December 29, Dorothy's birthday.

    As usual, I went to bed as late as possible, hoping to be able to fall asleep. I finally did, or so I thought, but was awakened by that familiar staccato rapping sound, measured, metallic-sounding almost. But this time instead of the usual sequence of 3, the raps continued and louder.  I didn't think it was a bird now that it was winter time, so started to worry.  Dorothy appeared and offered to go outside to check to see what the noise might be. I told her that David had installed a new sensory light, so the area should be  visible when she walked outside. I noticed as she walked out the front door that she had her pocketbook, two-toned brown with a short strap, slung snugly over her shoulder. So I thought she was not coming back. She stepped out the door, but said she could not see around the corner and felt too uneasy to go  over there. That was it. 

  Later, I got up and looked out the front window, thinking I might see if any tire tracks were visible in the snow, but the snow had melted, so I saw nothing.  

Hearsay

 

That Christmas Eve eve

   Dorothy was leaving that evening, December 23, 2003. She often stayed over, but she had to be home that night. I wasn't feeling well, but she told me I'd be okay.  I'd been sitting in the chair by the door and at  about 11 o'clock, I got up to go to bed. Dave had already retired for the night. When I got to the hallway, I just sank to the floor. I felt sick and couldn't move. Dave was near panic, but he called M. who then lived just down the road. . She arrived in short order, and decided we should go to the Emergency Room. We went to Saratoga Hospital because I had just finished the last of the chemo and radiation  treatments a few weeks before, and thought there might be some carryover  with the oncologist. There wasn't though; when you're finished, you're done, except for the required checkups.

   We got to Saratoga late that night. The emergency room was in an uproar dealing with a woman who was tripping out on something, so there was a delay. Dave had thoughtfully brought a blanket and pillow, thinking I would be lying down in the back of the vehicle enroute to the hospital, but I sat in the front seat. I would have felt worse lying down. So Dave made use of that equipment. He went out to the vehicle to take a nap. After all, he had already gone to bed that night. 

  When things settled down, the young nurse and M. also young then engaged in friendly conversation, each acknowledging they had not gotten the flu shot. The flu was rampant then but they felt young and invincible. The doctor, whose name was similar to Dr.  John Bonjovi,  came to the room and said I was positive for the flu, strain A. I would be admitted unless I chose to go home, which I did. It was almost Christmas!  He said I should avoid others, especially the young and when he found out how young my grandchildren were, one  2 years old and  the other only a few months, he said to have no contact with them. So I was housebound that Christmas. Dave was here, of course, but he went to whatever were the festivities. M. brought me an array of sickroom goodies. I remember enjoying the butterscotch candies which I hadn't known came in rolls like Lifesavers.

   So I think of Barbara maybe being alone this Christmas, or maybe not. Who knows.  

  I watched most of Homeward Bound this evening. Probably the best of television broadcasts this year at least. Just when I thought artistry and decorum were non-existent, I realize I  was wrong and felt humbled by the performances. I have long thought Sound of Silence may be the best song ever written, but his other works are equal. So off to Graceland we go.

So lock me up...

    Today I was waiting in the checkout line on the upper level of Boscov's when a minor disturbance occurred.  A young, probably teenaged, girl was running at top speed from the right side of the store to the left, and ducking out of sight among the clothing display racks. The clerk and other customers momentarily paused their transactions  and looked, but nobody said anything, no reason to really.  At about the same time a man, inelegantly dressed, strode across from the left to the right side of the room. As he passed, he said hello to me. I didn't recognize him, but I had the thought he  resembled the missing man from the accident.  

It's not me; it's them. Sometimes anyway

  Patient Portals are wonderful uses of technology. At least they can be. I have several , and rely on them frequently for almost instant test results, and to make or cancel appointments. On Monday, I tried to contact  the Portal at the  Gastroenterology office , as I have numerous times before. I could not access it. I saw they had recently made some changes, with Greenway as the new access point. I learned on the way that I would need to enter a new password. I did so.  After that, I encountered one of those hellish circular procedures which keeps returning you where you started out. It required you to request a new ID CODE which they emailed to you. Saying I complied countless times is hardly an exaggeration. I gave up. I waited a day and  called the office. A live person answered; she knew of no problems with the Portal, but said she'd refer me to the IT person who would call me. No  one called, but I received an email, actually 2 of them , with different ID Codes. Neither worked. I felt stupid, and gave up again. Today I received the email below. But I don't feel like following the directions.

And so this is Christmas...

 Except for the Christmas Tree which has wended its way here and back for the last five years, all the decorations displayed are gathered from the upper level of the manse. There are several cartons  which remain in the basement., holding years and  years of family decorations wrapped so tightly in memories that it is better they stay locked away.

Turkey Trauma

 I should say that at most of my frequent trips to SNS I have very little communication with anyone. Today, being aware of the media blitz that turkeys will be in short supply this Thanksgiving and may cost $5.00 per pound, I stopped at the aisle display case to check the prices. The few that were there, rather small,  were priced at 2.29 per lb. Before I could move away, Peter approached and asked what I was looking for. I told him what I'd heard about the short supply and spiraling prices. He said the store  had received not very many, and asked what size would I want. I said  usually about 20 lbs. (Of course I don't know what Thanksgiving plans may be as yet.)  Peter went to the wall case and searched until he found the largest. And at a lower price he said. So I bought the treasured item---Shady Brook, 15.16 lbs. at $1.49 per lb., totaling 22.59. There were 2 tags  attached and he told me to be sure they scanned the right one. He even showed up at the register to make sure. Thanksgiving will arrive some day, and a turkey is here.

  Travails are not yet at an end. Two young girls were at the register, whose collective IQ's  may add up to 100. They packed the groceries in the bag I'd brought, and then questioned one of the 3 coupons I'd handed them. She didn't think I had the item for the Drake's product. I did, but she unpacked the bag to find it. Aha, there it is. The other asked about the date. It expires in November. Oh, so it does. When I got home, I checked the receipt. I don't always, but wanted to this time. Only 2 coupons were deducted, and not the  Kellogg's $5.00 coupon. I didn't feel like driving back over, and wouldn't have for 1 or 2 dollars. But I know they put the coupon bag away so for  $5, I did. I handed her my receipt, showing the Kellogg's purchase  for $5. 49. She found the coupon in the coupon bag, and looked at it, asking the other girl about it. The coupon reads FREE and  in smaller letters "Up to $5.00."  She just read the FREE and put it in the bag. Duh.  After their consult, she said that the manager is on break, and that she would need  to decide what to do about it, and she put the coupon and  receipt back in the bag. I said the decision would be to give me $5, but of course they have no clue. Maybe it was their first day. I asked when the manager would be back. They dunno.So I reclaimed my coupon and receipt and left. (And by the way, not a word of apology, but they're not at that level of responsibility or understanding.

(I guess I have too much time on my hands, but I already took care of the cat's needs and reached QB on Spelling Bee.

Ah, WellNow...

 As an unwelcome reminder from that abysmal visit, I just received a statement that I owe WellNow  $20. It's not a large amount, but I'm sure I  don't owe it, apart from the lack of service received. I have reached my deductible for the year for one reason and for another, urgent care visits are  covered by my BC plan at 100%. So I called the number on the bill, and asked about the balance owed, which acknowledged an insurance payment. The rep, Kayla, quickly said the Statement was mailed Oct. 2, and since then Medicare  has paid the full amount, though  I was  not told I didn't owe until I called. I don't think Medicare paid it, but BC/BS. But nobody knows or cares.

    At best, a  5-minute problem easily solved, but looking at the charges made me feel sympathy for those who lack insurance. The charge for the Office Visit, never really resolved, is $220. The charge  for the (aborted) attempt at Removal  of Impaction is $50. Joe the Provider, after first being rounded up, spent no more than 5 to 7 minutes before he disappeared again. The ear impaction removal would have been a fair price, but was not completed, with the "provider" fleeing the  scene. 

   But I got my money's worth, since the cost was zero.

  

Back to bed and

 ...the dream state happens. After I solve wordle and get to genius on Spelling Bee, usually around 5 a.m., I go back to bed and sometimes fall asleep, or maybe almost asleep, if you can dream in that state. Nothing much happens and dreams are soon forgotten , unable to be revived, but slip away like oil on water. But today's dream has clung to my mind, even though it's about nothing, kind of like the Seinfeld premise. So I write it down.

   Dave was driving me to an appointment, medical in nature I presume. It was a calm day and a routine type  visit, memorable  only because Dave very rarely drove me to appointments, nor did I drive him to his, until he couldn't drive anymore.  We drove into the parking area, a wide lot, with an average number of vehicles parked in  it. Dave found a parking space on the far end. Seeing there were spots available closer to the building, I suggested we park over there. He said we were late already. I, probably feeling responsible for whatever delay might have occurred, looked at the car clock and said that the clock was usually fast, that I most likely wouldn't be late, and that parking closer would likely shorten the time of lateness, not extend it.

 I went into the building alone, and a pleasant woman with clipboard took my name  and told me where to sit, at the end of  a long wooden table pretty much filled with other patients. There were 2 seats vacant at one end, and I  asked if I should sit at the farthest end. She said yes, where that little girl, whose name escapes me, had been sitting, though she had been  circulating through the room, not sitting very much. I sat down and the intake woman approached with the clipboard, very friendly and welcoming. She said something, smiling as she spoke,  but I could not hear her words. On the third attempt, I was able to hear her say that in all the many times I had been there, she had never before had to sign me in after 12th period. Now that I could hear her, I had to figure out what she meant. Finally, I got it. Ah, I said, you are using a school calendar.

So that was the dream. What did you expect, an annotated version of Grimm's Fairy Tales or a look into the Peloponnesian War?

    

October 4, 1987

 Oh, yes, I remember that "Fall's Snowy Crippler" very well. The evening before, I had dinner at a restaurant on route 9 with Dorothy, Barbara, and probably Ruth.  The weather had been fair and I was wearing a blouse, and I remember feeling cold. The others had worn long sleeves, maybe light sweaters. 

  Dave and Don had left for a golf outing in maybe North Carolina, and Dave had left his car at the airport. Marilyn was away at Binghamton. It was David's 17th birthday and he had gone out, with Michael maybe, earlier in the evening. The weather suddenly turned rainy and cold, and we, David, Danny, and I were in for the night.

 The 4th was a Sunday and Danny and I attended early Mass in Valley Falls, 8a.m. or so. David would have driven to Schaghticoke for the later Mass; he wasn't a morning person. The rain was starting to turn to snow, light at first as I recall.

 But during the Mass, things changed--rapidly. We could hear snapping and cracking as the now heavy snow landed on the trees, which still had all their leaves. It sounded eerie.

   As we all left the church after about an hour, the sight was scary. Branches were down all over the place. One large part of a tree was lying across my car, which was parked across from the playground side. A downed wire was lying across my car, along with the tree.

  The church had been mostly full, as usual. No one had seen  what was coming. The churchgoers were appalled at the sight, all anxious and hurried, wanting to get back home. And since I  had at the time been a regular churchgoer, a lector and lector trainer, on the Prayer and Worship Committee, and a parent of kids in Religious Education classes, all or almost all of the people there knew me and  we were all on good terms. 

  But here is where I lost (some) faith in humanity. My car was the only vehicle disabled by the tree and wire. The others were parked in the front of the church. I stood there, with 10 year old Danny, looking at my car. Not a single person evacuating the building offered to help us. One man did call out that I shouldn't go near the car because the wire might be live. The snow was still falling. 

   Of course, there were no cell phones. I walked with Danny over to the Schroder residence. I wanted help. B. was obsessing because John wanted to go with Kevin to check the storm damage, and she was afraid he'd step on a live wire. But she let me use her phone, which was still working. David was home but had no car, so I didn't call him. I called Madigan's and Rosemary trekked up through the snow- filled and branch-laden road and drove us home.

   Later David drove Danny to survey the damage in the village, using Dave's fancy new camera. But Danny was so little that he missed most of the scenery, the pictures being mostly of the car's interior. We were without power for days. At one point, David drove to the high school and took a shower, incurring the displeasure of the custodian. When Gail Madigan found out, she called and said the gym locker rooms would now be open to the public for the duration of the power outage. So all was well that...

Got that Itch

    Today in the local market, as I approached the produce section to the right, a woman backed up to the end of the display section and leaned against it. Seeing me, she offered in explanation, that she had an itch in the middle of her back, so she rubbed her back against the end post. "Ah," she said aloud. "Oh," I said aloud. "Eww," I said to myself.

Anniversaries

 Dorothy and Gus 9/26/64         and     Rosemary  and Joe 9/24/66    

A Day in the Life (mine)

 This morning I did wordle in 2 and went on to Spelling Bee, achieving the status of Genius and then Queen Bee even though there were 58 words to suss out. I went outside as the day had gotten beautiful, and contemplated bringing in the rest of my plants, but decided to leave them out a while longer to enjoy the weather. 

   The mail truck pulls out from my neighbor's but drives right on by my house. No mail for me. So I decide I will take advantage of the $15 off coupon offered by the new Hannaford in Brunswick. I drive there, traffic fairly light even on Hoosick Street. Well, it is Saturday. I spot the new Hannaford, sitting like a shining city on a hill after descending into a virtual gorge. The entrance reminded me of access to a California freeway or something. 

  I toured the store, hoping to find items which have not been available at several local stores. I had some success:  Van's plain frozen waffles, mint Pepcid (I don't like berry), and even  the elusive sweet potato, but they did not have  Ensure Coffee Latte. They seemed to have a full stock of everything else. The Pharmacy seemed under utilized as yet, with the guy standing outside greeting people as they passed by. Prices seemed the same as locally, as best I could judge. And they honored the $15 off coupon, though still charged a nickel for  the bag.

   As I exited some women customers standing in front of a table were discussing the freebies, red tomato-like hand exercisers, they determined.                                

They looked into the little plastic container, said they didn't know what it was and put it back. I took one out of curiosity, and haven't the faintest idea of what its purpose may be. (See pictures.)  And, oh, I entered a drawing for some fantabulous amount of money.

P.S. The day's not over yet. Just received an email from Thred-Up that one of my items has sold. My take is $.61. 

***Update: I'm advised that this red plastic tube thing is a reusable drinking straw for the environmentally conscious. 

Lash Flash

    Had an interview with a potential "provider" today. She seemed professional and competent, but I get distracted and inexplicably annoyed by those rows of fake furry eyelashes. Why?

Dour Grapes

    I am deep in the process of Grape Conserve right now, so don't bother me by asking  for some of the finished product. Ha!  And to think my mother made this---more than once, without a single grousing. The only benefit I see is I love the smell of grapes.

Grape Gripe

 Had to "harvest."  Grapes were falling off the vine. But now what?

Shopping Sermon

    I went to Price Chopper today looking for several items I haven't been able to find for a while  at ShopNSave. PC didn't have them either, but I bought a few items anyway. 

      In addition to my purchases, the cashier at the register shared what Father O'Keefe said at this morning's Mass relating to today's date, 9/11. "Don't say  Never Forget, but instead say Always Remember."  (I realize it's a more positive outlook, but personally I can't see any difference. 

21 Years Ago

    It was a nice day, and Dave had just left for the golf course, the Battenkill. We didn't have the TV on until after he left, but shortly after that I turned it on. The image was of a plane stuck in one of the World Trade Towers. At first, it didn't seem too  serious, maybe a drunk or sick pilot. I hope nobody got hurt, I thought. The damage didn't seem that major. Until it did!

  I was alone in the house and the bottom fell out of my world, and I felt the need to talk to somebody.  I called the local relatives, but they weren't interested in talking about it, at least not to me. I called the  golf course, and was told only that he was out on the course. I tried to call my kids, but they didn't answer their phones, were probably working. Only David called back soon. I think he had recently flown in from somewhere. He lived in his house on North Street then, and the perpetrators would have passed practically below his residence. Or something like that...

A Million Pumpkins

     Well, maybe not quite that many, but there are an awful lot of pumpkins at the newly revised Tiashoke Farms in Easton. What used to be a working farm which sold pumpkins in the fall and featured a few penned alpacas has now become a major enterprise. It is still a working farm but now could almost compete with the local fair. You'd have to see it to appreciate the extent of and the arrangements of the pumpkins, gourds, and other stuff, including a pumpkin cottage.  (M. may post a picture.)  Also antique farm equipment, rustic furniture, baby animals, frozen farm foods (with ice cream coming soon), farm-themed  t-shirts, and other products and wares. A Cheese Tour was scheduled for today, and a Food Truck is available at certain times, including tomorrow. The only drawback is the steep driveway to the main barns and the unevenness of the terrain, not a problem for youth, but tricky for those with less agility. 

What Books Contain

 I can look through my college literature books, stored for many, many years, and, coming across a piece of literature, especially a poem, I am transported back to the classroom and the professor who had assigned the work. I used to think, before google, that if I could recall everything I'd ever learned that I would be very knowledgeable indeed. 

 I suppose I once was able to respond to and provide an analysis of the readings,  such as those of  T.S. Eliot: 

       "Time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present all time is unredeemable. What might have been is an abstraction remaining a perpetual possibility only in a world of speculation."

    (Maybe I should dump these books.

The indelible Legacy of that Russian Literature course:

Ben would understand.

 "How Much Land Does A Man Need?" According to Leo Tolstoy, "Six feet from his head to his heels was all he needed."

Books, Books, Books

 There is a large accumulation of books in my house. All kinds of books, fiction, poetry, textbooks. I have rehomed many of the volumes, through various means, but many still remain.

  An online site, the Book Warehouse, had advertised they would accept all books, even buy some. They would accept any and all books, as long as they weren't torn apart or moldy. I found they would come to my house. I loaded several boxes, planning to put them outside for pickup. I can't keep things forever, you know. But, alas, Book Warehouse, probably due to overload, now accepts only books with a barcode. That excludes my old books, almost all of them. So I guess it's back to dollar day on eBay, which is now dead, or else the garbage. But then, books don't take up that much room, and they are easy to store.

  One of the books I came across was P.C. Wren's Beau Geste, and it evokes a vivid memory from long ago. Dorothy and I were avid readers; about the only criticism we ever received from our parents centered on our love for reading. During the day, I can still hear our mother's voice telling us to put that book down and go outside and play and  enjoy the day. Our father would thump on the heat register near his bed which opened into the living room when we would be reading late at night. Time to turn off the lights and go to bed. This of course would be after homework had been long completed and we'd be reading from "library books," our guilty pleasure.

  On one such night, I was reading a book on the living room couch and Dorothy, probably about 12 years old,  was reading in  the chair by the window. Suddenly she broke into not only tears, but sobs and headed out the door on her way to upstairs. She turned to me in her despair as she left the room and cried out, "Digby is dead!"  

   I had not yet read Beau Geste, but soon did, and yes, it was very sad when Digby died.

Who Cares?

 A few days ago, there was an announcement that three local hospitals, Samaritan, St. Peter's, and Albany Memorial,  were on "full diversion."  All ambulances were directed to go to Albany Med.  The hospitals on diversion had to  "revaluate staffing shortages."  Full diversion usually means that a hospital has more incoming patients than beds, as happened at the height of the COVID epidemic, but it seems now the reason for the diversion is a shortage of health care workers. Aside from the fact that  this is an ideal opportunity for those workers to negotiate for their unions (remenber the  Nurses' strike during the COVID  crush), it could also be an earmark of the Life Is Good movement where people can be paid to work at home (or not), and no one is motivated to engage in distasteful activities.  

    There was a time when individuals were responsible for their own caretaking, and that of their alleged loved ones. But times changed and with the popularity of institutions designed for others to be paid to do the "dirty jobs," the burden was gladly shifted onto the shoulders of paid employees. But this is a free country, and what happens if no one, or only a few, want to assume the burden of depressing and moribund work. 

 Locally, the Walgreen's pharmacy in the village has had difficulty maintaining a staff to keep the drugstore open during regular hours. Many voice their outrage. Bring back RiteAid is their mantra, ignoring the fact that RiteAid voluntarily left an unprofitable business venture here. While we have needs and desires, where is it established that we have the right to have those needs met at our convenience. If registered pharmacists don't want to work in Schaghticoke, neither Walgreen's management nor anyone else can force them to.

  In times when life seems much easier and way less of a struggle than in previous times, it seems more proclaim their displeasure and say the opposite of what they are experiencing. The key may be that the sense of entitlement has expanded to a degree never before even imagined. But these times carry a  warning also never seen before. If one person can choose an easier road, then why not everyone else?If there is not enough staff in a hospital to care for patients, so what? Who is responsible? What are our rights? Who do we take our concerns to? 

   I read a while ago a futuristic account (or so it seemed at the time) of a coming age when all health care except for necessary surgery would be controlled by the individual.   Hospitals  would be surgical facilities only.  Diagnostics,  prescriptions, treatment plans would all be  activities between the patient and a network, no doctor visits or personal interaction,  so no need for malpractice insurance or facility upkeep and maintenance---just you and the internet. 

  Last week, the concept of self-care or rather no one else cares, became  a reality on a personal basis. Not a life-threatening instance, or at least I didn't think so. I woke up one morning and had absolutely no hearing in my left ear, and at a most inconvenient time. I checked with the ENT office where I'd had a less extreme hearing loss treated a few years ago, but they were booked until late October. So I bore with the problem during a few social events which had been scheduled. I learned such a disability is a double-edged sword: not only are you frustrated and annoyed because you find it hard to hear what is being said, but, even more frustrating and annoying is that others are annoyed with you because you have trouble hearing what they say. 

  For my own well being, as well as of those peeved at my hearing problem, I visited an urgent-care facility, WellNow. Everything as above became  apparent. Because it was (apparently) a minor health problem, the visit seems kind of funny. 

     I register at the desk, or tried to anyway. There was a woman behind the desk, slumped down in her seat behind a very tall glass enclosure. She was on the phone, unavailable, but another woman came out from a side door and said she would take my information. She said there would be a one-hour wait and I was welcome to go home and come back if I wished. I had brought my paper with puzzles so of course I waited. No problem so far. There was one other patient in the waiting room. After a while, he was called in and not long after I heard angry voices with the female voice asking if he was going to pay and the male angry voice saying he hadn't even seen anyone. I couldn't hear all because, you see, I have hearing loss. 

     In just about one hour, I am called into an exam room, or shown in, and left there.   After a while, a woman entered, told me her name, asked a few questions, took my bp, etc., and I couldn't help but notice her hygiene; her fingernails were dirty. She said my provider would be in. I asked who it would be. She said his name is Joe. I figured he was not an MD,  so I asked if he was a PA.No, she said, a LPN or such and then she said yes, a PA. I waited. A while.  Time went on, nothing. So I decided to leave. As I went past the desk, where  3 staff members were standing, I told them I'd had second thoughts and was going to leave. They said the Provider would be in soon, that they had only one Provider.  I told them maybe my issue is not one he treats. One said he has to, it's his job. I said I'd tried to call before I came in and  robot Amelia directed me to a "human" phone, but no one answered. Well, the phone doesn't ring here, she said, and she had no idea where it does ring. So I obliged and went back to the room and waited for Provider Joe. 

  Joe enters. I recapped my previous issue with earwax, and said the ENT office had removed it with a laser or such. He said we don't have that here. (surprise) He looked in my ears and said they both need the removal. He stepped out, didn't say good-bye or anything. After a while, another woman entered with the irrigation bottle and tray. "Hold this," she said handing me the tray, and she began to spray the water into my ear. With force, I must say, so it hurt. I can handle that, but then I felt dizzy, and told her so. She stopped, said she'd tell the doctor, and fled the room, leaving her equipment behind. I felt the irrigation bottle and it was cold. Which accounts, in large, for dizziness--it's supposed to be warm or warmish. 

  I waited, no one showed up, so I left. Passing the desk, I thanked them and said I was going home. 

Policy Pete's Dream Book ---Perhaps

     We were getting ready to leave for an important and rather elegant function. Valerie pulled up in her car and I looked and saw that Don was inside and also a young teenaged girl. I asked if there was room for Dorothy, and there was so she got into the car. I said I wasn't ready yet and that was true. I was not only dressed in my most raggedy work clothes  and worn-out shoes, but  in addition I was grimy and needed to shower. I would catch up to them later. Valerie morphed into Marilyn and she said she'd help me. We went into a palatial building, and down hallways and open spaces to elegant buildings and stairways, all leading to wherever our goal was, to help me get ready for the trip I was to take. I told M. that I would be lost, not knowing where we were or how to get back out  of the circuitous complex of luxurious edifices.  She said not to worry, we were right outside Kohl's on the corner, and so, easy to get to.

  I started to think how could I get ready in such a place---I didn't even have my shoes and where could I take a shower. This was a mistake, I thought and I wanted to undo it, but didn't know how. Then I heard a voice, quite loud, demanding, "M-m-m, Take me someplace."  The voice got so loud it woke me up, and it seems it was my voice.

      

Security Be Damned.

 It's crucial that highly sensitive documents and paperwork be retrieved if ever they escape their ordained location.

   Last year, I was mailed, along with my Social Security statement, the extensive account of another person. I notified SSA and offered to destroy the mis-sent account, but 2 SSA spokespersons were adamant that I should  return the other person's paperwork, even sending a prepaid envelope for that purpose.

   I followed their directive, but of course I could have made many copies of that missive if I had chosen to.

   And so could copies of secure information have been made, right? Real-life spies use their cameras for that all the time, discreetly, I understand.

It's little wonder...

 ...that my mind is still tormented with interpretations. As an English major still in my teens for the most part, we had to analyze the writings of a multitude of authors.

"Under the glistening cherries, with folded wings

Three dead birds lie:

Pale-breasted throstles and a blackbird,

Robberlings stained with red dye."

  D.H. Lawrence is responsible for that nightmare.

The Fair Is Here

    As I drove toward ShopnSave yesterday, there was a line of large white vehicles approaching north on Route 40, almost like a closed parade. They turned left and into the Fairgrounds. So it's real---it's that time again.

Hydrangea

 

The Butterfly

 Beautiful flying symbol of all that is holy and good. Until you take a closer look:

stuff

 

Deforestation

 Since 8a.m. the sound of cutting and chopping or chipping. The other day, the ditches and areas above were cleared. Today it's the wooded areas beyond the shoulders and ditches, involving the chopping down of some mature trees. And these are only a part of the vehicles involved.

Madigans of Old Can Joe ID any?

    The only one I recognize for sure is my father, Charles,

in back row center. Could that be his mother he is standing by? I  think the man on left is Joe, and that must be his wife holding his arm. Frank (Peter) is the tallest, with his arms crossed. And maybe Walter on the right end?  No idea who the young women are, though one, standing, bears a resemblance to young pics of me. I assume the picture was taken at the old family homestead in Pittstown.

Support

    "Being supportive is important, like carrying some emotional furniture up a flight of stairs,  but it helps to know which end is the heaviest."  Author undisclosed.

Deer at Risk

 

Snaking around

As I started to climb the step, I saw a tiny head climbing onto the concrete. I waited, of course, and then it crawled up and slid across the step down to the other side. I thought it was a garter or garden snake; it was very evenly patterned, and quite long.

     A few minutes later, I heard a car slow down, and 2 young deer had crossed the road and run  into the very same area behind the shed as last year's family of doe and 2 fawns. Sadly, one of those fawns had been killed crossing the road. If I hear the squeal of brakes, I'm not looking.
 

Language Woes---Innocuous but annoying

 Language is a continually evolving structure, but do the changes have to be so gross, ugly and just plain annoying. So the word Black is capitalized but even combined with another marginalized segment of society, the word brown is  not. Jack fell down and broke their crown. To heck with subject verb agreement. The word before has been replaced by ahead of.* Sounds cooler, I suppose. The word furbaby has been coined and people voluntarily use it. Sort of along the lines of furhat, I suppose. 

  Now the powers that be in the written media have decided to have parents "share" their children or offspring. Not that the parents are necessarily divorced or separated, but a common expression denoting, I guess it could be more,  that the kids have 2 parents. Used to be that parents or others shared custody, but no, now it's the sharing of their actual physical being. Sharing in this sense would best be defined as having a portion of something split with others. Can you really share a child. Ask Solomon. 

* And the replacement of the word "from" by "out of." If you want to sound like a police report.

Oh, very well. I'll oblige.

 Just received a message to submit more articles, so, being the compliant sort, I'll do so. 

    Every once in a while, I'll  go to the Physician Ratings Site and see what's new with the doctors I've known. Of course, these ratings are patently unfair because anyone   can leave a review and say anything. And there's no recourse for the doctor but to live with what's been written. I'm sure not all doctors even read them. I have never left a review on this kind of public site, only if I receive a request from the physician's office or treating hospital. But I occasionally review the site anyway.

    I checked the site for Dr. Frank Congiusta, the orthopedist who performed my knee replacements 8 and 9 years ago, probably the most successful of all my medical ventures. The doctor, then in his late 30's and  fairly new to the practice, is now approaching 50 and holds title of Chief of Orthopaedics at St Peter's Hospital, among other honors.. The reviews left on the Ratings Site have increased in number and sing his praises. Except for a single one. 

That review, left by a woman, reads: "Dr. Conquistador is not as great as he thinks he is."   Why this is funny I don't know, but it is

To A Mole (Apologies to R. Burns

   The best laid schemes of Moles and Men gang aft agley.

Eerie Memory

   Reading about the woman found dead  in the woods in Schaghticoke brought back this memory, from around 1957-58  or so.

   The garage building next to our house was vacant then. Customers of Sara's store frequently parked there, alongside the driveway we used then. But a white car was parked there for a while, with no driver anywhere around. Someone must have notified the police the next day when the car was still apparently abandoned there. It was a neighborhood mystery when the authorities showed up to examine the vehicle. So much intrigue that my sister, completely out of character for her, skipped classes at Albany State to wait for news of the mystery car. That evening, when I was working in the store, 2 strange men came  in and bought flashlights and batteries. Besides being strangers, a rarity then, they seemed gruff and serious. They were joining a search party for the missing driver, a woman, the wife of one of those customers. 

   The search party was headed for the woods on Stover Road, with Johnny Daurio joining in the search. It was  late evening that rainy day when they found her, her body dangling from a tree deep in the woods. Johnny said it was a terrible sight; he was there when they found her, and was moved by it. 

  The back story was that they looked in the woods because her husband said she loved the woods and often hiked through them. 

   The rest of the story, pieced together as it was, was that she had driven from another state, maybe Pennsylvania, and had paid a visit to Dr. Sproat's office, no appointment needed back then.  She was concerned about her health, deeply worried that she might have contracted a venereal disease that her husband had brought back from North Africa or someplace. Dr. Sproat confirmed her suspicions and she drove her car down to River Road and walked to her beloved woods and hanged herself. 

    I don't know the circumstances of the death in Schaghticoke, but the car parked alongside the road and the statement of there being no signs of foul play made me think of that other poor soul.

The Remaining Bastards (Muses, that is.

 Thinking of Professor Brooks and relevance today:   The true muses have definitely been retired. (Just ask George Will.) So the bastard muses have been  more than ready to take over:

  The muse named Pornography is ultra evident, so much so  that even scholar Brooks could probably not have foreseen the degree. The definition, legal and societal, of what constitutes pornography has broadened so that few formerly apt definitions now apply. Child pornography exploitation seems more prevalent, but that is pure criminality.  Brooks alluded to the ability of pornography to distort the human dimension by its focus on a powerful human drive at the expense of the human dimension. Enough said.

   In  contrast to Propaganda and Pornography the bastard muse of Sentimentality seems benign, but it may pose the most widespread  threat of all to the debasement and distortion of the values for which many have laid down their lives. Sentimentality devalues the human dimension by working up emotional responses unwarranted by the occasion. We as a nation are committed to the love of animals, in general,  and especially for dogs, and more especially for young dogs, puppies. Even older dogs are referred to as puppies. If a canine of any age gets lost or injured  in any way, facebook reports the many prayers that are offered up for its safe return or recovery.  When humans and dogs are at risk because of accidents or crimes, attention is more likely to be focused on the animal involved. I can relate because I loved my childhood dog more than life itself, but even at ten years of age, I realized its place in the world we lived in. The term "calf" has been transmuted into baby cow. The sight of a noted chef choosing a lamb to be led to slaughter causes outrage. We are subjected to the horrors of life and death in the Ukraine but are inured to the devastation by the sight of a young girl selling lemonade or such to help those poor children---get them a toy or maybe a book. Praying for a lost puppy and supporting a fundraiser for lost children are simple and gracious ways to help. But such virtue signaling should not substitute for the understanding of the human condition  and the events that can lead to its dissolution. Like the other two bastard muses, that of  Sentimentality offers only a partial account of life in its fullness, which is not nourishing but debilitating. I would speculate that the epitome of the  sad state of America's  learning could be the coinage of the word "furbaby." 

Bastard Propaganda Muse

 See previous entry, July 31, Part 11

The Bastard Muses

     Way back in 1985, noted scholar  Cleanth Brooks despaired of the state of learning in America. He cited studies showing that 40% of 17-year-olds could not comprehend ordinary documents, and only 20% could write a coherent essay.  He concluded that we are an  illiterate nation, with a large section of our population who cannot read and many who can read do not read books. He believed that literature was valuable in that it focuses attention on the purposes of mankind, and on the values for which men and women lived and died. He was dismayed about the debasement of humanities, and the resultant devaluation of humankind's yearning for song, story and drama.

   When the true muses are no more, what he  calls the bastard muses are ready to take over. And those bastard muses, Propaganda, Sentimentality and Pornography, fed by trash literature, are bent on debasing and distorting the human dimension. 

   Bastard Muse  Propaganda  pleads  for a special agenda at the expense of the truth. 

Bastard Muse Pornography focuses on one powerful human drive at the expense of the total human persona. 

Bastard Muse Sentimentality works up emotional responses unwarranted by the occasion or event.

I suspect that if Scholar Brooks could witness today's society, in comparison to that of 1985, when he commented on the above, he would be totally disillusioned by what he'd evidently predicted or at least projected. 

As for the lack of book reading, we know that today's libraries still have books, but mostly cannot survive on books alone. Therefore, the internet and community activities and programs comprise the bulk of their offerings. I wonder how frequently the revered classics are read. How many of today's young adult generation have read Dickens, or Irving, or Austen or scores of others. Literature in high school may be a Shakespeare play, stretched out over weeks because it's realized reading would not occur outside class. Other readings consist of novelettes or short novels. Why else would Catcher in the Rye or To Kill A Mockingbird be almost universally the high school literature of choice. 

   As for the brilliance we so admire in Jeopardy contestants, we should realize most of their winning answers are accumulated facts, memorized by rote from the massive accumulations of questions, answers, and categories acquired online in condensed form, not by their own experiences in reading and comprehending the physical texts.  For example, when a contestant gives  an answer of Robert Frost instead of Walt Whitman, it's obvious he/she/they  lack /lacks even basic familiarity with either. Moreover, the measure of their  success, and the fame that follows, is based on the amount of money they've won, not by their mastery of knowledge. So much for the perpetuation of the values of mankind.

  So long-winded---I'll deal with the bastards later. Stay tuned. Hah.

***

Part 11  Bastard Propaganda  Muse. As scholar Brooks noted that if Thomas Jefferson were alive today ( 1985),  he may well  be delighted by the machinery but dismayed by the neglect of literature and writing. It seems that Brooks would undergo the same feelings about the state of American learning, only compounded  many times over. For the machinery of today allows lightning fast dissemination of information, which also means disinformation, or blatant lies. The glory and value of education is its ability to focus attention on mankind's purpose, and upon the values for which many have lived and died. He thought, maybe too optimistically, that these human values could not be eliminated, but could be debased. Since there have been way too many examples of propaganda flooding  today's society, only 2 examples of how the search for knowledge and understanding  can be debased will be noted here.

   The first debasement of the value literature has of opening minds to the culture of the humanities and the value literature has of developing and expanding thoughts:  One who, aspiring to gain a position of national leadership, publicly announces that he wants the citizens to believe not what they see with their own eyes, or hear with their own ears, but to depend on him to tell them what to believe. "And the people bowed and prayed to the neon god they made." 

 And a columnist for an area newspaper, who apparently attempted to avoid most  controversy in his folksy column, cited as one of the reasons for ending his newspaper column was that he sensed a change in the mindset of his readership, that being that many of his readers, the outspoken ones,  only wanted to read the words that they agreed with. 

   In the past, nations who were under the leadership of demagoguery fought to the death for freedom. Could scholar Brooks have foreseen that the "functional illiteracy" he referenced is indeed putting our  independence on the line.

A Madeleine de Proust

    Not a sweet cake, but in this case the sight of a hammer: 

        The doors to the old garage are open, as is usual. The hinges are worn and perhaps for that reason, a hammer has been placed just inside the doorway; sometimes the hinges needed to be given a good whack to keep them in place. My sister is standing at the end of the garage building, near where our father has added on a chicken coop at the far end, near the stairs to the hayloft.  There are two barrels there, one of black  metal, the other of rust colored corrugated cardboard. She is eleven years old and is about to scoop out some scratchfeed or cracked corn to appease the flock. 

      He is a teenager, about 15 or 16, a friend of the family and a frequent visitor to the property.  It is a summer day, and also as usual, nothing much is happening, could be described as boring I suppose. He approaches the garage, and picks up the hammer. And as suddenly as he picked it up, he launches it with all his strength in the direction of my sister, shouting at the same moment for her to duck down. She did, and the hammer smashed into the barn wall right at the level where her head had been just seconds before.

  I see her face, ashen and scared, as she stands up and realizes what has taken place. I suppose he is relieved to see that she has not been harmed by his sudden impulse, but nothing further was ever said, as far as I recall. Sometimes  a violent act has consequences, other times not.

  

   

Sales Woes---Who knew?

First of all, the cause of diminishing eBay sales is that usps shipping costs have skyrocketed.  The exception is cost for media mail, which is restricted as per the category. Of the last 6 or 7 items, I've listed, and sold, about half have not paid when the  buyers realized the cost of shipping; I'm sympathetic if  need be. After all, why pay multiple times the price of an item just to have it shipped.  And almost all of the items are listed for $5 or less, just trying to find homes for items other than the dreaded dumpster.

  A few years ago, before the steep usps  increase, I had listed Valentine boxes, the frilly kind, which  were in demand. They sold but a few others, cardboard Russell Stover boxes, had not. But the listing stayed on, perpetually relisting, pretty much forgotten about. 

   The listing was brought to mind last week when a bid was placed, on 2 boxes with long-ago asking price of $2.00. And this buyer paid: the $2 plus $16 shipping for Priority Mail. Yegads, I thought who would pay that price for 2 empty boxes, and in July, no less. But I sent it, along with a $4.00 refund, and I included an extra smaller box which didn't affect the  shipping weight category. Done---I hoped.

Today I received an email from the buyer. Again YeGads a problem , I suspected the buyer had not realized the boxes were just plain heart-shaped boxes, albeit containing the inner candy trays .I opened the email with trepidation: it was a lovely thank you in appreciation for both the refund and the extra box. Turns out the buyer uses a rock tumbler to polish rocks which she places in the candy boxes and then sells as art.  

   She ended the thank you email with  a blessing for me. Added to the blessing from columnist John Gray, I should be doing okay for  a while.

   (I just hope there are no broken teeth from the Rock Candy.

 

Humor where i find it...

 Not much makes me laugh anymore, but that video of Josh Hawley making tracks down the hallway shown alongside Forrest Gump's cross country run is funny on many levels. Their gait is so much the same. 

Shopping Slips

 Three incidences, all within one week and at the local store. Ranked here in order of malcontentedness:

1) In the name of hospitality, I keep my vintage M&M Candy Dispenser stocked with M&M's.  For guests of course, and indeed I find it easy to resist plain M&M's in the same way as plain Oreo cookies. But Peanut Butter M&M's are a different story, so I'm very likely to choose that kind.  The other day I carelessly bought  Peanut M&M's instead. Now I like peanuts all right, though I seldom eat them anymore.  But I don't like the idea of a peanut covered in a hard candy coating any more than I like chocolate chips in ice cream. What's the point of hard tasteless chips in what should be a smooth dessert. But somebody will probably enjoy the peanut m&m's.

2) Every morning for the last definable time period, my breakfast consists of a Van's Frozen Waffle. They are available in several varieties, but I like the plain or as they are called, original. I've had the Blueberry kind, but prefer to add my own blueberries. When I picked up a couple of packages the other day, I failed to notice that one was the "Protein" variety, formerly called "Power Grains." I didn't realize the difference until It felt like I was chewing on b.b's.. 

3) I woke up early this morning with a sinus headache. and wanting to sneeze. I detected a strong perfumy odor in the room. I'd just washed the sheets and thought it might be that laundry smell, but that is a fresh smell and has never bothered me. Eventually I traced the cloying heavy odor to a pack of toilet paper I'd just bought. After opening the 8-pack, I'd placed a few rolls in the bathroom and the rest, as usual, I deposited on the (unused) treadmill in my bedroom. The brand was AngelSoft, often purchased, but this pack, I see now, has the added feature of "Scented Tubes" in "Fresh Linen" scent. My eyes, throat and nose are all itching. Toilet paper begone!

Chicken (Little)

     Oh, one of those dreams again. But who's to say which is dream state and which is real time. 

    We were in a large supermarket, and someone, David it seems, asked which would we rather have, a nice juicy steak or some other option, which I am unable to recall. I said I'd rather have the steak but that was not  practical for the number of people who would be eating. I decided on chicken, not any chicken parts but a whole chicken, which somehow seemed ample to fill the bill. I knew the weather was too hot to turn on the oven, but I'd had very good results cooking chicken in my electric frying pan, wedding gift vintage 1968, but it still works. 

   We began to scour the cases, looking for a whole chicken, and we couldn't find any. "There's one," someone called out, but it was just a package of legs or breasts. I thought I spotted one, but it turned out to be a game hen. I picked one out of the case thinking I found one, but no, it was a duck. There were no whole chickens in the store.

As we prepared to leave, I was intrigued by a display on the shelf advertising Honey for Cats."  I picked one of the packages up, interested in the concept, but decided against buying it, and went to place it back on the shelf. I didn't have to reach too far, because a man, ensconced high on the shelfing, reached out and replaced the package back in its rightful place on the shelf, with him somehow stationed just inside the display case. I wondered how that could be.

   I had a last card to play. I knew if I could get to the car, which I hoped was unlocked, that the problem would most likely be solved. I only hoped the car was unlocked. I hurried out of the store and down the street. It started to rain.

  ******************************************************************

When I woke up this morning, I thought the idea of roasting a chicken in the electric fryer sounded like a good idea. So this evening I went to SNS to get a chicken.  There were chicken drumsticks, chicken breasts, chicken wings, and chicken thighs, but not one single whole chicken. Dreams do come true. 

 

Ennui

 I was at Barbara's house, must have been on an emergency basis because I was wearing only my red nightgown. A car pulled up in front of the house and B. looked out the window, ran to the  hallway and shoved a large box of something she'd been going through high up on a shelf, and hurried out to greet her  guests. There were  at least 2 women and a young man, about the age of the younger woman, maybe late teens. They all had blond hair, I noticed. One of the women was very friendly and we all chatted for a while, and later I thought I was talking to her, but it was the  younger woman. When I turned to go back into the house, wanting to go home and get dressed, Ruthie appeared on the scene, looking like her old self, slender and active. After hugging each other in greeting, I got into her car and we drove off. I didn't know where but she drove to Dorothy's house. Dorothy, surprised,  had just put a cake on the table  and was slipping plastic wrap over a large green salad she had just made. She welcomed us in and Ruth remarked how good the cake looked, so Dorothy served us a piece. Ruth commented on the salad and so we took some. I noticed Ruth put a large amount on her plate but didn't eat any. Dorothy told us she had to leave but we were welcome to stay and eat. I was eating lettuce. She said she was bringing the food to an elderly woman, and started to rewrap the salad, which now only filled half the bowl. Since Ruth hadn't touched her large helping, we began to add that back in the bowl. When I woke up, I was wearing the red nightgown.

Antidentite

 Yes, stolen from a Seinfeld episode, no malice intended. Among my many dental procedures performed over many years, was a large filling on an upper  molar. After a number of years, a piece of the filling on the inner side of the tooth chipped off. No worries, assured my then dentist, it's an outer chip and the remainder is intact and will not break any further. And it didn't, for a while. But then, another piece broke off the filling, and some discomfort started to appear in that area. Yes, said the new dentist, that filling was so large and now breaking off that the tooth needs to have a crown.   And so we went ahead. I have had several teeth crowned   in the past, probably more even than several; the procedure was always the same. the ailing tooth is treated, a temporary cap is formed and installed, left in place for a period of time, maybe 3 or 4 weeks, and then the permanent crown is installed. All good, so far. 

  For this last (or I should say, latest) procedure, all seemed much the same ---at first. The tooth was treated, but at the next appointment, I noticed that when the dentist removed the temporary crown/cap, I could feel that the remaining tooth seemed to be still there. All my previously crowned  teeth had been drilled right down to the gumline, with apparently only the root left intact. I asked the performing dentist  about the difference, and he said, yes, he had left the old filling in place. He went on to say that he did not believe the warnings about those old mercury fillings, and added that he had drilled a hole in the new crown in case the tooth root needed treatment in the future, which is always a possibility. 

 The tooth felt fine, a relief to be able to chew on that side without the pressure pain, for just about 2 months, when the same type of pain returned, a momentary stabbing pain when anything pressed on that tooth. During  the COVID plague, the root canal procedure, now deemed necessary  was postponed, but discussed during my routine cleaning appointment, and 2 new appointments set up. But I had a question:

ME:  In performing the root canal, what happens to the old filling?

DDS:  There is no old filling. I remove them.

ME:   You told me you left it in place.

DDS: No, I remove old fillings. I could count on one hand the number of times I've ever left a patient's filling in place during a root canal. (And he holds up one hand, fingers splayed.) It would be very unusual and I've performed 200-300 root canals.

ME: Well, I must be unusual because that's what you told me. 

DDS:  Let me go look. (He walks over to his computerized files and after a short time, says...) You might be right.

Dream in Ectoplasmic State

 Maybe this could qualify as what used to be called a nightmare, but my dream persona itself felt  no actual terror. We were standing, we being a group of adults, contemplating what had happened to several among us who had been taken away, for some reason or another. Suddenly a terrible sound emanated from somewhere,  undefinable and mortally loud and deep. There was a small  transistor radio, tan with reddish striping, which fell from a shelf over some type of workbench onto a nearby  table. The sound had come from that, and the sound had now changed to words, the words being screamed out:  "Please somebody kill me." Over and over again. And now there were actual images of the source of the awful moans and pleas, in the form of a  real-time depiction enclosed in a small pink capsule, which contained what we thought could only  be the tortured soul. We were powerless to help, but we could feel the terrible pain.

Floral---singular

 

Misanthrope

    Are you such if you watch Jeopardy, and your wish is that all 3 contestants will lose.

Disclaimer: Dream

    I was at the Catholic church in Valley Falls and it was being redone, for church purposes. The outside was totally finished and a large crew of workers were doing a complete restoration inside the building. The entryway, from an architectural viewpoint, was the same configuration, except completely remodeled. Everything was new and glossy, with bright and shiny walls and flooring, even a marble plaque with current information. One side gave contact information for the services. But the other side of the plaque didn't make sense to me. The contact information contained the letter x and it seemed out of place. As I stood there thinking who I could notify about this, one of the workers came out of the main part. He had blond hair, was young, friendly and talkative, and wearing a yellow and white mixed pattern shirt. After a while, the seemingly cryptic and/or erroneous wording in the plaque suddenly came clear to me, and I was glad to have saved myself the embarrassment of pointing out what I had perceived to be  a mistake. The left side of the plaque told how to contact the rectory. The right side clearly displayed who to contact for prescriptions, therefore the Rx. number. I was glad the young worker had done all the talking, and I hadn't had the chance to display my ignorance.

   By now, the other workers were getting ready to leave, and the doors to the inside were opened. I went in, and it was all different, long passageways all aglow with new tiled walls in bright blue hues. I walked down the hallways, in search of one of the  many bathrooms.

  I was soon on the way home, my bicycle parked outside the church. I was unsure at first how to get on my bicycle, whether from the left side or the right. It was a girl's bicycle, but the forks were higher; you couldn't just step in. You had to step up. As I rode home, down the familiar sidewalk, I had the memory  that when I had access to a bicycle, the many errands I was asked to run, from various neighbors as well as my family, seemed easy and even fun as long as I could ride a bike; having to walk was tedious.

   Before I got home, another dream segment inserted itself, but like the oil on water of most dreams, it floated away and out of the recall of memory.

The year was 1970...

 ...and women were starting to make their presence known. Dave's cousin Kathy marched in NYC, and the march was featured in the September 4, 1970 issue of LIFE magazine. She is on the left with short hair.  (Not without family criticism though.

Tree Topping + Addendum

 The next day, a white car with light and driver wearing construction vest drove slowly past the previous day's work, probably checking the branch cutting as well as the ditch mowing. Then 2 workers walked down to the end of our lot near the pole, and appeared to be measuring with some handheld instrument. And the old lady watched from behind her drapery covered window.