Word of the Day

 I just had to deal with the word "escheat."  Or rather, avoid dealing with it.

A Notable Absence

    I read a book a long time ago, "Feral" by Bertin Roueche, (not Stephen King). A young couple was checking out a house in the country, and became aware of strange happenings. A particular incident occurred when a local birdwatching group could find no birds to watch. To make a longish story mercifully short, it turned out an infestation of feral cats had wiped out all the birds, and worse happenings were yet to come.

  What reminded me of this tale was my recent trip to the Clifton Country Mall, as it was formerly called. It was only my second visit there in about 2 years, so I may have been a little more observant than on my former and frequent visits. Entry to most stores, it seems, was mask free for the vaccinated. So people were back shopping in greater numbers. I drove into the parking lot close to Boscov's, which seemed to be the focal point of most of the shoppers. As usual, not that I needed such, the handicapped accessible spots were filled, or almost so. Such is the age group of Boscov's clientele.  People were walking in and out of the store much like in the old pre-Covid days. Inside was fairly busy, though it was true that only some of the sales registers were staffed. I browsed through the plentifully stocked racks, idly musing what would happen to what must be  tons of unsold merchandise. I rode the escalator to the upper level, walked full circle the length of the area, and even checked out the Auditorium. Everything was pretty much as I recalled. I took the elevator down, which had several other riders in it. I circled the downstairs area again before I left, exiting with several other customer, most with purchases in their shopping bags. 

   As I walked to my car in the parking lot, my mind spun out the memory of the book I'd read so long ago, where all the birds had disappeared. For some reason, it suddenly dawned on me that I had not seen any men. Actually, not even one man. Not in the parking lot of people bustling (kind of ) into and out of the store, not anywhere on either of the store's levels, not in the hallway,  and certainly not behind the cash registers or the service desks. 

   I gather a takeaway from Feral's absence of birds might be to spay and neuter your pets. I'm not sure what might account for the absence of men.

Hoarding--Oh, no. Not that

     I've watched Hoarders shows from time to time. Probably to reassure myself that I'm not that bad. (Come  to think of it, probably the same reason I watch the 600 lb. sisters, but that's another story.) As far as Hoarding goes, I would say there are two main types.

 One type consists of out-of-control collections or purchasing gone amok, with monumental arrays of belongings and merchandise, mostly unused and often still packaged. Many of those items, once sorted, are sold or donated or otherwise reclaimed. It's a relief to see the stuff gone. 

   The second type are hoarders who throw nothing away, including leftover food, dirty papers, and just plain garbage, often rodent-infested.  And it's a relief to see that disgusting stuff loaded onto garbage trucks often through the efforts of masked and gagging workers.

   So, watching the shows, either way, it is gratifying to see the overloads hauled away, regardless of either value or health hazard.  Of all the stuff taken from the homes, I think I, if in the position of hoarder or their advocates, would have no reluctance in letting go. Only one thing bothered me; a show a week or so ago featured a woman hoarder who had been persuaded to dispose of her collection of ball-point pens, which were in a quite large barrel type container. In there was her collection  of 3,000 pens. Now if I put all the pens in my house together, culled from former teaching and tutoring totebags, etc. I suppose there might be close to 100, but definitely not constituting a collection. When I saw the woman's collection of pens being unceremoniously dumped into a garbage truck, my instinctive reaction was, NO, NOT THE PENS!

  

12 Emily Street, Valley Falls

 Our old church, sold to Gi Kim for 100K.

Residual Thoughts

    I drove to the Greenwich area farm store yesterday, with the thought of buying fresh strawberries, the only kind worth eating, in my opinion. I had driven exactly nowhere in several days, and the scenery was as beautiful as can be only on a day in June. Everything was in full greenery, with no hint of the decay so soon to come.

  I drove into the parking lot of the store, a busy place for sure. Still sitting in my car, I was suddenly overcome by a mental image from long ago, based on something I hadn't even thought about for a long time. To my long-inert mind, the scene before me looked like an  image from the pages of Sinclair Lewis's  "Main Street." I was transported back to sitting in my college classroom, and being introduced to the true meaning of biting satire, both from the text itself and from the words of the acerbic and learned professor. My 18-year-old self had no idea of what I wanted to do in life, or where it would take me;  I only knew that I did not want to be like the protagonist of that novel, or, even worse, the town she was was attempting to transform.

   So I watched the countrified and self-satisfied-appearing customers engaged in what I perceived to be a spring ritual, looking through the abundance of produce and, shopping bags in hand, entering  the building to pay for their choices. My college education was an eternity ago, and a hard-fought experience, with minimal reward, but carried with it an  apparently powerful effect.  I drove to the impersonal local chain supermarket, and found some strawberries there. They were tasteless but free of the chains of satire.

Barrett Cousins, 1944

 Daddy's sister Kate's twins in back row. I don't know if the other Barrett girls pictured were their relatives on the Peter Barrett side. My 8th grade English teacher, Douglas MacCartee, had been their teacher years before. He spoke very highly of them.

Waiting for the harvest

     Today I stopped at Mystic Farms' close-out sale. I bought a few tomato plants, and set them on the deck. The chipmunk is prepared to  pounce. I told Maybe to scare it away, but she was too tired.

Roses Love Sunshine...

 

June 17, 2015

     The month started out as all others, following our usual routine with natural and expected concessions to the passage of time. There were highs and lows. A new grandchild  was to be born. Andrew made his First Communion.  Several  tick bites  had led to my being diagnosed with  Lyme disease, easily treated with an extended course of antibiotics. We attended a piano recital in Schaghticoke, the Library Sale, Dave had the cars serviced at Bonnier's. While it was true that he had difficulty finding his golf stance, and his game was suffering, his doctors, including a neurologist, had conducted various tests, all of which  yielded normal results. So we attributed his difficulties to normal aging; he would be eighty in a few months, so that was to be expected, we reasoned. At the time, we knew very few people who had reached that advanced age. 

   The status quo, which by the way is never static, seemed to be in a holding pattern, and we lived life as usual. But our lives were to change, suddenly and forever: It was Wednesday, June 17. Dave had gotten up that morning at 5:15, his usual time, and a  few minutes earlier since the Thompsons had moved to Schaghticoke. He made his cup of instant coffee here, and some toast, and then he was off to his favorite job. He no longer had to stay the whole day as he had during the preschool years of all three boys. He would drive over, cross paths almost silently with their mother who was leaving for work, and then, in time,  he would wake the kids, and see to their breakfast. He would sometimes eat there also, probably making himself eggs and more coffee and toast, but he usually came home for his real breakfast.   I was never there so I never did get in on the routine.

  He came home after the school bus had picked up the kids. It was a nice day. I had a package to mail, ebay stuff, and he drove it to the post office, as he liked to do. He came back home, and then went to Schaghticoke, to get bread probably. We used a lot back then. Now a single loaf lasts forever, and usually gets thrown out to the birds. After that, he may have made another trip to Stewart's, maybe to get milk.  I used to comment he would buy one item at a time; he enjoyed the interaction with the clerks. Cashier Ruth will still ask about him. And he would stop at Stewart's and often join  Don and some of his buddies having coffee there.

When he returned from his usual rounds, he tended to the pool, now open for the season. He was quite meticulous about maintaining the various levels, and so set out to Wiley's to get some more chlorine. And that was the moment of crisis. As usual, the pool supplies were stored in the outbuilding to the left of the main store. As Dave picked up the sack of chlorine and stepped backwards, his foot caught on the ledge of the exit doorway, and he fell backward. I'm not sure who witnessed his fall or if he cried out, but someone from Wiley's called the Rescue Squad. Andy Wiley called me. I called Rosemary  so I could pick her up to drive Dave's car home. Dave was still there when we arrived, and the ambulance was preparing to load him on. I spoke to him. He was alert, said he was pretty sure he had not hit his head, but stressed that when he fell he "felt an awful shock,"  He seemed stunned by the severity of the shock to his body. 

  At the hospital probably St. Mary's, possibly Samaritan (I'd have to look it up to be certain.), they ran him through a battery of tests, including neurological function, found no damage or irregularities whatsoever, and sent him home the same day. All his tests were normal

  That trip to Wiley's was the last time Dave drove his car. June 17, 2015. (In August of 2017, he entered the Vermont Veterans Home.

  

A Take On Life

     Excerpt from T. U.  writer David Brooks 

"...after age 65, aging itself takes an inexorable toll.  Even if you beat lung cancer or survive a heart attack, your body's deterioration will finish you off before too long. The average 80-year-old suffers from around five diseases. That's why even if we could totally cure cancer, it would add less than three years to our life expectancy." 

So carpe diem, all you rosebuds.

Roses

 The rose was Dorothy's favorite flower. The pink roses are from her garden. The smaller red rose bush was a gift from Daisy and her mother Carmen.

Dream Traumatic action

     Like in many of my dreams, I was cast in an avatar-like role, where I have no relationship with the character other than at the present time, and with consequences stemming from present action,  In this dream, my representation was much like that of Kelly Ripa. 

    We were a party of friends staying at a large lodge. It was winter.  Poised on the approach to the quite luxurious facility stood a large and fine-featured  figure carved out of snow. A tall and imposing edifice. I was last in our party, and for some reason, out of an excess of exuberance, reached up and punched the snow figure in the jaw. To my horror, the whole thing crashed down, iconic snow figure lying on its side  in  the snow. There was no thought of doing anything but to leave, and quickly. We all did.

  Back in our room a short distance away, I felt horrible. I hoped no one had seen what had happened. Maybe there were no cameras out there. My husband, while supportive to a degree, was somewhat detached, as he had had no role in the assault on the snow figure. I tried to relax, but after a while a member of the lodge came to our door, and entered the room. I had gone into the bathroom, not wanting to be a part of any questioning, even if the man seemed good natured. I could tell from the voices that he  was getting closer to where I had concealed myself and the bathroom door was of a foldable construction, so my presence could be discovered. The tension was more than I could bear, so I left the cover of the bathroom and screamed at him to get out of our room. He left, but his mood had definitely darkened. We knew he knew what I had done. 

  I had to organize my thoughts into what would be a credible account. I couldn't say I had accidentally bumped the figure.  It had been located outside of the path of people entering or exiting. Maybe I could say I just wanted to tap its face, but not if the camera had shown me winding up to give it a roundhouse punch. And what could anyone do to help me. I'd had no reason and therefore no excuse. I was in torture.

   Another knock at the door. My husband/friend/partner answered and introduced me to the new visitor, a young priest also from the lodge. He sat beside me and began to talk. And that ended that episode.

    

  

   

Academia-speak?

 "Celebrate this  success and allow it to  inform your work moving forward..."

    I can think of a dozen words I would use in place of "inform"  but perhaps the language has moved on without me.

Woodchucks Strike 3

    On my way to Troy earlier today, a little woodchuck darted out alongside my moving car, continued underneath the vehicle, and emerged unscathed on the other side.  On  my drive home, an adult woodchuck started to cross the road in front of my car, but I beeped the horn and it withdrew. I drove to Mechanicville on the way home, and on the Stillwater road, a third woodchuck was not so fortunate. It ran out right in front of my car. So, one less woodchuck...

Part of the World---in Dream State

     I decided to go to  a meeting, a distance away, as usual. It was not mandatory for me to attend, as I was no longer a vital worker, but I decided to go anyway. When I arrived, at Point A, I'll call it, the conference room was empty. I had forgotten that this meeting was scheduled to be held at Point B. A slight problem, because I'd traveled to both locations previously,  but I'd driven from my home, and although I was uncertain how to get from A to B, I decided to try my luck in getting there. So I set out.

    The drive took me through rolling hills, which appeared both familiar and new at the same time. I kept driving, and passed a farmhouse with people outside playing with a number of puppies. They looked like border collies and the thought went through my mind of stopping to ask if they were for sale. Border collies were a lot like the collies we'd owned. But I drove on. I knew I would be late for my meeting, as the road seemed to lengthen, but the weather was perfect and the scenery beautiful so I kept on. At one point the road narrowed and a man pulled up alongside my car, and through an open window asked where I had bought the basket he'd seen in the back seat of my car.  I told him that it had been carved out of soap, and I'd had it like forever. He seemed mildly surprised. We both drove on.

Gender Quandary

     My mind has always had to contort itself a little when it comes to double negative comprehension. It just seems somehow as an extra step in defining something. 

    For example: Non Binary.  Seems as if this term would mean NOT of 2 things. If we're speaking of gender, not of either male or female exclusively. But what about gender-fluid, agender, or pangender. It seems all would fall into the classification of non-binary, but does the term encompass these and  other variations.  Life is so complicated.

Yuck

     There is even an American flag configuration designed with a hole cut mid-flag. I personally find the word "Cornhole" to be disgusting. I suppose it could be a reminder of an event in a Steinbeck novel I read a long time ago. I don't know how this old carnival game came to be called what it is today. And I won't look it up either.

Jeopardy----Jaded View

    I understand Jeopardy contestants undergo and are subject to stringent rules of conduct, etc. But I can't help but think the winner, "Miss Quirky" is, if not exactly a planted contestant, one who was deliberately chosen and even encouraged for her expressions and behavior. Historically, and to the recent present, contestants have adhered to a certain pattern of behavior, speaking only to provide responses and exhibiting virtually no emotion. Only a few long-term winners, such as the Boston bartender, have dared strayed form this norm, exhibiting slim strands of originality. 

  Now the entire Jeopardy world has turned to being critics of the temporary hostings. And ratings have risen and fallen in accordance with the comments. Some have blamed sub-par episodes on boring hosts and also on boring, unattractive contestants.

   Enter the anomaly. A young, attractive woman with a definite personality. She is even dressed in a fashionably asymmetric top, diagonally cut, memorable. She has a distinctive  hair style, different from others, especially in these days.  The camera focuses on her exaggerated facial expressions. She has a response to almost every answer she provides,---"Wow, Good, Ooh---which hundreds and thousands of contestants have not done. She knows a lot, but her "fame" is all in the delivery.

  She is so QUIRKY. I can't wait to watch tonight's show. 

Snakes Alive

Slithering out of sight quickly:  a large snake, probably about 3 feet in length, solid red-brown color, and quite thick.  I'll look for it again.
 

Limb of the Family Tree ---the Six Schroder Siblings

 I need help with identifying these siblings, but to the best of my knowledge, from the right to left: Uncle Freddy, who died  first and at a fairly young age. He was a favorite relative of Dave's; Aunt Kay; Herman, Aunt Jo Andretta; Bobby, the baby of the family, who is  only several years older than his nephew Bill. I think he still lives in Clinton Corners at the age of 92. And Aunt Bett, who had the most beautifully distinctive eyes, with a dark line totally surrounding the irises, which were bright blue. 

"And the same flower that blooms today...

 ...Tomorrow will be dying."

"That age is best which is the first when youth and blood are warmer. But being spent, the worse, and worst, times still succeed the former."

The Bumblebee

   Every day the Bumblebee visited the Rhododendron, partaking of its sweet nectar. Perhaps a sweetness too strong because yesterday it died on the very branch that offered sustainment. Overdosed perhaps. Today the ants have taken over its body. Sic transit gloria mundi.