"Take a live look at Times Square AHEAD OF the ball drop at midnight." WRGB CBS NEWS
"NYPD ramps up security AHEAD OF Times Square New Year's Eve celebration." NBCNEWS.COM
1/2/2019 Trump stands by wall AHEAD OF meeting with Dems. CNN
Monday, December 31, 2018
"Keep Me in Your Heart for Awhile" Warren Zevon From "The Wind"
Memorial lyrical background to Paul Schroder's Tribute youtube.com pds929 Last words of advice------"Enjoy every sandwich."
"There's a train leaving nightly called when all is said and done.
Keep me in your heart for awhile."
"There's a train leaving nightly called when all is said and done.
Keep me in your heart for awhile."
Sunday, December 30, 2018
For the Birds
Sign of Decline
Completely unsolicited, a bunch of email invites for ProCanna CBD Oil. From the CBD Medical Journal, so entirely vetted, I'm sure. Two separate emails today already.
Saturday, December 29, 2018
Angels Unaware--High School Graduation
Dorothy Evelyn Rita Madigan King Madigan HVC Graduate, Age 16
December 29, 1939 June 1, 2011 And that hair! Bottom picture: Age 7 in 3rd Grade
Wednesday, December 26, 2018
Kennedy Center Honors
I caught the last part, because we were watching The Lion King. But I saw enough to confirm that Adam Lambert is beautiful.
Monday, December 24, 2018
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Books Galore
So many books. So few readers. Sure, some people still buy books; memoirs are hot right now, but what percentage of the buyers ever read what percentage of the text is a matter of speculation.
Our waste contractor tells us hard-cover books are not recyclable. Even at our small local library, I've witnessed the sorry sight of scores of "weeded-out" books having their covers ripped off in order to meet disposal requirements. There are too many books and no one wants them. When Dave still worked in Albany, he would regularly donate a carton of unwanted books from our own accumulated collections to the Albany Public Library. They accepted them back then. For what purpose, we never knew.
In the house right now are bins of books, of all different types.Sometimes I wish I could find a certain book to track down some elusive thought or memory, but the search would be an overwhelming one.
Long ago, when I was first teaching, a fellow teacher of English had retired and was moving to Arizona. She was disposing of her properties, including a camp on the river. She gave us the key to her camp, and invited us to help ourselves to her lifetime collection of books, which were in the bookshelves that lined the walls. I have a memory of picking out half a dozen old books which related to the subject I taught. Some of them then would probably have been very desirable as rare and antiquarian volumes, but that market must have greatly narrowed over time.
One of the books I took from the camp was a book that contained the poetry of Robert Frost, who was a popular writer then. The book contained not only his poetry, but also analyses of his most well-known poems. I have no memory of who wrote the critiques. That is one of the books I wish I could locate now, though I'm not sure it's still in my house.
"Stopping By Woods on A Snowy Evening," that critic surmised, was more than a merry jingle to a sleighride on a beautiful winter's night. A much darker element was proposed, a rather shocking insight into the mind of the beloved and avuncular appearing Robert Frost.
"...The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep"
What if these words were not just the musing of someone who casually stopped to admire the stark cold stillness of a neighbor's woods, alone, in the middle of the night? What if the words represented the seduction of suicide, which was put off, at least for the present, because he knew he had responsibilities in life.
Our waste contractor tells us hard-cover books are not recyclable. Even at our small local library, I've witnessed the sorry sight of scores of "weeded-out" books having their covers ripped off in order to meet disposal requirements. There are too many books and no one wants them. When Dave still worked in Albany, he would regularly donate a carton of unwanted books from our own accumulated collections to the Albany Public Library. They accepted them back then. For what purpose, we never knew.
In the house right now are bins of books, of all different types.Sometimes I wish I could find a certain book to track down some elusive thought or memory, but the search would be an overwhelming one.
Long ago, when I was first teaching, a fellow teacher of English had retired and was moving to Arizona. She was disposing of her properties, including a camp on the river. She gave us the key to her camp, and invited us to help ourselves to her lifetime collection of books, which were in the bookshelves that lined the walls. I have a memory of picking out half a dozen old books which related to the subject I taught. Some of them then would probably have been very desirable as rare and antiquarian volumes, but that market must have greatly narrowed over time.
One of the books I took from the camp was a book that contained the poetry of Robert Frost, who was a popular writer then. The book contained not only his poetry, but also analyses of his most well-known poems. I have no memory of who wrote the critiques. That is one of the books I wish I could locate now, though I'm not sure it's still in my house.
"Stopping By Woods on A Snowy Evening," that critic surmised, was more than a merry jingle to a sleighride on a beautiful winter's night. A much darker element was proposed, a rather shocking insight into the mind of the beloved and avuncular appearing Robert Frost.
"...The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep"
What if these words were not just the musing of someone who casually stopped to admire the stark cold stillness of a neighbor's woods, alone, in the middle of the night? What if the words represented the seduction of suicide, which was put off, at least for the present, because he knew he had responsibilities in life.
Saturday, December 22, 2018
LUNA-tics
This story pretty much writes itself. A dog comes home for Christmas. Not since "Lassie Come Home" has there been such a furor of publicity. And there's nothing wrong with that if you're a dog lover.
New dog-bite legislation has been enacted in the city of Troy, and no longer will a dog summarily be sentenced to death based on its history of a single bite. Extenuating circumstances will now be taken into consideration. And that all seems reasonable.
But remember the words of a prominent politician: Don't believe what your ears hear or what your eyes see. Believe in the story that's being told:
This dog "bit" another dog. That happens, doesn't it, sounds almost like normal canine behavior. But what if the biter charged up a flight of stairs, through 2 barricades, and attacked a much smaller dog on its own property. Oh, the barricades were flimsy, one a baby gate. And the human who got bitten may possibly have been bitten by the owner's own dog, in the process of breaking up the fight. Even if that were so, the blame would rest on the attacking dog. Though remember, Luna BIT the other dog. Don't use the word ATTACK,
Okay, these words are what you may have read or heard on the media. Thus, subject to interpretation----we weren't there/
. But wait. there's more. The inevitable Christmas Miracle Reunion. It's live. Prepare yourself for the display of intense emotion. The family, mother and child, is waiting. The dog is brought out on a leash, ostensibly into the arms of its family, but instead seems much more interested in the array of donated Christmas presents in honor of its homecoming. Probably a beef jerky stick in there somewhere. That doesn't stop the owner, who is holding back tears: we know this is true because the narrator is telling us. The owner attempts to snuggle the dog, holding firmly onto its head so she can plant a kiss onto its lips, which the dog is kind of forced to return, so the camera gets its shot. The young girl in the family pets the dog, awkwardly, as if this is new behavior for her.
Amid all the YouTube versions of dogs greeting owners they've long been separated from, this reunion has to be on the lowest excitement scale ever. Luna does not seem impressed. Tune in next year----there's bound to be a sequel.
New dog-bite legislation has been enacted in the city of Troy, and no longer will a dog summarily be sentenced to death based on its history of a single bite. Extenuating circumstances will now be taken into consideration. And that all seems reasonable.
But remember the words of a prominent politician: Don't believe what your ears hear or what your eyes see. Believe in the story that's being told:
This dog "bit" another dog. That happens, doesn't it, sounds almost like normal canine behavior. But what if the biter charged up a flight of stairs, through 2 barricades, and attacked a much smaller dog on its own property. Oh, the barricades were flimsy, one a baby gate. And the human who got bitten may possibly have been bitten by the owner's own dog, in the process of breaking up the fight. Even if that were so, the blame would rest on the attacking dog. Though remember, Luna BIT the other dog. Don't use the word ATTACK,
Okay, these words are what you may have read or heard on the media. Thus, subject to interpretation----we weren't there/
. But wait. there's more. The inevitable Christmas Miracle Reunion. It's live. Prepare yourself for the display of intense emotion. The family, mother and child, is waiting. The dog is brought out on a leash, ostensibly into the arms of its family, but instead seems much more interested in the array of donated Christmas presents in honor of its homecoming. Probably a beef jerky stick in there somewhere. That doesn't stop the owner, who is holding back tears: we know this is true because the narrator is telling us. The owner attempts to snuggle the dog, holding firmly onto its head so she can plant a kiss onto its lips, which the dog is kind of forced to return, so the camera gets its shot. The young girl in the family pets the dog, awkwardly, as if this is new behavior for her.
Amid all the YouTube versions of dogs greeting owners they've long been separated from, this reunion has to be on the lowest excitement scale ever. Luna does not seem impressed. Tune in next year----there's bound to be a sequel.
Friday, December 21, 2018
Tis Christmas time.
Wednesday, December 19, 2018
Oh, no, not again.
I had to watch Jeopardy in the living room, and therefore had to postpone my cycling, because the TV in the room with the exercise bike is stuck on Channel 13. So after Jeopardy was over, I repaired to the room to cycle away, usually for about half an hour.. That hardly counts as exercise, but it's what I do now.
Anyway, I find it almost impossible to cycle away even for half an hour without watching TV. And what is on the available Channel 13, but a Pentatonix Christmas. Egad. I think it's a repeat because I remember turning it off before, but now I'm pretty much a captive audience.
So bizarre: they're singing Hallelujah while dishing out food in a cafeteria setting, ostensibly, or so I perceived, to homeless or needy people. Why they chose that song I can't even imagine. Praising the Lord, I suppose, but what's that song got to do with it. At least they're not children, but I think Leonard Cohen would expect the song be sung by an individual, not a group.
At the end of the song, and the show, I had to cut my cycling time a little short: I was only at 5 miles, instead of my usual minimum of 7 miles, but the next program was that kid with the puppet. Egad to the nth.
Anyway, I find it almost impossible to cycle away even for half an hour without watching TV. And what is on the available Channel 13, but a Pentatonix Christmas. Egad. I think it's a repeat because I remember turning it off before, but now I'm pretty much a captive audience.
So bizarre: they're singing Hallelujah while dishing out food in a cafeteria setting, ostensibly, or so I perceived, to homeless or needy people. Why they chose that song I can't even imagine. Praising the Lord, I suppose, but what's that song got to do with it. At least they're not children, but I think Leonard Cohen would expect the song be sung by an individual, not a group.
At the end of the song, and the show, I had to cut my cycling time a little short: I was only at 5 miles, instead of my usual minimum of 7 miles, but the next program was that kid with the puppet. Egad to the nth.
Believe at your own risk
So the dog is reprieved. That's fine, considering it was her first, and non-fatal, bite. The lame media consistently refers to the dog as a pitbull mix. I wonder what the other .05 mix might be. She looks pretty true-to-breed, doesn't she?
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Words of Reassurance
Today's visit to the ophthalmologist brought me into contact first with Alexis and next Skeet, Because I had an issue which was counter to my scheduled appointment, I had a short wait in the examining room until the doctor returned from lunch. Maybe because it was a deviation from the norm, Skeet checked in after a short time to say I hadn't been forgotten, and to ask if I wanted water or anything. I didn't; I carry my own. But that was the first time that had happened in that office.
When the doctor arrived, I told him of my concerns, including that I had had 5 separate surgeries on my eye, and that I wanted to keep seeing while I was still living. He answered that, "My goal is the same as yours." He said he was willing to make any adjustment or accommodation that I was comfortable with. And so we agreed.
No overt sarcasm or snarkiness or patronizing attitude, as can be usual in that office. So I'm relieved to be able to adjust my attitude toward that practice in general, at least for now. Nowadays it doesn't take much to make me feel a little better about things.
LATER: Nope, mistletoe evidently grows from the seed in its berries.
When the doctor arrived, I told him of my concerns, including that I had had 5 separate surgeries on my eye, and that I wanted to keep seeing while I was still living. He answered that, "My goal is the same as yours." He said he was willing to make any adjustment or accommodation that I was comfortable with. And so we agreed.
No overt sarcasm or snarkiness or patronizing attitude, as can be usual in that office. So I'm relieved to be able to adjust my attitude toward that practice in general, at least for now. Nowadays it doesn't take much to make me feel a little better about things.
LATER: Nope, mistletoe evidently grows from the seed in its berries.
Monday, December 17, 2018
Plant Life
The will to live---among plants that is.
Last Valentine's Day, one of my gifts was a floral bouquet. The flowers, maybe they were tulips, and maybe it was Easter and not Valentine's Day, eventually withered and were thrown out. But the supporting greenery was still so fresh and vital looking that I kept them in the vase of water. If they root, I'll plant them outside when spring comes, I thought.
Well, they didn't root, but they still appear as fresh as the day I got them, almost a year ago. I inspected them the other day, and what do I find, on the bottom side of several of the leaves, but what appear to be tiny seedling plants. I wonder if I can plant one of them.
I'm trying to recall if that's how mistletoe grows. I'll look it up if I find the motivation.
Last Valentine's Day, one of my gifts was a floral bouquet. The flowers, maybe they were tulips, and maybe it was Easter and not Valentine's Day, eventually withered and were thrown out. But the supporting greenery was still so fresh and vital looking that I kept them in the vase of water. If they root, I'll plant them outside when spring comes, I thought.
Well, they didn't root, but they still appear as fresh as the day I got them, almost a year ago. I inspected them the other day, and what do I find, on the bottom side of several of the leaves, but what appear to be tiny seedling plants. I wonder if I can plant one of them.
I'm trying to recall if that's how mistletoe grows. I'll look it up if I find the motivation.
Friday, December 14, 2018
Animal Tracks
I wonder what little beast may be living under the ramp and crawling down the walkway and up on my front steps at night?
Royal Shot
I just saw the Christmas Card photo of the royal family, William's branch. Everyone looks adorable, but little George looks as if he's doggy-peeing on the tree. An awkward sight.
Dental VS Ophthalmology
This is not a debate about the relative merits of these two important medical specialties, but rather of the creature comfort afforded by both.
\
DENTAL OFFICE: You the patient are seated in a fairly comfortable chair. It has padding, a headrest, a footrest, and armrests. The chair is adjustable to your needs, and someone else adjusts it. There is a tray that slides in front of you, with various piece of equipment or implements. The dentist, dental assistant and technician all lean in to provide their services. Almost all the needed equipment, including x-ray machine, are brought to you as you sit in the chair. Yes, there may be some discomfort and even pain, but it is not because of your position. You remain pretty much passive throughout whatever the procedure is; the professionals do all the work.
OPHTHALMOLOGY OFFICE: Yes, you the patient are seated in a chair. But don't expect to get comfortable in it. For almost all the testing that follows will require contortion on your part. And compared to dentistry, the majority of patients here are in the elderly age group. The office equipment does not conform to you, but the other way around. Except for the administering of eye drops, the staff has no actual physical contact with you. You are the one who has to lean forward and place your forehead against a brace on the machine while resting your chin on another part of it. The assistant may screw the opening up or down for a better fit, but you are straining your back and neck to accommodate the machine more than the other way around. You may be taken to another room for a field of vision test. Again, you strain to conform to the machine. You're on a chair, no backrest at all this time. Lean forward into the machine and press a button when you see a flash. This has to be a primitive and uncertain method of testing. It;s rather like the early game of Pong,and look how far that technology has developed in the gaming world. But not in medicine. Meanwhile, the technician in charge of the testing plays no active role, just sits, bored as heck, but not physically stretched into an uncomfortable position, as is the patient.
It is obvious that ophthalmic testing machines have not advanced in keeping with the times. Why shouldn't patients be able to remain seated in a chair, and have the equipment conform to their needs. What patient, especially those of a certain age, needs to endure unnecessary headache and back strain caused by having to contort their bodies to fit the machines. But I suppose if someone were to invent such accommodating devices, that would necessitate the purchasing of new office equipment, and that would be the show stopper.
\
DENTAL OFFICE: You the patient are seated in a fairly comfortable chair. It has padding, a headrest, a footrest, and armrests. The chair is adjustable to your needs, and someone else adjusts it. There is a tray that slides in front of you, with various piece of equipment or implements. The dentist, dental assistant and technician all lean in to provide their services. Almost all the needed equipment, including x-ray machine, are brought to you as you sit in the chair. Yes, there may be some discomfort and even pain, but it is not because of your position. You remain pretty much passive throughout whatever the procedure is; the professionals do all the work.
OPHTHALMOLOGY OFFICE: Yes, you the patient are seated in a chair. But don't expect to get comfortable in it. For almost all the testing that follows will require contortion on your part. And compared to dentistry, the majority of patients here are in the elderly age group. The office equipment does not conform to you, but the other way around. Except for the administering of eye drops, the staff has no actual physical contact with you. You are the one who has to lean forward and place your forehead against a brace on the machine while resting your chin on another part of it. The assistant may screw the opening up or down for a better fit, but you are straining your back and neck to accommodate the machine more than the other way around. You may be taken to another room for a field of vision test. Again, you strain to conform to the machine. You're on a chair, no backrest at all this time. Lean forward into the machine and press a button when you see a flash. This has to be a primitive and uncertain method of testing. It;s rather like the early game of Pong,and look how far that technology has developed in the gaming world. But not in medicine. Meanwhile, the technician in charge of the testing plays no active role, just sits, bored as heck, but not physically stretched into an uncomfortable position, as is the patient.
It is obvious that ophthalmic testing machines have not advanced in keeping with the times. Why shouldn't patients be able to remain seated in a chair, and have the equipment conform to their needs. What patient, especially those of a certain age, needs to endure unnecessary headache and back strain caused by having to contort their bodies to fit the machines. But I suppose if someone were to invent such accommodating devices, that would necessitate the purchasing of new office equipment, and that would be the show stopper.
Thursday, December 13, 2018
Oh, Lord!
Please deliver me from children's performances of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." The song is not about praising the lord. It is about sex. Not that there's anything wrong with that, especially in today's raunchy climate.
But to see a child, in the aura of innocence, stand and sing the song as if it's a religious tribute is just wrong.
I try to avoid such spectacles, but last night I was more or less forced into viewing one such. I don't know what happened, but the remote to the bedroom TV will not allow the channel to be changed, even with the installation of new batteries. So I'm in bed with the channel stuck on Channel 13, which is fine with me because I intend to watch the Tonight Show.
But in the meantime, what show comes on but Little Performers or whatever it's called. I'm now a captive audience. One young boy sang a song and while his voice was pleasant in the lower, softer range, he of course had to shriek to get the audience approval, and it was very hard on the ears. Then came a kid and a dog, dressed alike and out of control when it came to cupcakes.
A young girl, from Ireland no less, made an appearance to sing, in all her innocence, "Hallelujah." (Almost beyond belief, she was joined by Pentatonix, but that's another horror story.) Granted, Cohen has changed the lyrics, omitting and adding, editing, as the mood suited him in his many performances. But his Hallelujah is not in praise of the lord, but as one notable singer put it, "A hallelujah to organism." Not a difficult observation with the lyrics "Remember when I moved in you and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was Hallelujah." And the opening references to Samson and Delilah---what can that mean to a child --maybe relating to cutting her Barbies' hair. We won't even consider, "what was going on below" that's no longer happening or the significance of the flag on the marble arch.
It's a beautiful and significant song, certainly overdone. But at least could someone please keep it out of the mouths of babes. And don't let them anywhere near Leonard Cohen's tribute song to Janis Joplin.
But to see a child, in the aura of innocence, stand and sing the song as if it's a religious tribute is just wrong.
I try to avoid such spectacles, but last night I was more or less forced into viewing one such. I don't know what happened, but the remote to the bedroom TV will not allow the channel to be changed, even with the installation of new batteries. So I'm in bed with the channel stuck on Channel 13, which is fine with me because I intend to watch the Tonight Show.
But in the meantime, what show comes on but Little Performers or whatever it's called. I'm now a captive audience. One young boy sang a song and while his voice was pleasant in the lower, softer range, he of course had to shriek to get the audience approval, and it was very hard on the ears. Then came a kid and a dog, dressed alike and out of control when it came to cupcakes.
A young girl, from Ireland no less, made an appearance to sing, in all her innocence, "Hallelujah." (Almost beyond belief, she was joined by Pentatonix, but that's another horror story.) Granted, Cohen has changed the lyrics, omitting and adding, editing, as the mood suited him in his many performances. But his Hallelujah is not in praise of the lord, but as one notable singer put it, "A hallelujah to organism." Not a difficult observation with the lyrics "Remember when I moved in you and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was Hallelujah." And the opening references to Samson and Delilah---what can that mean to a child --maybe relating to cutting her Barbies' hair. We won't even consider, "what was going on below" that's no longer happening or the significance of the flag on the marble arch.
It's a beautiful and significant song, certainly overdone. But at least could someone please keep it out of the mouths of babes. And don't let them anywhere near Leonard Cohen's tribute song to Janis Joplin.
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
Good Browser
After years of using the same pathway to our bank accounts, and successfully paying almost all our bills online, last week the system failed. Either I couldn't log on as usual, or else I'd log on and the message would read no connection. I thought maybe the bank's site was down.
After waiting 4 days, and with bills to pay, I called the bank's customer service line. The guy who answered, and I'm sure he was of the youthful tech savvy ilk, assured me there was no problem with the bank's site, and asked if I was able to use another browser, and something about needing to delete cookies and.or do something else with them.
Not wanting to appear any more ignorant than need be, I just thanked him and said I just wanted to verify that the bank's site was ok. I'm pretty sure he saw through the guise, but what does he care.
So I worked on finding an alternative browser, checking out anything that might fall into that category. After some unsuccessful tries, I spied Microsoft Edge, which was completely unfamiliar to me, but I tried it and it worked. I don't know what to do with those superfluous cookies, but if I can find them, I'll delete them.
After waiting 4 days, and with bills to pay, I called the bank's customer service line. The guy who answered, and I'm sure he was of the youthful tech savvy ilk, assured me there was no problem with the bank's site, and asked if I was able to use another browser, and something about needing to delete cookies and.or do something else with them.
Not wanting to appear any more ignorant than need be, I just thanked him and said I just wanted to verify that the bank's site was ok. I'm pretty sure he saw through the guise, but what does he care.
So I worked on finding an alternative browser, checking out anything that might fall into that category. After some unsuccessful tries, I spied Microsoft Edge, which was completely unfamiliar to me, but I tried it and it worked. I don't know what to do with those superfluous cookies, but if I can find them, I'll delete them.
Mental Incarceration
How many, O, How many? Mental incarceration sounds a lot like brainwashing, doesn't it? As for lost moral compasses, who the heck knows how that happens.
Earthquake? Tremor?
At exactly 5 a.m. today, I walked into my kitchen and there right in the middle of the floor was a white disc, about a foot in diameter. Kind of like a flying saucer, or a frisbee. I had no idea what it was or how it got there. A little eerie, since no one else had been in the house, that I knew of anyway. Not until I happened to look up did I see it was the light fixture that had fallen off. Also a little mysterious as that bulb rarely burns out and it's been a number of years since that light cover has been removed.
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
More Oil
I'm living "Groundhog's Day." It seems I should expect a change, but back we go to the past. I changed fuel oil suppliers this season because John Ray's prices were much higher than any of their competitors.
Last March I called and told them to stop delivery, and hired Polsinello / Mirabito, who made their first delivery this fall at $3.11 per gal.
On 11-26-18, John Ray delivered---unordered---49 gal. at $4.299 per gal. I called and I finally offered to pay them what I was paying now. The rep gratefully accepted, and said she'd send a revised bill for that amount.
On Dec. 12, I received the same bill with price as before, which is $210.65 for 49 gal.
Today the Polsinello truck made delivery. The driver said "it didn't take much." The delivery was for 42 gal at $2.979 per gal. totaling $125.71.
I offered the explanation to the driver,who said, "Oh, Free Oil!" He sees their trucks, doesn't know how they can do business.
I think my kind and generous offer to John Ray has just lowered. If they want to dispute it, they can just take back their "unordered goods."
Last March I called and told them to stop delivery, and hired Polsinello / Mirabito, who made their first delivery this fall at $3.11 per gal.
On 11-26-18, John Ray delivered---unordered---49 gal. at $4.299 per gal. I called and I finally offered to pay them what I was paying now. The rep gratefully accepted, and said she'd send a revised bill for that amount.
On Dec. 12, I received the same bill with price as before, which is $210.65 for 49 gal.
Today the Polsinello truck made delivery. The driver said "it didn't take much." The delivery was for 42 gal at $2.979 per gal. totaling $125.71.
I offered the explanation to the driver,who said, "Oh, Free Oil!" He sees their trucks, doesn't know how they can do business.
I think my kind and generous offer to John Ray has just lowered. If they want to dispute it, they can just take back their "unordered goods."
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Kinda funny, I guess
Today while paying for a prescription at Rite Aid, the pharmacist there, new to me, accused me of having a fake ID. I didn't have to show my license, but he must have peered in while I was removing my credit card. I don't know what he thought, but this is what he saw, nothing different from the last several years:
Oh, the Humility!
I renewed my subscription to the Troy Record, unable to resist the incentives offered as enticement. As is general policy in much of business lately, the old loyal customers are asked to help pay the price of reeling in new customers.
Anyway, the Record was delivered yesterday. I already get the Times Union, and while their Crossword is mind-numbingly easy, and the Jumble is, well, the Jumble, I have begun to actually look forward to the Cryptoquip, and pride myself on how skilled I have become at solving it --to read a whole sentence or two with the hint of only one letter.
With time still on my hands, I perused the puzzle page of the Record, and found the crossword to be of a higher level than that of the TU. I actually had to use both Across and Down clues instead of just reading and filling in one or the other. So, that done, I looked at their Cryptoquote: 4 lines and not a single letter for a clue. Egad, how can that be possible? I dismissed it as an impossible exercise, but then had the thought that it appeared regularly. The newspaper paid the syndicate, so there must be a demand for it. Those readers can't all be geniuses, so I decided to give it a try. Applying both the elements of skill and common sense, I came up with: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF JEALOUSY AND THE POWER OF ENVY TO DESTROY----OLIVER STONE
So now, to fill the moments of the day, I have 2 Cryptic exercises to solve---simple work for simple people.
Anyway, the Record was delivered yesterday. I already get the Times Union, and while their Crossword is mind-numbingly easy, and the Jumble is, well, the Jumble, I have begun to actually look forward to the Cryptoquip, and pride myself on how skilled I have become at solving it --to read a whole sentence or two with the hint of only one letter.
With time still on my hands, I perused the puzzle page of the Record, and found the crossword to be of a higher level than that of the TU. I actually had to use both Across and Down clues instead of just reading and filling in one or the other. So, that done, I looked at their Cryptoquote: 4 lines and not a single letter for a clue. Egad, how can that be possible? I dismissed it as an impossible exercise, but then had the thought that it appeared regularly. The newspaper paid the syndicate, so there must be a demand for it. Those readers can't all be geniuses, so I decided to give it a try. Applying both the elements of skill and common sense, I came up with: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF JEALOUSY AND THE POWER OF ENVY TO DESTROY----OLIVER STONE
So now, to fill the moments of the day, I have 2 Cryptic exercises to solve---simple work for simple people.
Little Wars Major Victories
Life is always full of challenges, and mine has been no exception. For most of the setbacks and problematic situations, I've either accepted them or regrouped and worked around them. But I chose to engage in at least 3 major battles and victory, of one sort or another, has been mine.
My memory of details about the first is a little vague, having occurred a long time ago, and before I took the copious notes which I learned are integral to waging a successful battle.
When I graduated from college and began my teaching career, we had a limited time period to earn a master's degree, to keep valid our teaching certification. I think then it was 5 years instead of the 10 which it much later became. I was well on my way to fulfilling that requirement with the time limit fast approaching when I received a letter from the college saying there had been some sort of miscalculation, and I would not be eligible for certification. Back then, leniency was rare indeed, and I think it meant that I would have had to start over. College had not been easy, and I'd had my share of negative happenings, which I had come to accept as part of my fate. But this was too important.I looked for a way to disagree with the decision, and found the sole recourse was to arrange an in-person interview with the Dean of Misery or such and plead my case. His name, I think, was Dr. Llewellyn Jones.
I found myself in the anteroom to his office one afternoon, contemplating my chances. The door opened and a young woman came out. She was crying, real tears streaming down her face.Tears of sadness or relief, I couldn't determine. I entered to meet Dr. Jones, who seemed amiable enough. I presented the scant paperwork that I had, including their admission of error. He skimmed over the pages and said I was fine. He amended the decision. All was well. But I learned that, sometimes at least, one person has the power to transcend all the bureaucratic red tape, and grant your request. That was the lesson learned, and the path I would pursue.
Battle #2 took much more time and was much more crucial: the struggle to obtain health insurance through my employment. Dave's insurance had expired and we had no viable route to any other policies. I'll spare the details of this struggle, but with newly available access to the internet, hours and days of research ensued, plus waiting for some hard-headed guardian of finances in the business office to either retire or die, both of which events eventually transpired. Again, it meant contacting the right person or persons, the decision makers. After 5 long years, we were finally enrolled in a health plan. Victory was sweet, if you can call it that.
My latest, maybe last, battle has come, almost, to a favorable, and life-changing conclusion. Only a matter of time until a person, or group of people, will add the final touches to what has been a 2-year odyssey into the heretofore unknown.
My memory of details about the first is a little vague, having occurred a long time ago, and before I took the copious notes which I learned are integral to waging a successful battle.
When I graduated from college and began my teaching career, we had a limited time period to earn a master's degree, to keep valid our teaching certification. I think then it was 5 years instead of the 10 which it much later became. I was well on my way to fulfilling that requirement with the time limit fast approaching when I received a letter from the college saying there had been some sort of miscalculation, and I would not be eligible for certification. Back then, leniency was rare indeed, and I think it meant that I would have had to start over. College had not been easy, and I'd had my share of negative happenings, which I had come to accept as part of my fate. But this was too important.I looked for a way to disagree with the decision, and found the sole recourse was to arrange an in-person interview with the Dean of Misery or such and plead my case. His name, I think, was Dr. Llewellyn Jones.
I found myself in the anteroom to his office one afternoon, contemplating my chances. The door opened and a young woman came out. She was crying, real tears streaming down her face.Tears of sadness or relief, I couldn't determine. I entered to meet Dr. Jones, who seemed amiable enough. I presented the scant paperwork that I had, including their admission of error. He skimmed over the pages and said I was fine. He amended the decision. All was well. But I learned that, sometimes at least, one person has the power to transcend all the bureaucratic red tape, and grant your request. That was the lesson learned, and the path I would pursue.
Battle #2 took much more time and was much more crucial: the struggle to obtain health insurance through my employment. Dave's insurance had expired and we had no viable route to any other policies. I'll spare the details of this struggle, but with newly available access to the internet, hours and days of research ensued, plus waiting for some hard-headed guardian of finances in the business office to either retire or die, both of which events eventually transpired. Again, it meant contacting the right person or persons, the decision makers. After 5 long years, we were finally enrolled in a health plan. Victory was sweet, if you can call it that.
My latest, maybe last, battle has come, almost, to a favorable, and life-changing conclusion. Only a matter of time until a person, or group of people, will add the final touches to what has been a 2-year odyssey into the heretofore unknown.
Saturday, December 8, 2018
The Traveling My Pillow
All these exotic places, most of which I've never heard. All but the last through Fed Ex:
11/27 Osseo, MN
11/29 Shabbona, Il
11/30 Cicero, IL
12/02 Swatara, PA
12/03 East Hanover, PA
12/04 Macungie, PA
12/04 Windsor, CT
12/07 Valley Falls Post Office
12/08 Out for Delivery
Arrived evening of 12/08---Stuffed in mailbox.
I perceive there may be a return trip for the little fella.
11/27 Osseo, MN
11/29 Shabbona, Il
11/30 Cicero, IL
12/02 Swatara, PA
12/03 East Hanover, PA
12/04 Macungie, PA
12/04 Windsor, CT
12/07 Valley Falls Post Office
12/08 Out for Delivery
Arrived evening of 12/08---Stuffed in mailbox.
I perceive there may be a return trip for the little fella.
Call in the Night
It's an older TV commercial, old enough to be before cell phones. The young couple is awake, in the late hours, evidently. He is on the phone talking to his mother and she is holding a baby, awakened no doubt by the sound of the ringing telephone.
He is gently and calmly reassuring his mother, and his wife is smiling as she holds the baby. I can't remember what problem the mother had called with, or what product was being advertised. And I can't even hazard a guess as to what market was being sought, but it must have been somewhere in the land of sheer fantasy.
He is gently and calmly reassuring his mother, and his wife is smiling as she holds the baby. I can't remember what problem the mother had called with, or what product was being advertised. And I can't even hazard a guess as to what market was being sought, but it must have been somewhere in the land of sheer fantasy.
Dogmatic
Really? I read where it is now illegal to leave your dog in a cold car, as well as a hot one, where they could most surely die. But how cold would it have to be for a dog to freeze to death if left in an unheated vehicle. Well sure, if for an extended time period, like overnight or for days and days. But most dogs are very capable of coping with cold weather, and many enjoy and prefer it. Our dogs, all 3 consecutive collies, delighted in the snow. They were long-haired of course, and bred to be outdoor animals, so common sense should prevail.
My high school science teacher often declared that the term common sense should be replaced by simple sense. There is nothing common about it.You can predict that on any chilly day, some good-intentioned person, lacking sense of either the common or simple variety, will break a car window to rescue a dog who is in danger of being subjected to the cold.
Perhaps there should be a law mandating that dogs unsuited to climate variations be kept in their native lands. Keep those Chihuahuas in Mexico, or wherever they originated. As for dog clothes, dogs do not like wearing clothes, or booties either. That's why, unlike humans, they're covered with fur, and are able to lick their feet.
It seems, kind of like the last days of Rome, our society is deteriorating to the point of a lack of distinction between humans and animals, particularly dogs. Though there was the recent case of a man, probably in Florida, having regular sex with his pony. That's against the law, I gather, though who knows what the pony would say. It is now usual and accepted for people to take their dogs to bed, and it would be rare to confirm the crime of bestiality. Let sleeping dogs lie. But people regularly, and publicly, kiss their dogs on the mouth, and allow dogs to put their mouths on the mouths of their babies and children. Dogs have no more germs than humans, they say. But dogs will willingly eat birdpoop, and even worse, catpoop. And did you ever see the ecstatic expression on the face of a dog who's rolling on his back over a dead and decaying animal carcass. Almost any dog would remove his doggie sweater for that fetid opportunity.
My high school science teacher often declared that the term common sense should be replaced by simple sense. There is nothing common about it.You can predict that on any chilly day, some good-intentioned person, lacking sense of either the common or simple variety, will break a car window to rescue a dog who is in danger of being subjected to the cold.
Perhaps there should be a law mandating that dogs unsuited to climate variations be kept in their native lands. Keep those Chihuahuas in Mexico, or wherever they originated. As for dog clothes, dogs do not like wearing clothes, or booties either. That's why, unlike humans, they're covered with fur, and are able to lick their feet.
It seems, kind of like the last days of Rome, our society is deteriorating to the point of a lack of distinction between humans and animals, particularly dogs. Though there was the recent case of a man, probably in Florida, having regular sex with his pony. That's against the law, I gather, though who knows what the pony would say. It is now usual and accepted for people to take their dogs to bed, and it would be rare to confirm the crime of bestiality. Let sleeping dogs lie. But people regularly, and publicly, kiss their dogs on the mouth, and allow dogs to put their mouths on the mouths of their babies and children. Dogs have no more germs than humans, they say. But dogs will willingly eat birdpoop, and even worse, catpoop. And did you ever see the ecstatic expression on the face of a dog who's rolling on his back over a dead and decaying animal carcass. Almost any dog would remove his doggie sweater for that fetid opportunity.
Neti-pot
I'm sorry to hear of the neti-pot related death, but it should come as no surprise. When Dr. Oz demonstrated its use several years ago, I almost died of disgust.
Gas-shopper
I've wondered why there are frequently cars lined up at Stewart's to fuel their vehicles when the station down the street has lower prices and seemingly fewer customers. Now I read, on the reliable source of Facebook, that the station further down the street has had cars damaged with water-contaminated gasoline, which they won't reimburse for. What to believe. What to do...
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Thruway Authority
I just read that a tollbooth worker in Herkimer was arrested for stealing funds from the Thruway Authority. It triggered a memory of my driving home from Herkimer, one of many times from our meetings over 15 years.
This particular day, I was alone entering the thruway booths, and because the booth there, and then, was rather isolated and far to the left of the lane I was driving in, I assumed there'd be another closer to me before I got on the Thruway. But no, there was only the one booth, and I'd already passed it. Too late.
All during my drive home, I was recalling horror stories of what became of drivers who skipped getting their ticket. Some say you have to pay the entire length of the Thruway, rumors said it was a criminal act, etc. Whenever a trooper car showed up in my rearview mirror, I foresaw being pulled over and charged with who-knows-what. Could they track cars who'd sneaked on and who didn't have a ticket. I worried all the way.
I would normally have exited in Albany, but I decided to lessen my penalties by getting off at the Amsterdam exit. I knew it was not as busy as Albany, and figured my situation might not be as traumatic.
I pulled up to the booth and told the attendant I didn't have my ticket. "Where did you get on?" was his question. I said Herkimer, and he said that would be $2.50. I paid him and that was that.
This particular day, I was alone entering the thruway booths, and because the booth there, and then, was rather isolated and far to the left of the lane I was driving in, I assumed there'd be another closer to me before I got on the Thruway. But no, there was only the one booth, and I'd already passed it. Too late.
All during my drive home, I was recalling horror stories of what became of drivers who skipped getting their ticket. Some say you have to pay the entire length of the Thruway, rumors said it was a criminal act, etc. Whenever a trooper car showed up in my rearview mirror, I foresaw being pulled over and charged with who-knows-what. Could they track cars who'd sneaked on and who didn't have a ticket. I worried all the way.
I would normally have exited in Albany, but I decided to lessen my penalties by getting off at the Amsterdam exit. I knew it was not as busy as Albany, and figured my situation might not be as traumatic.
I pulled up to the booth and told the attendant I didn't have my ticket. "Where did you get on?" was his question. I said Herkimer, and he said that would be $2.50. I paid him and that was that.
Fuel for Afterthought
Today I received a bill for fuel oil delivery, $210.65 for 48 gallons of #2 heating oil at $4.29 per gallon. I had called when the fuel was delivered on Nov. 28 because I'd cancelled deliveries back in March, saying their price was too high. When I called, the rep said she didn't know how to handle the issue, so she would check and someone would call me back.
Of course, no call came, and I received the bill for the full amount today. I called again, explained, and the rep said she would have to contact a supervisor and get back in touch with me. I said that would be fine, told her I could come up with an equitable solution, but would gladly wait to hear. She asked me what my suggestion would be. I said I'd pay what I'd arranged to pay with my new supplier. She, seemingly somewhat relieved, said that sounded like a good solution, and she'll send me a revised statement. She added that they didn't want to lose a customer and that they have a variety of payment options for the future.
Who knows what happens next.
Of course, no call came, and I received the bill for the full amount today. I called again, explained, and the rep said she would have to contact a supervisor and get back in touch with me. I said that would be fine, told her I could come up with an equitable solution, but would gladly wait to hear. She asked me what my suggestion would be. I said I'd pay what I'd arranged to pay with my new supplier. She, seemingly somewhat relieved, said that sounded like a good solution, and she'll send me a revised statement. She added that they didn't want to lose a customer and that they have a variety of payment options for the future.
Who knows what happens next.
Tuesday, December 4, 2018
The Fugitive
One August morning in 1967, I drove to Dave's apartment on Massachusetts Avenue in Colonie, and we set off for a day trip to Niagara Falls. I've been there several times since then, but this was my first trip there and the most enjoyable. We were young and totally unencumbered and spent a glorious day there.
We left Niagara Falls at the end of the day, later than we'd anticipated. It was dark by then and it suddenly came to us that we may not get back to a television set in time to watch my favorite TV show, The Fugitive. The show aired at 10:00 p,m., and it was to be the season finale, the wrap-up with Detective Girard ending his search.
Dave never minded driving fast and we were in my 8-cylinder Chevrolet SuperSport convertible, making good time. We were flying when Dave, observing in his rear-view mirror said, "There's a cop following us." He wasn't stupid enough to try to outrun the cop, but he cut his speed, and changed lanes, maybe more than once. Somehow, exiting the Northway onto Central Avenue, the cop either lost sight of us or gave up the pursuit. Either way, he'd never used his siren. Maybe he too wanted to watch the conclusion of The Fugitive,
We pulled into the driveway exactly at 10 o'clock, and raced up the stairs to Dave's apartment just in time to see the entire episode.
The one-armed man had been brought to justice, and the Fugitive was a free man. So much fun.
We left Niagara Falls at the end of the day, later than we'd anticipated. It was dark by then and it suddenly came to us that we may not get back to a television set in time to watch my favorite TV show, The Fugitive. The show aired at 10:00 p,m., and it was to be the season finale, the wrap-up with Detective Girard ending his search.
Dave never minded driving fast and we were in my 8-cylinder Chevrolet SuperSport convertible, making good time. We were flying when Dave, observing in his rear-view mirror said, "There's a cop following us." He wasn't stupid enough to try to outrun the cop, but he cut his speed, and changed lanes, maybe more than once. Somehow, exiting the Northway onto Central Avenue, the cop either lost sight of us or gave up the pursuit. Either way, he'd never used his siren. Maybe he too wanted to watch the conclusion of The Fugitive,
We pulled into the driveway exactly at 10 o'clock, and raced up the stairs to Dave's apartment just in time to see the entire episode.
The one-armed man had been brought to justice, and the Fugitive was a free man. So much fun.
Monday, December 3, 2018
Of Yore
In the faculty room, the seasoned teacher of English was frustrated by students' misuse of the words "affect" and "effect."
"It's simple," he declared. "While the word effect can be both a noun and a verb, the word affect is always a verb."
I ventured to say that the word affect can also be a noun. He disagreed, rather vehemently, and strode to the bookshelf in the corner of the room, took down the Webster's, and looked up the uses. The conversation came to a sudden end with his comment of a single word-----"G*#@DAMMIT!"
The high school Social Studies teacher, who didn't teach spelling, noticed that for several years many of her tenth grade students were consistently misspelling the word Australia, inserting an extra i before the l.
The reason came to light when my son, who knew how to spell when he was in third grade, told me his teacher gave the class a hint as to how to spell Australia. She told them:"Remember, there's a TRAIL in Australia."
As testament to the teacher's effectiveness, many of her students used her spelling mnemonics tip at least seven years later, and probably to this day.
The good old days.
"It's simple," he declared. "While the word effect can be both a noun and a verb, the word affect is always a verb."
I ventured to say that the word affect can also be a noun. He disagreed, rather vehemently, and strode to the bookshelf in the corner of the room, took down the Webster's, and looked up the uses. The conversation came to a sudden end with his comment of a single word-----"G*#@DAMMIT!"
The high school Social Studies teacher, who didn't teach spelling, noticed that for several years many of her tenth grade students were consistently misspelling the word Australia, inserting an extra i before the l.
The reason came to light when my son, who knew how to spell when he was in third grade, told me his teacher gave the class a hint as to how to spell Australia. She told them:"Remember, there's a TRAIL in Australia."
As testament to the teacher's effectiveness, many of her students used her spelling mnemonics tip at least seven years later, and probably to this day.
The good old days.
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