the sticker on the package and saw it read "Buy 1, Get 2 Free."   AND, because I was in Mechanicville for the dentist appt., I hied on over to PC, and picked up my $4.39 cash and another pack of muffins.  I said I'd wear my glasses next time, but the CSR  said the next time I should get a better cashier.  He should have told me.
    So all's well that ended, but really, $4.39 for the muffins!

I Know What You Did...

...or anyway, Harper Lee, I have a theory.  Now that you're in your dotage, Nelle, you are adding fuel to the fire that is heightened racial tension.  "To Kill A Mockingbird"  was a brave voyage into the national disgrace of racism so prevalent at the time you were writing the book.  And you gently and deftly highlighted that disgrace through your brilliant work of fiction.  You tempered the gross mistreatment of Blacks through the depiction of Atticus Finch, a White man who sought justice for all.
   With the imminent release of "Go Set A Watchman," it appears that the character of Atticus was not as tolerant as we had been led to believe through your first release.  (Of course, I don't know this; it's only what I've read.)  If this proves to be the truth, and your work of fiction collides too closely with actual history, racial tensions are bound to be exacerbated.
    It seems odd that a fictional character could have led a double life as far as prejudice is concerned.  But it is widely believed that Atticus  was a representation of your father, and his daughter, Scout, a version of yourself.
   Since "Watchman" was written years before  "Mockingbird,"  was it more closely aligned with the truth as you saw it, even recognizing your own father's feet of clay, and fictionalizing the raw truth that racism was as ingrained as mother's milk in the Alabama you knew.  You wrote of your flawed father first, and then immortalized a more heroic version, one free of racial injustice.  That is the Atticus Finch, and the hope for equality that we have come to know, and love.
    You had wanted to be known as the author of only a single novel, "Mockingbird."   If you trashed your father in the first novel, why didn't you release it then?  It probably would have been even more powerful, even if we wouldn't have  come to identify Atticus with Gregory Peck.  Did you resent your father's bigotry and want to out his misdoings or wrong thinking, but you did not want to alienate your family?  That happens.  The book is now to be released, not long after your sister's death, the sister you were closest to.
    It is reported that since you have suffered a stroke, your permission to publish "Watchman" may not have been freely given. Others say otherwise, and indeed if you never wanted it read, why wouldn't you have destroyed it?  No one will ever really know---the passing of time has seen to that.  But as I said, I have a theory.
     I believe that a writer writes out of a deep need to communicate thoughts and ideas and conversations, even if they never happened in real time.  It is an integral part of their identity, a part of them that speaks to themselves, and to others only secondarily.  To destroy a writing that one has created would be like erasing part of one's brain, akin to undergoing  a lobotomy.   And if you need support for my theory, I have a blog I could show you, parts published and parts not.  In years to come (how many?) if I lose connections to all my peers, and have had a stroke or two, what the hell---let the chips fall where they may...

Sign Says---Please tell me if you know.

    It seem stupid.  To me, it does.  But I know there is usually a sound reasoning behind most things; it just escapes me.  But here is an example of something which makes me wonder every time I see it.  What am I missing?
   Driving home today. I was behind a truck for 6 or 7 miles.  A large orange sign on the back of the truck read  "CONSTRUCTION VEHICLE.  DO NOT FOLLOW"   Now I can figure out that the driver of that truck does not want you to follow him(or her)  onto a construction site.  Most people would not knowingly do so.  But at what point does the sign come into play?  I followed the truck (disregarding the words on the sign) until the truck made a left turn into Fane's construction site.  The sign did not light up or change position: it took up a large part of the back area on the truck anyway.  It didn't appear the sign could be turned or made to go out of sight.  That would make sense, if the sign were visible only when the truck was entering  a construction site.  But no, the sign is fully visible for miles.  Therefore, drivers are inured to it; it means nothing.
     Who decided on the signage, and how is it supposed to work anyway?

Doctors WITH Borders

    You make an appointment with your doctor or health care provider.  There are times when you may need to change the date of that appointment.  Chances are, though, any change to your appointment will come not from you but from the doctor's office. Appointments used to be pretty much set in stone, but currently it is not unusual to get a call from the office rescheduling the date for your appointment.
    But, for whatever reason, it is also not unusual to find that your doctor has changed, not the time, but the location  of your appointment or procedure.  Just one year ago, I was scheduled to have knee surgery at the same facility and by the same surgeon, as the year before.
   About 2 weeks before the date of the procedure,even after the paperwork had been filed, the office called to change the location, from Samaritan Hospital to St. Peter's. "The surgeon doesn't operate  there anymore."
   Earlier this  year, my ophthalmologist's follow-up visit was changed from Clifton Park to Troy.  "Dr. Sax no longer goes to Clifton Park."
   A few days ago, the orthopedist's office called to change the site of my follow-up visit for rotator cuff tear from Clifton Park to Everett Road in Albany.  "Dr. Kaback no longer goes to Clifton Park."
      I wonder if it's an individual decision, or a group practice conversion or such.  Do the doctors get tired of the drive, or the personnel, or both.  Or does one office or operating room get priority.  (The only explanation I ever heard was when another patient asked the surgeon, and he told her that Samaritan didn't compensate them for their Emergency Room work.  What---not get paid?  Or not get paid enough?!!

...tion Alert

Beware of suffixes.
     If the QVC spokesperson is describing the skirt or coat or dress she is offering for sale as being constructed of  luxurious fabrication, you know that  you're paying for more than just fabric; you're being charged extra for snob appeal.
     If the health care spokesperson who accosts you through television or the internet touting a treatment for one or more medical conditions that can be achieved by his  research and development of a miraculous new formulation, better check him out.

Here goes---a clean sweep

    I have had the intention for a long time, but in 2010, there was illness, in 2011 the tragedy of death, in 2012, the settlement of things, in 2013 a TKR, another TKR in 2014, and here it is more than half way through 2015. This year brings a torn rotator cuff, but I hope to work around that.  

    So far, I have cleared out 3 used motors, an old metal wheelbarrow, a vintage playpen, a manual lawn mower, and an old seeder.  I shoved some old lengths of garden hose into the refuse container.  And deposited some last-century gowns in the clothing bin.  

    A drop in the bucket of accumulations, but hope lives on.

   

Of the 7

  Two of the first three teachers in the list of 7 were named Barbara.  The last time I saw the first Barbara was a year ago last summer, at our annual lunch.  She was gone several months later, with little notice.
    I had not kept close contact with the second Barbara because she was already married with children when she joined our union of teachers and she taught at the junior high level, a different world back then.  I had not seen her for several decades, until a few months ago, in a place that was not her own.  Her health had failed her and she now resides in a facility.  She  has lost her regal bearing, but still retains the authoritarian tone which made her a successful junior high teacher.  She feels betrayed, by those closest to her, she told me, and said she'd explain,  in the privacy of her room, unwilling to air her hurt in public.    A sad overtone to her life, to live with a sense of betrayal.  Not so surprising, though, since the ultimate betrayal lies within ourselves; we are all subject to the same fate.

Sertember 9, 1965

Once upon a time back when the earth was new, the newspaper heading relayed the news that there were "Seven New Teachers at Cambridge."
     Miss Barbara Weaver, a graduate of Capital University, Columbus Ohio, had studied at the University of Grenoble in France, Western University, and New York Universities, had teaching experience in Pennsylvania and taught with the Peace Corps in Africa, will teach French 1-4.
    Miss Mary Madigan graduated from the State University at Albany, attended summer school at Albany and Oneonta, and has 4 years teaching experience in New York schools, will teach English 10 and 11.
     Mrs. Barbara Sherman, received her teaching degree at Castleton College in Vermont and will teach reading and junior high English.
    William Caven, a graduate of Siena College and SUNY Albany has taught in Cohoes and will teach Latin 1, 2 , 3 and English 7.
    David Thornton graduated from New Mexico State College, studied at Breadloaf School of Middlebury College, taught in New Mexico and California and will teach English 11 and 12.
  Douglas Peterson graduated from State University at Albany and will teach driver education.
    Kenneth Bovio graduated from Ithaca College, taught at Hague, and will teach instrumental music.
    Returning members of the junior-senior high school are Alice Ashton, school nurse; Allen Bailey, math; Douglas Blanchard, commercial; Albert Brigham, ungraded; Jane Crawford, English and reading; Clements Crowe, social studies; Richard Dawson, art; Jennie Dempsey, vocal music; Frank Fressie, social studies; Carson Fuller, boys' phys ed; Robert Hayden, social studies and junior high English, Ruth Hudson English; George Leyden, social studies, Barbara Lynch, commercial; Vivian Miles, librarian; Doris Moon, guidance; John Potter, industrial arts; Waldemar Roewer, agriculture and science, Richard Ross, science 7,8,9; Ethel Sherin, social studies, Ralph Smith, math 7, 8; Bernard Stinner, science; Leta Tully, home economics; and Kenneth Wilbur, science.
   New elementary teachers are Marjore McIntyre, Margaret Webster, Marilyn Keilty, Kathleen Ross, Ruth Balcom, Sue Jolley,
   Returning elementary teachers are Doris Elo, Loretta Knapp, Helen Buckley, Jeanne Bishop, Sally Smith, Priscilla Bayer, Lynn Edgerly, Mildred Powell, Elizabeth Waite, Kathryn Buckley, Marjorie Gardner, Nina Watkins, Rebecca Coulter, Rosalie Purdy, Margaret Foster, Henry Giles, Alice Murdock, Helen MacArthur, Donald Brennan, Donald Record, Helen Cantelo, Elizabeth Oliver, Richard Nottingham, Kenneth Albrecht, and Milton Tesar.