My own personal CopCam story

 Just as on TV. Cop approaches my car; I'm on my way to Bennington VVH.  I don't remember if he introduced himself. The weather was cold, so when I lowered the window, he said first, "Do you know why I stopped you?'  I didn't so he told me--expired registration.  Then he asked for my license, registration and insurance. I handed him the registration and insurance, which I keep in the glovebox, but told him my license was in my purse on the floor behind my seat, and I couldn't reach it without getting out of the car. He said he didn't need it and took my registration and insurance back to his car. I assume he did whatever it is they do with it. Then he returned, handed them back to me and told me I should get my car inspected as soon as I could. Very few words were spoken, almost none by me. I'd never make it to the video episodes.

Lewis Lent: Our Encounter

 One beautiful summer day, several decades ago, We, Danny, Jimmy and I met this man, in the movie theater in the Clifton Park Mall. Of course, we didn't know it then. Danny had wanted to see a certain movie that his siblings had seen. (I'll add the name when I recall it---a music film, maybe Rattle and Hum?)  )  The day was young and the weather was perfect, so we were the only ones in the theater when the movie started. The boys chose seats front and center and I sat in the back row, behind their seats. After a while, Jimmy evidently got bored and was rolling a quarter in the center aisle, no problem since we were the only people there. At first. About 20 or so minutes into the film, a man entered through the left side and sat in that section. Then a short time later, I noticed he had moved to the row behind the boys, right behind them. I started to see a red flag, but then thought it was the center aisle. After a while, I think it was Danny's  idea, they changed their seats. Jimmy may still have been in the aisle to the right. Shortly after, the man moved behind them again. This time Danny, weirded out,  and Jimmy came to sit with me, and I told them they had met their first pervert, little knowing his true nature.

  When the movie ended I told the boys to stay in their seats. I wanted to see where the man might have gone. I walked out the left doorway and there standing with his back to the wall, just waiting, was the man. I looked right at him and noted that he was dressed in what men substitute teachers might have worn, dark green dockers and a short-sleeved sports shirt. I left him standing there and went back to the boys. Danny, who must have had  greater insight than I, was mad at  me for leaving them alone in the now empty theater.

   Normally, they would have visited the bathroom in the theater and had lunch at McDonald's then in the mall, but tthis day I wanted to put all this behind us and we went to McDonald's  in Mechanicville. (I learned later that the bathroom in the theater accessed the outdoors.)

  After his capture, I recognized his face, knew he was the guy in the theater.  I later learned that he was living in the church on Old Route 146 in exchange for doing some maintenance. I learned also that a  classmate had told Danny that his family had belonged to that church and had frequently invited this man to their  home  in Stillwater, where he had played board games with the younger siblings. The classmate was later told by his parents not to reveal this information, but he did confide it.  I add that the investigators, searching for the girl's body, at one time investigated the area near Route 146 and Route 9, near the church and walking distance from the mall.

 This man was an unusual serial killer, experts in such say, because he preyed on both boys and girls. He was caught when, in broad daylight on the streets of Pittsfield, he attempted to abduct a young girl. He grabbed her backpack, but she, being a savvy child, slipped out of both jacket and backpack and ran screaming for help. His car was parked nearby and in it was the equipment he used in abductions.

  So, parents, always be on guard. Trust no one.

"I call it the groceries."

 In truth, I don't pay much attention to prices at the grocery store. I live alone, don't do much in the way of cooking, and so just pay the bill, usually without even looking at the prices. But today I was out of my basic supplies and went to the grocery store to replenish. I bought about a dozen usual items and the bill was $91.03, and that was with $10 worth of coupons. So I looked at the bill. 

  I don't eat eggs, but use them for cooking; one dozen was 6.49.  I stopped buying Oreos but since I didn't have anything sweet in the house, and I gave up candy for Lent, I  bought a package for 4.99, when I remember a price of 3.49 and then 3.99. A loaf of white bread cost 4.49 and a pack of ginger ale on sale for 7.69.  A small package of chicken was 6.00. But the most surprising cost was for a single sweet potato. I don't especially like them but the online cardiologist recommended them as nutritious. It was medium sized and cost 1.79.  For a raw potato.

Soapy

 I remember a time when Soap Operas were the lifeblood of stay at home housewives or even others, including my mother-in-law who faithfully followed a few of her "stories" as she called them. Not my mother, who would not have turned the tv on in the daytime, not during any  time when you could be outdors.

  But the soaps are still on. I just heard a woman on the Y and the R confide to a friend that her mother had been found, after having been kidnapped and held hostage in an abandoned psychiatric facility. Because no one knew why, they were afraid it might happen again.

"Dear Diary" oops I mean Blog

 So today, as the story goes----I don't really mind because I have nothing else I have to do.  Since my insurance information was incorrect, I wanted to make sure I could accomplish what the script had ordered. I navigated the telephone ladder to the ordering doctor's site in Albany, and eventually spoke to a real person, a nurse. I tried to explain my concern, but she said as she couldn't see the script herself, she couldn't help. I said I had faxed it, as that was one of the offered means of contact, and offered to do so again. She said that wouldn't help, because "there are thousands of pages of faxes." OK, I gave up on that.

 But before I drove to the hospital lab, and risked the chance of being turned away because of false insurance identification, I called the hospital, and got in touch with someone in the lab. After another conversation, and reassurance, I drove to the hospital to fulfill my mission---to drop off the specimen vial. 

I arrived at the hospital and asked at the main desk if the lab was open. It was. And if I could just go there for the drop-off. No, I had to check in at the registration  desk. There, the intake person verified all my information on her computer, and then presented me with 2 sheets of paper confirming what had just been confirmed, and asked me to write in my name, address, contact information, both insurance carriers, with id numbers, addresses and telephone numbers and sign and date the second page. I filled in, I admit, only some of the nformation, knowing it would most likely never be read anyway. She asked if I would place my hand on the scanner which was on her desk. I did so, rather hastily, because, ick, all those patients before me with sickly hands. She said I needed to press more firmly on the glass, but I told her the arthritis in my hands prevented me from doing so. She didn't mind, no problem there. Finally, she handed me 4 more pages, the now-mandated Medicare out-of -pocket ESTIMATE of cost, 2 pages of New York Facility Fee Notice, and a page for Trinity secure payment information and Third Party Arbitrators.

 I asked if I could then go to the lab to deposit my vial, but, no, I was directed to the main waiting room, where a dozen or so dejected-looking  folks were waiting to be called. After a while I noticed they were being called by numbers. I didn't have a number tag, so asked at the desk, where the man informed me that if I had been in one of the 2 admitting rooms, I would be called by name. So back I went to the waiting room.

 After about thirty minutes of waiting, my name was called and I entered the room where I was told to just put the vial on the table alongside the others.  Mission accomplished!

My point is that none of this was necessary. All the authorization and information was present. The result would have been the same with a simple drop-off.

   

Impromptu Prompt

    I drove to SnS today to see if they had restocked Van's Waffles. They were still completely out so I drove to Mechanicville Price Chopper. They had none, nor any other gluten-free waffles. Alas!  On the way home the car radio plays a song I hadn't heard or thought of in years---Hang On Sloopy. 

  I instantly recall one of the first times I heard this song. Barbara and I had gone to Cape Cod on a brief vacation. The trip was pleasant enough, but memorable only because we both almost died at one point. If memory serves, we had gone all the way to the end of the road to Truro, quite a deserted area at the time. We saw a lighthouse and parked near there. The lighthouse appeared to be abandoned, or at least it was  unmanned. We decided to walk from there to the ocean, actually more of a descent than a walk. The day was hot and dry, and it seems strange now, but back then people rarely carried water or anything with them. When we went to return to the car, the climb up the hill seemed unending and absolute torture, almost straight upwards and in the extreme heat. Afterwards we both said we realized we could have passed out there and maybe have been found dead.  But we were young and healthy, and so suffered no harm to our health.

 At vacation's end, on our return trip home, in Barbara's Mustang convertible I think, the latest popular song  repeated several times on the radio. Barbara was singing along, "Hang On, Snoopy." If you listen to the lyrics, that does sound like what was sung. 

It's not me. It's them.

 Here I am, Blog, venting again. Because I live alone, and no human to commiserate with. 

  I had an appointment at one of the most highly reputed gastroenterology facilities in the area. I know it's hard to get help nowadays, so am sympathetic, but it seems it must be impossible to get good help. At my appointment last week, I was somehow checked out before I saw the doctor  and had a 2-hour wait, with apologies profusely rendered. I was told that the prescribed  procedure could not be scheduled until approved by my insurance. This was news to me because my insurance does not require preauthorization for this rather benign procedure. But okay, I said nothing. I had submitted my insurance cards; I have 2, including  very effective and hard-fought-for  secondary insurance. 

  Today I receive the script for my procedure, which includes all the billing data. My Primary Insurance is listed as Medicaid with what looks like a genuine ID number, completely unfamiliar to me. I have never had Medicaid, and I most likely never will. My Medicare ID number is completely different. The check-in woman took my insurance cards and entered the information directly from them. 

  So evidently someone who is on Medicaid is to be billed for my procedure. I hope they have a low deductible. Seriously, I suppose I'll have to call before I arrive for the procedure; I can't present false insurance coverage, right? 

  It's so pathetic when senior citizens mess things up, but at  least I have a witness to verify my situation. 

When Blogger is your only audience:

 Here goes, with a glut of petty annoyances. 

After a week of my well-maintained car's battery going inexplicably dead, and on first driving, having the ignition  key snap off at the roots at Stewart's, I ventured to drive with those issues resolved---for now anyway. I reach for my sunglasses which I keep in the car, always in the same place. They are not there. I do an intensive search throughout the car, side pockets, under the seats, glove box, all to no avail. I have others, but this particular pair was light and caused no pressure point issues, so I guess I'll have to settle for now. I can only surmise they got lost at the garage, broken and discarded or taken by mistake. An unusual same-day findng was a pair of aviator glasses tossed on my lawn, which had been repaired, but I suppose there's no connection.

  Yesterday I had a follow up appointment at the gastroenterology office. It's in Albany so M. offered to drive me there this time. My appointment was at 3:45 and had been confirmed by their  office several times, including on Sunday. They are a very busy office so don't mess up and forget. I pre-registered on the proffered site, and we even arrrived earlier than the appointed time. When I went to check in, I said I had pre-registered but the woman said they had changed their insurance entity so I had  to supply all the info again anyway. It was tedious. Following that, we went to the waiting room, a large area with a lot of folks waiting. There are about 30 doctors in this practice, and so that didn't seem unusual. After a while, I asked M. what time it was, and about an hour had passed. I observed that those waiting now had arrived after us, so maybe seeing different doctors. Finally, M. went to the desk and they told her they would check on my wait. Back to sitting and waiting, now almost 2 hours had passed. When the woman called the next patient, I asked her to check and see if I was on the list anytime soon. She said she'd check. M. went again to the desk and returned,  saying there had been a mistake and the records showed I had already been seen by the doctor.  Apologies offered, accepted. Grr, talk about being overlooked.  Finally we gained entry to the doctor. I have seen him several times previously and he has always been friendly and upbeat. Today he seemed pissed off, in general. I might not return. 

  A new start today, even with secondary sunglasses. I decide to take some positive  action. I'll grocery shop and return bottles. But on arrival, a man had enormous bags filled with returns, so I went into the store. They were out of Vans waffles and there was no chocolate Ensure, so I picked  up the last vanilla, not my favorite, but ok. As I got to the meat counter, I saw a woman pick up the last Corned Beef package from the top rack, the vaunted sale rack. I looked at the offerings below, and saw a pricetag of over $30 for a medium sized corned beef. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO DAY ONE! But I go to the register and submit my $5 coupon for the Ensure. The cashier forgets to ring it up. So she has to call for a more senior member to help her credit me for the $5. That woman arrives, surveys the situation, and leaves for another register. I push my cart in that direction where  three clerks are huddled over the coupon. I politely tell them to just give me the coupon and forget about it. (Those same words got me into major warfare at the bank a few years ago.) But the women seemed relieved this time; we were all so gracious. One woman said, "The coupon is good until April, so it shouldn't be  a problem." After I shoved my groceries into the trunk, I made another attempt to return bottles, but a woman was there with a packed garbage bag, so I went home.

Waiting for me there was a letter dated Feb. 21, 2025 from Nationwide advising me to call them by 09/10/2017.  See, I don't make this stuff up.

 

 

   

What's in a name?

 I was assigned a student who needed tutoring due to an eye condition that hindered his reading. His name was Jeremy and he was in 5th grade. I asked what name he preferred to be called by, Jeremy or Jerry. He said it didn't matter. I asked him what his family called him at home. He thought for a moment and then said they didn't call him anything, didn't use his name.

  This might seem like an isolated and strange situation, not using  a person's name to address them, but I know this is not an isolated occurrence. Maybe someday I'll write how I know that is true, but not right now.

To Quote a Phrase...

 You must forgive me if I'm prone to quote, but all

the goods are right here, including a textbook from Syracuse University, which appears to be in excellent, unread condition.

Donkey and Dog Relo's

 From their travels from Troy to Valley Falls, commencing from about 1912 or so to the present, I figure Dog moved at least 10 times and Donkey moved 12 times. They look pretty good for 110+ years old. 

Inheritance

 My mother was born in Troy, New York, the youngest of the 5 children of Ellen O'Brien and Matthew Donovan. Ellen had emigrated from Ireland in the midst of poverty, following several relatives who had made the trip before her. My mother's father died of tuberculosis before my mother was a year old, plunging the young family further into the depths of poverty. Her mother, as I recall, did housework and laundry for income and the oldest son, Timothy, found whatever work a young teen could do to support the family, eventually falling to his death from the scaffolding of a Troy business. 

During her early years in Troy, my mother would collect pennies and go shopping at the ten-cent store in Troy. Her goal was to amass enough pennies to buy into the selection of iron banks the store sold. Most sold for about 7 cents. Even then, my mother's prime interest was animals, and banks in the shape of animals were her wishes. She bought several, at least 3, as the story goes.

  The family moved to the country after brother Timothy died in the fall from the business. My mother was 11 years old and I can't imagine the family had much in the way of possessions to move, or much of a way to move what they did have. But my mother's collection of banks made the move, as later became obvious. She grew up in that house, having to leave school to find work, as mother's helper and briefly in a shirt factory in Troy. 

  She met my father at a dance where he was playing fiddle and when they married they moved, probably first to an apartment in Valley Falls, and later to a tenant house in Melrose, before a series of moves to other rented houses before they were able to buy a house in Valley Falls. 

   At some point, the banks emerged,  when we were still very young. My mother had preserved these treasures throughout all the moves, and eventually turned them over to us. I remember Joseph had the lion, Dorothy claimed  the donkey, and the dog was mine. We used to play with them outside in the dirt driveway. I don't know who designated which bank went to which kid. The donkey and the lion were more intricately sculpted than the dog. I liked the dog well enough, but when playing, I always  wished that the  dog did not have that pack on its back. I didn't relate to that.

These metal banks are well over 100 years old.

Those LITTLE Irritating Things

 I direct my thousands and thousands of unspoken words to you, Blog, my only audience, the details of which are of interest to no one else. Here goes.

   Out of a lengthy history, I'll start with my car's tire pressure symbol lighting up shortly after its inspection and repair to tires. On emergency trip, mechanic said it was weak battery in tire fuse or something and of no consequence. A new battery was installed but 3 days ago, the battery went dead. Joe T. did jumpstart the battery a day later, and so far the car runs, but I have a suspicion that something is draining it and fear being stranded if I do go somewhere. I have Roadside Assistance, but I have found there can be considerable delay in responses.***Due to malfunctioning leaky furnace, and ongoing repairs and aborted  service calls, automatically scheduled fuel delivery was ceased, without prior notice, due to "delay" in my payment. So the house was cold for a while, although when so advised, the district manager promptly made delivery. ***The power went out for a period of time, leaving no means of communication. I remembered I had a portable radio stashed away, and was able to locate it, only to find it had no batteries. Last week, I went to sNs to buy batteries. They were not in the location where they had previously been, so I asked at the desk. The clerk said batteries are now at the ends of aisles 2 and 3. I looked in vain, making 3 full circuits, looking at both sides and both ends. No batteries in sight. Home, I ordered batteries on Amazon, which arrived in 2 days. I replaced, rather placed, the batteries, but am unable to turn the radio on. I''d also tried to redeem a $7 coupon for Ensure, which I've done previously, but the young cashier apologized and  said they couldn't take the coupon, or he might lose his job. Egad!***When our new furnace was installed 8 years ago, a new smart thermostat was also installed. Several days ago, the light on it went out. I need to use a flashlight to adjust the settings if I want to change the settings. I asked Chat GPT how to resolve this minor inconvenience and Chat provided 6 different paths of possibility. I can't fathom any of them.***Last year, the door to my toaster-oven broke at the corner, and due to its age and now imperfect operating condition, I purchased another but I hated it because of its complicated operating instructions so  I returned it, retrieved my old appliance and jammed some kind of stickum into the hinge of the door. Recently, that gave out, so I bought Gorilla Glue. I was  unable to open its container by usual means, so used pliers to get the top off. But the glue, seemingly viable, refuses to leave the container. Instructions say do not put in microwave. Maybe I'll try putting the container in hot water, and see if that puts the substance in notion.***The lens fell out of my reading glasses, and I find a small crack in the plastic frame. I glue it with Smart Grip, but I guess that's not meant for plastic, as the lens fell out again.***I decide my extraordiarily organized array of financial statements and credit card statements and bills dating back for years are no longer of value, so I decided to purge them. I deposited them in a large paper bag which broke so I inserted that into a laundry basket which reached over-capacity. I planned to do what I've done before in  winter time: take them out back,  arrange them in a snowbank and burn them. I search the house but can't find any matches. I ask family to bring me some matches, but instead  they take the basket of papers to burn in the fireplace. Maybe I'm not trusted to start a fire. What could go wrong?  (Well, once again, enough time has passed so Spelling Bee will be playable, any time after 3 a.m. 

Update:  Thanks to an astute relative, I was able to locate, replace, and re-activate the light on my thermostat. I now know how to forcefully pry it open and replace the 2 AA batteries. Who knew...

From the Blog-archives , 2009

 P.S. Though Dr. Z. offered little help on this visit, he later performed 2 separate and very successful cataract surgeries, allowing good vision to this day.

CT Memories (In lieu of the news)

 Dorothy was first to have that lengthy bone scan after her diagnosis, where the patient is in the machine for about 30 minutes. She told me she had a breakdown there, with the immobile positioning and the horror of the sounds emanating from the machine, and they had to stop and then restart the procedure.  She felt sorrow and compassion for me when 7 years later, I was to have the same procedure, for the same reason.  Actually, I withstood it quite well because I realized she had paved the way, and eventually survived it intact. So I was somehow  able to put my mind in a zone and was  able to think of absolutely nothing, as stressful and uncomfortable as the scan was. 

  A few years ago, after a different diagnosis, I was prescribed a CT scan in a local hospital. I knew I would be  able to endure it, but was not looking forward to the sounds. But when I was in the machine, the medical technician in charge of the procedure asked me what music I'd like to listen to. He assured me it would be anything I chose. I thought for a few seconds and said Meatloaf. He told me I was the first to pick Meatloaf but in short order the strains from Bat Out Of Hell wafted through the air of my confined space. Time elapsed and the CT scan ended just as "I'd Do Anything For Love" began playing. The technician, announcing the scan was at an end, said,  "I bet that's your favorite song of the album, right?"  Of course it was, but I never found out then, or ever for that matter,  that when Meatloaf  sang "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that"  what it was that he  wouldn't do. 

Problem solving role

 Admittedly, my efforts are mostly overlooked and overshadowed, but during my last employment days  :

1)  Our group would stay at a hotel and have dinner out, usually together if we dined in the hotel. There was an animated discussion between one co-worker and the server. She was somewhat desperately arguing against some charge for a more costly dish than she had ordered, and her protests seemed to be going nowhere. Turns out she did not have enough money to pay for the presumed "overcharge."  I paid the difference; it was only a few dollars.

2)  On another of our annual conferences in Syracuse, 2 woman who had traveled there together had a bitter argument, not sure over what, but maybe something to do with a swim in the pool before they were to leave. Both were appeased, apparently grateful, when I offered to have one of them ride home in my car.

3)  Not an argument, just an awkward situation. I don't think I'm violating anyone's privacy here, as person involved would not read this post and she wouldn't mind anyway. She had an unusual surname, spelled fuchslocher. Co-workers chose various pronunciations. I stressed the "u" sound, Fran reversed the letters to "flu" and others veered around the pronunciation. One day I asked her how her name was pronounced and she without hesitation said "fuckslocker." 

There was another incident where  a "mystery" unraveled, but I was a mere bystander, who perhaps appeared as a good listener. One of the most seasoned and respected and successful of those employed in our group was always impeccably dressed, coiffed and groomed. She always sported an impeccable manicure, even though the tips of the 2 middle fingers on her left hand were missing. She and her family owned and rode horses, so there was speculation that a horse may have nipped then off. There must have been other theories as well, though it seems no one ever asked. One day, when we happened to be alone, she told me this story:  When she was 9 years old, they were on some family camping trip or such and she was sleeping on an army cot, one of those old, foldable types, of canvas with hardware hinges, (We had the same at my house.) The cot folded and trapped her fingers in the hinged part. Her 2 fingers were severed and her father picked them up and brought them to the hospital, but they were unable to  re-attach them, as they were  too mangled.

Copcam Lesson Learned

I never would have thought of it, but this is how Retail Theft is done, or at least one way. The key is the receipt(s).  In Retail Theft 101, buy an item, such as a computer.  Return to the store of purchase with original receipt. Find same model computer in aisle. Go to desk with computer and receipt, say you want to return computer, present receipt  and ask for refund. Voila! Free Computer. For more advanced Retail Theft, collect receipts, maybe from store trash or from others, and repeat above. Sure, you may get caught, especially if you get both greedy and careless, but the price you'll pay is most likely minimal if you add in the total take. 

That Frosty Time In Florida

 When I was young, the cold didn't bother me. Probably the most bone-chilling weather I'd  experienced was on a winter vacation in Florida. I only reluctantly agreed to the trip because, besides a toddler, we had a new baby, only 4 months old. But Dave then was still in his two-year-window of time and was getting restless for a change of scenery. George had invited him (us) to his winter home in Pinellas County, even providing housing during our trip. So we drove off, depositing daughter with my mother and infant son with his parents. 

When we arrived, Florida was experiencing bitter cold weather.  The orange groves were freezing, despite the heaters installed there. I don't recall any snow on the ground, but a heavy coating of frost. We arrived in the evening and headed for our accommodations, in a trailer park's unoccupied trailer. That was fine, but when the heat came on, the furnace started with a roar and then a series of rattles. I was already afraid something might happen that would leave our children orphans, so I insisted that Dave turn the furnace off, and he did so without argument; he had heard the groaning and grating  sounds as well.  It was cold but we survived.

  I had worn a lightweight winter jacket and next day on our  trip to Busch Gardens, I'd wished for a heavyweight parka, especially during the elevated ride around the park. Even the animals looked cold and lethargic, so I welcomed the arrival of evening. We were to meet for dinner with G. at a place designated by him. When we arrived there, to my surprise, he was seated with M., a former neighbor  and also  a source of transportation for myself and my sister during our college days. G. was a ladies' man, as they might have called it back in the day. No problem there.

  As it happened, the selection of the restaurant featured topless waitresses. That would not have been a problem either, only meant diverting my eyes when approached by servers. However, as luck would have it, our waitress, young and quite beautiful, had long red hair and bore a remarkable resemblance to my sister. I would have tried to ignore the likeness, but not G. who commented and guffawed all evening: "Looks like your sister., Does your sister work here? etc.etc."

 After several days, we drove toward home, stopping to pick up the baby in Kingston, who I imagined looked a little peeved at me, and then back to Valley Falls, where my mother told me M. , not yet 2 years old, had wondered if I was ever coming back to get her. 

Ah, the good old days.

 
   

Crisis---of a sort (The Runaway Bidet

 I have no plumbing skills or knowledge thereof, and I suspect that if there had ever been a need, I would have recused myself from attempts to rectify any problems. In the more than seven years I have been living alone, I have dealt with problems as they arose, to the best of my ability.

  Occasionally, and for no apparent reason, I notice that the toilet is running. So I jiggle the handle and it stops, or flush again, and it stops. Today, the toilet was running and jiggling the handle and re-flushing had no effect. I know there is a flap inside the tank that sometimes can fail to fall into the right place, so I removed the top of the water tank in an attempt to see if the flap was out of place. I couldn't see if it was or not, so pressed on a few surrounding pieces. In that process, the black cap atop one of the pipes came off, and a geyser erupted, spewing water up into the air and all over me, drenching my face and clothing. After I dried off, and changed my clothes,  I tried to replace the cap, but with difficulty, as the force of the water was too great. Water, water, everywhere, the floor, the counter, the walls...I pressed down on the cap as hard as I could and put the lid back on to contain the water. 

  Now what to do. I'd looked on the side of the toilet for a shut-off valve, but found nothing there. Normally I would have called Joe T. but knew he was having a scheduled  in-hospital procedure that very day. I considered calling the Fire Department for help, but they now would have to come from Johnsonville as Valley Falls no longer has one. I called David, but no answer, probably no longer has a landline. I called Danny who tried to help me find a shut-off valve, to no avail. I went to the basement to look for the valve, and the water is leaking down from the ceiling beams and puddling on the floor, with no valve in sight.   Danny exercised executive privilege and called Marilyn's house anyway. 

  In short order, the whole family arrived here and the problem was resolved. I understand replacement parts are available but I prefer to opt for a complete new unit. Something free of care for the next 57 years.

Cop Cam noted

 85-year-old woman in Idaho called 911 saying an intruder had broken into her house, handcuffed her to a chair and with his gun pistolwhipped her into telling him where her valuables were. She told 911 she was still handcuffed to the kitchen chair (Hallelujah) and had been shot several times by the intruder. She requested medical help. The responder sounded somewhat skeptical, but told her police and ambulance were on the way. Responder asked where the intruder was now. The woman said in the kitchen, on the floor, dead. Turns out the victim had sent the intruder downstairs in search of her valuables, and had then maneuvered her handcuffed chair into her bedroom, took her  gun from under her pillow, and then, concealing it, returned to where she had come from. When he came back into the room, they exchanged gunfire, with her receiving several gunshot wounds and he 2 of the fatal nature. 

  That's what old women do. On Turnpike Road in Lansingburg, Ann D. kept hidden on her frail body a pair of the largest, sharpest scissors I've ever seen. ***For all the years, B. lived alone (possibly before), she kept a sharp deadly looking butcher knife under her pillow. I used to tell her that if she was ever the victim of an attack in her bed, and brandished the knife, it would most likely be used against her. It would be very hard to stab somebody while lying down. She said she knew that, but kept the knife beneath her pillow anyway. ***A gun would be more effective, but I am still haunted by the prospect of a nightmare scenario on Charming Lane. When D. lived there alone, she was far from old and was trained in the use of the loaded gun which she kept beneath her pillow. I wasn't at the house at the time of the unfolding of events as I'd driven my mother to a doctor in the nearby city, but there are still a few who will have some memory of the horror of what could have happened when a distracted by visitors gun owner forgets about the gun under the pillow, and pre-school aged children are allowed access to that bedroom, while the adults are visiting elsewhere in the house. It is a reminder for me to keep saying my prayers. 

Want to test yourself?

 If you would like to spend 45 minutes answering this question about the poem "Winter Landscapes" I will gladly grade your response, but unfortunately can grant no credit. (This was my mid-term exam for English 29.  Prompt:  "Tell what this poem intends to convey, and how this intention is carried out by development of poetic ideas, images and prosodic devices."    (O lordy, this is a long winter already.)

Winter Landscapes

Come home with white gulls waving across gray

Fields. Evening. Daffodil West.

Somewhere in clifts of rock the birds hide, beast to breast.

I warm with fire. Curtain shrouds dying day.

Alone.  By the glowing ember

I shut out the bleak-tombed  evenings of November. 

And breast to breast, those swans. Sheep huddle and press

Close. Each to each. Oh,

Is there no herd of men like beasts where men may go?

Come home at last; come, end of loneliness.

Sea. Evening. Daffodil West.

And your thin dying souls against Eternity pressed.