It's a testament to the passage of time when memory harks back to favorable memories of being sick, but that's what life does to you.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Back when it was fun (almost) to be sick:
The ailing child was ensconced in the living room on the long, long couch draped with a Disney Characters sheet, and adorned with pillows specially encased in Peanuts pillowcases. There was unrestricted access to television, and the long couch allowed Mom to be there if the illness extended into the night.
It's a testament to the passage of time when memory harks back to favorable memories of being sick, but that's what life does to you.
It's a testament to the passage of time when memory harks back to favorable memories of being sick, but that's what life does to you.
Monday, February 26, 2018
SWAT
It was a beautiful June day in 2012 when I had a scheduled visit to a family on Main Street in Cohoes. I went to turn onto their street, but it was blocked off. The sidewalks were crowded with people watching the events unfolding. I saw a helicopter flying away and a tank obstructing the entrance to Main Street, so I couldn't reach the house where the family lived.
As I waited, the woman I was to meet came out of the crowd and approached my car. She was upset. She said it was her apartment the SWAT, or Emergency Response Team, had raided, firing Flash Bangs through the upstairs window to force them out onto the street. They had taken her boyfriend to the police station. She asked me to drive her there, which I did.
The officers had been looking for three men who had robbed and pistol-whipped an elderly man in a robbery attempt a street away from them. (I think it later came to light that the perpetrators were actually 2 men and a teenaged girl.) The girl had been staying with the family and the 2 men were acquaintances of hers.
The elderly victim did not die, not then. He had never, though, been able to return to his family home where he had spent his life. After the trauma, he no longer felt safe in his old neighborhood, and he did die a short time afterwards.
The police, not finding the suspects, had searched for the gun. They didn't find it, because it had been spirited away by someone just before the police strike.
I later went into the apartment with the woman and learned what happens when SWAT visits: every single door and drawer is opened, and left open. All the contents of dressers, and kitchen cabinets, are on the floor, every single item of clothing, and every dish and glass, etc. A large scorch mark on the kitchen floor, where the flash bang landed.
The woman's friend was not involved, but the girl who had been staying there, a minor, and who had actually committed the assault, was later charged, after one of her 2 accomplices had been arrested. I don't know the final outcome: probably minor penalties.
As I waited, the woman I was to meet came out of the crowd and approached my car. She was upset. She said it was her apartment the SWAT, or Emergency Response Team, had raided, firing Flash Bangs through the upstairs window to force them out onto the street. They had taken her boyfriend to the police station. She asked me to drive her there, which I did.
The officers had been looking for three men who had robbed and pistol-whipped an elderly man in a robbery attempt a street away from them. (I think it later came to light that the perpetrators were actually 2 men and a teenaged girl.) The girl had been staying with the family and the 2 men were acquaintances of hers.
The elderly victim did not die, not then. He had never, though, been able to return to his family home where he had spent his life. After the trauma, he no longer felt safe in his old neighborhood, and he did die a short time afterwards.
The police, not finding the suspects, had searched for the gun. They didn't find it, because it had been spirited away by someone just before the police strike.
I later went into the apartment with the woman and learned what happens when SWAT visits: every single door and drawer is opened, and left open. All the contents of dressers, and kitchen cabinets, are on the floor, every single item of clothing, and every dish and glass, etc. A large scorch mark on the kitchen floor, where the flash bang landed.
The woman's friend was not involved, but the girl who had been staying there, a minor, and who had actually committed the assault, was later charged, after one of her 2 accomplices had been arrested. I don't know the final outcome: probably minor penalties.
Thursday, February 22, 2018
cappedThe Lottery Redux: The O.T. or How would you answer the question.
cappedThe Lottery Redux: The O.T. or How would you answer the question.: Granted, I don't think I've ever encountered an Occupational Therapist before, and definitely not in a professional capacity. Pl...
Duly Noted
OK, OK, I can take a hint. Since today the Waste Hauler positioned my 2 garbage cans at each end of the driveway, like bookends, I infer that's where he wants them, in the driveway. And I understand why, because I watched him get out of his truck this morning to upright one of the cans, which fell backwards off the robot arm. Then he placed both in the driveway, at opposite ends. Curses!
The truck is bigger than the last one, and evidently needs more room to activate its mechanisms. Or something like that. The problem is that the road itself is so much higher than the ground of our lawn. Last year, I was riding with a friend who pulled in on that side and her car bottomed out on the edge of the highway because there is so much blacktop buildup. I measured it at 8+ inches. Since the trash pickup is very early in the morning, it's unlikely that I'll back into the cans. As long as I remember to bring them back in.
The truck is bigger than the last one, and evidently needs more room to activate its mechanisms. Or something like that. The problem is that the road itself is so much higher than the ground of our lawn. Last year, I was riding with a friend who pulled in on that side and her car bottomed out on the edge of the highway because there is so much blacktop buildup. I measured it at 8+ inches. Since the trash pickup is very early in the morning, it's unlikely that I'll back into the cans. As long as I remember to bring them back in.
Tale from the Crypt
Not that exciting, just a hook to reel readers in: Yesterday the temperature was in the 70's, and I was doing a little raking in front of my house. Tucked in on the side of the front step was this side mirror from a car. I remember putting it there many years ago, with the thought being I could work it into a little rock garden at some point in the future. And this is the story behind the mirror: Names are changed to protect the guilty.
We were all asleep that summer night when we were awakened by the sound of a crash, an all too familiar, thus instantly recognizable, sound. Marilyn was home at the time, maybe on break or such, and she and I got out of bed to see what the damage was. A car was overturned in the ditch across the road from our house, and a person standing by the side. Although in the days before cell phones, other appeared and were gathered around the vehicle, which was lying against the bank and almost on its roof. I was watching from the living room window, while M. went outside and asked if anyone needed help. I heard someone call her by name and tell her everything was all right and for her to go back inside.
In very short order, a truck appeared and moving as quick as a flash, they attached a towline to the overturned car and pulled it down the bank and onto the pavement. The car was on its roof. They made no attempt to get it upright, but hauled it away on its roof. It would be a cliche to say the ungodly screeching sound could have awakened the dead, but no other soul, living or dead, appeared. It would also be a cliche to say the crew of guys engaged in this activity worked as a well-oiled machine, but indeed they did. Since it was about 3 in the morning, and they worked so unbelievably fast, no one else was involved, and there were no signs that an accident had ever occurred except for some dug-up turf on the side of the bank, and this mirror, which I retrieved the next day. I heard it was from a car, rented by a man visiting his very helpful family.
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Brave, Intrepid, but Stupid.
The commercial shows 3 young boys halting their bicycles, hesitant to ride into the water pooled on the pavement, wondering where it had come from. Another rider comes from behind them and zooms right past them, splashing through the water that had mysteriously accumulated. That rider turns out to be the younger sister of one of the boys. The commercial celebrates her fearlessness.
Flash forward a dozen years or so, to where that fearless child is now grown up and buying a new car, a VW. With the two driving experiences so closely intertwined, is the message that she should now drive her car through an unknown accumulation of water on the highway? Should foolhardy behavior not be discouraged in the interest of safety.
Flash forward a dozen years or so, to where that fearless child is now grown up and buying a new car, a VW. With the two driving experiences so closely intertwined, is the message that she should now drive her car through an unknown accumulation of water on the highway? Should foolhardy behavior not be discouraged in the interest of safety.
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Born Like This
"Now you can say that I've grown bitter, but of that you may be sure
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor,
And there's a mighty judgment coming, but I may be wrong.
You see you hear these funny voices......"
The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor,
And there's a mighty judgment coming, but I may be wrong.
You see you hear these funny voices......"
That's When
When you stub your toe and nobody hears you say ouch; when a mousetrap snaps and leaves its victim alive and you have to deal with it; when it's cold and rainy outside but no one else is around to bring in the newspaper, or put out the garbage; when the cat appears to have a toothache and you have to decide what to do; when you read something amusing in the newspaper, or see something troubling on TV, and there's nobody to share the news with; when you know your car needs to be inspected or registered or whatever, and you realize you're the one responsible for seeing it gets done; when you answer the phone, and your voice is raspy because you haven't talked to anyone all day; when you see a sloppy stain on the counter or a spill in the refrigerator, and you know there's no one to blame but yourself; when you watch television late at night and keep the volume low so as not to disturb anybody; when you're grocery shopping and buy the usual items, and realize no one is there to eat them; when you empty an almost full half gallon container of milk down the drain because it's outdated on the same day you toss half a loaf of bread under the birdfeeder for the same reason; when you know you're alone in the house, but still hear, or feel, someone calling your name; when you can watch whatever you want on TV because it's not tuned to the Boston Red Sox Channel; when you hear a noise in the night, and it's up to you to check it out; when you need to buy only half as much detergent or dishwasher cleaner because you're not running the machines as often; when you're wearing something new and there's no one to comment; when you have one of those rare but terrifying nightmares where your entire body goes cold,and there's no one to comfort you; when you answer an entire Jeopardy category correctly with no one to flaunt your prowess to; and when there is nobody to say Good Morning when you wake up-----that's when you know you live alone.
Monday, February 19, 2018
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Good Grief, Olympians
I've pretty much turned the channel on Olympic coverage. Not that I don't wish them well, but it really doesn't matter to me whether Norway or Sweden wins the medals, or for that matter, Austria or Germany. And I don't see the point in watching and hoping that Russia and North Korea lose.
Based on the competitions I have watched, the Americans have pretty much bottomed out, both figuratively and literally. The only pure victory I've seen was Shaun White. And for that one, I had to leave the room during his third run, after seeing him behind by a fraction for his first run and then messing up his second.
I saw Lindsay Vonn's sad finish, the ice skating phenom fall on his rear end not once but at least twice, the hockey team lose to Russia, the curling team lose to somebody, and several more slips from anticipated glory.
Then last night, after being defaulted into watching Chris Stapleton Country Music Concert,with somebody else who wrote about his house burning down, I switched back to the Olympic coverage and saw----Victory. Not gold but silver, but a medal nonetheless, in speed skating, I think it's called. I decided to watch because there were only 5 competitors, so I thought there might be a chance for one of the three medals awarded. And I was right: the American took second place. Aided, no doubt, by the fact that 3 of the 5 fell down, leaving only 2 contenders. The American took Silver. I think the Bronze went to one of the fallen skaters who scraped himself off the ice and finished the course.
How much more angst before it's over. I'm tired of all the pre-arranged interview sessions now addressing what might have been. If only...
Based on the competitions I have watched, the Americans have pretty much bottomed out, both figuratively and literally. The only pure victory I've seen was Shaun White. And for that one, I had to leave the room during his third run, after seeing him behind by a fraction for his first run and then messing up his second.
I saw Lindsay Vonn's sad finish, the ice skating phenom fall on his rear end not once but at least twice, the hockey team lose to Russia, the curling team lose to somebody, and several more slips from anticipated glory.
Then last night, after being defaulted into watching Chris Stapleton Country Music Concert,with somebody else who wrote about his house burning down, I switched back to the Olympic coverage and saw----Victory. Not gold but silver, but a medal nonetheless, in speed skating, I think it's called. I decided to watch because there were only 5 competitors, so I thought there might be a chance for one of the three medals awarded. And I was right: the American took second place. Aided, no doubt, by the fact that 3 of the 5 fell down, leaving only 2 contenders. The American took Silver. I think the Bronze went to one of the fallen skaters who scraped himself off the ice and finished the course.
How much more angst before it's over. I'm tired of all the pre-arranged interview sessions now addressing what might have been. If only...
Friday, February 16, 2018
That Other February Vacation
Back in those days, it must have been usual not to carry a camera because we have not a single picture of these vacations. Who wanted to be bogged down with a camera: we were only interested in enjoying the moment.
So one February evening probably after work, I picked up B. and set off for Lake Placid, where we were to meet a girl I had become friends with during my summer courses at Oneonta. She was traveling with four of her friends, and had made all the hotel arrangements for our group of seven girls.
But the weather was bad, and they postponed their travels until the next morning. On the other hand, I drove with B. at night through a snowstorm over uncertain roads to get to where we were to vacation. The route to Lake Placid was not what it later became, but a course of winding secondary roads, with no GPS or cell phones to clarify our destination. But we made it, and found the hotel that Dee had reserved. It was a decrepit and ancient structure, located out of the village, on a hillside, dark and deserted looking, its better days clearly in the past, and all too clearly evoking memories of the Bates Motel from Psycho, though bigger and more rambling. Chilling.
So we decided to forego entering it that night. There is safety in numbers it is said, but the number was not high enough; we'd wait until there were seven of us. We drove back into the village looking for less creepy lodging.We saw a Vacancy sign on one of the many motels, but were told they had no vacancies. We tried another and got the same result. They didn't want to rent to two young women in the middle of the night evidently. Our third effort was successful, though the manager warned us the heating system was defective and the room would be cold. We didn't care by then, survived the night, met up in the morning with the Oneonta five, and checked into the Psycho Hotel for the duration of our stay.
And what a vacation it was. It's odd how you can sit home and do nothing, days rolling by all the same, but when you decide to vacation, you fill every moment with what the venue has to offer. And we did. We drove to Whiteface Mountain, and to Mt. Van Hoevenberg for the bobsled run. The mountain was steep and cars couldn't make the grade, so we drove part way up, where we were loaded onto an open-bed truck, which drove all customers up to the site. A driver was at the front of each sled, another at the rear, and we passengers were nestled in between. All I can say about the bobsled trip down the mountain is that it was sideways. It seemed the sled was never on the flat part of the run, but on the sidewalls. We wore helmets but all we could see was flying icy snow that the sled runners threw up. They told us that the Rheingold Festival's Miss Rheingold had been hospitalized the weekend before when her sled overturned. She had survived though, so that didn't deter us.
On our later trip to New Orleans, we'd been provided with "dates," thanks to the many social connections our English friend had in this country. But this trip we found our own, or at least some of us, well two of us, did.
Our party of seven needed to find a place to eat dinner. Someone suggested we try a restaurant called The Teahouse, but I said why not try another close by, The Steakhouse. So we did.
We were seated at our own table, all seven of us. As luck would have it, the table next to us was occupied by a hockey team from Montreal, all members of the Montreal police force. Difficult to believe now, but rather customary then, I gather, after dinner they offered us (some of us, well two of us) cigarettes. Canadian cigarettes they said, a little different they told us. That was a real conversation starter, as anyone who'd ever seen me try to smoke would know. So we talked and they invited us (well, two of us) to the hockey game they were playing in--it must have been the next day. I think they left our tickets at the box office. I remember we (two of us) went into the arena and the team was lined up on the ice where they all greeted me by name. I've never been so publicly acknowledged before, or ever after for that matter.
I can't remember who won the game, though I think they might have. I do remember we drove to another city and went dancing and drinking. I can't remember where it was but I know I was driven back to our Psycho House, which was no longer creepy at all.
We stayed in touch by letter for quite a while, but I never took advantage of an invitation to visit Montreal. I remained friends with Dee for some time after that trip, though she told me her four Oneonta friends thought us Valley Falls girls to be "fast." I think that term used to have a specific meaning. I know we (two of us) had way more fun than the other five.
So one February evening probably after work, I picked up B. and set off for Lake Placid, where we were to meet a girl I had become friends with during my summer courses at Oneonta. She was traveling with four of her friends, and had made all the hotel arrangements for our group of seven girls.
But the weather was bad, and they postponed their travels until the next morning. On the other hand, I drove with B. at night through a snowstorm over uncertain roads to get to where we were to vacation. The route to Lake Placid was not what it later became, but a course of winding secondary roads, with no GPS or cell phones to clarify our destination. But we made it, and found the hotel that Dee had reserved. It was a decrepit and ancient structure, located out of the village, on a hillside, dark and deserted looking, its better days clearly in the past, and all too clearly evoking memories of the Bates Motel from Psycho, though bigger and more rambling. Chilling.
So we decided to forego entering it that night. There is safety in numbers it is said, but the number was not high enough; we'd wait until there were seven of us. We drove back into the village looking for less creepy lodging.We saw a Vacancy sign on one of the many motels, but were told they had no vacancies. We tried another and got the same result. They didn't want to rent to two young women in the middle of the night evidently. Our third effort was successful, though the manager warned us the heating system was defective and the room would be cold. We didn't care by then, survived the night, met up in the morning with the Oneonta five, and checked into the Psycho Hotel for the duration of our stay.
And what a vacation it was. It's odd how you can sit home and do nothing, days rolling by all the same, but when you decide to vacation, you fill every moment with what the venue has to offer. And we did. We drove to Whiteface Mountain, and to Mt. Van Hoevenberg for the bobsled run. The mountain was steep and cars couldn't make the grade, so we drove part way up, where we were loaded onto an open-bed truck, which drove all customers up to the site. A driver was at the front of each sled, another at the rear, and we passengers were nestled in between. All I can say about the bobsled trip down the mountain is that it was sideways. It seemed the sled was never on the flat part of the run, but on the sidewalls. We wore helmets but all we could see was flying icy snow that the sled runners threw up. They told us that the Rheingold Festival's Miss Rheingold had been hospitalized the weekend before when her sled overturned. She had survived though, so that didn't deter us.
On our later trip to New Orleans, we'd been provided with "dates," thanks to the many social connections our English friend had in this country. But this trip we found our own, or at least some of us, well two of us, did.
Our party of seven needed to find a place to eat dinner. Someone suggested we try a restaurant called The Teahouse, but I said why not try another close by, The Steakhouse. So we did.
We were seated at our own table, all seven of us. As luck would have it, the table next to us was occupied by a hockey team from Montreal, all members of the Montreal police force. Difficult to believe now, but rather customary then, I gather, after dinner they offered us (some of us, well two of us) cigarettes. Canadian cigarettes they said, a little different they told us. That was a real conversation starter, as anyone who'd ever seen me try to smoke would know. So we talked and they invited us (well, two of us) to the hockey game they were playing in--it must have been the next day. I think they left our tickets at the box office. I remember we (two of us) went into the arena and the team was lined up on the ice where they all greeted me by name. I've never been so publicly acknowledged before, or ever after for that matter.
I can't remember who won the game, though I think they might have. I do remember we drove to another city and went dancing and drinking. I can't remember where it was but I know I was driven back to our Psycho House, which was no longer creepy at all.
We stayed in touch by letter for quite a while, but I never took advantage of an invitation to visit Montreal. I remained friends with Dee for some time after that trip, though she told me her four Oneonta friends thought us Valley Falls girls to be "fast." I think that term used to have a specific meaning. I know we (two of us) had way more fun than the other five.
Thursday, February 15, 2018
So, Nathaniel Hawthorne?
And the moral of your story is that wanting to be young again is wrong because it would only reinforce the bad behaviors of the past. Or so you had your Dr. Heidigger point out after he conducted his Experiment on four old people after they partook of his elixir from the Fountain of Youth.
So the three old geezers succumbed to the frailties of their youth, which weaknesses were ill-advised business dealings, political corruption and an immoral playboy lifestyle. That may have been their weaknesses and human failure, but the Widow Wycherly only wanted to reclaim the beauty that once drove men wild, including the three miscreants who were suddenly engaged in mortal combat for her attention.
I read this story, "Dr. Heidigger's Experiment" when I was in high school, and I distinctly remember feeling sorry for the Widow Wycherly. I didn't see anything wrong with her passion to want to be young again. Even at sixteen, I knew I would not want my face to be lined with wrinkles any more than did the Widow. And to have the endless cares, sadness and diseases of age be remembered only as if in a troubled dream---who wouldn't want that? So, Heidigger and Hawthorne, the three guys may have resorted to foolish behavior but not the Widow----she only wanted to look good.
**Moreover, Mr. Irving, I have always felt that Rip Van Winkle's wife got a raw literary deal too. Rip was a lazy slob who only wanted to avoid work and he comes off as the sympathetic character in the story while his poor wife is forever characterized as a termagant just because she tried to involve her no-good husband into helping her with household duties.
No wonder the need for these women's rights movements.
So the three old geezers succumbed to the frailties of their youth, which weaknesses were ill-advised business dealings, political corruption and an immoral playboy lifestyle. That may have been their weaknesses and human failure, but the Widow Wycherly only wanted to reclaim the beauty that once drove men wild, including the three miscreants who were suddenly engaged in mortal combat for her attention.
I read this story, "Dr. Heidigger's Experiment" when I was in high school, and I distinctly remember feeling sorry for the Widow Wycherly. I didn't see anything wrong with her passion to want to be young again. Even at sixteen, I knew I would not want my face to be lined with wrinkles any more than did the Widow. And to have the endless cares, sadness and diseases of age be remembered only as if in a troubled dream---who wouldn't want that? So, Heidigger and Hawthorne, the three guys may have resorted to foolish behavior but not the Widow----she only wanted to look good.
**Moreover, Mr. Irving, I have always felt that Rip Van Winkle's wife got a raw literary deal too. Rip was a lazy slob who only wanted to avoid work and he comes off as the sympathetic character in the story while his poor wife is forever characterized as a termagant just because she tried to involve her no-good husband into helping her with household duties.
No wonder the need for these women's rights movements.
Gutter Hell
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Spectre of Spectrum
My February bill from Spectrum is $11.75 more than the January bill. Since the monthly price is more than I like to think about anyway, I usually just pay whatever they say is owed. But since I knew I hadn't increased my services, I called today to find out why I owed more. The representative, courteous as usual, offered to check and put me on hold for a period of time. On return, she triumphantly declared she had found out the reason: "The campaign fell off."
What does that mean, I asked. The answer: they hadn't renewed the reduction in price, having entered the wrong date. Or something like that.
Why is it up to the customer to do their accounting or bookkeeping. And can I possibly be the only one that mistaken increase affected? Now that Spectrum knows their campaign fell off, will they fix it for others. After all, $12 here and there adds up after a while.
What does that mean, I asked. The answer: they hadn't renewed the reduction in price, having entered the wrong date. Or something like that.
Why is it up to the customer to do their accounting or bookkeeping. And can I possibly be the only one that mistaken increase affected? Now that Spectrum knows their campaign fell off, will they fix it for others. After all, $12 here and there adds up after a while.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
As per Ken Jennings question #10
Margaret O'Brien, Ann Blyth, Jackie Kennedy, Barbara Walters, Mary Tyler Moore
And, no, they're not all dead.
And, no, they're not all dead.
Saturday, February 10, 2018
When Does the Mundane Become Memorable?
Now: that's when: when nothing else happens of any significance.
Today I went to the Customer Service Desk at Lowe's, and returned an unused item I'd bought but no longer have any use for. It was inexpensive but I didn't need it taking up space in my drive to de-clutter.
The clerk, Nicole, was friendly and helpful, and as she handed me my refund, asked, "What does 7.47 sound like to you?" "Well," I said, it sounds like an airplane." She seemed to think it kind of funny.
I browsed through the store, checking out the plants as I usually do, looked at the sale items, then found the birdseed aisle and bought a bag, the kind that is meant to attract cardinals, since we have several apparently staying in the evergreen tree out front.
I brought my purchase to a register, one with the shortest line. The store was busy: the most purchased items seeming to be those featured in the store displays---home improvement stuff. So many people buying paint.
As it happened, the cashier was Nicole, evidently having been called over from Customer Service. She rang up the birdseed and said, "8.49, just a little over the 7.47 you just got back." I told her she had a good memory. She laughed and said, "Only for some things."
Today I went to the Customer Service Desk at Lowe's, and returned an unused item I'd bought but no longer have any use for. It was inexpensive but I didn't need it taking up space in my drive to de-clutter.
The clerk, Nicole, was friendly and helpful, and as she handed me my refund, asked, "What does 7.47 sound like to you?" "Well," I said, it sounds like an airplane." She seemed to think it kind of funny.
I browsed through the store, checking out the plants as I usually do, looked at the sale items, then found the birdseed aisle and bought a bag, the kind that is meant to attract cardinals, since we have several apparently staying in the evergreen tree out front.
I brought my purchase to a register, one with the shortest line. The store was busy: the most purchased items seeming to be those featured in the store displays---home improvement stuff. So many people buying paint.
As it happened, the cashier was Nicole, evidently having been called over from Customer Service. She rang up the birdseed and said, "8.49, just a little over the 7.47 you just got back." I told her she had a good memory. She laughed and said, "Only for some things."
Friday, February 9, 2018
New Orleans 1967
It was 1967, and the stars aligned in Heaven.
As we boarded on our way to New Orleans.
Our thoughts were far from teaching;Our adventures were far reaching,..
And although we may have tried some different things.
We forbore because we knew what daylight brings,
We withstood those evil forces,
And returned to safer courses,
Bidding sweet old Bayou city goodbye.
So True
It's official. At present, confirmed through eBay, I have 100 items in my house that no one else wants. Little does eBay know, I have way more than that. Though I have a feeling that if I put these things out on my lawn with a freebie sign, they'd all be gone, weather permitting of course. It is true that the high cost of usps shipping is a detriment.
Wednesday, February 7, 2018
Recipes Redux
In my mostly failed attempts at downsizing, and because my dollar day eBay sales have been feeble at best, I resorted to a purging of paper. I did fill most of the recyclable trash container with outdated bills, warranties, receipts, bank statements, etc. (Not that there is any discernible difference in clutter reduction.) I came to a box of cookbooks and recipes, and ground to a halt. I'm deciding: Some of our favorite recipes, but will I ever make those dishes again? Many earmarked but untried recipes; now I have the time to prepare them, but who will eat them? Better to just throw all those books and papers into the trash. But then---"OUR COOKBOOK," a grade-school compendium of recipes from each child in the 5th or 6th grade class. Browsing through, I came across the most well-worn page: Banana Bread recipe contributed by Warren Waterbury.
I've baked banana bread many times over the years, using various recipes since this one got tucked away. So last week I decided to try it one more time. I did and it came out really well. No one else happened to be here, so banana bread was what I ate for 3 1/2 days. Today, having nothing else to do, and nothing tasty to eat, I once again retrieved the Waterbury recipe and made another loaf of delicious banana bread. I wonder if anybody anywhere ever uses that recipe anymore.
I've baked banana bread many times over the years, using various recipes since this one got tucked away. So last week I decided to try it one more time. I did and it came out really well. No one else happened to be here, so banana bread was what I ate for 3 1/2 days. Today, having nothing else to do, and nothing tasty to eat, I once again retrieved the Waterbury recipe and made another loaf of delicious banana bread. I wonder if anybody anywhere ever uses that recipe anymore.
Drink up! Or not! If only, they'd told me.
Being inside, with the heat on practically nonstop, we tend toward dehydration; at least I do. I'm always looking for a thirst quencher, and after a while Gatorade and water get tiresome, so I happened upon individual sized bottles of Sabila Aloe drink in Pomegranate flavor, Gluten-Free to boot. I put it to chill in the refrigerator and today I decided to try it.
The color is rose color, rather like the juice from a pink grapefruit. I've eaten pomegranates in the past, found them quite tasty as I recall. So I thought I was prepared for the experience. I twisted off the cap, took a swig, and Horrors!--the gag reflex was instantly triggered. Not because of the taste, but because my mouth was full of pulp. What looked to be a clear liquid was full of pulp---I can only hope it was from the fruit, and was supposed to be there. Anyway, I learned that the pulp of a pomegranate presents itself very much like the membrane lining the inside of one's lower lip.
The color is rose color, rather like the juice from a pink grapefruit. I've eaten pomegranates in the past, found them quite tasty as I recall. So I thought I was prepared for the experience. I twisted off the cap, took a swig, and Horrors!--the gag reflex was instantly triggered. Not because of the taste, but because my mouth was full of pulp. What looked to be a clear liquid was full of pulp---I can only hope it was from the fruit, and was supposed to be there. Anyway, I learned that the pulp of a pomegranate presents itself very much like the membrane lining the inside of one's lower lip.
Tuesday, February 6, 2018
Colonie Center
The first store-contained Mall in the entire area. It opened in 1966, and was THE place to go. I drove there frequently, when I was single, to shop and to meet my sister, and friends, and to go to the movie theater within. I remember it as being a huge rectangle, two levels, with anchor stores on each end, One was Macy's and the other Sears. If memory serves, Macy's entrance was on the lower, street-side, and the mall extended up a considerable incline, with a truck-parking area along the side of the mall, to the rear entrance, Sears, which opened onto a less developed area beyond its parking lot.
I happened to be alone, Christmas shopping one cold evening, when I lost track of time. When I went to leave, at the Sears where I had parked in the upper parking lot, that exit was closed---the doors locked. So I hurried down to Macy's and out that way. Now I had to find my way, in the dark, and through piled-up snow, all the way around the building, past the empty trucks lot, to the more deserted parking lot at the other end of the mall. Having never explored the mall from the outside, I wasn't sure where I was going and even less sure what side I was parked on (None of those futuristic cell phones available). Not a person was in sight and I know I felt frightened, scrambling around alone in the dark, until I at last located my car. Of course, crime then was not quite like it is now. But there was Lemuel Smith...
What brings this to mind is I was at Colonie Center yesterday, the first time in a number of years. It looks the same, yet completely different, and I understand it is aged now and struggling to be relevant. I used to spend a lot of time there, alone, and as a family: for the events, the shopping, the arcade, the annual visits to Santa Claus, always with Nana, and hanging out waiting during the Valenty days on a weekly or more basis.
Aside from attending the movie theater a few times in the last decade or so, I have not been there. And I won't drive there anymore, at least not by myself. One would not have expected that so promising a structure would become aged and irrelevant in so few years, relatively speaking. But it happens.
I happened to be alone, Christmas shopping one cold evening, when I lost track of time. When I went to leave, at the Sears where I had parked in the upper parking lot, that exit was closed---the doors locked. So I hurried down to Macy's and out that way. Now I had to find my way, in the dark, and through piled-up snow, all the way around the building, past the empty trucks lot, to the more deserted parking lot at the other end of the mall. Having never explored the mall from the outside, I wasn't sure where I was going and even less sure what side I was parked on (None of those futuristic cell phones available). Not a person was in sight and I know I felt frightened, scrambling around alone in the dark, until I at last located my car. Of course, crime then was not quite like it is now. But there was Lemuel Smith...
What brings this to mind is I was at Colonie Center yesterday, the first time in a number of years. It looks the same, yet completely different, and I understand it is aged now and struggling to be relevant. I used to spend a lot of time there, alone, and as a family: for the events, the shopping, the arcade, the annual visits to Santa Claus, always with Nana, and hanging out waiting during the Valenty days on a weekly or more basis.
Aside from attending the movie theater a few times in the last decade or so, I have not been there. And I won't drive there anymore, at least not by myself. One would not have expected that so promising a structure would become aged and irrelevant in so few years, relatively speaking. But it happens.
I can relate...
...to the Veterans who are locked away from their memories. Not those who no longer have the ability to remember or recall the events of their lives. But I'm referring to those whose memories are intact, full of happenings both monumental and mundane. They have recollections, but no one to hear them. So it seems what they remember never happened--with no one to bounce those thoughts off of.
I had this thought today when I was clearing the icy coating off my car. The drive to Shop'N'Save had loosened the ice enough so that using my snow brush I could scrape the coating from the roof and hood. I always attach a great deal of importance to doing this because of something that happened a long time ago:
I was working in the State Education Department correcting Regents papers, on a 6-week or so assignment. I remember I parked in Coughtry's parking lot because parking spaces were at a premium downtown near the State Ed. building. I would walk about a mile to work and then back again during the months of January through March. Though the weather was cold, and windy as always in the Plaza, I didn't mind the walk. For one thing, it brought me past Phil's Bakery, during the Lenten season, and they ruled when it came to Hot Cross Buns.
But it was the thought of what happened on the drive home that triggered the memory that is etched forever in my mind, though to no other audience. Surely, as the veterans and I might have supposed, potentially life-altering events should exist somewhere else than in the recesses of the mind, but such is not the case.
For instance, I have vivid recall of driving home one of those days, having met up with my station wagon at Coughtry's, and continuing up Central Avenue. I drove a few miles and then the curtain fell. The layers of ice on the roof of the vehicle all at once slid down over the front of the vehicle, totally obscuring the view ahead. I tried to look out the passenger side window to move as far right as possible, pulled over, and stopped. I couldn't see what was happening, but two men from Hoffman's Car Wash ran over and quick as a flash, because I was in the roadway, they cleared the layer of ice and frozen snow off the windshield and the hood of my car, and waved me off on my way home.
I'm sure that at the time I must have told a person or two what had happened, and I'm also sure none of them really understood the danger I'd been in, and I'm even more sure that nobody today would even have a glimmer. So I can only imagine the mindset of veterans, who may have spent years of their lives undergoing horrendous experiences. Someone, somewhere, must certainly know what it was like. And so, the origin of war stories------"Listen to me. I was there."
I had this thought today when I was clearing the icy coating off my car. The drive to Shop'N'Save had loosened the ice enough so that using my snow brush I could scrape the coating from the roof and hood. I always attach a great deal of importance to doing this because of something that happened a long time ago:
I was working in the State Education Department correcting Regents papers, on a 6-week or so assignment. I remember I parked in Coughtry's parking lot because parking spaces were at a premium downtown near the State Ed. building. I would walk about a mile to work and then back again during the months of January through March. Though the weather was cold, and windy as always in the Plaza, I didn't mind the walk. For one thing, it brought me past Phil's Bakery, during the Lenten season, and they ruled when it came to Hot Cross Buns.
But it was the thought of what happened on the drive home that triggered the memory that is etched forever in my mind, though to no other audience. Surely, as the veterans and I might have supposed, potentially life-altering events should exist somewhere else than in the recesses of the mind, but such is not the case.
For instance, I have vivid recall of driving home one of those days, having met up with my station wagon at Coughtry's, and continuing up Central Avenue. I drove a few miles and then the curtain fell. The layers of ice on the roof of the vehicle all at once slid down over the front of the vehicle, totally obscuring the view ahead. I tried to look out the passenger side window to move as far right as possible, pulled over, and stopped. I couldn't see what was happening, but two men from Hoffman's Car Wash ran over and quick as a flash, because I was in the roadway, they cleared the layer of ice and frozen snow off the windshield and the hood of my car, and waved me off on my way home.
I'm sure that at the time I must have told a person or two what had happened, and I'm also sure none of them really understood the danger I'd been in, and I'm even more sure that nobody today would even have a glimmer. So I can only imagine the mindset of veterans, who may have spent years of their lives undergoing horrendous experiences. Someone, somewhere, must certainly know what it was like. And so, the origin of war stories------"Listen to me. I was there."
Saturday, February 3, 2018
Ice, Ice, Baby
Prescient from the Precocious One
"I believe the book, 1984, by George Orwell, shows traits of a science fiction book but isn't quite true science fiction.
George Orwell exaggerated into fiction by using the telescreen and peepcasters. He also wrote about the future, which is a common mark of science fiction. However, I don't think he wrote about the future; he wrote for the future. He hid his real point under the surrealisms of 1984 and Oceania. His real point showed that humans are conquerable, ignorant creatures. They are even capable of duping themselves to believe their own lies, which is definitely a truth about humans. Orwell showed how fear can suppress a world of people. He showed how Catch 22's completely wiped out any way of retaliation.
George Orwell's 1984 would be classified as sci-fi, but I would file it under future history. As Orwell wrote, Ignorance is Strength, War is Peace and Freedom is Slavery."
**Teacher comment: "Thoughtful and thought-provoking. One of the main functions of all types of literature is to force man to hold up a mirror to himself." (Use of masculine pronoun was ok back in the '90's.)
George Orwell exaggerated into fiction by using the telescreen and peepcasters. He also wrote about the future, which is a common mark of science fiction. However, I don't think he wrote about the future; he wrote for the future. He hid his real point under the surrealisms of 1984 and Oceania. His real point showed that humans are conquerable, ignorant creatures. They are even capable of duping themselves to believe their own lies, which is definitely a truth about humans. Orwell showed how fear can suppress a world of people. He showed how Catch 22's completely wiped out any way of retaliation.
George Orwell's 1984 would be classified as sci-fi, but I would file it under future history. As Orwell wrote, Ignorance is Strength, War is Peace and Freedom is Slavery."
**Teacher comment: "Thoughtful and thought-provoking. One of the main functions of all types of literature is to force man to hold up a mirror to himself." (Use of masculine pronoun was ok back in the '90's.)
Friday, February 2, 2018
That personal touch
Not much of that going around anymore, so to receive it from unexpected places is worth noting to my dear blog:
I sent Dave's hearing aids to the Veterans Affairs Office in Denver, as we've done now several times.Today we received an email response saying the hearing aids are being repaired and should be received in 2-3 weeks. There was a message sent with this notification:
"The cardboard box you sent in caught everybody's eye---it was from Yardsley's Soaps of London---and because the Royal Seal or Warrant was from King George VI, we estimated it was from the years 1910-1952. Very unique! Thank you for the surprise and for your military service. John"
Well, what was I supposed to do with that box? Throw it in the garbage?
I sent Dave's hearing aids to the Veterans Affairs Office in Denver, as we've done now several times.Today we received an email response saying the hearing aids are being repaired and should be received in 2-3 weeks. There was a message sent with this notification:
"The cardboard box you sent in caught everybody's eye---it was from Yardsley's Soaps of London---and because the Royal Seal or Warrant was from King George VI, we estimated it was from the years 1910-1952. Very unique! Thank you for the surprise and for your military service. John"
Well, what was I supposed to do with that box? Throw it in the garbage?
Foreshadowing? 1990's View
"I'm gonna make this short and sweet--Men Suck! They can't do anything right. Jason is just some stupid thug who wants to get a fleece, and Medea all of a sudden is all over him. Jason never asks for her help but she gives it to him, and that's probably the only reason why he took her back with him.
Now I personally would be turned off by her cutting up her brother, but Jason has got only one thing on his mind. His toga is chafing his crotch.
So a couple of years pass and Jason and Medea have a couple of kids. Medea meanwhile is probably performing some voodoo mind control on Jason. However, after a while Jason wakes up and smells the coffee. Medea is one horse short of a chariot race, and Glauce is a major babe. Jason's eye, and other body parts, wanders and Medea goes totally mental. She goes on a killing streak which included her own kids and then she took off, My professional opinion is that Medea is a psycho hose beast."
*****Seems unlikely, but during all my children's school years, not once was I ever notified of a referral to any type of professional service.
Now I personally would be turned off by her cutting up her brother, but Jason has got only one thing on his mind. His toga is chafing his crotch.
So a couple of years pass and Jason and Medea have a couple of kids. Medea meanwhile is probably performing some voodoo mind control on Jason. However, after a while Jason wakes up and smells the coffee. Medea is one horse short of a chariot race, and Glauce is a major babe. Jason's eye, and other body parts, wanders and Medea goes totally mental. She goes on a killing streak which included her own kids and then she took off, My professional opinion is that Medea is a psycho hose beast."
*****Seems unlikely, but during all my children's school years, not once was I ever notified of a referral to any type of professional service.
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