Fantasy

    A sparse crowd was gathered on the side of our  old house. The house was, as then, kind of faded gold in color with burnt orange trim, one such accented  board running the length of the house. There was nothing alongside the house on the side facing the mill, no fencing or plantings, so the view of the roof was unobstructed. And that is where all the attention was concentrated---on the roof. The scene involved two avatar figures: one small, one large. 

    We all understood the small creature was fleeing from the larger persona, and had now somehow climbed up on the roof. The larger avatar, much more human in appearance,  was bound and determined to do its duty and capture the smaller figure.  We who were watching were all sympathetic to the plight of the small being, though not hostile to the pursuer, who was just doing his job. We hoped the little figure would be able to escape, but the larger one had leaned a ladder against the roof and was preparing to climb up after the small, so far elusive, fugitive. 

   The roof of the house consisted of large wood shingles, old and most unlikely unstable. We thought that the weight of the larger figure might cause the shingles to slide off and the larger guy would fall off the roof. In addition, we knew he had bad and painful feet, and we were sympathetic  to that.  I, watching, was particularly aware of that because I could feel the pain of his feet registered in my stomach.   But he got off the ladder, and onto the roof, just a few feet from its edge, and began to lift the large shingles, one by one. Those of us watching were hoping that the little avatar had made it to the top of the roof and down the other side, an escape route that its pursuer would be unable to follow.  But after lifting only about a dozen or so shingles, the fugitive was discovered, curled up under the shingle, with what appeared to be wings folded around its small body. The large figure, despite  the pain in its feet,  somehow was able to bring its captured prey back down to the ground. 

  The  watching crowd faded away and the scene shifted to the backyard, to  the area beneath where the clothesline was strung, on a pulley anchored on one side to the end of the summer kitchen and on the other to the frame of the hayloft door. Standing lined up, was a number of  children,  Joe's relatives, all blond and smiling and in the line with them some of our children and grandchildren. There was some discussion of height, and I heard someone say that Danny, who was absent, was 6 feet, 2 inches. I wanted to say I didn't think so, but the cat's wanting her breakfast woke me up, with my stomach  still hurting from the traumatic climb of the larger avatar.

Today's annoyances--admittedly of the petty sort

   The TV in the bedroom inexplicably displays only the SPECTRUM logo, and resists my attempts to get rid of it. I don't care, don't watch it that much anyway.

  When I start to drive to the Post Office to mail paperwork I forged my way through last night, I  see the icon for low tire pressure displayed. I think it is weather-sensitive. I just wish it would indicate WHICH tire. I don't like having to test them all. All 4 seem to be the same to me.

  I bring my mailings-to-be into the P.O. The woman who delivers mail tells me nobody is there,  come back later. But it's good news---Lisa is on the way to becoming a grandmother. So my mail can wait. I'll leave it in the car with the deflating tire.

  And it's raining.

 BUT, later in the day, a lovely floral arrangement from  Matrazzo's is delivered and the rain has stopped.

Last Things Considered

 Last trips we considered:

  I had wanted to see Leonard Cohen when he was appearing in Canada, but it was sold out.

 He wanted to go on a cruise, but it was too late.

     

Today...

 ...the new normal. No one to talk to so I wrote (via email)

     1) to John Gray, advising him of the absurdity of "The art of hypocrisy" Column.

     2) to the Times Union's Reader Representative---with suggestion that they investigate and find out why area medical facilities are closed or closing early: WellNow in Troy, Emurgent Care in Mechanicville, shortened hours and lack of appointments offered in WellNow Clifton Park. Will these shortages become more widespread? Have the offices become Covid-infested? Are medical providers perhaps not as altruistic as is ballyhooed? Are medical staff members anti-vaccine or are they afraid of being infected?  This information would be more helpful to the public than the ongoing resurrection of J-Cope.

 3) A comment on FB page of WellNow noting that what their promo ads say is not true, at all. Urgent Care it is not. Nor are they open the specified hours. And no, patients can not walk in.  Yes, times change, and so should your specs.

4) A note to my alleged medical provider that it is impossible to keep a Post-Hospital Procedure office visit when the Procedure was never scheduled, though patient was told it would be  on 3 separate occasions

5) The old maxim says stupidity is doing the same thing yet expecting different results.  I'm embarrassed to admit I completed a Price Chopper Survey---for groceries.

6) Next...

Surviving Twin

 I think it must be the same. I was taking pictures from a distance. when she saw me she started toward me. That frightened me a little so I stepped away, but not before telling her not to go into the road. She went back, in direction of the tracks.

Bees by Front Door

 Holes were not there this morning.  Ben just saw them. 

We didn't know any ground bees were there. I noticed nothing this morning when I went out to water the pomegranate tree. Ben noticed the dug up ground  this afternoon when he was leaving, though not when he came in. Most likely a skunk or such dug up the hole, as remains of bee combs are scattered around. Bees are swarming back around the holes, so all who enter here, Beware. Maybe use the side door. This is very close to the area where I was besieged by a swarm of disturbed bees several years ago which followed me into the house, on and in my clothes. I counted about 11 or so stings then.

If A Tree Falls ...

 

September 14 " Life Goes On"

 I drove to Bennington to see my husband. The car radio must have been tuned to an oldies station because John Mellencamp was singing "...Life goes on, Long after the thrill of living is gone."   When I drove myself home later that same day, I no longer had a husband. And I turned the radio off. 

The Two Words

  It came to me that the last two words I heard Dave speak, although I have to believe in a dream, were "This then."

Lost Words

    When sleep is elusive, and even when it isn't, I need to have some things to think about before I fall asleep. My thoughts are in the form of words which build up until they need to be released in some form, and so I have my Blog. My first thoughts tonight were of last week's dream, where I heard Dave's voice speaking to me loud and clear. He spoke two simple words, or possibly three, but they meant nothing to me. I meant to remember them when I woke up, but they have eluded me. I only recall they were short words, and seemed to have the letters T and or Th. I still feel that they may come to me someday, but not now. 

  My mind then went to the bullshit column written by Chris Connell, which pretty much portrays Howard Hubbard as a child molester as well as an enabler. He's entitled to his opinion, but like many others, blocks any thinking from any other viewpoint. Who, he asks, wants to hear what Hubbard's defense is. "Whatever" he adds in dismissal.

   My words then form themselves into a memory of when as a very young child, I got very sick and told my mother I wanted to die. I actually remember speaking those words, and I guess I must have had some idea of what they meant. I thought my mother became angry at me for saying that, but at the time I meant it.

   We three kids were "playing toys."  That's what we called it when someone brought out our box of toys, a cardboard box that had an accumulation of hand-me-down parts and pieces that, combined with an assortment of animal figures and a few toy cars, were precious to us. Though I remember not liking what was used for roads, which were pieces of an Erector Set that Tommy Murray acquired when he worked for a time on a garbage truck in Troy. I disliked them because they were metallic and didn't seem to fit with our wooden blocks and little figures. But I realized they were the roads. Anyway, this day , as was our usual practice, there were the two options of play---For Real or Make-On.  My sister and I always followed the dictates of our older brother, as to what would be the  rules of the day. It was ordained we would be playing  For Real. So I arranged some blocks around my collection of little animals, a safe distance from that metal road. We played for a while, when all of a sudden my brother jumped his car over the road and started to change the play to Make-On.  I protested, uncharacteristically at the time, but my protests were ignored. Feeling abused, I retreated to the kitchen and sat on the floor beside the woodbox.

   On that wintry day, which must have been a Saturday as my father was home, my parents were going back and forth lugging in the wood from a tree that my father had cut down, most likely a dead tree unwanted by anyone else. I sat, chilled and sniffling, and tried to explain my plight and seek sympathy from my mother. She had no time for me, was busy working, hard work to be sure. But that all changed when I threw up in the woodbox. She instantly attended to  me, and I officially became sick.

   And I was deathly sick for what seemed a very long  time. I remember lying on the couch, too weak to walk, and not wanting to eat anything. Joseph and Dorothy, obviously now, coached by our mother, would come to the couch, eating something yummy they said, maybe cookies or such, and try to get me to eat some, but I didn't want anything. Dr. Sproat came and went several times. Maybe he left pills of some sort. Later my mother told me he had thought I had Vincent's Angina. I looked that up a while ago,and I think it's another name for trench mouth, a disease common among soldiers in wartime.  Anyway, I survived that one.

  

Strategy of Repair

   Left to my own devices, when things around the house cease to function or appear to be broken, this is my  course of action, depending on the device. I reboot, unplug and replug all the power cords and connections, recharge,  replace batteries, check the expert advice on the internet, repeat processes and hope for the best. So far, I'm good with 2 out of 3, the Insignia TV audio and the camera ScanDisk.  I'm not sure about the washer cycle, haven't yet done another load of laundry. I don't know what is the correct solution, but if enough monkeys on enough typewriters, given enough time,  can write the Bible, I'll use that approach.

Judged Unique

   When I went to gather my priceless antiques from Arts & Crafts at the Fair, they told me that the judges had never seen  an item like  this before. One  asked if it was for sale. I happen to know that it is not all that rare, nor valuable. Just a cute little brass cat figurine.

One More---Gift from Dorothy

 

"Still the Same"

  In college we were exposed to a demonstration of "white being the same as black." This was not a racial issue as per the times, but rather an indication of perception, and our view of things:   A very large amount of sheets of paper, stacked way high. Top sheet is taken off and laid on the ground. All agree it is white. Take the next sheet and compare it to the first. It too is white, the same color. Repeat the process innumerable times, with all observers agreeing the newly removed paper is the same color as the preceding sheet. Of course, when the last sheet is removed with all agreeing it is the same color as its predecessor, that final sheet is black. 

 As a conclusion, it can be said if change is so gradual as to not to be noticed, we can be led to believe there has been no change, no difference. White color has morphed to black, unaware. 

So in saying a condition has remained the same for a long time, that is not true.

Another Blip in the Bermuda Triangle

In addition to a sudden failure of my TV audio and my washing machine balk on regular cycle, the computer is rejecting my ScanDisk, as if it does not exist. Enter it, I'm told, and I do, Repeat. I'll have to go back to troubleshooter site. Where is Greg when we need him.

Flora Pics---A Microcosm, if you will...

First 2 pics are DAHLIAS. I'd thought they were lost forever when snow fell before I could dig the bulbs for storage. They will not survive the winter here as I found out with another loss many years before. But I retrieved a few forgotten bulbs from the basement and put them in a pot this spring, and they bloomed----pretty flowers too. Pictures #3,4,5  represent my garden: a single squash from a seed from a squash given by R. Kinda small squash, but it grew. A Tomato plant that has borne fruit, and a mature Chive planting several years old. All are entwined in morning glories which are pretty in the morning. Pictures # 6, 7 are the Hydrangea my mother gave me long ago. Not quite as many "blooms" as last year, but still rather impressive. And last is the Faded Last Rose of Summer from Dorothy's rosebush.   Not much in the way of plantings, but I enjoy every minute of their appearance.
 

Word of the Day

 Heuristic------If it's Greek to you,  look up the meaning yourself.   (Ironic, eh?)

Petty Annoyances

 Within a few hours, the washing machine would not function on its usual and long-time setting.  It filled only  on the Short Wash Cycle. And the TV in the bedroom lost the audio feature, even with new remote batteries. I don't care. I can live with half-clean laundry, and I don't need to hear  what's on TV anyway.

Holding and folding---"Knowing what to throw away, and knowing what to keep..."

 A lot of work , many denials, considerable cost, but worth it in the end: