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.

Incontrovertible

   There's no denying it. The Schaghticoke Fair  portends the  coming of Fall. The boys were here today to make their cookie entries. They mixed the doughs, to be baked later.  When I drove them home, I saw that some of the Midway attractions were already on the grounds. Goodbye, short, short summer.

Signed, Sealed and Who Knows

Sealed the envelope at 11:15 p.m. on Monday, 08/21/2017.  (I think it's my father's birthday. He was never sure because the doctor had written one date on his  birth certificate, but his mother said it was another date.  He figured his mother knew, so he considered that date as his birthday, not the one on his birth certificate.)  Anyway, I sealed the envelope, stapled it for added security and then taped over that.  I'll mail it tomorrow by certified mail and expect to wait  until Christmas time to hear anything.  As statistics say that about 80% of claims are denied, or at least remanded, I guess my New Year's Resolution is already set.  I mailed 96 pages out of a download of a thousand or so.  I've replaced the quantities of printer ink and paper, but not my supply of patience.  Right now, I'd like to incinerate every piece of paperwork in the house.  The forms are not exactly complicated; some are ambiguous, contradictory or just stupid.  I was going to sprinkle Holy Water on my submission,but thought it would probably blur the ink.  So I'll just place the vessel on top overnight and hope the spirit penetrates.  See picture.
      **And oh, yeah, my medical opinion Guru said he has a Plan B.  That's confidence for you.
***I can't wait to get this thing in the mail. but I'll probably sleep 'til the post office closes. I couldn't sleep, had a thought of omission, and tore the packet open, added something which I'll probably regret in the morning. It's 4:23 am and I'm going back to bed.  There are stacks of papers and forms all over the house.
               And at 10:15 a.m. on 8/22/17, for $13.10, it's enroute.

What to eat...

...is getting hard to figure out.  There's waffles and yogurt and peanut butter and jelly.  Yesterday I bought what looked and felt like a nice ripe melon.  Even cut open it looked good. But it was like chewing styrofoam.  So out it goes in the garbage.
       I tried  a LEAN CUISINE MARKETPLACE Sesame Stir Fry with Chicken.  "White meat chicken with edamame, broccoli & vermicelli in a sesame sauce.  No artificial colors, flavors or preservatives."  But in addition, the small-print Ingredients list includes "Red peppers, Chili garlic sauce, Salted chili peppers, Dried garlic, Garlic, and Spice."  So I tred to pick out the pieces I could eat, starting with the white meat chicken.  The first piece I tried was the largest, and it was white all right, but a slimy strip of chicken skin.  And who uses the broccoli stems in cooking, really.  The box reads "If you wouldn't have it in your kitchen, then it's not in ours."   Well, some of that stuff may be in my kitchen, but I wouldn't eat it. I'm throwing that in the garbage right now, don't need any reminder.
      So, back to calorie-laden carbs and ice cream, and candy.

Manna

A new Apple iPad arrived from a mystery benefactor.  The cat likes the box.  The boy likes the cat. It's a work in progress.

Power of Prayer

     Yesterday with all the prayers said for me by my new friend Mike, I directed them toward getting a reply from my IME, as I'd been waiting for over a month and was afraid something had happened to him,* and all would be in vain.  Today, I received the long-awaited email from that independent medical examiner.
      Now comes the hard part.  I may need to go find Mike.

* He is a quadriplegic.

Alert-----Potato in the Pool

 Today was the day to harvest my crop, of potatoes that is.  Last spring, a bag of potatoes started to go soft on my counter, so I tossed them out the kitchen window, and later buried them alongside the house. A few plants grew and when the tops withered, I found my harvest of potatoes.  A scant handful, but edible. As I walked around the house, I decided to rinse them off before bringing them into the house.  But the largest slipped out of my hand and sank to the bottom of the pool. What was I to do but leave it there.
   Cut to afternoon--when the swimmers arrived. The youngest, peering into the pool yelled,"Potato!"   Coincidentally enough, one of his favorite expressions is "Potatoes" so his mother said "Oh, it's just a leaf."   But no, inexplicably to all at poolside, it was an actual potato.  A homegrown perfect potato, and very clean.

Me and Mike

  Today I drove to St. Mary's to pick up a disc of Dad's Brain MRI from 2/04/14 that Dr. Tarolli had requested. A fool's errand most likely, but what the heck.  I had called Medical Records earlier in the morning  to determine where the MRI was done because the location was not on the copy of the written report which I had picked up way back then.  Turned out it was done at St. Mary's and at my request they told me it could be picked up there within an hour. So several hours later I went to St. Mary's Medical Records Office, which was not where it used to be.
    I asked at the window for Medical Records and was told they no longer have them at St. Mary's because with St.Peter's Health System, all records will be at Samaritan. But wait!   When I said I was told only this morning that I could pick them up here at St. Mary's, the  helpful rep found the disc had been on hold for me behind the desk.  I didn't ask  how that came about. Mission was accomplished.
   The day was not yet done.  By the information desk, a man appeared, a person whom my mother and Helen would have called "a poor soul."  He had a Bible clutched in his hand and was telling everyone "I said a prayer for you."  He told me so, more than once, and I said I needed all the prayers I could get.  He said he went all around the hospital every day and said a prayer for everyone.  He attended St. Augustine's Church  every Sunday and lived in Assisted Living at the corner of Frear Park.  He asked if I was driving that direction and if I would give him a ride home. He said a prayer for me. My car was parked in the lot up a flight of steep stairs so I said I'd pick him up by the door, as he was mobility-impaired. I had a fleeting thought of just exiting the parking lot and heading home without him, but I looked down the hill and saw him standing there, trusting, holding his Bible.
     So I circled down and picked him up for the short ride to his home.  He said prayers for me, though I don't know what prayers they were.  And no, I was not concerned for my safety. I made sure to pat him down for weapons before he got in my car.

Grocery List-less

  Stuff I have not been able to find at SNS:  Olivio Light, Van's Blueberry Waffles (The store seems to no longer carry them.) Last week they were out of Cook and Serve Pudding in flavors other than chocolate, and also Goetze's Caramel Creams. Today they didn't have a single loaf of Pepperidge Farm Raisin Bread or  any other brand either. (And the celery rots in the refrigerator after only a week or so, but that's a different issue. )  Nor have I been able to find Swanson's Frozen Chicken Dinner, the kind with real bone-in chicken pieces. not the gross pressed chicken slices, but maybe they don't make them anymore. And I never ask the clerks for or about a product:  I just don't have that kind of relationship with them.

If not for catfood...

   ....I would have left the grocery store.  It's been since August 2, and except for stopping in to pick up an item or two, I haven't been grocery shopping. But the house was pretty much empty of food, so I decided it was time to replenish the groceries.  As I started to push the cart through the aisle, while mentally assessing what I needed to buy, it came to me that I would only be buying whatever groceries I would be using myself.  I felt that now familiar shock of emptiness, and wanted to leave the store.  I didn't though, because we needed cat food.

Deadwood

This is the area parallel to the road.  Visitors often park there.  I need to call a tree service to get rid of the rest of the dead branches.  When I get around to it...

One more

Prototype by Ben T.      Arts Director, Valley Falls Summer Program

Artistic Efforts

Pursuit of the Trivial

    August 10th is NATIONAL S'MORES DAY.  Some say the origin of S'mores is credited to Alec Barnum.  But the first recorded recipe appeared in a 1927 edition of  "Tramping and Trailing with the Girl Scouts."   At first the treats  were called "Some Mores."

The Lonely Planet

Beware---only a dream

   I had driven for some reason to a rather run-down area in Troy, near an even more run-down and decrepit drug store, Rite Aid or CVS. I went inside, picked up a pack of Orbit chewing gum and called out for a clerk.  Someone answered from a room adjoined to the store.  The manager was in  one bed and the clerk in another. Both had been sleeping but woke in response to my call.  I decided to leave and because I had entered the store so suddenly, feeling kind of dizzy and in search of aid of some kind, I'd not only left my car unlocked but recalled that I'd left the driver's door opened. So it was not much of a surprise to find my car was gone. Stolen.
    To be certain it was gone, I walked all around the block to see if it was parked on the other side.  It was not.  Darkness was falling and I tried to think of how to get some help.  The only person I saw was a man sitting in his car who opened the door as I walked by and asked how I liked the weather.  I said it was fine and kept walking, not wanting to engage in conversation with the dubious character he appeared to be.  I had no phone, no money, no help, so I thought of walking to St. Mary's Hospital, but seemed unable to move, just stood on the sidewalk, empty-handed except for a pack of Orbit gum, an unpaid for pack at that.

Cat-opioid

Cat sitting inside the door:  Catnip growing outside the door.

Garden Gloves

Ticks notwithstanding, you should never pick up a bunch of brush with your bare hands.

The Games People Play

   At the V.A, this week, they played what he called a "stupid game."  He doesn't watch the Tonight Show, Ellen, or any of the  many other television shows which now incorporate such games into their programming on an almost daily basis so is unaware that, stupid as these games may be,  they are a mainstay of today's media entertainment.
    In any case, the players were asked to write down three things about themselves, with two being true and one false. The other players were to guess which was the "lie."
    He wrote:   (1) I liked to play a lot of golf.  (2) I was a scratch golfer. (3) I enjoy watching my grandson play baseball.
     He didn't say how the other players did with their lists, but his was a total failure. Nobody, including the staff members, had even a remote idea of what a scratch golfer was.  Confusion ensued. Stupid game.