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.