Look BEE-fore you slip into your clogs.

 

Why?

 

What's that smell?

 All of outdoors smells like burning rubber this morning.

The Truth Be Told

     I think telling the truth is all important, and I'm not going to lie. There was a time when I didn't much feel like doing so.  In the high school where I was teaching, it was the the practice for the principal, John, to send a single copy of  his announcements or messages to each department as a whole. The names of the English teachers appeared in alphabetical order at the top of the missive, and as each teacher read and adhered to whatever the message was, that teacher would cross out their name, and put the message in the next teacher's mailbox. Simple, you might say, and it would or should have been except I taught English to about 100+ high school students. We were obligated then to have them write at least 2 compositions per week, with one being  a substantial 200+ word assignment. So my desk and the inbox atop of it were always laden with papers.

   In the mornings I would check my mailbox in the office, peruse the messages and place the papers in the inbox on my desk. Most of the time, the messages did not seem very important to us, but I would read, cross out my name and then bring it to the office to deposit it in the next person's mailbox. My name started with Mad., and the person ahead of me had a name beginning with Mac. Smooth as glass, if you follow all the steps.

   One day, Jane Mac... was in distress. Principal John had been in conversation with someone down the line in the alphabet. That teacher was unable to relate to a particular missive because  she had not received it, she said. John was certain that Jane had not passed the missive on down the line. She was sure she had. She had no idea at what point the letter chain had stalled. 

     I was pretty sure that the buck had stopped with me. It probably got lost and discarded along with my mass of paperwork. I had always dreaded the thought of being sent to the principal's office, but I figured it was the decent thing to do. So I steeled myself, visited the office and told the principal that the Mac transmission had reached my Mad, desk. I said I had read it and then threw it away with my stack of corrected and returned papers.

    Although I must say my reputation for due diligence was known, I was still surprised to find he didn't believe me. Instead of accepting my excuse, he said he admired my loyalty to a fellow teacher. I insisted it was my failure, but he still thought I was protecting Jane.  I long for those days now.

  ***As a postscript, not long after that, Principal John and Jane started dating, so I'm not sure how that came about. The relationship didn't last. Jane eventually returned to her home state of Tennessee and John retired and entered the priesthood.  Honest.

"Picture Go ahead; make my day.

 

Hair Today-----gone?

 My hair is now a disaster, so it's little surprise that it even haunts my dreams. I was desperately looking for a hair remedy, in a store of some kind. I saw a cart full of hair products and was just starting to search the contents when I realized it was a cart holding items that had been donated. Phew, that would have been embarrassing. I continued looking and found just what I'd been searching for. I bought it and it was placed in a small bag.  When I went to use it that evening, I couldn't find it. I spent the entire remainder of the dream looking high and low. I never found it. Such is life.

Wedding Remembrance

 September 26, 1964   Dorothy Evelyn Madigan and Arthur Augustus King 

Small, very small, victory

 The light on the Honeywell thermostat went out. That meant whenever I wanted to adjust the temperature, I needed to use a flashlight. The unit is not in a well-lit area. So I googled to see if there was a fix---I know nothing about thermostats. The first site said to pull the tab on top of the unit. I did so, and indeed something popped up, which I never knew was there--a small card with instructions as to how to program. I had no idea it was there--it's tiny.

    But that was no help, so back to research. Aha, that instruction was not for the programmable thermostat. To change the batteries in the unit in my house, you had to lift the outside cover off. I had never even thought that the thermostat contained batteries. You know how it is; if something is working, why question how. But I was able to remove the front of the thermostat, and found 2 simple little AA batteries. I was afraid there would be specialized batteries available only at a Honeywell outlet or something. Now I can add another home maintenance feature to my resume.   Voila.

               

When Plants Hibernate:

 

Mind-messing PSA

"You always think you have more time than you do. And you really don't."  I guess I know the intent of the words, but am unable to  parse this statement. 

Let's see: You really don't always think you have more time than you do.

                You really don't have more time than you do.

The first sentence is enough. The second is unnecessary and contradictory, ambiguous, and really stupid.

Procedure Schedule Dr. G.

A.M. 6:00, 7:30, 8:30, 9:30, 10:00, 11:00, 11:30, 12:00, 12:30

Slivers

     Playing outside. In the early spring. In the house on the hill. We learned from a slightly older cousin, who lived in the city and had been exposed to Catholic schooling so she should know, about the creation of life. If you take a corncob, wrap it in mud and breathe on it, it will come alive. We were always ready to meet new playmates, so we spent some time rolling old corncobs in mud, and bringing them to be breathed upon and then placed in the old nesting boxes against the side of the deserted barn. Whether we checked the progress later is forgotten. the hope lay in the moment where life was to be created; the future was ahead and so didn't affect what we were doing.

    Another lesson may have been given during that same time. I have a vivid memory of the mud puddles being covered with a very thin layer of ice. If you stepped on the frozen layer with the water beneath, you could see patterns just beneath the surface. And if you stepped just a certain way, you could form the shape of a number of different things. I carefully was able to make out the shape of  a little dog, but I was unable to retrieve it from its icy covering. I could see it was there, but it would slip away.

   It was a memory I still have of not being able to capture what I thought I could see. I think of this now when time is running short, and thousands of other recollections flash through my mind, just glimmers of past times and events. Mostly, the memories, those sudden clarified images of the past, are unrecounted, as no listener is within earshot. At  times  my mind is jolted by a scene from the past and a person is present, and I am tempted to verbalize the vivid memory.  I think it's a truth that all such glimmers of a past life matter only to the one who has lived through that life. What happens in the past stays in the past..

September 17, 1956

   The date that Dorothy and Ruth and I started college, at Albany State Teachers College, the old campus of course. That was the start of 4 years filled with poverty and classwork and commuting. We did not attend a single college party in those 4 years, at least not Dorothy and me. Ruth lived in a Madison Ave. apartment the last few years and worked after classes, so it's not likely she did either.

   We were greeted by the dean or some official in the context of  the mandated Compulsory Convocation. Not a very encouraging or sympathetic address. He told us to look to the person on our left, and then the one on our right. Our Class of 1960 was the largest the college had ever admitted; there would not be room for everybody to stay. So one of us would be gone before the end of the year. Flunking out was a regular and predestined occurrence back then. 

    I was seated between Dorothy, who was smarter and a more diligent student, and Ruth, who was very ambitious. I had a sinking feeling, which lasted for the full four years. 

The New Reality

    You can live for decades and decades with body intact. But if you inadvertently, for example, cut off your hand, all of your previous life as a person with two hands  is over. From this day on, you have only one hand. Your other state of being is gone, as if it never existed. You go on from now. 

Life is but a dream.

     It's 3:45 a.m. I can't sleep and it just came to me that there was a time when I would often just be getting home at this time in the morning, and voluntarily. It was what my life was about then. Similar to memories of childhood when you would recall a life of playing games or shooting marbles. We always did this, we used to do this, as if it were a longstanding ritual of childhood, until you reassess and realize there were only a few years of that childhood. 

   The last Kingston High School Reunion I attended was his 50th, or maybe the 45th. It had been a large class of over 300, and many were notably successful and polished. But the conversations, now that children were grown and no longer connected in the same way, all revolved around the high school years, four years out of decades, reaching back to the time that seemed like it lasted forever.

  Going back to bed. Will delete this in the morning, or whenever I wake up.

Foot Note

 METATARSOPHALANGEAL  JOINT   Lisfrank  Area

Whatever---it sucks scissors

(Just to the south of excruciating, anywhere else in the body, the level of pain would warrant an E.R. visit. But the foot, for God's sake.

Pain relief---Random thought distraction

    I'm recalling an article that I think was in one of last Sunday's papers. It was titled Brood Mare Foal Deaths or something like that. It alleged that "ordinary" mares were bred so as to produce milk so they could nurture the foals of racing mares, who could not spare the time. The story reported the foals of the ordinary mares were killed and sometimes their hides sold for decorative  purposes.

    A horribly cruel practice to be sure. But thinking about it now, I'm skeptical. If I were an investigative reporter, I'd look into these circumstances.     OUCH!

"Are you sure?"

 I guess I may seem indecisive. Today makes 3 times in recent days that I have been asked,  "Are you sure?"   

Once, when the doctor's office scheduler was apparently surprised when I agreed to a rescheduled appointment. Again when I paid a handyman somewhat more than the amount he asked for, only $20. And today, at Walgreen's when the clerk couldn't scan the advertised $2.00 coupon price, and I told him it didn't matter. 

   Maybe I appear to be in my dotage, but I really don't care. Do you?

Monarch of all it surveys

 

Autumn Leaves

    The song keeps going through my head, and memories of the movie with Dorothy Maguire. 

Third Time's A Charm or Strike 3

     September 13, 2019;  June 30, 2020;  September 18, 2020

Dear Blog---Dream Alert

    I think I've read that the recounting of someone's dream is one of the most boring and stultifying experiences people are subjected to.  But some dreams are so vivid and real that the need to relate them wins out. So you're the victim. 

      I was alone and walking to my procedure, and I was late. My appointment was at 9:15 and it was already 9:40. I rationalized that COVID would be an acceptable reason for lateness. I was headed upstreet, either to the former school or the former church, a red brick building in either case. As I got to the corner of State Street and River Road, I saw that the sewer drain was clogged and I needed to unclog it. I went back and found a pair of my old plastic garden gloves. They were light blue. I hesitated to put my hands in them because I figured spiders might have crawled inside, so I just folded them around my hands, reached in, and pulled out an accumulation of debris. I continued walking to my destination. There was a whole lot more to the dream, but in the light of day the details fade away like smoke.

Uncharted Territory Cat's version

   The entertainment center, heavy and unmovable, stood on this area of carpet for 20 years. Maybe has lived here for 15 years, and, as soon as the entertainment center was moved, decided to stake her claim:

Commonality

 What do these 3 items have in common?  A remote, a pen and a measuring cup. For a period of time, they were missing in my house.Not lost, not purloined, merely misplaced. The pen was missed because its fine point allowed the letters to be inserted in The Record's Crypto Quote, which is crammed into a tiny space in the newspaper. It turned up in my car, where I sometimes open the moonroof and do the puzzles, kind of my own private solarium. The measuring cup was part of a set received as a wedding gift. It was discovered in the flour canister. The remote---that's another story.

September 12, 2018

 It was 2 years ago today  that the Veterans Administration approved the appeal to reimburse the Vermont Veterans Home for room and board and care.  Just 2 months after Dr. Nevin  submitted his opinion, which he wrote in one day, July 4, 2018.

   I found out on the e-Benefits site and called M., who was at work, teaching in the conventional manner.In another world.

Before Frost

 

Grape Arbor

Grapes, no, but morning glories, yes. They sprung up in random areas.

Reconfiguration

 My TV watching has been less than stellar, as my old friend from Cambridge was wont to say. Encased in the once-trendy entertainment center, it no longer allowed full-screen viewing from the left side. Worse, a section of the closed captioning was no longer visible either. The TV itself now appears small compared to everyone else's. I'll get a new TV, I thought. But where will I put it, or more to the point, what will I put it on? Only one wall will work for placement, the one to the right of the front door entrance. 

  Relatives, you know, the likely ones, suggested ditching the vintage entertainment center. I know, I've seen them for cheap or free on facebook pages, and indeed even kicked to the curb. While my house is full of stuff, really not much of it is furniture, and where would I put all the valuable items packed  in its shelves. Some of the antique glassware and dishes were highly collectible up until recently, but the Maria Condo effect and lifestyle changes have put an end to that.

 So one day, yardstick in hand, I measured the furniture and the walls and computed I could shift the entertainment center to the opposite wall, thereby retaining a place for the internally-stored collectibles and also maintaining a show place for family pictures, and the candy jar.

  I didn't want to prevail on any family members for moving help. I have a vivid memory of the entertainment center being delivered to our house over 20 years ago. David and I had made the purchase at Eagle Bridge Furniture, and the 2 delivery men complained about the weight; they said it was the heaviest  piece of furniture in the store, this was the last one, and the store was not going to order any more. 

    So I went online to find handymen/movers. The estimated cost was $267. I thought this was a little high, so I searched locally. The first person who advertised he could do anything around the house told me to find somebody else. I then found another on facebook, and messaged his site, saying the item was very heavy and said it would require a moving device my family members did not have access to. I communicated with his wife who contacted him, and she said Roger would do the job.  I said I would have to move all the stuff out of it and off it, and would then be ready. But Roger called me shortly after, saying he was on his way. I sprung into action, my usual frantic speed, and accomplished most of the removals  before he got here. I was hoping for 2 burly young men, but it was Roger, a rather slightly built man, probably about 60 years old. He had no roller or equipment of any kind, just his bare hands, and he had come from work. He struggled to move it, but we took the 2 bottom drawers out. and he kind of walked it across the floor. It was a tight fit to get it into the space, but just as he was trying to do so, help arrived, in the form of Ben T. I told Roger he could leave, that Ben would help with the final touches. Roger agreed. I asked him how much I owed him, He said $20.

Gone the Remote

    It's almost 1:30 A.M. and I just took the mattress and also the box spring off the bed frame. I can't find the remote. I'm pretty sure I used it this morning, and I always put it in the same place, the top of the bookcase headboard. I searched all the rooms I was in. I can't find it. It seems important.

Plant Retreat

    It was so chilly this morning, in the 40's, that

it made me think a frost warning can't be far off. I have about 10 or so potted plants that spend the summers outside, and I didn't want to scurry to save them if we have an early frost. So I brought several in today, those that spend the winters in the basement. Down there are 2 rescue plants from the college days. I forget whose. A palm tree now touches the basement ceiling, so it may have to spend next year somewhere else. I started with the oldest spider plant I have. It was given to me by my mother , and all the subsequent spiders are its descendants.

The Day After

 

Detritus

 

Memoriam

    I scan through the Obituary pages nowadays, and it's a  sad fact of life I recognize more and more of the people on the pages. So it is and is meant to be. Today my gaze was captured by a picture of a happy young man. So I read the Notice his mother had written. I heard the sound of somebody crying. I was here alone.

Mask up...

 To those who say they don't like wearing a mask because the masks are uncomfortable and make it hard to breathe: I don't like wearing a bra for exactly the same reasons.  But I do so out of respect for others.

Odors Away

 I turned the furnace on. So far I detect from the basement  (1) no oily smell, (2) no musty odor, (3) no sewage gas stench, or dead mouse either.

7----?

 Doesn't anyone remember the movie, "Bonnie and Clyde"?