Visiting

When my son had his tonsils removed at Child's Hospital, he was 5 years old. Child's  hospital specialized in cleft palate surgery,  which was performed when the child was about one year of age. So during the 4 days or so when my child was hospitalized, we saw a number of year-old babies who were patients, either pre-or post-surgery. 

   The routine was that the babies would be strapped in their high chairs and the nurses would wheel them with them, chatting and socializing with them, and stationing them in the doorways as they visited the rooms of other patients. 

  Parents then could stay with their children overnight, as I did for the several nights he was in the hospital. As I recall, the length of hospitalization for post  palate surgery was quite a bit longer, maybe 10-12 days or so. As a result, many parents could not  be present for much of their child's hospital stay. 

  Those babies had to be carefully observed during their recovery period, and measures were taken to keep them from crying, which could adversely affect their surgical repairs. And it is true that the babies were mostly silent; I never heard them cry, thanks to the constant attention of the nurses. 

 The protocol was that unless the parent(s)  could stay with their child for the entire duration of the hospital stay, they were not to visit at all, the reason being that the child would cry when the parent left. 

   

Running out of time for the November 30,000 Words, so ...

 I must retract  the proclamation of my successful achievements posted earlier.

1) I thought I'd engaged the services of local contractor who came with impeccable recommendations.The fee agreed on seemed reasonable in today's market. But subsequent message applied what is called a Service Activation Fee of $100. That is in addition to the regular snow removal fee of $50.  I am not familiar with that type of fee for my type of service. So matter is unresolved.

2) Based on past history, and potential future need, I would take some comfort in knowing the best path to take if I think I'm having  a cardiac emergency. If 911 Emergency Responders are mandated to take patient to closest hospital, Samaritan, and the cardiology doctors in Troy  (CCA) no longer (after Jan, 1)  treat cardiac emergencies--catheterization lab or cardiac inpatient services---at Samaritan, transferring this type of care to AMC or St. Peter's,  what happens?  I asked my new highly skilled, highly recommended, very personable young interventional cardiologist what route would be taken in transferring patient to a hospital for emergency care, and he said not to think about it. The banner announcement on CCA's post reads:  "WHEN IT'S YOUR HEART, YOU JUST CAN'T WAIT."  Knowing time is of the essence, I posed my question on the  CCA website, through 2 different channels, and received no response. I attempted to reach Samaritan with this question, and no response.

3)  I scheduled an appointment with my heating system supply company. I told them my furnace has been leaking fuel oil starting when it was 2 years old, and despite numerous and costly repairs and parts replacement, the leakage continues. I asked for a service visit with the annual cleaning and also requested that  the technician evaluate the furnace to see it it needed replacement as was previously stated, before and during the cycle of repairs. The technician arrived, diligently  listened to my recounting of the issue, went downstairs, confronted the furnace for more than 2 hours, during which time he reviewed initial complaint, called the manufacturer and other providers. He (1) said the leakage was a matter of concern, and (2) that he had found and corrected the cause, and (3) the furnace did NOT need replacing. It just turned 10 years old.  I was relieved. Today, my son checked the furnace, and it is STILL LEAKING.

There are still a few other nagging or niggling issues to contend with, but enough failures for now.

I do rejoice that my car passed inspecton, and the turkey was delectable.

Listen Up, Grandma

 You need to address this issue. You realize you are reaching the end of your designated time  on earth, and there are matters you need to address. You may have drawn up your will, settled matters of inheritance and asset distribution, and even arranged for the disposition of your mortal coil. But you should know the burden  you may still inflict on your family members if you don't take my advice.

   Such a scolding paraphrases an article I read several months ago, whether in a magazine, newspaper, or online, I don't recall. The author was citing the difficulties she had encountered while attempting to dispose of  her late mother's personal  possessions. She was advising senior citizens of the importance of downsizing what they owned and of sorting the worthwhile thngs out before the home was divested of all  their stuff. This is what happened to her, the daughter:

 She had to go through and clear the home of her mother's personal things, closets full of clothes, and files and boxes of paperwork, none of which was needed any longer.She had to take the time to go to the home and was intending to just bundle up all the clothing and either donate or dispose of it, I don't recall. But, as she was about to put a coat into the disposal bag, she absentmindedly stuck her hand into a pocket---and came across a $50 bill, evidently forgotten about by the deceased. That meant she now had to examine all the clothing in case there was more cash which the owner had failed to remove.

   What was destined to be even more time consuming and painstaking was that when she scanned through a box of old papers prior to incinerating them, she found, nestled in the file folders,  a vintage gold wristwatch, dropped and forgotten there probably years before. 

 Thus, the author's message is that it is inconsiderate of old timers not to consider what might happen if they don't do their due diligence and tend to these matters instead of leaving such sorting out to others, who have to adjust their busy schedules for something that would be unnecessary if the correct measures had already been taken. So, sort stuff, Old woman or Old Man. Otherwise, something of value, cash, jewelry, etc. might be thrown in the trash.

 I would tell this author while her experience might have been true, her reasoning is a misapprehension.  If the forgotten cash and watch had been thrown away, even destroyed, what difference would it make  if nobody knew it existed in the first place. These were items forgotten by all; there was no expectation of recovery of loss. You can't miss something that was never in the realm of your existence. Just toss the  stuff away.

  

The Final SALVO

   In  a little over a week, I have renewed my Auto and Homeowners' Insurance, having to find  a new insurer after 20 years with Main Street America as they changed to only commercial accounts. I received  Auto policy, awaiting Homeowners. 

  I had my car inspected including the license plates.

  I arranged for snow plowing, with an insured provider.

I had the problematic furnace assessed and cleaned, am awaiting the statement.

I bought a turkey and wrestled it from freezer to fridge for thawing. Chat GPT  says 1 day for every 5 lbs.

I received notice that Albany Gastroenterology Consultants  has  formed partnership with a company called Salvo Health, which will provide insights to my doctors through Remote Patient Monitoring (RPM) to  restore and develop a supporting framework through  Whole Self Science. 

   I suspected this was a scam, so I contacted Albany Gastro, and they confirmed the partnership. EGAD! A company called SALVO.* A barrage of bullets???  (Could be they were locked out of using SALVA as that name is already in use. That name would have been a good fit. But Salvo?  For your health. I say nay.

* The name may be metaphoric, but strikes me as offputting.

Passed!

 Just when you think you have one test to pass, there are 2 additional tests. Your vehicle may pass inspection, but your license plates might betray you. They have to pass too.

Indulgences

 Many years ago, during my religious era, I learned about indulgences, maybe from the nuns who regularly visited the school to deliver Religious  Education classes, or maybe combined with attending Mass faithfully, even the daily  6:30 a.m. services during Lent. 

  During those years, I would try very hard to accumulate the days and years supplied by indulgences, figuring I could store them up to get an early release from Purgatory. I was quite confident I could avoid going to Hell, not having even the opportunity to commit the deadly Mortal Sins, but fairly certain I'd already treaded the road of Venial Sin, which could be forgiven, even if I happened to die without a timely Sacrament of Confession.

I prayed during my idle moments, building  a cache of forgiveness. I didn't keep track of all the credits I had accumulated. I trusted Heaven would keep that record. I had a lot stored up by the time  I was 10-12 years old. I hope they haven't been accidentally deleted. 

The Fly

 For at least 3 weeks, there has been a fly in my house, a common housefly.

     I can't recall seeing any flies all summer, not even in September, when they can be in abundance. I chalked their absence up to there not being any animals here, either outside or inside the house, and no type of food for birds or wildlife, so no attraction here. 

  So it was out of the norm when I saw a fly in my house about 3 weeks ago, a small and slender fly, and one possessing such speed that it hardly ever alit, and then only for a very few seconds, if that. Yesterday, it seemed partial to landing on the front picture window. Maybe it is attracted to the outside and wants to get out there.  I hurried to get the (rarely used) flyswatter, but by the time I returned, the fly was gone. It landed several more times and, though the swatter was at the ready, it flew off before I could even pick the swatter up. 

  Today several hours passed without my spotting the fly, and I thought maybe the fly was gone; they can't live forever. But then, during V.P. Cheney's funeral service, the fly landed on the window, and I quickly took a swat at it. I was pretty sure I had hit it, but I  couldn't find the body. Just now, the fly buzzed by me as I write this.

 I consulted ChatGBT to see what the usual lifespan of a fly is, and found they can live more than 4-6 weeks under ideal conditions. They like to be warm. I guess they don't often  starve to death.

I am familiar with Emily Dickinson's "I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died."  Today, I must have dozed off during Cheney's funeral, and not exactly waking up, I experienced  an illusionary state where I felt the warmth of the sun on my back and could hear the heavenly strains of "How Great Thou Art."  I don't really believe a fly would be a messenger though. 

Update;  POST MORTEM 

Familiar Quotation

 Now that Thanksgiving is almost here, our thoughts turn to Christmas. My granddaughter was happy to hear that her church was purchasing padding to put on the pews, so she was looking forward to how comfortable that 2-hour service was  going to be. 

 So that reminded me of Christmas services, specifically the reading from Luke 2:14:  

   "And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in the  manger..."

A familiar and comforting reading, quite beautiful. BUT now in danger of ruining the entire spirit of Christmas for me, and I assume Luke. Some years ago, in order to modernize the Catholic church, the language was changed. I don't mean to no longer use  the Latin language, but to make the Bible readings sound more updated and contemporary, as in: 

           "And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in baby clothes..."

My spirit of holiness flies right out the window.    BABY CLOTHES

Good Grief

 Last week I turned on the TV to see Jimmy Kimmel deliver a moving tribute on the death of a beloved childhood friend who had remained, with his family, entwined  with the Kimmel family for about half  a century, and who had died too young.  He was visibly affected by the  tribute of memories, but mostly retained his  composure in honor of his longtime friend.

  A few nights ago, I caught John Stewart's show, and saw him shedding actual tears. He who covers every event, of tragic or horriffic happenings, with his usual brand of sardonic humor, was openly crying---over the death of his dog. ...I changed channels, and not out of sympathy for him.

 But in calculating words for the November 30,000, I have not kept track  of how many I've written, probably a few thousand, which outnumber my spoken words, of only a few hundred. 

 The other night I dreamed that my car was stolen from my driveway. I had called my family and some were here; we were all calm and collected while we assessed what steps to take. When I woke up, I looked out the front window, and my car was still there. I'm undergoing the process of finding a new insurer, because my long-time insurer, Main Street America, is switching to only commercial coverage, so maybe that's why my mind was on cars. So another car theft image arose. One warm sunny day in September, a couple of years ago, B. called me, as was her new custom. She felt alone and bored in her house, as school had started and the neighboring kids were no longer playing on the street. I told her to come down, and we  could chat or she could watch the traffic go by. So she came to my house and we were talking and watching TV when she suddenly asked me to look out the window to see if her car was still there. I said look out yourself if you're worried. She said her neck was stiff and she couldn't turn her head. I said the chair swivels. So she looked out the window and her car was there, right where she had parked it a half hour or so before. Imagine that. (It's now 3:15, so Spelling Bee will be available. Good night for now.

Fie On You, AARP!

 You, AARP Bulletin of November/ December  2025, have betrayed my trust with  your cover article, "How Older Americans Embrace The Joys Of Living Alone." 

 Foremost, you use the term "solo ager" as if it were accepted terminology instead of something reminescent of a bad Star Wars sequel. Your Cover Story, by Sari Harrar, is titled "Living Solo," 6 full pages of "How older Americans are embracing independence and redefining what it means to age alone." 

Citing a study from sociology professor Elana Portacolone, author of groundbreaking research about the limited knowledge concerning the issues facing these solo agers, and even of the existence of those living alone, AARP takes it upon itself to answer the question of who today's solo agers are.

 To find this answer, AARP interviewed "dozens of solo agers and the experts now studying and assisting them."  That's right---DOZENS!  Old people and those trying to figure them out. But don't fret that this might not be an adequate sample, because the article states AARP also surveyed 503 solo agers from across the U.S. about their feelings and experiences, without explaining how the information from this survey was collected. 

 From these interviews and that survey, the AARP article reveals five, that's right, exactly FIVE, insights into the lives of this growing group.  I'll let  readers draw their  own conclusions, will lend you my copy if needed. 

  Of course, we who fall into the class of solo agers don't have to subscribe to AARP Bulletins, are not forced to read the articles, but are also free to cast aspersions on what is presented as factual and helpful, but reeks of false premises and assumptions. Solo agers, unite.

The Way Things Were---Briefly

 To be sure, there was once a  very active, if that word can apply,  group  of mothers of young children in Valley Falls--- if being active in a group means going to each others' houses with babies and young children for coffe or tea.  It's odd, looking back, a long way back, how some things come about with no specific beginning and certainly without  noticeable ending. 

  When my first child was born, there lived in the village, mothers of other young children: Nancy, Lorraine, Sandy, Sharon, Sally and I came to meet at each others' homes. I don't remember if they met before I joined with them, but I think the coffee klatches began after I was in association with them. Some  of us, including myself, and probably Sandy, may have been working part-time, but most likely they were not working during their early motherhood years. Most of us brought our kids  to those meetings, the older kids playing on the floor or outside if the weather permitted, while an infant slept in a baby carriage on the porch.

  It's uncertain how the meetings came to be, but they were an accepted and ordinary practice in the village, a happening that seemed a normal and permanent part of life. I don't think any of us even thought about how or when the last such meeting would be;  it was just a natural and self-evolving part of our lives. I suppose we talked about our kids. I remember some, if not most, were looking forward to the time their kids would be starting school. I was not of that mindset, really not wanting to turn my children's' lives over to others. But besides preferring either coffee or tea, I don't think there were ever any disagreements, certainly not about politics or government. And as per the culture of the times, the kids, though present, were not the center of discussions. The trend then seemed to be to downplay them, not to glorify them, as in present times. 

So I don't know what we could have talked about, or how it came to be decided to hold the get-togethers, or who determined whose house was next, or what time would be good. I only know, that while we had to have known these meetings would not last forever, they were such ongoing if insignificant life happenings, that their ending was  like  a cloud of smoke, drifting away with nobody being aware. 

  The point, if I have one, in addition to my adding to the 30,000 November words, is that our very lives are subject not only to surprise devastations, but in addition, to those  changes wrought by the inevitable passage of time. 

Moral of story: Nothing lasts.

Rant #3 Time Line

 As indicated, knowing that time affects outcome, I'll post here an example of a single case. (30,000 words are in the making) 

November 4, 2023, around 8 a.m.  I have been on the computer as usual, with no problems or issues. My cardiac history is unremarkable. I take one prescription,  HCTZ, for borderline hypertension, which seems to be controlled. I had a routine,which means brief, scheduled visit with cardiologist Dr. P. a few weeks ago, with no issues. I had recently gone to NYC with my daughter to see Neil Diamond's "Beautiful Noise" and had walked around the city a little, to restaurant and parking garage.And I had participated in Mechanicville's October Breast Cancer Walk, as usual. All seemed normal.  I realize that at my age I can't be surprised at any health issue arising, but that doesn't mean I can't be shocked by such.

   Back to the computer. As I sat there, my upper back started to hurt. It's kind of chilly in the room where the computer is because the windows are at my back. The pain persisted so I went back to bed  to warm up, but I soon got up and went back to the kitchen area. The pain was so intense that I knew something was really wrong and that I needed to get help. I sensed that  I was having a heart attack. There are cautions and warnings about how to recognize a heart attack. But I had no shortness of breath, no nausea, no dizziness or faintness, no arm pain, no jaw pain,  not even chest pain. The image of a large rectangular shoebox came to mind, as if it had been inserted in my chest area and had been pumped full of pain. There was no room for anything else. So I knew.

I looked at the clock.The time was about 8:30 a.m. I thought I'd wait until 9 before I called my daughter to tell her I  needed to go to the E.R. It was Saturday and their day off. But then I was afraid they would leave to go somewhere, so I called, probably shortly before  9 a.m.

  M. called 911 before she got to my house. I don't know how long it took, but Pittstown Volunteer Emergency Company, about 12 or 13 miles away,  arrived at my house and then drove me to Samaritan Hospital. I remember the attendant's shirt read J. Lebarron and I asked him what the J. stood for. He said Jay. He was very calm, comforting, and sent in all the testing results to the hospital, electronically. 

So a certain amount of time has elapsed since the onset of "The Event":  My delay in calling, the call to the Rescue Squad, their travel time to my house, then travel  time to the hospital. 

PVEC has only Basic Life Suport services, but they did a thorough job of alerting the E.R. of my condition, and I  bypassed the hospital emergency room entrance and was brought directly to the floor, where a doctor  soon appeared. She did a short evaluation and I was brought to a room where Dr. Benton appeared, as described in my previous rant. And then, I was hurried to the Cath Lab,where, evidently, Dr. M. had placed his orders. 

Dr. Maroney, Interventional Cardiologist,  entered the Catheter Lab at;

 11:49 AM Case Start (His notes)

12:26 PM His final entry before he left. 

 I never saw him, before or since, except "through  a haze darkly" in the Cath Lab, where the conscious sedation that was administered made his dimmed figure seem a mile away. He had spoken to my daughter; I was just the helpless blob.  

The point is  that since time is of the essence in complete heart blockages, any delay in treatment is dangerous to heart and life. In my case, the time from recognition to treatment was about 3 hours, but it was  probably about a little over an hour between  arrival at the E.R. and treatment.

It may be unwise to  pre-judge the decision made by Capital Cardiology Associates to no longer  perform inpatient services, including emergency catheterizations, at Samaritan, because I don't know all the conditions.  But they say they will continue to perform scheduled catheterizations. And, for instance,  it does not seem feasible or professional for a doctor from CCA  to perform such a scheduled procedure  without anticipating that the patient may need to be admitted. Then would the patient need to be transported to Albany?  

  This post is a reminder that just because higher management issues a statement about policy changes (transitions) that are for the benefit of their patients, it might not necesssarily hold true in real time.

  

Rant #2

 CCA has more than 35 Board Certified Cardiologists, as they advertise. The Burdett Avenue office in Troy has at least 8 Interventional Cardiologists affiliated with the Troy office, which is practically just across the street from Samaritan Hospital.  

A great many heart attacks occur suddenly and severely, and require emergency treatment and/ or intervention. It would seem that interventional cardiologists, with their specialized training, must have to respond to  many emergency situations. Of course, I don't know anything about the protocol, whether there is an interventional cardiologist always available for emergencies for patients whose optimal treatment would be in the Cath Lab.

 (Correction, I do know that interventional cardiologists are not always  available, not in any of the 3  Capital Cardiology hospitals. Dr. Benton was at Samaritan Hospital  when he recognized the  urgent need for a patient (known to me) to be sent to the Catheterization Lab at Samaritan. He ordered that the patient receive such a procedure, remarking that it was the best possible treatment the hospital could offer. Soon after, he returned to say that optimum treatment could not be provided  because there was no interventional cardiologist available. It was Saturday. We said we would go to another hospital, but he said no, he had made 8 calls and no one was available at any of the 3 hospitals, and offered the  treatment of an injection of some kind. The accompanying daughter spoke up, "You mean she's getting the second-best treatment?" Dr. B. left the room, then returned, with good news he said. He was able to contact a doctor who had just finished a procedure at Albany Med., was in his car, and he'd agreed to come to Samaritan's Cath Lab. Another  life to save, even if he would be late for lunch.  Dr. M.  verified the patient's condition and issued his procedural orders, all from his phone so when he arrived, everything was in order for an emergency procedure. Success!) 

 So it seems that interventional cardiologists can act quickly, and successfully perform procedures at a moment's notice. And I think several more cardiologists in the practice have completed their certification in intervention; they are the elite among doctors, as they are very well compensated. And after all, there is no heavy lifting in that job, only minimal physical contact;  the doctor does his work through the computer.

Capital Cardiology claims that the Troy office will remain open, and will serve outpatients at Samaritan, but red flags arise. If a doctor encounters a patient in his Troy office that needs medical care, maybe even suffering from symptoms of heart attack or heart failure, does it make sense that he would have that potentially critically ill patient transported to Albany when he could literally just cross the street to the state of the art Catheterization lab at Samaritan? 

 My suspicion that Cardiology  Associates is not being forthcoming about their future TRANSITIONS  is supported by the gossip I've heard from what seems fairly reliable sources-that for some reason, they are going to pull out of their relationship with Samaritan Hospital. I don't know if there are any other  interventional cardiologists who perform procedures in their Cath Lab. Probably not very many. My gossip source also says Samaritan is considering a Schenectady Cardiology group, but something about it is problematic. 

  This may seem like a lot of words spewed out about policy, but anybody who has a heart, especially an older model, should know what their options are, and that those options are subject to change, in sometimes mysterious ways. 

Enroute to 30,000 words,  but who's counting

Next:  Rant 4 Time Sensitive

 

30,000-- Minus "This is the part that doesn't make sense."

 I just saw that title elsewhere, but it applies in so many ways. When it comes to health care, for instance. Any time you receive a notification from an organization that carries the word "transition," you can be pretty sure that sonething not to your benefit is in the works. And medical organizations are no exception, though the stated premise for the transition is always to better serve the client or the customer or the patient. (Take warning.)

  I was sent a notification from Capital Cardiology Associates, from whom I've received care for over 20 years, though minimal to be sure, for borderline and controlled high blood pressure, until sudden escalation in the year 2023. 

    The message read that CCA , always re-evaluating how they can continue to bring the gold standard of cardiac care to their patients, and in order to fulfill that ongoing commitment, are making changes to how and where to provide certain inpatient services. Thus, the TRANSITION begins. Starting on Jan. 1, 2026,  routine inpatient cardiology services will be provided at Albany Medical Center Hospital and St. Peter's, no longer at Samaritan Hospital in Troy. Thus, they say, they can provide more consistent, comprehensive services with the full strength of team and resources. 

The Troy office at Burdett will remain open, they say, to continue to provide patient care and services. I would say that it seems their staff of more than 35 certified cardiologists is not keen on the idea of traveling to Troy. If so, then Samaritan would be a second rate choice of doctors. 

The Board  says the reason for the change is to consolidate care at AMC and  SPH, which  allows the delivery of more  coordinated care. 

(Whoever set the practice in that location in the first place should have recognized that it was not a good idea for cardiac patients to have to make a left turn to enter the parking lot, while driving uphill and stopping for downhill traffic from the RPI Fieldhouse, but that's beside the point in my diatribe here.) 

 Of course, all upper management, Board of Director decisions are made from the viewpoint of finances. We all have to accept that decision. What we shouldn't have to accept is being insulted as to the reason for that decision. 

  Here is the insult to our collective intelligence and,  even more than insulting, a disregard for the health of patients needing critical care:                                                                                                   "We will no longer provide routine inpatient cardiology services OR EMERGENCY CATHETERIZATIONS at Samaritan Hospital,but will continue to perform outpatient cardiac catheterization at Samaritan Hospital."

  I would propose that of the large staff of cardiologists present at the 2 Albany hospitals,  a qualified cardiologist might consider a presence at Samaritan in the fully functioning Catheterization Lab there when an emergency room evaluation results in the diagnosis of a severely blocked coronary artery, for which the preferred treatment is coronary catheterization and stent insertion. In such cases, time is of the essence, with a time window of 50-90 minutes before the heart is severely damaged or death ensues.

Capital Cardiology has about a dozen of the elite Interventional Cardiologists who perform heart catheterizations and stenting, as well as other cardiac surgeries. Their "large presence" could include those who are willing to travel 10 minutes to Troy to work their magic. And save a life.

  Scenario: A person is at home when he or she feels as if  they might be having a heart attack. Ideally, they don't wait too long before calling 911 Emergency Services. In more rural areas, depending on which district that person resides in, and the distance from the designated Responder, it may take 20 minutes or longer from the time of the call until the ambulance arrives at the afflicted person's home. 

I was informed by a spokesperson from the local Rescue Squad that they are  obligated to transport all cardiac cases to the nearest hospital, so off to Samaritan Hospital, maybe a 15 minute trip, and evaluated there for their condition. If it is deemed that the proper treatment is a trip to the Cath Lab for potentially life saving treatment, and while Samaritan has a state of the art Cath Lab, the patient's Capital Cardiology medical practice will no longer  perform emergency catheterizations there, only scheduled procedures. 

   I have no information as to what  arrangements, if any, are made to transport the patient to one of the Albany hospitals for treatment at their Cath Labs. I called the telephone number included in the email from Capital Cardiology --"Who can I  contact with questions about this change? Call us at 518-292-6000 and our staff will be happy to help."  I called this number on November 5, 2025. The person who answered had no idea what I was talking about, as to answering questions about the change, and said I could call the front desk. 

      TIME IS RUNNING OUT.

  To be continued in Rant #2 Cardio

 

    

30,000 Words in November

 I almost signed up for this challenge, of writing and submitting 30,000 words in the month of November. That would be about 1,000 words a day, a mere fraction of the words, now mostly unspoken, that flow through my mind in the course of a day. That these words would be unlistened to or unread is irrelevant. Here are some examples of what I might have written if I'd accepted the challenge:

  I had a vivid dream last night but because I hadn't documented it in writing, I'm doomed to having snippits of it insert themselves at random into my mind. Here goes: Marilyn is to come to my house and pick me up to take me somewhere, most likely to a doctor's appointment. Someone else is here with me, I can't recall who, a doppelganger maybe. It seems M. is late as when she enters, she is in a hurry (Big surprise.) I'm not ready, have not showered, so am afraid I may offend the doctor, say I won't bother to go, but I am overruled. We leave, but first must stop at the fairground and as we go by one of the main buildings, we can see that it is a fully stocked store, with all imaginable items on colorful display, awaiting buyers. I remark to M. that I had seen this before, in a dream I'd had. The rest of this present  dream is now lost, presumably never to resurface.

  Yesterday, at my final session of Cardiac Rehabilitation, the daily trivia question appeared on the board on the wall, as usual. I usually pose this question to my sons, one on email and the other in person. As I drove out of the parking lot, I realized I couldn't recall the question, had absolutely no memory of it. No big deal, benign question and probably delivered to patronizing recipients anyway. 

  This morning, as I was waking up, going through the process of what words would flood my mind that day, yesterday's trivia question sprung, unbidden, into my mind. I recalled the question, uncharacteristically trivial even in the spectrum of trivia:  "How many CHUGGAS  are there before CHOO CHOO?"  I had thought only 2 chuggas, but I must have been thinking of the title, because as Chris pointed out, by reciting, there are considerably more. 

(I don't have word count, or if I do, I don't know how to access  it, but this must be several hundred words and I could continue,  but I'll spare you, O Blog.

Ask and you shall receive---

 It's always the tires. And the TPMS light, which likes to stay lit, so I can't be sure if the tires are under-inflated or the light is just wonky. If a grandson is in the area, I ask their help in determining which is to blame. I used to check for myself, but can no longer trust finger dexterity to remove the valves, to say nothing of assuming the position. While the boys are at Stewart's, I may ask them to fill the gas tank as well. That is sweet of them, but can give rise to a complication. G. did both chores last week. This week, when  I went to gas up my car, I at first thought I'd lost my strength. I had to struggle to get the gas cap off, having to use 2 hands to unloosen it, until I remembered G. had fueled up and of course put the cap on. I should have known, because earlier this year, after B. had fueled my car, I was at Stewart's,  totally unable to remove the cap,was low on gas, and, spotting some construction workers crossing the lot, asked if they could help me. One very friendly guy, said sure and while holding his cup of coffee, reached down to remove the cap. He then put his coffee cup on the ground in order to give the cap a good twist, exclaiming, "That was really on there!"  Some people just don't know their own strength. 

  Well, it's now 3:10 AM by the clock on the computer, so Spelling Bee is on.

(Not Very) Much Ado About (Almost) Nothing

 I was out of bread yesterday, Halloween, so I went to sNs to get a loaf. I didn't need other groceries, but I picked up a few yogurts and a bag of candy, for the holiday if anyone showed up. On checkout, I thought the price of almost $13 seemed high, for just 4 items, but chalked it up to those inflationary increases. I don't usually check prices on my grocery receipts, as everything is computerized anyway, but I happened to look at this receipt and saw I'd been charged for 2 bags of candy, at $3.99 each, when I'd only bought one bag. 

  I figured I should have noticed it at the time and reported it, because how could I prove that I hadn't left the store with the 2 bags of candy. I didn't feel like returning that evening, so I almost gave up on going back to the store to claim I hadn't received a paltry $3.99 item. 

But I had nothing else to do today, so decided to try my luck; maybe they'd believe me and tell me to pick up another bag of the candy. I needed some other stuff anyway. So I go to the Courtesy Desk and no one is there, as is usual. But I saw a man with a SNs shirt taking inventory, so I asked him if anyone would be at the desk. Soon a woman appeared behind the counter. I told her I had been double charged for an item and presented my receipt. She spoke not a word, but opened the register, counted out 4 dollar bills, and handed them  to me, along with my receipt. I said thank you and left.   (She didn't say "I came all the way out of the break room for this!"  But maybe she felt that way. 

   As I said, no big deal. 

Here I am at the computer, expecting to open Spelling Bee, which comes on at 3:a.m. While my clock reads 3:05 AM., the computer reads 2:05 AM. I suppose Daylight Savings has come to an end. So I wrote the above account to pass some time. 

Dog bites I have known

My family and I have always loved dogs and I have lived with at least one dog all my life, until the death of Cosmo. But I  also know that dogs can and do inflict harm with thier teeth, deliberately meaning to harm humans. 

 I was about 3 years old when I saw the first dog bite. My brother and I were outside our house and playing in the front yard. Our dog was lying on the lawn, sleeping in the sun. I seem to remember that the dog had been given to my father by someone he knew, fellow worker or neighbor, I can't say. It was a chow and I  don't know what its name was, so it was probably fairly new to our family. My brother decided we should cover up the dog with whatever we could find to do so. We were placing leaves and maybe little branches or pieces of grass on top of the sleeping dog. I had stepped away, most likely to find another piece to apply to the animal, when suddenly the dog leapt up and bit my brother's face, right near his eye. Maybe he'd stepped on the dog's foot or maybe the dog just woke up and went into defense mode. The blood streamed down his face. My mother ran out and picked him up. I remember her standing in the driveway waiting for the mailman, (probably Billy O'Neill) to come to take him to the doctor, as we had no transportation or telephone. All went well, except for the dog. I don't know if Dr. Sproat stitched up his wound, which may still  remain  as a scar.

    I have been bitten by dogs 3 times in my life, all during my childhood. 

          The first time was at a visit to a relative's house in the country. I may have been 7 or 8 years old. The adults were inside talking big people talk, and we kids were outside exploring the farmstead,  accompanied by the friendly farm collie-shepherd. All was fine. When the time came to leave, all the adults came outside to see us off. I think my sister was already inside on the back seat of my father's car. I went to get in the open door to join her and had taken my first step in when the dog, who was standing by with its owners, leaped up and bit me in the forehead. It caused a bruise which bled some, and I remember I felt embarrassed to have been attacked by such a friendly dog. I remember the owner stopped by our house some time afterward to check on the bite. I was even more humiliated.

         The second time of dog bite history happened a few years later when I was riding a bicycle, (either my brother's or one left by a neighbor boy for a period of time, as I never owned a bike until Dave gave me one as a present.) I rode down the sidewalk to the end of River Road, and was about to turn to head for home when a large tan great-dane type dog came running out of its yard from the house near the end  of the sidewalk, and bit me in the leg, knocking me off the bike. The owner came out and retrieved the dog, but never followed up. Times were  different back then.

   The last, or maybe I should say latest, dogbite occurred several years later, when I was riding a bike on the road past the Catholic church. A mongrel,  owned by the family who lived near the playground,  ran out across the playground and into the street and bit my leg.  I have a permanent bloodbruise on that leg. I don't think anybody was aware or notified. As I said, times were different then.

    I won't expound on the last and most serious dog bite, as I've written about it before. In February of 1973, my 2 year-old son was attacked by a large German Shepherd on the porch of the Valley Falls Post Office, approached by the dog from behind and evidently with the intent to kill, as it knocked him down and made repeated bites on his head, stopping only when I turned the few steps back and yelled.  The other dog bites I have enumerated were single bites, with each of the animals retreating, bite and run,one might say. This dog was actively intent on a kill, as the bites came fast and furious, and the surgeon used hundreds of stitches to close a number of wounds. The doctor said if this 22 lb. child had been bitten on any other part of his body with that force, from a dog weighing well over 100 lbs. that he would not have survived. The skull is made of  strong bone.

Musing about Meds

 For several years, I regularly drove my mother and her sister to their local primary care doctor, about once a month I think, where they adhered to the single prescription he had prescribed for them, which we picked up at the then local pharmacy. My mother died suddenly, of a heart attack, on October 30, 1983, at the age of 78.  Shortly after that, her sister, at age 83, decided to forego both doctor visits and medications. She died in July of 1995, at the age of 94. 

Life is but a dream...

 We were all in a hospital room, a large undefinable space,with family members coming and going, nobody confined to a bed. I had some difficulty communicating with any of the family members. All were going about their own business, so I couldn't help but feel somewhat isolated. But all seemed to be going in the right direction. Then we received a call from Oprah Winfrey, who was a patient on a floor or two above. She was direct and demanded to know who was going to bring her sugar. Dorothy had done so in the past and we all were pretty much in agreement that Oprah had self-prescribed this dosage of sugar, because otherwise the hospital staff would have  administered it to her. 

 But we wanted to help her with her wishes so I tried to get one of the many family members to comply. I was unable to get anybody to even listen to me, much less to agree to bring Oprah's supply of sugar to her. I finally told myself that if I prepared the sugar dose, maybe somebody would drop it off. I tried to figure what the dosage would be, and decided on 2 tablespoons of sugar  to a cup. I wondered where I could get a cup, and remembered the water station at the Cardiac Rehab facility, where I went and took one of the many plastic cups available there. I filled another of the cups from the water supply nearby and then went to the dining room for some sugar. Now I have the sugar in one cup and the water in another, but I had to search for something to stir them together.

   Unfortunately, I was awakened before I could locate the plastic spoon I was searching for, so as far as I know, the sugar was not delivered to Oprah. 

"A Series of Unfortunate Events"

 Not car troubles this time, not broken car key, damaged ignition system, lost lug nuts, dead battery, or flat tire. They're all in the past. 

But several quirky incidents  happened inside my house, all within a few days of each other:  (1) My computer totally malfunctioned on Sept. 29. The mouse could move to the selected site, but with no result. Of course my first thought was to replace the batteries in the mouse. I did so twice, with new batteries recently purchased. Nothing happened. I turned the system off, but the screen opened briefly, then faded, first to black, and later to gray, white, and shades of violet. I checked all the plugs, and tried again. Various messages appeared, "Chrome is not responding,"  "Oh, snap, something went wrong," and others. No advice offered,  human or artificial, had any effect, so I gave up and went to bed. But at 3 a.m., when Spelling Bee opens for the day, I as usual went to the computer and all seemed back to normal. Hallelujah! A miracle.  

Yesterday, I had difficulty turning on the television  in the living room. After several futile attempts, I rebooted the TV and was happy to see a picture on the screen. Success! But short-lived. Only Channel 2 would appear, with no way to change the channels or adjust the volume control. So back to the pack of batteries and the changing of the remote. No effect at all, tried 2 new sets of batteries. I must confess I can not find the manual buttons on the set itself, though I  searched in vain.  I gave up and resorted to the small TV in the bedroom. Several hours later, I tried the main set in the living room, and all was as usual. 

   Except for changing the batteries, which had no effect, nothing else was done to solve either issue, with no apparent reason for the malfunctions, and no explanation for the restoration of services.  Eerie.

Something about the weather...

 Dave was more a person of action, not one to philosophize about life to any great extent, so I have vivid recall of the times when he did. It was a day with weather much like today, with promise of life and energy and potential. He arrived home from work, and commented, "I drove by the cemetery  and all I could think of was all those poor bastards lying in  the ground and missing such a beautiful day."

Read All About It

 I know that print is soon to be dead, and the newspaper industry is struggling. I have subscribed to both local newspapers seven days a week for many years. But lately, I've been throwing stacks of newspapers into the recyclable bin, without even having opened their pages. I feel a lttle guilty doing so, but I spend much of my time on the computer where  all the news that was formerly fit to print appears, in a more user-friendly format, as far as eyesight and rotator cuff extensions are concerned. And I do the daily puzzles online, limiting myself to wordle, Connections and Spelling Bee, which can eat up a considerable amount  of time. So the main reasons for my newspaper subscriptions, Cryptoquote and Cryptoquip, have largely been replaced by online offerings.

  My Times Union subscription expired the end of August, and shortly before, I had received a call from the Times Union offering subscription renewal. (I realize that this is a service authorized by the owners of the publication, and is separate from the T.U.)   I told the caller I was not interested in subscribing at that point in time. (The rates had increased and I've only been opening the Sunday issue which carries the NYT weekly Crossword. I didn't discuss that reasoning though.)  Both papers have been being delivered daily, but sometimes the carrier will deliver extra papers if he has them, especially since my subscription to the Troy Record is still in effect. I gave the subject no further thought.

 Until today, when I received  a call about subscribing to the Times Union. I picked up, even though the call was noted as potential spam. The caller said she was offering a special rate if I renewed online and that I had a present balance of $116. I said I was not ruling out future subscribing. I added that I could not have a balance because I had not renewed my subscription. Her chummy demeanor rapidly changed as she told me that then I would be receiving a bill in the mail. She hung up.  

 

 

No Time for Small Talk

 Of course it's now true that most people are communicating with their phones rather than in person. But  the absence of in-person conversation  is even more apparent for those of advanced age, i.e. the elderly as we are known. Since my childhood and youth, and then early years of maturity, I would often be invited by older community members to "sit and chat," with them, whether in the village library, the neighborhood store, or on  their front porches. And that was easy enough and the polite thing to do, and almost all of those requests for a chat were occasions for those senior citizens to recount the events remembered from their past. Many of those conversations became familiar to me because the narrator tended to repeat the  familiar significant treasured memories from their youth.

 That was then and, in the now, everything has changed. As is inevitable. Think Leonard Cohen's words in song, "All my friends are gone and my hair is gray..." When your friends and contemporaries are indeed gone from your life, it is a surety that there will not be a young, or younger, set of ears willing to listen to you recount your past triumphs or woes. Move on, is the message, as in being told you're repeating yourself, or being reminded of irrelevancies. 

But connections to the past and present are inevitable, and who knows, maybe a link to preserving mental acuity. 

  Personal  case in point:  yesterday was a day of a procedural action, September 17, 2025.  I remember that we, my sister and I, started college on September 17, so many years ago, but the memory lives on. As I recall, there was little or no communication between the time when we received our acceptance letters and the date we were told to report to campus. At the mandated Compulsory Convocation, the entire class was required to attend and hear the Dean advise us that we were the largest class ever admitted, over 300 students, and that the class size would be reduced by semester's end, by one-third. "Look to your right', he said, and "Look to your left. One of you will not be here by January."  I looked and saw Dorothy on my right and Ruth on my left. A shiver went through me. We had all passed the rigorous entrance tests but I knew my sister was more proficient at studying and my friend was more ambitious and adaptable, so I figured I'd be the one leaving.  But there is no place in my world for this type of memory, even though it arises unbidden, (except for you, Dear Blog.)  As is true of so many other memories or views best left unspoken. We'll see about unwritten. 

 I have seen, many times over, in different capacities, it seems the come-on hook, "Always carry a bread-clip in your wallet."  I deliberately ignored reading why scores of times, but in a moment of weakness one day, opened the site for the wisdom. Now I know why I should carry that bread clip, but no one wants to hear, or talk about it. 

Even adding this to my own blog could be  a Jimmy Kimmel transgression.I suppose.

 

  

Another Dream Resucitation

 I need to write down the dream as I recall it, or else wisps of what's remembered keep intruding on my thoughts. It's been a long time since  a dream has had a nightmare quality, so here it is----Begone!

I had to drive to a  place to get a paper of some sort signed. I was familiar with the location, had driven there many times before, assuming this drive would be as easy and comfortable as before. But the traffic was horrendous, one woman in a white car cutting me off by being in the wrong lane and almost colliding with my car. I felt a sense of dread, mixed with terror, thinking I could not get through the traffic safely. 

I arrived at my destination and entered the building, or rather a complex, searching to find my way to the right office. I saw Dave sitting at one of the public computer stations. He had arrived there separately,  was wearing a yellow shirt, and looked a lot like Danny. He directed me to where I wanted to go. I tried to present my paper to the woman in charge, who was sitting against the wall at a  table outside the office. But she needed some more information or something. Dave arrived, still in that yellow shirt, and tried to help. It struck me that in his interaction with the woman there were absolutely no words exchanged between them, not a single syllable. But it seemed to have gotten the desired effect. 

 I was ready to go home, paper problem resolved, but I had trouble finding the way out of the winding routes of the complex. I spotted the exit area and felt a great sense of relief. There was an interior door leading to the exterior exit door. As I approached the door, a man was apparently ready to exit but he held the door for me and motioned me to leave. It troubled me though that he wanted me to go out the door before he did. The man was ordinary looking at first sight, though everything about him was a shade of gray. His hair, even his beard in the current scruffy style, was gray and the  well-coiffed hair on his head a silvery gray, though he appeared to be a youngish to middle-aged man, dressed in a well-tailored gray business suit. 

  His mannerisms and body language that insisted that I leave just ahead of him concerned me so I stepped back and went looking for Dave to help me. The man followed me to where Dave was still sitting. Maybe I expected Dave to say something, but instead he drew out a huge sharp knife and flourished it at the man, who retreated but not without shouting out his anger and threats of revenge. 

As I was trying to steel myself to leave and drive home, I came upon the man, this time walking with , and supporting, a crying woman. He was still angry, and threatening. I was filled with terror, but before I even got to leave the building, I heard a loud "Clunk" and I woke up in my own bed.

Cantankerous

 Might be age related or maybe it's the drugs, but I don't get angry any more, have not had a verbal dispute or argument in years, don't even flip off tailgaters, not even when I'm driving the speed limit and the yahoos insist the legal rate is 10 miles over the posted speed limit. 

  I know privacy is important and appreciate attempts by companies to preserve mine. But enough is enough. Today I got a call from Walgreen's. I usually don't answer, because all they can tell me is that my prescriptions are ready, or will be next week. But today I picked up their incoming call, and a human voice asked if I were the person being called. I said yes. She asked me for my DOB, which I admit to numerous times for almost every interaction. I asked her why she was calling, and she said she couldn't tell me until I gave her my DOB.  Would that be my privacy that's being protected or theirs?  I said no thanks, I'll go to the store in person.

"Remembrance of Things Past"

     It must be because summer is ending and fall is in the air. Every time  I walk past the pot of geraniums on the deck, the smell takes me back to my grandmother, and the distinctive odor of the geraniums in the little flower garden outside her kitchen window, where she always sat in her chair by the kitchen table. Of course, the geraniums were only seasonal, but it must have been my first association with them and now every time I see them, I think of Nanny in her house on the hill.  

  Another memory from the past:  Yesterday I did some laundry and as I was folding my  well-worn and dingy

dish towels, I had a vivid memory of my shopping days with Joanne C.  She and her husband had frequent weekend or longer house guests. She loved her house and housekeeping, and it seemed every time we went shopping, often at Boscov's, and she was expecting company, she would delight in picking  out new sets of tea towels, as she called them. 

Ah, memories, what are they good for...

 

Acquired Wisdom

  From  all the knowledge I've amassed over these many years, I offer this advice:  If  you are taking a multiple choice test, and you have absolutely no idea as to what the correct answer could possibly be, and the  answer choices are A, B, C, D, choose B or C.  

Do the math

 3+3 =6+8=14+3=17+2=19

All in a day's---fill in the blank:

 Today on my way into Troy, an approaching car flashed its headlights. I figured maybe it had hit a bump, but sure enough, a  short distance down the road, a cop car was lying in wait. I didn't know drivers warned other that way any more. And at the Frear Park entrance, 2 more police cars were parked side by side, perhaps just chatting, but it's been a while since I've noticed any at all. 

  The critical mass at Hoosick and 15th Street was not evident today enroute to my destination, but some accomplished driver screwed things up on my homeward route. As previously noted, impatient drivers do not want to wait on 15th when they have the green light where it crosses Hoosick. Usually when I'm crossing Hoosick to the hospital. Today, when I was heading home, I had the green light out of the city, with no problem. But the yahoo wanting to turn right onto Hoosick had crossed over into the left unobstructed lane, and attempted to get onto Hoosick by going around the cars obediently waiting. So now his vehicle is stuck half in both lanes, and his car in no man's land. He shoulda waited.

And I notice the management at SnS Plaza finally paved over the most controversial potholes in the parking lot, Same time as school parking lot, probably same company.

Customer Care---Bah!

 Received this letter last week from Main Street America Insurance, of which I've been  a customer for 20 years ( after the Lohnes brothers retired.).  The present agency is The Murray Brothers, referred by Dorothy.   

The letter encourages working "proactively" with local agent to explore options. It is true that my policy will be honored until it expires in November, but when I called my present agency, about possible options, I was informed that they will review my policy in October, so nothing until then.

If I were the sensitive sort, I would feel rather insulted. But of course business is business, and I can always  take mine elsewhere.    So there! 

Labs, Condensed

 Detailed blood work: Basic Metabolic Panel, 12 tests;  Lipid Panel, 5 tests; Hemoglobin A1C, 2 tests; CBC with Auto Differential, 26 tests.  Total 45 Test Results. Number of tests mentioned by doctor---1. 

It's good to have a Chat:

 

"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

 "The poem addresses the conflicted nexus of emotions that often accompany aging, particularly the tension between experience and relevance.  The author expresses this  conflict through subtle contradictions within the text of the poem. The opening stanza refers to "listening" though the remainder of the poem refers exclusively to speaking.  The poem is well crafted, and from the POV of an educated, introspective, and self-actualized individual (" a world I once knew well"), juxtaposed by a self-deprecation of the speaker's lived experience, casually referred to as poorly remembered, outdated, nattering lore. Words themselves are described as anodyne, lost in a vacuum of inattention and disinterest. Yet these words are also referred to as stones projected with intensity towards a target.  While the third stanza evokes a theme of resignation with the closure of inevitable mortality, the final line reveals the conflict as unresolved. By attributing the proverbial slings and arrows ultimately to a failure in perception, any Socratic parsing of the cause or effect of even the sincerest of intention becomes a tautology."

On The Road: Bumps or Humps?

 I don't spend much time on the road anymore, but that doesn't mean my observations  are not roadworthy.  

   I have mixed feelings about traffic circles or rotaries. The ancestor of all being the Frear Park Rotary, a beautiful and uncomplicated structure.  (Once you get past the  arrow on the road directing drivers to enter at  the exit. We're all used to that now, pay it no heed.)  I traveled through that circle daily for a perod of time enroute to the hospital, and, almost every day, passed the city worker who was in charge of the elegant array of plantings and flowers surrounding the fountain there. A few years later he and his wife were murdered in their home by acquaintances who'd found out the couple had won some money, as the police reports indicated. Ever since, the plantings at the circle are still there, but minimal. Maybe the City of Troy  no longer employs a master gardner. 

  Anyway, proceed on 15th, and you encounter 2 double sets of what the posted signs at each call "Speed Humps."  Note that they are not labeled  "Speed Bumps", which is a different entity. I drove over those things 20 years ago during my long siege of treatment at the hospital, then again for 5 separate sessions of physical therapy and rehabilitation, so hundreds of passings.  Another series of sessions has been activated,

I got creative, considering  different approaches to those humps. There are 2 equally spaced humps in the lane you are driving in. I've observed some drivers doing the unthinkable--crossing into the oncoming lane, but that is definitely a violation. Some drivers space their vehicle so as to drive left  front and rear tires over the hump while others drive their right front and rear tires over the hump. I tend to straddle the humps with both front wheels, and then of course the rear wheels. I figured this  puts  less stress on my vehicle.  But that choice is definitely in the minority, so I decided to resolve the issue.

  In my world, that means ChatGPT, so I posed the question as to the proper protocol of driving over Speed Humps. 

Uncharacteristically, Chat appeared hesitant, unable to answer the question I'd asked, but providing many different and applicable ways to traverse different and separate bumps in the road. After I further described those bumps/humps. Chat ruled that this construction, while referred to as 'Speed Humps" is more accurately a 'Speed  Cushion," with its own set of protocol.  Troy must have taken liberties.

Driving further, you encouner the horror where 15th Street crosses Hoosick Street, where tractor trailers and other commercial vehicles speed down the hill to connect with 787, the fastest way out of the city. You know to be on guard, but a further complication is that the 787 escape route often has traffic backed up past the light on 15th. So even when the light is or turns green, you are unable to proceed, just have to wait through the next series of lights. It seems as if  a rotary would help there, but I suppose the whole city would have to be re-sculpted.  

Eye History

 I have the dates in my files but will tell the basic story:  At one of my then regularly-scheduled appointments at the ophthalmologist's the technician reviewing my chart read off my history, including a diagnosis of Fuchs' Corneal Dystrophy, which I had never heard of until that time. The appointment proceeded as usual. 

  When I got home, I looked up Fuchs' and found it is a hereditary disease, which was once a leading cause of blindness, depending on if and when it progresses. The symptoms can be similar to those of glaucoma, and the 2 conditions can sometimes even overlap. At some point in time, I decided to seek more information, as my present office had not even bothered to mention it, evidently assuming it had not reached a significant stage. 

  The place to seek another opinion is the Wilmer Eye Institute at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, so, being still young enough to care, I made an appointment there. No urgency, I didn't even need a referral. My visit there would rank as a very enjoyable vacation. Joanne C. offered to accompany me there, and with Danny's help we procured train tickets, including handicapped access, as both of us had wonky knees. We had special seating in a waiting area at the train station, and ushers came to escort us to priority seating and carried our bags for us. Dan met us at the station and drove us to our appointment, a very impressive structure with world-class doctors. My eye exam showed the presence of fuchs' but no diagnosis of glaucoma, as my local doctor had diagnosed. I was advised to have regular check-ups, there if I so wished. 

 The rest of our trip was awesome, staying at Danny's house, going out to eat, touring Fells Point, and after several days being driven back to the station for our homeward trip to Rensselaer. But I digress. 

My next appointment was with Dr. M. and as she read ny report, she was visibly impressed by my encounter with the top specialist at Wilmer, but since her diagnosis had differed, she felt she should transfer my care to another doctor in the practice. That was ok with me. I continued there for more years, with Dr. Sax and no mention of Fuchs' until Dr. Z. said he would take the special precautions necessary during cataract surgery, where all went very successfully.

Time went by, doctors retired, and my appointments were with a new to the practice Dr. F. for several years. No significant vision  changes UNTIL:

 My care was transferred yet again, this time to a youngish  glaucoma specialist, Dr. U., who, at our first meeting, entered the room, and announced, loud and clear:  "You now have glaucoma." I started to explain that I had fuchs dystrophy, with overlapping symptoms. But she asked if I was questioning her diagnostic ability. I said of course not, continued with the appointment, but have not returned there. 

"Asleep" Post revisited-----Hyper-empathy

 This is a new word to me, but it seems to describe what I experience, but only when I am asleep and in a dream or partial dream state.  

Hyper-empathy is a condition where an individual experiences emotions, particularly negative ones, with heightened intensity, and a tendency to absorb them, often leading to emotional overwhelm.  

  I suppose eventually there will be an in-depth definition of every possible mental affliction. But I have for a long time been aware that I am often in my dreams depicted as a bystander. I see and feel what happens to the character(s) I am dreaming about, though I'm an invisible presence. I guess I assumed that was a universal type of dream. But maybe not...Some nights I can still summon up the suffering of the  Asian woman trapped forever in that sealed metal body tube...

Wappingers Falls years

 Frederick Wallwork, Dave's grandfather, worked at Dutchess Bleachery, retired in 1945 with 50 years of service.

Kaaterskill Falls

 Dave and brother(s) used to go there to swim when they lived in or near Kingston. I went there at least once with him. I didn't swim but we walked under the falls. We used to have a picture; the falls were quite impressive. 

Too Cold for Words

 I woke up feeling cold, so I couldn't go back to sleep.  The fleece blanket was not doing its job. I needed more warmth so I added another layer, and then another---layer after layer--of words. Starting with short words:  went, left, best, grew, slow, wore, lean, team, and gradually increasing their length, layer after layer: whether, stream, begin, trending, sending, leave, weaving. I piled on the layers of words, but I was still cold. 

   I forced my eyes to open. And saw, right next to me, the green Woolrich blanket that Dorothy had given me when she changed the decor of her bedroom.  I reached over and spread that blanket over me. It took a while, but was finally able to be warm enough to fall asleep.

Theological Questioning

An English major at Albany State had to read many, many works of literature, including lengthy novels. I would have expected those works would remain in the past, but one disturbing theme has implanted itself in my mind, and raises itself today. 

A course in Russian Literature involved reading the works of the most notable authors, one of which was Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov."  I recall his  position that it was not that he did not believe in god, but that he could not reconcile the suffering of innocent children with divine justice or love. He rebelled against a god who would allow that to happen. 

  I probably considered that a blasphemy at the time, and it may well be, but I can't stop thinking about the truth of  that long ago lesson.

  

In Other Words

 I mostly now am listener  when others deign to tell

The details of the happenings in a world I once knew well.

Attempts to add a comment is a lesson in defeat.

My now outdated  outlooks form a pathway of  retreat.

I venture on, expound upon, the lore that I recall,

Knowing well the vacuum into which my words will fall.

But on I natter anyway, although I should have known,

Though uttered with intensity, each word lies mute as stone.

I may regret indignities which living long has brought 

But realize that all others will reap that fate  unsought.

We know all on earth are subject to  that destined mortal hinge, 

And the flaw in human nature might perceive that as revenge.

 

That Squeaky Wheel

 In the fate-filled year of 2023, a routine mammogram reported  a suspicious finding which required f.u. screenings. I had already arranged with my primary care to issue the necessary script which obviated the need for a visit to the oncologist in Saratoga and then another office visit there. All can be completed locally as long as all is well. So I have been to the facility at St. Mary's in Troy and am familiar with the protocol.

As long as all goes as it's supposed to.

 Following today's procedure,  I was told to wait for the doctor, who is  present there, to review the  results.  One other woman was in the waiting area, and the doctor appeared and brought her into what I  assumed was her inner office.  This meant bad, or at least not positive, news for her, I'm sure. I did not see her emerge but several others went into the x-ray room,with some waiting a while before they were cleared to  leave. I waited obediently, until I'd read through all the magazines there---kind of an unusual display nowadays---Star magazines, a few People, and a tiny little edition of Good Housekeeping, once a mainstay of every household. 

I became aware that an hour had passed, and I'm still waiting. The next time the nurse appeared for another patient, I asked her why the long wait. She appeared to be taken aback, checked my name, and then she replied, "Oh, I was confused. You are all set to go."  

  When I arrived home, I opened my Patient Portal and the results of my visit had been  posted, during the time I was in the waiting room. So all is well, no complaints, except the advice to trust no one;  anybody, even medical staff,  can be "confused."  

Blacktop Redemption

 There has been  a deep pothole in driveway at the Hoosic Valley shopping center since last winter. A traffic cone was placed over it this spring which  soon became a crushed remnant. The pothole made it impossible to stay in the right lane when exiting onto Route 67.

June 17, 2025:  I posted  on the Concerned Citizens Schaghticoke page:   Not complaining, just wondering if any repair might be forthcoming. There were 21 comments, in agreement and with suggestions as to where the responsibility lay. 

 Several days later, I noticed the pothole(s) were smoothly blacktopped over, and on June 24, I expressed thanks  for  the anonymous repair. The person responded, saying he had done it, Dan B.  In the next few days, over 60 people thanked him, appreciating what he had done. No one seemed to know him, or what his business was. And it seems he had voluntarily performed the good deed.  (It struck me that this was the only posting I've ever seen where all the comments were positive. 

  Even stranger, when I mentioned it to my son, he said there is an episode of "The Simpsons" where Homer is feeling depressed,  sees  no value in his lfe, but in the midst of his despair,  spots a pothole, repairs it, and then, through similar  actions, finds new meaning and purpose in life. 

Spectrum June 21, 2025 Until 1:10 a.m. June 22, 2025

 

Cardiologist Replacement

 

My present cardiologist, with whom I have a good professional relationship, is leaving the practice for a smaller cardiology group in New Hampshire, for his children, he says. Since I will need a follow-up visit,  though not until next November, he referred me to a doctor in their present practice.

   Evidently this doctor is on the social scene. He is the one on the right.

Oh, anyway....

 ...I was walking to the Thompson house.  (The weather was fine, so a tip-off to the surreal.) As I entered their roadway, mostly undeveloped, I had to move to the left side to avoid the oncoming mower, a lightweight type, which was clearing the overgrowth from the pavement. As I approached the driveway, I had to stop because a car, with a man and woman inside, turned into the driveway ahead of me, made a wide right turn and exited the way they'd entered.

   I went to the rear of the house and could hear voices inside, but no one appeared. After a wait, I went insde to ask the only person I could find, Ben, where the picnic tables had gone. He told me they were kept inside, on the back porch, because that's where they ate every night. No one seemed to relate to my showing up there. I asked Joe if it was usual for drivers to think their driveway was a through road. He said no because there was no way for them to drive out. That's when I realized I was probably dreaming and should try to wake up. I looked at the television screen and saw that soon Trump is to travel to Canada for an important conference. But I had my doubts he would be able to make it because I couldn't even get to the kitchen for food. I think I woke up.

And when fully awake, I watched a news segment titled Sanctuary for Ailing Animals (or something like that) where the caring spokesperson is tending to an old abandoned dog, and feeding it some nutritious and tasty food from a teaspoon.

    I realize that Physician's Aid in Dying legislation is on the verge of passing and wonder if it can also be applied to our animal friends. Why should humans reap all the benefits.

Stupidity, Major Scale

 We all did it, carried our school books in our arms, both arms laden with books. Even when we went to college and commuted, even taking 2 busses, juggling the armload of books to deposit the fares into the receptacles,  and then a train ride, with a homeward walk from the train depot. Can't blame myself because everybody did it. We knew a few  guys who toted their books in briefcases, but they were to be pitied as nerds.  We suffered backaches from cradling those books for hours sometimes--- walking, on busses, trains, in back seats of cars. Idiocy.

  At Hoosic Valley anyway, all girls carried pencil cases, for pencils, pens, aspirin, lipstick, all those little personal items.  When  the new high school opened, several students from another school district joined with Hoosic Valley and lo and behold, the girls carried, not pencil cases, but purses. But I don't think that transferred to us HVC girls. We didn't carry purses until college, when we slung them over our shoulders to accommodate our arms filled with books.

 Not connected, but another college memory just sprung to mind. We attended classes at the old uptown campus, but our mandated gym classes were several blocks (at least) away at the Brubaker quad where there was space for outdoor gym classes. There we were introduced to a variety of sports including  golf. We were provided with golf clubs, and I suppose some instruction as to how to use them. The Quad was a rectangular field and the class size was probably about 15-20 students, most of us unfamiliar with the art of golf. I remember attempting to address and hit the ball during one session of  gym class,  hearing a shriek not far from where I was,  and looked over to see a girl named Prudy with both hands to her face. Another girl had swung her club, probably a 9-iron, and the follow-through hit poor Prudy right in the mouth. There was blood and broken teeth and Prudy was not in college for the rest of the year, returning only to take her exams at the end of the year. I never heard about  a lawsuit, but there may have been one. I hated gym class anyway.

A lesson learned?

 My mother's house was home to several foster children. One was a young girl who loved animals, as did my mother. Probably because of her situation, the girl had a particular interest in rescuing needy animals. And there was plenty of housing for her to do this. She once found a young rabbit who seemed lost and abandoned and installed it in an outdoor hutch with a roomy attached enclosed wire run. The rabbit seemed to thrive. 

  Some time later, maybe weeks or a few months, the girl also rescued a young opposum, and added it to the rabbits's habitat in the back yard.There was plenty of room for the 2 little apparently orphaned animals, and they shared the hutch and the run  and seemed to enjoy each other's company.

Until they didn't. One day when the young girl went to give them their morning feeding, she came upon the possum as usual, but she found the rabbit with its head chewed off.  

If you see a moral to this tale, don't blame me.

  

He saw it coming....

 A while ago, James Carville said things would start falling apart by Memorial Day. 

Jeopardy questionable ruling

 I know he wan't a particulary appealing contestant, as some saw him as young and brash, but I think he was robbed.  (I qualify this because I did not hear him speak his answer, but the only rationale for Jeopardy's decision is he must have over-enunciated his answer.)   His answer was in response to Vermeer's  painting of  "Girl With A Pearl Earring." He was ruled wrong because he said Girl With The Pearl Earring. 

  The word "a" is pronounced with the long a sound unless it is followed by a word beginning with a consonant and then is commonly pronounced "uh" as per the schwa pronunciation.   As in "Lend me a hand. I sat with a friend. Tell me a story.  Have a good day."  

Say  "girl with a pearl earring" , and then say  "girl with the pearl earring."  I don't know how they could have told the difference. They sound the same to me. But who am I to judge.

Animal Life

 My mother loved animals and we grew up surrounded by them:  dogs, cats, ponys, goats, sheep, rabbits, guinea pigs, chickens, including bantams, ducklings, birds, goldfish, even a turtle or two. My childhood special dog was Lassie, a spaniel, not a collie, and my favorite cat, Joris.  I also had a hamster named Elgius and a rabbit named Harvey. 

  Later, in my own home, we always owned a dog and a  cat. Our collies were Chance, Lex and Cosmo, who was  Dave's pride and joy. We started out with a cat called BlackCat, and then a kitten named Tiger, followed by Roger, Nike, and  Napster. 

 ( Maybe also hated being groomed, even though mostly by traveling vet.)

Our kids had some pets of their own, a rabbit named Argyle, goldfish and other aquarium creatures. 

  Except for a few tragedies on the speedway in front of our house, most of our pets lived a normal life span.  Somewaht ironically, because time now passes so quickly, our last pet, Maybe, had the longest lifespan of any of the dozens or even hundreds of the animals in my life. 

  Maybe was born on June 9, 2005, the offspring of a purebred Persian mother and a purebred Maine Coon Cat father, and she died at home on October 20, 2024. She was 19 years and 4 months old, and was never outside the house except for vet appointments. She hated traveling. When I brought her home as a young kitten, she had hated the car ride, escaped from the cat carrier she was in and clung to the roof of the car, which was a kind of fabric. I had to stop in Clifton Park to peel her off and put her back in the container and stack some books on top. When we got home, I let her out of the carrier  and she disappeared. I searched all over and couldn't find her.  I was the only one home and didn't think she could have gotten outside, but what else could have happened. Someone asked me if I had gotten a  kitten and I said maybe. Joe T. helped me search the next day, and located her under  the hutch in the kitchen. I had already looked there and could only assume that she kept changing hiding places. So my answer of maybe I have a cat changed to maybe I'll keep her. And we lived together for almost 20 years.

New Product

 Haven't been to sNs for a while. I found a new product in the soda aisle:  Irish Ginger Ale. Knowing that online Dr. Jeremy London calls soda liquid poison, I felt compelled to buy it anyway. Who could resist a product with "Vitamins, Antioxidants, Energy & Zero Sugar,  0 Calories and Aspartame-free." True, while "Irish-Inspired,"  it is made in the U.S.A. and bottled by Polar Corp.  in Worcester MA. It does contain 46mg* of caffeine and 37mg of Green Tea Extract plus some other stuff. It is a "Sparkling beverage with ginger flavor and other natural flavors."   (The check-out clerk made me promise to tell her how it was. I was going to leave her a can but thought that might be against company policy.)  Each can bears the message, "Sparkling Love, Frannie's"  

* about half of the caffeine in  a cup of coffee