Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Kingston Creche

Ma's Christmas Cactus to left,  Miss Mary's (Baltimore) handmade wreath on top, Dorothy's flower in background

Christmas 2017 Girls

Christmas 2017 Girls

The Tech.

Angel Above

Not All Dogs Are Good Either.

   A young Virginia woman took her two dogs for a walk in the woods, and they ended up killing her and partially devouring her body. Some fanatically obsessive people deny this could have happened and worked to prevent the euthanization of the animals, even though respondents saw the dogs eating the flesh from the woman's chest, and the pathology report matched the woman's mutilation with the physical features of the dogs. Some people are blinded to the truth when they have made their minds up to believe otherwise. (Unfortunately, that is true in other situations as well, but this is not about that.)  I am hoping this will not sound, Heaven forbid, like a version of the Me-too stories flooding today's society:
    A long time ago, back when the world was new and I was single, I went to visit my sister on a cold and snowy evening when she lived a good distance from civilization. The trailer she and her husband lived in was located  in a remote section of Speigletown, off a dirt road, and situated amid cow pastures on top of a hillside, and accessed by a long, rather steep and winding dirt driveway. Winter brought  lots of snow back then, and nobody had plows or snowblowers, so the practice during the snowy season was to park your car at the bottom of the hill and walk up the driveway, as best you could. So that is what I did that long-ago evening .
     They owned 2 dogs at the time. One was a spaniel my mother had given  them. Ruffy was a male and rather large and burly for that breed, but I'd known him since he was a puppy. The second dog, Max, was a black Belgian or German shepherd which had been given to them not too long before, so I wasn't as familiar with him. They were young, healthy mostly outside dogs. They had a large doghouse, but they liked the freedom of being outdoors where they could roam the acreage available to them.
     It was getting dark that evening when I parked my car at the bottom of the hill. I knew my sister was home, but her husband was away on business, so no one had even attempted to shovel the deep snow. I started up the hill but the snow was  deep, over the top of my boots, and my foot slipped out with each step I took, with the boot stuck in the snow. So it was a tedious and time consuming struggle to make headway up the drive, and since it was the time before cell phones, I couldn't even let her know I was there.
   I had advanced about a third of the way up when the dogs arrived.  I welcomed the sight of them at first. I thought they were greeting me in a playful manner. They would run through the snow close to me and then would retreat and turn back, only to repeat the process.  I was young then and not really afraid of much of anything, but I remember feeling uneasy at the  kind of fierce look in their eyes, and I knew I appeared helpless, as I struggled and swayed back and forth to keep my balance in the drifted snow. Eventually, I managed to reach the door, the dogs took off, and I put the experience out of my mind.
  Later that year, both of the dogs were put down. They had killed 2 young calves that were in a neighboring pasture. Out of a feral lust for the hunt, we supposed.
   
 
 

A Matter of Taste

     Looking for something to eat, of the single-serving type, I invested in Lean Cuisine Craveables' Spinach, Artichoke & Chicken Panini. I know what panini is though I've never ordered one, and I don't know the last time I savored an artichoke, or eaten spinach for that matter. But the contents listed on the front of the package---white meat chicken,with spinach, artichokes, tomatoes, garlic, cheese & parmesan sauce----sounded appealing and healthy, at least when I was at the store.
    I microwaved half  of the panini sandwich, and got ready to enjoy; I tasted it and it was bitter. So I looked at the small print on the side panel.  There were about 50 or 60 other ingredients listed, including CELLULOSE POWDER and CHICKEN POWDER.  How a chicken is powdered I can only guess. Below the Ingredients list is the statement:  "PARTIALLY PRODUCED WITH GENETIC ENGINEERING"
  PB&J Sandwiches, I'll be back.

Christmas Tidings

A Tree, A Cat and A Wreath

"Twilight Shock State"

    Dr. David J. Shulkin, Secretary of Veterans Affairs, in his book, QUESTIONS PATIENTS NEED TO ASK: GETTING THE BEST HEALTHCARE, writes that most patients don't remember their time in Intensive Care because the body goes into a twilight shock state. I think this state probably applies to patients in other medical facilities or treatments as well. The quixotic allure of the myth-ridden practice of  medicine can induce amnesia if not actual shock. We are in awe. Our minds take flight.
     Everybody should buy the book, though now that he has a new job, Dr. Shulkin's focus may be elsewhere.  I hope he is a compassionate sort.

Container Wrath--Don't flip your top.

   

Does anybody hate this type of flip-top container cap as much as I do?  In the past, I've kept an old toothbrush to help clean out these tops---ketchup, mustard, toothpaste, jelly which is probably worst of all, honey, and many more. Now I just unscrew the tops, and spoon the contents out, as in the old days. Or for toothpaste, just remove the entire cap and squeeze the tube.  Much less frustrating and nowhere near as messy.

Word of the Day

   Through a circuitous array of night time thoughts, my mind locked on the word haymow.  Memory tells me it used to be a familiar word, used a lot, and widely understood. Now it sounds strange and arcane, and I doubt if most young people know what a haymow is.

The Power of Words, Mother's words

    Donald Sutherland has been around for a very long time. Most likely just about everything that could happen to a human being has happened to him.  He was interviewed on tonight's 60 Minutes and he teared up recounting something his long-departed mother said to him when he was a young boy. Apparently having some reservations about his appearance, he asked his mother if he was good looking. His mother paused, he said, and stated, "Your face has character."  He then secluded himself in his room or a closet for a period of time, devastated.
     None of my children ever asked me that question. If they had, I don't know exactly what I would have said, but I don't think any words of mine would have shattered their egos. One of my children did ask once, on the birth of a newborn baby, if the child was as cute as the parent thought, or was it just a usual parental perception of their child.  I verified the cuteness of the baby, as I would have if any of my children had asked about themselves. They were all very good-looking children, but there's nothing wrong with a face that has character either. I am suspicious that an actor with such longevity actually remembers being hurt by his mother's rather innocuous words spoken so many decades ago.And Sutherland has a new movie opening early next year, so in consenting to be interviewed, he would need some touching anecdotal information. It could have happened. His new movie is "Leisure Seekers," and relates his descent into dementia so he might need a sympathetic audience.
     Maybe I'm underestimating the impact of parental influence on long-term memories, but there is one reminiscence I don't even slightly doubt.  In talking to a former classmate, Richard, at a birthday party for his mother-in-law, he spoke of a schooldays memory, when he was probably in third or fourth grade.  There was a major snowfall, and he lived  in a rural area in a house a long way from where the schoolbus picked  up him and his sister. They managed to walk that cold and stormy day through the steep banks of snow down the long and unplowed roadway to their bus stop. They waited a while until a passing driver told them that school was closed.  So back they went, trudging their way through the snow. They reached home and their father asked why they were home. They told him, and he gave Richard a whipping for not waiting for the bus.  He didn't say if his sister was beaten, but I happen to know that today she has serious emotional disorders.  Now I can understand that type of parental behavior can leave a lifelong impression on a child.  Donald Sutherland was lucky.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

On the First of the Year, or thereabouts:
    We're getting a new waste hauler, and new refuse containers.  But don't think we can keep the ones we have now; their owners will pick them up last collection day.
   My Retirement Prescription Plan will change in some way, but we should not be concerned about it. The irony is that Dave's condition entitles him to no-cost prescriptions from the VA, but the VVH does not have an alliance with that VA policy.
   There is a deadline on recall for the Takata Airbags which are most likely in my Honda. According to the microscopic text on a postcard mailed to me, I'm to fill out a form opting in or out of a class action settlement. It's irrelevant because whatever monies are to be  distributed invariably end up in the pockets of the attorneys assigned to the case.
   Another Class Action mailing, this time for unwanted callers who defy the "Do Not Call" mandate, which they treat as a joke: I receive an average of 2 such calls a day, some of late are even from the 753 exchange. I could reply by the deadline, but see above as to monetary disposition.
   Today, a notice that my present BC/BS Excellus Retirement Health Insurance Policy will be terminated on Jan.1, but not to worry, it will be replaced by another policy which should afford similar coverage. That's what they said last time, but that was not true. Well, it was similar, just somewhat more costly.
   I find that the pre-pay option for our home heating oil is not available this year, nor any other cash discount either apparently, and at this week's price per gallon of $3.099 on Tues., and $3.189 on Thurs.(I asked), it's going to be an unprecedented fuel-cost year.
     I can't wait to get tomorrow's mail. 

   

Skeptical

   About the Winbot.   Sounds great, but I can't believe the physics behind it or whatever law of gravity applies.  Though it does promise more time to spend with your family.

Senior Specificity

   Samaritan Hospital's New State-of-the-Art Emergency Department is scheduled to open Thursday, December 7, with a Sneak Preview on Monday, December 4.  The E.D. will be the first unit to open in the hospital's new five-story Heinrich Medicus Pavilion.
   Why such an imposing structure would be built vertically instead of on only one or two levels defies comprehension. Perhaps there is a dearth of real estate within the territory bounds specified by the late Dr. Medicus.  A few years ago, Dr. Medicus was present at the dedication of the Parking Garage, and he appeared pleased.  But drivers who have entered that garage know that it too lacks  access space, and multiple parking levels never appeal to patients or visitors. The publicity says there  is or will be free shuttle service on all floors of the garage, if you call a provided number.  That may help some.
    I don't know yet what will be on the other four floors of the Pavilion, but I understand the trend in the construction of educational or medical facilities is to avoid multiple levels.  Such facilities are required to have evacuation drills, in the event of natural or terroristic disasters. Clearing a ground floor is difficult at best, and levels above that pose even more of a challenge.  Elevators would be rendered unusable and descending multiple flights of stairs difficult for many. caretakers and patients alike.  {I just had the thought that this critique of stairways may be completely unfounded---maybe the upper levels have the ascending walkways, not the old-fashioned staircases.  I ought to attend Thursday's Sneak Preview before casting such aspersions. Stupid me.{
    Back to the new Emergency Department:   It's 4 times the size of the present ED, with 44 patient treatment spaces and 29 private rooms.  And---Wait for it---Six patient rooms designed specifically for "the unique needs of older adults."   Because the new Emergency Department is designed to be senior-friendly.  These senior rooms are geared toward addressing the senior's "special medical needs, preferences and physical comforts," for which the physicians and staff have received extensive education and training.
      Now this sounds all well and good, except what does it really mean? I know there is a new Pediatric Emergency Facility opened in Albany, and that makes sense: for example, all four-year-olds are pretty much the same size, so size-appropriate equipment would be helpful.  But what is there about Senior Citizens that would fit them all in one category.  And what are the "unique" needs of older adults? If  a need were truly unique, therefore by definition one of a kind, how would it be possible to classify that need by age?   One would hope that any patient's "special medical needs" would be addressed, regardless of how old they are. The same for "physical comforts."  For those who can't comfortably walk, assistive devices should be available as needed.  I don't know how their "preferences" would be managed. That's rather unfamiliar territory in any ER I've been aware of.
     I can picture this:  Senior Citizen enters the ER and is seated in a comfy arm chair, maybe the lift type.  Piped in music plays 50's tunes.  Peppermint tea may be offered (if not precluded by "special medical needs."  Said Senior knows he/she is in a designated-by-age room, knows that his providers there have been trained specifically to deal with this older population.  Does that make the patient  feel better about it?  OR OR OR -----
             Would adult  patients of whatever age, on entering an Emergency Room, expect to be evaluated for the condition that caused their  appearance there?  Never mind the patronizing and condescending approach based on age, which resulted in their being funneled  into a "special" room; figure out what's wrong and help them  to feel better.  Age discrimination is one more thing an ailing senior citizen doesn't need, even if the music of Lawrence Welk plays in the background.
****Reading what I wrote above, and realizing there are only 6 Senior Rooms out of 44 treatment spaces and 29 rooms, it seems likely that the number of Senior Citizens in the ER at most given times will very likely exceed 6, so maybe the choice would be up to the old patient, maybe by lottery....

Survey This

   Last week I was paid $65 cash for participating in an opinion  survey.  So now I just can't stop opining.

Money for the Bird(s)

     I learned from my F.U. visit that the good doctor, father of six young children, had his Thanksgiving dinner for 15 people, and served a 22-lb. turkey which he purchased at $.39 per lb. So on the way home, I felt compelled to stop at SNS to see if they had any left at that price.  They had about half a dozen left, so I bought one. It weighs about 15 lbs. and cost $6.00.  It is presently taking up most of my freezer space, so we know what's for dinner at Christmas time.  A pared-down version of traditional turkey dinner though, minus all the frills.  Just roast turkey and lemon meringue pie.

Rue

   Yesterday's appointment confirmed what I'd already known, as per the availability of the omniscient patient portal, that the procedure had been not necessary and based on machine readouts that can only be shrugged off.  Had it not been for the looming shadow of prior events, I almost certainly would have at least delayed the procedure, but sometimes time is of the essence.  Or so they say.  But not having bad news delivered is reason enough to accept what has occurred in good nature, at least for now.
   Home from my trip, all in vain, I opened the newspaper to read that the monolithic St. Peter's Health Partners is seeking smaller monetary gifts as supplementary funding to the Medicus millions which will allow the new Pavilion to open next month. I'm no architect, but why they're building that monstrous complex in the structurally confined geographic area of Samaritan Hospital is beyond comprehension, perhaps explainable by such designation of the late Heinrich Medicus.  I mean, the present "old" building is deemed outdated anyway, and will probably become even more obsolete.
     While we wish for the success of a state of the art medical facility here in the Troy area, I can only cite the shortcomings of the  accompanying Parking Garage, dedicated in 2015 in the presence of Heinrich Medicus, the picture of such dedication accompanying the today's newspaper article:
                The Parking Garage is a monstrosity. Though it's abundantly used, no one prefers to park there, even though parking is free---at least for now. I have parked there about 5 times, and 3 of those times I've hit the curb with my rear tire on the passenger side. Drivers proceed up an incline, through an unusually narrow access lane, and then take a hard right past a now-unseeable jutting-out curb. On my way out of the garage, I've checked, and the end of the entry curb is marked and worn off with the remnants of rubber from unlucky tires. Once into the garage, you drive until you see a space.  Not there, that's a bank of Physicians Only, probably about a dozen or so.  And this day, all are empty. so, keep looking. Aha, you pull in, but then on the wall ahead of you a small sign saying Physicians Only, this time at a single space, tucked in among general parking. Repeat the process, only to see a Volunteers Only sign discreetly placed as to be visible only after you pull into the slot.Repeat this search.  Once you park, you step out into a gray and dim area, isolated except for the cars passing by where you are standing, trying to figure  where you need to go and how you can find your car after you return .
   The alternative to the Parking Garage is street parking, where you're not likely to ever find a space since that is where the hospital staff prefers to park and they arrive very early and stay for their shift.  I have asked several (though no physicians), and, without exception, each said they parked on the street. There remains the limited number of parking spaces next door in the Cardiology lot, a practice separate from St. Peter's, and the dwindling parking lot between the Cardiology office and the Parking Garage.  There you will find the lurkers. Their vehicles hang out in any available space, waiting, hoping, for some patient departure. AARP has provided hints that someone leaves a parking space every 22 minutes, so there's hope.  Anything but the Parking Garage. These lurking vehicles tend to back up rather suddenly and jump forward too, as the drivers sense an opening.  My wish would be to require the smiling group of officials honoring the opening of the garage to park their cars in the garage a time or two, before ballyhooing it as a wonderment.
   
     Near the end of a longish day, I listened to The Voice, while checking various sites at the computer. From my non-professional assessment, all the finalists sounded good. When that program segued into what was billed as a Christmas special, I decided to watch from the larger bed, and tucked myself in that bedroom, planning to try to lull myself to sleep listening to nice seasonal music. I don't even care about the picture on this smallish TV screen, just the music. I look and think the background looks garish and a bit bawdy, but as I said, just the music please.  I lie back trying to put together the happenings of the day, and hear ----oh, lordy----Pentatonix. Singing Christmas songs.  And a guest appearance by the winner of this year's America's Got Talent, the girl ventriloquist, now singing Christmas songs. Talented maybe, Annoying, definitely.
     I hang on, through the dismal news, waiting for Jimmy Fallon to deliver a few laughs. Opening is a simply dreadful interview with a sham second-line pageant contestant which mercifully is soon over.  Then he announces the night's celebrity guest is Martin Short.   NOOOOOOO!

Avieshidy

 "A-vy-sha-die" I was too young to know how to spell it, but I used to think this was a real word, because my mother taught it to me.  Way back in rented housing, before lights or heat or much of anything at all.  She would tuck us in at night, and listen to the three of us, one after the other, as  we repeated the words of the prayers she had taught us. 
    Simple prayers at first, for sure, and I was happy to feel I'd gotten it right.  "Now I lay me down to sleep" is much more comforting if you don't have to consider the fact you may die that night instead of  waking up next morning. 
    It's early Thanksgiving morning and I'm going back to bed, and hopefully to sleep.  But, "Avishedye before I wake,"  know that the turkey has been in the oven since 5:25 this morning, and will probably be done about 5 hours from then. 

Half C. of T'Giving Turkeys

      Well, it looks like we'll make it, in some manner or other.  Tomorrow marks #50 of the Thanksgiving turkeys I have cooked.  We've had those turkey dinners in our apartment in Schaghticoke, in my mother's house, my daughter's house, and in the house we've lived in for all but one of the turkey years.  Though we've had a Thanksgiving dinner in other venues, my in-law's home, and several restaurants where family gathered, I have cooked a Thanksgiving turkey every single year since we were married, even though the turkey may have been transported to another home.
      This year's PLAINVILLE FRESH TURKEY weighs  21.96 lbs., and holds the distinction of being not the largest but at $2.49 per lb., the priciest of all his fellow turkeys, with total price of $54.68.  He was "humanely raised" so that may have contributed to the price, but probably more likely is that he is a product of Price Chopper's MARKET BISTRO  in Latham.  We had a Plainville turkey back in 2004, at .89 per lb. but it didn't have a fancy address. I seem to remember another family member paying $80 for a turkey several years back, amidst unfounded rumors that it was not  a turkey, but an eagle.  It was from the North Country and it did have long legs, but that doesn't qualify as an eagle. 
    The preceding 49 turkeys I've cooked have all been successes. I hope this one follows in their tracks.  I keep hearing different TV accounts of how to keep your turkey from drying out.  That seems to be a big problem.  Personally I don't know how that even happens.  Just put it in the oven at 325-350 degrees and cook it until it's done.  True, I'd rather eat overdone turkey than underdone, and some of the turkeys that are carved on the TV shows are reddish pink near the bones. In that case, I'd stick with the stuffing and veggies.
   

FB

I'd kill 'em, I would.

Trump Check

   Observe and you will see.  He doesn't turn his head on the stalk of his neck. He moves his body from the shoulders to look sideways.  That may be his least toxic critique.

That First Noncastable Stone

    We all know that nobody is perfect and everybody is guilty of sin.  But Charley?  Ryan?
     What should be worthy of investigation is the contention that while women may have been considered the weaker sex and therefore susceptible to be preyed upon by men, women as a gender are just as likely to succumb to some temptation or other, and so also be guilty of sin. Women who hold power may  prey upon underlings in a sexual manner.
     Women are coming forth now in legion. Their stifled voices are now being heard. Heretofore, the women were ashamed to have been objectified and so kept quiet, 
      We have not yet heard much from the men. Could it be because abused men have even more shame about going public with their complaints.  Besides feeling violated and used, they have to consider  that filing a complaint about sexual abuse carries the inference of lack of masculinity.  The double standard flips again,
    While I am all too familiar with the conditions of abuse outlined in the ME TOO charges, I am certain I have never been the perpetrator of such. But since we're on the subject of abuse, let me clear my conscience via my Blog Confessor and admit this: 
          Way back in the early days of my career, before there were any policies forbidding corporal punishment, I recall slapping 2 students.  I slapped a seventh-grader by reflex when he came up to my desk and yelled into my ear. He was a nice kid and I still regret seeing the red mark on his cheek.  The other student I slapped was a little s*#t who  deserved it.

Long Ago and Far Away

    It was a long time ago, back when I was single and popular enough to be asked to join a group of my co-workers on a trip to New Orleans at Mardi Gras time.  There were to be 4 of us at final count: one potential traveler was engaged to be married  and decided she couldn't afford the trip, financially or romantically. So the 5th traveler was lost.   Plans were made early in the school year, the primary organizer an energetic and capable exchange teacher from England, quite a wonderfully appealing personality all around. 
    It was still early in the year and so I agreed. The trip sounded like fun, and I could certainly afford it, but secretly I hated the thought of flying, which was new to me, but ever since I'd seen  the John Wayne movie, "The High and the Mighty," some years earlier, the thought of being trapped in what seemed to be a doomed airplane filled me with dread.  I joined in the discussions about the trip, but I secretly planned to drop out as the time approached. The other 3 would be plenty of company.  But then, Christmas came and one of the would-be travelers was given an engagement ring for Christmas and withdrew from the trip, both to save for wedding expenses and to appease the now fiancee. (She was to regret it, then and years later because the marriage did not last, and the memories of the trip were enjoyed for many years.  I'm not much of a traveler, but that was the best vacation I've ever had.)
    Anyway, no one wanted to hear about anyone else dropping out. Two people were not enough of a party.  They needed me.  I waited to tell them, fully planning to break the news at some appropriate time.  But somehow that time never came, and one February day, I found myself in a car headed for the airport in New York.  I remember feeling almost in a state of shock: I never decided to go, didn't know how it happened that I was headed to New Orleans, but it was happening.
   Sometimes those things happen, I've learned.  Almost as if they take on a life of their own, and you have lost, or ceded, control. I've pretty much always relied on myself to make my own decisions. But it's also true that once you take the first step in a process, momentum gathers, and Voila! You're rolled along like a stone stuck in a snowball. 
 
 

Sometimes this happens---don't know why

I don't want the Los Angeles Traffic Report to appear on my TV screen, but every once in a while it does so.  And I have to  turn the TV off to exit the screen.  (I used to think it was a signal from David's cell phone, as it often appeared just before he called.  But now, it's a total mystery. Contact NSA.

Precipitation

Whatever it is.

Most Mundane of Dreams

   The instructor didn't ask for the answer exactly.  She said if you know the answer, raise your hand. I knew the answer so I raised my hand, not to answer the question, but just to comply.  So she called on me, by name, to answer the question she'd asked. By now, I'd forgotten what the question was. She would not repeat it, but waited for me to answer.  "Geneva," I said. She said no, that was the "wrong answer" I'd already given. So I amended my answer to what I'd meant to say in the first place, and answered "Geneseo." That was correct.
  ***It's 3:48 A.M. and I'm just learning the Election results.  I meant to watch them last night, but, trying to filter out the election returns while avoiding the most horrible of news stories, I fell asleep. The returns I'm viewing now are also rather horrible. So I guess I'll just stay awake until it's time to go to my appointment,  a horror story in itself.

Wish Book is back!

   I just saw an announcement that Sears Wish Book is back.  Online though, so that pours water on the memories.  Back in the day, the true advent of the Christmas Season started the day  the mailman brought our copy of the Wish Book.
   What followed was hours of searching the pages, with pencil in hand. By the end of November, most of the toys were circled for Santa to bring, for Santa did read the Wish Book.  Everybody did.

1970's Styling

Check out the "big hair" on the chick in the green jacket.  Not to mention the Mini-Skirt.

Rule made to be broken:

     The beds in the house have always been off limits to furry creatures. The sofas are allowed as is the non-leather chair, and that compact has never been broken.  Until one day last week when I went into the bedroom and saw-----

Obsolete Memory Storage

  If I could only delete unneeded stuff that's stored in my memory, that should open up a space to store current information, shouldn't it? For instance, I have absolutely no reason to know  that my college Student Number was 21293.  That  was once a vital identification number, used on every reference to academic performance, but that was a very long time ago. I have no reason to be able to recall that the first license plate on my father's car that I was able to read was 7A-3535. I'm not even sure of the license plate number on the car I drive now. If I could just substitute one for the other.  And  I know that my sister's first telephone number when she married and left home was 235-3299.  That was the first number listed in the Telephone Directory after she moved and had a new number.  It belonged to AAA Ace Services or something like that.

Inane use of perfectly good words:

1) "Throw in"----   From recipe usage of "throwing in" the mixing bowl each ingredient and then taking that mixture and "throwing it in" the oven;  to filling your own child's lunchbox by "throwing in " those  healthy offerings and  snack items.  Not to mention taking your own children and "throwing" them into your car, etc.
2) "Grab"-------I just heard an announcement of how to "Grab your clothing purchases."  Everything is "grabbed" on the Shopping Networks from soup to nuts, (not to be taken in any offensive way.) Sure, you might grab a coffee on your way to work. But just listen and you'll hear that everything is now being "grabbed," and what's the big rush?

Candy is Candy

  I hope to high heavens that there are no postings of what to do with leftover Halloween candy.  Nobody needs a cake filled with leftover candy, or a melange of all kinds of miscellaneous candy sauteed together and served as a dessert. Except for chocolate pieces, don't even add candy to cookies.  If you don't eat candy in a reasonable time after Halloween, THROW IT AWAY.

Pressed Secretary

    The most benign comment I can make about Sara Sanders relates to her use of makeup.  Why so heavy on the mascara and eye shadow, and why a heavier application on her left eye. The mascara is so thickly applied it makes it hard to see in, and looks like she may not be able to see out.

I Remember

Battening

  In anticipation of the violent wind and water onslaught forecast for today, I brought my hanging spider plants, 3 of them, into the basement, dragged the metal lawn chair off the deck, and moved my car as far away as possible from tree branches.  What else is there to do?

Legend of the Locks of Love

    Why don' t people point their kids in another direction from donating their hair to Locks of Love.  Isn't it a given that almost everyone now prefers synthetic hair over  human hair. I'll bet most donated human hair isn't even used.

Paperwork Overload

Some of it.

The tick are still here.

Aftermath

This is the damage wrought by today's windstorm:

Something's bugging us :

Boxelder beetles by the thousands. Since they don't bite, and google says they live only one generation, the tendency is to co-exist until cold weather.  But they are despicable.

It might as well be spring..

Not so shrinking Violet and Late-blooming Dahlias, Schenevus version.

Delayed Dahlias

For the kids to enter in the Schaghticoke Fair, there must be 3 blooms.  Last year there were none and this year at Fair time there were exactly 3 in bloom.  They did win First Place and there were competitors.  But then nothing--until now. So I guess I'll try to remember to dig them up again this year, and see who survives who.

The Fall

I have one large tomato plant.  I thought the leaves were being stripped by chipmunks, but  today I see this tomato hornworm. I've seen them before, a long time ago, but this one is huge, it seems to me.

Pumpkin Spice Redux

    With all the chatter about the prevalence of pumpkin spice, I remembered  that when I baked a pumpkin pie last Thanksgiving, I added to the filling a packet of Pumpkin Spice, a favor from Krystal and Danny's wedding. I found out later the packet was Pumpkin Spice Tea.  But the pie tasted good.

In Dreams

      Dave was late and we began to wonder what was keeping him, so I drove over to the school, where we thought he was hitting golf balls.  As I drove into the parking lot, he was just leaving, so I went to turn my  car around.  But I was unable to see out the windows, front or side.  Either the windows were fogged up or, worse I thought, it was my eyes that were foggy.  I started to worry, but as Dave drove by, he rolled down his window and told me I was driving on the lawn. At that, the fog lifted and I was able to see to drive home.
      I needed to go back though later, because I had to pick up the things in my classroom, as the session was ending; at least for me it was.  I found my things, a large beach umbrella and an American flag, both large-sized items.  I thought they would probably be thrown away if I left them there.
      I brought the items down to  the office to check them out.  The office looked just as it always had, years ago. The office workers there the same, several people.  But before I went into  the office, I found myself rubbing my forehead, trying to remove the red splotch I knew was there, because I had fallen asleep at the computer with my head on the desk. I didn't want to appear injured or disfigured.  I brought the smaller item, the flag, out to my car, but left the umbrella there, thinking I could either  store it there until next session or else bring it home later.
         I never did find out what became of the umbrella though, because I woke up sitting at the computer with my forehead on the wooden desk. Undoubtedly if I'd checked in the mirror, I would have seen a red splotch.  But I didn't look.

Dr. Oz....

...is either a total wuss or else he has led a charmed life with complete avoidance of stress.  But how can that be since he is a surgeon?  Today he filmed a segment  of his going to Motor Vehicle to renew his driver's license, while monitoring his blood pressure, as he knew it would be elevated. It was.  He can't stand the waiting. Everybody was nice, he reported, and his wife was with him.
    If I were his doctor, I would recommend he seek treatment for labile blood pressure.  That, as I have been told, is also important to control. But then, nobody listens to me---ever.

"This old house...

....once knew my children.  This old house once knew..."
     With credit to Stuart Hamblen, who wrote not just of the physical house, but also the mortal house: 
Moved in:  May '69: Newly married  with a newborn baby-3 people
                   Two more kids, 1970 and1977----------------------5 people
                   Kids left in the 80's and 90's, now only --------- 2 people
                   August 2, 2017---------------------------------------1

Here today...

Three Drunk Girls: "Say You Won't Let Go"

      It was Graduation night, circa 1964. I was jolted by a memory while watching the marathon finale of America's Got Talent.  A young British singer by the name of James Arthur was performing his chart topping song, "Say You Won't Let Go."
    The song is a romantic ballad type song.  I'd heard it a few times before, and I was struck about how one of the lines seemed so non-romantic. The line being:  "I held your hair back when you were throwing up."
   Romantic or not, an image sprung to  mind, of exactly that.   I know for a fact that nobody ever did that for me, but I have  a clear picture of its being true for someone else.
    On the eve of Hoosic Valley's High School Graduation, or more precisely whenever the graduation parties for that event were held. Ruth and I were still teaching at Hoosic Valley and Dorothy still lived at home.  We were all three young and single.  The three of us went to a graduation house party for Ruth's niece Sharon.  There was plenty to drink, and probably food as well, but we didn't care much about eating back in those days. We liked the party aspect.There were  a number of adults who were willing to serve different drinks to us three young ladies.
      I believe I drove Dorothy and me up to the party on Burton Street, and then drove the three of us down to our second graduation party invitation---two houses down from my own house, to Jane's party.  And that's where the party started.  With all the people there and seemingly every type of alcoholic beverage on the face of the earth,  we were encouraged to partake, and we did. We were  handed drinks we'd never seen or heard of, one after the other, maybe even two at a time.The three of us got drunk.  Beginners as we were, we most likely  didn't know how drunk, but it was evidently apparent to others. A couple of the young men at the party, graduates from a few years before, offered (or took it upon themselves) to walk us home even though Dorothy and I lived a few houses away, and I had parked my car in our driveway.
     I looked back and saw Mike O., gently holding Dorothy's long red hair away from her face while she threw up in the front yard. (Both of them are gone now, so it's not a betrayal of any sort,)  Ruth and I and G.M. (He may or may not be living now) made it to our front porch and G. suggested that he drive Ruth, and me, to her house, which was probably the safest thing to do. After we made sure Ruth got safely home, he asked me if I would like to drive to the Reservoir to get some fresh air and clear my head, but I said no. Instead I went home and sat on our bathroom floor with Dorothy until our heads stopped spinning  enough so we could  climb the stairs to our bedroom.

Ready to call it quits...

...I think I have the capacity to make myself understood using simple forms of our native English language, and I would like to think that, likewise,  I can understand what others are trying to communicate to me.  I spent many years teaching English and its  communication skills, and quite successfully saw correction and growth in those I worked with.  Everybody seemed to get the picture.  And I certainly never anticipated having any  problems understanding anything I would be reading in the English language.
   But that was before I was involved with Government Forms.  I will adamantly state that the wording is NOT  "complicated" or "confusing" or "difficult to understand."  That would imply that the person reading the forms lacks some insight or knowledge or ability necessary to understand the sophisticated wording.  No, the fault is not with the reader.  Some of the forms appear to have been written by a committee, with each committee member unaware of what the other members have written.  It is not that the questions asked are hard to answer:  rather the questions are independent of the preceding and following questions.  So as an entity, the questions make no sense.
     In explanation, the service rep will read a statement prepared in defense of the contradictory and nonsensical questions on the Form.  The answer given totally defies reason, but since they know what information  is needed, submitting what they tell you works, most of the time and for those who ask in the first place.
    I am citing an example, which will mean nothing to those unfamiliar with :
Form 21-00845 Authorization to Disclose Personal Information to a Third Party.
Section 1 ---asks for the Veteran's Name
Section 11--asks for the Beneficiary/ Claimant's name, specifying it can NOT be the veteran. (Sometimes the Beneficiary refers to the Veteran,so this could make sense.)
Section 111---asks for the name of the person (or organization) to whom the information may be released.  BUT IT SPECIFIES THE NAME CANNOT  be the same as in Section 11.
   So the name in section 2 can't be the same as in Section 3, nor can it be the Veteran's name, in Section 1,  so whose can it be?  No other instruction is given; believe me, I have read every word of all the  instructions.
   So I call.  The first  rep will give me NO information.  Because this Form has not been properly filled out.  Catch 22 is government-ese.  I try again, another day, get another rep, more helpful.  I know how to determine who will help.  She tells me to ignore Section 2.  Leave it blank, she says.  She says the only time Section 2 should be filled in is if the Veteran is deceased.  I say thank you.  I don't ask, because she is being as helpful as she's allowed to be, this question:
   How can it be?  The question in Section 2 asks for the "Name of the Beneficiary / Claimant Who Is Not the Veteran. "  Does it make sense for this to be filled in if the Veteran is Deceased? I mean this is a government form, used by many thousands of veterans.  It follows in the view of the government that a deceased veteran is NOT the veteran. Not any more.  I guess that's true.

College Commuter's Nightmare, '50's Style

    Our Freshman college classes began September 17, 1956.  I had no idea what to expect, and that turned out to be a good thing.  Otherwise, my sister and I (she only 16 years old)  would never had made it through.
    As commuters, and dependent on various means to get there-car, bus, trains---there was no time for any activities or entertainment, or even enough sleep. So many negative memories, but I was reminded of this horror the other day.
   We majored in English and Social Studies,as well as the requisite Education courses,  and there were  tons of mandated reading assignments.  In those days, the professors, elitist you might call them, disdained the idea of restricting assigned readings to the many textbooks that were required for their courses,  vigorously pursuing the idea of having us read specific passages from books that were, for the most part, out of print. Therefore, rare, and found only in the college library on the dreaded Reserved List. That meant you had to sign up for them. The rest of at least your class had the same requirement, so that meant a race to the library desk to sign up first, or early enough to glean a time slot before the assignment was due.
   That would have been trying enough under the best of circumstances, but for commuters who had to catch a number of rides at strictly scheduled times, it was a nightmare. Having to find a time when the book would be available was so difficult to do. Of course the books on the Reserved List could be read only in the library, not signed out. Trying to squeeze an assigned reading into the only free time we commuters had was a hellish venture, not one to be soon forgotten, or ever, as witness this writing.
    And remember, in this primitive time period, before modern inventions, there was no way for the professors to copy any of these revered passages they were assigning,  The utilization of copy machines was still in the future. Today's student could retrieve the book, snap picture of the pages, and read at their leisure.  Then, the student had to physically pick up the book and cast their eyes over the pages as quickly as possible.  Can't miss that bus in Albany, because then we'd miss the connection to the last train from Troy to Valley Falls. And to compound the horror, at times the book would be unavailable somewhere along its route because an unscrupulous student had sneaked it out of the library, security not being very aware in those times. Even worse, was to finally sign the right book out at an advantageous time, and find  that, though you had access to the book, the assigned pages had been snipped out.
    If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't have.
 

Yes is no longer in vogue.

    It seems no one, on TV anyway, wants to use the word yes in response to a question: "Were you born in California?"----"I was!"     "Have you performed in seven Broadway plays?" ---"I have."    "Did your mother come from Ireland?"----"She did!"      Are you considering having an affair with your manager?"-----I am."

Last Hurrah

Hydrangea to right of me

Hydrangea to left of me

Zinnias beneath the gym

Falling Asunder

They could possibly "Volley and thunder."

Reading Comprehension

    Maybe I've gotten lazy, but I'm tired of struggling to understand what I read. Double negatives are challenge enough, but a piece of cake compared to the headline that reads:  "High court judge halts block on ban."   Now if I were teaching composition or working as editor, both jobs which I've held, I would encourage the writer to write, oh, maybe:  "High court judge upholds ban."  The headline of course is never meant to tell the whole story.  That's what the article is for. But  neither should the headline have potential readers scratching their heads trying to decipher what they're going to read about.

The Bane of Being Human

   We all know we're going to die some day.  We accept that, in a sense and to  a degree. In youth, the day of our demise we know to be real, but the instance of its happening we see either  somewhere in the hazy future or else, if sooner, as  a possible fluke akin to being drawn in a lottery.  In middle age, we resign ourselves to the inevitability of death, but it still projects as something that can happen to anybody at any time, no sense worrying about it.  We have stuff to do.   Then, with a jarring suddenness,  comes the awareness that no matter how we  think of death, whether we welcome it or fear it, whether we've been suffering ill health, or if we've made a remarkable recovery, even if we're blessed with good genes and outstanding physical health, the grim specter is not, can not, be far away.  We recall events that happened three years ago, or five years or seven, and those events are as yesterday. We know we can not count on the next three or five or seven years.  We calculate what age we were in the days of those memories, and then how old we'd be in the future three to seven years.  We're running short on time, out of time.
     So what do we do.  Mayor Bloomberg is giving much of his wealth away.  He knows he can't take it with him. But to make death a little less fearsome, he jokes about a man on his deathbed saying he can take the access code to his fortune, if not the wealth itself. So some want to exit doing good.  Others are embittered, or too sick to care, or determined to fend off death through utilizing all available life-sustaining medical interventions.
    When Bryant considered death in "Thanatopsis," he proclaimed we should not face that "last bitter hour" like a quarry slave, but to go forth in the glory of the expectation of peaceful sleep.  He sought acceptance of life's finality by viewing the world as a gigantic tomb, enclosing way more of the dead than the living at any given time.  I guess that's what worked for him, at least through the eyes of his younger self.

Despacito

Have heard this is the most played song, has fantastic reviews. I hadn't heard it, or at least if I had, never identified it or paid any attention.  So I just knowingly heard it for the first time, and Yuck.

Sometimes I just like to sit and think.