Because I haven't had fresh fruit in a long while and because Harry & David are famed for their succulent pears, and because I wanted more gifts to open, I ordered a modest sized box of pears from them soon after Christmas. I'd read the customer reviews and noted quite a few negative pear comments, that they were discolored, dry, flavorless and totally without any juice at all. I decided to take a chance and order anyway.
The pears arrived. I opened the box. I saw 5 pears, one wrapped in gold foil, the others each in their individual compartments. I feared the worst; the skin of one pear had black areas. All felt hard and dry. Thinking the blackened pear would be the ripest, I tried it first. True to the negative comments, it was pithy, flavorless and without a drop of juice. I sampled one of the better looking ones; it was the same, like styrofoam.
My instinct was to open the kitchen window and fling them out, to the same fate to which I'd assigned Hand Melon's pithy peaches from the summer before.
But wait--the pears were pricey; maybe I'd contribute a scathing review, as others had done. I scanned the card that was in the box of pears. I read the instructions that said to keep the pears in the box at room temperature for a day or two before enjoying their deliciousness. I thought that the pears had little chance of becoming juicy and flavorful, but, being a follower of rules, obediently abided by the advice on the card.
About a day and a half later, I sampled one of the pears. It was juicy and delicious. As were the remaining pears. Who would have thought.
Thursday, January 30, 2020
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Evaluation
If I were to critique the presentations of those who I acknowledge are much smarter than I am, I would, using the language of my late Cambridge friend, say Sekulow's is "less than stellar." That is a much classier way of saying "Sekulow s*#ks."
Dershowitz is apparently afflicted by the medical condition of TMB. *
* Too Many Birthdays
Dershowitz is apparently afflicted by the medical condition of TMB. *
* Too Many Birthdays
Back to Normal
My mother's life would not have matched what most people would have considered a standard of excellence. But she never complained about what she lacked, and as years went by she did not aspire to more than she already possessed.
She lived in her own house, still planted a garden, though each season it dwindled in size, and she had her animals, her pet dogs, some cats, a few chickens, and her proudest achievement of owning ponies---for the grandchildren she would say, but she had a lifelong love of members of the horse family.
She wholeheartedly participated in hosting Christmas celebrations, used to have piles of presents for the grandkids under the tree, which she ordered through Sears and Ward's mail-order catalogs. She would prepare Thanksgiving dinner for whatever family members were available to attend.
So one might say she always arose to whatever occasion, some joyful, some sad, an array of birthday parties, holiday celebrations, weddings and, yes, wakes and funerals. Through it all, the happiness and the tears, the gains and the losses, there was one constant. She would, and did, say it herself, and repeatedly: she couldn't wait for "things to get back to normal."
That meant she wanted to be in her daily routine, in her own home, her family around her, her favored terrier always nearby, and each day as familiar as the next. She always looked forward to getting back to normal. And she would get there, whether it meant cleaning up the kitchen after a holiday meal, taking down the Christmas tree and picking up all the wrapping paper, or writing thank you messages to those who had commiserated in her grief, she cleared all the details and settled back to her longed-for state of normalcy. That seems such a modest request.
She spent her last normal day on a Saturday in late October, a day on which nothing very spectacular happened. In the early morning hours of the following day, Sunday, "getting back to normal" came to an end.
She lived in her own house, still planted a garden, though each season it dwindled in size, and she had her animals, her pet dogs, some cats, a few chickens, and her proudest achievement of owning ponies---for the grandchildren she would say, but she had a lifelong love of members of the horse family.
She wholeheartedly participated in hosting Christmas celebrations, used to have piles of presents for the grandkids under the tree, which she ordered through Sears and Ward's mail-order catalogs. She would prepare Thanksgiving dinner for whatever family members were available to attend.
So one might say she always arose to whatever occasion, some joyful, some sad, an array of birthday parties, holiday celebrations, weddings and, yes, wakes and funerals. Through it all, the happiness and the tears, the gains and the losses, there was one constant. She would, and did, say it herself, and repeatedly: she couldn't wait for "things to get back to normal."
That meant she wanted to be in her daily routine, in her own home, her family around her, her favored terrier always nearby, and each day as familiar as the next. She always looked forward to getting back to normal. And she would get there, whether it meant cleaning up the kitchen after a holiday meal, taking down the Christmas tree and picking up all the wrapping paper, or writing thank you messages to those who had commiserated in her grief, she cleared all the details and settled back to her longed-for state of normalcy. That seems such a modest request.
She spent her last normal day on a Saturday in late October, a day on which nothing very spectacular happened. In the early morning hours of the following day, Sunday, "getting back to normal" came to an end.
Monday, January 27, 2020
What did he say??
Listening to Ken Starr---his sonorous tone reminded me of those long-ago sermons in church, and I was feeling pretty calm and sleepy. Then I heard him say---it jolted me fully awake----"the protestant of the United States." Oh, well, we all get old.
Truth Tooth Saga
Just to chronicle for my own edification.
Some years ago, I mentioned to Dr. P. my dentist in Albany, that I was experiencing extreme sensitivity in an upper molar. His exam and x-rays showed no reason for it, so he referred me to an endodontist in Latham, of the Friedman, Goodcoff and Segal practice. Further testing showed no abnormalities, even after a visit to another specialist a few miles down the road in Latham. The consensus was that the tooth might have a cracked root. They agreed that the only way to know for sure was for surgery to be performed through the gumline into the tooth. They cautioned that it would be difficult if not impossible to remedy, and advised that I would probably want to leave it alone unless it became painful. So I took their advice, and learned to live with the discomfort.
The longstanding partnership of our Albany dentists dissolved and our favored dentist of the two relocated, but we stayed with the familiar office. The dentist there subsequently took on several different partners, none of whom stayed very long. So, between that and the travel distance, I decided to find a new practice.
Several relatives used the practice of Dr. F. in Mechanicville, so I made an appointment there, for routine cleaning, and saw the senior Dr. F. I mentioned the sensitive area, not wanting it to be a problem during the cleaning. He was positive I was grinding my teeth at night. I was positive I was not. But he kindly prescribed a mouthguard, which is still in my dresser drawer.
My next routine cleaning appointment was with the junior Dr. F. I again mentioned the sensitivity and he also suggested I wear a mouthguard at night. I declined to do so, already tried that, I said.
Next visit with Dr. F. the Younger, same story. I told him the sensitivity was increasing, told him of the "cracked root" theory, and I'd been told there was no way to tell aside from deep surgery. Well, he said, that has changed. Turns out he has a special machine that can detect cracks in roots deep in the jawline. But he warned it was expensive. (He was aware I didn't have dental insurance.) I was eager to find an answer to my increased discomfort, so I agreed to the new process of detection.
The machine was located in a room of its own, with a technician trained (hopefully so) in its use. I remember its being chilly in there, assumed the machine doesn't like it too warm. The results showed no crack in any tooth root. Ok, back to living with what was now downright painful.
At my routine visit last year, I told Dr. F. that my tooth was hurting every time I chewed anything in that area. The molar that is the subject of this saga is one of the 12-year molars, so called because they usually erupt at that age. So needless to say, the tooth is very old, ancient even. It is home to not one, but several different fillings, none of them newer than 20 years. Dr. F. thought that there was an unevenness on one side, so he filed it down a little.
Maybe that helped slightly, for a short time, but by now, I was feeling sharp pain whenever anything was there. It was like an electric shock. I could close my teeth and exert all the pressure I could and I'd feel no pain at all, but if even a slight bit of anything was on that tooth, a lightning bolt of pain shot through. I learned to chew on the other side of my mouth, but of course was not able to avoid the area altogether.
So this fall, I made an appointment specifically for this problem. Something had to be wrong. There were more X-rays and at this visit , besides Dr. F. and his young assistant, another person was present, more experienced perhaps? At any rate, she explained that the tooth was "flexing." So the pressure of anything between the teeth caused its center to flex, to move. Ergo, the pain.
I just had the permanent crown installed and the pain is gone.Rejoice, I can chew again.
Some years ago, I mentioned to Dr. P. my dentist in Albany, that I was experiencing extreme sensitivity in an upper molar. His exam and x-rays showed no reason for it, so he referred me to an endodontist in Latham, of the Friedman, Goodcoff and Segal practice. Further testing showed no abnormalities, even after a visit to another specialist a few miles down the road in Latham. The consensus was that the tooth might have a cracked root. They agreed that the only way to know for sure was for surgery to be performed through the gumline into the tooth. They cautioned that it would be difficult if not impossible to remedy, and advised that I would probably want to leave it alone unless it became painful. So I took their advice, and learned to live with the discomfort.
The longstanding partnership of our Albany dentists dissolved and our favored dentist of the two relocated, but we stayed with the familiar office. The dentist there subsequently took on several different partners, none of whom stayed very long. So, between that and the travel distance, I decided to find a new practice.
Several relatives used the practice of Dr. F. in Mechanicville, so I made an appointment there, for routine cleaning, and saw the senior Dr. F. I mentioned the sensitive area, not wanting it to be a problem during the cleaning. He was positive I was grinding my teeth at night. I was positive I was not. But he kindly prescribed a mouthguard, which is still in my dresser drawer.
My next routine cleaning appointment was with the junior Dr. F. I again mentioned the sensitivity and he also suggested I wear a mouthguard at night. I declined to do so, already tried that, I said.
Next visit with Dr. F. the Younger, same story. I told him the sensitivity was increasing, told him of the "cracked root" theory, and I'd been told there was no way to tell aside from deep surgery. Well, he said, that has changed. Turns out he has a special machine that can detect cracks in roots deep in the jawline. But he warned it was expensive. (He was aware I didn't have dental insurance.) I was eager to find an answer to my increased discomfort, so I agreed to the new process of detection.
The machine was located in a room of its own, with a technician trained (hopefully so) in its use. I remember its being chilly in there, assumed the machine doesn't like it too warm. The results showed no crack in any tooth root. Ok, back to living with what was now downright painful.
At my routine visit last year, I told Dr. F. that my tooth was hurting every time I chewed anything in that area. The molar that is the subject of this saga is one of the 12-year molars, so called because they usually erupt at that age. So needless to say, the tooth is very old, ancient even. It is home to not one, but several different fillings, none of them newer than 20 years. Dr. F. thought that there was an unevenness on one side, so he filed it down a little.
Maybe that helped slightly, for a short time, but by now, I was feeling sharp pain whenever anything was there. It was like an electric shock. I could close my teeth and exert all the pressure I could and I'd feel no pain at all, but if even a slight bit of anything was on that tooth, a lightning bolt of pain shot through. I learned to chew on the other side of my mouth, but of course was not able to avoid the area altogether.
So this fall, I made an appointment specifically for this problem. Something had to be wrong. There were more X-rays and at this visit , besides Dr. F. and his young assistant, another person was present, more experienced perhaps? At any rate, she explained that the tooth was "flexing." So the pressure of anything between the teeth caused its center to flex, to move. Ergo, the pain.
I just had the permanent crown installed and the pain is gone.Rejoice, I can chew again.
Sunday, January 26, 2020
Tuesday, January 21, 2020
950 Nights
That's how long it's been since he slept in his own bed, almost 2 and a half years ago now. Once in a while he'll say he'd like to be home sleeping in his own bed, but he realizes he can't. The transfer from wheelchair to bed involves two staff members and the Easy-lift.
He asked about Don again tonight, and I told him Don was doing well, wants to come home, and that might happen soon. He said he felt sorry for him because he wasn't home yet.
And 950 mornings have also passed. He always said Good Morning to me no matter what issues there may have been. No longer any Good Night's either.
He asked about Don again tonight, and I told him Don was doing well, wants to come home, and that might happen soon. He said he felt sorry for him because he wasn't home yet.
And 950 mornings have also passed. He always said Good Morning to me no matter what issues there may have been. No longer any Good Night's either.
New Friend...
Well, I did almost laugh, but now I'm in tears.
***I'd only said his first email made me laugh, difficult to do in these days. I was watching the Impeachment at the time.
Friday, January 17, 2020
Thursday, January 16, 2020
Cop-Stop ala PD Live
First Friday of the new year, and I was on my way to see Dave. I'd filled my gas tank and adjusted for time so my return trip would not take me into the sunset. Glare is now my enemy. As I drove in the area near Pine Lake, I saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror. I pulled over, expecting the car would pass me, but instead it stopped behind me. The officer got out and approached my car, where I had muted the radio and lowered the window.
"How are you?" he asked, and I said I was good. "Do you know why I stopped you?" Before I could say much more than no, he, pointing to my windshield, answered his own question. "Your inspection has expired, " he said, adding, "You probably haven't noticed?' That was true. I hadn't.
Then, after asking if it was my car, he asked if I had my license and registration with me. I did, but told him my license was in my pocketbook on the floor behind me, and I'd have to get out to get it. Well, then, just your registration, he said. I keep my registration and insurance card in a separate envelope in the glove box, but all he wanted was my registration, which he took with him back to his vehicle, for whatever they do there.
He returned in a short time and handed me my registration. He advised me to get the inspection taken care of right away. "Your sticker is yellow," he said. The new ones are either red or blue. Yours sticks out like a sore thumb, so you're going to keep getting stopped." I said thank you and continued on my way.
When I returned about an hour and a half later, I noticed the unmarked police vehicle had 2 cars lined up in the area where I had been stopped, and the officer was "interviewing" a third driver. Taking his message to heart, I drove directly to the closest inspection station. As I signaled to make the left turn in, I saw a NYS Trooper had a car stopped right in the parking lot of the garage. So I drove my car down to the very end of the lot. I couldn't get an appointment until the following Monday morning, so I spent that weekend as a criminal.
"How are you?" he asked, and I said I was good. "Do you know why I stopped you?" Before I could say much more than no, he, pointing to my windshield, answered his own question. "Your inspection has expired, " he said, adding, "You probably haven't noticed?' That was true. I hadn't.
Then, after asking if it was my car, he asked if I had my license and registration with me. I did, but told him my license was in my pocketbook on the floor behind me, and I'd have to get out to get it. Well, then, just your registration, he said. I keep my registration and insurance card in a separate envelope in the glove box, but all he wanted was my registration, which he took with him back to his vehicle, for whatever they do there.
He returned in a short time and handed me my registration. He advised me to get the inspection taken care of right away. "Your sticker is yellow," he said. The new ones are either red or blue. Yours sticks out like a sore thumb, so you're going to keep getting stopped." I said thank you and continued on my way.
When I returned about an hour and a half later, I noticed the unmarked police vehicle had 2 cars lined up in the area where I had been stopped, and the officer was "interviewing" a third driver. Taking his message to heart, I drove directly to the closest inspection station. As I signaled to make the left turn in, I saw a NYS Trooper had a car stopped right in the parking lot of the garage. So I drove my car down to the very end of the lot. I couldn't get an appointment until the following Monday morning, so I spent that weekend as a criminal.
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
Eye of the Beholder
When I was very young, I used to tell her she was "the prettiest mommy in the whole world." Of course, I outgrew that stage, but now I can see why I
thought so.
Monday, January 13, 2020
Monday, January 6, 2020
We Were the Chaperones, My Friends...
These Cambridge times were the absolute best.
Thursday, January 2, 2020
2020 Lagoon
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