Monotony x 3

    I only watch television out of boredom and to keep silence away, so I'm probably not a fair or apt judge of programming, but the last week and a half should set some kind of record in things that go on too long. 

   (1)  The Country Music Awards did not seem very country at all, but that may be I'm so out of touch I did not know most of the performers or songs. I was familiar with Jennifer Hudson, was not  aware of any country music connection. She sang a song that seemed like a show tune, so not in accord with the show, as far as I could see. I realize she may have one of the most powerful voices of our time as far as range and tone. But much of her performance escalated into voice exercises with increasing volume. After she finished the dolorous, yet ultimately triumphant lyrical message, she continued on into scatting or trilling or whatever it's properly called. The country audience was transfixed, showing their appreciation of her wonders by wagging their heads side to side. But she continued so long that they eventually tired of that; a few times they thought she was finished and started to applaud, But she went on, and on. And on. I can't say when or how she eventually finished because the station broke in on her performance with a commercial.

  (2) Taylor Swift released a new album, this time one she owns. She sang a guess-who love song experience that went on and on and on, repeating the same refrain. For 10 minutes, I hear. All Too Long and TMI.

  (3) But most cringe-worthy of all was Adele's One Night Only Interview with Oprah. I admit I watched only for a short time. She was standing on a flight of stairs, cinched into a black gown, and bemoaning life in general, her life. A lengthy and repetitious screed. Then  the interview with O., whose wealth allows her to wear ugly eyeglasses which her followers will want to emulate. The crux seemed to be that Adele was in a marriage that had turned loveless, so she felt trapped and turned to alcohol, a lot of alcohol, until she overcame all the adversities in her life and divorced the man who brought her into such despair, but now they are friends and she admires him more than anyone else in the world. 

 Or something like that.

Rained Out & Soaked to the Skin

 I drove from Troy this morning in an extremely heavy rainfall. The only time I remember such harshly falling and unremitting rain was the time M. drove Dorothy and me to Cape Cod where Joe and Dave were already preparing for our vacation there. She had to pull over briefly because of the density of the rainfall, but we arrived at the cottage in time to see that Joe had posted a sign on the door: Would the winner of tonight's American Idol finale be Bo Mice or Scary Underwear?

  The reason for this morning's drive was a medical appointment which had been pending since August, with the present doctor, or since June, with his predecessor. I got up early, took a shower (not knowing I'd be toweling off again in a few hours,) stopped at the post office to mail a letter, and arrived at my appointment early, either 25 minutes, or 10 minutes if you don't subtract the 15 minute pre-appointment time early arrival. I'd pre-registered online so I only had to give my name at the desk. I didn't mind waiting; I'd brought the T.U. so I could read and do the Crypt0-Quote. There were only several people in the waiting room area of the practice I was seeing. Seated, I observed the usual suspects, namely a senior citizen / old codger in heated disagreement with the rep behind the barrier, glass and cloth. Apparently he had the wrong appointment date and she told him he would have been notified of same. He loudly took issue, saying he had received no letter, and that pretty much was his way of being notified of anything. She finally told him his appointment was Dec. 12, and  said she could print out a paper notice for him. "Harumph, ok," he conceded. Next to appear was a not so usual suspect---a woman who looked to be in her 70's clad in a complete pink ballerina outfit:  Tutu, tights, ballet slippers and her hair in a very high bun. I kept reading my paper, waiting to be called in. 

   And then the lights flickered, went off, came back on, and then went off and stayed off. There were only a few of us waiting, but the staff went into motion, much like the excitement of schoolkids on snow days. Someone must have called and confirmed the power outage, most likely the wind it was deduced. Someone else said another office in the building had power, and another said it was because they had a generator, which our office did  not. So as other patients entered, the staff, now unleashed from their computers, approached the new arrivals with pen and paper in hand and equipped with flashlights to register them for their visit.

    It became my  turn to be called and I was told the office had been notified by the power company that there could be a delay of  up to 2 hours, though possibly before that. I could reschedule, go get something to eat, or wait, whatever I wanted. I decided to wait a while, and tried to read my paper in the dark. About 10 minutes later, a woman came to the middle of the room to announce what I'd already been told. But now there was an addition: those undergoing a certain procedure would have to reschedule. I guess there are no flashlights suited for that.

  So I left. No rain was in sight when I'd entered, but now it was pouring. I'd worn a suede Jacket that D. had given me, so I took it off and rolled it up to keep it as dry as I could, and turned the car heater on to try to dry off. I left about 10:30 and arrived home at exactly 11:15. I would gladly point out to DOT exactly where the white line at the edge of the road  needs to be more visible, as that was the route that led me home.

"Are you Ducky?"

    Those were his first words to me when he entered the room. I answered the only way I could, not knowing what he meant. I said, "Well, I'm not sure."  His response was "What does that word mean anyway, and where did it originate?" I told him I thought it was British, as used by George Bernard Shaw's dialog in his plays. He immediately went to the computer, the one with all the recent medical findings, and googled the word, then reported both the British and American definitions.  Okay, back to the reason for my visit there. But not before he mused, "I wonder where hunkey-dorey comes from."  I said from about 75 years ago. And then he addressed the reason for my visit. 

   I don't judge, but I was reminded of a comment from just last night when the caller said he didn't know how workers could do the same job all day long for days on end, whether cooking hamburgers, engaging in repetitious instructional tasks, or selling groceries. So it seems even doctors may suffer from boredom.

"I Miss Them"

 Just a short while ago, we were there with him, M., as usual, tending to his needs, as she perceived them:  hair trimming, Q-tip wielding, nail clipping, clean-up shaving, etc.  All the while she kept up a constant one-sided conversation, as was the custom then, as speech did not readily come to him.

      On this day in  late August, she was full of information about the two older boys, chattering on about who had just been transported to their colleges, and the youngest, about to enter high school She went on in detail, offering facts and anecdotes about their new adventures.  

    When she was finished talking, or paused for a time, he spoke a full sentence, rare for him. He said, "I miss them."  

   Since all three had visited, together and separately, quite regularly, it's not likely that he missed their physical presence. I'm sure in my mind that he was missing his life with them, having been their daily caretaker, on schooldays anyway, practically from birth right up to and including that fateful day of June 16, 2015. 

   He would leave home daily, first at 5:45 and then, after the move, at 5:30. He'd set the alarm, but usually woke up in time to turn the alarm off. I didn't hear the alarm, but still in bed, I  could hear him fixing his instant coffee and toast. When the kids were still at home, first three, then two, and finally one, he would eat his "real breakfast" at their house, with them.  He drove them in sequence, first to Nursery School  and then to elementary school. 

When the final kid was in school, he'd come back home to fix more coffee and toast, always this time  with the addition of eggs.  Or sometimes he would go to Stewart's and maybe join his brother or another buddy for breakfast there. If it was a nice day for golfing, he could go to the course early, always allowing time for him to return for his after school duties with whatever kids needed his care. 

  He always looked forward to his childcare "job." Not once did he ever wish he could have stayed in bed longer. Not once did he ever need a sick day or a substitute. Only once or twice, did I fill in and that was for a  scheduled out-of-town golf outing,  As a matter of  fact, when I needed knee surgery back in 2014, he said he didn't see how he could take care of me since he'd already promised to care for M's kids. As it turned out, I was fortunate enough not to need any care, so I didn't have to clobber him. 

  On that day in June, the last day of his childcare duties, he had seen them on the bus as usual, and then came home. He went first to the post office, and then to the supermarket, and I think Stewart's. Since he had plenty of time before he had to meet the youngest after school, and it was a nice day,  he decided to work on the pool, which he always opened for the kids. He needed more chlorine and went to Wiley's, where pool supplies were kept in the shed. As he picked up the bag and stepped backwards out the doorway, his foot caught on the raised edge and he fell,  backwards from the weight of the bag. 

   His job was over. He still saw the youngest, who  would  often get off the bus here, but his brothers, if home, were now old enough to supervise him. It was never the same though. He missed his life with them.  His life. Life.